It all started with a dream. As the summer progressed, it became an obsession. Now, the heat has died down a little, but I am still in love with Britt Daniel.

Next time someone asks me “any men in your life?” I’ll just tell them the truth – I am in love with a rock star and regular dudes just don’t do it for me anymore. The cool thing about being in love with a rock star is, you can just listen to their records and you’ll never know all the bad stuff. For all I know, Britt Daniel is a total wanker. But I can listen to his records over and over and I will always love his music. There is a comforting certainty in that.

After all these months of obsessive behavior, I was a little unsure about how I would feel at last night’s Spoon show at Cane’s. I was borderline underwhelmed at the June 21st Avalon show, but that was pre-dream. I’d read that Spoon sucks live, I’d read that they were awesome live, and my previous experience was somewhere in between. So I spent the day almost fearful that I would be underwhelmed, that my obsession would stop (which it will, it has already started stopping, but I prefer to let the love morph into something lasting without the intensity, if that makes any sense.) Yes, I was fearful. And nervous. And very, very excited. Isn’t it great to be alive?

I went with Mark. Even though we broke up over a year ago, he remains my live show buddy. His girlfriend is cool with it, but it seems to perplex some of his friends who can’t understand the whole breaking up and remaining friends thing. The great thing about Mark is, he puts up with me. And you have no idea what a pain I can be at shows. I have to “get my spot.” Once in my spot, it “must be guarded, never left.” Then I “must have another Absolute Mandarin and Soda, please.” Many, many people would be like, chill the fuck out. But Mark understands, and he goes with it with humor and grace. This is the sign of a true friend.

So, we got to Cane’s early and went up to the restaurant on the roof they have there. There were lots of people eating and when we sat down for a drink I scanned the whole roof for Britt. I told Mark I knew he was up there – I just KNEW. And he WAS. Mark went over and found a table that was, seriously, ten feet away from the man himself. I went over and I was facing him. Holy fuck. I could barely look. He was eating fajitas and talking to a girl with a hippie skirt and flip flops, not looking too enthused. Then he got up and left. I was almost relieved. Flip Flop Girl looked totally dejected when he left. Britt Daniel has a bit of a reputation, at least on the internet, and this girl couldn’t have been a blip on his radar. Me and her have that in common.

Mark and I then went into the club, right when the doors opened, because I had to “get my spot.” And my spot at Cane’s is awesome. There is a little raised area that has a railing just to the left of the floor. From there, you have a full view of the stage just a few feet away. This could, in fact, be the best place to watch a show in the entire universe. And I had it, and I wasn’t going to move.

American Music Club opened and they were awesome – so good that I am kind of shocked they were an opening band. I was totally fascinated by the drummer. The guy had a “I’ve Lived and It’s Showing” look but he was such a brilliant drummer – understated, unique, perfect. I could hardly take my eyes off him.

Then it was time to get ready for Spoon. All of a sudden, the place was packed with a handful of real fans and a gazillion chicks who “love that song they played on the OC” and a bunch of dudes who “like that Camera song.” THIS is why I stake out the perfect spot WELL in advance. I was on the rail, looking down at all these people. If I would have been down there I would have hated it. As it was, I wanted to smack many of them upside the head. I didn’t know there could be a worse crowd than an L.A. crowd. Wrong. Pacific Beach crowd wins.

But, I wasn’t about to let the constant text messaging and hair flipping get to me. It was on my radar though. Bad crowd, no donut.

Then there was Britt. And I can say, the love ain’t going anywhere. It was a totally inspired, fun show. The whole band was into it, Britt was into it, even the lame ass crowd was into it, when they weren’t text messaging each other. After five months of listening to Spoon practically constantly, it was like the sountrack of my life played loud, hard, and well. It was AWESOME. I fucking LOVE Britt Daniel. I love his raspy voice and his bedhead blond hair, I love the fitted shirt soaked through with sweat. Sometimes he would turn around and empty his guitar of sound with his back turned to the audience for what seemed like hours. I am not sure anyone noticed but me, and this is what I love – the wall of sound only an electric guitar can give. I love the smile of a man who is doing what he loves and is doing it perfectly. The combination of those two things? Doesn’t get any better than that, unless you throw in a bottle of Owen Roe Pinot Noir. Perfect song after perfect song, it went on and on. I didn’t even mind Britt’s obvious flirtation with practically every girl in the front row. My love is deeper than a one-night stand.

I didn’t want it to end, but end it did. Now I have to take a nap, so I can be fresh for the Dandy Warhols show tonight. Please let me dream again.

I’ve lived in San Diego for almost three and a half years, but I hardly know this place. Really, truly. It’s kind of embarrassing. Ocean Beach is my home, and I don’t get out much, or if I do, it’s to other places besides San Diego. So it’s always a trip to go down to the Gaslamp District and see the madness there. A fully yuppified, trendified, and fake-tittified madness. People everywhere. A colorful, Baywatchesque glimpse of the American Dream. Scary.

