OH MY GOD Part Deux

hmmmm...so i'm sober now. which means that my continuation to the previous post will probably end up somewhat stale..lacking in vibrant humour and quite possibly tedious.

BUT never the less i will finish what i foolish started in the wee hours in the morning in between managing my WORK EMAILS. who does that at 2am...someone who has nightmares of that inbox filling up..overflowing...spewing negotiations, critiques, favours, spam, politics and the odd invite to a partay or show.

so that leaves me at 2am...trying to erase all the "unreads" clean it up so i can go to sleep somewhat at ease..knowing that for a brief moment in time i AM ON TOP of things. well - at least i know i am. if there's one thing i've learned...de-nile is not just a river in Egypt my friend. It is a highly medicinal addictive drug.

So anyways...it's like a week later. I'm over whatever the end of that mission was. and now i'm live blogging from a tradeshow booth we have set up at SXSW.

OH MY GOD

tonight i ran a mission..not like tom cruise where i've got a hot chick bikini clad pretending not to swoon over me. it was a mission of honour. of love and respect. a mission of a friendship that has been stoked in the fires of loyalty.

tonight i left work to forgo all my plans and earthly pleasures and set out to accomplish the most embarrassing and monumentous feat known to man!! i received a call from my friend Tiffany saying she needed some CDs and she needed them STAT. SO - while i'm trying to send out a graphic for a laminate to be made for SXSW AND trying to update a mail out that's going to happen [by the way coordinating with our graphics who is so swamped i cringe every time i pick up the phone to call on him to do "just one more thing for me"] i get her frantic call close on the heels on what will apparently be the friggin acopolypse if i don't make this shit happen. so - i boot it out of the office [AFTER work hours thank you very much] and RUN all the way from church and shuter to Yonge and Edward. i am out of breath. i am carrying a laptop. i have a fuckin bowling bag of shit smacking against my hip. i am NOT in running shoes and it IS WINTER. there is slush [now strategically placed alongside my backside from attempting to - miserably - hurdle slush puddles] and cold and snow and ughh.

so i'm running - yes folks running..which i only do for buses in sub zero temps and sample sales. i haul ass to the Future Shop on Yonge and to my mortification i have to buy Anne Murray, Bryan Adams and Michael Buble. F.U.C.K.M.E.

do u know what that's like. having to ask the dude to see what he has in stock because u have 24 minutes to get this shit and get it to the Royal York?! No? I didn't think so. let's put it this way - when he said "which album do you prefer" i said i'd prefer to shove this shit up someone's ass and never have to see it again - but i can't so just give me whatever the fuck is there so i can pay for it and pretend that my willingness to step into torture NEVER HAPPENED.

[alright let's be real here - i didn't really mean that for Bryan Adams. that guy has anthems spewing out of his ass he's so on top of what his audience and wants....and i'm the same age as his would be grandchildren and I'D STILL GO SEE HIM LIVE]

phew..need to sleep will finish later.

The Kooks

"Won't you come on over to my side of the sofa...they tried to take your soul but didn't realize you keep it in a different hole..."
Above: a classic example of the depth to these lads lyrics wrapped in typical britpop with a funk /Specials vibe to top it off.

Well I can definitely say that out of all the girls screaming for their boyish good looks, UK wit and skin tight jeans there were four that made a definite impression. It might have been their discussion in the bathroom about "I can't believe ALL these people know about them!!" [FYI - ladies they sold out the fuckin Koolhaus last year...I can't believe YOU DIDN'T know them THEN]

OR

It could have been their obnoxious screaming and slutty gyrating

OR

the bouncing on each other's shoulders directly in front of the band screaming and pointing at their breasts. Okay, so they might have had something like I [heart] The Kooks or whatever printed on their Ts but regardless.. they were pointing at THEIR BOOBS. COME ON. If you want to fuck them go to the door of the dressing room. It's just up the stairs. blow the bouncer if you have to. It's the Mod Club not the fuckin Ritz.

