KOL vs. Arctic Monkeys (Conclusion)

** Note from author: I recommend reading this series in order, starting with the intro ... or read the conclusion first, intro last ... or any other conceivable combination. **




Procrastination is every writer's nemesis. In truth, I can only speak for myself, but I find it tightening its clutches around me often. I have more story ideas than I have funds to cover them. More random thoughts/rants than I have time to scribble down or refine on my desk top. It's a frustrating feeling but for right now writing doesn't pay the bills, so I have little alternative. I have to work bullshit part-time jobs when I'd rather be refining my craft ... or procrastinating. By this I mean bar hoping, girl chasing, Netflixs watching, etc, etc. I write because I enjoy it, but sometimes I enjoy simpler pleasures more. The dream is to make a living off what I create but Conrad said it best, "art is long and life is short."

It took me double the time I feel it should have to compose these entrees and as a result I am backed up. Much, much, much more to follow soon. First and foremost, both shows were stupendous and only strengthened my fanhood for either band. I highly recommend seeing both if you have the opportunity and or means. So without further ah do, here are my conclusions and final grades:



VENUE

Shottenstein Center, (Kings of Leon):

-larger scale for a large scale band
-almost totally full, tickets sold out, but are they 'selling out'?
-band is so popular, playing smaller venue not practical (but that would be sweet)
-arena is a marvel of modern architecture, very new/clean, but best for viewing basketball
-bigger, louder, flashier ... more expensive as well

Grade: A-


Newport Music Hall, (Arctic Monkeys):

-smaller, more intimate, much closer to stage on average
-less people but crowded because of buildings size, balcony is big help
-right size for band, they can't fill an arena (yet)
-classic architecture, very old, somewhat dirty, kind of smelly
-mid level venue, definitely a step up from a dive bar with live music

Grade: A



PERFORMANCE

KOL

-came out a little flat, heated up by the end, encore was top notch-lead singer unable to screech out some impossible to hit high notes (Charmer)
-later found out they were all sick, points for playing hurt
-lead guitar was crystal clear, drummer on point, played everything I wanted to hear
-not a big enough sound, felt they skimped on speakers, I wanted it louder

Grade: B


Arctic Monkeys

-came out on fire, played three of their fastest songs first
-singer sounded great, had an amazing look/feel going
-drummer is phenomenal, maybe most talented member of band
-taking nothing away from guitars, fast and furious, pace was outstanding
-no Mardy Bum, bummer ... too much new stuff, left out some of my favorites (partially my fualt, hadn't heard new album they were on tour for)

Grade: A-



CROWD

KOL

-varied greatly in age, style, and level of attention they actually paid to performance
-floor level and most of lower bowl area very into it, most of upper level not so much
-crowd seemed split somewhat, between 'new' and 'old' fans
-more girls than guys, most very attractive and very much under the legal drinking age
-a noticeable number of people in our section left early, super lame

Grade: C


Arctic Monkeys

-all 20 somethings, more guys than girls
-everyone was definitely feeling it, first ten rows from stage were pure chaos
-crowds over all intensity only picked up, never dwindled, mass crowd surfing
-everyone was more cohesive as a group, no feeling of 'new/old' fans
-new stuff was hit or miss

Grade: A



ADVENTURE INDEX

KOL

-one of my top five must see, just going had my adrenalin pumping
-buzz was in top form, amazing pot and good beer
-companion seemed a little distant, not as into the tunes as I was
-seats were awful-guys were slightly off their game, even if it was Swine flU

Grade: B-


Arctic Monkeys

-a new favorite, not quite as much anticipation but I was still amped for show
-fully drunk by the end, to excess; too much bourbon not enough weed
-companion was in better spirits and into the music, but unable to hang out after
-view from balcony was money
-performance was flawless, even if the set list wasn't

Grade: A-




FINAL GRADES

KOL: B-

Arctic Monkeys: A-


What can I say; I'm a sucker for the smaller venue, although the Kings were in no position to play such a venue. If you can sell out an arena then that's what you do, it just make sense (and dollars). The goal is to blow up. Call it commercialization or selling out if you want but if you could fill up 15,000 seats at $45-$100 a pop wouldn't you? I bet the Arctic Monkeys would. Overall it was a wonderful way to end the month. Do yourself a favor and become familiar with both bands if you haven't already and by all means go see them. Stay tuned, more to come ...

-J.R.

Arctic Monkeys

"You can't always get what ya want ... but if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need."

-The Rolling Stones, You Can't Always Get What You Want





To start the first half of Monday Sept. 28th, I would be hard pressed to find any difference between it and Wednesday Sept. 23rd. I awoke at 8 a.m. to open the cafe. Days blend together there. Time loses all meaning. I portion out my shift to help pass the time. I get two 15 minute paid breaks and half an hour for lunch. The periods in-between I tend to zone out; I'm there, but my mind is always somewhere, anywhere else but behind the counter of this shitty little bookstore coffee shop.

"Here's your double, tall, soy, peppermint white mocha with whip, have a great day!" Did I mention I fucking hate that job?

However, this is where the two days' similarities ended because on that fine day, after getting off at 4, I found the fridge stragglers to be Miller Light (no Heineken?). ML is definitely not my first, second, or third choice. As a matter of fact, I would never choose that piss water unless it was free. I've grown to love the Pale Ales. Sierra Nevada comes to mind. But any beer left in our fridge, unclaimed for 24-hours is officially house beer, and therefore, free to inhabitant of said house. I cracked a long neck and made the most of it. Beggars can't be choosers.

