15 posts tagged “noisepop”
So Austin and Denver both got music festivals the same weekend as San Francisco's Treasure Island Music Festival, but I ask this: did those fools have a Ferris wheel, a photobooth, or zero-emission luxury buses in addition to fantastic music? I don't think so...
I had my doubts about this festival initially, as concert go-ers had to be shuttled to the island from San Francisco, from a parking lot behind the Giants' stadium to alleviate parking congestion - worries about being stranded on an island or being left behind was a major concern. In addition to a "green theme," where environmental awareness was being pushed by using bio-friendly materials for food and drink consumption, it seemed there was a lot going on for such a short weekend. But I casted my doubts aside to embrace the unknown after I stepped off my earth-friendly shuttle and picked up my photo pass in the press tent on day one.
Upon entrance into the festival grounds I was bombarded with such a cluster of color it was hard to concentrate. With two platforms perpendicular to each other across a field, aptly named the Bridge and Tunnel stages, I set off to explore while West Indian Girl took on the Tunnel stage. The good people at Another Planet and Noise Pop partnered up for this two-day celebration, and I wrote about the latter's hosting skills back in February: these are people who don't fuck around when it comes to partying. The aforementioned Ferris wheel was in effect; people in strange, grotesque monster costumes were pacing up the walkways finding targets to hug and/or hump; a variety of individuals in Victorian garb on stilts were sweeping through the crowd to find dance partners; and a vintage arcade sat near the entrance of the festival for those seeking to kill time in between sets. Wait, there was music too? Damn dude...
I found a friend of mine by chance, who dragged me to the Ferris wheel with her boyfriend and daughter as DJ Shadow and Cut Chemist were on the decks on the main Bridge stage.
Caving in to my childhood indulgences, we were whisked around on the ride at a considerably fast pace and were also subjected to quite possibly the best seat in the house.
The DJ duo were spinning old gems from each respective's catalogue as well as current radio singles from friends' bands alike: I heard Justin Timberlake's "Damn Girl" re-interpreted with horns and trumpets followed by a house-version of Bloc Party's "The Prayer," with the Foo Fighters' "Everlong" coming after - all set to an Alicia Keys video being projected behind them. Another friend of mine tipped me off to to the DJs' use of strictly 45's as a part of their hour-long set, which only enhanced the crowd's energy.
After we touched down and grabbed some beer, it was back to the Tunnel stage with Chicago DJs Flosstradamus. Never before have I seen a crowd so pumped by music emanating from the speakers - it looked like someone had decided to throw the kegger of the semester at their parents' house senior year, and everyone showed up to dance on the tops of the counters and tables. It was like my dream mix CD: Kanye West's "Stronger," Daft Punk's "One More Time," Benny Benassi's "Satisfaction" cover, Eric Prydz's "Call On Me." Just when I thought I was going to stop dancing, they started in again with Jay-Z's "Big Pimpin" and went on to throw on a Klaxons track, "Smack My Bitch Up" by the Prodigy, and then spun some Kelis and her "Milkshake" for good measure. Each song was greeted by thunderous yelling and clapping, the Flosstradamus DJs yelling "Hey, it's our last song! Act like a fucking fool!" at the end of their set.
After a quick stop at the Imeem photobooth (always a favorite), it was time for Gotan Project and to take advantage of the VIP area. I have a theory about outdoor festivals that was born from my first Coachella a few years ago: whatever band plays the sunset of the festival usually ends up being the one you fall in love with. That Coachella, it was Air; at Curiosa the following year, it was Interpol. My theory held up in the case of Gotan Project, as the only analogy that I feel is appropriate for this band is if Gabriel Garcia Marquez's poetic, passionate, and deeply sensual language was woven into music. Having never heard of Gotan, a Parisian-by-the-way-of-Argentina band, I literally had my mouth open for the majority of their set - I have not been impressed by a band so much like them in a very long time.
It was tango music meets electroclash, accordion meeting break beats, some tunes with a soul singer who crooned in Spanish, others by a rapper who looked about 19. The sheer amount of sex appeal and tight-knit talent exuded by the members of Gotan was off the charts. Opening song "Diferente," colored with a vibrant string arrangement, and traditional-inspired "El Norte" complete with a mariachi-esque vibe put them easily as best in show in my book. They by far won my heart and I furiously dug up any audio on them I could when I arrived home.
I decided to venture out back to the Tunnel stage to catch Kinky after picking up a dear friend at the gate, ultimately getting distracted by the video game tent and us playing three quarters each on "Area Site 4," one of the best shooter games ever instead. We also passed by Dave Eggers' brainchild McSweeney's/826 Valencia tent and saluted in spirit of being at a festival on an island in which gold lies in the foundation dirt.
I scurried to the photo pit to make my cutoff to take Thievery Corporation's pictures; with a sitar as a main instrument paired with synthesizer, I knew some awesomeness was going to occur. Sure enough, the tour belly dancer came out every other song, and the crowd stayed through most if not all of the Washington, D.C.-based outfit's set. There is something about seeing live music with a lit San Francisco skyline in the background, with ships sailing by and the soft bristle of the bay air on your skin. I know I had fought the festival originally being somewhere else that was not in the city limits of San Francisco, but watching Thievery with a backdrop of such luminescence was ridiculously beautiful. I knew the next day was only going to be sweeter.