Beyond the decidedly frat house feel to the room, the confusion at the door and an opening band who's lead guy was - I SWEAR - Brandon Flowers' doppleganger.....sorry boys, guess you'll never tour with The Killers [I'll be fair and say they were good...great stage presence, solid tunes, blah blah...but when you channel Flowers persona and Weiland's twitches you don't necessarily come up with a good thing.] the show well worth the subzero walk and wipe out it took to get there.

Moving On.

The Kooks: saying that they rocked=redundant. Saying the show was perfect=redundant. saying they have style=redundant. The Kooks are the culmination of everything great and inspired that comes out of the UK. They are the hook, the voice, the moves, the hair, the clothes, the slang, the accent, the charm, the indifference, the riff, the jingle and the catch phrase They are the personification what England does best.

They make you dance and sing [and not just the ladies] and they are musical darlings. A favourite part of the night for me was when the acoustic set finished and some dude in the crowd shouts:

[dude] "Play Ohh La"

[Kooks dude] "We already played that man - were you not listenin'?" insert British accent and laughter.

[crowd] hysterics.

and THIS is why The Kooks are brilliant. If this is what you can expect from a random strut down the street and an impromptu visit to a local school - just IMAGINE what you can get on stage with a full band and 10x the fans.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P8DRxQATErY

EXACTLY.

this is a vent...that's right..i've got SHIT to say

SO normally I try and be professional and give people the benefit of the doubt. So when i heard shit about a certain promoter at RMS I backed her up. Ya know, it's hard to be a chick in the industry and I know that sometimes you have to have a thick skin..you need to be firm and aggressive - i get it. shit happens. whatever.

BUT if your people can't get their shit together DO NOT place the inefficiencies on me. i am NOT your punching bag. I am not your therapist and I am not your Prozac. Don't give me your shit. I am NOT your problem. If you have self-esteem issues or you've been screwed or fucked or apparently NOT FUCKED [in a very very long time] than you need to deal with these things because really...rotting from the inside out is not recommended. ask your doctor. sure he's all about apples but c'mon..rotting from the inside? - can't be good.

SO..Monday night. I'm on my way to The Kooks. First off - I love The Kooks. Last time I saw them was at The Koolhaus. Awesome. Sold Out. Had just come from the Steam Whistle Brewery. a little drunk. not gonna lie.

**[insert random thought: my friend Claire is really nice..so is Chris Budd..but not as nice...kinda as nice..pseudo nice..nice guy..oxymoron? hmmm. guy=nice=possible? hmmm.]**

Back again.

The Kooks. Mod Club. saw them before. awesome.redundant. Just sayin. So let's get back to the drama of the evening. oh wait. where was I...right

so apparently the Kooks is a recipe for drama. last time we saw them some chick was so wasted she annihilated my foot to the point where I was making my way to her to "speak my mind" maybe even show her the offended foot and make her kiss it. who knows. Chris pulled me back.bought me a beer. said it wasn't worth it. and it turns out it wasn't cause she got in a scrap with some dude and got kicked out of the show.

like seriously. a mosh pit. at THE KOOKS. COME ON.

so. true to form we are at another Kooks show and there is another moment of drama. this time with a promoter who is such a hot head she doesn't even take into account mis-communication OR the random everyday fuck ups that occur when "guest list" is involved. She totally sccuses us of fucking with her list and manipulating her staff. Even though we each had either a ticket or guestlist.

I have friends.

YES I HAVE FRIENDS. some of whom can make things happen. Like concert tickets. I personally am not a conduit of action BUT sometimes people like me enough to do nice things for me like get me tickets to concerts that I LOVE!! as I am one of the people that appreciate this. return the favour. AND NEVER abuse a kind gesture or generous offer I'm pretty sure I'm kosher with most peeps on this account. Now I'll admit I was nervous that the tickets weren't actually going to be at the door. that this had all happened in my head - in my own little world of fantasy and make believe.

BUT.

Turns out after all my neurosis and self-doubt and pessimism the tickets were there for me. As well my friend had her name on the list. BUT before we could explain ANYTHING the girl at the door made assumptions.

NOW. the saying.."to assume makes and ass out you and me" does not come from just anywhere. and when one assumes you really do open yourself up to a lot of shit. if there's one piece of advice i can pass along. it's ALWAYS get both sides of the story.