Over the weekend I had talked Georgina into accompanying me to Arctic Monkeys. Abby was working, as were the roommates, so I needed someone to go with is all. After the Kings, I knew the days Abby and I were together would be numbered anyway, so I shouldn't have felt guilty. As far as Georgina goes, we are just friends. Her self proclaimed weakness was concerts, and I knew this when I asked her to go. She would have been down no matter who was playing, within reason (Wu-Tang? Probably not), but just the same I was really hoping she would come. To be honest, I'd had a thing for her since the day I met her. You could call it a crush, maybe ... but more on that later.

A Monday wasn't the most convenient time for her to come to Columbus. She was still in school an hour and half away, and she had classes the day of and the day following the concert. None the less, she said she would come, and then head straight back after the show. It seemed a bit much to me, but she insisted she had done it many times before, and it was no big thing. I was just glad to have her keeping me company. We always seemed to have a good time together, and she was in need of good times lately. She had recently ended a semi-serious relationship, and I was one of the people she had gone to when it was all said and done.

One night when she was in town, we crossed paths at the Short North Tavern. We had some drinks, took some pics, chatted, and hung out with friends. She was still seeing her guy at that point. She had even left the bar early to watch him play somewhere else. As far as I knew, they were all smooth sailing. Apparently this was not the case. The next morning I got a text from her saying "It's done." I found it a bit odd. Why would she make it a point to tell me as soon as it happened? I figured our mutual friend Janis (who introduced us) would be the one she would want to speak with. Maybe she tried her first and hadn't gotten a response.

I asked how it went down, and she said they had talked and decided to call it off. She was finishing school and her family had moved out west, so she had no idea what she would be doing, or where she would be living over the next six months. One thing was for sure, after our previous conversations, she would probably not be staying in Ohio. He was contemplating a move to Chicago, to purse his music. Either way, life was taking the two down different paths.

Upon getting this news, feelings I had for her initially, which I was forced to bury, because she was seeing someone, burst to the surface. Technically I was seeing someone at the time, and I'm no scum sucker, reaching for an easy rebound (usually), so I wasn't trying to hook up with her. I just wanted to be her friend and help raise her spirits. Whatever happened next was up to fate. Of course, deep in my subconscious I'm sure I knew how I wanted things to turn out.

We talked fairly often via text for the next week or so. I figured going to see Arctic Monkeys would be good for her; to get her mind off things ... and a good chance for me to see if there was any kind of connection between us other than platonic. This was the first time we were going to hang out one-on-one. I didn't have anything drastic planned. Just to go in with the intention of feeling her out (not feeling her up) looking for that spark, that may or may not be there.

Newport Music Hall would be opening its doors at 7. We had planned on getting there around 8, including the walk from my apartment, which wasn't bad at all, about six blocks tops. I was about five MLs deep when she got there, around 6:45. She wore her short hair down. Its auburn color reminded me of the fall. Along with the hue, it's general look of organized disarray always made me think of piled leaves scattering themselves on the wind before they could be raked into bags. She had on a cream tank, lacey sheer blouse with a purple flower print, jeans, and brown calf high moccasins. Her familiar, mischievous grin brought out her freckles. She looked great as she always did, without seeming to make any effort whatsoever. I cursed and praised her for this talent in my mind many times. We smoked the little pot we had combined, she had a beer while I finished the rest and filled my flask with the last of my bourbon. We hit the road with time to spare.

Security was lax, to say the least, in comparison to the Shott. All we had to do was show our ticket, and we were in. No geriatric pat down. After walking up the entrance ramp you are greeted by a large marble entryway with connected twin stair cases. The thing that always strikes me the most about the building is the sense of history one gets when walking in. It was built in 1923, originally as a movie house/cabaret theater with a second story balcony. It now has the honor of being the "Longest Continually Running Rock Club" in the country; at least according to the website ... http://www.promowestlive.com/. It is also in great need of renovations. The Marble looked dingy and aged; it smelled musty and most of the walls were painted black to hide wear and tear, but I was still crazy about the place. It had been awhile, but I was glad to be back.

The first floor area is very intimate; bigger then a dive bar but definitely not an arena. A tweener sized venue. All around the hall, which is also painted black, Gold Leaf adorns the trim and crumbling moldings. An ancient and massive gas chandelier, which has since been changed to electric, hangs from the ceiling. The place really wasn't in great shape but beautiful just the same; like a classic car that has seen better days but still runs good.

After discarding half of a purchased bottled Coke into a plastic cup, I poured in the Beam to taste. My game face was now on. The buzz had crept up on me because the weed we smoked wasn't the greatest, but like most mid level cannabis, the high hits you much later. Four puffs and you feel nothing, thanks in part to tolerance. You frantically think about making some calls. Maybe you can find more before it's too late, because dammit, you're not high and Arctic Monkeys beckon! You realize there's no time; you'll never make it if you go on a weed run now. Sometime later, when you're sipping your alcohol laced beverage, you feel a tingling sensation. Well ... what's that now? It's my old friend THC creeping through my bloodstream and into my brain. Guess I was wrong about the pot. Wrong indeed.

We weaved our way through the growing crowd on the lover level until we found room by a pillar. I offered her some of my drink but she politely refused, since she would be driving back to school that night. Understandable but I secretly wished she would just blow off her class and rage the night away with me. This would not be the case. The warm-up band was from L.A. and called themselves The Like. They were all female and had that pop rock/60's psychedelic thing going on with a slightly bubbly vocal. It was Josie and the Pussycats on a permanent acid trip, minus the lame costumes. The lead singer and lead guitar player were pretty, especially the former. She was petites, brunette, and possibly Italian but it was hard to tell under her oversized beret. The gal on the keys was tall and pool cue thin with cropped carrot red hair. She was wearing a throw back black tube dress with tassels. Really, they were all attractive, except for the drummer who I felt wasn't all 'she' appeared to be.

