The Teacher Has Now Become the Student

Looking back on my concert experience this past week, I got to thinking about how good Phantom Planet was when they opened for PATD. I’ve noticed, in my large (and sometimes sordid) history with going to rock concerts, that at times the opening bands are as enjoyable, if not more so, than the headliner themselves.

The most blatant example of this in my past has been a couple of years ago at the Vegoose Festival in Las Vegas, NV, when I saw a little band called The Killers open up for Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. I by FAR enjoyed The Killers more than Tom Petty, and it wasn’t just because Brendon Flowers, the lead singer of The Killers, was wearing an enchanting mix of strange little black tie and bright blue blazer (though it didn’t hurt).

No joke, this was actually the outfit he wore during the concert. I shot this myself. Awesome.

I went to go see Matt Costa perform at a really awesome SF venue called Slim’s last month (http://www.slims-sf.com/). The opening act for Matt was a band I had never heard of called Delta Spirit. I was dubious at first because of the name of the band (it sounds kind of like a hippie-dippy band that should be performing at a coffee shop or a sit-in somewhere, right?), but they rocked it. Sort of Bob Dylan-meets-Nirvana, complete with a lead singer wearing that headgear-looking apparatus that lets you play the harmonica without having to use your hands (you know what I’m talking about. What is that thing called? Does it even have a name? It always looks sort of uncomfortable and sado-masochistic to me). They had a really raw, painful sound that lent itself well to the folk music they played.

A band called The Honorary Title opened up for Mae at Slim’s last Tuesday. I had already known who The Honorary Title was and loved their music (I highly recommend the album Scream and Light Up the Sky, especially the tracks “Apologize”, “Thin Layer”, “Stuck at Sea”, and “Far More”), and so went to this concert actually only to see the opening act.

Maybe the appeal in the opening act is that they always seem to put themselves out there fully, like they have nothing to lose. And maybe they don’t. They’re usually still trying to prove themselves at the opening act point, and feel like they have to go all out to get noticed. Maybe it’s the feeling like you’re discovering something new and unknown, something secret that no one else knows about, someone just about to make it big and you’re catching them on their upward trajectory. That’s how I felt when I saw the Killers. And when I started wearing Levi’s Capital-E Jeans before the big green-conscious trend caught on (it’s true–i swear).

Or maybe it’s that sometimes that the headlining band is sometimes too complacent in their position as the most successful act on the ticket. While this definitely wasn’t true with Panic, it was definitely the case with Tom Petty. Someone as old-hat as Mr Petty sometimes seem to be going through the motions instead of actually trying with their whole heart to put on a good show. Yes, Tom is a wee bit past the age of spry youth, but if the Rolling Stones still can rock it, why can’t he?

For now I will stick with buying my Delta Spirit and Honorary TItle records and see them whenever they come to town. If that means I have to see some lame headliner in the process, so be it.

Scream if you luv PATD

Last night I went to the opening night of the Honda Civic Tour a.k.a. Panic at the Disco Tour (don’t you love corporate sponsorship of EVERYTHING now?) It was a great lineup, with Phantom Planet, The Hush Sound, and Motion City Soundtrack opening up for panic. The concert was held at the Warfield in San Francisco, a nice little venue with lots of downtown charm, if you know what I mean. After meandering my way past the homeless contingent’s shopping carts and seedy strip clubs lining Market street, I made my way into the theater.

The Warfield is a San Francisco institution. The theater seats a lot of people, but the balcony and ground floor allows for a close view of the bands from every seat in the joint. Basically there is no bad seat in the Warfield. The concertgoers were mostly teenagers and people in their early twenties. Being in my mid-twenties, I was one of the older people there which was fun for me (can you detect sarcasm in written word?). The young people all seemed to agree on a uniform of choice–skin-tight jeans with sneakers and a hoodie. There were variations on this theme, but the main idea was the same. I loved that I was wearing green jeans at least, to stand out a little.

