Emo kids on treadmills are about the best you can hope for, Lou

Almost every year I subject myself to at least some portion of MTV's Awards of Music Video, perhaps in order to gauge just how low America's high school tastemakers have sunk that year. I've pretty much given up hope of witnessing any sort of notable spontaneity or epic stupidity - beyond stray expletives - that the show was formerly famous for. And no, I'm not talking about that boring, desperate Britney-Madonna kiss, which the media inevitably runs a photo of alongside any preview coverage of this EVENT. The show and network were firmly in the pits by that point as well. This year's highlights can be summarized thusly:

1) There was a brief, two-or-three second shot of Al Gore talking to Steve-O from Jackass backstage, presumably about whether or not polar bears staple their own ass cheeks together for amusement. Maybe Gore's handlers can line up a photo op with Gary Glitter next just to really torpedo the former VP's credibility for good.
2) There was a gag about Justin Timberlake installing shelves in Jack Black's dressing room that was kind of amusing (to ME anyway. I'm normally more a fan of shoe rack humour).
3) Uhhhh... geez. That's it!

A recurring yearly pattern for this show is to bring on a bonafide legend or, failing that, at least a famous person over 50, for the faintest possible stab at credibility. This year it was Lou Reed, who ran through a barely-minute-long version of "White Light/White Heat" w/ The Raconteurs (a.k.a. Jack White's Half-Hearted Power Pop Explosion). Later, they had him introduce Best Rock Video with Pink, whose schtick these days appears to be goofing on vapid, manufactured pop stars; despite the fact that, last I checked (which was tonight), she's a vapid, manufactured pop star herself, except drunker. Anyway, Lou made an offhand comment about hoping MTV plays more rock videos, which was immediately rendered hilarious by the parade of eyeliner-loving emo kids in the nominee clips that followed. Much like someone who only knew rap music from the bling-heavy, Diddy Puff/P. Diddle/Puffy Longstocking era might possibly be forgiven for having a skewed perspective of the genre, anyone whose knowledge of contemporary rock stops at MTV2 might plausibly believe the music is now exclusively comprised of whiny, cotton candy-bottomed drama club kids -- along with the occasional, generically tattooed-and-beefy nu-metal band. Indeed, every white performer on this show except Timberlake and the increasingly sordid Jackass crew seemed to be auditioning for a pilot called Tim Burton Babies. There was even a preponderance of actual themed costumes among the emo kids (who I learned tonight suddenly include an embarassing Jared Leto among their ranks), as if to erase any doubt that they had finally inherited the mantle of ultimate ridiculousness from hair metal. The closest thing to a victory over these dweebs on this night was when Fall Out Boy wandered up in their Victorian-era Sherlock Holmes get-ups to collect an award and Wee Man from Jackass plunged the statuette straight into one of the guys' nuts. I'll take what I can get at this point, people.

Speaking of Jackass, I loved it as much as anyone and will be there to see the upcoming movie sequel (if nothing else, to see how completely they erase alleged kiddie-fiddler Don Vito from the Margera landscape). Yet I find it hard to believe after so many years that their laughing fits are still genuine when one of them gets hit in the balls. Could it be they're just coasting until the inevitable crippling injuries and testicular cancer sets in? If today's kids can't look to the likes of Steve-O and Ryan Dunn for sincerity and inspiration, where else can they turn? Candidates for local office? I think not.

Really, I don't see what the point is of having a music video awards show in 2006 anyway. Everyone was reminded that the form reached it's peak in the early 80's when the following clip was rediscovered online a few months ago (I think it only won Most Implausible Attempt at Heterosexuality):

Next, get ready for reggaeton with the Ramada Sisters

There's a little-used "interactive" feature of this blog called "Blogging on Demand," wherein you simply send me a word or one-sentence phrase, and then sit back while I regale you with a magnificent* post based on that very topic. While the 592 search results I get for the phrase "Blogging on Demand" indicate this is not a novel concept on my part, I am arguably it's definitive practicioner, similar to how Jason Bonham is considered the ultimate hard rock drummer in his family.

