Now, class, as we all know, I went to the Bowie concert in Boston the other day.
I have a few things to say about that.
1. Polyphonic Spree (I have to get this out of the way, in deference to my lala friend, Acker-Acker-Heart-Attacker) is a bunch of crazy dopey hippies who need a serious wardrobe transfusion, and quite possibly a beat-down. No, reverse that. Definitely a beat-down. Yes, they're fun. yes, they're smiley. Now, go straight to Hell. (i liked how every song was one long extended rock star hook. believe me. and the sign language of 'one, two, fist, heart, whatever...' was also nice. at least, the 13-year-olds behind me seemed to dig it.)
a. I had Terribly Awesome Seats. Center, 8th row, because I'm a whore for Bowie.net. So, I spent most of the evening feeling blissed-out by the "I-can-almost-touch-him" aspect of it all.
b. Good God. Are you allowed to be so happy?
c. What the Christ is up with his belt? i love Bowie, but the leather penis has got to go.
d. Five Years.
f. every other terrific song.
Ok, I'm done with the list. here's the thing: I don't quite know how to say
that Bowie was amazingly wonderful, he made the venue seem small and intimate, I've never laughed so much at a rock show, and he made me feel ok with being a total geek.
I was surprised by the lack of freakers -- yeah, there were some nicely gothed-out kids, and a few Roadies-From-The-Eighties-complete-with-frosted-mullets, but otherwise it was a pretty tame crowd. Which was fine with me, except for the chick sitting next to me who spilled my beer during the FIRST song in the Bowie set, and who then wanted ME to apologize for ruining her stupid shoes. (they were keds. Isn't "ruined keds" an oxymoron?)
The video-screen behind the band was used to great effect, especially in "I'm Afraid of Americans". Love. It.
Gail Ann Dorsey can be my Freddy Mercury any day. Wow.
I loved the stripped-down feel of the whole show, from the lighting, to the lack of props, to the casual attitude of the folks onstage.
And Ben, you should know that i spent every possible second on the T, in the venue, on every escalator, looking for your lovable mug. goddamn you. damn you to hell. where the hell were you?
and, Um. holy Crap.