The first band that played, Phantom Planet. was the best opening act of the three, in my opinion. This band, for those of you who are unawares, is responsible for that hopelessly catchy tune “California” that is (was) featured in the opening credits of the television show “The O.C.” I don’t even watch the show, but I think the song is good. Their other songs were good as well, my favorite being “Big Brat.” Because there were so many opening acts, each one only played about 5 or 6 songs max. The Hush Sound was unremarkable, but I found their dueling male-female singers unusual in a good way, and any band that features the piano as one of it’s main instruments can’t be all bad in my opinion. Motion City Soundtrack was pretty good, but the lead singer’s hair and the outrageous keyboard player’s antics distracted me from any real enjoyment of the music itself.

First of all, I have to mention that there was a really annoying activity that was going on in between acts. A screen was in the background on stage and would show various music videos (OK, something to pass the time), Honda Civic commercials (disgusting corporate whoring) and the worst of all, the displaying of people’s texts. This is how it worked: The screen would have a scroll going constantly on the bottom saying to text messages to a certain number, and they would be displayed on the bottom of this big screen for all to see. There were a lot of “Show sum luv to the 916″ and “Casie and Jodie <3 Panic”, as well as a lot of “Brendon is hott” (Brendon is Panic’s lead singer) and “Scream if you luv panic”. In fact, there were WAY too many of the “Scream if you…”’s. And after each one, the mindless teens in the audience would squeal with delight, happy to be a part of something, ANYTHING, no matter how futile and inane. There was “Scream if you luv Miley Cyrus”, “Scream if you luv Harry Potter”, “Scream if you luv Hush Sound”. My personal favorite was “Scream if you are sick of people screaming.” I think I actually might have screamed for that one.

Then the main event: Panic at the Disco. The stage was set up like Indian hookah den-meets-Alice in Wonderland acid trip. There were three small oriental rugs on the stage, with a mic stand covered in flowers in front of each. The back featured a drum set on a flowered riser and the other equipment, like keyboards and sound equipment, was set up on a riser that looked like a giant storybook that read “Panic at the Disco” on the spine. The screen in the back featured various backdrops that changed during the songs. Most were trippy flowered scenes and other psychedelic imagery, which totally fits with Panic’s new Beatles-esque image. The band themselves were dressed in button-down shirts, jeans, Beatle-boots, and vests. A change a pace from their Edwardian-Gothic vibe from the last tour (not a smidgen of eyeliner in sight).

Overall I loved the concert. The band played a great mix of both their last album and the newest one. They sounded good live, but the new material was played MUCH better than the old. I think the new material lends itself better to being played live than the older stuff, which had a lot more studio effects and techno beats. The new stuff is just plain good old-fashioned music, which I LOVED. No gimmicks, tricks, stage performances, nothing. Panic just focused on their musicality which was brilliant. My favorites were their renditions of “That Green Gentleman”, “Northern Downpour”, and a fantastic solo effort by Brendon of “I Have Friends in Holy Spaces.” They seemed to breeze through their older material, in fact they seemed to almost hesitant to play their biggest and most overplayed hit from the last album “I Write Sins Not Tragedies.” But they really seemed to relish playing the new stuff, which makes sense because the new material is just plain good fun music, and not angst-driven techno-punk (although that was pretty brilliant music too).

The concert was so great, I had always loved Panic but had never seen them live. Aside from the annoying text messaging fiasco and the man who smelled like an ashtray sitting next to me, the experience was pretty much perfect.

And my ears are still ringing.

Blue Jeans’ Evil Twin

In an effort to be different and stand out a bit (the haircut has really boosted my confidence in the fashion department, so I think I can get away with gutsier clothes) I bought some green jeans yesterday.

I had tried these Rich and Skinny Emerald Sleek jeans on at Bloomingdales a week prior and really liked them, but couldn’t justify spending $150 on something so trendy. So I opted for something a little more practical (see my previous post, An Epic Journey…). But I kept thinking about them, and they really did fit well. So I went back and bought them yesterday.

