Saturday, April 08, 2006

The Skinny - Animal Parts

Herded like cattle into The Social Friday, I had the opportunity to be one appendage on the massive body of people at the very sold out Editors/stellastarr* show where it appeared that everyone who came out to see stellastar*'s moody art rock (what with their fancy asterisk and all) left senseless and vibrating from Editors show-stealing surprise attack performance, a nearly perfect set from a group that I had poo-pooed just a week prior. Earlier attempts to get into their album "The Back Room" while also trying to assimilate a plethora of other Coachella-bound bands left an impression on me of "I Can't Believe It's Not Interpol" light. Then fate stepped in. Me + Interstate 4 + overturned SUV x lots of time = quality time listening to "The Back Room." My experience left me nothing short of fanatical and pumped to see them in concert that night...for only 15 bucks! Which is like only a nickel in 1930! At The Social I found a really nice couple who had driven up from Naples just to see stellastar* who were amazed that I was like the 10th person they had talked to who had come for Editors, it was fun watching their jaw drop when Editors took the stage and tore into "Bullets" and then "Munich." I shall judge a book by its outward resemblance to Interpol no more.
Orlando keeps showing its peacock feathers one by one. Friday night after the show (well, after Editors anyway) I hopped on over to Independent Bar to meet {m}Britton who apparently holds court there each and every Friday night. I had never been to iBar but the enticing absence of cover charge and the promise of seeing Mike spin out of control on the dance floor was worth my time. If you have been before, let me preach to the choir for just a moment. I had no idea where the hell I was walking in. Then, I noticed the freaking "grotto" with large wooden booths where kids straight outta Conor Oberst's MySpace friends list were languishing elegantly giving stares of fear and (oddly) approval as I timidly walked past. Out of nowhere just past the grotto comes this amazing dance floor with giant video wall where the DJ is not only mixing great new "modern" music but edgy videos as well. Making a pass through, I spent time in the upper level, then the upper-upper level (bathrooms!) and then in a smaller make-outish subterranean lower level where some guy dressed like a ninja was spinning around on a stool listening to subdued electronic beats. This place is great! I finally found Mike and Prima D (of Mc Snuggles and Prima D) on the dance floor where we proceeded to get down and if you know anything about me, then you know what kind of a spectacle I made of myself. I was doing a pseudo-Charleston at one point. Later on, in a moment of life imitating art, three members of Editors were hanging out on the floor when the DJ actually spun their hit "Munich." That moment was a little bit rock n' roll.
Porcupine quills at the ready...I'm over Entertainment Weekly's feeling the need to reinvent themselves, yet again. Reduced content (they actually added more margin space!), blase layouts and graphics, and for shame, stolen ideas from both Toyfare (what can I say...geek!) and Maxim (so there!). Please people, give me "weekly" and not "weakly."
I've got Owl Eyes on an item being auctioned on eBay right now. The clock is ticking for one lucky person with lots of money. That is, lots of money and street cred! Being auctioned off is a guitar by The Faint's Dapose. When I listen to The Faint, I sometimes pretend I am Dapose with my seatbelt slung over me lowly (just like he wears his guitar strap) snapping my fingers in time to the music (just like he does!). This leaves very little time to actually have both hands on the wheel unfortunately. Just imagine what damage I could do with his actual guitar, signed by all 5 members of the band! No matter how much they get, it's worth a lot more as the proceeds will go to the Children's Organ Transplant Organization to assist Jason Woods, a local man from Omaha who received a life-saving organ transplant. Saddle-Creek. What's not to love!

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