Last night the Rolling Stones played at Petco Park, and I got tickets when they first went on sale a gazillion years ago. Why? Why did I buy tickets to this show? It’s not really my thang anymore, these huge concerts. Before I turned 21 and could get into clubs, maybe it was. Still, I bought the tickets and last night, me and Keith, Andy, Brian and Mark (from this point known as KAMB) headed downtown.

First, we all met at the Vine at a very early hour. The guys seemed to be on a mission to see how fast one of them could turn sixteen again. They were really putting them away and the flowage didn’t stop there. Somehow, we got a cab on Niagara Avenue after numerous calls to various cab companies all telling us, basically, to fuck off because there were never going to be any cabs in OB on this insane Friday night. Once downtown, we had to go to Yuppified Central – the Yardhouse Bar & Grille. As soon as I stepped inside that place I was like DUDES, GET ME OUT OF HERE. I must have been making some serious faces because Mark told me to chill out. But it was horrible. I guess that place might be OK on a Tuesday night when you absolutely must have some onion rings, but on a Friday – blech.

Thanks god Brian and Andy led me out of there and to a bar two doors down called The Local. Now that place, despite it’s lack of decent wine, was my kind of place. How is it that I have lived here so long and The Local wasn’t even a blip on my radar? I felt I had found the Promised Land after a long (10 minutes) stint in Hell. Then the real drinking began. Absolute Mandarin and Soda, one after the other, appeared in front of me, and by the time we left there, I was feeling a little loopy. Yes, you can be a drunken sixteen year old again. If you believe.

At some point the guys we met up with at the Yardhouse showed up, and when we all left the plan was to go to Petco immediately. Only, some of us were in no hurry (like me, it was only 7:00 for fuck’s sake) so we ended up going to an expensive steakhouse where a friend of KAMB’s works. A snotty blond hostess told us the lounge was full, but clearly she didn’t know she was talking to four veterans of the San Diego restaurant scene with something like 107 years of experience between them. Keith had a word with someone backstage, and within seconds we were past the snotty hostess and into the lounge, which was NOT full. There were some pretty freaky people in there though, go into any trendy steakhouse lounge near a venue featuring the Rolling Stones and you will see exactly what I am talking about.

So, I ordered up another Absolute Mandarin and Soda, but the bartendress gave me something pink. So, I said NO. ABSOLUTE MANDARIN AND SODA. This time I watched her as she made me a fat, perfect drink but then proceeded to pour a shot of Cranberry Juice in. Huh? Not wanting to make waves twice, I tried to drink the drink, but after drinking half of it the sweetness got to me. Another bartender was standing there, so I asked for an ABSOLUTE MANDARIN AND SODA, NO CRANBERRY JUICE PLEASE. I wasn’t asking for a free drink, but I think homie was accustomed to these mistakes and he pushed my money away. The bartender who made me the wrong drink twice gave me a look. Oh well.

So, eventually we made it to Petco, and I was happy that from our seats we could actually see the stage, as I had purchased the cheapest seats (to the tune of $80 each) flush with stage right. Plus, there was a video screen facing us, so the partially blind and/or enebriated could see things a little closer if they couldn’t focus on the stage.

What can I say? I am glad I paid too much for the experience. The Rolling Stones were predictable, but fun. Everyone makes fun of them about their ages, but I hope that when I am sixty something I am doing something cool. As I looked down on a sea of heads, and I mean a SEA, I was happy to know that next week I will be seeing two shows where I can actually see the faces of the performers. This show was obviously a “destination” for a lot of people, and the Stones did not disappoint. There was a massive stage, with some crazy Vegasy curliques and many levels, and there were pyrotechnics, and lots of Mick Jagger strut action. A ticket for the last Coldplay show was eighty bucks, and I reckon a lot of the people that went to that show, were at this show. At least with the Stones, for eighty bucks you got fireworks included. Also, a memory, because that pre-show party action was pretty memorable, for lots more than I have described here. I have to be somewhat cautious, to protect the guilty. Now I am going to eat some tofu with spinach and peanut sauce and get some sleep, because tomorrow is my first meeting with my baby nephew Ryan. Ryan, who will someday accompany me to a sold out Spoon show at Petco Park. Yeah, right. Well, maybe.

Overheard Sunday morning on the Xingolati Cruise:

Dude #1: I feel like I’m on acid.
Dude #2: You probably are.

I still feel like I am on that ship, physically. I feel dizzy. It is like landing on the ground after a 14 hour plane trip times infinity, dizzy-wise. It is unsettling. But, I am going to try to use the weird feeling of being on a boat when you’ve definitely got two feet on the ground to do my best to write about what was definitely one of the craziest, funnest, most colorful experiences of my life. It was like being at the coolest party in the universe for three straight days.

