I'm headed to New York for the weekend. Frank is the only one capable of providing a suitable send-off. And since my words obviously can't possibly describe the magic that is Frank Sinatra, I encourage you to snuggle in for this classic 1966 Esquire piece by Gay Talese. Titled "Frank Sinatra Has a Cold," it is the best profile ever written about anyone, anywhere -- and it's premised on the fact that Frank wouldn't grant an interview with the writer. An amazing piece of journalism, an amazing musician and entertainer, and an amazing 48 hours ahead of me in the Big Apple. I'm a Chicago girl through and through, but there really is no place like New York.
Since I'll be running around Midtown tomorrow instead of posting a Friday video, here's a bonus version of this song, performed a cappella by the Reel Big Fish. (Sadly I cannot find a live version, so album will have to do.) I was once listening to this song when I got off the subway at Times Square. I'll never forget what that night looked like, felt like, smelled like. It looked like bright lights, felt like magic, and smelled like pee. Ah, New York.
When I was four years old, I attended my first concert that I can remember. It was Blues Traveler, just four years after they'd formed. It was probably a free show, outdoors, held next to the Iowa River in Iowa City. After the show my mom took me up to meet lead singer John Popper, and he signed my ticket stub. I don't have proof of this, because we lost the ticket stub, but it happened, I promise.
Blues Traveler has been ingrained in my memory ever since. The enthusiastic, bluesy harmonica brings to mind spring, outdoors, closing your eyes and swaying in the breeze. The word "mellifluous" -- sweet, musical, pleasant to hear -- invokes Popper's voice; it is incomparable. The hat, vest, and peach fuzz mustache in this particular video are unfortunate, but the nineties in general were pretty bad for fashion:
Me, age 4, rocking the tie-dye.
Twenty years after I saw them perform, Blues Traveler is still going strong. I hope to see them live again someday soon. I invite you to put on your hippie threads and sway with me.
Last fall, Justin Timberlake appeared on the Jimmy Fallon show, and the two tickled all generations of rap lovers with their collaborative "History of Rap" (below). The video went viral, as such videos of charming and handsome boys being silly on television tend to do. Last night on the show, after insisting that that performance could never be topped, they (of course) topped it with "History of Rap (pt. 2)."
Perhaps surprisingly, given that it's a gag on a late night talk show, both performances are musically solid, in addition to being entertaining. It's so good that this marks the first ever rap performance featured on this blog. Contributing to the awesomeness is the house band, The Roots, a four-time Grammy-winning hip-hop group. Fallon earns mucho cool points for getting that contract signed back in 2009.
There's something about lyrics detailing the trials of being famous -- "I want loads of clothes and fuckloads of diamonds," "everything's cool as long as I'm getting thinner" -- that warms my Gen Y heart. After all, if you can't develop narcissism in your twenties, when can you?
It's a Lily Allen kind of day. And with that, I'm going shopping.
1) The title. I mean, c'mon, that's funny. It's apparently a line from the 2004 film Closer, in which Natalie Portman's character says, "Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off, but it's better if you do." The second clause, "It's Better If You Do," is the title of another song on this album. 2) The lyrics. Hot. 3) Singer Brandon Urie. He dominates the low vibrato, and then he absolutely kills it when the music drops and he hits the top of the chorus around 1:40. 4) As musicians go, they're not bad to look at, though their weekly eyeliner budget likely eclipses my entire year's supply. 5) Conan!
This clip is of inaugural American Idol winner Kelly Clarkson's first audition in 2002. Almost 10 years and 10 seasons later, the landscape of reality TV -- particularly talent shows -- has completely changed. AI paved the road for shows like So You Think You Can Dance, now in its eighth season, and America's Next Top Model, 17 "cycles" and still going strong, plus dozens more. And it makes sense: The joy of these shows is that you may be witnessing history unfold. To watch a young Kelly Clarkson, bubbling with personality, wearing a shirt she made herself out of a pair of jeans, standing out as something special almost instantly, is to appreciate her journey to becoming one of today's best-selling pop artists. She was even named by Billboard as the #14 artist of the decade. Not bad for a giggly girl from Texas.
In the summer of 2007, I spent 23 hours on a bus (each way) to visit my friend Bethany in Pennsylvania. I was only there a few days, but we managed to fit in a tour of historic Philadelphia, including a few National Treasure reenactments; a visit to the Jersey Shore, pre-Snooki; and a day-long American Idol audition experience. Bethany's pretty much the best tour guide ever.
