I admit it, I can't get enough.
Throw in the ol' conceptual video as a kicker and, sweet mother of Mary, I don't wanna be right.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Friday, June 15, 2007
Friday, June 01, 2007
Rock & roll time
"I could just go back to my office for another two hours." The girl in the sweater set was bitching to the security guy outside the club last night. "It says 8:30 on the ticket."
I was waiting to pick up my will-call tickets at the window. No list tonight. I was keeping it real, standing on line with the rest of the proletariat. No pass, no laminate, no call to the tour manager to be whisked onto the bus. For all outward appearances, there was nothing to set me apart from the sweater set girl and her friend who were causing a scene and demanding to see the club manager. Except that I understand how rock shows operate.
Because of the usual crew I hang with, I guess I take for granted that there really are people out there who don't understand the concept of "rock & roll time." Sure, there's the time that's printed on the ticket. It's a guideline, folks, not an absolute. If the advertised start time says 9:00PM, depending on the club, that could mean anything from 11:00PM to the following Tuesday. Once we had a showcase for a band at Piano's. They told us our set time would be 9:00PM, so we naturally figured that meant around 10:00PM. In fact, our set time was 9:45PM, and the band didn't go on until almost 11:00PM. We were not amused, but no one demanded to see the club's manager. Rock & roll time, it happens. The band's lawyer did almost get into a fist fight with the sound guy, but that's an entirely different story.
This seemed to be the situation last night: Sweater Set and her equally straitlaced friend were there to see the headliner, a guy named Ari Hest who is apparently signed to Columbia Records. She felt quite put out by the fact that there might be other music happening besides Ari Hest, thus his set wouldn't start until 10:30PM - maybe. Clearly it didn't occur to her that she might enjoy the other music being offered, hence where she continued shrieking to anyone who would listen that it was totally unfair that she had to wait in the club for two! whole! hours! Ari Hest must have really awesome pyro or something.
On the other hand, I couldn't really sympathize since I wasn't there to see Ari Hest.
The Damnwells were playing.
Occasionally people ask me if I'm friends with the Damnwells. I'm not, despite the amount of zealous hyping I do on their behalf. I've never even met anyone in the band, not even bumped elbows at the bar. It's been a while since I went to any show that didn't involve either people I know socially or where my presence was required by the nature of my job. Work shows are entirely a different vibe - even if I like the band, I can never really like them too much because of the unspoken code Thou shalt not enjoy that which thou commissions. There is also a lot of talking shop, bemoaning the quality of the mix or where in the set the band played the current single. The having of the fun is minimal at best.
But I have no stake in The Damnwells. They just make me happy. I know, that's really uncool, maybe less cool than secretly listening to bands we manage at my desk. But that's just how it is, and I've made peace with it. It makes me a little relieved that I haven't turned into one of those dead-eyed cogs in the machine who just shrugs everything off as "not horrible." There is something deeply hopefully about their songs, a clear-eyed realism tempered with the idea that somehow it will all be OK, if not quite how you planned it. These songs aren't cynical and yet not above a well-placed middle finger when needed. I always walk away from a Damnwells show feeling better than I did before I went - even the one at the Knitting Factory where there was no air conditioning and I was standing in a puddle of my own sweat. Or the one at Mercury Lounge that started two hours late. Even those were worth it.
"I got married a couple of weeks ago," Alex Dezen said between songs. A smattering of applause. "Actually...some of you were there." He used to live in Brooklyn. There were some guttural shouts, presumably from his groomsmen. Possibly the officiating minister.
"Right, well, I wrote this song after I met my wife. But before we were fucking."
This a large part of the reason why I adore this band.
They ended the set with "Sleepsinging" - as they often do, I guess since it was (in theory) the radio single from the album that Epic released and then mostly ignored. It used to seem odd to me that they would close a generally upbeat, energetic set with a song that seems to be about rejection and disillusionment.
"I will never change," Alex Dezen wailed. "No."
I couldn't tell if he was having a good night or a bad one. From the moment the band stepped onstage, he had been possessed of a furious energy that I don't think I've seen before at any of their shows. He seemed intent of giving the best goddamn performance ever, whether you liked it or not.
"Will you ever change...No."
Maybe it's not such a sad song. Maybe it's a happy song with a healthy dose of perspective. Sometimes clarity is about accepting that things are not always perfect, people will let you down, and life is hard. Choosing to be happy despite all of that goes a long way.
