The Black Keys, Better Live? Stupid Question

I saw the Black Keys for the second time at Penn's Landing on Friday.  Definitely near the top on my list of favorite concerts.

First, the venue is amazing.  For those who haven't been to a show at the River Stage, put it on your to-do list.  It's an outdoor amphitheater with a small flat area in front of the stage.  I was one of the first people through the gate and planned on rushing up to the stage but my friend pointed out that standing a couple steps up was the best spot.  We were eye level with the band and still only 15 feet from the stage.  Brilliant.

The crowd, too, was very good.  Hipsters and young people (hipsters aren't people) filled out with some older folk rocking out with beer.  Our experience was almost ruined by a couple drunk assholes, but luckily they were too wasted to be truly obnoxious.  Overall, it seemed like everyone there was on the same wavelength, but that could be attributed to this guy:

Kurt Vile.  "Would it be curt to call this vile?" -- Ben Miller

Kurt Vile is a Philadelphia native and he was recruited to fill in for The Morning Benders to open.  It was him, an older guy with greasy hair, and a woman on harp.  The crowd was settling down, waiting for the Black Keys but possibly patient enough to sip a beer through the opener.  In other words, this guy had one chance.  He started finger picking his acoustic guitar.  Heavy reverb and delay masked any possible sense of melody.  The greasy guy started playing guitar; the noise just got more confused.  I could steal a few notes out of the cacophony from the harp.  

And then he sang.  

If I could type the onomatopoeia for yodeling into a kazoo, I would.  Instantly, everyone in the crowd started looking around to see if their neighbors were listening to the same thing.  What the hell?  Kurt kept on singing, his hair covering his face, most likely in shame.  Greasy guy wore sunglasses.  Harp lady was oblivious.  Pluck pluck she went, rocking out.

Every song sounded the same- off-key screaming and finger-picked guitar shoved down an endless hallway.  It's funny I said hipsters aren't people above, because I found that picture of him on this blog, Hipsters Eat For Free (but please, don't feed the hipsters.  It just encourages them).  I think 'Andrea' had a lobotomy before seeing Kurt Vile because she describes him thusly-

"You know how some people seem to have an aura around them? Kurt Vile is one of those people. Although not much taller than me, he seemed to loom like a giant over the crowd, his face rarely peeking out from a thick, messy mane of hair."

More like, he hid behind his hair and sort of mumbled at the microphone, encouraging the crowd to bond over their mutual hatred of all things Kurt Vile.  If you do read Andrea's blog, just keep in mind that anything she says is actually the complete opposite.

So... I spent most of this blog complaining about Kurt Vile instead of gushing about the Black Keys.  But there's not much I can say without sounding like any other fanboy.  They are one of the best musical acts touring right now and you have to see them live.  The guitarist, Dan Auerbach, adds so much to the show, so much that their studio albums are boring and cookie cutter by comparison.  Pat Carney plays the drums like an over-developed twelve-year old plays whack a mole.  And it's all amazing.  Here are a couple pictures.  Sorry for the fuzziness, I was too excited to focus on quality.

                                                  

                                      

                                      

Little Monsters in the Big Apple Carnival

So.  Yours truly went to New York City and waited with thousands of others for the chance to see Lady Gaga perform on the Today Show.

There's more to the story, of course.  Around 3 pm, Thursday, a friend of mine, Lauren Hank, asked me to go up to New York to wait in line.  Her appeal was the promise of never-ending love and adoration, but she was being silly.  I expect those things anyway.

I enjoy Lady Gaga, but not to extent of waiting almost 12 hours with the "hope" of seeing her perform.  So I went for my friend and for the experience.  Turns out, it was kind of worth it.

We drove to Jersey City and took the Path up to the city.  I could have sworn Ryan Howard was on the same car as us.  Too bad that wouldn't make sense.  He looked JUST LIKE HIM.  Really.

The Path dumped us into the city around 8:30 and we were in immediate pursuit of the sound of screaming fans and the many clicking of flashbulbs.  Off to Rockefeller Plaza!  We heard the roar first, the unified noise of a happy crowd.

Our quarry greeted us like a many headed beast of Dorothy.  That is, thousands of gay men and screaming girls, Lady Gaga's main fan base.  We walked past each row, staring at the waiting fans.  They stared back through the bars of the barricades, lost little monsters in the Big Apple Carnival.  They had their gear strewn about, all necessary equipment for a marathon queuing session.  Blankets, cards, empty pizza boxes, water bottles, headphones, spilled out of bags torn open in careless haste.  The buzz and air was like that of a giant camping party.  Friends were made in an instance over card games and a shared pizza, group shots were taken, and the night was just starting.  Some of these people had already been in line for hours before we arrived.  Oh God, the headache was just beginning.

We plunked down near the end of the block and examined our chances of getting to see Lady Gaga in the morning.  Here's what we saw-

Now multiply that by a few hundred and you're almost there.  Also, add a third row between poofy afro kid and the caution tape behind him.  For a whole block.  I had no idea what would happen, but I was feeling adventurous.  

From 9:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m., the night felt like one big slumber party.  Lauren and I played cards with our line neighbors, gulped down energy drinks and told our life stories, painted our nails... oh no, that was the guys near us.  The fumes made me high and I got confused.  The NYC traffic flowed past, slowed down in the wee hours, but never actually stopped.  It really is the city that never sleeps, and we were a part of it.

A few times I walked around the corner to watch the line grow behind us to a ludicrous length.  It stretched 5 feet wide for more from 48th street to 52nd.  The worst part is?  None of those people got in.  Ouch.  Here's Times Square at 3 a.m.  Just from the corner to McDonald's, I was offered coke twice.  Oh New York, you naughty city.  