Two things: (1) I hate this time of year when I am know I am probably not to Coachella and all the bands who are swinging up into Nor Cal decide to all play the same time, and (2) I hate it when the City apparently doesn't check in with one another and there is a fuckton going on all in one night. Examples et al (and more here):
- March 23: Apples In Stereo, Casiotone for the Painfully Alone, Badly Drawn Boy, Booka Shade/New Young Pony Club, Helio Sequence/Dirty on Purpose, Sondre Lerche/Willy Mason, Sasha/John Digweed
- April 13: Appleseed Cast, Minipop/Maldroid/Love Like Fire, Gabriel & Dresden
- April 25: Junior Boys, Blood Brothers, Adult., The Decemberists, Rufus Wainwright
- April 29: Coachella day 3, Sean Lennon, The Good The Bad And The Queen, !!!
- May 1: Explosions in the Sky, Cocorosie, Morrissey
- June 19: Low, Gwen Stefani, Roger Waters
I mean, SHIT DUDES, I work. I also happen to go to school full-time. I also happen to be involved civically, extracurricularly, and socially in other things related to school and my personal life. Do you think I have the time to follow Brian Molko around Haight Street while he shops at Villians for the perfect vinyl pants? Or wonder if I will run into Damon Albarn at Blur because, quite frankly, it would be fucking hilarious?
I don't even want to get into the mess that is March 23, which is so this Friday. I promised a while ago I'd go see Booka Shade with my friend Charlie, but never got around to buying tickets...then one of my good friends is having a birthday party in Redwood City I also sort of promised I'd go to because I love her that much to travel into the South Bay for a freaking house party (I'm so allowed to talk shit because I grew up in the 'Jo). Additionally, Friday night is the Noise Pop volunteer appreciation gala and I want to see Ursula. Alas, I have decided to not even begin to choose and will rep SF in the RWC. Tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.
But really, music venues of SF: consult your local hipster so this calendaring, overlapping madness doesn't happen again. Not cool.
Hello, I am alive. I'm just now recovering from Noisepop, believe it or not. I got way exhausted at the end of the festival and ended up feeling woozy every day for almost a week after. Grand total of hours worked at my real job: 32. Hours worked at Noisepop: about 30. Hours in school: approximately 24. DO THE MATH.
Would I trade it for anything? Hell to the no. But last week was my kick-back time, so now I am back in full effect.
I went to Youth Group on Monday, wherein I was treated to indie tunes from them and the Submarines, who I am slowly falling in love with. I also debated with Vroo, Jenn, and her boyfriend Eric about his dog being an asshole and Bloc Party being renamed "Fuck Party" (as in, hello band members, you are all hot). Speaking of which, I need to get hopping on that review stat. Friday I'm at Presets and Saturday I'm at said Party...Thursday's Epitaph showcase hell that I was going to subject myself to because I love my brother might not happen because he doesn't know if he can make it up in time after work. I am secretly stoked.
Currently I am pulling an all-nighter with Kim (who's taking a cat nap) and Heather so I can study for Spanish Art history rightfully. Hez put on a mix CD that just ranged from hellogoodbye to the Killers to a random rap group, as well as let me borrow her Mary J. Blige retrospective album. A-mazing. Hez also found a site called musicovery.com through stumbleupon.com that I think might be my new best friend...I will explore and report after this exam passes (midterms are for me this week).
Some good bits of news that I am loving: Placebo in April, Low in June, and Daft Punk WITH The Rapture in July. In addition to Ratatat, Blonde Redhead/Annuals, The Shins, Ben Gibbard, and Muse, I am fucking exhausted just looking at the concert list I have. Hooray for good music.
I'm trying to score Eric Clapton tickets for me and my dad on Sunday...if anyone has leads, let me know.
I think I will end this post with the greatest MySpace friend request I've gotten in a while: Wanya from Boyz II Men. I have a sneaking suspicion he/the fangirl who runs the page read all the way back in my blogs from October to know I went to see them the three remaining singers perform. That amuses me to no end.
Actually, I will end this post with a public plea/open letter.
Dear Amy Winehouse,
STOP DOING COKE. I am sorry you and your boy broke up, but really, if you cancel the April popscene show I will be a very sad Jenz.
Love, me
I need some coffee. Before I get my chai on, here is what my week has been like:
having one of the best weeks ever. Shoes getting destroyed a minor setback.
Speaking of which and sort of related, never ended up meeting with Dude 1 for discussions. Tres sad.
Day: Midlake, Minipop, Ester Drag, Minmae @ Bottom of the Hill.
Night: Cake @ Bimbo's.
--
How awesome Sunday was in terms of closing out the Noisepop festival, on a scale between 1 and 10, would probably measure a 87.
