She's a small wonder...

I finally got around to buying the new Rilo Kiley album, More Adventurous, and I can’t stop listening to it. Especially the song “The Absence of God.” It’s just so fucking good. If you don’t already know this LA band, go right now to allmusic.com where you can preview every one of their songs off of their last three albums. Seriously. Even though I haven’t been in much of an alt-country mood lately and I couldn’t tell you the last time I was obsessed with an album that had female vocals on it (that wasn’t remotely punk) I think their new record is just great. I’ve sort of forgotten how moving simple pop music can be since I’ve been in a three year obsession with all things new wave or post-punk. (I swear if you’re aping The Cure, Joy Division or Gang of Four, you are automatically my new favorite band!) And though most of Rilo Kiley’s (that’s pronounced Rye-Low Kylie, by the way) songs aren’t exactly what you’d call uptempo, there is something anthemic and driving about even their most sincere ballad. More Adventurous lacks the lo-fi grit and spontaneity of their earlier albums (which is to be expected, I guess, of any little band’s major label debut) and basically leaves all of the singing to Jenny Lewis (on other albums that job was shared with Blake Sennett),. At least Lewis’ lilting alto is up for the challenge. I would buy this record just to hear her unusual, sad, clear voice.

I first got turned on to their precious, country-tinged alt-pop with the release of their last record, Execution of All Things, in 2002 since it was a Saddle Creek release and fit in perfectly with their roster of wistful, earnest modern folk (like Azure Ray or Bright Eyes). But, I must admit, gossip-whore that I am, I was mostly intrigued to see what a band fronted by Jenny Lewis- former child star- would sound like. You remember Jenny? She was the awkward redhead daughter, Hannah Nefler, of Craig T. Nelson and Shelley Long in Troup Beverly Hills. She gave Ben Seaver his first kiss on Growing Pains. She had the distinct pleasure of costarring with BOTH Savage brothers (with Ben in Big Girls Don’t’ Cry They Get Even- an actually funny little film about divorce and step children- and with Fred in the Nintendo movie, The Wizard)! She was that redheaded chic who costarred on all Eighties sitcoms (well, the one that isn’t the bitch from Small Wonder!).

I can’t believe that more hasn’t been made of this in all of Rilo Kiley’s press. I mean she is like the only child star to grow up and have a respected second career in entertainment. Well aside from that chic from All in the Family who grew up to be in the New Radicals. But, even her….I mean, I wouldn’t call being part of a one-hit wonder “respected”, per se. It’s just- at least she wasn’t addicted to crack or posing in Playboy! It’s funny to me that Lewis has become like that thinking man’s sex symbol. Music geeks that are getting their PhDs in comparative literature think that she is the hottest chic ever. (Though these men generally don’t own a lot of music that’s played by women so it’s pretty much a toss up between Jenny and alt-country sex kitten Neko Case for the folk geek’s pinup girl.) And, don’t get me wrong, she’s pretty hot- especially with the 40’s screen siren image that she’s cultivating. But it’s hilarious to me think that this woman with the seductively vulnerable voice and the sultry red lips used to play Hannah Nefler! I hope that there is a rash of 80s child stars fronting amazing, interesting bands. Who doesn’t want to see Cherie from Punky Brewster get an album produced by Lil Jon? Or who doesn’t want to see Doogie Howser release an album on Sub Pop? Maybe that is where Kerri Green has been all this time: holed up somewhere recording duets with Conor for release on Saddle Creek! I’d totally buy that album!

Anyway, this is just to say that they’ve just announced a two-night stay at Bowery Ballroom in October and I’m dying to see them live. Who’s with me?

Turn around Bright Eyes....

Sorry for the prolonged absence. I've actually been busy at work so there has been little downtime in which to blog. Plus it's been hot as fuck and as any of you who know me know-- I HATE THE HEAT. All this weather makes me want to do is lie in a dark, air-conditioned room in my underwear. I'm not really sure what I've been doing with myself-- aside from drinking too much (what else is new?), arguing about the Olympics (Paul Hamm, that helium-voiced midget, should've given back that medal!), and sleeping too little. Right now it's a Sunday afternoon and I'm hiding from the sunshine, with my air on full-blast, watching Lucas. And I got to wondering...."what ever happened to Kerri Green?" I mean in 1985/6 she was like a female Freddy Prinze Jr., appearing in all of the teen movies of that year. But, according to imdb, she hasn't made a movie since 1993 (Blue Flame) and she hasn't made a movie I've heard of since 1987 (Three for the Road). Isn't this why we have shows like "Where are They Now?" or "E! True Hollywood Story"? Why hasn't someone gotten on this?

TOP 10 OTHER THINGS I'VE WONDERED ABOUT THIS WEEK (Besides the disappearence of Kerri Green)- a special Lucas List:

1) Is Lucas the movie that invented the emotional, slow-clap scene? Or is it simply the best use of it?
2)How did I manage to attend a comperably small graduate journalism program and still graduate knowing such a small fraction of the students? For example, yesterday I went to a party at my friend Emily's house with a couple of my friends from journalism school and there was this one girl there I had never heard of or seen before. And she is one of my friends best friends! Did I just have my head up my ass for a year and a half? What classes were all these other people taking- cuz they weren't taking the same classes as I!?
3) What happened to Winona Ryder? I totally forgot about the charming, lesbian-haired, gothy pixie that she used to be! Now she's just a rock whore-y criminal with a bag full of prescription drugs. I miss old Winona. When she still looked kind of awkward and Jewish. And you felt bad for her and related to her because you believed that she would be the sort of high school misfit who would harbor a secret crush on the geeky Corey. I don't relate to anyone who dates Ryan Adams and Beck and shoplifts at Saks.
4) Speaking of Ryan....How come his newest album is so bad? Actually it's not even bad, it's just so mediocre and uninteresting that it is more disappointing than if it had actually been BAD. When Gold came out, in September of 2001, I spent roughly six months listening to nothing else. It was a steady diet of Ryan. So much so that I never heard the much ballyhooed first Strokes album until months after its release. After half a year of an all Ryan music diet I had to take a break from him-- and let's just say his newest album didn't lure me back to him with the enthusiasm I expected. But in the last week or so I've really delved back into the Ryan back catalog, falling asleep to Sweet Carolina, walking to work to Answering Bell, singing along in the shower to Come Pick Me Up. The lesson? This week you should all go find an album or an artist that you loved so much that you overplayed them and rediscover them. Play that album that you overdosed on and remind yourself why you loved it. It's way more exciting than any of the new albums that are coming out this month!
5) What's the deal with Courtney Thorne Smith? She has actually had kind of an impressive career tragectory. I mean she started out as the "popular cheerleader" in Lucas and became the easy surfer chick in Summer School and then was the nursery school assistant on Day By Day, the sitcom that followed Family Ties, who was crushed on by C. Thomas Howell, the son of her bosses. After all that she became uptight Allison who lusted after her roommate on Melrose Place and now she's married to Jim Belushi on some crappy ABC sitcom. She has spanned the gamut of available girl roles in Hollywood- bitch in teen movie, regular gal on nighttime sudser, attractive mom married to ugly dude on sitcom....
6) Why is it that in movies (usually teen ones) when they want to let you know that someone is poor or from the wrong side of the tracks they always have the main character work at a gas station? How many kids at your high school had an afterschool job pumping gas? The men who worked at the gas stations where I grew up were all like 45 and mechanics.
7) Why does Lucas have such a piss poor soundtrack? I think the reason that it hasn't entered the pantheon of teen classics like John Hughes' ouevre is that David Seltzer (the writer and director) didn't have the same precient new wave taste as Mr. Hughes? (Or should I say Howard Deutch? Hughes' two best movie soundtracks- Some Kind of Wonderful and Pretty in Pink-- came from movies that he wrote but Deutch directed!) I mean Some Kind of Wonderful uses the Jesus and Mary Chain! Pretty in Pink rocks Echo and the Bunnymen, New Order and the Smiths for chrissakes!! Lucas just has weird keyboard music throughout and when they finally use a song, it's freakin' "Walk of Life" by Dire Straits. Nope, sorry David, you should have sprung for some Cure tracks!
8) How do you think Conor Oberst chose the name Bright Eyes to be his pen name? Do you think it had anything to do with Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler? I found myself wondering this as I karaoked the song at Melissa's birthday party last night.
9) Should I be concerned that, even though I'm 26 I still relate to Lucas perhaps more than any other teen movie character ever? Except maybe Duckie. Not that I want to relate to the bitchy cheerleader or the popular asshole but just once I'd like to feel like one of Molly Ringwald's characters (it doesn't have to be Andi from Pretty in Pink-- with sexy, evil Stev, loyal Duckie and bad-kissing prep Blaine all after your ass!-- I'd settle for Sam from Sixteen Candles, even she gets the dream guy in the end!) It's just that I thought that at a certain point I'd grow out of that alienated, adolescent feeling of crushing after someone wholey inappropriate. Yet here I am, practically pushing 30, choking back tears for an angry, skinny, smart 14 year old who loves this sweet, nice new girl who just wants to be his friend. Why is that so heartbreaking? Friends are nice. We all need friends. But hearing that someone that you like just wants to be your friend is still perhaps the single most hurtful phrase in the English language. So I guess I'll never get over feeling bad for Lucas! Where's my slow-clap?
10) How can I get a pass to CMJ this year? In the past I've volunteered for them to get my free pass (cuz those fuckers are expensive!) but last year I ended up missing a lot of the shows I wanted to see because I was volunteering during the shows. And I'm not a real enough music writer to get a free press pass and I can't afford to buy a pass like the rest of the plebian masses. But check out their website-- cmj.com-- for this year's lineup and you'll see why I have to go!! THE THERMALS! STRATFORD 4!! DECEMBERISTS! RJD2! CLINIC! TV ON THE RADIO! THE CONCRETES! MATES OF STATE!! Who's coming with me?

Add it up....

I’m not sure if it is a good thing or a dangerous thing, but Shaya (bloggeratti that she is!) showed me how to get a counter on this site. I cannot believe that in the first two days I’d gotten like 40 hits! The weirdest part is that I can check to see how people got to my blog (from yahoo searches like “caroline, outkast video” and links from other peoples’ blogs). Now I really only thought there were like 4 readers out there (and you 4 are name checked pretty regularly in these posts) but it is funny/weird/disturbing to think that there are strangers out there reading this. I mean, I guess that is why I started blogging and not just writing in a diary or laughing about this shit privately with friends. Anyway, to those of you that found me randomly or by accident I’m sorry that my spelling and grammar are hideous (especially for someone with a post-graduate writing degree!) and I’m sorry that I mostly talk about boys I think are cute and The Killers! However, here is a segment I think we all can enjoy (new and old readers alike) and since we haven’t had a list in awhile…..
MY TOP 5 FAVORITE THINGS THAT PEOPLE GOOGLE SEARCHED THAT BROUGHT THEM TO RETOWN:

1) “retown”: people have actually searched retown! I don’t know if this is because they are one of my four friends and can’t remember the web address of this blog or if they are people looking me up (highly unlikely) or if they are looking up some other sort of “RETOWN” entirely. What could that be? A business? A weird person’s name? Who are these other retowns?
2) “vintage letterman jackets from West Side Story”: What? I don’t even remember ever writing about this and this seems like a rather specific search. But I guess I’ve had to search weird specific things (especially here at work) like “New York Public Library Alaska literary journal” and “naked protest RNC”
3) “Paris Hilton album”: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
4) “Wedding pictures marc j.lo”: Ok people, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again…. If you are going to have some quickie wedding to some oft-wed pop star who may be carrying your child, at least have the decency to take down photos of your last wedding to some other woman off your website. It’s just good manners.
5) “13 year old girls in underwear preview”: EEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWW! I don’t know why this search brought you to my site. There are no 13 year olds here and NO ONE in their underwear. But you should be ashamed of yourself for searching that. Unless you are Pete Townsend and it’s “research for your book on child abuse.” Then it’s ok.