Recently I received the following "B.O.G." (as the kids are calling it) request: "Paris Hilton as a 'singer.'" With the forthcoming glut of new fall releases - Outkast, Billy Joel, Arsenio Hall's zydeco tribute to Too $hort - I was going to painfully forgo listening to this obscure hotel heiress' debut album, Paris. But for the sake of research I mosied over to her MySpace page to check out the four album tracks currently posted. Before a single note hit my ears, I predicted the following would be true of at least one of each track:

1) Paris would speak/sing in that ubiquitious Britney Spears "baby" voice that would be easy to multi-track and digitally manipulate in the studio.
2) The lyrics would include lots of blatant come-ons too obvious to even qualify as single-entendres.
3) There would be some kind of reference to her "that's hot" catchphrase
4) She would team up with King Uszniewicz for a rockin' duet of Simon & Garfunkel's "Keep the Customer Satisfied."

As you can imagine, all but one of the above was true (no fair spoiling the answer). These songs were neither shriekingly terrible enough to turn off, nor interesting enough to keep listening for any reason. They were almost perfectly bland and generic club songs, professionally made in the way a Bring It On sequel is professionally made. If I may damn these tracks with the faintest praise ever typed, each one manages to be better than the Lindsay Lohan song that I heard a year or so ago from her vanity album, Firecrotch. It just goes to show that with today's technology you can just get some competent producers to slap a passable beat together and tweak anyone's voice enough to make them pass for a singer -- which, by the way, Anthony Keidis has also been proving for nearly two decades.

Incidentally, did you know that classy George Bush supporter Vincent Gallo wrote a song for Paris Hilton back in 2001 called "I Wrote This Song For the Girl Paris Hilton?" Yup, you can find it on his album When. Not to be outdone by that skeevy egomaniac, I'm going to be exhibiting my tribute to Paris' former best friend this fall, titled "I Made This Piss Sculpture For the Girl Nicole Richie." Some people thought I was taking the term "piss artist" too literally when I told them about this idea, but I've got to see my vision through to the end. Besides, I've already rented the space and collected 70 jars of my own urine, 84 magazine cutouts of Ms. Richie, and a stack of "Bible Man" VHS tapes for this thing. No turning back now. I'll also be playing the song heard at the beginning of this WFMU archive on a loop (Real Audio required). Nicole, I'm telepathically inviting you to the grand opening as we speak! I know you can feel me in your brain! Your lawyers can't issue their impudent court orders against me there. Oh, and eat something, if you happen to think of it.

*"magnificent" is sometimes equated with "barely sufficient"

"It's Nippy on My Tw@t:" The Quotable Deadwood

(Note: The title quote was spoken on the series by Joanie Stubbs, although you are free to imagine Hearst shouting it to Swearengen in the above photo. Or not).

Fully immersed in its most gripping season yet, I've been pracitcally in denial for months now that Deadwood is, in effect, no more. As you may know, HBO - apparently freaked out about the show's $5 million per-episode budget and their inability to find another Sopranos-esque cash cow - has cancelled my favorite show despite massive critical acclaim and solid ratings. Thus, the fourth, concluding season isn't gonna happen, and the first of the promised two, two-hour wrap-up films won't be ready until 2008.

The season/series finale airs this Sunday @9, but before we drag Andy Craned up here to talk about Deadwood's rotting, maggot-ridden corpse for the funeral service, let me celebrate one more time the most amazing aspect of this show: the dialogue. Never again will we see such a dizzying mix of Eliabethean flourishes, frontier plainspokenness and gutter profanity on television. What started out as a well-acted, well-written revisionist western has evolved - especially this year - into a near-masterpiece firing on all cylinders. The cast's enthusiasm as they sank their teeth into this rare material became more palpable with each year. With that in mind, here's a collection of but a few of my favorite quotes, along with some brief context. Some of these can be put to spectacular use in everyday life, whether you're in traffic, having dinner with the family, or feeding dead enemies to a Chinaman's pigs. Fortunately, I was able to refer to Television Without Pity's recaps for exact wording on almost all of these:

1. "I may have fucked my life up flatter'n hammered shit, but I stand here before you today beholden to no human cocksucker." - Ellsworth; season 1, episode 1. This early scene established "cocksucker" as the word du jour among many of the camp's residents. Since then it's every, frequent utterance has been like a miniature Christmas morning in dialogue form.