Held in the Wachovia Center, the Philly AI audition drew some 20,000 hopefuls to gawk at Ryan Seacrest and audition for season seven. (By contrast, only 10,000 auditioned for all of season one.) Bethany and I spent the day wandering the sports center, making friends, getting free makeovers, and listening to people show off in the acoustically (but not necessarily aesthetically) pleasing bathrooms. Neither Bethany nor I were terribly serious about the audition, and we didn't make it past first round. But it was a memorable day, if for no other reason than I could check that off my life bucket list of stuff to try.
The newest talent contest reality show, The Voice, is holding auditions in Chicago this weekend. Since I've started taking music performance slightly more seriously, and because I really really want to make skin contact with Adam Levine (another bucket list item), I signed up. Unfortunately, life got in the way, and I won't be able to make the audition. There's always next year. Until then, I'll just have to keep practicing, daydreaming, and making friends with my local karaoke joint bartenders.
A man in a fur stole walks forward on the stage, lasers shooting out of the palms of hands approximately fifty times larger than normal. Earlier the same man had crowd-surfed in a giant hamster ball. Pictures of bugs, rainbows, eyeballs, and other things designed to freak people out shine from a back-drop video screen accented by a light-up arch over the stage. Confetti cannons blast pieces of colored streamer that flutter all over the ballroom but never seem to land. Two dozen giant colored balloons are passed back and forth amongst the audience like beach balls, and a cry of accomplishment sounds whenever a short person gets her hands on one. Lights drip from the ceiling like rain, and the smell of marijuana is evidence of the least mind-altering substance being used by the crowd right now.
I saw the Flaming Lips at the Aragon last night with my roommate. As expected, they ended with this song, which is so beautiful and existential, it's practically designed for a ballroom of glazed eyes watching colors and shapes fly around. Lead singer/guitarist/songwriter Wayne Coyne knows exactly how to captivate his audience because he knows how to grab and keep their attention: giant hands, balloons, confetti, lights, a video camera inside his microphone -- you really have to see the band live to realize and appreciate their particular brand of psychedelic rock. I can now cross them off my list of the 50 bands I apparently must see before I die.*
When they started this song last night, a guy in the audience turned to me, dead serious, and said they'd written this song about him. He was probably in junior high when "Do You Realize??" was released in 2002 as a single off Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. So, you know, I question the accuracy of that statement. I can tell you, however, that this is the official rock song of Oklahoma, the home of the original members.
In addition to this song and some fan favorites, the Lips played 1999's The Soft Bulletinin its entirety. Fun fact: It was on the '99 tour for Soft Bulletin that current drummer Kliph Scurlock was first hired -- as a roadie. Talk about living the American dream. Anyone optioned that script yet?
Wayne Coyne with giant laser hands
Wayne Coyne in a hamster ball
Party time. Excellent.
They must have had hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of light and effect equipment.
Wayne Coyne on the mic camera
-- * This is an impossible list for many reasons, but it's still a good one.
Tack another entry into my personal Lollapalooza line-up (thanks Mom!). This folksy, LA-based quartet* is performing Saturday at 5:30, adjacent to the Cee Lo stage (6:30). It's serendipity.
As for the band itself, I don't know much, but I LOVE the composition of this song and the drummer's sweet-spot harmonies. The way the sound rings in the hall is spectacular, so extra points for acoustics. Definitely on my must-see list for next month.
* Used to be a quintet - they lost their bassist in May, 2011. Irreconcilable differences, it seems.
Of the two Kings of Leon songs I've ever heard, this is the one I'm not totally sick of. It happens to be a really rocking song, and they're fun and enthusiastic with a live audience, so the Kings get the coveted (?) Wednesday recognition.
A few fun facts that you could have learned off Wikipedia: All the members of Kings of Leon are related. Three are brothers, and the lead guitarist is a cousin. The band was formed in 1999, which means that the baby brother bassist, Jared, was only 13 at the time. Today the oldest is 32 and the youngest is 24. They've released five albums total, and this one is about a lustful pyromaniac or something. (To be fair, they don't know what it's about either.) Happy Wednesday.
I was on an elevator today with two pregnant women. They were lovely, but it made me think of this song.
The performers are singer-songwriters/comedians/actresses out of LA. It's pretty funny, they're decent musicians, and it's a 2.5-minute song about how pregnant women are smug. What more do you need?