It was a gas...

I wish that I had thought to take notes last night at the Mick Rock book signing that I dragged Melissa to. His quotes were priceless and I am going to be unable to do them justice here. Let’s just say that Mick Rock was exactly what I wanted him to be. He looked like the actor who played Martin Hannett in 24 Hour Party People (before he got fat and crazy) and was craggy in that terribly British old rock n’ roll guy kind of way. He flirted with all of the women in the audience and said that he would answer questions about everything but his sex life. Then, when people would actually ask him questions, he would launch into long “answers” that were really just tangential stories about his life and music and photography.
Now, for those of you who don’t know who Mick Rock is (best question NOT asked by Melissa all night, “What’s your real name?”) he is the famous rock shutterbug (heh-that is the sort of word that magazines use when copy editors don’t want to repeat the word “photographer”) who was Bowie’s official photographer during the Ziggy Stardust era and took the photos on the cover of “Raw Power” and “Transformer” and “Queen II.” You know, like seminal fucking rock images! He was at the Chelsea Barnes and Noble promoting his new book of photos of Debbie Harry and Blondie. (For which he told the audience that Debbie is getting royalties. I got the sneaking suspicion that he was kind of in love with her- but fuck it!- she’s DEBBIE HARRY, who wouldn’t be?. When asked if the rest of the band were getting royalties too, since they feature in so many of the pics, Mick said something like, “No, this was just between me and Miss Debbie and they should be glad to even be included. They should just be thankful that they had some nice pictures taken of them!”)
I almost pissed myself right at the start when the shy, rock-nerd Barnes and Noble employee had to come out and read the introduction that Mick had obviously written for himself that said that he enjoys “kundilini yoga and cats!!!” Mick then got “onstage”- looking decidedly unyoga-like, more like someone who drinks whiskey for breakfast than someone who loves kitty cats- and said that though he is known/pigeonholed for his rock photography, he has lots of “erotic images” and loves shooting cats and one day hopes to do a “pussy” book.
He told awesome gossipy rock stories like about how Marc Bolan was such a little bitch (his words, not mine) that he wouldn’t let Mick shoot him because he was shooting Bowie and the glam boys were in a tiff or how Debbie Harry had, by the time of Blondie’s heyday, already been a smack addict and gotten off of the junk- which was interesting because every book on the CBGBs scene paints her as detached from all of the debauchery. (I guess that was because she’d already been there, done that! After all, she was like 32 and everyone else was a crazy drug addled 20 year-old!) And though I hate asking questions in public (despite my chosen profession!), I sucked up my embarrassment and asked Mick if there were any photographic subjects that got away- like people he wished he could have shot. He had the BEST answer! He said that he was all set to shoot Elvis Presley and Big E died two days before the concert he was scheduled to shoot.
For an older guy with a teenage daughter, he is still totally hip. He zips around the world from NY to Tokyo to London shooting bands and putting together books with people like Lou Reed (omigod, can you imagine this dude’s rolodex…. Lou, Iggy, Bowie, Debbie. I’d die if I met just one of those people in person!). And he still has a really great eye and ear for exciting talent. Or maybe I just say that because, when asked what bands he’d like to shoot now, he said the Yeah Yeah Yeahs (who he has shot- he thinks Karen is unassumingly sexy) and the Killers (HE got tickets to Monday night’s show and thought it was great- but hey, Brandon is on the cover of the new NME and those Brits always fall in line with whatever the Rock Bible tells them is cool!)!!
I wished I had the money to buy his Blondie book so I could get him to sign it. I think I secretly just wanted some one-on-one face time with him. He is just so weird and talented and sexy (in that older, British, dirty-old-man way). I wish that I knew more about photography so I could explain why I thought his photographs were great. It’s not just because they are of famous people that I admire or think are cool. He generally photographs them in highly theatrical settings. While I loved looking at the shots of Debbie and Chris at home being normal, non-rock star people, his best shots really emphasize the myth of the rock star: it’s Debbie as Marilyn with big blond hair and big toothy smile and a pink backdrop, it’s Lou Reed shot in black and white looking dour in glam makeup on the cover of Transformer, it’s Freddy Mercury shot so that his head is ethereal and disembodied against a black background…. I like that his photos don’t try to normalize rockers, but serve to try and mythologize them. There is something BIG about them and what he’s trying to do and that is what I want from my art. I am over “small” art. I want brash, cartoonish, outlandish images.
It’s the Pearl Jam-Oasis conundrum. I mean any geeky rock fan wants their favorite band to be serious about their music and eschew selling out. Pearl Jam represented that model of rock star. But there is nothing fun or remotely rock and roll about a band who is so serious that they shun the limelight and don’t play live out of some (legitimate) beef with Ticketmaster. You know what, I’d want Pearl Jam to be my lawyers or my accountant. They seem trustworthy and earnest. But that is not what I’m looking for in my rock stars. For that I want Oasis. I want you to love being in the public eye and do things (snort coke off of strippers’ asses, impregnate a pop star while you are married to a famous actress, have onstage fights with your brother/bandmate, be so drunk and British that your television interviews are unintelligible) that I could never do because I’m not wealthy, famous or dumb enough. Now I realize the Pearl Jam/Oasis conundrum is a hard one to stomach because, well, Pearl Jam are a third rate Nirvana and Oasis (though they have like 2 good songs) are a second rate Blur, but we are talking rock star behavior, not album content. I just think that rock and roll got too polite somewhere along the way. Maybe it was when it got its own, legitimate corporate culture. Maybe it was when the first generation weaned on rock grew up and became parents and respectable members of society. I don’t know. But that is fucking boring. I want bands that might not be safe to play on TV because you never know what they’ll say. I want bands whose songs can’t be played on the radio because you’d have to bleep out every other word. I want bands that don’t give a fuck about playing the Superbowl Halftime show or selling you their ringtone for your phone. I want bands that are ugly. I want bands that are beautiful. I just want big, big personalities. And maybe some silly costumes or set pieces. I just want some big, dumb rock n’ roll. Oasis-style. Mick Rock style. Reality is very disheartening. I can see it on the news everyday. I think I need more myths in my life.