I took four rolls of film, and now I gotta go and buy a scanner because seriously some of the images in my brain are never going to come out right in words. Images like tribe chicks dancing in the hot tubs with tall strawberry daquiris and lit cigarettes in their hands. Or the most outlandish crowd ever screaming the lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody, as performed by the Flaming Lips, while a dozen giant balloons bounced up and down on their heads in a gold Vegas style showroom. Every deck chair on the ship taken on Sunday by the recovering from the night before-ers, the philosophy readers, the sleepers, and the still-partyingers. How about the acrobat boy with raggedy Anne hair who wore the same outfit of black leggings and a striped red and black T-Shirt and did contortionist shit 24/7? Anyone on that boat who is reading this is going to know exactly who I am talking about. It was a swaying, liquid free-for-all where you could get away with just about anything. It was the Haight-Ashbury and downtown Vegas, it was a contact high and a tequila hangover. It was insanely colorful. This is about the best I can do. You just gotta go next year.

The ship’s crew was totally blown away by us. The cruise director said it was definitely the best cruise he’d ever worked. One waiter asked if we all knew each other. It did seem like everyone talked to each other. As I was in the cafe getting coffee one morning, this young guy with blond dreadlocks and eye makeup danced up to me. “Wanna get some BREAKFAST?” When I told him no, that I had to get some coffee for my friend, he gave me a big kiss on the cheek and danced off. I’m not sure if it was all the X or what but every morning when I passed the hot tub full of people they all yelled “Hey!….” I am not the only one this happened to. It also happened to blogger Jeff who has a similar take and also some pictures on his blog.

The food… I was so sketched out before we left. It was OK at first, but it did get a little bit gross at the end there.
I really loved that crew. I loved the never-ending bottles of Champage from John the East Asian headwaiter guy’s rolling cart. I loved the lights, the colors, and the all-out happy vibe of 2000 other passengers.

Best band/experience? Mutaytor. Craziest night? Friday. Lamest guy? The one who tried to steal my bottle of Champagne when I was talking to one of the ships officers, while watching Mutaytor on Saturday night. Earliest drink? Recovery bloody mary on Sunday. Latest drink? Glass of Moet & Chandon earlier on Sunday. Craziest good karma stuff? Winning a free internet contest, almost winning the slot tournament, and winning $100 for filling out my comment card. There was no one on the ship who won more Carnival sponsored contests than me, but Colleen says it’s because only four people entered. Craziest bad stuff? Someone ODing on the ship. Slipping on the wet deck and fucking up my back on Sunday night. Being held on the ship for five hours when we arrived back in Long Beach. Just like any trip, the high has gotta be balanced by the low. But all in all, that was three of the best days of my life. Both Colleen and I agree, if we could change one thing, we’d get a cabin with a view. And that’s pretty good for an inaugural trip.

I think I need to elaborate a little on just how awesome this cruise is.

Yesterday, I was feeling awfully rushed in Ensenada. So I came down to pay an exhorbitant price to elaborate, but then saw this sign that said “today’s winner of thirty free minutes is… SHANNON ESSA.” Cool, eh? I guess I entered some contest but I don’t even remember. Thirty minutes is going to go fast though, so here is the unedited version of the past couple days.

The ship itself is pretty cool. There are bars everywhere. Outside, there are jacuzzis filled with more tattoos and nose rings than is normal for your average Carnival cruise, I’d say. Everyone is REALLY happy. It’s like Vegas on the high seas but there ain’t no one from Kansas here (I don’t think.)

We ran into Ed Decker on deck and he invited us to have dinner with him and some other San Diegans. So eighteen of us ate together in the Destiny dining room. Lots of these guys know my brother, Tom, and one of the main guys running this thing told me he met me in OB one day, having breakfast with my brother. So, I need to somehow hook it up where my brother performs next year. Also, Lil D, you gotta come too. OB is definitely represented and this is totally cool and unexpected.

After dinner, me and Colleen went to a wine tasting that I had prebooked. Sadly they were doing a sustainabilty lecture at the same time, which is cool but I wanted the wine, not the lecture. However we did meet one Dr. James Fishhead McFreaky and his wife Sunshine and had some cool conversation with them. This and four sips of Syrah for the low, low price of $30. From there we went into the Normandie Lounge to see G. Love and Special Sauce then the Flaming Lips. It was pretty much total mayhem in there. Right when Flaming Lips started, some of the tree people moved in on us. Tree people, you know, they look like they just climbed out of a tree, they dance like they are in a Native American ritual, and they threaten to take out your eye with a flying dreadlock. But I had myself to fear also, as I was jumping up and down on a moving vessel. This can be dangerous, I assure you. There were balloons and confetti, a marriage proposition on stage, and lots of Wayne Coyne freak action. But it was motherfucking hot and insane down there, and Mutaytor was playing again on the Lido deck, so after a bit we cruised up there. That sea air felt awesome.

