Good Evening, Mister President.
It has officially reached the point where I can now identify the season and even the portion of the season before the "previously on The West Wing" segment is over. Sure, there are hints (why did they ever hire Moira Kelly in the first place?), but you really have to be committed to get to my level. I'm not bragging; I'm confessing. I am not a TV person. I have never loved the way I love The West Wing. It touches me in places most people don't even know they have places. God bless you, Bravo, everyone.
In other news, Jeff proposed a truly radical plan for the new HD record last night. I think it is terrifying and brilliant. Though not as brilliant as Aaron Sorkin, who should be given some kind of title, and a Congressional medal, to say nothing of a garland to wear atop his brow. Serious.
SXSW was, as predicted, demoralizing. I played three shows: one as ex-officio Long Winters (incredibly fun, as most Roderick & Nelsonfunkel performances are), one as special guest harmony singer with the great Robyn Hitchcock ("Alright, Yeah," "Viva Sea-Tac," "Queen Elvis," "If You Know Time") with whom I spent some great time that evening, along with his lovely companionne, and in the dressing room shadow of Spoon (genial but awkward interactions with Britt and Jim, as always; it's funny, sort of, that the low point in their musical careers occurred while on tour with HD--hey, me, too!--and that they're still sort of embarrassed by their bullshit behavior in Atlanta... as well they should be...) and John Cale (whom I almost knocked over; he's not a large man--he is, however, p.h.p, i.m.h.o.), and of course, the HD show. Of these, the HD was the only one that made me actively sad afterwards. Not because we didn't play well. I mean, we've been better, but we have CERTAINLY been much worse; we weren't a disgrace. But somehow, I let myself forget that SXSW isn't a "showcase," and it isn't a "festival." It's a place where music business bottom-feeders-on-up centralize so no one can get mad at them for talking through shows. I had to leave as soon as we were done becuase I couldn't endure one more fake-ass, looking-over-my-shoulder-for-someone-more-famous (not hard, but still...) conversation with one more half-friend. Or real friend. The Barsuk showcase was full of good friends of mine. But I'm not up for SXSW. It's clear. Not as a has-been, up-and-comer. No. I'm not going back till I can enter the city on a team of white stallions. Jeff's radical plan may be the best antidote to my biz frustration that I've ever heard. It's bold and karmically righteous. It's also effing loco, and beset with as many press landmines as there are potential benefits. But at least there's a good early-middle period R.E.M. song we can use as a theme song.
(That's a hint to the two of you who might be reading this.)
My schedule last weekend was a perfect encapsulation of my life as a busybody:
Thursday
8pm-12am Iron Composer (write a song while drinking five shots of tequila, and people are throwing shit at you and girls you may or may not have benign crushes on give you lap dances wearing strap-on dildos coated with K-Y, some of which ends up in your mouth. not for nothing, but I won, handily, and left, drunkenly.)
Friday
12:30am-2am Pack, fret, watch West Wing.
2-4am Sleep
6am-2pm (CST) Flight to Denver, thence to Austin, both in middle seats on crowded flights, neither of them sitting with A-train. Too tired to sleep much, but also can't read, and can't reach iPod. Nice.
2-3:30 Taxi to hotel, check-in, throw luggage on floor, same taxi (waiting, with meter running) to BBQ joint for Barsuk/Merge party for Long Winters set. Arrive at BBQ place, where of the 200 people present, I know 100 personally and at least 30 more by reputation. frantic hellos to good friends and bad ones, jump on stage, sing for half hour.
4-6: From stage, rush to MTV (.com, but still...) interview across town. Fun, actually. It's nice to feel purposeful. Then go to register. Ready to collapse. Find coffee. sit. doze. Taxi back to BBQ place.
and onward... i just realized this is boring even for me. Suffice it: by 10:30, when RH took the stage at La Zona Rosa, I still hadn't stopped for a nap and both A and I were super cranky. Drinks after the show to cement the fatigue, and then, back to the hotel for very sound sleep. The next day was slightly less frantic, but only slightly. Several semi-famous sightings (a nice chat with Ben Kweller at the airport ice cream stand), and many queasy shoulder rubbings with fourth-tier pseudo-impressarios. Ah, well. It was nice to see the Nada Surf boys, as always. And JV. And Menomena is a fucking great band; never let it be said that I'm not all about the 'chunes.
More anon.
In other news, Jeff proposed a truly radical plan for the new HD record last night. I think it is terrifying and brilliant. Though not as brilliant as Aaron Sorkin, who should be given some kind of title, and a Congressional medal, to say nothing of a garland to wear atop his brow. Serious.