Don't let me be the last to know....

In the "why am I always the last know?" catagory---
From their website: "The Killers just finished taping their appearance on "The O.C." earlier this week. The band performed "Mr. Brightside" and "Smile Like You Mean It." The episode will air December 2nd on Fox."

I think the only thing better than seeing the Killers on TV is seeing them on TV with Seth Cohen! SWOON! Um...Should it make me sad/worried that I have the same taste (in music and in men) as 15 year old suburban teenage girls?

PS: If you are wondering about the two Killers-related posts....I chalk it up to me trying to deal with not being able to get tickets (despite writing up the show for last week's Voice!) for tonight's show at the Bowery Ballroom! My man Brandon is taking the stage in like an hour. I'll be home watching Donnie Darko in my pajamas. In the interest of this not happening again in October when they play a two-night stand at Irving Plaza, I've got to buy tickets this week. Who's going with me!???

You had a boyfriend who looked like a girlfriend that I had in February.

Um… can I just say how great last night’s Six Feet Under was? Well, how bad can an episode of that show be (especially compared to the rest of the dreck that is on TV- Amish in the City anyone?) when my favorite character-slash-boyfriend, Billy, returns AND they use a Killers song in the background of one of the scenes? I can’t believe there are only 3 more episodes left in the season. I guess I’m going to have to start watching The Wire (whose new season starts like September 17th) just to have a show to get into until season 5 starts next June. Plus it was kind of hilarious watching it with Shaya because when (SPOILER AHEAD) Brenda went to her pot dealer (you know to show us how she has slid back into her sex/pot/addict ways- thanks Alan Ball!) and got high and started making out with him, Shaya goes, “Wow, that’s like my fantasy!” Hee Hee.

On the L, We're doin' swell....

Yeah, it's 11:35 on a Friday night and at at home in my pajamas, chain-smoking and writing on my stupid blog. Wanna make something of it? I did my requisite amount of weekend drinking last night at my "welcome to nyc, kenneth" party, so I feel no pressure to be super fun on the first Saturday night that I haven't had to work in months. It actually feels kind of luxurious to be at home alone, catching up on the Olympics, watching sad movies on HBO and getting high. I feel no shame. Hell it's been raining for three straight days with no signs of stopping and 50 percent of my friends are out of town- many in glamourous locations like fucking France or Turkey- so what the hell else am I gonna do? I'm embracing couchpotatoville!

Today I spent an unspeakable amount of time hanging out in the Virgin Megastore, waiting for Shaya to finish working so we could go to the movies and, though I managed to behave myself and not spend any of my non-existant money, I did manage to listen to practically every album they were featuring on their listening wall. I learned that Ashlee Simpson's album really is as bad as I imagined, the Frou Frou song that features in the commercials for Garden State isn't actually a good song if its not accompanied by bittersweat images from the movie, the Killers are so infectious that when a big, doofy frat dude in a football jersey listens to it on the headphones, even he has to dance like he is in that scene in Empire Records, and I have two new favorite songs. The weird things about these songs is that they are songs that I knew before and either didn't like or didn't care about but somehow today the planets aligned and I had to rush home and download them from iTunes and now I'm listening to them on repeat like a 13 year-old superdumbass. Those songs, divergent as they may be, are the Beastie Boys' "An Open Letter to NYC" and Muse's "Time is Running Out."

Now the Beastie Boys song is based on a killer sample- the Dead Boys' "Sonic Reducer"- so I knew I was bound to like it because I love the original. Plus it has this great little repeated sound that plays throughout that sounds like a tape rewinding really fast that I love! I'd read about this song ad nasuem in all of the reviews of the album and the reviewers mentioned the use of the Dead Boys and talked about how it was the apotheosis of the album because it was a love letter to the city. But actually listening to it today - the song really grabbed me. I mean, the hook is cute but, on headphones where I could really concentrate on the words, I became obsessed with it. I know that real New Yorkers- the born and bred kind- will scoff at my New York credentials. But, fuck 'em. I feel like a New Yorker. This feels like home- more so than any other place I've lived. And once you've had to escape the city in a cloud of smoke on the worst day of your life and walk 4 1/2 hours to your apartment in Brooklyn, unable to contact anyone and sure that the world was over, and you still are obsessed with this expensive, too hot, too cold, crowded, amazing city- you've earned the right to call yourself a New Yorker. I think the reason we- as New Yorkers- think that we are the center of the universe is because with all the media centered here and so many tv shows and movies set here the universe (as shown to us by our tvs and magazines and films) is centered here. And this is a song that cements that. I mean, it shouts out 1010 WINS and Live at 5 and -yes, it makes too facile reference to 9/11 and that's kind of annoying and trite- but I dare you to not feel like they are talking to you when they mention your train or neighborhood or record store (Bleeker Bob's) by name:

An Open Letter To NYC Lyrics

Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens and Staten
From the Battery to the top of Manhattan
Asian, Middle-Eastern and Latin
Black, White, New York you make it happen

Brownstones, water towers, trees, skyscrapers
Writers, prize fighters and Wall Street traders
We come together on the subway cars
Diversity unified, whoever you are
We're doing fine on the One and Nine line
On the L we're doin' swell
On the number Ten bus we fight and fuss
'Cause we're thorough in the boroughs and that's a must
I remember when the Duece was all porno flicks
Running home after school to play PIX * 1
At lunch I'd go to Blimpies down on Montague Street
And hit the Fulton Street Mall for the sneakers on my feet
Dear New York I hope you're doing well
I know a lot's happen and you've been through hell
So, we give thanks for providing a home
Through your gates at Ellis Island we passed in droves

Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens and Staten
From the Battery to the top of Manhattan
Asian, Middle-Eastern and Latin
Black, White, New York you make it happen

The L.I.E. the B.Q.E
Hippies at the band shell with the L.S.D.
Get my BVD's from VIM
You know I'm reppin' Manhattan the best I can
Stopped off at Bleeker Bob's got thrown out
Sneakin' in at 4:00 am after going out
You didn't rob me in the park at Dianna Ross
But everybody started looting when the light went off
From the South South Bronx on out to Queens Bridge
From Hollis Queens right down to Bay Ridge
From Castle Hill to the Lower East Side
From 1010 WINS to Live At Five
Dear New York this is a love letter
To you and how you brought us together
We can't say enough about all you do
'Cause in the city were ourselves and electric too

Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens and Staten
From the Battery to the top of Manhattan
Asian, Middle-Eastern and Latin
Black, White, New York you make it happen

Shout out the South Bronx where my mom hails from
Right next to High Bridge across from Harlem
To the Grand Concourse where my mom and dad met
Before they moved on down to the Upper West
I see you're still strong after all that's gone on
Life long we dedicate this song
Just a little something to show some respect
To the city that blends and mends and tests
Since 911 we're still livin'
And lovin' life we've been given
Ain't nothing gonna take that away from us
Were lookin' pretty and gritty 'cause in the city we trust
Dear New York I know a lot has changed
2 towers down but you're still in the game
Home to many rejecting know one
Accepting peoples of all places, wherever they're from

Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens and Staten
From the Battery to the top of Manhattan
Asian, Middle-Eastern and Latin
Black, White, New York you make it happen

Trust me, it's a million times cooler when this is being yelled "No Sleep to Brooklyn"-style over "Sonic Reducer."
Now, the Muse thing is a little harder to explain. Especially since I hate them. Kinda a lot. I first saw a video of theirs on British MTV with Beth and we decided that, in the local vernacular, they were total wankers. Their lead singer is totally aping Thom Yorke (and frankly his overly-dramatic falsetto would be annoying if he weren't, you know, Thom Yorke!) and they have goth-y riffs that are totally stolen from Linkin Park (and they are annoying and frankly, bad!). At Curiosa a couple of weeks ago I didn't even go over to see them- though they were the only band playing. Jen and I sat in the grass and made fun of drunk people for 40 minutes instead while we waited for the Cure to come on. I just don't get the appeal. They are derivative in the worst possible way and I feel like the people who love them are the sorts of people that are responsible for the success of Evanescence. But I do remember hearing this one song at Curiosa and thinking, "Hmmm... that's not bad." And I since then, the song has been stalking me. It was on MTV2 the other day and then on internet radio . And while killing time at Virgin today I thought, as I stood next to a cute blond boy who was listening to Franz Ferdinand, "hey, I wonder what that Muse song was that I didn't hate?" So I stood at the Muse keyosk and whaddya know? Song #3 was that song that had been stalking me. Now, the opening is kind of abysmal and Linkin Park-ish- whispered vocals over some kind of farting keyboard- but the chorus.... I'm sorry it's won me over, against my better judgement. It's a really simple repeated melody with a whining Radiohead croon. I can't stop fucking singing this in my head.

So that was my day. Two new favorite songs. Too many cigarettes smoked. Too many hours logged at the Virgin Megastore.
And guess what? I've got no other plans for tomorrow.... Well, aside from watching "Six Feet Under" because this week (according to my Entertainment Weekly) BILLY RETURNS! And, as it says in the about me box above, Jeremy Sisto is my boyfriend. Only he doesn't know it.

WARNING!! Drama geek alert ahead....

Try as I may, I cannot put my drama geek past behind me. I thought I'd chosen a new career (equally geeky though it may be) and put away that part of me that fell in love with gay boys, and congratulated people's scene studies by calling it "good work," and got so obsessed with a show that I saw it 15 times and memorized every word, and got goosebumps in theaters over the moment when the lights went down. I've mostly killed that part of me. (Hell, it's been years since I hooked up with an ambigiously sexual guy and I couldn't tell you the last play I went to!) I've replaced her with this cynical girl who has nothing but contempt for actors (even ones I admire like Meryl and Julianne come off as assholes on shows like Inside the Actors Studio) and doesn't get too emotional or attached to pieces of art (well, I guess songs don't count, cuz I'm still a raving geek about those!) and crushes on disheveled little rock boys on the sole basis of their knowledge of the Velvet Underground or Joy Division. But, somewhere hidden deep inside, a small part of her remains.