"They're pretty good," I said to Georgina. "I thought they were all women but I think the drummer is actually a man in drag." I pointed it out: facial structure, apparent Adam's apple, lack of or very small breasts, possible five o'clock shadow; a man or the ugliest woman I had ever seen. Maybe it was just bad lighting or me being drunk, but after thinking about it, I couldn't name one kick ass female drummer (Karen Carpenter, Debbie Peterson of the Bangles, Meg White of White stripes? ... because I'm not totally prepared to say they are all 'gifted').

"No way," she said, standing on her tippy toes in effort to see over the crowd. We sifted through until we got a better view. "Could be, it's hard to tell."

During the break, before the boys took the stage, we made our way up to the balcony to get a better spot. On this level they had seating roped off for the VIPs and people who must have paid more then me. We weaseled our way up to the rail and since Georgina was a good head shorter than me seeing over her was no problem. Cocktail number one finished, I dumped the rest of my bourbon into another half full plastic Coke bottle. I took a sip and almost choked; bit strong.

With their tune ups completed and the crowd beginning to shimmer, the grade school friends from Sheffielf England came out swinging: Alex Turner on lead vocal/guitar, Jamie Cook lead guitar, Matt Helders on Drums, Nick O'Malley bass. The strobe lights pulsed, and they kicked it off with Brainstorm, a fast paced, breakneck romp that had everyone in a tizzy. Faster and faster they strummed until it seemed their guitars might catch fire ... amazing tempo start to finish. Their set up was very simple; a few lights, large speakers that were adequate and unobtrusive, a couple guitars and an impressive drum kit. Most noticeable was the amount of space they had. They seemed less cluttered in comparison to the previous band. That and the sound! They changed pace from song to song effortlessly and the skinny lead singer's thick British accent was perfect on the mike.

In-between songs, however, I couldn't understand a word that was coming out of his mouth. A few 'thank yous' and 'how's everyone doing' I imagine but it was very hard to tell. He looked like a youthful cross between Robert Plant and John Lennon. His long, tussled chestnut hair was perfectly styled and he had beatles-esque, round lensed shades on. He completed the look with a leather jacket. They all had long hair, except the drummer. It was much longer then the photos I saw online, no doubt because I'd only seen old pictures. This made me realize I was definitely a rookie when it came to Arctic Monkeys. I had a lot to learn and that night was a crash course. They blazed into song after song with little or no to-do. I regret no doing more homework. All the songs off the new album Humbug were as foreign to me as the dudes playing them, but both were intriguing none the less. On one newer track Jamie pulled out a tuxedo inspired axe and played a trippy solo with a finger slide.

"Oh, well lookit tha," Alex said afterward, as he pointed out into the crowd. "It's a Union Jack. Cheers."

While he guitar freestyled on the intro to Florescent Adolescent I noticed that Georgina was thoroughly enjoying herself. Periodically she would reach over the balcony with her camera to take pics, and her trademark grin was sported constantly. Pretty cute, not gonna lie. Although smaller, the crowd seemed to have equal or greater energy compared to KOL. The fans also seemed to be more cohesive as a group. Everyone was equally hyped for each song as opposed to some being more into it than others. There were scattered hipsters of course, but for the most part everyone looked the same, nondescript; a tribute to their ability to appeal to the common man/woman. On The View from the Afternoon I couldn't help but feel a situational connection to the lyrics. They warned listeners about the downfalls of anticipation, and how it often sets you up for disappointment ... I'll come back to that later.

Often waxing poetic, it really felt like they were telling you a story, as an individual, like you were just sitting down at the bar with them. Even the occasionally lengthy song titles seemed appropriate to their style. They were rock 'n' roll conversationalists. The crowd's energy continued to grow and grow. Multiple crowd surfers sailed the treacherous seas of Newport's first floor. Our view was stupendous for catching glimpses of harsh wipe outs. At one point two of the girls from the warm up band ran from off stage and leaped out onto the crowd to catch a wave for themselves.

Everyone went shithouse nuts for I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor and they followed it up with Still Take You Home. After the customary theatrics, they came out for an encore and played an excellent cover I didn't recognize but by this point I was pretty much wasted. In retrospect, too drunk to be hanging out with someone who wasn't drinking, but Georgina didn't seem phased at all.

Mission completed, we hoofed it back to her car. She gave me the cash for her ticket, lent me both Phoenix cds (which we discussed on the walk back), and took off. That was that. I can't lie. I was a little disappointed, but she pretty much had no choice with an early class looming. I'm not sure I really know what I wanted to happen or expected to happen but I couldn't help but play the 'what if' game. What if she had decided to come out to the bar for a bit? Probably nothing much; some laughs and good conversation, but it was fun to let my mind wander, doing my best to steer it clear of the gutter.

I didn't have time to dwell on it for long. I soon realized I had forgotten my keys and was locked out until Tony got off work at 11. Sweeeeeeet. I had a missed call from my buddy Cliff during the show and was lucky enough to catch him on the first try. He picked me up outside my place and we cruised, smoking out of an apple high school style. We talked about his band's up coming show, opening for Talib Kweli, which was very exciting. He had tickets for some friends and me to get in free. We also talked a little about Georgina, and how I was pretty sure the spark I've mentioned before was not there for her.