2. "Fuck us all anyway for the limber-dicked cocksuckers we are." - Ellsworth, toasting his fellow Deadwoodians, ibid. For this one episode at least, Ellsworth was quite the quote machine; until he "lucked out" by marrying Alma Garrett and had to clean up his act.

3. ""Pain, or damage, don't end the world. Or despair. Or fuckin' beatings. The world ends when you're dead. Until then, you've got more punishment in store. Stand it like a man, and give some back." - Al Swearengen; s2, e7. Sometime after his bout with kidney stones in season two, Al completed morphing from brutal, cutthroat boss of the camp to motivational speaker/political bigwig determined not to let the town he built descend into chaos. He imparted this bit of sage wisdom, along with a wake-up slap to the face, to newspaper publisher A.W. Merrick, who was moping about his ransacked offices at the time.

4. "Heng dai." - Wu, various. Wu - the boss of "Chink Alley" and owner of the aforementioned people-eating pigs - has repeatedly swore this Chinese oath to Swearengen (or, as he calls him, "Swedgin"). Translated literally it means "Brother," but also generally connotes loyalty and trust. Never was it more spine-tingling-ling-ly delivered than at the end of last week's penultimate episode. Unfortunately, while this is an awesome quote, in today's world it's hard to think of a situation where you could bust out "heng dai," complete with crossed-fingers salute, and not look bizarre and/or retarded: Alone with your good lady wife, to signify your fidelity? No. Super-secretive National Security briefing? Noooo. Rocking out at a Drive By Truckers show? Hmmmm, maybe. Perhaps I'll start my own one-man campaign to replace the played-out devil's horn salute with good ol' "HENG DAI!"

5. "You have been tested, Al Swearengen. And your deepest purposes proved, there’s gold on the woman’s claim. You might as well have shouted it from the rooftops: 'That’s why I’m jumpin’ through hoops to get it back. Thorough as I fleeced the fool she married, I will fleece his widow, too. Using loyal associates like Eustace Bailey Farnum as my go-betweens and dupes. To explain, why I want her bought out I’ll make a pretext of my fear of the Pinkertons. I’ll throw Farnum a token thief. Why should I reward E.B. with some small fractional participation in the claim? Or let him even lay by a little security and source of continuing income, for his declining years? What’s he ever done for me? Except let me terrify him every goddamned day of his life ‘til the idea of bowel regularity is a full-on fuckin’ hope. Not to mention orderin’ a man killed in one of E.B.’s rooms. So every fuckin’ free moment of his life E.B. has to spend scrubbing the bloodstains off the goddamned floor! To keep from... having to lower his rates.' Goddamn that motherfucker!" - E.B. Farnum; s1, e7. Uber-weasly hotel owner Farnum, played brilliantly by William Sanderson (a.k.a. Larry - of Larry, Daryl and Daryl fame - from Newhart)is one of the show's most Shakespearean characters. This monologue was delivered while scrubbing a particularly tough bloodstain which resulted from a Swearengen-commissioned murder in his hotel. Scrubbing a bloodstain and receiving a blowjob seem to be the activities most likely to prompt long, rambling monologues in Deadwood, just like in real life.

6. "Fuck every last one of you. I wish I was a fuckin' tree." - Trixie; s2, e3. Trixie - a.k.a. the Whoriest Whore Who Ever Whored - has been known to unleash enough streams of profanity to make even the show's other most quotable female (and best town drunk in TV history), Calamity Jane, blush.

7. "My bicycle masters boardwalk and quagmire with aplomb. Those that doubt me, suck cock by choice." - Saloon owner Tom Nuttall, so excited by his fucking bicycle he repeated this declaration later in the same scene; s2, e7.