Tonight, after a really long week of work (the fruits of which will be all over next week's voice! check it out, i have like three different pieces running!) I went out and bought some DVDs I couldn't afford. And yes, all the DVDs I bought feature Michael Pitt (or as I like to think of him Mr. Retown)- but not just because I like looking at his cherubic pie face and puffy lips, but because he is a good actor and love these movies and blah blah blah. One of them was Hedwig and the Angry Inch. Yes, it is terribly "theater-y" of me to love this movie, but when I first saw the play (yeah, I saw it three times!) I was still Rebecca the Theater Dork and it was like a revolution to me. It was the first real rock musical I'd ever seen- like with real rock music and musicians in it. It embraced skewed gender politics. It was terribly New York, with all of its in-jokes about the MePa. It was punky and arty and youthful- not just some Broadway revival of Oklahoma. And I was honestly surprised and thrilled when it became a big sensation with Ali Sheedy taking over the lead role and the movie rights being bought. In fact the one and only time I went to the Sundance Film Festival was the year that Hedwig won the audience award and the whole crew was on my flight back to New York, drunkenly celebrating and wearing matching t-shirts.

Despite the fact that I've seen this movie like 5 times, it holds up remarkably well. In its own theatrical way it says more about lonliness and love and humiliation than any major motion picture I can think of. And since I'm still kind of infatuated with the idea of DVDs (and their accompanying extras)- since I just got a DVD player and entered the 21st century a month ago- I decided to watch the making of.... documentary that is included. I figured it would be like those HBO First Look segments that play in between showings of Def Comedy Jam and Brown Sugar- you know, 20 minutes of behind-the-scenes footage and interviews with the director. But it was actually like an hour and a half long feature about the evolution of Hedwig from Stephen Trask and John Cameron Mitchell's first chance meeting on a flight to New York, through the character's birth at Squeezebox at Don Hills, through to their success at Sundance. And it was really moving. And not just because you could see how much of JCM, personally, is the different characters (for example his father was a major army general, like Tommy's and was stationed in Berlin, like Luther) but because it documented a really rare thing: the creative process. And for the first time since I gave it up, I really missed acting. Not auditioning. Not BEING an actor. Not even getting applause or taking a bow. I miss the creative process. Having an idea and seeing it through to something. Rehearsing and trying new things. These guys who created Hedwig, started out with one song and a bad drag act at small club during it's punk drag queen night and followed it through to a full fledged production- even going so far as to pay for and open their own theater space. There were years of rewriting and collaboration and late nights of rehearsing in between having the idea for a character and watching that character onscreen at the Sundance Film Festival. And I don't have anything like that in my life anymore.

Writing is solitary and writing for newspapers is a really quick process. There is no collaboration. There is rarely any time to develop any one piece. There is little to no creativity. There is hardly any emotional payoff. Now, I'm not complaining. I love my work. I do. It was thrilling to get to send an email to the Killers publicist to ask for tickets to Monday's show because I am a (sort of) legitimate writer. I love music in a way that I've never loved anything. Its can be family or crush (I detest the word "lover") or memory. That is why I love writing about it. But- if I rid myself of the memories of bitchy tantrums or showy co-stars or ridiculous romantic drama or too-easy-to-mock seriousness, and I remember the feeling of being a part of something creative that was bigger than any one person- I really kind of miss Drama Geek Rebecca.

Um....this blog is becoming overly mawkish. Let's just end on this unrelated note..... Jim McGreevey is a (and I'm quoting here) "Gay American." That has got to be one of the funniest phrases ever uttered. Especially by a politician. And I'm including Bush!

Time may change me, but I can’t trace time….

I don’t do very well with change. It’s best when I can prepare myself for it- as with a big move or starting school or getting a new job. But lately I’ve noticed all these subtle changes- changes that, taken by themselves, are minute but all together constitute this big, huge life change that I was totally unprepared for. And it’s kinda freakin’ me out!
 
You know those insidious, little changes that I’m talking about….They happen all the time, interrupting the flow of your status quo- your friend who you hung out with all of the time has a clingy, annoying significant other and now you never see them; your favorite drinking buddy has decided to move cross-country; your new job has such weird hours that the only people you find yourself spending time with are other with your fucked up schedule and you realize you haven’t returned your best friends’ calls in weeks; you wake up one morning and realize that you spend all of your time with your new boyfriend, even though you just thought that you were casually dating; you find yourself inexplicably attracted to that boy in your Hebrew school class that you’ve hated since 3rd grade because he used to harass your best friend mercilessly and now, when he’s nice to you and shares his peanut chews with you, you feel so guilty that you stop talking to your friend altogether to avoid feeling like a traitor. There are a million different ways that our relationships change with one another- and not all of them are bad, like the ones mentioned above (I mean, who would’ve thought that the girl I’d get stoned with after my hideously early morning copy editing class would end up evolving into one of my best friends? Ditto the chick who sat down the hall from me at Atlantic who I thought hated me until we started karaoking together at Arlenes?)- but sometimes these little changes crescendo into one big change. You can actually feel how your life is going to be different, like how you can tell on that one day in October when the air gets brisk and is free of the fetid humidity that plagued it all summer that it is time to put away the tank tops because you won’t be needing them until June. The air just somehow feels different.
 
Well, the air feels different now. And I think it is making me kind of crazy and anxious. Even though I feel settled for the first time in months (what with a kind of steady job and a new apartment), everything seems terribly impermanent and that impermanence is making me sad. I can’t help it.

The power of positive drinking...

You know what the worst drink ever is? Gin and cranberry juice. You know how I know this? Because I was served two of them at the open bar at Misshapes last night by a frazzled bartender. Yes, they were free and free drinks are, by definition, good, but vaguely lime-tasting battery acid can never be good- even if you didn't have to pay for it. I mean a punch in the face doesn't hurt any less if you didn't provoke the fight!

