Gettin’ Down, Twi-lek-style
Evidently, I missed a great show last night — all the more painful because I was there and left early.
The Roman Numerals kicked off “The Great American Smoke Camel Cigarettes, Be Cool and Die Painfully and Alone! Rock Carnivale” last night at the Madrid around 8 p.m. The boys sounded good, I thought, but the crowd was rather sedate, no doubt hampered by the mellowing effects of tremendous clouds of nicotine and tar, not to mention the earliness of the hour. It was the first time I’d seen Billy Smith make use of a small megaphone at the beginning of one of the songs. He probably does it all the time but I’ve always been too busy dancing to the dark beats to notice. I commented to the girl next to me that it was “very Pink Floyd.” I then pantomimed holding a megaphone to my mouth and shouted, in an Irish accent, “Stand still, laddie!” She probably thought I was out of my mind, but at least she didn’t immediately walk away.
Ricardo was there, this time in Bacchanalian Roman regalia (thanks to Bill for posting this photo). I finally realized which famous dancer it is of whom Ricardo reminds me. Stretch your memory glands with me, here. Think Return of the Jedi, lair of Jabba the Hutt: there’s this dancer with a big slug-like tentacle or two attached to her head who does a few pirouttes to the space-funk jam before attempting to strangle Jabba, who defends himself by hitting a button that opens the floor. She falls and is eaten by Donald Rumsfeld. Remember that? That’s totally Ricardo, except we’d never feed him to a Bush Administration official nor any other beast. OK, I can’t believe my luck: here is a real-live interview with Jabba’s “Twi-lek” slave. I always wondered what species Ricardo really was. Mystery solved.
The Roman Numerals left the stage to adequate applause and many hacking coughs. After being forced by the sound man to listen to a bunch of songs that involved Jack White in some capacity, the Stills took the stage, all but the drummer clad in black dinner jackets. When I Googled them just now to find their Web site, the search result that linked to their official site said “Rock band with an ’80s sound from Montreal.” Yep, that’s pretty much dead on, but a little vague. I’d qualify it with U2, Duran Duran and, on the song that ripped the rapid-fire drum break from “White Wedding,” Billy Idol. But with no audible synth. I stress “audible” because you couldn’t hear the keyboards at all, even though there was a stack of three. They should’ve kept Dave Gaume at the sound board — he did the Numerals good when they played.
The Stills’ biggest song is “Still in Love Song,” which should be titled “I’m a Still, and I’m in Love…uh, Song.” Now, this song calls for cowbell, which prompted about five idiots in the audience to call for “more cowbell” between drags from samples of the new Turkish Ennui� line of Camels (flavors: Mint Malaise�, Chocolate Chagrin� and Nothing Rhymes with Orange�). Seriously, folks, can we just all shut the fuck up from now on whenever we see a cowbell in action? Can we? Or do we have to banish ourselves from the company of other human beings forever? Enough!
I didn’t stick around for the headliner, Kings of Leon, because I had the ridiculous notion that I’d go home and get some writing done. I ended up writing exactly one sentence and missing what I hear was a really good show. A coworker who stayed compared the band’s new songs to early ’80s underground Gene Loves Jezebel-like stuff. I have to admit that another thing that kept me from staying — oh, besides the drink prices — was that I’ve always held it against the Kings of Leon for their name. They’re brothers and a cousin whose father/uncle is a Pentecostal minister named Leon Followill. That makes them kings of their dad (or uncle), and that just doesn’t sound right. Also, I don’t know what the hell that is on the cover of their latest album (see photo), but I have an ill feeling that it has to do with Leon.
If you saw the show and have anything to say about it, please post a comment. Otherwise, let us move on and say no more of the cowbell.