I'm not sure that I need to be friends with The Damnwells. They've done enough for me as it is.
I was waiting to pick up my will-call tickets at the window. No list tonight. I was keeping it real, standing on line with the rest of the proletariat. No pass, no laminate, no call to the tour manager to be whisked onto the bus. For all outward appearances, there was nothing to set me apart from the sweater set girl and her friend who were causing a scene and demanding to see the club manager. Except that I understand how rock shows operate.
Because of the usual crew I hang with, I guess I take for granted that there really are people out there who don't understand the concept of "rock & roll time." Sure, there's the time that's printed on the ticket. It's a guideline, folks, not an absolute. If the advertised start time says 9:00PM, depending on the club, that could mean anything from 11:00PM to the following Tuesday. Once we had a showcase for a band at Piano's. They told us our set time would be 9:00PM, so we naturally figured that meant around 10:00PM. In fact, our set time was 9:45PM, and the band didn't go on until almost 11:00PM. We were not amused, but no one demanded to see the club's manager. Rock & roll time, it happens. The band's lawyer did almost get into a fist fight with the sound guy, but that's an entirely different story.
This seemed to be the situation last night: Sweater Set and her equally straitlaced friend were there to see the headliner, a guy named Ari Hest who is apparently signed to Columbia Records. She felt quite put out by the fact that there might be other music happening besides Ari Hest, thus his set wouldn't start until 10:30PM - maybe. Clearly it didn't occur to her that she might enjoy the other music being offered, hence where she continued shrieking to anyone who would listen that it was totally unfair that she had to wait in the club for two! whole! hours! Ari Hest must have really awesome pyro or something.
On the other hand, I couldn't really sympathize since I wasn't there to see Ari Hest.
The Damnwells were playing.
Occasionally people ask me if I'm friends with the Damnwells. I'm not, despite the amount of zealous hyping I do on their behalf. I've never even met anyone in the band, not even bumped elbows at the bar. It's been a while since I went to any show that didn't involve either people I know socially or where my presence was required by the nature of my job. Work shows are entirely a different vibe - even if I like the band, I can never really like them too much because of the unspoken code Thou shalt not enjoy that which thou commissions. There is also a lot of talking shop, bemoaning the quality of the mix or where in the set the band played the current single. The having of the fun is minimal at best.
But I have no stake in The Damnwells. They just make me happy. I know, that's really uncool, maybe less cool than secretly listening to bands we manage at my desk. But that's just how it is, and I've made peace with it. It makes me a little relieved that I haven't turned into one of those dead-eyed cogs in the machine who just shrugs everything off as "not horrible." There is something deeply hopefully about their songs, a clear-eyed realism tempered with the idea that somehow it will all be OK, if not quite how you planned it. These songs aren't cynical and yet not above a well-placed middle finger when needed. I always walk away from a Damnwells show feeling better than I did before I went - even the one at the Knitting Factory where there was no air conditioning and I was standing in a puddle of my own sweat. Or the one at Mercury Lounge that started two hours late. Even those were worth it.
"I got married a couple of weeks ago," Alex Dezen said between songs. A smattering of applause. "Actually...some of you were there." He used to live in Brooklyn. There were some guttural shouts, presumably from his groomsmen. Possibly the officiating minister.
"Right, well, I wrote this song after I met my wife. But before we were fucking."
This a large part of the reason why I adore this band.
They ended the set with "Sleepsinging" - as they often do, I guess since it was (in theory) the radio single from the album that Epic released and then mostly ignored. It used to seem odd to me that they would close a generally upbeat, energetic set with a song that seems to be about rejection and disillusionment.
"I will never change," Alex Dezen wailed. "No."
I couldn't tell if he was having a good night or a bad one. From the moment the band stepped onstage, he had been possessed of a furious energy that I don't think I've seen before at any of their shows. He seemed intent of giving the best goddamn performance ever, whether you liked it or not.
"Will you ever change...No."
Maybe it's not such a sad song. Maybe it's a happy song with a healthy dose of perspective. Sometimes clarity is about accepting that things are not always perfect, people will let you down, and life is hard. Choosing to be happy despite all of that goes a long way.
I'm not sure that I need to be friends with The Damnwells. They've done enough for me as it is.
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