So I'm glad to say that I'm back to my drinking ways (those were a rough two weeks there!). Friday night I more than made up for my 14 days of sobriety (hey, that's like 1/2 way through a rehab program!) by getting wasted like a high school student. By that I mean, I got so drunk that I had the spins in the cab home and I had to spend part of the night willing myself not to puke. I'm proud to say, though, that unlike when I was in high school, I was able to will the vomit away. I wish I could say the same for the raging hangover I nursed all day yesterday.

I suppose it is an interesting coincedence that, as I sit here writing about my drunk weekend, I'm watching 28 days on Lifetime. You know, the Sandra Bullock rehab movie. I remember when I saw it in the theater (yeah, I said it!) with my old roommate and we both walked out the movie at 3 o'clock in the afternoon and headed straight into the bar next door where we proceeded to get wasted on tequila. Nothing like spending an hour and half in movie rehab to make you thirsty! I guess this is as good a time as any to admit that I have a terrible weakness for rehab movies and, despite my distaste for Sandra Bullock, this might just be my favorite one. I just really like imagining that I could take a month-long vacation at some wooded spa-like place where I would look stunning in yoga pants, long sweaters, and ponytails while chain-smoking and making googly-eyes at the cute heroin addict to my left in group therapy. It sounds very indulgent to me. I mean in my real life I'm not much of a fan of therapy, but in my rehab fantasties it feels very cleansing to get my head straight. I'd be fresh-faced from the clean country air and all of the group therapy-led crying and I'd be having some intense affair with a disturbed, yet sensitive guy who always wore long sleeves to hide his track marks. There is no need to leave comments telling me how assanign this image of rehab is- I know it is scary and hard and uncomfortable it is in reality- blah, blah, blah.... I'm not wishing that I got 18 months of manditory rehab like Courtney. But I wouldn't mind being sentanced to 28 days inside the Sandra Bullock movie. Not that I have a problem. Cuz I totally don't.

I hate myself for loving you....

It’s weird how one’s taste develops. And I’m not talking about the weird coincidence of how both me and my sister hate eggs or how I’m weird about eating chicken on the bone (c’mon, people it’s very carnal and I just don’t like any reminder that my chicken was once a chicken!). I mean how we like or hate something. I wonder what it is that makes certain things resonate with us while others leave us flat. It’s no wonder this is of interest to me- after all, my chosen profession is all about getting paid to tell people what I like and hate.
 
Sometimes why I like something is totally visceral. I could write a long-winded explanation of why I think “Fuckin A,” the new Thermals record, is genius (polically charged songs, blah blah, wordy punk poetry, blah blah, urgent driving guitar chords, blah blah, Hutch Harris is my boyfriend…) but really I just heard one song and my mind was made up. It rocked and made me tap my foot and when I paid attention to the lyrics I thought they were smart and I couldn’t stop humming along. My mind was made up: I like this band. I am going to be there new biggest fan.
 
Once my mind is made up about stuff like that, it is very hard to change. This seems to go double for things that I hate. Now it’s not like I woke up one morning and just DECIDED to hate the Eagles or Seinfeld. No, they were things (in this case a shitty, highly rated tv show and possibly one of the biggest selling bands of all time- sad but true!) that pervaded my life and despite my attempts to block them out and ignore them fucking “Hotel California” kept coming on the radio and stupid Jerry kept laughing at his own jokes 3 times a night in syndication. I think that is what made up my mind about HATING them. If I could have just ignored them, they would have been just a band whose records I didn’t buy and I show I didn’t watch- God knows there are tons of others like them- but because of their overwhelming visibility I had to take it upon myself to become and active hater of these things.
 
It’s sort of the same reason that I refuse to ever see “Dances With Wolves” or “Braveheart” or “Unforgiven.” When you win every freakin’ Oscar, I’ve got to decide to hate you. (Ditto anything starring Kevin Costner or Mel Gibson) Now many of my cinephile friends have told me that it’s insane to have never seen “Braveheart,” but to them I simply said “I told you so about Mel Gibson” when this “Passion of the Christ” nonsense came out.
 
I bring this up because today Shaya forwarded me Bruce Springsteen’s Op/Ed from the New York Times (about Kerry and the Republicans etc.) and I remembered while reading it how much I used to hate the Boss. I just made up my mind that he was not for me. I think this happened to many of my generation who had to grow up with “Born in the USA” every fucking election year and Mike Seaver’s adoration of Bruce (which was only surpassed by Kirk Cameron’s adoration of the Lord). I think the proliferation of Bruce was especially bad if you grew up anywhere near New Jersey- which I did. And even though I grew up in, what felt like to me, a dead-end suburb, his music never spoke to me. It was too white, American and earnest for me. There is just nothing exciting or even remotely rock and roll about the kind of music he’s made in the last 20 years…. Tunnel of Love, anyone? Streets of Philadelphia….yawn!
 
But a couple years ago, when I was going through my I-wanna-be-Elizabeth-Wurtzel phase, I decided to give Springsteen another try. After all Ms. Prozac Nation kept quoting these lyrics in her books that I thought sounded kinda genius- more prolaterian than the poetry of Bob Dylan but less cheese dick, heartland facility than, say, John Cougar Mellencamp’s lyrics. So I went out and bought a collection of live performances of Bruce and the E Street Band that span 1975-1985 and you know what?  I actually changed my mind about him. I put the hate away and gave myself over to lines like, “Well now I'm no hero that's understood. All the redemption I can offer, girl, is beneath this dirty hood.” Yeah sure, that’s what we expect from Bruce- tales of downtrodden girls who dream of getting away from the tilt-a-whirl and the greasy, Jersey men that love them- but instead of finding it trite, I now find it kind of thrilling, yet comforting. I think part of this is because I was able to discover Bruce on my own, separate from the “THE BOSS” that was shoved down my throat as a child listening to Philadelphia rock radio.
 
