Black and proud
9:24 pm | Video | Listening | 0
I know the 40th anniversary of the assassination of MLK was roughly a month ago, but above is an amazing video of James Brown performing in Boston the night after the shooting, and here is the accompanying story of how JB prevented a massive riot from happening that evening. (Via AskMe)
Four bands, two shows, one night
11:10 pm | Photo Album | Listening | 0
Not much to say about Saturday night except it was so awesome I didn’t go to sleep until 5 a.m.
I was miraculously able to be in two places at once. Not exactly all at once, though. And I wasn’t the only one. Long-haired dude standing next to me at The Orange Show assuaged my fears by telling me that although the show at Rudyards was supposed to start at 9 p.m., the sound guy doesn’t even get to work until 10 p.m. Thanks long-haired dude, you were right.
I’ve never been to The Orange Show before. It’s a pretty awesome place, a very intimate venue, but damn hard to find. Cool thing about the show: at least 25% of the crowd was Cambodian. After they played I chatted up two of the guys from Dengue Fever, inviting them to Rudyards (they couldn’t make it but I got a nice phone call the next day).
At Rudz, Houston band The Born Liars blew my mind by playing some awesome garage rock wholly inconsistent with their Average-Joe images.
Friends of Formika® The Ugly Beats played loud and hard and set the tone for what was to follow. Not only that but all five of them were super nice and fun to dance with when The Fleshtones (also Friends of Formika®) finally hit the stage. EXCELLENT TRANSACTION WOULD DO BUSINESS WITH AGAIN11!!! Please come back to Houston soon, guys (and girl).
Everything you need to know about The Fleshtones you can learn here. Not content to play on Rudyard’s tiny stage, the guys took the show into the crowd for almost every song, creating more much energy in that club than I’ve felt since I was 16 years old and going to shows at Music D’s. The show was so loud my ears were ringing into Sunday night (I forgot my earplugs). Afterwards we all (Ugly Beats and Fleshtones included) went back to Formika’s house for cocktails and comraderie, which explains my extra-late bedtime.
Oh look, here are pictures of Formika (on the bass drum) and one of the back of my head dancing on stage with Peter.
Oh noes!
3:18 pm | Shorts | Houston, Listening | 0
I just found out Neil Hamburger is performing Saturday night as well! I would hate this city if I didn’t love it so much.
Dilemma
5:17 pm | Blog | Listening | 0
For a month I have been anxiously awaiting the March 29 performance of Asian-beat psych-pop band Dengue Fever.
Yesterday I found out that The Fleshtones are playing the same night, along with friends of my friend Miss Formika. If I could be in two places at once, I would, but as of now it looks like I might be forced to choose.
To make matters worse, I have developed bruises on the tops of my feet from dancing/being danced on during Tuesday night’s show.
There were never any good ol’ days
11:27 pm | Photo Album | El Perro, Listening | 2
Gogol Bordello restored my faith in rock-n-roll last night. Best show of the year, so far, but Dengue Fever is next weekend so we shall see.
Before the show I was walking Gus* as the sun was setting when we crossed paths with a small gray creature moving slowly along the sidewalk. On a couple of evenings Gus and I have come across a huge possum chillaxin’ near the dumpster in the alley across the street. By huge I mean bigger than Gus, who weighs 25 pounds. I think someone feeds it — there is a hole under the fence through which it always scurries and in the mornings I see paper plates with what looks like cat food lovingly placed in the escape path.
But last night the possum we saw was quite small, probably juvenile, and slow to climb the bush where it sought refuge from my canine. Gus was straining at his leash and I was curious to get as close to the joey as possible, but the kiddo remained calm and cool, not quite playing dead but not ignoring us either. I damned myself for not having my camera and briefly considered running inside for it but was afraid the dude would be gone by then. It was cute! I wanted to snuggle it, but the thought of it’s tiny possum paws scratching out my eyeballs made me keep my distance. That and the fact Gus was FREAKING OUT. Anyway, I think it’s pretty cool that I live about one minute from downtown off one of the busiest streets in Houston and I have wildlife literally in my front yard.
Here comes the sad part of the story: this morning as we were walking before work Gus and I came across a stray cat near the same dumpster where we see the big possum. Cat looked dirty and skinny from afar, typical for a stray, but it was lazing in a patch of sunlight and seemed undisturbed until it noticed us and Gus noticed it. Then it raised it’s head and I could see what looked like a long, thick string of either snot or pus hanging from it’s face. One of it’s eyes was swollen closed. And instead of darting away it got up real slow and then I saw that it’s tail was almost nearly hairless and as thin around as my pinkie. It didn’t even have the energy to run away, only to hiss a weak warning at us.
The whole sight was so simultaneously saddening and disgusting that I felt physically ill. I’m am not much of a cat lover, but jeez, even a raging bastard could understand why I had a hard time choking back tears as I walked back to our door. Poor, poor baby. I wonder now if the cat food was actually for the cat, not the fat possum, and if so then someone is severely neglecting that cat, even if it’s just someone who’s feeding a stray.
I couldn’t be party to that neglect, so as soon as I got to work I called the HSPCA. I’m not entirely sure I’ve done my good deed for the day though. If the cat gets rescued and rehabilitated then I’ll think I have, but even if it’s humanely put out of it’s misery I will feel better for having called. Uhg, even the small amount of recollection it takes to type this has my throat tightening and my heart hurting for that poor little baby.
