Crushing Krisis

The Newest Oldest Blog In New Zealand

weezer

Arcati Crisis takes Trevose

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“In 800 yards. Make. A U-turn.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Gina, it told you to make a U-turn.”

“What if that’s not legal here?”

“Then we just tell the police officer that the nice British lady in your GPS told us it was legal, so it’s totally cool.”

“Okay”

Gina commences epic U-turn across Street Road.

“Whaoooooo!”

.

Sometimes as Gina and I wander around being – well, us – I catch myself wondering: why are we allowed to do this?

At no time has this question been more present in my mind than today, as Gina chauffeured me around the city to cross last-minute to-dos off of my wedding prep list. Right now we are sitting in a hotel room on a key-protected floor looking at the ridiculously awesome costume jewelry Gina will be wearing tomorrow in my wedding.

This is after nearly crashing our luggage cart in the hotel parking lot, surviving our epic U-turn, me almost pitching my electric guitar through a display case at Bluebond, buying seemingly a hundred travel-sized personal condiments, earlier wandering around a masquerade store discussing the logistics of whether Moses’ crook is effectively the same thing as Little Bo Peep’s crook, and general driving all around the city wailing along to my official last-day-of-bachelordom CD, Pinkerton.

We are two fairly ridiculous human beings on our own, but we don’t typically verbalize or act upon any of our ridiculousness. As a pair both of those impulses are actively engaged. Which makes it clearly insane that I am getting married tomorrow, and Gina is captain in charge of making sure I get married.

We have not trashed the hotel room yet, but I believe that option to still be in the cards.

We are, after all, rock stars.

.

(As to where I’ve been: I was really sick. A week before my wedding. It wasn’t fun. And I got a chest x-ray. That’s about all that needs to be said.)

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I’ve been very good this year about buying new records – for the most part, i haven’t. Sure, there was a purchase or two a few months ago, but when my music allowance for the first four months of a year is under $100 you know i’m acting with some amount of restraint. Part of what kept my wallet firmly in my pocket is the knowledge that the past two weeks would see the release of over a dozen records that i was definitely eying up for purchase, and on Monday i picked up a few between AKA and South Street. Here are first impressions, in ascending order of quality:

  • Weezer – Maladroit sounds as though it has years of sonic maturity on last years’ disc even though some of its songs were written before the album went gold. This can safely be traced to Weezer self-producing the disc, which seems to be magic for them (they produced Pinkerton as well). However, the lyrics of these thirteen songs are so sparse and inspecific that their sum total of nearly thirty four minutes could easily be condensed down to a five track EP that would feel weightier than this ultimately empty effort.
  • Wilco – Yankee Foxtrot Hotel is the first record i’ve seen hailed as a second Kid A, only this time acoustic and homey instead of electric and expansive. The album has a high catchy-to-crappy contrast, sometime within the same song, but it’s ultimately too dense to tell much from casual listening.
  • Lauryn Hill – Unplugged 2.0 is an odd record, a double disc of Lauryn alone onstage with just a classical guitar talking as much as she is singing. While the set as a whole is overwhelmingly long and repetitive, songs taken in doses of twos and threes will entirely bowl you over; in case you had wondered, Hill is one of the most talented folk singer-songwriters of our generation.
  • Sheryl Crow – C’mon C’mon has been reviewed as everything from weary to worldy, and the record is definitely a little of both. Crow’s solo lyrics sometimes leave something to be desired, but the arrangements on this record are some of her finest (especial with co-writer Jeff Trott). The few weak spots are entirely forgivable in the face of classic rock gems such as the title track and opener “Steve McQueen.”
  • Sarah Shannon was definitely an enigma to me at this time yesterday, but now she very well might have made my favourite album of the year. The self-titled release from the former Velocity Girl member sounds like PJ Harvey fronting an amalgam of half of a big band and an early Sheryl Crow touring crew. The album’s tracking is impeccable, subtly changing from jazzy songs to more rocking fare, and by the time it’s over you just know you want to hear it again.

    https://www.crushingkrisis.com/2002/05/85090492/

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    Hi; i rock. Not as much as Jason rocks, but i definitely got some rock on.

    Nobody wanted to step up to the microphone first so i bit the bullet and took the stage only to be informed that, no, the tech crew didn’t have any way to plug my guitar into anything electrical. They had lots of microphones though; would i like some microphones?

    The whole think stank of their horrible tech set-up from last year, which nearly turned me off to performing in front of people altogether. But, i persevered – twisting my body halfway around so that i could aim my guitar into one microphone and sing into another. It was hellish, i was uncomfortable, and i was too distracted to hit the high notes. I was not the happiest camper in the room.

    After slinking off the stage i slipped the tech guys the following note: “PLEASE can i have a 1/4 inch connection for my set. Please? :( ”

    It’s amazing what little sad-faces drawn in blue pen can get you when asking nicely and smiling has already failed.