No doubt that I was cranky, tired, overspent, and hungover by the time Sunday rolled around. This was day 6;. I'd been going to school in the day time, get my learn on the impressions Christianity imposed on Spanish Art, then bounce to a Noisepop show for almost a straight week now. More often than not, I'd also work the overnights at my job because, you know, I'm Superwoman and apparently don't need sleep. But for what I lacked in slumber I made up in ROCK.
My friend Jeremy and I had stayed up trading music until 6 after coming home from Sparky's, so my supreme horror was waking up at 11 to be at Bottom of the Hill for the afternoon Midlake show by 12. At 11:10 I finally peeled myself out of bed, threw on clothes I think were clean, and hopped my two buses to Potrero Hill. Randomly the sun decided to be kind and walking the two blocks to Bottom after exiting my bus felt like death. I immediately stripped down to my tank and took note of the weather.
I met my show manager Lexi at the door, this small wood nymph-like creature with beautiful eyes and a cute laugh, and I knew I was going to have a blast. We checked in at the door with Bottom staff and then dispatched to count in merch. Merch guy Phil rolled in around 12:30 having been hanging at Mezzanine with Ghostland Observatory until the time I went to bed. Really, who do we all think we are??
I got the schpeel from Midlake's keys dude Eric on their merch; here is what I was faced with:
Nine T-shirts, two CDs, five patches, three stickers, and box of pins; my work was cut out for me, but SHEESH, that is a lot of money rolling around. You can't even see the Midlake tote bags on display in that picture either. There was a separate suitcase for each size of shirt. That means business.
I dug around in my purse for batteries, and to my sheer horror I realized I'd left my bundle of extras right were I'd left them after pulling them out: on my desk. Frantically I tried popping in my Cd player batteries, but no dice. I guess I should stop taking weird pictures like this for future reference:
During the set change between bands I took it upon myself to organize all of Midlake's crap as well as make signs of what T-shirts I had in stock - I am such a genius. Lexi was even impressed with my Container Store-style organization methods.
What happened at Annuals was the same thing that happened at Midlake; I was in the middle of reading during the downtime when I was shaken from my pattern for my attention to be called to Midlake. (Is it just me, or are headlining bands just louder?) Automatically even from the back I could see that these guys have "it," whatever "it" may be. While I leaned toward the more key-based songs, because I am a sucker for piano, I still digged the indie-folk feel of songs off The Trials of Vanoccupanther, most notably the appearance of soft electronic blips interwoven with a more pop feel. To know these guys started off with a jazz beginning makes it even better. As I watching "Young Bride" be performed I couldn't help but grin: this had been a solid show from start to finish, and I couldn't even believe it was going to end soon.
Outside midway through Midlake's set I joined Lexi for a cigarette and had a blast recounting the perils of merch selling, Albert Hammond Jr, and Australian rap. I also learned Ted Leo had done not only an acoustic show the day before at the Expo (when, you know, I was sleeping), he had also done an informational panel at the same time as Minipop. Dreams SHATTERED, dude. My Friday show manager Rachel also popped out to join us and it was at that exact moment that I felt like I was in a family of sorts - a drunk, dysfunctional, and sort of ditzy family at times, but one that plans such things like Noisepop solely because it's fun. It's so blatantly obvious that everyone I talked to associated with the festival was with them because it clicked as being a true love. Thus, I was starting to get sad that I was going to have to wait another year for this extravaganza to occur.
After watching the last part of Midlake, I went back to man my post and sold more T-shirts than I ever have in my entire life. How someone does this with a band on tour every night, I have mad props for them. After Eric came by and expressed his gratitude of my color-coded and size-oriented organizational skillz, we started to clean up when I noticed a one John Vanderslice by my side. Unable to contain my excitement, I approached him with the ever-retarded question of "Can I PLEASE have a hug, because you rule" and we embraced for a few seconds while I gushed about his phenomenal show on Wednesday. By default I am very picky when it comes to music I absolutely love (Whitney Houston included), and I related to him how much I enjoyed his show and that I was kicking myself in the butt for not ever taking Rosie's advice and listening to him sooner. That same familiar nostalgia feeling came into play, and it seemed like we knew each other from forever ago as we chatted about his German tour and the Mountain Goats, who he was going to guest play with later this week. His simple authenticity in talking to one lowly volunteer was completely astounding. The guy never ceases to amaze me.
I was waiting around the merch table waiting to see if we needed to do anything else when I was approached by a dude with a drink in his hand; not necessarily anything out of the ordinary per se rather than he opened our conversation with "Are you Jenn? I read your blog."
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
He wasn't the first one to approach me in said manner during this whole Noisepop craziness. A few people sprinkled here and there have come up to me to say they read my stuff, to which I am amazed anyone would really sit through my banter when they know I'm probably going to end my thoughts with a Justin Timberlake note. Floored, I was even MORE intimidated as he introduced himself as Dan the talent buyer for the festival and that apparently he did his job right because I was enjoying all the shows. How ridiculous this is for me, I'm not sure I can even begin to explain. We ended up talking about Minipop and some of the other bands he manages as well as general Noisepop topic scopes and to be honest, I was completely honored to even be recognized by anyone for anything during this whole week, let alone this guy. I suppose that is the wonder that is this festival: bringing people together for a common love of music.