8. "I am a sinner who does not expect forgiveness. But I am not a government official!" - Francis Wolcott, s2, e10. Strong words indeed coming from an erudite geologist/whore-murdering psychopath. The fact that Farnum is the town's mayor and that the most bizarre character is a county commissioner should tell you all you need to know about David Milch's regard for politicians.

9. "We'll move in your twelve possessions; you'll be free to come and go by your own fuckin' front door. And as you lay in your beddie-bye, I'll pop from the wall like Grandma Groundhog in a storybook and attend to your johnson, as he'd not see you jeopardize your mayor's campaign whore-fuckin' in your place of business. And I'll have installed in room 3-fuckin'-C or the like, of Shaunessey's adjacent shitbox, that he's paid Shaunessey to cut a hole through to ease my fuckin' fuckin' you." - Trixie; s3, e1, berating her Nice Jewish Boyfriend, Sol Starr, as usual.

10. "Could you have been born, Richardson, and not egg-hatched as I've always assumed? Did your mother hover over you, snaggle-toothed and doting, as you now hover over me?" - E.B. Farnum; s3, e2. Spoken to his hapless manservant while he dresses Farnum's wounds following a long-overdue beatdown.
(BONUS QUOTE: "I loved my mother." - Richardson, in response to the previous quote. Richardson is kind of like the Ralph Wiggum of Deadwood: a hopelessly dumb, walking collection of simultaneously sweet and creepy non-sequiters.)

At least I can take comfort in the fact that the Other Greatest Show in the History of Television, THE WIRE, returns to HBO in two weeks. More on that later. If it weren't for the sweet, sweet Wire I might wash my hands of HBO altogether. I'm still kinda mad about "Dream On" and their various Robert Wuhl-related projects, damnit!

I would've pegged Osama as more of a Talk Talk fan.

Here is an excerpt from the forthcoming, entirely classy memoir by the woman who claims to have been Osama bin Laden's ex-lover in 1996. I'd just like to highlight and comment on the following passages:

"He would humiliate me by making me dance naked. It was such a strange thing, because for the most part he believed music was evil. If a guest at the estate played music, he would cover his ears until the “poison” was silenced (To be fair, "Jagged Little Pill" was pretty inescapable for a while there -- C). But other times he would become this devout party boy who wanted to hear Van Halen or some B-52's. To this day I hear the song “Rock Lobster” in my sleep. I would be jerking around like a white girl—“Dance like a Caucasoid girl!” he would say—and his eyes would track me from one side of the terrace to the other (Somewhere John Waters must be kicking himself for not writing this first). “Your ass is too big, show me the front,” he said. Osama, you understand, did not know the difference between being vicious and being tender (so that whole USS Cole thing was what - a Neil LaBute-esque hate fuck?).

"The first night I met him, at a restaurant, I ran out the door, gripped by terror, and drove home. Relieved that his henchmen hadn't followed me, I ran a bath, lounged in the cold bathwater, then changed into a flowing silk robe. There was a bang on the door, and I could hear shouting: “Hey, black girl!” When I opened the door, there was Osama bin Laden and his seven-man posse (Because to paraphrase Dre and Snoop, "Ain't no fun unless the jihadists get some"). A cold bolt of lightning went through me. ('Cold bolt of lightning?' Is this a memoir or a sports drink commercial?)"

In the same excerpt she also mentions some of Osama's favorite TV fare: "The Wonder Years;" "Miami Vice;" "MacGyver." As a result, I think VH1 might start hunting this guy more dilligently than the Bush administration for those "I Love the 80's" shows. Of course, another topic of the book is bin Laden's alleged "obsession" with Whitney Houston. "In his briefcase," she writes, "I would come across photographs of the star, as well as copies of Playboy, but nobody in the West believes me when I tell them this. It's like they have this totally bogus image of Osama bin Laden. " Yeah, it's like everyone got so distracted by that 9/11 thing they totally missed out on the real dish.