    After a few other performers Jason and I were up, and i’m sure our odd parade of a small jittery songwriter and a quietly charming cello player was met with some puzzled glances. I was personally too busy fawning over the quarter inch adapter that had been scared up for me and Jason’s attempts to make a coffee shop chair compatible with his special brand of cello-rock.

    Up first was “Lost,” which we held down nicely despite a few guitar flubs on my part. Jason’s cello on “Lost” is awesome because it’s a riff totally separate from the song, and it’s always very surprising to me to hear how it blends. Our second song was prefaced with something near “Maybe i should tune and then play. Do you think? I thought it might be endearing of me to play a cover song, and so i chose something i’m sure you all really like and now i’m going to destroy it. It will involve screaming. Jason will continue to be lovely.”

    And, thus, we launched into a nearly flawless version of “Say It Ain’t So” that involved very little screaming and much head-bobbing in the audience. Let me take this opportunity to remark – once again – that Jason is amazing and that i sortof just stared at him while he played the entire guitar solo over on the part of the stage that totally lacked a guitar.

    Sensing an opening, i did a brief strip-tease and then dove into “Under My Skin,” which was met with happy faces by all sorts of crowd-members who very generously made sure that i didn’t sing the same verse more than once. Afterwards we took a very competent stab at Ani’s “Gravel” until i decided to lyrically revise the second verse approximately two chords before the start of said verse. But, we definitely rocked the house down (and Jason mocked me a ton behind my back while i was being silly towards the audience, including a comment regarding angry lesbians just previous to Gravel).

    But, anyway, i was a little mini-rock-star for a quarter of an hour and even though i flubbed a bunch i was actually good on the whole – which is a new feeling for me and my guitar. Maybe i need to bring more people up on stage with me next time…

    https://www.crushingkrisis.com/2002/04/85036968/

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    There is someone asleep in my shower.

    Actually, he’s not in my shower… he’s more half-in my shower, with his legs splayed out over my seafoam green rug in such a way that i cannot possibly get in to grab my toothbrush and face wash.

    Apparently it was a good party.

    I’ve never thrown a party before; the small gathering i arranged last month paled in comparison to this one. This, though, was a party … furniture rearranging, obsessive vacuuming, nearly eighty assorted jello shots, fifty dollars just in soda and chips, and two refrigerators full of assorted beer-like substances. I have yet to figure out how many people were here… twenty just from assorted a cappella groups, another ten certified friends of the house, and lots of random non-house friends. A large group of people, to be sure. And, funny things, too. For one, our extra room got turned into a concert hall when i brought all but two of my guitars out to play, and sudden i was being treated to a whole spectrum of songs — from a multiple-MC version of “That Thing” to what amounted to a full-band treatment of “The Only Gay Eskimo.” Recitals of Weezer songs upstairs. Me parading around nearly naked with a pair of underwear on my head.

    I didn’t drink a drop.

    Right now everything that i spent all day cleaning looks like it was swept over with an alcohol tinged cyclone, and we three roommates have decided to not do a damned thing about it until tomorrow morning when we wake up.

    I don’t suppose that our friend in the shower is opposed to the plan.

    https://www.crushingkrisis.com/2002/03/10324999/

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    I don’t have enough time to turn all of these thoughts into what they want to be. I just ate breakfast in front of a one-two punch of Springer’s “Prostitutes Tell All” and Katie Couric ogling Janet Jackson’s abs on the post-Grammy fashion wrap-up. My brain is fried.

    Last night was wickedly cold, and if i hadn’t noticed it on my walk down to campus or sprint to the train station, then i definitely noticed it when we wound up waiting a half an hour for the train home after the show My scarf wrapped all around my head in an attempt to retain warmth and Kat edging around to stand so i was between her and the wind, and both of us jumping up and down and trying to find the right key for us both to sing Pinkerton songs in.

    I calmly explained my theory on opening acts as we sat at the back of the room and surveyed the crowd. First i place them on my musical spectrum, and then i speculate on if i could vanquish them in unarmed song-to-song combat. A good opening act doesn’t quite fit on my spectrum because they don’t have obvious influences; an amazing opening act convinces me that i couldn’t possibly walk up on stage, pick up a guitar, and please the crowd as much or more than s/he did.

    Burning my tongue so badly on chai that i got stuck between try to scream, swallow, or just spit it out. Having to picture the taste of everything afterwards.

    Charlie knowing my name and where i lived even though i hadn’t seen him for half a year and letting me off the shuttle at the corner of Walnut street where i knew that, despite the utterly desolate chill in the air, i was close to my door. How i let my scarf unravel from the knot it had formed around my neck until it was just being carried by the wind behind me. Me running down 44th street trailing my monochrome scarf behind me like a kite, giggling into the thin air and barely breathing.

    Pillows taking up half my bed.

    https://www.crushingkrisis.com/2002/02/10225422/