ILU NP!
Shortly after I came down from being girly giddy, I hopped a bus and decided to skip any of Cake's opening bands for this party instead: FLAUTA NIGHT.
I barreled down two and some delicious flautas before I hopped in a cab to Bimbo's for Cake; unfortunately for me they started fairly late and I had to bone out early to make it to work on time, and the whole time I walked down Columbus to catch a bus I cursed out of disappointment. What is it about Cake that I like so much and that translates so well for them from recorded to live? Is it the weird instruments that sound like sand and rice in a tube or the big trumpets? Is it the cowboy lasso? Or songs about girls in short skirts?
I'll never know, but what I do is that I am NEVER working the overnights again during this time AGAIN. I might need a week to recover...
Saturday night: Clinic, Earlimart, Sea Wolf, The Mumlers @ Independent.
I scheduled sleep for Saturday - didn't schedule work, decided to not to the Noisepop Expo, and definitely did NOT answer my phone (that turned out to be bad, as you will see). After crawling into my apartment around 2:30 the night before from Annuals, I was due some sweet Z's.
Cue to waking up periodically through the day, it's now 7:20PM, and my eyes dart open and a sense of rushed panic jolts me upward. I'm supposed to be at Independent by 8; it takes a least a half an hour to get there by bus from my house, 10 minutes by cab, and I haven't showered since Thursday (ew. Just, ew). I decide to take a fall in my pride versus a smell in my armpits for being late, so I hop in the shower and do my business.
Clinic was the second band I really wanted to see (the first being Jolie Holland), so I was pretty stoked to be seeing the Liverpool blokes in all their surgical gear glory. After sliding into a dress and ballet flats, I ran out to Geary to catch a cab down to Divisadero and Hayes. On my way to I checked the six (!) voicemails left for me, one of which was from a good friend of mine. I knew her birthday dinner was that night but I decided to sleep it through it out of pure exhaustion from my ridiculous schedule. One of the things I hate most besides shitty music, though, is letting my friends down.
When I finally arrived, I knocked on the side glass door, presented myself as a volunteer, and ran to my post as merch kid. Instantly I noticed that the set-up was way different and the only way you could get in the semi-imposed booth was to pull yourself up from the side, or walk along a narrow edge near the wall over the table. Me, being the brainaic in the dress, weighed my options and decided to go with the walking on the narrow edge option. As I started to balance myself though, I lost my footing and almost ate it onto the floor. Way to be a smooth operator in front of EVERYONE and in a dress, I know. Embarassed, I stepped down from the top of the table and let my more able-bodied companions hoist themselves up the side of the booth.
There was nothing to really do by the time I arrived, my show manager and merch person having taken care of everything. Still feeling sheepish about the whole ordeal and for being late, I walked around the venue laying out program guides and buttons, and also taking that sweet picture from the begining of the entry; mask courtesy of Clinic's street team.
As the Mumlers came, I decided to text Angela to apologize for my being lame and not showing up to her dinner. She responded that she was upset but she understood why I was so tired; she was just disappointed I didn't get to meet her family. That immediately made me feel like the world's biggest asshole and I was near tears. Once they finished (sounding like a stripped down Ozomatli, and had this guy who looked like Lyrics Born happily banging away on a gong), I went outside for a stress cigarette and called another friend of mine to see if we would be able to hook up at Leisure later on. I verbal-vomitted on him with some other stuff that had popped up, and felt better about going back in to (wo)man my post as Sea Wolf was going to come on.
"Wait, who are you?" the security guys asked. My heart sank as I realized I'd dashed in too late to grab a yellow wristband, and now these dudes had no effing clue who I was. Politely I tried to explain that I had just come out of the venue and had gotten in late, hence me missing the whole wristband/stamp parade for volunteers; I of course was then holding up the line for people who had tickets and stood off to the side, believing in that split second of doubt that had been cast on me I wasn't going to make it back in. It took the workings of the house manager Tim to be paged and then appear at the front door to give me clearance; strike two about feeling like an ASSHOLE. He was really nice about it, and I thought everything had been settled, when my show manager barreled towards me inside while I was at the merch booth to ask my name and then state that they wanted to make sure I was working if I had gotten in. Dear lord, everyone was hunting me down now.
It was now my time to face the merch booth. In the end, after much delibration, I decided it would be a good idea to climb under the table for fear of risking flashing or falling. Whether or not this was a good idea I'll never know.
I do know that Sea Wolf's Adam (on the right) was highly amused; here he is with band artist James Sterling (on the left) being amazing. I also ran into my friend Dominique, who was there to witness the amazingness of Clinic. Her excitement can hardly be contained.
With no annoucement or real introduction, four figures climbed onto the stage adorned in brown, scrub-like garments, aforementioned masks, and top hats. Clinic as a band are just a dynamic photo opportunity waiting to happen, for starters.