SXSW was, as predicted, demoralizing. I played three shows: one as ex-officio Long Winters (incredibly fun, as most Roderick & Nelsonfunkel performances are), one as special guest harmony singer with the great Robyn Hitchcock ("Alright, Yeah," "Viva Sea-Tac," "Queen Elvis," "If You Know Time") with whom I spent some great time that evening, along with his lovely companionne, and in the dressing room shadow of Spoon (genial but awkward interactions with Britt and Jim, as always; it's funny, sort of, that the low point in their musical careers occurred while on tour with HD--hey, me, too!--and that they're still sort of embarrassed by their bullshit behavior in Atlanta... as well they should be...) and John Cale (whom I almost knocked over; he's not a large man--he is, however, p.h.p, i.m.h.o.), and of course, the HD show. Of these, the HD was the only one that made me actively sad afterwards. Not because we didn't play well. I mean, we've been better, but we have CERTAINLY been much worse; we weren't a disgrace. But somehow, I let myself forget that SXSW isn't a "showcase," and it isn't a "festival." It's a place where music business bottom-feeders-on-up centralize so no one can get mad at them for talking through shows. I had to leave as soon as we were done becuase I couldn't endure one more fake-ass, looking-over-my-shoulder-for-someone-more-famous (not hard, but still...) conversation with one more half-friend. Or real friend. The Barsuk showcase was full of good friends of mine. But I'm not up for SXSW. It's clear. Not as a has-been, up-and-comer. No. I'm not going back till I can enter the city on a team of white stallions. Jeff's radical plan may be the best antidote to my biz frustration that I've ever heard. It's bold and karmically righteous. It's also effing loco, and beset with as many press landmines as there are potential benefits. But at least there's a good early-middle period R.E.M. song we can use as a theme song.
(That's a hint to the two of you who might be reading this.)
My schedule last weekend was a perfect encapsulation of my life as a busybody:
Thursday
8pm-12am Iron Composer (write a song while drinking five shots of tequila, and people are throwing shit at you and girls you may or may not have benign crushes on give you lap dances wearing strap-on dildos coated with K-Y, some of which ends up in your mouth. not for nothing, but I won, handily, and left, drunkenly.)
Friday
12:30am-2am Pack, fret, watch West Wing.
2-4am Sleep
6am-2pm (CST) Flight to Denver, thence to Austin, both in middle seats on crowded flights, neither of them sitting with A-train. Too tired to sleep much, but also can't read, and can't reach iPod. Nice.
2-3:30 Taxi to hotel, check-in, throw luggage on floor, same taxi (waiting, with meter running) to BBQ joint for Barsuk/Merge party for Long Winters set. Arrive at BBQ place, where of the 200 people present, I know 100 personally and at least 30 more by reputation. frantic hellos to good friends and bad ones, jump on stage, sing for half hour.
4-6: From stage, rush to MTV (.com, but still...) interview across town. Fun, actually. It's nice to feel purposeful. Then go to register. Ready to collapse. Find coffee. sit. doze. Taxi back to BBQ place.
and onward... i just realized this is boring even for me. Suffice it: by 10:30, when RH took the stage at La Zona Rosa, I still hadn't stopped for a nap and both A and I were super cranky. Drinks after the show to cement the fatigue, and then, back to the hotel for very sound sleep. The next day was slightly less frantic, but only slightly. Several semi-famous sightings (a nice chat with Ben Kweller at the airport ice cream stand), and many queasy shoulder rubbings with fourth-tier pseudo-impressarios. Ah, well. It was nice to see the Nada Surf boys, as always. And JV. And Menomena is a fucking great band; never let it be said that I'm not all about the 'chunes.
More anon.
posted by Sean Nelson at 9:24 AM
1 Comments:
Sean --
I just came across your blog today (via Basil's blog, via "Awesome"'s page, although I think I've been here before but forgot to come back...hmmm), and am enjoying going through the archives catching up on your life (Sorry to hear about the bummer things, but congrats on the happy things! :) ). Reading this post, though, I'm forced to comment (almost three years late): I bet I can go toe-to-toe with you on The West Wing trivia and quoting. Very few people (and I dare say not even you, Sean Nelson) are as West Wing geeky as I am. But I'm glad to hear that others are enchanted by TWW, too.
As pretty much everyone else here has said, I LOVE Harvey Danger. Y'all are one of my favoritest bands of all time. My first Harvey Danger show was at Rckndy in '98, and it was one of the best shows I've ever been to. I was at the NYEE show (and many shows in between the two), and will be at at least one of the March shows at The Triple Door. And KJV is probably my favorite HD cd, followed by Merrymakers, then Little by Little.
Cheers!
Post a Comment
<< Home