Call me a cougar, call me anything you’d like, but you guys at The WFNX Sandbox Seriously F*cking Rock!!! Sleep deprived, shaking, I’m working nights these days so after 4-1/2 hours of sleep I’m up with a cup of green tea, dialing in to a radio station to play a contest that relies on working brain cells… but anything, and I do mean anything for my beloved Airborne Toxic Event! The prize? A coveted ticket to a very special acoustic performance by the band the afternoon before their sold out Boston Paradise show. Some 30 or so people only, with all of Massachusetts and New Hampshire trying to get in.
Day One, A.M. Arithmetic. Not having listened the day before, I had no clue what this contest would be, so when the intern asked for someone’s cell number (as in someone other than me), I froze. Wha? Good lord, I don’t know anyone who’s up at this hour, who listens to WFNX, who reliably knows even simple math (or all of the above). I choke, hang up, dejected, and then I remember my friend Wendee (hi Wendee!), a semi-faithful Sandbox listener whom I used to work with before those @#*&!s laid me off. Damn!
Day Two, Sandbox Spelling Bee. I’m third caller, 2nd caller gets it. G-N-A-R-L-S B-A-R-K-L-E-Y. First guy didn’t know how to spell “Airborne” – for the love of god! Or he was calling from England. A-I-R-B-O-U-R-N-E T-O-X-I-C E-V-E-N-T, and please pass the fish & chips. “Have you ever heard of broccoli?”
Day Three, the Sandbox Memory Game. My god, is there a worse contest for me?? Computer work = Goodbye short-term memory. I get to the end of the second line and I blow it. Butt monkey SQUIRRELS. That’s all I’ll say. Butt monkey circles?? That doesn’t even make any sense! Not that the other does either. But this is the Sandbox, after all. Butt monkey. Yup, that’s about right.
By Day Four, Megaphone Madness, I’m not feeling terribly confident. Mind you, this was only a small portion of my three-day ‘FNX spaced odyssey. Endless repeated plays of Weezer and The Killers’ “Spaceman” (that alone should have won me something). Random scribblings on scraps of paper scattered across my desk and floor from Big Jim’s Big Dumb Game – X-Box Street Fighter, Star Wars bounty hunter, Simpsons Barney Gumble… Phish… Spin Doctors… Blues Traveler… Allman Brothers… barely legible snippets of lyrics. I madly google “and if you ain’t got to die, baby” and come up with several thousand hits for diapers.
So I call up. Don’t want to be first caller, no chance, no hope. I get in queue, staring at my wall numbly with the Sandbox guys assaulting me from three directions – phone, stereo in living room, boombox next to me in my office. I listen, my heart sinking, as Fletcher bleats out lyrics on a crappy megaphone that I’ve never heard before in my life. Some vague memory, a disconnected voice on the other end of the phone from a struggling caller, “Chili Peppers?”, she doesn’t know the title though. Oh god, no way. Not a Chili Peppers fan, sorry. I’m doomed. I’m up next. One of the sandboxers is speaking to me. I hear myself answer through a foggy haze, as if another person is talking. Do I stay up drinking and pining for someone late at night? Pining, maybe, not drinking. Not anymore. Am I a cougar? God, I hope not. Husky voice? Maybe a croaking voice, totally spent from a stressful job doing internet research late at night, half asleep. And then Fletcher begins to sing “Sometime Around Midnight” to me. Am I dreaming? I cry out “oh my god!” – and the song title. By? Miraculously, I remember their name. Maybe not my own, but theirs? Of course.
So thank you Charlie, Fletcher, Special Ed, and Henry Santoro. Sorry ’bout that crazy email I sent you guys last weekend, hope you enjoyed it. And much love to Anna, Noah, Steven, Daren… and of course Mikel, and I hope you’re ‘on the mend’ and wishing you warm California sunshine during your well-deserved rest. Sending healing energy your way. Can’t wait to see you guys!
These are anxious times for TATE fans. The band is in Denver, or Kansas, or somewhere in-between, and we’re awaiting an update on Mikel’s laryngitis. Meanwhile, we’re all sending our well wishes and doing remote healings, and I’ve been plugging away with my strange work schedule and wading through my endless Google alerts (did you see the one where they were mentioned in an Entertainment Weekly review of a Prince show? That was pretty cool).