How appropriate; Abby wanted me, I wanted Georgina. That Karma, she really is a bitch. Being stuck in the friendship zone isn't the worst thing in the world though. Assuming we are good as is and it was a bad time for her anyway (graduation coming up, a possible long distance move) was good enough for me. At least telling myself these things helps nurse my bruised ego back to health. Of course, I don't hold grudges. I've liked plenty of girls who didn't like me and vice versa. It's all in the nature of this game we call life. The most important thing to me is her friendship, not matter what happens next.

Saying goodnight to Cliff, I picked up the DP Dough I ordered while driving (Bacon, Chicken, Ranch ... you know this man!), and made my way upstairs, feeling less drunk, but very high now. I couldn't sleep, so I began hammering out this piece even though in the back of my mind I knew it would be more difficult to write than most. Talking or writing about your feelings is tough, unless your drunk of course. After one page I realized I wasn't getting anywhere and crawled into bed, figuring I would be better off waiting until I was sober and I had more time to think.

-J.R.

Kings of Leon

"Just cuse you feel it, doesn't mean it's there."

-Radiohead, There, There





Opening at the cafe job sucks very much. Starting at 9 a.m., I endure eight hours of mind numbing hell with only thirty minutes off the clock for lunch. Wednesday the 23rd of September I didn't get home until 4:30 and not seconds after entering my apartment, I cracked a Heineken and chugged it down. I grabbed another and finished it in three swills. It was just one of those days (increasingly, everyday at that job was). Sure, it's never a good idea to binge drink but this was fucking Kings of Leon! I would be damned if I wasn't in rare form for this one.

Abby was coming over at 5:30 and the show started at 8. Things had been great between us ... for the most part. I was never smothered, there was no pressure, and it wasn't anything too serious, just the way I like it, to start out at least. However, lately things had changed. She seemed unsatisfied with our fairly casual relationship. I felt she was beginning to want more than I was currently willing to give. Sometimes she felt she was "wasting her time" and even implied I was just using her for sex. I didn't feel I was. I liked her and enjoyed our time together, whether we were or were not in the bedroom. I have learned from trial and error that the best relationships start slow. We didn't know each other before we started dating; people need time to feel each other out. But she made me feel guilty none the less, which is never pleasant, especially when you've done nothing wrong. As you can imagine the daily demands on my time increased; more inopportune texts, unwanted innuendos, and unnecessary conversations.

I wasn't unhappy. As a matter of fact, most of the time we hung out, things were great, but when we were apart she grew needy. There were strange undertones in our correspondence from afar. At times, the spark just didn't seem to be there. I didn't know if I could see myself being her boyfriend. She was older than me and in a very different place in her life. Making things more ambiguous, we both had crazy work schedules and were lucky to find time once, maybe twice a week to see each other. But by agreeing to go to the concert, I conceded to giving it one last try. She probably didn't realize it at the time, but it would be make or break for us, in my mind. After the show if I didn't know if I wanted to be with her long term, I never would. It was time to shit or get off the pot.

When she arrived, I was working on my fourth beer. She was wearing tight faded jeans and a khaki corduroy jacket over a white low cut tank that showed of her shapely and supple breasts. Her straight, shoulder length light brown hair was down, except for a small braid that wrapped around like a headband. It was cute in a 60's flower power kind of way; very appropriate for a concert. In addition, she was sporting her almost perfect smile and her big frosty blue eyes radiated with excitement. She always wore little or no make-up and had that natural beauty that all men secretly love. We packed the bong full, toked it dry, and had a few more drinks over some tunes and conversation with my roommates.

I had persistently offered to pay her the $45 for my ticket (or at least the last $20 I had right then) but she continually refused. She said she wanted to treat me, which I would never ask or expect her to do. Abby was the most selfless person I have ever met ... to the point it became a flaw. She put others ahead of herself disproportionately. Stories she told me, and phone conversations I overheard led me to believe she was in fact a doormat.

Occasionally, you have to put your foot down. Even Mother Teresa, or her closest associates, had to be selfish to get what they wanted done, done. Orphanages don't build themselves. Capital must be gained, ground must be broken, and problems will always arise. I'm sure somewhere along the line, whether she knew it or not, the great saint, the nicest person ever to grace God's green earth, put herself (or her orphans' interests) first. She was more than kind but certainly not naive or a push over. This is a very dramatic comparison, but I think you get my point. Abby was very nice but often soft. Sometimes in life you have to stand up for yourself and be hard. She often, unintentionally, made it easy for people to take advantage of her kindness.

Recognizing this, I always did my best not to be the one to prey on her weakness, but it was difficult at times. If someone offers to pay your tab, then wants to make you dinner and smoke you out on their pot, it's hard to say no. Anyway, we agreed that I would put all the concert drinks on my credit card. Besides, I had a backup plan. Filling my flask from a half full fifth of Jim Beam, left over from a random weekend when friends were in from out of town, I was now ready to rock. My buzz was strong. I felt very stoned (Abby had brought amazing pot as usual) and was approaching drunk after six Heinies. I had Tony drive us in my car since it was quite a hike to the Shott.

"Just don't wreck it, " I told him with fake conviction.

"How did I know you'd say something like that," he replied shaking his head.

The line of cars on Olentangy River Road was long and stationary. We decided to hop out and walk the last three blocks or so. The gathering masses were quite a hodgepodge. There were high school hipsters in skinny jeans and flannel, college kids in Buckeye gear, 30 somethings in Saturday night bar cloths and every combination in-between. Filing into lines at the gate, they asked the women to step to the left, men to the right. I had the flask tucked into the small of my back, just below my belt line. When it was my turn to be checked, I could feel my palms begin to moisten; my heart rate increased. I lifted my shirt as low as I could without being asked to lift it higher. The elderly woman felt my pant legs and patted my back, right where the flask was hidden! I thought I was done for.

