Tag Archives: music is my boyfriend

Tokyo Police Club, Born Ruffians, and Harlem Shakes at Webster Hall on 2/25

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I went to see Tokyo Police Club at a sold out show at Webster Hall on Wednesday night. For the past year, this band has been my go-to when I want to listen to something fun and familiar. And you need a lot of fun and familiar in a mean city like New York, so I’ve listened to their album about 1500 times. I love the lyrics, I love the vocals, and I love how dorky their sound is. This post is entirely an excuse for me for share their music.

I love to be in the balcony of a ballroom when it’s one of those that wraps around both sides of the stage, because not only do you get to be right on top of the band, but you also get prime viewing of anything nasty that goes on below. Like Wednesday night, when a girl puked all over the hardwood floors. I noticed that a group of people below suddenly formed a big circle around a certain girl who was on her hands and knees and couldn’t figure out why no one was helping her up until one of the security guards shone a flashlight on her and her pool of vomit.

I tried to play it cool for a while, but I eventually turned to the guy beside me and said, “Don’t think me gross, but I have to take a picture of that.” He said, “I was thinking the same thing. It’s too good to ignore.” I said, “I especially can’t wait until someone thinks such an awesome spot just happens to be open and goes and stands right in it.” He said, “I’m going to interview the band right after the show, and that’s the first thing I’m going to talk to them about.” I said, “Rock journalist?! BFFs for life!”

The first band was Harlem Shakes, and I was excited about them for about three songs, because their singer sounds like he’s been sucking on helium. Once the novelty wore off, I mostly just watched their bassist, who was wearing white jeans, red socks, and no shoes.

The second band was Born Ruffians, who I had never listened to but was quite sure I would hate. I was under the impression that they were nu-punk in the tradition of AFI and Sum 41, and my suspicions were confirmed when their bassist walked out wearing a red and black plaid hoodie with the hood up over his long, stringy, curly hair. Sure, their singer was wearing a blazer over a sweater and had side-parted hair, but I would not be swayed.

But no!, they’re actually indie pop, and they’re actually great. Especially live. Their vocalist is AMAZING. Like, seriously, I haven’t been so stoked while hearing a band perform for the first time since I saw Crystal Stilts a year ago. I was getting chills and all sorts of shit. The studio recordings don’t even begin to capture what was going on, but you should still listen to

“Badonkadonkey” and
“Foxes Mate for Life” and
“Hummingbird”.


And look how cute!
Although the drummer last night was black. WTF?

Tokyo Police Club came out and started playing some song I didn’t know, and I was like, “Oh, crap, they have a new album that I don’t know about!” But no, it was one of their old songs. And their old songs are not good. I love their album Elephant Shell like nobody’s business, but it sounds like a totally different band playing on their EPs. You have been warned. My favourites are

“Listen to the Math” and
“In a Cave” and
“Graves”.

TPC’s singer lifts one leg when he plays, and their keyboardist pretty much has epileptic fits every ten seconds, and their fans were so into the music it was crazy. Even the stodgy record label types across the balcony from me were drumming their fingers on the railing. Even the 16-year-olds in frilly cocktail dresses were pumping their fists. Ahhhhhhhhh, the uniting power of music.

Speaking of which, for the encore, TPC brought out Born Ruffians for a brand new song that they collaborated on, which sounded much better live than it does here, but still, I’m glad someone got a video of it:

And then all three bands came out for a little Clash (also not my video):

Good times.

Taylor Hanson’s New Band and My Confession That I Once Loved Him

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My friend Jack, godlovehim, only listens to classic rock. Take him to karaoke, and he’ll sing AC/DC, KISS, and–if you’re lucky–something as modern as Bon Jovi. So it was pretty funny to me when we went to see The Dark Knight in the theatre last year, we saw this preview,

and he was all up on Billy Corgan the following day, asking me what other songs I’d recommend and stuff. I don’t blame him–the song went so perfectly with the scenes and the editing of the trailer–but the fact that he’d never really listened to the Smashing Pumpkins kind of blew my mind.

Earlier this week, he asked me if I knew Franz Ferdinand. And then the Artic Monkeys. And then yesterday, Hot Hot Heat. Haha!


I had to show you this video because of the way Steve Bays’ hair
starts out all calm and slick in the beginning and then is all frizzy
and whacked out by the end. THIS IS LIFE WITH CURLY HAIR, PEOPLE,
and even beautiful rockstars suffer.

But the whole point of this post is that while I was busy Googling the Smashing Pumpkins just for kicks today, I found this Rolling Stone article about James Iha, former Pumpkins guitarist, and his new band, which includes TAYLOR HANSON of Hanson fame.

Because I know you want to hear their first single.

You can not underestimate the love I once had for Hanson. After seeing them perform “MMMBop” on an episode of “The Rosie O’Donnell Show”, I plastered everything I owned in Taylor’s pictures . . . and then went and bought their album much later. And this was 1997, friends; I was very much old enough to know better. I even went on to own their Christmas album, as horrifying a thing to admit as that is.

I’m convinced that it’s past transgressions such as these that make me hold on so tightly to my indie rock elitism today.

Anoop Desai, Just Another No Name Loserface

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So, America kicked my future husband, Anoop off of “American Idol” last night because of this song:

It hurt me especially because on that very episode, Ryan Seacrest did an interview with Anoop’s parents, and I really felt like the three of us bonded during those two minutes. I mean, I get that Michael the oil rigger has a lot less going for him–dirty job, unattractive wife, couple of kids–than 22-year-old Anoop with his grad school and his boyish good looks, but

PLEASE DO NOT PICK YOUR IDOL BASED ON PITY, AMERICA.

Pick him based on what I want.

Anoop Desai, My Indian-American Idol

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I’ve never been a person who actively tries to watch “American Idol”, but while my best friend Tracey and I were snowed in at her house last week, we watched her TiVoed episodes to pass the time, and I’ll admit that I sort of got hooked. So much so that when my friend Beth invited me to a movie tonight, I had to weigh whether her friendship or my new favorite show was more important.

This is the reason:


Anoop Desai, Cocoa-Skinned Dreamboat with a Weird Tongue Affliction That I Am So Into

My love for him grew so rapidly from the first time I laid eyes on him that when I first YouTubed his name, there was absolutely nothing there but a bunch of old videos of him soloing in his college singing group, the Clef Hangers:

Get it? CLEF Hangers? And Anoop is obviously so clever that I’m sure he made the name up himself. I’m also sure he dated every last one of those screaming white girls in the audience, but that doesn’t tarnish him at all for me. Just look at his geektastic audition, which I stole from this guy:

I’ve already threatened to leave Kamran for him, and I’m already predicting him as the winner of “American Idol” Season 8. Or at least as the winner OF MY HEART.

Sigh.

Morrissey Can Suck My American Balls (But, Like, in a Friendly Way)

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At the gym this morning, I was listening to Morrissey’s You are the Quarry, and I was getting a little defensive over his song “America is Not the World“. Because while I agree with him, I’m American, and it’s therefore okay for me to spew hate about us, while he is a dirty Brit and would have never achieved the iconic status he has without the love of Americans, namely 20-year-old Hispanic boys living in California. But then I got to this line:

America, the land of the free, they said,
And of opportunity in a just and a truthful way,
But where the president is never black, female, or gay,
and until that day, you’ve got nothing to say to me to help me believe.

And I was like, “TAKE THAT, Morrissey! Sure there’s a bunch of death threats against our Prez-to-be, but we elected him all the same. IN YOUR FACE! (Looooooooove you.)”