You know, my picky-eating little sister went to Hong Kong a couple summers ago and when she returned, she had a whole new repertoire of foods that she liked. She had always hated fish, now she loved it. She had never eaten her meat any other way but burnt through, now she likes it bloody. She had never touched a scallop or a mussel or a crab leg in her whole picky-eating life. Now she only wants to go to seafood restaurants. This was a huge change, for me, in the personality of my sister. Bruce Springsteen is the only thing I can ever remember changing my mind about like that. He’s like my scallop.
 
I hope the Eagles don’t get any ideas, though. I mean Leah still won’t eat eggs, just like always. I am committed to a lifetime of hating the Eagles. 

Just Like Heaven

Another Tuesday, another week without blogging!! Sorry guys. I guess part of my absence has been my lack of material. I mean, since I spent the week drying out I had no drunken evenings, no drama, no stories, nothing to report.

Not that I had a totally boring week. Jen and I braved Saturday's disgusting, sticky heat at the outdoor Curiosa Festival. (Check out iheartchip.blogspot.com for Jen's breakdown of the show!) I won't bore you by saying the exact same things she already said but it was great to see Interpol (dressed in black suits despite the 90 degree temperatures, natch!), the Cure (FINALLY!) and the Rapture (who I'd totally forgotten that I loved, since I was kind of disappointed by their album). I must say, heat-related grumpiness aside, I felt really old and like a huge Cure-fan poseur. First of all, by the time we left I was sore from 6 hours of standing/dancing in a dusty field like a freakin' grandmother! Second of all, while watching the Cure I realized that I haven't liked a Cure album since 1990's Mixed Up! I mean, I was in heaven when they played Pictures of You or Fascination Street but bored out of my mind during the terrible, goth-metal-y 12-minute shitty songs from the more recent albums. I felt so dumb standing in a field full of girls in miniskirts and heels and their frat boy dates who were singing along to every crap song when I couldn't even muster applause for some of those songs. I claim to love the Cure but I don't love their whole catalog. I felt like the kid at the White Stripes show who was biding her time waiting for "Seven Nation Army." But Jen assured me that we were the real fans because we loved the band back in the day (or as back in the day as 26 and 27 year olds can be for a 26 year old band!!)
I totally forgot about how annoying the new songs were when the last song of the second encore was a bitchin' version of Boys Don't Cry. I danced my best little Molly Ringwald/Breakfast Club Eighties shimmy, not caring how dumb and old I must've looked.

The other big news of my weekend is the arrival of Kenneth Joseph Pruitt- college roommate, amazing writer and just all-around good guy- in Brooklyn after NINE years of living in St. Louis. It was so good to see him and his wife (its so weird to use that word! I can't believe that someone who's head I held while they vomited from drinking for the first time could possibly be married. But he is. And to a really nice girl!). I love when people float back into your day-to-day life. I'm thowing them a welcome-to-New-York party next Friday (the 13!) I expect to see you all there. And now that my week of sobriety is over I intend to get back to my schedule of heavy drinking in preparation for the party night.

Since no Retown blog entry would be complete without a list, I'll leave you with the five things that made me really happy today:

1) Franz Ferdinand sold out their September Roseland show in just one weekend. The only thing better than that (cuz I'm totally pulling for their world domination!) is the fact that I had the forsight (and credit card balance) to buy tickets! And not just for me and the roomie but for Jen and Marisa too, since it will represent the begining of Say-Goodbye-To-Jen Week or Two. (Grrrrr....one more reason I have to hate L.A.- it is stealing Jen from us!!)
2) I managed to convince my editor (who must think I'm derranged, the way I went on and on about my Killers obsession!) to let me preview the Killers' August 16th concert. I'm so excited I can barely start writing. Be sure to look for it in next week's issue!
3) MY BRAND NEW, REPLACEMENT IPOD ARRIVED!! Gotta love Apple. Yes, my first iPod died after only six months of ownership but, even though I just sent it back to Apple last Monday, I got a brand new one in the mail Friday morning. God, I love it! I've been listening to the Thermals and Prince and the Killers and the Kleenex/Lilliput reissue non-stop ever since.
4) At the risk of this being an All-Killers list..... I love that Rolling Stone's Hot List (which arrived today in my mailbox) listed them as the "Hot Band"!! I know it's lame and middle school of me, but I feel like I discovered them. I mean, I dragged Beth and Shaya to see them at Don Hills for CMJ the night they got signed and now they are selling out Bowery Ballroom in a day and I can't even get a ticket! Oh Brandon, call me when you are ready to get married! Plus, I've gotta give the proverbial props to Rolling Stone for a bitchin' issue. The Hot List covered all of my current favorite obsessions: Sparks, the Killers, David Cross, Lindsay Lohan's obscene fake tan, Ali G., Gael Garcia Bernal, media gadfly Mo Rocca!!
5) Have I mentioned the genius of Soap Net? There is nothing better than the 1 a.m. showing of All My Children. I can catch up with Greenlee, Ryan and Erica before bed. I know, it's shameful to admit, but I know what's been going on on this stupid show since I was 2 1/2; I watched with my mom when I came home from half-day pre-school! And now I can keep up with all of baby-switching drama and amnesiac old flames without being unemployed and home all day! I knew digital cable was good for more than just HBO On Demand. (Though I'm not knocking that either- I've already watched this week's Six Feet Under twice! Um, did anyone else realize that Rico's fake-titted slut is Idalis the former MTV VJ?? PS, girlfriend is almost 40!)