                            

                                               

The energy of the line went from screaming cheerleaders to aerobics at the assisted living home.  The guy a row over kept trying to sing Gaga songs, getting a line through and then leaning his head back against the barricade.  Give it up, man.  I was getting pretty haggard as the night dragged on, but I never fell asleep.  I thank Lauren for her enthusiasm.

When the sun started coming up, so did the line.  Weary heads started popping up, the make up was smeared from sweat and makeshift pillows, the hair was a mess, but everyone was smiling.  Just a couple hours!  I just wanted a change of scenery.

                                       

                                              

Man!  Look at that ginger's jaw!  Could cut a hand off.  He was looking for a wristband, and I'm not sure if he found one, but he managed to sneak in.

Once security started letting people in, tempers started flaring up.  Never have I heard such vitriolic gay sass.  It was like "Will & Grace" went to the prison in "Oz".  A couple guys were actually barred from the performance for mouthing off to a security organizer.  Oh, they were just SO mad, like oh ehm gee.

As it turns out, I was the last person let in, along with a girl.  We were feeling pretty "meh" about Lady Gaga at that point.  But hell, I was there, and this was some bloggable stuff.  I was pretty far back in the crowd, and could hardly see Lady Gaga.  Thankfully, I was taller than most of the people and could see a short blond prancing around on stage, warming up and throwing around rehearsal directions.  She sang an excellent version of Someone to Watch Over Me and I was happy with that.  Also, this adorable Asian woman shirked her duties for an awesome view of the stage.

It was also easy to tell when Lady Gaga would start to do something on stage, because this is all I saw:

Everybody, quick!  Compulsively capture every single moment on camera and shaky Handycam videos!  Jesus, buy a new memory or something.  These antics, combined with my backpack and headache were making it harder and harder to wait for the actual performance.  I did get one shot of her, though:

Sweet moment, but seriously... COOL ARM, HANSEL.  Christ!  I finally cracked and left Lauren to find a bathroom to change clothing in.  I came to the Starbucks on Madison with the most luxurious bathroom I have ever seen.  Clean, dry, and enormous.  I took my sweet time, savoring the dry and fresh smelling clothing.  I bought an iced coffee and went to the steps of St. Patrick's cathedral, from where I could still hear the performance.  As an added bonus, I avoided the freak torrential downpour.  

I think the rest of the day was spent at the Met and eating at Chipotle, but honestly, my body was just too tired to soak in memories.  But I can say that Lady Gaga is better live.  

I think in order to rescue my tattered masculinity I'm going to hunt buffalo using my tickets to see the Black Keys as knives.  And then use the bones as weapons to hunt some dinosaurs.  

Also, by the time I went to bed, I had been awake for nearly 36 hours.  Never, never again.  

Big Bands on the Cheap

Patrick Sweeney opened for the Black Keys. Excellent blues-rock.

In high school, I saw Kings of Leon and The Black Keys for around $35 each, even after Ticketmaster had its way with my wallet (I hate Ticketmaster with all of my heart, but I don't need to jump on the bash-wagon). I saw them both at the Electric Factory in Philadelphia. I was ten feet from the stage and had the best time of my life. I bet you want to know how you can do this, too. Trust me, I wish I had an answer.

Caleb from Kings of Leon. Truly a gorgeous sight.

One of the saddest consequences of a band's rising popularity is the wildly exciting ticket prices. Kings of Leon and The Black Keys now sell out massive stadium tours where the best seats reach over a hundred dollars. Back row seats can be around $75 and lawn seats are around $50. Guys on the street will try and bilk $20 out of you if you stand too close to the venue.

Annoying? Absolutely. But now I have the satisfaction of having seen these bands in the best possible way, for a totally reasonable price, at a real neat place.

Dan Auerbach from the Black Keys.

There are a few things you can do to protect yourself from music industry robbery. Find all the small venues in your area, the bars, the dives, the standing-room only clubs for hipsters. Look at the lineup of future bands and pick out the ones you've either heard of or that fit your musical taste. Now go to those shows. Just go. There's a half decent chance you will see great musicians and a slightly smaller chance that some of them will make it big. Or at least big enough to charge $120 for seats a mile out. By the way, the pictures in this blog were taken on my old Motorola flip with a 1.3 megapixel camera. That's how close I was to the stage.

Sir, What Was Better Live?

Sigh, you have much to learn, Padawan. What- is any live event, big or small, momentous or infinitesimal. Using the phrase "It was better live" is the bragging rights, the "I was there, and you weren't", the time you met Ricky Gervais or the Halloween when Paul drunkenly dive-bombed out of a tree and broke his arm. It is the raison d'être for name-droppers, travelers, and news reporters alike, and my excuse to be an asshole any time a popular song comes on the radio. If I have seen the artist live, you damn well better believe you'll hear about it. If you talk about a painting and I have seen the original, I will talk about the brush strokes and atmosphere of the museum. If you bring up the pandas in Washington, D.C.... I haven't seen them yet, but once I do I'll make sure to tell you how cute they were, what they were eating, and if the experience was worth it.

And that's the most important part: I am being an asshole, but I am also serving the role of critic. My irritating antics of self-aggrandizment come not only with a headache, but with a recommendation. Trick-or-treating at the embassies in our nations capital? Skip it.

The best part of that day- Meeting Jose, the future president of Paraguay, in drag

Seeing Sondre Lerche at the 9:30 Club? A must, and I'm sure it doesn't matter where you see him. You get the point.

The cutest elf in all the land- Sondre Lerche at the 9:30 Club

This blog is a celebration of the wonderful- events that I witness, movies I watch, musicians I see perform, places I go... and so on. I hope to encourage wary readers to go do things for the sake of doing them, to broaden horizons, to have a good time, and if that doesn't happen, at least have a good story to report back with.