Red Hornet (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} redhornet) wrote,@ 2006-10-02 20:48:00 |
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my triumvirate
1. LadyC e-mailed me and said that she had a very vivid dream last night that she and I went to see Bruce in Ireland. KFOG is having a qualifying contest all week, LadyC has spent a significant amount of time in Ireland, and she and I have been at the same Springsteen show three times—all-hail the witching power of my thirty-third year. LadyC also has a knack for picking up Irish hotties. I take this as a good sign, too.
2. The new Dylan album is as good as everyone says it is.
3. With this weekend, my triumvirate of pure rock concert joy was solidified. There are plenty of acts that I’ve seen that I’ve loved—Radiohead, Ben Folds and any Jack White affiliate are three of my most recent thoroughly enjoyable experiences, but I’m talking about pure, unadulterated joy, the thank-you-for-being-alive-and-performing-f
I went to the Download Festival at Shoreline which was sweet because it was like Coachella without the running around in the desert all dehydrated and dirty bullshit. In fact I sat in my wheelchair accessible box seat with perfect sight lines to the stage and a waitress serving Li’l Sis K and I food and wine all afternoon and evening. I was quite comfortable, indeed.
TV on the Radio, then The Shins, then Muse (a Brit-band with whom I was quite impressed. The Radiohead influence was more than evident, though, right down to the Thom Yorke inspired haircut), then the Yeah Yeah Yeahs (with whom I was not impressed—Karen loves herself too much for me to love her) and then, finally, my boy Beck, who rocked the house and shook me with his ever-changing puppeteering creativity for an hour and a half, for an hour and a half I did not sit, for an hour and a half I smiled, I danced, I laughed, I was inspired. I started to believe again. There is a line in a John Lee Hooker song that I like; John Lee’s mother is telling his father not to keep John away from his guitar “because it’s in him/and it’s got to come out.” I started to believe that my It could come out of me, again, and that my It might flow here, in San Francisco, which is something that I’ve seriously doubted over the last two months, but then, how can I leave a city where Beck walks unannounced into Pancho Villas in the Mission and starts entertaining the lunchtime crowd by request with his guitar and a maraca? I mean really, who could leave this?
Soy un perdedor. I guess this remains to be seen.
1. LadyC e-mailed me and said that she had a very vivid dream last night that she and I went to see Bruce in Ireland. KFOG is having a qualifying contest all week, LadyC has spent a significant amount of time in Ireland, and she and I have been at the same Springsteen show three times—all-hail the witching power of my thirty-third year. LadyC also has a knack for picking up Irish hotties. I take this as a good sign, too.
2. The new Dylan album is as good as everyone says it is.
3. With this weekend, my triumvirate of pure rock concert joy was solidified. There are plenty of acts that I’ve seen that I’ve loved—Radiohead, Ben Folds and any Jack White affiliate are three of my most recent thoroughly enjoyable experiences, but I’m talking about pure, unadulterated joy, the thank-you-for-being-alive-and-performing-f
I went to the Download Festival at Shoreline which was sweet because it was like Coachella without the running around in the desert all dehydrated and dirty bullshit. In fact I sat in my wheelchair accessible box seat with perfect sight lines to the stage and a waitress serving Li’l Sis K and I food and wine all afternoon and evening. I was quite comfortable, indeed.
TV on the Radio, then The Shins, then Muse (a Brit-band with whom I was quite impressed. The Radiohead influence was more than evident, though, right down to the Thom Yorke inspired haircut), then the Yeah Yeah Yeahs (with whom I was not impressed—Karen loves herself too much for me to love her) and then, finally, my boy Beck, who rocked the house and shook me with his ever-changing puppeteering creativity for an hour and a half, for an hour and a half I did not sit, for an hour and a half I smiled, I danced, I laughed, I was inspired. I started to believe again. There is a line in a John Lee Hooker song that I like; John Lee’s mother is telling his father not to keep John away from his guitar “because it’s in him/and it’s got to come out.” I started to believe that my It could come out of me, again, and that my It might flow here, in San Francisco, which is something that I’ve seriously doubted over the last two months, but then, how can I leave a city where Beck walks unannounced into Pancho Villas in the Mission and starts entertaining the lunchtime crowd by request with his guitar and a maraca? I mean really, who could leave this?
Soy un perdedor. I guess this remains to be seen.
