wrote my last column in a beachfront condo in South Carolina, drinking PBRs non-ironically (as they are drank in the South). This time I'm writing on breaks from updating syllabi and ordering textbooks in preparation of my return to Temple University, where I shape the minds of freshmen English students based on the rhetoric of Morrissey, Pasolini, and all of the other great, disenfranchised, ambiguous outsiders of the West. By the time you read this, I will be back in the swing of things. I will have watched Todd Solondz' Storytelling (a ritual I have the night before the start of every semester), I will have had all of my designer blazers dry-cleaned, and I will have compiled several dozen pages of notes that attempt to explain semiotics to students of science and medicine. I will have put summer behind me.
But what exactly was my summer comprised of? What does someone who hates the beach and hates the sun and doesn't own a single bathing suit or pair of mini-pants do from June-August? Well, as my readers are well aware, I spend the majority of my days (technically nights) bouncing between music venues, taking in the best music, traveling the globe. I try to do a good job of keeping you in the know of these musical experiences via Origivation's blog, however, there are a few shows that you didn't hear about. Here are a few (word-count prevents me from enlightening you of all my experiences) highlights of my summer outings that I may have failed to mention:
The Psychedelic Furs put on the most nostalgic show of the summer at the Blockley in University City, comprised of a bevy of the greatest singles of the '80s.
En route to relive my highschool years with the rockin' part-grrrl/part-Aquanet aesthetic of The Donnas, I met Brooklyn indie rockers The Click Clack Boom, who proved to be as friendly as they are danceable.
I got a chance to check out Billy Corgan's newest Smashing Pumpkins at Rams (sic) Head Live in Baltimore. The latest formation, including Nicole Fiorentino (of the criminally underrated Radio Vago), puts a refreshing psychedelic spin on Corgan's classics.
During a few days I spent back where I grew up, I had my first experience at Jammin' Java, a surprisingly enjoyable Northern VA venue. The space serves as a coffee house during the day and a concert venue at night. My first night there was for Rosi Golan, a brilliantly whimsical singer/songwriter that has me more than a little bit smitten. The following Tuesday was an explosive performance from Girl in a Coma, who I regularly herald as "The only band worth of their Smiths-inspired moniker," and whose "Static Mind" is one of the best rock songs of the past decade.
I spent a fun evening in West Philly (Millcreek Tavern) watching the star of VH1's Celebrity Sober House (Steven Adler) perform Appetite For Destruction front to back... except out of order and missing the three best songs.
On a sweaty weekend in late July I embraced and revisited my youth as a Goth/Rivethead. I spent my Friday with Sam Rosenthal and Black Tape for a Blue Girl at the Troc. for an upsettingly unattended, yet brilliant Projektfest, consisting of every artist that matters in the darkwave scene. The following night had me at Dracula's Ball for a shortened, yet thrilling, set from My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult and a Lords of Acid performance courtesy of Praga Khan and a new cast of psychedelic saviors.
My most amusing outing of the summer was seeing Tegan and Sara do immediate support for Paramore. More disturbing than being hit-on by 12-year-olds was realizing that Paramore actually has fans my age (25) and older. On a self-deprecating note, I'd made the ill-advised decision of wearing a designer jacket to the outdoor August gig, In my defense, though, there were only two people of the 8,000 who were wearing jackets: Sara Quin and...
But music wasn't the only thing on my mind this summer... there was also the cinema. I mean, did you see Scott Pilgrim? Okay, I have to admit that when a friend told me that she was going to see Scott Pilgrim, I looked at the websites of World Café Live and Tin Angel to familiarize myself with the singer/songwriter. I also have to admit that, once becoming enlightened, Michael Cera makes me want to curb-stomp puppies.
There were, however, a number of summer releases for those with more refined taste, most notable, newly restored, touring 35-mm prints of Breathless and Metropolis, each of which are capable of giving any cinephile a celluloid-inspired hard-on and reminding you of why films are worth viewing.
The Ritz East also hosted a handful of midnight screenings for the city's nocturnally inclined outsiders. Unfortunately, The Human Centipede proved to be neither high-nor-low-brow enough: for a story revolving around three humans connected mouth-to-anus, you need either the genius approach of Cronenberg or the exploitation approach of Troma.
And then there was Danger After Dark, a new edition to Q Fest, showcasing even more cinematic transgressions. I missed both screenings of Big Tits Zombie 3-D, although I did make it out for a couple other selections. Unfortunately, Gaspar Noe's highly-anticipated latest work of art, Enter the Void, plays even more like a Daft Punk music video aimed at 15-year-old stoners than Irreversible. On the other hand, Simon Rumley's Red White & Blue, a revenge film in the tradition of I Spit on Your Grave, turned out to be more-than-enjoyable... although, sitting next to Amanda Fuller, the film's star, while watching her nude, getting gang-banged, and being hog-tied in a Texas basement, was more than slightly awkward... albeit amusing in retrospect.
Of course, I didn't spend all summer dedicated to the consumption of art. As my readers know, in an existentially absurdist twist, I actually accompanied my extended family on a trip to Myrtle Beach. Although my better judgment prevents me from disclosing the majority of my reflections on this outing, here are a few highlights:
• My dad's new SUV came equipped with a DVD player, so I spent my time in the back seat, a mere foot from the two people who raised me, watching High Tension, Fat Girl, 9 Songs, and Sweet Movie.
• I spent a handful of nights "mixin' it up with the local yokels" (as my cousin, Jennifer, so eloquently put it) at dive bars, that were usually equipped with a cover band (one even included a fiddle) serenading us with their own takes on the work of Stone Temple Pilots, Sublime, and Filter.
However, the highlight of my trip, and possibly the most pleasantly shocking moment of recent years, came while talking to my cousin, Lauren, a student at the University of Iowa who made it to this year's Lollapalooza. I was curious as to who exactly she was intent on seeing perform at the festival. Upon asking her, she replied, nonchalantly, "Well, Semi Precious Weapons are huge in Iowa right now."