So now my problem is styling options. I’ve worn them with black and grey tanks (black last night at the concert and grey as we speak), and I know white and other neutrals would work. The Bloomingdales salesperson had told me that the green would look good with muted yellow, purple, maroon, and other vaguely perturbing color choices. While I was politely nodding at his color suggestions, inside I was wondering just how much I wanted to look like an easter egg or a box of Crayolas gone berzerk. I’m not so sure about the color-on-color thing. Maybe one day when I’m feeling especially gutsy I’ll throw on my purple tie-dye tank from C&C California. But for now I’ll stick with the black, white and grey.

The pastel police are on the prowl, after all.

Panic at the Food Court

As someone who has never come face-to-face (or in my case, face-to-face-to-face-to-face-to-face) with one of their favorite bands, I had a milestone in my life occur this past Wednesday.

Here’s the scene:  I was in the food court of my local shopping mall, having lunch after my morning class and getting ready to do some shopping to look for a birthday present for my brother.  I had a very excellent breakfast burrito (breakfast is good ANY time of day if you ask me, it shouldn’t just be relegated to the AM hours), and was getting ready to leave the food court in search of my yet-to-be-determined gift.  As I’m walking out I see a group of guys walking towards me.  Automatically I knew it was the members of one of my favorite bands, Panic at the Disco.

After recovering from my brief aneurism, it takes me a minute for my brain to start working again.  I knew they were in town to play a couple of dates at The Warfield Thursday and Friday night, the Thursday date being the one I had tickets to.  As they are casually walking by me, I try to make eye contact with the lead singer, but I try not to be creepy at the same time.  No bite.  So then I have an inner debate:  “Do I go up to them and say something?  Or is that too weird?  They’re in a food court for Godsake.  They probably just want to be left alone to eat.  And why the hell are they in a food court in a local mall?  Aren’t they famous?  Shouldn’t they be able to call up room service and get whatever they want, like bowls of M&M’s with all the green ones picked out?  Ok, ok, stop thinking of all these inane questions, they’re about to leave.  What to do?”

So I decide to talk to them.  I mean, how often do you get to meet one of your favorite bands like this, in such a casual, random setting?  I figured it had to be fate.  And they didn’t really have a lot of security or people around them, so I didn’t run the risk of being tackled by an over-zealous bodyguard.  I slowly make my approach, as they (the guitarist, Ryan Ross, the drummer, Spencer Smith, and the bassist, John Walker.  The lead singer, Brendon Urie, went to get food somewhere else) are paying for their food at one of the booths.

“Hi, I realize this is an intrusion, but I just wanted to say that I really love your band.  I love the new album, it’s actually the ringtone on my phone right now.  I’m going to go see your concert tomorrow, but I just wanted to say hi.  I’ll let you guys eat now.  Bye.”

And that was it.  That was all I said.  I was really nervous and talking quickly, so it probably came out like, ”HiIrealizethisisanintrusionbutIjustwantedtosaythatIreallyloveyourband, Ilovethenewalbumit’sactuallytheringtoneonmyphonerightnow, I’mgoingtogoseeyourconcerttomorrowbutIjustwantedtosayhiI’llletyouguyseatnowbye.”

And the whole time I was spouting words like a defective faucet, Ryan Ross was looking at me with an amused half-smile on his face.  He nodded a few times and said, “Wow, that’s really nice.”  Overall he seemed genuinely pleased that I liked their band, and he didn’t seem creeped out at all that I was talking to him.  Spencer and John were busy paying for their food while this occured, so I don’t think they heard the whole exchange.

After I walked away, I was really proud of myself.  I’ve seemed to have overcome my shy and introverted ways of my youth, I thought.  Not only can I voluntarily talk to famous people (idols of mine nonetheless), I can do so without seeming like a total idiot.  I thought (I HOPE) I came off as pretty cool and respectful of their privacy, while at the same time saying how much I like their music.  I managed to seem pretty nonchalant about the whole thing, actually.  No screaming, psycho, stalker fan here.

