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crumpled cowboy hat / obliques / cartoon dick
Last night, Mr. Glove and I went to see Lucinda Williams do her "make-up" show at the Ryman. She was supposed to play in March, but when we got to the auditorium, it was canceled - her mother had died a few days prior, and no one had notified the venue in time to advertise the cancellation. For which I forgive her because - mother died. Trauma, etc.
Opened up with the Bottle Rockets, who are a sort of southern twangy rock and quite good. They're probably all musicians who are wildly famous if only to other musicians. Most bands here seem to be that way.
When I saw Lucinda play in Seattle about three years ago, she was doing this weird black eyeshadow/teased hair thing so that she looked like Chiana on Farscape, but this time she looked like Lucinda: lank shag under a crumpled cowboy hat, low-slung jeans (with silly floral insets down the sides) and a t-shirt. Our seats were great (center balcony), the sound was awesome, and she was so happy to be playing the Ryman--I think it might have been the first time. I think the booking staff for the Ryman just books whoever is touring. But for the artists, it's a huge fucking deal and it shows.
Despite her reputation as a seriously boy-crazy drunk, Lucinda seems to be a borderline dyke icon. Even though our seats were in a great location, it was nearly ruined for me by the asshole women sitting in front of us. So, these chicks with bad hair and worse clothes were already drunk on piss beer but kept drinking it, and they seemed to be working out at least three different love triangles during the show. One of them was wearing a perfume that was something like a combination of burnt vanilla and urinal cake. All of them managed to do these godawful fidgety chair dances that were out of beat with the music, but also completely out of sync with one another. Like if Prince Charles had Tourette's tics. Like Elaine on Seinfeld. Four to six bouncy, drunken, faux-fresh-reeking, groping, twitching women with bad hair blocking your view for two hours is evidence of Satan. If they'd been struck dead, that would have been evidence of God but, as things remain, I'm still firmly agnostic.
Yet, it was still a great show. And apparently there were a zillion of those famous-to-musicians people in the audience, so Lucinda was all honored and cute. And then her guitarist whispered to her and she had a dither fit and announced that Al Gore was in the house. He had really bad seats; I know because they shone a light on him and we all gave him a standing ovation. Tipper was there, too. And Lucinda referred to him as the President and did Joy in his honor.
Long, long wait for the encore, with much clapping. We got a long, long encore set in return, ending with a ripping version of Get Right with God where Lucinda and band were joined by the Bottle Rockets. And then she was supposed to be done, so the lights started to come up and we headed for the door, but I looked back and Lucinda was back on stage. She did her beautiful cover of Hank Williams' Cold, Cold Heart. I'd been hoping for that, but not expecting she'd really do it, so I felt like it was a present for me ;)
Not live versions, but some Lucinda Williams songs:
Essence
Fruits of My Labor
I Lost It
Get Right With God
Cold, Cold Heart (Hank Williams cover)
~~~
If you, like me, are wondering how Michael Phelps swim pants stay on, you might want to look at the pictures in![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
metron_ariston's entry from last night. Not that she has any explanations, either, but just look at that boy's midsection. Guh.
And, watching swimming out of the corner of my eye as I type, I'm really fond of the underwater shots intended to demonstrate various technical issues of swimming. Undulating, nearly-naked, mostly-perfect male bodies, wet and slippery.
Does anyone else think the breast stroke looks like the worst way possible to try to get through water? Obviously, that isn't the case, but it looks incredibly inefficient and clumsy, at best. But, still: undulating, nearly-naked, mostly-perfect male bodies, wet and slippery, so I'm not actually complaining. And the male swimmers are a much more handsome group overall than I remember from past Olympics. Or maybe I'm just a dirtier old lady this year.
~~~
I need updates for a huge variety of manga. I thought that by seeking out many, many titles that I enjoy, I'd be guaranteed always having something new to enjoy. Instead, I have a huge field of disappointment stretching out before me. Not only do I need more Death Note, but I also need Beck, and Junjyou Karen, that damn last chapter of Last Client, more Silver Diamond, etc., etc. And where are the Yami no Matsuei official English translations? I realize today is the official release date for book 1, but I'm an impatient girl.
I did, however, find Saiyuki Reload anime in quantity, so I have 13 eps of that to watch. It appears to actually start somewhere before the end of the Saiyuki manga. I'm not sure I like the voice actors (I'm watching subs, not dubs, though), especially the choice for Gojyou. Everyone is so...muttery. That's fine for Sanzo, but I wasn't anticipating a mumbling Gojyou. Huh.