*Speaking of Gus, this month my sweet little clown is turning six years old.
Springtime down in the ‘Trose
10:35 pm | Blog | Houston, Listening | 3
A while ago someone asked me where I lived. Not the actual address — she already knew that — but the name of my neighborhood. “What do you call that? Midtown? Or Montrose?”
I wanted to be offended but after giving it some thought I understood her confusion. For the record, I refer to my neighborhood as The Montrose. Sometimes other people call it The Mantrose. Or the Gayborhood. I live off lower Westheimer, behind Numbers. The eastern border of one of Houston’s most eclectic neighborhoods. But I can see where the lines might be blurry, where the borders begin to meld.
Ten years ago, before I even considered moving to this city, before I even knew Houston had a gay district, people were decrying the gentrification of my neighborhood. I first noticed it while on a visit here after moving to Korea. Someone had painted over the deliciously salacious mural at Mary’s.
(Here is a side story about Mary’s that is altogether unrelated but too good not to share: My old friend John grew up as a punk rock/surfer kid in Houston in the 1980s. At the heyday of Judas Priest’s career, long before Rob Halford came out, back when it was still completely fashionably acceptable and rock-n-roll for a seemingly-straight man to wear ass-less leather chaps, John went to see the band play somewhere in town. Being the star-struck teenager he was, he and some friends decided to follow the Priests’ tour bus back to their hotel after the show. But the bus didn’t go to a hotel. Instead, it promptly delivered Halford to Mary’s, Houston’s most notorious gay bar.)
Since moving back I’ve noticed other changes too. Dozens of new built-in-a-week townhomes, including a trio around the corner from us selling for half a million dollars. That’s half a million dollars for a home with two out of four shared walls and no front or back yard. (Also, have you seen the monstrocity being built between the Height’s Target and I-10? The thing is so big it looks like it could house half of Houston alone. And there is another one going up next to our closest dog park which will effectively block out the little sunlight the park gets in the first place. And this is not a phenomenon isolated to The Montrose.
The transvestite hookers on our corner have been replaced by Mystic-tanned sports car drivers looking for fresh meat at LaStrada and even my old favorite haunts are now plagued by Juicy-clad chicas and young urban professionals who can only manage to button the bottom half of their shirts. There are no less than 10 new wine bars in my hood, meanwhile, it’s impossible to find a St. Arnold’s within walking distance.
Granted, I live in one of those townhomes, but it was built in 1993! And for the most part it’s structurally sound! And my husband may also be a young urban professional, but we have a leg up on the typical Midtown resident and that advantage is this: we are not annoying. Still, even as I type this, techno music is blaring from Numbers on a Monday night, plans have been finalized for the Westheimer Block Party, and the collar-popping jerks of the world have yet to overrun my other favorite sleazy bar, Lola’s. My faith in my ‘hood was reignited on Election Night when I communed with my neighbors — people who actually live in this neighborhood, not just spend their money here — and no one even threw a hissy fit about the hours they spent in line.
And weirdo folk-rock musicians are still writing wonderful little odes to my neighborhood which has had most of the Houston music bloggers linking with glee this week.
My glamorous life makes Sheila E. jealous
8:47 pm | Video | Listening | 4
What has two thumbs, several hundred gem sweaters and is totally awesome? Leslie Hall, whom I’m going to see perform with her band, the LYs, in about 15 minutes. It will be an bitchin’ start to my early weekend. Hence:
Tonight’s show comes fresh off a seven-day shift at work, my FIRST seven days at work, to be specific. It’s a little overwhelming. I’m hoping my hair doesn’t fall out again. But the Lord of Non-Profits has blessed me with a rare two-days-in-a-row off, and as soon as I ace my Spanish test tomorrow morning Christopher and I are going to drive to Austin. We’re in the market for tube amps.
Friday night we have tickets for the ballet. Gershwin Glam. I booked them specifically for Friday because it’s Leap Year Day. I used to have a cousin — related by marriage, not blood — who was born on Leap Day, 1980. Her name is Christie. Her birthdays were always a big deal. We’re the same age and were very close when we were kids, though since my mother left my stepfather in the mid-1990s I haven’t spoken to her, which makes me kinda sad.
Happy birthday Christie, wherever you are.
Chili Peppers, eat your heart out
11:34 pm | Video | Listening | 0
Updated: Do you like how this is basically turning into a tumblelog? I’ll have something actually written by me soon enough. (Including pictures!)
You can have your Cake
9:27 am | Video | Listening | 4
Here is a psychedelic performance by Sixties girl group Cake that pretty much embodies everything I love about the mod/psych era. Especially the dancing. And the makeup.
Link comes from Mod-ified Music, who has more info on the NYC trio.
She’s filing her nails while they drag the lake
10:54 am | Blog | Conversations, Listening | Comments Off
The following phone conversation took place two weeks ago:
“Hey Steven, Elvis Costello is coming to town. Wanna go?”
“Yeah, but I don’t have an extra $70 lying around to buy tickets.”
“Damn. Uh, neither do I. Oh well.”
Then I got a phone call yesterday afternoon.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing. I just got done with a run and I’m sitting here at the park trying to cool off.”
“Go home and take a shower.”
“What?”
“Go home and take a shower. You, me, Linda and Kenny are going to see Elvis Costello for free, courtesy of KPFT.”
My friends are the best friends in the world.