Your chick at the door may not be able to handle SEVEN DIFFERENT GUESTS LISTS. You coming to the door and making changes may fuck her up. too many people at the door may push her into a frenzy. AGAIN. shit happens.

So the girl at the door scanned both my tickets before giving me an opportunity to explain that one was supposed to be left at the door for someone on their way and that IN FACT the girl I was with had her name under the promoter's very own guest list. For those of you that frequent concerts I'm sure you're aware that once a ticket is scanned YOU CAN'T LEAVE IT for pick up ANYMORE. FUCK. After much confusion over who had what and who's name was where, we were under the impression everything was fine. Apparently one cannot be sure when dealing with a "promoter" who is female and takes the term "grow some balls" literally.

So after she [RMS] assumes we are trying to "manipulate" her guest list [not the case..WE HAD A TICKET] insults a previous business partner / friend, another innocent and someone she doesn't EVEN NOW - she threatens to throw them out. She gives them shit and basically loses whatever self-respect she had left by totally undermining the relationship she had in an effort to assert her "power" and influence.

WHO THE FUCK does that. Are we twelve. NO . apparently we're immature, insecure, self righteous ego maniacs that have a chip the size of a boulder on our shoulder.

Regardless of the abuse we had to endure - the show - although soured slightly - ROCKED. but i'm drained so more will come later.

I'm re-posting cause I can..without the links..can't be aksed really

Cock Rock @ it's FINEST!

Imagine you're born in 81. All you get is a tease of the greatness of the 80s - the Glam, The Crotch, leather, bandannas and scarves on mic stands.

Fast Forward. past drunken nights screaming Bon Jovi on the dance floor and Sweet Child of Mine in the shower. Welcome to Wednesday November 15th downtown, Toronto. 2006.

Our heroine - Gillian - mission - attend G 'N' R - goal - survive. So what do you do? you buy the hottest red pumps and you work it.

Recipie for success: exit cab @ ACC, pick up tix and complimentary "wanna fuck" passes [backstage], sneak camera into show, stock up on ridiculously over-priced booze and hit Row 2 side stage AKA best seats in the house! Courtesy of hot new keyboardist Dizzy. Don't forget the bathroom and bar [key ingredients] are a mere few feet behind you.

At some point in the evening you will encounter your own Almost Famous moments - in fact you're gonna star in your own version. It'll start when Dell [tour mgr] comes and escorts you backstage, through the underbelly of the touring machine - followed by a visit by mother nature on the G 'N' R tour bus and a perfectly chilled bottle of Jager. Skull it !

Be prepared for paparazzi upon returning to your seat - apparently just coming from backstage warrants some fame. Say Cheese! Now u rock out to Die Mannequin, are titillated by the Suicide Girls Burlesque and get revved when the operatic vox of Sebastian Bach belt out good ol' Skid Row. Throw in some Tralier Park Boys crashing Monkey Business and you got the beginning of one very fine evening!

and now the grand finale GUNS and ROSES - including braided dreadlocks from the man himself. They rocked hard, vocals pitch perfect [can Axle and pitch be used together?] and played till 1:30am. that's right folks - no lights - nothing, just joints bein passed and drunken frat boys being thrown out. You share a huge grin the with dude behind ya [thinks you're hot by the way ;) ]
- look out at the bikers, cougars, white trash, rebellious teens, slutty chicks and think to yourself - YEAH BABY I'm HOME!! So head bang your way to the end of the night cause it's After Party Time. [but first you have to break a bathroom door handle, get locked in and than jimmy your way out and than take the handle home with you - all in good fun of course]

After Party: Free food, Free booze - secret location, alley entrance EVERY FREAKIN BAND MEMBER SHOWS - photos but none of Axle - he's shy you know ; ) you laugh, have a drink, share a story and next thing you know it's 5am. The night has been surreal. It was ol' Skool rock at it's finest. Tits & Ass, booze, leather and late nites. It was perfect!

"BZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz" What that F*ck - oh that's your alarm. It's 9am - time for work SUCKA!

disclaimer: SOME people thought this was a dream..so i'm not a good writer - whatevs. it fuckin happened.