Do you know what they are? You may be in the minority.
Why do people insist on yelling songs at the band? Is the band yelling at you? I guess sometimes they are. Let's not get derailed on my annoyance at "Get your hands up!" "Somebody scream!" "What time is it?!"
Why are you yelling songs at the band? Does this look like a divey country western cover band? Most likely, if you paid more than 20 bucks for your tickets, you are dealing with some degree of professional entertainers. They most likely practice. They decide which songs are going to be best for the time constraints, current events, and crowd. You know what they do with those songs? They write them down...on a piece of paper...and tape it to the stage. It's called a set list. They are going to play what is on the set list.
Do they come to you your job and scream "TYPE THAT MEMO!!!" "TELECOOOONFERENCE!!!!" Actually, I'm sure they would if they had the chance.
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Thursday, February 24, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
People, places, and places.
J. Roddy Walston & the Business opened for the Drive By Truckers the other evening.
Walston & the Business sounds like; Eddie Vedder covering Jerry Lee Lewis' catalogue. Walston claims friendship with Little Richard, and his influence shows. I'm not a fan of Eddie Vedder, but I am a fan of Lewis, that whole sound, and Walston's hair. It was a quality performance. And it reminded me of Nashville.
Which is the real subject matter here. Not Nashville so much, but the idea of being taken away by a song, a smell, a photo; to a place. And not just fondly remembering a vacation, but being pressed with an aching. An aching that most people feel for a lover, a best friend, a sibling; when they move away, or simply on.
I was working, monitoring the crowd, and grooving ever so slightly in the most professional manner I could muster under such rocking circumstances. When all the sudden I was overcome with grief. Perhaps that isn't the right word. A longing, a mild depression. I wanted to go to Nashville. I wanted to spend a Sunday morning, wandering the streets, popping into to bar after saloon, sipping whiskey and watching some talented, silver haired man play the ballads that made country, rockabilly, and rock famous.
It was like, someone had just told me that a long lost friend had just died, and we'd never been able to catch up. Now of course, Nashville is still there, but thats the feeling.
And while I was feeling this, I realized that I've never felt this way for a person. I've never really been capable of missing people. Yes, after a bad breakup, I miss having that person around, I may cry for days, beside myself. But the missing of people when you go away, or they go away, I don't experience that.
I get pangs of longing for Nashville; I yearn for New Orleans; I pine for Cambodia. Little corner shops and food carts hold more emotional weight for me than my best of friends.
Freud would blame my mother...so would I.
Walston & the Business sounds like; Eddie Vedder covering Jerry Lee Lewis' catalogue. Walston claims friendship with Little Richard, and his influence shows. I'm not a fan of Eddie Vedder, but I am a fan of Lewis, that whole sound, and Walston's hair. It was a quality performance. And it reminded me of Nashville.
Which is the real subject matter here. Not Nashville so much, but the idea of being taken away by a song, a smell, a photo; to a place. And not just fondly remembering a vacation, but being pressed with an aching. An aching that most people feel for a lover, a best friend, a sibling; when they move away, or simply on.
I was working, monitoring the crowd, and grooving ever so slightly in the most professional manner I could muster under such rocking circumstances. When all the sudden I was overcome with grief. Perhaps that isn't the right word. A longing, a mild depression. I wanted to go to Nashville. I wanted to spend a Sunday morning, wandering the streets, popping into to bar after saloon, sipping whiskey and watching some talented, silver haired man play the ballads that made country, rockabilly, and rock famous.
It was like, someone had just told me that a long lost friend had just died, and we'd never been able to catch up. Now of course, Nashville is still there, but thats the feeling.
And while I was feeling this, I realized that I've never felt this way for a person. I've never really been capable of missing people. Yes, after a bad breakup, I miss having that person around, I may cry for days, beside myself. But the missing of people when you go away, or they go away, I don't experience that.
I get pangs of longing for Nashville; I yearn for New Orleans; I pine for Cambodia. Little corner shops and food carts hold more emotional weight for me than my best of friends.
Freud would blame my mother...so would I.
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