"Are you wearing a belt?" She asked me accusingly.

"Yes maam," I said in my most humble tone. I then flashed her the buckle to prove I was in fact, wearing a belt. I'm not really sure why I did this but at the time it felt like the right thing to do. It was enough to pacify her. She waved me through. Disaster avoided. I bought a $7 thirty two ounce Coke and promptly poured half of it into the toilet. After mixing my cocktail I was ready to go.

We found our seats after some searching. They were awful. Literally, five rows from last row on the upper level, on the far left of the stage. Nosebleed is an understatement. Not paying the $45 didn't seem like such a bad idea anymore. Oh, well, at least I was out on the town with a pretty girl, about to watch one my favorite bands (top five must sees) perform. Things could always be worse. I could be at the dentist or, gasp, working. it was after nine and no one was playing. We later found out the warm up band, which I won't even dignify by putting their name in my blog, only played three songs and then announced they were too sick to go on. Good thing we didn't get there early.

The lights fell at 9:30 as the rock gods made their stroll onto stage. The Followill brothers Nathan (drums), Caleb (vocal/guitar), and Jared (bass) formed the band with their cousin Matthew (lead guitar ... also a Followill) in Nashville, Tennessee sometime in 2002. They cranked out Crawl and the crowd went wild. I noticed they didn't have a very elaborate set up, as far as arena shows go. Maybe eight guitars, a few pedals, some jumbotrons, minimal lights, and standard arena speakers; somewhat sub par for a venue this size. If your going to sell out an arena and fill it seats with people, you need to fill the air with lights and sounds. I wasn't convinced they had through the first couple tracks. However, they didn't dick around at all while blasting through their first set.

Shredding very nicely, Matthew was employing their now signature guitar bends, which made my ears happy. Taper Jean Girl and Fans, two of my top KOL songs, rocked out extra hard. watching them perform, I couldn't help but think to myself, I could never wear jeans that tight. How do they get them off after sweating it out all night under the massive lights? They probably just cut them off. Not a big deal to the current kings (no pun) of rock; they could afford to buy every son of a bitch there a pair if they wanted to. I still wouldn't wear them.

"Last time we were in Columbus we played for 2,000," Caleb told the crowd. "There's a hell-of-a-lot more people here tonight." Try nearly 20,000.

Looking around the aforementioned crowd, it was easy to see that some were more hardcore then others. It was an interesting mesh. Everyone knew the new songs but only the 'real' fans knew the old songs. This is the price any band pays when they finally make it big after enjoying moderate success. It's a high wire act; you want to climb the ladder, gain new listeners, take more risks, chase mass appeal, but you also don't want to alienate the people who helped you get there, through the leaner times. They act as the safety net, lest the mainstream spits you out and your mega stardom fades to black. The guys seemed to acknowledge this, saying some had been following them for a long, long time. As they said this, they gestured towards the rabid fans bouncing around on the floor level.

"Thanks for bearing with us," Caleb continued. "We've been sick ... we all got some kind of cold, swine flu, bird flu. maybe an STD mixed in there, hell I dunno know." At least they kept playing and fulfilled their obligation.

"Anyway ... if any of you know the words, please feel free to sing along."

They launched into Sex on Fire. Every woman in the building screamed and may or may not have touched their vaginas. I turned to Abby to see if she had. I also wondered if she was enjoying herself. Most of the show she seemed only mildly entertained, even poutty. She shared my first mixed drink but wasn't interested in drinking anymore. I guess the poor seating had been a bigger disappointment to her than me (probably because she paid) and I got the feeling she wasn't as into KOL as she made herself out to be. She was definitely a 'new fan'. I was beginning to get the feeling the only reason she bought the tickets was because she knew I wanted to go and didn't have the money. Later, she confirmed my suspicions; the familiar feeling that she was trying to buy my favor began to set in.

Personally, working on my third bourbon and Coke, I was having a ball. Don't Knock It was the best performed song all night. Abby didn't like the BnC much or my joke about not 'knocking it' until she tried it. The band seemed to have found their stride by then and everything was clean, loud, and on point. They came out for an inspired encore, full of trippy lights and even a little impromptu jamming on Knocked Up. They closed out with Use Somebody, and the crowd was in hysteria. After that they said their good byes, the lights came on, and we followed the swarm out.

It was an absolutely perfect night, about 70 degrees with a light breeze. After being in the hot and stuffy arena, the air felt amazing. We decided to walk home. It wasn't a short distance but by the time we got close to my apartment it was only 11, so I talked her into going to Surly Girl for a drink. We drank Columbus Pale Ales until they kicked us out around 2:30. She paid the tab while I was in the can, even after we agreed I would pay. This was definitely past bothersome now and moving on to full-fledge annoying, but my mind was too foggy to verbalize how I was feeling. I had the sinking suspicion we weren't going to last much longer.

I was sick of her doormat tendencies and not letting me buy ... ever. I mean she had a better job and made more money, but dammit, it was emasculating having her always pick up the check; like a sugar momma. I was also leary of her growing needs. My doubts about our future had only been reinforced when it was all said and done. No matter how much fun the show had been, the writing was on the wall.

We feasted on D.P. Dough calzones, on me (Bacon, chicken ranch is amazing). By the time they were gone, I was pretty much going down for the count. Sleep would overtake me soon. we attempted to fool around but soon passed out in bed with all our cloths on, including shoes. Any 'talk' about our future would have to wait for another day.