Most of their set consisted of new material off of new release Visitations, a troubled record in terms of trying to classify and compare to previous Clinic albums. We get more guitar, less organ, more drums, less feedback. Let me tell you though, when I saw this come out I nearly cried out of joy:
Friday night: Annuals, Simon Dawes, Pilot Speed, Ray Barbie & The Mattson 2 @ Cafe du Nord.
To give you an idea about how much I am so not joking about the whole working-and-going-to-school bit during the madness of Noisepop, here is a perfect example: after the sadness of the Ted Leo escapade at popscene (aka, I missed his ass DJ), the girls and I hit Sparky's, the proclaimed "the indie Denny's" of San Francisco, thusly named by a one DJ JPEG. I was then promptly dropped off at work to cover a 4AM to 8AM shift, then buzzed on over to school. Tired much? Quite possibly. I ended up crashing at Suz's on-campus apartment instead of going to class.
When you feel like death, sleep it off! And then DO IT AGAIN.
I decided to veto the Diesel happy hour Friday night (also having learned my lesson from Thursday), and instead did a responsible thing and filled out my FAFSA. All the cool kids are doing it and simply enough, I need cash for school next semester, so I cleared out my financials with my dad before heading over to du Nord for some Annuals action. It ended up being a good thing I checked my email before I left campus as one of the PR peeps from the Annuals camp said that they had been reading this here bloggy poo and then emailed me asking if I wanted an interview? To which I said, "Hell to the yes?" We set up rendevous at 9PM.
In an apparent bitchslap from the Noisepop gods, I ended up being a ragtag lonesome volunteer for the night once I arrived at du Nord. I had to smirk just a little in counting all those fucking shirts by myself and filling in the merch sheet's tiny ass boxes. I met my show manager Rachel, who seemed awesome from the get-go and wanted to know what other stuff I was working. I'd met Phil the merch contact kid earlier in the week, and it seemed things would go pretty smoothly for the night. I ordered a sweet mushroom chicken sandwich from the bar and was ready to roll.
Ray Barbie & the Mattson 2 took stage before I knew it, a jazz/rock/blues/AWESOME outfit who filled du Nord with a soft buzz of brass and deep bass; largely instrumental music has a special place in my heart, and while I didn't see a lot of their set due to my tabling responsibilities initially, the cohesive play style from what I could hear was tight.
I also was in charge of Annuals merch as well, and once we settled cash for both camps I called their tour dude Addison to do the interview, which can be found here. Despite me feeling like a old hag for being the same age as them and still in school, those kids are effing cool and I feel their success is going to balloon this year. I mean, whatstheirpretentiousbuckets over at Pitchfork are already kissing tail.
One of the best things about this particular Noisepop night is that I was vaguely familiar with any of the bands that were on the bill. With Pilot Speed's delivery of a winning key-and-string combo, I was only more curious to see what Annuals would bring to the table. During the set change I flew back to the table and Rachel and I gossiped about PDA offenders and making out at Lenny Kravitz concerts with old boyfriends, as well as her website rightround.com. The merch selling was pretty chill and the fan waves we got were fairly manageable as well.
I was talking to Phil about something weird when I was shaken to feel a grip that du Nord seemed to have taken. Startled, I realized that Annuals were on stage and they had seized the literal air around them, commanding respect and authority in the room. With Rachel's blessing I skipped back in to catch a few of their songs, and these sweet MySpace kids from North Carolina were gripping the attention so fiercely in that room I was floored. They know they're good, but they also want to prove it to their audience, which means nothing short of ransacking the stage in intense shows(wo)manship as well as providing an amorous relationship with their audience.
As show attendees lifted their weary legs up the stairs onto Market Street, we counted in what was sold for the night and I suddenly didn't want to leave. I had bonded with my show team and we ended up hanging out and drinking after the bands finished. I did my show check-in's before popping open my Red Stripe (lesson learned: don't like it so much, but is drinkable): Jolie Holland played the JAM at the Fillmore, according to the Stuart, and the Dandy Warhols were slightly boring according to Kristin; I was trying to get out of the Annuals show in enough time to catch the end of the Dandys set, but upon hearing the report was glad for having stayed. Sam, my show manager from Wednesday's John Vanderslice gig, came by after checking out Ted Leo (who also ruled), and we sat around by the merch area recounting some of the shows we'd seen during the week. I also got to smoke a cigarette indoors, which I never do but had to for the sheer novelty.
Painfully aware of an impending 2AM hour arrival, however, I said my goodbyes to the boys and Rachel and I walked out onto the streets of San Francisco, wherein I actually turned down an invited cocktail at her neighborhood watering hole in favor of my bed. All collective parts of my brain were going "WHAT THE HELL," but in the end, my tired toes won and I bused home to the love of my comforter, who I hadn't seen allllllllllllllllll week. I drifted off into slumber with "Complete, or Completing" off Annual's Be He Me CD as my backdrop; I don't think I could have ended the night any better.
A year later, and I still play this record with the same vigor like it's my first spin.