Nevertheless, bin Laden isn't the first notorious celebrity sleazeball to develop an unwholesome fascination with Whitney, and I'm not talking about her husband... uhm, what's-his-name -- the crackhead from Bell Biv DeVoe. No, legendary French perv Serge Gainsbourg also made his intentions toward the singer clear when they appeared on a talk show together in 1987. Is it any wonder she went on the pipe?:

Portland Oregon and severed ears. If that ain't love then tell me what... is.

As mentioned previously, I was in Portland this past weekend. Sadly, all I really knew about the city before this hastily-arranged trip was that it's exceedingly liberal and serves as the respective homes of Sleater-Kinney, Powell's Books and a really shoddy basketball team. Oh, and that according to Tom Scharpling, it's overrun by "street trash" (ah, if only some FOT were here to give me the Best Show archive where he talks about this). However, in my brief time there I found it to be a pretty friendly, intriguing place. Plus the weather was perfect compared to the East Coast heatwave the week before. Anytime I briefly transplant myself to such overtly bohemian surroundings it puts in sharp focus what a tedious, overpriced yuppietown Bethesda is and what a rank vibe I get from DC in general. While I'm sure that listening to pot-fueled conspiracy theorists, being perpetually rained on, dodging cyclists, playing games of "Homeless or Hippie?" and searching for non-vegan restaraunts would get tiresome in its own way after a while, it served as a nice break at least for a few days. Of course, this weekend was primarily all about the Sleater-Kinney love, but I did get to visit a few neat-o places while staying with a very gracious friend of a friend.

While walking around in one of the more hipster-y areas of SE Portland we visited a craft store that may have given me a decorating idea (possibly my first ever!) for my next apt that has equal potential for awesomeness or tacky disaster: weird, Mexican Day-of-the-Dead calaveras (skulls) figurines and boxes, like this (although not quite as, uhm... graphic):

This particular store had a bunch of these set in odd, hotel/diner/stage scenes that I felt transcended obvious, Tim Burton-level gothicness to convey a more genuinely (or at least comparitively) odd sensibility. Unfortunately, in one of my occasional, arbitrary acts of huffiness I was put off by the 9/11 conspiracy book they had prominently on display and ended up not buying any. So if any of you know where I can find stuff like this either online or near DC let me know. I promise it won't lead to me putting up cheesy religious and/or Elvis shrines hither and dither.

On Sunday my host also showed me the most awesomest video store in the area, Movie Madness. Besides carrying out-of-print stuff like, say, Fassbinder's complete "Berlin Alexanderplatz" and Tom Waits' "Big Time," they're well-stocked in oddities like Christian scare films, 50's exploitation flicks, rock n roll bootlegs and Andy Warhol films. Plus, the horror section has subcategories like "Ferocious fetuses" and "NOT Growing Old Gracefully."

Their other big draw is their collection of movie memorabilia, which ranges from period costumes from films like "All About Eve," "Young Frankenstein" and "West Side Story" (less impressive is the occasional recent entry like Jodie Foster's sweatpants from "Panic Room") to various props, highlights of which (for me) include the broken glasses from Hitchcock's "Strangers on a Train," one of the mugwumps from Cronenberg's "Naked Lunch," and the severed ear Kyle MacLachlan finds in "Blue Velvet." This gives me an idea to set up a travelling, film snob's version of Planet Hollywood. "Schwarzeneger's 'Terminator' jacket? Sorry, we don't have that, my good man, but have a look at one of Harriet Anderson's damp linens from 'Cries and Whispers.' We're also working on getting Gene Hackman's raincoat from 'The Conversation.' Wait, where are you going?"

And then there's Powell's. Ah, Powell's. Nicknamed "city of books." Indeed it is, as it occupies almost an entire city block. I got a whole bunch of stuff there for under $40 and their website linked above will give you an idea of what a great place it is for book lovers. Why I didn't even get past the Michael Crichton and Danielle Steele sections! Just imagine if I had moved up to Stephen King!

