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Posts Tagged ‘Adam Ant’

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life. Let me share mine through music.

FRIDAY

Out Tonight
From “Rent
René and his partner Cris accompanied me for more recon for my PR project. I actually changed out of work clothes this time to go out. That’s commitment.

All Night Long
Buckcherry
There were three bands scheduled for this venue: The Sagas, Dank (formerly Dank Sinatra) and Casual Cadenza. We had an interesting conversation on the Lyft ride over about the word “credenza,” which would have been a better band name. The ride to the bar also featured this quote from Cris about my college drink of choice:

There’s nothing good at the bottom of a bottle of Boone’s Farm.

So true. Did you know they still make it? (Did you get a case of the clap from just thinking about those days? Just kidding. It was herpes. KIDDING. Maybe.)

The Sagas

The Sagas: The best band of the night. I’m bummed I didn’t take the photo before the singer took off his gold tablecloth.

Deadbeat Club
The B-52’s
I really didn’t understand the audience for many reasons. They paid to see these bands, yet they stood like recently reanimated corpses, dressed like they were going to a casting call for L.L. Bean catalog work. The men outnumbered the women at least 10-1. And all of these guys seemed like they were one drink away from switching sides.

A Toe Needs a Shoe
The Replacements
Apparently, Dank was the main attraction. I couldn’t see why, but all the stiff white people were THRILLED that this band had gotten back together after a reported six-year hiatus. In that time, they clearly did not give much thought to their stage wear for the big reunion. Or maybe they did. (That’s worse.)

IMG_1022

What is going on here? This is a true wardrobe malfunction.

Mean
Taylor Swift
When I read “Southern rock sound” in the Casual Cadenza bio, I thought I would like them. I did not. They sounded like a bad lounge band. Like I could smell Nick WintersBrut by Faberge. René should be happy he had to leave early because he had an early-morning flight.

Little T & A
The Rolling Stones
At some point in the evening, I got the booking manager’s email on a napkin (for the aforementioned PR project). I stuffed it in my bra for safekeeping. Somehow, it went missing. (I don’t know how; I promise the only hands in my bra were my own.) I got the email rewritten on a piece of register tape. It also went missing for a bit. It turned up the next morning. When I relayed this story to my “client,” my friend Simon, he called it “the Narnia Bra.” That’s bloody brilliant!

Seen in the ladies room. Nicky will what?

Look Out (Here Comes Tomorrow)
The Monkees
For the second time in a month, I was still in the bar when they turned the house lights on. No one looks good when the house lights come on. No one. Cris and I scuttled away like roaches.

SATURDAY

Morning has broken
Cat Stevens
Sweet mother of God, that came quickly. Got to get up, because …

Take Me Out to the Ball Game
Jack Norworth
My youngest son is into baseball. I’m not into baseball. Yet there I was at his AAA game. Early morning. So early. Bundled up, sipping coffee, hiding behind sunglasses, and waiting for the Tylenol and English muffin to kick in. The game was a nail-biter. His team was up 6-1 going into the fifth inning of six. Then the wheels came off the cart. They went into the sixth down 7-9. My son managed to score the eighth run, but then the tying run was called out at home plate. The kid looked safe to me, but what do I know?

Gideon gets ready to score.

During the game, though, the coach used that classic line from “A League of Their Own” with a couple of the kids:

Lay off the high ones!

Pumped Up Kicks
Foster the People
My sons went to a paintball party for a neighbor friend. I dropped them off then dropped my top (of my convertible — come on!). Loud singing commenced.

I love my home town.

Don’t Leave Me This Way
The Communards version
When I got home, I resumed binge-watching “Game of Thrones” with Eddie, who had just gotten home from work. I know I’m late to this party; I’m only up to season five. I said to Eddie:

I really like Davos. I guess I’d better not get too attached to him.

I’m still attached to Jon Snow. I know, I know.

Chicken Fried
Zac Brown Band
I’ve lived in the South almost my whole life. I cook all the time, yet I’ve never made chicken and dumplings. Until now. Damn it was good.