-J.R.

KOL vs. Arctic Monkeys (intro)

There comes a time in every young man's life when he just has to say 'fuck it'. This past September, in the year of our lord two thousand and nine, was one of those times for yours truly. Money is always tight, now that I'm not living with mummy and daddy, but I couldn't pass on one of my old favorites (KOL) and a new favorite (Arctic Monkeys) who would both be in Columbus about the same time. Bottom line is sometimes you just have to make life worth living, no matter how strapped for cash you are. If you don't, then your just bidding your time, until it's your turn to go.

I hatched my plan like all good plans are hatched; on the fly ...

For going on three months I'd been dating a girl named Abby. We were both hugely into music, and we had talked about going to a show together. I had expressed interest in seeing the Kings of Leon at the Shottenstein Center, but good seats were upwards of $100, way out of my price range. Abby worked a better job than either of mine and mentioned she had been pondering a splurge. She said she loved the Kings as well so we decided we would try to figure something out.

After we both got our shifts covered the night of the show, she decided to pick up two cheap seats ($45 a pop, it was sure to sell out). I told her I would be thrilled to accompany her. The gig date was set for Wednesday, Sept. 23rd, and I was foaming at the mouth with anticipation. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I wasn't keen on Kings until Only by the Night came out last fall. For me, like a lot of people, Sex on Fire changed the game. It got me listening. As a result, over the last year or so, I have gone back, defaulting to the bands earlier albums. They sound NOTHING like their newest release, which isn't a good thing or a bad thing. It's like comparing old Beatles to new Beatles; white chocolate to dark chocolate. Both are wonderful in contrasting ways; different as night and day. Regardless, I've become a serious fan of ALL their music.

Only days after our KOL conversation, I was stopped at a red light on High Street and saw that Arctic Monkeys would be playing Sept. 28th at Newport Music Hall. Shooter had recently introduced me to them, which is really the only reason I noticed. Not even a week before, he burned me a copy of Whatever People say I am, That's What I'm Not. It was literally playing in my cd player when I saw the marquee. It was fast becoming on of my top 25 albums of all time. After one listen, top to bottom, I walked to Magnolia Thunder Pussy Records and purchased more of their catalogue. I decided to spring for these tickets myself since they were only $25 apiece.

Abby said she was working that night, so I decided to worry about whom to take later. Throwing caution to the wind, I put one ticket on my nearly maxed out credit card and used my debit card to procure the other.I had done the math. After the surcharge cleared, I would have $20 in my account. That's $20 to live on for a week before my next check went in. Good thing my gas tank was still half full. "Think rich, look poor," as Andy Warhol would say. Well, I had the looking/being poor thing down for sure.

With my itinerary set and my work schedule coordinated, attending both shows, less than a seven days apart, was going to become a reality. It would be one hell of a week to finish out the month. I decided to do a write-up on each gig, comparing and contrasting them. They would be squaring off in some sort of rock 'n' roll royal rumble, on the posted page. My goal was not to dictate which band was "better" but rather which overall experience I liked the most, while weighing the pros and cons of each. I would evaluate both events on four criteria: venue (look and overall feel), performance (including set lists), crowd (reactions and intensity), and last but not least adventure index (how much fun did I have, a lot or a little). The shows would get a report card, with a grade of A, B, C, D, or F in every category. I would than average out the scores, giving me a final grade for each.

The following posts are my personal accounts. Please bear in mind these are just my opinions, and they are not definitive. Anyone in attendance at either event could have viewed things differently, and no doubt did. For the most part, all my comments (music related and otherwise) were just how I was feeling at the time these posts were written, and not necessarily how I feel now. Keep reading. I'll keep writing, and as always, enjoy.

-J.R.

Sir Garth

"Hey! Mr. Tambourine man, play a song for me, I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to."

-Bob Dylan, Mr. Tambourine man





My life downtown was becoming routine in the best way possible. I usually got off work around 10 p.m., had a drink or a smoke, and relaxed. Sometimes I went out if the mood struck me. My roommates Tony and Shooter both worked day jobs, so going out on a weekday night wasn't for them. I, on the other hand, didn't work until 5 p.m. the next day so I was feeling froggy. I called some buds to make the jump.

I met Georgina through some mutual friends. We hit it off immediately and had a lot in common; similar interests, matching senses of humor, and a love for any music performed live. She was attractive in a un-conventional sense, and this is not meant as any kind of dis. She just had "that look" about her you can't quite put your finger on. Her short auburn hair was always a pretty mess and her blazing blue eyes held my attention, no small feat for someone with severe ADD like me. She also had the ginger kid freckles thing going on that was very cute (sorry, Georgina, I know you hate the ginger comments).

I knew she was in town for the next few days before she started her final quarter of school at OU, so I gave her a shout to see what was going on.

"What's up, Boooooooooyyyyy!" her jovial voice said over the line. This was her favorite way of greeting me. "What are you doing tonight? Garth is playing a house show at his new place. Come check it out."

Garth was a guy she had been seeing for a few months, and I was a big fan. At our house warming party he played guitar late into the night with my roommate Shooter, who is also a very talented player in his own right. The show was supposed to start in an hour or so. I grabbed a Kroger bag full of PBR cans and Bud Light bottles, a home-made variety pack, and was on my way.

