Vampire Weekend, Cap Hill Block Party, 7/25/08

(so innocent, you could take em home to mama)

Now, from what I remember, their sound was fantastic; sounding as good as the recording. But I wasn’t fully sure, due to the fact I was 3 sheets to the thar wind by the time they took to the stage. So thankfully some less inebriated soul caught it on his camera:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Asic_V9eYos
(I know this is not Scorsese shit, but at least you can tell that they sounded good, thus proving my judgment was not skewed by booze and surrounding distractions)

So the first time these wee young pups from Columbia University came through Seattle, I had just learned about them, and subsequently was too slow on the draw to nab a ticket to their sold out show. Blasted!!! But thank you oh so much, to my peeps for rubbing it my face on how much they rocked it. Uh huh and here’s some rusty spikes in Green lake for you to fall on as I trip your ass, ninja style (cause you won’t see me coming-get it?!).

I’ve heard their style likened to Simon and Garfunkel, but I have a hard time fully accepting that comparison. I’m going to date myself a bit and say it reminds me of a few bands from way back when, Madness and The Specials; not that comparing them to Le Simon and Le Garfunhizzle makes that person any less old than I. Now, I realize I just named off two English Ska bands, and no, I’m not saying that Vamp is a spot on ringer for Ska. But, in the grand scheme of things, this is what they remind me of with their poppy beats and rhythms. I mean, the shit just makes you wanna move, much like the way Ska made you want to skank (the dance, not you’re cheap half bastard sister with a peg leg).

Another style, which apparently “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa", and "Oxford Comma", derive from, is Congolese Soukous music:
“Soukous (also known as Lingala or Congo, and previously as African rumba) is a musical genre that originated in the two neighboring countries of Belgian Congo and French Congo during the 1930s and early 1940s, and which has gained popularity throughout Africa. "Soukous" (said to be a derivative of the French word secouer, to shake)was originally the name of a dance popular in the Congas in the late 1960s, and danced to an African version of rumba.”
(I seriously don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t copy and paste from Wikipedia)
I can see the shake description, as those two songs definitely make me want to shimmy. In fact, I was dancing up a storm during their set; I think I burned off a good 1000 calories of booze. zexy

Now the block party as a whole…repeat after me:
I MUST eat food before I drink
I MUST eat food before I drink
I MUST eat food before I drink…

Ok, so you don’t have to repeat after ME, but I think I should at least get this shit tattooed on my forearm as a mantra; cause eating a wheat then with a lemon zest thinking I’m on some super model diet, is no way to survive on my drinking habits. Due to the fact that I ingested a decent amount of alcohol this year on said empty stomach, helped me to maintain my annoyance amongst the masses; and yes, I managed to have a good time without the urge of putting the smack down. (If I remember correctly, last year, I advanced on a trouble maker with heel in hand; until the ex stopped me). I learned that avoiding the beer garden with their $4 Miller High Life drafts (you can get a 6can tall boy pack for that cost), and hitting up the happy hours at the bars instead; will not only save you some serious coin, but keep you from wetting yourself like a 4year old scared by clowns because you don’t want to use a porto shitter. Let’s face facts, no one wants to use, let alone plant their dainty derriere on one of those things. So unfair boys got a point and shoot device, giving them the freedom on peeing on a tree without uncomfortable squatting and praying you don’t piss on your shoes or loose your balance and fall in your fresh puddle-wait, sugar ramble.

(always a pillar of the community and a fine example of lady-hood)

This year’s line up didn’t grab me as much as last year; or I should say I didn’t try to rush around to see everyone like last year. Neumo’s is a cluster on a normal basis, add in the block party and it’s just fucking hell. So I was pretty much stationed at the Cha Cha, the beer garden and the Comet; with full attempts to watch the oh so smart idea of Girl Talk and the madness on the stage, and Les Savy Fav with the ever dynamo front man Tim Harrington-can I possibly say LSD while preggers with this one?

(Girl Talk, all one of him in white head band)

(guy in wife beater "dude are you playing W.O.W?! I'm totally a level 7 Warlock)

(the drunk masses on stage with Girl Talk)

(Tim Harrington asks "would you like to dig for my belly button lint...with your tongue?)