--
Turn everything off,
Just cover your neck
Cause life is full of your regrets,
And I should be one
Try telling me off
Try slamming the door
and telling me I'm not worth your time
Or the breath I'm breathing
--
"Vampires in Blue Dresses," Margot and the Nuclear So And So's
Also, holy crap, Chris Martin turned 30 today. I have been listening to Coldplay way too many years now...
I would like to have a disclaimer and apology at the beginning of this article - solely because I know the following account will probably get me in trouble and more than likely also get my ass kicked. Thus, in advance...apologies.
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Last night: Matt & Kim, Erase Errata @ Bottom of the Hill.
Tonight: Diesel Happy Hour with guest DJs Dandy Warhols; Annuals, Simon Dawes, Pilot Speed, and Ray Barbie and the Mattson 2 @ Cafe du Nord; Dandy Warhols @ Mezzanine (I'm show-jumping)
--
My Thursday kick-started with my art opening reception on campus and drinking at noon while eating Cheez Whiz.
I'm still in college with a double-major (meaning I will never leave) in journalism and photography, and I was lucky enough to score my first solo show in our Fine Arts Building this semester.
I work in the Fine Arts gallery as well as the undergraduate gallery on campus, so I had no qualms about bringing champagne as well as some snazzy garden crackers and Cheez Whiz. I had called my best friend Melissa while at Albertson's during this purchase, so she is also to blame for this choice.
My parents came up from San Jose to congratulate me and check out my art, and I was talking to my mom about the Diesel happy hour Wednesday night and how Melissa and I were going to be checking it out that night as well. "What's happy hour?" she asked in all honesty, and I tried my best to describe pretty much the best idea in the history of booze selling without sounding too much like an alcoholic - I was already smelling like one.
After a sushi lunch and a coffee break with my wonderful parentals, I hopped on a 38 back downtown to meet Melissa for the Diesel happenings. We met my friend Kristin in the lobby and proceeded to skip downstairs into the lair of hipsterdom. Frontman Brian from Scissors for Lefty was due to spin as well as local superstar DJ Omar.
We were pseudo-ushered to a classy folding table with samples of "martinis" and "margaritas," and after picking up the former, sat down on a plush blue bench adjacent to men's apparrel. I was getting used to the fact that we were totally partying in the middle of a retail outlet, and settled into my seat and chatted with my girls.
Scissors' Brian happened to be wandering around and Kristin snagged him in conversation when we walked by us; we started talking about the Noisepop shows of the week and he opened his black peacoat to show us the baby blue French Kicks shirt that he was wearing underneath. Secretly I was kicking myself in not being able to see either band at Slim's that night. I was sort of put off by his schoolboy good looks, so when he began to shake all of our hands I decided to seize the opportunity and asked if I could take his picture.
This girl Nora, who I had met at the opening party while I was doing VIP list for my volunteer work, was also in our group at the time and offerred to take the picture. "Yeah, I think you should be in it with me," Brian said, and my schoolgirl crush started forming. I got up to pose with him and before I knew it, I had this beauty of a creature proposing marriage to me in the following dialogue:
BRIAN: "So, let's get married"
ME: "(inwardly stoked, but trying to play cool) Sounds good dude"
BRIAN: "I think my parents should talk to your parents..."
ME: "Yeah, I think they might want a down payment"
BRIAN: "Like a deposit?"
ME: "Yes...maybe some sheep. That'll do"
All of a sudden he's on his knees in proposal-mode and holding my hand and I'm pretty flustered, which is really unlike me. Later I was told my cheeks turned the color of my hair.
After a five minute fan girl crushing, it was time to get to business. I had to be at Bottom of the Hill for the Matt & Kim show soon and needed to get some work done in the refreshment department.
One drink turned into two which turned into five, and suddenly I'm laughing really hard and kicking my feet in the air at a joke Melissa tells me about who knows what. I am having a blast with the girls, playing catchup, judging people relentlessly (but not ruthlessly), and generally having a good time. Kristin is perpetually fetching us drinks at the classy folding table and being really adorable, and I'm bugging Melissa to quit her job a server to hang out with me more at these kind of things and be cynical together. The lines between hilarity and reality began to blur hardcore...didn't I deserve a good time considering my insane schedule this week? I reach in my pocket to check my phone when...
Then.
Then?
Noisepop for a split second became more personal than musical. Dude 1 walks in, the object of my affection for a few months now in the "so close, yet so far away" vein. He's been one of the few people to make me extremely nervous whenever I'm around him, literal dry throat and mind blanks. It also doesn't help that he is extremely attractive. I point him out to Kristin and she automatically starts throwing napkins at his head...I'm mortified but cannot contain my laughter. He comes over to chat and I'm secretly freaking out inside. A discussion about a night long past both our radars comes up and we make plans to get together during the weekend to sit down and really talk; happy hour isn't exactly the best bet to make amends.
In the back of my head I know I have to call the show manager to say that I am going to be late to Matt & Kim, and as I'm telling this to Melissa after Dude 1 leaves I suddenly gasp so loudly she grabs me in a half-hug and goes "What?!" Dude 2 is walking down the stairs and my jaw hits the floor. He's stood me up, been mean, and never returned my phone calls within the time I've known him, but yet I run into him at stuff like this and everything starts again between us like nothing is wrong. I wave weakly and he nods.