Georgina met me on the street, where I parked, and walked me to the house. It was very large and very old, built in the 1920's. At one point, this three story monster was probably an expensive and prestigious piece of real estate. Now, many of the rooms were in various stages of remolding. It was definitely a project house in the sense it needed work, but I loved it just the same. It certainly had character. It was also in the perfect location, on campus but with enough of a backyard to host parties. There were six to seven bedrooms, some with fresh paint, some needing the once over. They also had an area designated as "the studio" for Garth's sister, who was a painter. Her artwork adorned some of the walls. The plan was to have upwards of eight living there in the near future. It was like a hippie frat house; some were painters, some musicians like Garth, and others were just tag along squatters. It reeked of Bohemia, which I dug very much.

After the nickel tour, Sir Garth got down to business. There were maybe a dozen people lounging in the busted out, semi-gutted living room, enjoying frosty brews, while he tuned and prepared to play. It was an interesting mix of people. Most were wearing the rock sub-culture ensemble (skinny jean cut-offs and flannel), which has bubbled up into the main stream. Personally, you couldn't pay me $500 to wear skinny jeans, but I've never been a trend setter.

"This song is called 'Mine-itis,'" Garth said after he was ready to start. He got his inspiration for the song from Oscar the Grouch. Apparently in one of the episodes the residents of Sesame Street were catching "mine-itis," meaning anything they touched immediately fell under the toucher's possession. There was probably a lesson about sharing hidden in there somewhere but that was irrelevant to the song. At one point he forgot the lyrics and someone shouted out "real professional" to a few laughs, but this only added to the over all feel of spontaneity.

He was playing an acoustic Fender that had a beautiful sheen. A friend of his was playing percussion behind him, just a simple snare drum. Sometimes he clapped or snapped out the beat. Two large and friendly dogs wondered from person to person looking for pets. Their lazy expressions brought a smile to my face. The ambiance was infectious. It felt like a scene from the Beat Movement of the late 50's and early 60's. I watched as moths flew in and out freely through the open or missing windows. The only people I knew were my host and Georgina, but everyone was like one big family, gathered round for the music hour. We enjoyed the tunes over casual conversations and a few more adult beverages.

Later, he played my favorite song of the night, Wicked Love. After the song, I asked what he meant by the chorus, "toss out your wicked love." My interpretation was that the figurative "you" needs to toss out the wicked love one has with another person; a boyfriend or girlfriend who is "wicked" because they did you wrong. The love isn't real. Someone is using the other for sex, emotional support, etc. Garth explained that this is not the intent of the song at all, but rather the "wicked love" is the evil things in your life that you love for the wrong reasons; money, lust, earthly possessions, misguided ambition and so on. You need to toss out these wicked things, which you love. Deep shit.

I thoroughly enjoyed this aspect of the house show, being able to talk to an artist about his song's exact intentions. It was unique and very enlightening. I couldn't help but wonder how many other songs in my past I had misinterpreted and what new misunderstandings awaited me in the future. Probably more then I would care to shed light on. If I was able to sit down with each artist and discuss them, the songs would have totally different meanings and context. maybe further explanations would help me appreciate the songs more or maybe it would ruin them for me altogether. Who's to say, but it's certainly interesting to think about.

After the show wound down and most of the guests left, Georgina, Garth, some guy named Steve, and I all sat in the living room, passing a pint of Jose Cuervo around. I hate tequila. But I didn't want to be rude (or turn down a free drink), so I was chasing it with some orange juice I found in the bare bones fridge. While the two love birds chatted, I found myself unwillingly being drawn into a conversation with Steve.

To say Steve was hot under the collar would be doing the man an injustice. He was angry at the world. At one point he was a student at a directional college in Colorado. He and Garth were friends from high school. I used the past tense on his college career because apparently he flunked out and was now back home in Columbus, living with his mother. This only added fuel to his fire.

"I hate it here," he informed me. "Colorado is so much cooler."

I tried to crack a joke about how Colorado was, no doubt, much "cooler" then Columbus since it was nestled in the heart of the Rocky Mountains. He didn't get it and just continued to rant.

"You like Shaun White?" he asked me.

"Like the snowboarder," I asked. "Sure, he's ok."

"He's a fucking asshole," he told me through gritted teeth. He then proceeded to explain why Shaun White was, in fact, an asshole. Apparently Mr. White once came to a bar that Steve frequented in Colorado. Steve tried to approach him and say hi or whatever but he wouldn't acknowledge him.

"I mean he comes into MY bar and wouldn't even give me the time of day? Fuck that guy." Any rational person would realize that EVERYONE and their brother probably tries to talk to Shaun White when he's out and about, especially in a snowboard crazy state like Colorado. He simply doesn't have the time to stop and talk to everyone but there was no getting this through to Steve. He had been wronged and only squashing the Flying Tomato would make things right. He continued to hate on everything he could think of Shaun White related.

This went on for a good twenty minutes while I fiddled with one of Garth's guitars, trying not to make eye contact. Even when I attempted to interject or add insight he would just cut me off and continue to spout vast disapproval. His aggression seemed to increase with each swig of tequila. This is not the type of person who should drink; EVER. He made me very uncomfortable to say the least. He was obviously not stable.

Garth and Georgina seemed to sense this and diverted his attention and conversation. I grew tired of him suckling the star snowboarder's teat. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was obsessing over the kid and no matter how much he said he hated him, part of me felt he was just another jealous fan. I heard him say he was "in the mood to fight," as I said good night to my friends and took off. Once I was safely home, I listened to Miles Davis' Kind of Blue two times through just to level me out before my heavy eyelids closed for the evening.

-J.R.

My Night at the Circus (08/26/09)

"Well, show me the way to the next whiskey bar ... oh, don't ask why ... oh, don't ask why."