And then I proceeded to walk around the mall and downtown San Francisco the rest of the day, trying desperately to spot them so I could talk to them again.  

Small victories.

Don’t Call Me Tinkerbell

And now for a moment of self-indulgence…

I recently cut my hair off. I was trying to go for an Edie Sedgwick vibe (or rather a Sienna Miller as Edie in Factory Girl vibe). Since then I’ve been getting a lot of compliments on it. I like to think that these compliments are genuine, but I also think that they might also stem from people not necessarily liking the haircut, but rather acknowledging the jutzpah it takes for a girl to cut all her hair off. Let’s face it, a women’s identity and femininity is often wrapped up in her appearance, and a lot of that femininity is wrapped up in her hair. So I’ve been getting my props. I’ve also been getting a lot of “You look like….” Most of the time these comparisons are flattering, like “You look like Edie Sedgwick/Twiggy/Agyness Deyn/Mia Farrow/Linda Evangelista in the George Michael ‘Freedom’ video”. But last night at the bar I got the most confusing comparison yet.

Let’s set the scene: Dim bar, way past midnight so most everyone is blitzed out of their mind on mojitos and vodka tonics already. One of my fellow bartenders is attempting to help out two girls in rare form at the end of the bar. “No!” they yell at him. “We don’t want a drink from you. We want to get a drink from TINKERBELL!!!!”

Tinkerbell.

These girls were comparing me to a fairy.

I know they probably meant it as a compliment. I mean, Tinkerbell is cute and sprightly because, well, she’s a sprite. But I wasn’t really going for the cute pixie vibe when I chopped my hair off. I wanted it to be slightly edgy and very cool.

Maybe I’m overreacting, I don’t know. Maybe I could be a cross between Tinkerbell and Edie Sedgwick.

Man, would she have an awesome wardrobe!

From the “I Really Hope This Works” File

Has anyone else seen this ad for the new backless bra from Maidenform? Apparently it won something on one of those inventor reality shows, so I’m hoping it really works. Of course I don’t put a lot of stock in reality shows (except Project Runway of course, but that’s not a reality show, it’s a way of life). I am a huge fan of showing off the back in backless or low-back tops (the sexiest body part in my opinion–so underrated), but I have never liked those stick-on monstrosities. Sorry, but sticking a flimsy piece of fabric over my nipples isn’t going to do it for me. I had a horrible experience with stick-on bras during my senior ball in high school. My dress was thin and showed way more than I wanted, and my stick on started to wrinkle up on my skin in unflattering ways…I don’t want to talk about it. I’m still scarred from this day (mentally, not physically). That’s why I’m excited to try this new creation. Hopefully it works, because I bought a low-backed black top not too long ago that’s been waiting in my closet for something like this to come along and liberate it.

Pinkeye IS Contageous

Lately I’ve seen models in ads and editorials wearing bright pink eyeshadow (the one above is from Sephora). I have to say I kind of dig this look, but I’m worried that if I try this is real life it will look like I’m feverish or have contracted some sort of weird foreign disease. Is this the kind of thing that only looks good in magazines but fails miserably when put to the real-world test?

Usually I try out these crazy new makeup experiments on nights that I have to work. The dim bar environment is very scary-makeup friendly. Plus most of the people are drunk anyway, so they won’t realize and/or remember if it looks terrible or not.

This isn’t the best shot–it looks kind of tame in this picture, but it’s really a more vivid pink in person (and, oh God, why does my nose look so huge? Terrible picture. Ick. But you get the point). I’ll let you know how it goes over. If I get people asking me if I feel ok or “Are you tired?”(my personal favorite. What are you supposed to say to that? They’re basically asking you why you look like crud), you’ll know not to try this in public unless you’re Kate Moss.