Temptation Waits
Garbage
On Friday night, the bartender’s friend told Cris and me about another live-music venue we needed to try. Cris is only in town for a few days, so we decided to check it out. We agreed to go easy; our “check liver” lights were still on. The bar looks super shady from the outside, real dive-y on the inside, but we knew immediately it would be fun.

I love this photobomber.

Don’t Stand So Close to Me
The Police
Cris and I carved out a great space for ourselves off the dance floor, protected by a long table and a load-bearing column. We could dance in peace and still watch the excellent band — the Wasted Potential Brass Band — and people in the bar. So many interesting humans. It reminded me of the George Clinton concert: a medley of shapes, ages, colors, proclivities. We heard an older man say to a younger woman, “Can I pay you?” We watched a lady pull a whole wad of money out of her own Narnia Bra. We observed one fellow creep on every single female in the place. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my waist. Guess who!

Him: You have a way of galvanizing the troops.
Me: What?
Him: You are fantastic.
Me: Um … thank you.
Him: Do you want to dance?
Me: No, thank you.

And I slid closer to Cris.

Props to Creeper for creativity in opening lines, though. Here he is with his final score and her poncho.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said to him. Yes, SHE said that to HIM. And he had just grabbed her by the hair, all caveman style!

Closing Time
Semisonic
After the band’s second set, the atmosphere changed. It happened quickly. Suddenly, patrons were sloppy and desperate. Cris and I had enough. So had these guys, clearly:

Go home, fellas.

SUNDAY

Sunday Morning
No Doubt
Oof. That is all.

The Luck You Got
The High Strung
Brunch with Brian and Cindy, two friends from high school. There’s such joy in being with people who have known you since you were a wee lass and still like you (I think).

Back in Black
AC/DC
“Black Panther” lives up to the hype. Top-notch acting, strong women, great costumes and storyline. Go see it. Drop everything.

Atomic Dog
George Clinton
Gideon and his friend Miles started a dog-walking business in the neighborhood. My older son, well … unless you can get paid for playing “Fortnite,” he’s not going to be flush any time soon.

K-9 Kids Dog Walking, $5 per dog

Celebrity Skin
Hole
Oscar party at the home of the president of my university. I’m so fancy (Iggy Azalea) that I wore a fake fur scarf I picked up at a Leek thrift shop for £2. I had a great time catching up with a friend from college (even though we got shushed by a woman who didn’t realize she was in the fun room). The host kept score from our ballots on huge pieces of paper he taped to his French doors. (Have I mentioned how much I like my job?)

Can’t wait to see what next weekend has in store. Anyone up for a mission with me? Eddie just rolls his eyes as I revert to my 20s.

Don’t “Call Me” (Blondie) because I hate to talk on the phone (Right, Trish?). Text, tweet, FB message me or comment here if you want to “Stand and Deliver” (Adam and the Ants).

See you next weekend!
Beth

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Dear Brits,

I love you. You know I do. As I recently found out thanks to the results from the Ancestry DNA kit, I have at least 18 percent of you in my system (the geography nerd in me is a little confused by how Scotland and Wales are somehow marked separately from Great Britain, though). Look here:

Anyway, I’ve always been an anglophile, thanks to my burning desire for Adam Ant.

So when I needed time away to complete a project I’ve been procrastinating on for a year and a half, I chose your chilly, tea-soaked environs. Thankfully, I had a Delta voucher, vacation time available, and two long-time friends who live within 20 minutes of each other.

These are a few of my favorite things:

1. The pubs. Within a one-block radius in Uttoxeter, for example, I worked on my project at The Black Swan, The Old Swan, The Old Star, Ye Olde Talbot and The Vault. The Guinness was spectacular at all.

2. Coffee. I have no shits to give about tea (sorry), but you have proper coffee. I love that you feel free to order cappuccino at all times of the day.

3. Friendliness. You love Americans like mothers love their weird, wayward sons. I was a source of curiosity in every pub I visited to write. Many of you wanted to know what I thought about Donald Trump. (I try not to think about him.) Many of you were pleased at my beer of choice. Every pub played American music, which amused the crap out of me as I am the biggest fan of the Second British Invasion.