-The Doors, Alabama Song (Whiskey Bar)




It was a typical Wednesday night. I had just gotten off work and smoked a jay with my roommate Shooter. Both of us had put in a long day at our less then stellar places of employment and needed to unwind. We had been in our new apartment for a little over two weeks and life couldn't be better. I was enjoying a cherry pop sickle, the Flavor-Ice plastic packaged variety (a part of my childhood I may never out grow), while we caught up on the day in sports via ESPN. It was a little after 11 when my phone rang.

"It's Steph and Jamie," the familiar voice on the line said. "Let us in."

I walked over to the wall phone and buzzed them up Jerry Seinfeld style. Stephanie and Jamie were two girls I worked with at the country club where I waited tables and occasionally bartended. They were both students at OSU, in their early twenties, and very attractive. Apparently one of Steph's roommates played bass in a band that was at Circus, a bar less then a block from my apartment. The show was supposed to start at midnight and they asked us to join them. Shooter had to work very early the next morning but I worked nights so I decided to go. I changed into my favorite pair of khaki shorts and threw on a grey t-shirt and we were off.

We walked along High street and chatted about work and the such while I soaked in the atmosphere. It was still hard for me to believe this was my new neighborhood. I had lived at home with mom and dad for over a year and life was dead in the suburbs at night. Here, life hummed in a constant state of action. It felt like there was always something to do or somewhere to go; in stark contrast to the early 10 p.m. bedtime of my old stomping grounds. In the Short North things usually didn't started until after 10 and they stayed cracking till sun up most nights, before the city inhabitants crashed, not to be seen or heard from again untill 4 p.m. the following day.This was defiantly my style. I have Always been a night owl.

Circus was a grimy hole in the wall bar with large windows facing High that were covered by ratty curtains. There was no sign and you wouldn't even know there was a bar there if it wasn't for the bright lights that poked through the cracks in the curtains and the faint sounds of electric guitars being tuned. To my dismay, they were charging a $5 cover that night, which I paid begrudgingly. The inside was one large room, with a bar running the length of the far wall and a nice stage towards the middle. Booths were scattered throughout and on all the walls there were carnival style posters of sword swallowers and bearded ladies. In the back they had a circular, retro vinyl couch that some of the band members were relaxing on. The place stank of dampness and mildew, as most dive bars do. there were a handful of people there, maybe twenty total. I ordered a $2 PBR draft (it's everywhere here) and took a seat in the booth with my friends and some of their crew.

The band was setting up in front of us, They called themselves Bonneville (like the car) and they hailed form the Dayton area. After a few tweaks and some sound checking they started their set. They had qusi-Kings of Leon sound, especially with their chunky guitar rifts and fast drumming. However, their lead vocalist had a distinct sound, very different from the Kings. No one can sound like Caleb Followill but he was a very good singer in his own right. Most of the tracks were very up beat but they could also slow it down.

"Our bass player wrote this progression," the singer told the sparse crowd. He plugged in his Ovation and they jammed out an acoustic driven anthem that was enthralling. The mood in the crowd was stoic but happy and the girls ordered a round of shots to help get everyone socially lubricated. "Pantty Droppers" I believe. One of their friends caught my eye. She was a tall and slender brunette in a leopard print cardigan. She wore here short hair curly and I couldn't help but check out her athletically built body. I would have made her acquittance but my game is poor at best when stoned. Steph and Jamie made fun of me for being such a pussy and told me they didn't think she was that cute anyway.

"Gross Jacob," Jamie said. "She has no ass."

The drummer was very gifted but I found his constant stick tossing distracting, borderline annoying. He would hurl one into the air during his cadence and usually drop it, knocking him slightly off beat, before he could grab a new stick and recover. Too much flare if you ask me. I wanted to tell him, "you're a good drummer, just play." They also mixed some keyboard in and the guitars were always present and heavy. Over all I must say I was very impressed. Check them out at www.myspace.com/bonneville. I finished my fourth beer as they wound down.

After the show we were hanging out front of the bar as the guys packed up their gear. I made some casual conversation and told them I would be writing about the show.

"It's just too bad more people didn't show up," I said. "You guys were great."

"No worries, it's all good," the lead guitar player said. "We'll play for one or one thousand."

Well said. We met up with my other roommate, Tony, who had just gotten off work. The four of us walked back to their place on 8th for a night cap. The girls had some homemade birthday cards for Tony who turned 26 a few days earlier. They were quite funny and we all had a few laughs while we drank and listened to music. Steph would occasionally poor Kroger Vodka (the cheap ass 40 proof kind) into her beer to "spice it up." This made me laugh even harder; I could only imagine how awful it must have tasted.

By now it was almost 5 a.m., so we bid our friends adieu and headed out. After returning home, I sat in my room compiling a massive play list for our up coming house warming party. Later, as I lay in bed and waited for sleep to over take my drunken mind, I looked out my window at High street. The sun was just starting to rise and traffic was picking up as Thursday's rat race silently signaled its start. Part of me felt sorry for all those suckers down there who probably hated their jobs. They had no idea how much they were missing on a nightly basis working 9-5. the other part of me was a little bit jealous because they had the security of knowing they had "real job" with real benefits and guaranteed hours/pay checks. But whose to say they wouldn't be the victims of a poor economy's next set of lay-offs. All in all I called it a wash. I for one was totally happy with where I was at, at that exact moment but only time would tell if I would feel this way six months or two years from now. I watched the lights on the Short North arch outside my window go through their colored sequence (purple, red, green, white) and slowly drifted off to sleep.


-J.R.