So, in conclusion, Portland gets the "Thumbs Up." Yes, that's really my conclusion. Well, I'm sorry you feel that way but I think that adequately conveys my assessment. No, I guess "Thumbs Up" isn't very clever but... hey! I don't even have a sister. Like that was even a clever insult. What? Oooh... now that was a good one. That one hurt actually. Yes, you're right, I should've thought of a better ending for this post. Dianetics? Why no, I haven't read it. It'll help me relieve stress you say? Please, do go on...

The "Weasels Ripped My Flesh" cd must be in the other Prada bag.

Ladies and gentlemen, courtsey of Gawker, here's a photo of Paris Hilton holding a copy of Captain Beefheart's "Trout Mask Replica"



Judging by Paris' usual promotional fees I'm guessing Other Music must be out at least 10 grand right now.

Incidentally, I will most likely be at the following three EVENTS at the Black Cat in DC next month:
Tue, Sept 12 - Comedians of Comedy
Sat, Sept 16 - The Gossip, Erase Errata
Sun, Sept 17 - The New Quasars (supergroup feat. Meredith Brooks, Yngwie Malmsteen, Kira from Black Flag, Ralph Molina from Crazy Horse and Freedom Williams from C + C Music Factory)

Man, that New Quasars show is gonna be hot. Make sure you wear your Bicameral Mind t-shirts to all these events so we can come back to the ol' basement apartment, talk about my blog and take turns playing the demo version of "Bejeweled" on my cell phone 'til dawn.

96 Tears and 96 Eyes

I won't lie, people, the blog's undergoing a bit of a creative dryspell at the moment. Nevertheless, for those of you maybe not feeling the Sleater-Kinney love that's taken hold here lately, here's a roundup of some of the more mindblowing live Cramps stuff I've seen on YouTube:

Human Fly
I Was a Teenage Werewolf
Tear it Up (from the film "URGH! A Music War")
What's Inside a Girl?
The Hot Pearl Snatch
Can Your Pussy Do the Dog?
From the infamous Napa State Mental Hospital gig:
Mystery Plane
The Way I Walk
Human Fly
Garbageman video

The Final Sleater-Kinney Show

Sat, Aug 12, Crystal Ballroom in Portland, OR:
Setlist:
The Fox/The End of You/Wilderness/Jumpers/One Beat/Step Aside/The Hot Rock/Rollercoaster/All Hands On The Bad One/Night Light/What's Mine is Yours/Stay Where You Are/Modern Girl/Let's call It Love/Entertain/Sympathy/Words and Guitar

Encore 1:
Milkshake 'n' Honey/You're No Rock 'n' Roll Fun/Not What You Want/Steep Air/God is a Number/Oh!/Dig Me Out

Encore 2:
Good Things/Turn it On/One More Hour

Remember how I said the DC show was an amazing experience? Forget all that, I doubt that any band will ever top the final two S-K shows Fri & Sat in Portland for me. I walked out of both shows exhausted, drenched in sweat and feeling utterly glad I flew cross country to be there - and superthanks to Nicole G for hooking me up with the tickets. How many people can say they got to see their favorite band go out at the height of their powers with a pre-announced last show (barring the always-possible reunion, that is)? Following a few band I-love-you's, S-K said goodbye with a nearly-choked-up rendition of "One More Hour," a group hug and a bow to the crowd. Much like their NYC performance, both nights were filmed, so hopefully there will be some kind of future dvd release.

Eddie Vedder - not my favorite performer by any means but always seemingly a good guy - was a surprise guest opener on Sat night and, among other nice sentiments, summed up the general vibe when said that while people often wish they could've seen the Sex Pistols, Hendrix, the Who w/ Keith Moon, etc. he felt fortunate to live in a time when he could see Sleater-Kinney. Here's a portion of the ukelele duet he sang with Janet Weiss, the standard "You Belong to Me" (as heard in The Jerk!)