I down my last drink and start to head off upstairs to catch a cab; Dude 2 of course stops and wants to talk to me. We are in conversation from the bar area all the way to the street and he is pushing my buttons so much to the point where I start yelling at him "No, Dude 2! You can't come in and out of my life like this and get what YOU want when I'M the one who gets hurt!" on the corner of Post and Kearny. At this point I realize my irresponsibility is biting me in the ass and I'm totally getting the payback from not being on time.
NOTE TO SELF: NOISEPOP IS ABOUT MUSIC. NOT DRAMA.
I finally hop buses and then a cab to Bottom of the Hill to be a grand total of three and a half hours late. From what I can tell, the show had been fairly chill and one of the merch guys said there hadn't been any real rushes as of late, but I still felt like a terrible human being. I watched the last part of Erase Errata and then punished myself by seething in my distain for dudes during Matt & Kim's set. After they left stage one of the other volunteers and I sold more lovely products for all the bands, counted inventory for each, and then dispersed cash revenues for the night. Matt and Kim's Kim came over to thank us for our hard work, and she is so tiny in person I kind of just wanted to pick her up and swing her around.
After beating myself up again and apologizing to the show manager for the 7,398th time, I was picked up by a group of friends and we set on our way to complete number two on my to-do list for Noisepop and hug this man:
Determined to still have a good time despite the lack of Ted Leo-ness available, Suz, Kim, Rachel, Jenn, Messina, Kristin and I managed to head bang to CSS and convulse to the Faint.
One sweaty shirt and hair in my face later, popscene ended and I couldn't help but feel unsatisfied by my Noisepop intake for the day. Really though, I have no one but to blame myself. Moral of the story is: STAY AWAY FROM DUDES AND BOOZE IN ONE SITTING. Sounds pretty good to me.
Last night: John Vanderslice, Damian Jurado, The Submarines, Black Fiction @ Independent.
Tonight: Matt & Kim, Erase Errata, Pants Pants Pants @ Bottom // Scissors for Lefty DJ + ninja kissing booth @ Diesel Happy Hour
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For whatever reason I decided that it was a SPECTACULAR idea to work in between going to shows and school. Thus, I high-tailed it to my place of job goodness right after the opening night party on Tuesday, and then proceeded to pass the eff out when I got off at 8 am Wednesday morning. Needless to say, Diesel is lucky to have gotten me out of bed in time for a free happy hour (!!!!) before the night's shows began all around the city Wednesday night.
I, of course, was late, having had to finish laundry before coming out (a girl needs her unders), so I couldn't stay for too long in the Union Square shop drinking margaritas and smoozing with rock stars. However, the swanky and intimate event, held amidst men's pants and accessories, proved to be something worth checking out with great music being spun and free booze. DUDE. Hello.
Here is Zach from Rogue Wave spinning, and his wife holding their a-DOR-able daughter Wren; babies and happy hours should mix more often. Thursday night DJ Omar came out to scope out the landscape as well. He and I ended up wearing the same-styled shirt...awkwardness in hipsterland.
Hailing a cab in Union Square ended up being way harder than expected, so I popped onto a Haight bus and walked a few blocks to my destination for the night: John Vanderslice at the Independent. Last year when he released Pixel Revolt I tried unsuccessfully to see him play a free in-store at Amoeba, but missed him by minutes due to public transit issues (oh, MUNI...you devil you). Thus, I was stoked and fairly curious to see how he would translate on stage.
After some harried merch counting and table set-up, we stepped back to admire our handiwork before the crowds made it into the venue. Those little Noisepop pins were being gnarly and getting everywhere. I met Blake from the Submarines as she delved to me and Ursula how to sell their merch, and a dude from Black Fiction and Damian Jurado also stopped by the table to say hi and show us what T-shirts they had in. The small cubicle-like space was ANNOYING to say the least in trying to manuever around peeps when they wanted to stuff cash down my shirt for a CD, but it was also closed directly stage-right and I had a sweet view of the show when the bands would come on later. Thus, I stopped my bitching. A one John Vanderslice also chilled about four feet away from me, and I wanted to seriously go over to him and pinch his cheeks, stick him in my pocket and take him home.
Black Fiction took stage, and let me tell you, there are three ways to get to my heart musically: (a) play with a stand-up bass or have it prominently in your tunes, (b) clapping, and (c) bust out the xylophone. The BF dudes did the last one and I was pleasantly surprised to hear a lounge rock/soft alternative vibe eminate from a laid-back gangle of guys who just so also happen to play the xylophone. Genius.
To bemuse myself while the bands did set change, I stuck some pins on my chest and all of a sudden the yellow Noisepop pins were in superhigh demand.
My show manager Sam helped us with a moderate rush of people who came by the table to check out stuff before the Submarines, and after they finished perusing I quickly ducked out of the venue to grab pizza across the street. Normally this type of activity does not merit any mention, but I have to talk about this for two minutes.