~~~
If you download any of the songs, I'd appreciate a comment to let me know ;)
Opened up with the Bottle Rockets, who are a sort of southern twangy rock and quite good. They're probably all musicians who are wildly famous if only to other musicians. Most bands here seem to be that way.
When I saw Lucinda play in Seattle about three years ago, she was doing this weird black eyeshadow/teased hair thing so that she looked like Chiana on Farscape, but this time she looked like Lucinda: lank shag under a crumpled cowboy hat, low-slung jeans (with silly floral insets down the sides) and a t-shirt. Our seats were great (center balcony), the sound was awesome, and she was so happy to be playing the Ryman--I think it might have been the first time. I think the booking staff for the Ryman just books whoever is touring. But for the artists, it's a huge fucking deal and it shows.
Despite her reputation as a seriously boy-crazy drunk, Lucinda seems to be a borderline dyke icon. Even though our seats were in a great location, it was nearly ruined for me by the asshole women sitting in front of us. So, these chicks with bad hair and worse clothes were already drunk on piss beer but kept drinking it, and they seemed to be working out at least three different love triangles during the show. One of them was wearing a perfume that was something like a combination of burnt vanilla and urinal cake. All of them managed to do these godawful fidgety chair dances that were out of beat with the music, but also completely out of sync with one another. Like if Prince Charles had Tourette's tics. Like Elaine on Seinfeld. Four to six bouncy, drunken, faux-fresh-reeking, groping, twitching women with bad hair blocking your view for two hours is evidence of Satan. If they'd been struck dead, that would have been evidence of God but, as things remain, I'm still firmly agnostic.
Yet, it was still a great show. And apparently there were a zillion of those famous-to-musicians people in the audience, so Lucinda was all honored and cute. And then her guitarist whispered to her and she had a dither fit and announced that Al Gore was in the house. He had really bad seats; I know because they shone a light on him and we all gave him a standing ovation. Tipper was there, too. And Lucinda referred to him as the President and did Joy in his honor.
Long, long wait for the encore, with much clapping. We got a long, long encore set in return, ending with a ripping version of Get Right with God where Lucinda and band were joined by the Bottle Rockets. And then she was supposed to be done, so the lights started to come up and we headed for the door, but I looked back and Lucinda was back on stage. She did her beautiful cover of Hank Williams' Cold, Cold Heart. I'd been hoping for that, but not expecting she'd really do it, so I felt like it was a present for me ;)
Not live versions, but some Lucinda Williams songs:
Essence
Fruits of My Labor
I Lost It
Get Right With God
Cold, Cold Heart (Hank Williams cover)
~~~
If you, like me, are wondering how Michael Phelps swim pants stay on, you might want to look at the pictures in
metron_ariston's entry from last night. Not that she has any explanations, either, but just look at that boy's midsection. Guh. And, watching swimming out of the corner of my eye as I type, I'm really fond of the underwater shots intended to demonstrate various technical issues of swimming. Undulating, nearly-naked, mostly-perfect male bodies, wet and slippery.
Does anyone else think the breast stroke looks like the worst way possible to try to get through water? Obviously, that isn't the case, but it looks incredibly inefficient and clumsy, at best. But, still: undulating, nearly-naked, mostly-perfect male bodies, wet and slippery, so I'm not actually complaining. And the male swimmers are a much more handsome group overall than I remember from past Olympics. Or maybe I'm just a dirtier old lady this year.
~~~
I need updates for a huge variety of manga. I thought that by seeking out many, many titles that I enjoy, I'd be guaranteed always having something new to enjoy. Instead, I have a huge field of disappointment stretching out before me. Not only do I need more Death Note, but I also need Beck, and Junjyou Karen, that damn last chapter of Last Client, more Silver Diamond, etc., etc. And where are the Yami no Matsuei official English translations? I realize today is the official release date for book 1, but I'm an impatient girl.
I did, however, find Saiyuki Reload anime in quantity, so I have 13 eps of that to watch. It appears to actually start somewhere before the end of the Saiyuki manga. I'm not sure I like the voice actors (I'm watching subs, not dubs, though), especially the choice for Gojyou. Everyone is so...muttery. That's fine for Sanzo, but I wasn't anticipating a mumbling Gojyou. Huh.
~~~
If you download any of the songs, I'd appreciate a comment to let me know ;)
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I'm not familiar with Ms. Williams, but I'm going to download Cold, Cold Heart.
And the male swimmers are a much more handsome group overall than I remember from past Olympics. Or maybe I'm just a dirtier old lady this year.
I'm trying to figure this out myself. They certainly are lovely.
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