4. The TV. No one does television better than you. There is no way anyone else (except maybe the Dutch) would have given the world “Naked Attraction.” The promo line? “A daring dating series that starts where some good dates might end — naked.”

It’s not pixelated at 10 p.m. on a weeknight. I’m shocked. And hooked.

5. The language. I’m tickled at your phrases. The terms of endearment alone sold me (“Duck,” “Shug,” “Love”). I’m definitely “sorted” at the moment. I’m using “straightaway” instead of “now.” I’m in love with “posh” (the word, not the Spice Girl).

I could listen to you all day. And did:

“She wants a wee!” — said by Man One to Man Two as I was trying to slide past Man Two to get to the ladies room.

“We’ve replaced you with someone far more attractive. You weren’t doing your job, so we’ve sacked you.” — Man Three to Man Four as I was sitting in his seat at the pub.

6. Your bluntness. Take this sign, for example.

Harsh. I feel sorry for the Simon Howie haggis. They can dream, I guess.

Anyway, thank you for being you. I hope to see you again soon.

Tra!
Beth

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Dear Adam,

It was lovely to see you again. I must admit that you are looking much improved over the last time I saw you .

20130809-180534.jpg

The huge cummerbund (ie. Man Spanx) is gone, I see. You have a new jaunty Hussar hat that appears lightweight and vented. I’m sure it is much more comfortable than that wool monstrosity you were wearing in October. Your voice also has improved over the past 10 months, and the near-yodeling section of “Stand and Deliver” has benefitted markedly.

The only problem? You look tired. Worn out. In need of a vacation. I grant that you’ve been traveling for about a year. I get it. But you can’t just phone it in. People are counting on you.

I drove hours and my friend Julia flew over numerous states so that we could celebrate the 30th anniversary of when we saw you together the first time (with my poor dad as chaperone). The least you could do was one of your high kicks. OK, you are 58. I would have settled for a low kick — or even a sultry move to stage left. Nothing. You were center stage at Center Stage the whole night.

And you wore this:

20130809-192108.jpg

It’s not wise to wear a young version of yourself. As my friend Royce noted, you are now “that guy.”

To add insult to injury, you skedaddled seconds after the last note, thus depriving us of the chance to squeal at you for old times’ sake.

Really, Adam. Fans deserve better.

The fans who, as pre-teens, wore “Pure Sex” on our backs deserve better. (And P.S., how did we get away with that?)

The fans who still count you on the GOOMF list deserve better.

I’m disappointed. Julia is disappointed. (I think our friend Colleen is fine, but that’s because she did not have your former concert self as a guide for comparison.)

Of course I’ll give you another chance.

Don’t let me down.

Love always,
Beth

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Desperate but not serious

Dear Adam,

Let me just say right off the bat that I love you. So much. You are perpetually on the top of my “Get Out of Marriage Free” list.

And that’s why I want you to call my husband.

It’s an odd request, I know, but he is part of the Crossfit Cult. He can help you.

Why?

Because this is how you looked the last time in concert:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And this is how you looked Saturday night at the concert in New York City:

That cummerbund is hiding something I never thought you would have.

I’m not trying to be unkind. This is your first U.S. tour in 17 years. I know you took time off to deal with some personal issues.

I just don’t think you were (or are) taking very good care of yourself. You shouldn’t be winded by the second song. Your leaps and high kicks have become an Ed Grimley-style side twist. Your voice sounded like Marge Simpson’s sisters at certain points. I mean, the audience had to help out with “Beat my Guest,” for crying out loud.

This is not to say it wasn’t a fantastic show. It was. Absolutely. It was just hard to reconcile the Adam I remember with the current you. Granted, you could accuse me of carrying around a little more me also. Touché.

But you are in your late 50s now, and I want you to be healthy so you can do what you love: Create music and perform for fans. (And I still want to meet you.)

So, do us all a favor and call Eddie. He can help you try another flavor, so to speak. Be the dandy highwayman you once were.

And remember, as Whitney said, “I will always love you.”

Vive le Rock,
One of your most devoted Antpeople

 

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