I’ve also been listening to a lot of those cool Eastside L.A. bands, like The Monolators, Henry Clay People (who I can’t wait to see!), The Deadly Syndrome, Castledoor, Earlimart, Happy Hallows, The Movies, Voxhaul Broadcast, Summer Darling, etc… and Rademacher (who technically are from Fresno, but definitely part of the scene – wish they were on the East Coast leg of the tour). So when I saw that a very cool L.A. blogger, Classical Geek Theatre, was going on the road with The Henry Clay People, covering a few shows on their tour with TATE, I immediately took notice. And I also realized that for some bizarre reason, I had never read his reviews of his road travels with TATE during some shows of theirs back in July 2008, including Portland, Seattle, and the Pemberton Festival.
At one point in Mouse’s great review of their Portland gig, he said the show reminded him of his Clash bootlegs. Which triggered a distant memory for me… Sunday, August 29, 1982 I see on the ticket stub, though I can barely read it now with the condition it’s in. The Clash at the long defunct Agora Ballroom in West Hartford, Connecticut. I was up at the front, pressed against the stage, and the place was just manic. Totally out of control, in a beautiful, magical sort of way. I, well, had “a thing” for Paul Simonon (due in no small part to that video on MTV for “Rock the Casbah”). So at one point in the show, don’t remember which song but quite possibly that one, I proffered to Paul a marijuana joint diligently rolled for the occasion that afternoon. Not really a pot smoking sort of band, he politely refused, shaking his head, but then spent the rest of the song playing nearly on top of me, periodically jabbing the end of his bass into my stomach. Needless to say, delirium ensued, and the only other memory I have of the show after that is wandering around outside in the parking lot afterwards in a daze with the other zombies, drenched in sweat. Why I decided to share that story with the world today, I really don’t know. I suppose that’s just the sort of mood I’m in.
Anyway, back to the moment. Mikel, hope you feel better soon. We’re all thinking about you. And to Anna, Steven, Daren, Noah – and the Henry Clay guys – here’s to a jamming, life-affirming, and smooth-as-possible rest of the tour.
My muse visited me this morning, in the guise of a Mockingbird spreading his wings and peering up at me on my porch as I was doing my sun salutations, as if to say “winter is nearly over, and I’m ready to fly – how about you?” A chill in the air still and patches of ice on the ground, but Spring bubbling underneath as a whispered promise. First Robin also, as a harbinger and scavenger, investigating under the Blue Spruce for bits of food. Scurrying and then stopping as if to catch the last words of something that was just said by a soul only they can see; a presence only they can feel. I’m dumb to it mostly, but every now and then, in a fleeting glimmer of a sparkling gem, I catch it. And I am able to share that moment with the bird, for perhaps a second or a millisecond, before I’m shut out again and left to admire from afar, with a sense of wonderment and awe.
Yes, we all know how great this song (and the entire album) is, but for some reason, I saw this first thing this morning and just had to shout it from the rooftops (or, in my case, post it on my silly blog, which probably no one ever reads, ha!). The song was previously at #8, and on the charts for an amazing 27 weeks. And to think that they’ve only just started their U.S. tour, I wonder… what might happen by the time the 2nd NYC show comes around in 3-1/2 weeks? Which happens also to fall on a full moon, which is neither here nor there I suppose, but still worth mentioning. Hmmm….
While I’m here, a few things to pass along from their first two nights – San Diego’s House of Blues (with more photos here) and L.A.’s Henry Fonda Music Box. That last link is a YouTube TATE search sorted most recent first; I expect more L.A. video footage to turn up soon, once people are awake out there… Right now there are a few wonderful clips, including a new (incredible and amazing) song called “Echo Park”.
Oh yes, and Malcolm Sosa of Rademacher is doing a cool tour diary as well. Bummer that they aren’t playing the East Coast dates — they’ll have to come out here on their own very soon. And now I see – as if the onstage rivalry won’t be enough, Henry Clay People are doing their own tour diary also. Jeez!