I've been to the Independent plenty of times since turning legal (hottt), and there is a pizza-by-the-slice joint located directly across the street that I've gone to a number of times. They have some pretty rad combination pizza I totally like and that I was looking forward to grabbing, scarfing, and then taking off. But when I walked in I was met by a dinosaur of an owner who insisted on serving me with a plate and fork (ummm...) and I ended up skimming through a December issue of Maxim while my food was being prepped. I swear all of the other customers in that place had the same "WTF" look on their faces as we all ate our slices of pie in bemused bewilderment.
Needless to say, my planned five minute break turned to 20 and I dashed back inside right as the Submarines began.
They were so CUTE.
Blake's voice was utterly smooth and transcendant to compliment partner John Dragonetti's low warble. Armed with a laptop for drum loops, she also played a small version of a xylophone and I was in love. Most of their material was focused on a debut LP but I was more inclined to newer stuff like a song called "1940," which has a nostalgic err and mysticism to it. There were plenty of head nods in the house to confirm my observation.
The pizza story comes into play now (see, the things I say have a point) as Ursula and then Sam later head over to the same place and have the same report...I wasn't making it up!!! We bonded over bad customer service but awesome pizza.
And then because I was bored, I temporary-tattooed myself with a Submarines logo.
This was probably my bad, but I paid little attention to Damian as he took stage for an acoustic set. What I heard sounded well-performed, but I was disinterested in his stage presence solely for the lack of it. And he also sort of sounded like Mark Kozelek from the Red House Painters, which for some reason made me think of Modest Mouse, which then led me think about the Smiths, because of Johnny Mar, and then I remembered when I saw him play solo the weekend after Coachella, and then I became bitter I might not be able to go this year. Train of thought, you win my award for "Most Random". I did get a picture of Mr. Jurado unlike the Subs though, unbeknownst to me (I think I was into them too much?)
My friend Rosie who has known JV for ever (and is allowed to call him so) stopped by the booth to say hello and we swapped music tastes since she just became a buyer at Rasputin. I also mastered the wireless credit card machne card that looked like an ancient ghetto cordless phone and also registered at LaLa.com, who was there streaming the show live and will archive it for future Noisepop listeners. Seriously, is there anything this festival is NOT covering?
Then.
It was JV time (by association, I can call him that too).
The very first Noisepop I ever volunteered for was in 2003. I had just moved to San Francisco and was a freshman in college; having watched Noisepop's line-up get better and better as I was going through high school, I couldn't wait to go to the festival myself. There was a rule when I was growing up I had to go to concerts with my dad, which wasn't as big of a punishment so much as an inconvenience. He's influenced a lot of my music tastes and surprises me from time to time on how hip he is (i.e. was jealous I didn't take him to the Strokes), but couldn't always take me to shows, especially on school nights. So, of course, moving away for college and living in a music hub in a city with public transportation was like striking gold.
I bring this up because that year a panel was hosted the weekend of Noisepop '03 at a Noe Valley church about artist rights, workshops, and music management. I volunteered to help run it and met John Vanderslice when he arrived to be a guest speaker. He also happened to be the cover for the program guide and had terrible roots from growing out a bleach blonde. Even then as a lowly volunteer he treated me with such kindness and heartfelt respect I almost felt like we grew up together. This sort of intimacy has been echoed throughout the San Francisco music scene, even dubbing Vanderslice as "the nicest guy in the music industry."
This feeling of "me and you only in the room" that he exudes though isn't just limited to person-to-person conversations. He also wields it on stage, and as a result, I was blown away by how ridiculously exceptional he sounded. It is blantantly obvious that he spends a LOT of time honing his craft, and the result is pure deliciousness. His backing band fill in the loops around his voice to compliment it, whether it be a soft drum tap or the electric noises of a synthesizer. Simply put, he knows what the hell he's doing, and I just stood back for most of the show with my mouth opening and simultaneously kicking myself for not seeing him sooner.
Most of his set focused around Pixel Revolt and filled the air of the Independent with dreamy ballads of love and war as well as synth/blip-infused indie rock with a twist only Vanderslice can deliver. What I didn't count on was his voice coming across as so strong; live it holds its own resonance and almost made me a cry a little with its innate beauty and depth. Needless to say, I was hooked. And it was good. "Golden Gate," "New Zealand Pines," and "Angela" all reflect a tight and perfected sound which can only be the product of raw talent and not anything mastered digitally.
I shed a couple (phantom) tears when the clock struck 11:59 and I had to high tail it once again to work; it's a short three blocks from the Independent but as I was putting on my coat Vanderslice gave a shoutout to my friend Rosie before going to do his encore and then announced she had the new Clipse album on her iPod. "Guys, we're having a dance party after I finish," he said. "Really, no, I'm serious."
I hate missing stuff like that. NO FAIR.
JV, you have my heart.
At least I have me some free swag to tide me over until the next time. He also announced he and his crew put the finishing touches on a new record to drop this summer, and I couldn't be more stoked.
Work, I give you this face. Note to self: DO NOT DO THIS SCHEDULE EVER AGAIN. IT IS ALSO FUCKING WITH YOUR SLEEP.