At any rate, I got away without an indecent exposure citation, my dogs were not barking, I harassed a couple of tall boys, didn’t molest anyone (I think), no fights (I’m actually quite docile, like a lemur), spilled some beers (sorry D), laughed at some smelly hipsters, enjoyed some excellent people watching and caught my reason for coming and the main act in it’s entirety without: passing out, puking, or falling down. I think I did pretty okie dokie

now I just need to make some funnel with a tube that meets up to the vag for a make shift penis, so girls can stand up too!

VIVE LA REVOLUTION!

Some wasted fluff...enjoy!

I'm going stir crazy and while I'm working on posts for this blog I happen to look down at my for-days-shapely gams and notice my horrific tan lines from last weekend's camping trip...

(hmmm, not sure how my honky white ass pulled that one off.)

So as I sit, bored and waiting for the whistle to blow; slightly hyper from the piece of chocolate I consumed...I'm going to rock out to my favorite band to drive to whilst in a hurry or aggro, Static X; and think about the good times I had at their shows...drinking, yelling, watching Wayne's hair defy gravity, thinking about the 'what's his name' guitarist that got caught with a 13 year old girl (oopsy), the excellent people watching and wondering why Mr. Static is looking so bulimic...really sweetie; porn girlfriend not feeding you well? You're still ripped and lovely and I'd still gladly sponge you clean after a rousting game of rugby, but doll...will ya just let me cradle you and feed you some Big Mac's and fries-super sized? Mamma's just a little worried, mmmm-kay?

I thought I did an entry on them awhile ago; alas, I probably trashed it. So I'll say something half assed about them now: YAY. FUN. No seriously, rockin. I've always had good times and they're always entertaining; playing a strong mix of new, along with their oldies that got them in the lime light in the first place. They typically sounds pretty decent to boot, but that mostly depends on the venue. The best venue thus far has been House of Blues in Anaheim. The worst, Showbox Sodo in Seattle.

So seeing how I try to see them whenever they're within a 30mile radius, I might try again to elaborate a bit more on the magical fairytale ride of good Glenda vs evil Monkey, that is their show.

Das Llamas @ The Comet 6/25

While roaming the crowded “Pride” filled streets of Cap Hill on Friday the 25th, I heard a familiar bass line drifting out from the Comet.

“What is this song-I KNOW this song-What the FUCK is it?!”

Thank goodness the streets were closed off for the upcoming parade or I would surely have been creamed by a car like a Hollywood starlet hopped up on coke. I was standing outside the Comet trying hard to figure out the song, as the lyrics were barely audible through the noise. I probably would’ve figured it out sooner had I not ingested so many vodka bevies…but alas…

EUREKA!!!
“I am a patient boy...I wait, I wait, I wait, I wait My time is water down a drain”

HOLY FUCK, IS FUGAZI PLAYING IN SEATTLE AT THE COMET?! FUGAZI BITCHES!! I beg my drinking companions to let me play on the Hill a little longer, they only indulge my request because A.) there’s a hot dog cart right outside and B.) one of them was 86’d seven years ago and she was curious if she could get in.

I start peering through the door, but the crowd keeps me from viewing the band. So I flash my best “I’ll eat you alive” smile and puff up the love muffins towards the door man and gain admittance. Come on, with these Bea Arthur good looks, who could say no? Although, it probably helped that it was 12:30am.

Once inside, I discovered to my dismay that is was not Fugazi, but Das Llamas (not that they're bad, but I had a burning in my loins for the Fug). So I stayed to check out the band and enjoy the remainder of their set. The band was shoved into a corner on the upper level of the bar, so space was cramped for them to get too crazy. Nevertheless, they put on a pretty energetic show, jumping around, shaking their moppy hair mingled with sweat and got the remainding crowd moving. In all, I'll probably make a point to see them again, since the few songs I stayed for actually peaked my interest for a little more exposure. I might even make an effort to write a better, non booze infused entry of fluff about them.

The Comet is like the independent coffee houses/bars and old punk venues of my spent youth. The types of places where the sound is awful, you’re exchanging unwanted fluids of fellow patrons cause it’s so crowded and you could literally smell the band's Jack Daniels ingested breath cause they’re that fucking close to you. On the plus side, it gives you great people watching of the crusties, dusties and smelly hipsters. "Here pretty pretty hipster...let momma feed you a big mac to fill out your 13 year old sister's jeans".