An Epic Journey..and Not the Kind With Steve Perry

I have been on what seems like an epic journey to find the prefect pair of skinny jeans for some time now. I know that the more popular style right now are the wide legs and flares, but I don’t really feel like looking like I walked right off the set of the Sonny and Cher Show. I’ve always been more of a fan of bootcut and straight leg styles. Skinny jeans have always eluded me, mostly because a lot of the styles I’ve tried were so tapered and skinny that it looked like I was wearing denim-colored spandex, not a good look for me (and anyone else if you ask me). And so I have embarked upon my noble quest to find the perfect pair that aren’t like a second skin. Enter stage right, the Earnest Sewn Harlan cigarette leg jeans. Really dark wash, mid-rise waist (I’m over showing my buttcrack to strangers on the street, at least not without a cash advance, kidding), and better yet, a leg that isn’t super tapered and thus skims the leg all the way down, instead of clinging like saran wrap. Hallelujah! They’re still brand new and a little stiff, so I’ve been walking around my apartment doing squats and other strange movements to break them in. Pretty soon I’ll be good to go.

Now if I could only find the perfect pair of pointy-toed pumps that don’t kill my feet to go with them…but that’s an epic journey for another day.

Take Me Out To the Ballgame, and Don’t Let Me Forget My Heels

Yesterday I went to go see the Oakland A’s (that’s baseball for all you non-jocks) play the Boston Red Sox in Oakland. I’m not really into baseball, but my family is somewhat related to a player on the Red Sox, and therefore we get great tickets to games when the Sox come to town. I personally like to go for the ample people-watching opportunities. Baseball games are ripe with people (mostly men) discussing (drunken yelling) various topics of interest to only avid baseball fans (ERAs, RBIs, other stats that I don’t understand), but there are also people wearing really great stuff (giant foam cowbay hats and t-shirts with the sleeves cut off).

What I found most interesting was the baseball players’ wives (or BPWs to make things easier). Because of our family connections I was able to go down to “the tunnels” where the players walk from the locker room to their insanely expensive automobiles (huge SUVs and tiny sports cars. Why no middle ground?) parked in the VIP lot. Most of the people milling about in the tunnels were the BPWs waiting for their other halves to emerge freshly showered. While observing them I noticed that they were all dressed very similar.

Here is the uniform of a BPW:

1. Designer jeans (preferably Sevens, True Religions, or Citizens of Humanity)

2. Expensive-looking wrap sweater or cardigan

3. Stylish flats or peep-toe heels

4. Louis Vuitton bag (is anyone else as sick of the monogrammed tote as much as I am?)

I was observing them and realized that in my beanie, Converse sneakers, jeans (OK, they were designer too, so sue me), Bob Dylan t-shirt, and biker-style jacket that I probably looked pretty ratty compared to them. But I never felt more stylish. See, they all looked so put together, so polished, so BORING. I have always preferred someone with a more eclectic sense of style than someone who always looks just right. Give me the Kate Mosses and Sienna Millers of the world over the Nicole Kidmans and Katie Holmes any time. Sure Nicole and Katie always seem to look so perfect with their Chanel dresses and Hermes Birken bags, but Kate and Sienna just have way more style. It takes a lot more imagination and talent to put together something new instead of just going for the head-to-toe designer look book. Sure Kate and Sienna slip up every now and then (ankle-strap shoes strapped OVER jeans anyone?), but they still possess something that Nicole and Katie don’t have–individuality.

Of course the guy in the foam hat and cut-off t shirt is just unexcusable in any light.

Sorry dude.

A Quick Way To Save $210.21

I really dug this top I saw at Nordstrom yesterday. I love the punk rock influence. But to spend that much money on it when I could do it myself? Never. Doesn’t spending that much on something negate the whole punk ideology?

(Sorry about the bad pic quality, but in case you can’t tell those are safety pins circling her neck).

Price of this Norma Kamali for Everlast top=$229

Black cotton jersey t-shirt from American Apparel=$16

Jumbo box of silver safety pins=$2.79

Saving $210.21 on a designer shirt you can make yourself and keeping your punk cred intact=priceless

(Sorry to employ this over-used and cliched credit card commercial rip-off, but it got my point across, no?)