Almost Famous

she's such a charmer, oh no.

Today, a rather fashionable colleague of mine asked me where I was from while we waited at the same elevator bank. I told her; no surprise there. "Oh- accent?" I asked.  "No," she said, "you dress like a southerner." 

I certainly didn't have a Confederate flag backpack nor was I wearing a tattered Dollywood tee. How does a southerner dress anyway? Was it my coat? My shoes? I hadn't questioned my sartorial choices since well, last Thursday when I switched my floral flats out with my Chuck Taylors for the Kings of Leon (here on out, referred to as KoL) concert at Madison Square Garden to fit in with the effortless hipsters (oxymoron, right?).

While my friends imbibed $8.75 beer after $8.75 beer at the venue, I bebopped to the carefully honed riffs and Caleb Followill's (the lead singer) nonsensical growling with no buzz under my belt. I'm not saying some alcohol would have improved their muted, not in volume, performance, but maybe I would have enjoyed the concert more had, save the 2 taller individuals blocking my floor seat view, the Kings themselves had succumbed to the rip-roaring snarling and rabid hollering brought on by many an illicit substance. (The audience caught them sober or at least convincingly so; it's like a lunar eclipse or finding Cadbury eggs stateside after Easter, so rare is this). Madison Square Garden, as Caleb reminded us, performing there, well, it's a Big Deal, and the boys' anxiety inhibited what could have been an exceedingly stellar performance. I'm no enabler, but I wasn't swayed enough by the collective experience of hearing some of my most favorite songs with their eager fanbase. 

The 4 kings- 3 brothers, 1 cousin- have written their own backwoods mythology: sons of a preacher man, born in Tennessee, they leave the Pentecostal church once their father is defrocked for drinking, and now they pop bottles and date models.  Their story is gritty, intriguing, and beckons for a second listen, much like their product, indecipherable wailing against women, booze, et al. I've referred to their schtick, their reputation if you will, as a sailors on leave act: Every week is Fleet Week! And for all their devil-may-care bravado in tight pants, perhaps for all their excessive debaucheries, they really are rebelling against their ascetic past. But they're at their best when they're indulging in degeneracy, on-stage at least.

From the tiny towns of Tennessee to cosmopolitan European centers, the group is touring on the heels of their fourth album, struggling to gain a foothold over the American audience. This concert was a major make-it-or-break-it moment. Yes, MSG was filled to max capacity, and the casual fans who scalped tickets last minute are more fervent admirers now, but I would much prefer the snarling, sputtering group in a smaller venue where the boys can let loose and offer more commentary than "Thank you so much" six-times over.

Live: Kings of Leon Do MSG, to Their/Our Amazement [Time Out New York]

Here Comes Treble

I'm constantly on the prowl of ways to make extra money. In my exhaustive Craigslist search for additional jobs, I once found a post entitled NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY. Obviously, I was intrigued; with such a heading, heavy lifting and a cursory knowledge of Polish were probably not employment prereqs. Turns out: the listing wanted people to be trained TO PICK LICE OUT OF SCALPS. (Whose scalps? Who knows? Who CARES?!?) Needless to say, I did not reply, but that doesn't mean my financial inventiveness ends there.

I'm likethisclose to organizing my New York friends and me into a singing group in the Union Square subway station. You think I'm kidding, but one glass of wine in on an empty stomach, watch me demand a demonstration of their octave range to see who's soprano, bass, or who should stand there in a moderately low-cut top mouthing "watermelon" while dinging the triangle. "There is money to be made; let's seize this, ladies!" First stop, 23rd Street, second: Carnegie Hall! (Feel free to insert jazz hands and hip swivel here.)

So I haven't yet told my friends about my grand plan, and I'm fairly certain permits are necessary for this sort of endeavor, but that hasn't stopped me from plotting our set list...and maybe demonstrating my own musical prowess on the selections while alone. I always love telling my friends what music they should be listening to, whether they like it or not, so here's a sampling of our future a cappella arrangements.

Myriad Harbour- The New Pornographers

Everywhere- Fleetwood Mac

The ReArranger- Mates of State

Revelry- Kings of Leon

Hurricane Jane- Black Kids



9 to 5- Dolly Parton



Shame- The Avett Brothers

I highly suggest you check these out. If you notice, most of these rely heavily on instrumental accompaniments. Unfortunately for us, no one has any discernable musical talents so we will become very intimately acquainted with the glockenspiel. You can find me in the back singing "olive juice" and shaking the maracas. Requests always accepted.