Fortunately, however, Carrie Brownstein seems to already have her next career move lined up, as evidenced by this clip of her interviewing Saddam Hussein - who looks suspiciously like Fred Armisen here, although personally to me it looks more like Colin Ferrell:



OK here's one more YouTube clip I found so far, a bit of "Words & Guitar" from Friday night's show:

Most unlikely use of Eno music in sketch comedy?

Clip from Chris Morris' Jam. Be back next week, hopefully providing my own content.

E Street Band, this is your lucky day

Now all the heroes out there can put anyone they want on notice. It's assumed that Gene Simmons and Fox News would be on my "Dead to Me" list. Oh, and while technically Seth Bullock from Deadwood has already put George Hearst on notice, I felt a second go-round was well-deserved.

Sleater-Kinney in DC, 08/03/06

Setlist:
One Beat/Not What You Want/Wilderness/The Fox/Jumpers/#1 Must Have/Steep Air/Rollercoaster/BURN, DON'T FREEZE/Nightlight/The End of You/What's Mine Is Yours/Modern Girl/Let's Call It Love/Entertain/Little Babies
ENCORE 1: Ironclad/Get Up/Buy Her Candy (this one was done mainly to kill time while Janet fixed her snare drum)/Turn It On/Dance Song 97/Words & Guitar
ENCORE 2: Sympathy/Dig Me Out

This show was an amazing experience for me. Of course, various circumstances surrounding it had a lot to do with that, but really they were fantastic and the crowd refused to leave until we got that second encore. I'm really not ready to say goodbye to this band. I think I might have to consider flying out to Portland.

I couldn't BELIEVE they played "Burn, Don't Freeze." This is one of my top 10 favorite songs of theirs and I was planning to yell for it during the encore, I expected to no avail. I had always wondered how it would come off live and I thought they pulled it off. As you can see, they did all of "The Woods" (I could've done without Steep Air and Nightlight, although both have grown on me), a huge chunk of "Dig Me Out" (minus One Mour Hour, oddly, although I'd already seen them do that one twice before), a few others and nothing from "Call the Doctor" (why must they shun Good Things?).

NPR streamed this show live and they should be putting up the archive here soon (oh, how you'll want to hear that Sympathy/Dig Me Out combo). Also, there'll be a dvd of their apparently very sweaty show in NYC last night. If you're looking for more live Sleater-Kinney, this page contains a bunch of cover songs they've done over the years, my favorites being Springsteen's "The Promised Land" and Danzig's "Mother." Also, I was at the show the version of "Fortunate Son" is taken from on that page and that one was another mindblower. There's also live versions of stuff they've never released elsewhere on that site.

So in conclusion, I will physically fight anyone who says anything bad about S-K from now on. To paraphrase John Langrishe from Deadwood, my hopeless unsuitability for the task will confuse you enough to ensure my inevitable victory.

AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRGGGHHHHH!!!

>**UPDATE!** Show is rescheduled for this Thursday @ 9, apparently no opening act. That's all well and good, but I still want that massage!


SLEATER-KINNEY SHOW
CANCELLED!!!!

WORLDWIDE EXCLUSIVE!!!! MUST CREDIT BICAMERAL MIND AND ANY RANDOM PERSON BITCHING ABOUT THIS!!!

9:40 pm, I'm standing in the crowd just before S-K are about to take the stage in DC and one of the club workers announces the place is being shut down due to an overheated transformer! I CAN'T FUCKIN' BELIEVE IT!!! Everyone just filed out in shock. CAN'T YOU AT LEAST RIOT, YOU CORNY INDIE FUCKS??!?

sorry.

At least I didn't have to travel a great distance like some people there. Will the show be rescheduled? The guy on stage said so, but who knows. If they do, then I guess that might make the DC show the final Sleater-Kinney show? We'll see. GODDAMNIT, 930 CLUB YOU'D BETTER MAKE IT UP TO ME!!! I want a free erotic massage from any performer on your stage for life. Let's see, who do you have coming up in the next few weeks: The Pretenders? No. Gary Numan? Noooo. Jurassic 5? Dear God, no! Well, we'll work something out later. In the meantime, shock, despair, etc.