I love the staff on this ship, and so far I have made friends with the Champagne cart guy, who looks like a 1940’s east Asian matinee idol, and our Steward, Yusuf, and one of the waiters, Kadak. Then last night I met one of the officers, an Italian named Rosario. I’ve been quizzing all these guys down on how this whole thing runs. Everyone works seven days for eight months straight. Twelve hour days. That is INSANE. Rosario told me there are 68 different nationalities on this ship. And they are all so nice. I seriously cannot imagine being nice to people with those kind of hours. But being on this ship and seeing how everyone radiates good energy gives me a lot of hope.

My time is up. I will continue tomorrow when I get home…. one more fabulous day and night to go.

We are in Ensenada, and I can’t wait to get back on the ship. Xingolati is AWESOME. We are having such a blast… fellow OBcian Ed Decker is on the ship, and so are some other people from OB. It’s pretty weird seeing all these familiar faces in such a bizarre environment.

The party at the hotel Thursday night was kind of lame but boy did they make it up to us yesterday. Everybody pretty much boarded and started drinking, and the vibe (one of total fun and complete abandon) intensified as the night went on. Very early on I found the Champagne Cart. Just after, I learned that while a glass of Moet & Chandon costs $15 a glass, while an entire bottle of Nicolas Feuillatte champagne costs only $35 a bottle! So this has become my drink of choice so far, besides all the red wine I brought of course. You can buy a bottle and pretty much walk wherever on the ship, check some music out, then go to the next place. I tried to explain to some dude when I was buying my second bottle, as he was getting the shaft for the glass of Moet. “You had to go and spring numbers on me” he said. Oh well.

There is music all over the ship. The best band last night was Mutaytor. FOUR drummers! Fantastic looking people doing crazy things with burning hula hoops and shit. Tonight they are playing again, but at the same time as the Flaming Lips. Still, I might have to go check it out again.

There are four guys staying next door and yesterday while we were unpacking they were all out in the hall making a ruckus. One of them is this guy Chris who was already completely hammered by 4:30 or whenever that was. I kept seeing him all night, and so it has become my mission to photograph that guy all over the boat in whatever state he is in. I got a lot of shots – he was EVERYWHERE, with his silver glitter fedora. Then this morning I went out into the hall at 8:00 AM to go find some coffee. The hall of our floor was totally trashed – plates and glasses strewn about, towels in heaps – and who is walking toward me but Chris, doing the walk of shame right in front of my eyes. “Keep walking” I told him. “I’m gonna get your picture.” Little does he know he just gave me the best shot of the trip so far.

Also I am photographing everything we eat and the best one was last night’s 1:00 AM snack of chili, french fries, tator tots and spinach quiche. Yum!

Seriously, so far this has been a really great time and everyone on the ship is totally into it, even the crew who I think have never worked a cruise like this one. Our steward, Yusef, has already come out and told me he played guitar in a Metallicaesque band back home in Indonesia. Everyone who works on the boat is incredibly nice. All the officers are Italian and man is it hard to resist a guy in a white uniform. They were all out groovin’ to Mutaytor last night.

Two more days of this? AWESOME.

Manchester England’s Doves will always bring back Sicily to me. Back in 2000, when I went on my solo trip there, I spent many a night listening to their first record Lost Souls, and on this last trip, I was listening to the third release Some Cities. I don’t know what it is about Doves and Sicily, but I do know their layered, guitar driven sound comes through perfectly on my little speakers in whatever dinky hotel room I may be in. They were, and will be, the soundtrack I always remember from both those trips.

It’s really weird how the music business works. I remember when Doves were first being talked about, back in 2000, and I remember that a new band called Coldplay was also one of the new hot bands. It was like, Doves and Coldplay. They were equal right then, but I liked Doves better right from the start, and most people I played both for agreed with me. But one day I was in a supermarket somewhere in Sicily, and what was playing on the canned sound system but friggin’ “Yellow,” Coldplay’s first uber-hit. I was like, whoa, these guys are being played in a supermarket in SICILY. What up with that? Then at the October 2000 Radiohead show at the Greek Theater in LA, all the cars had Coldplay flyers on them after the show. So, there was some serious marketing going on behind Coldplay. But why Coldplay and not Doves?

Last night, I saw Doves live down at the House of Blues. It’s been almost six years that I’ve been listening to them, I have all their records, but man oh man was I not prepared for this show. They totally ROCKED. It was really and truly one of the best shows I’ve seen all year, and I have seen a lot of shows. The sound was incredible and the band just totally tore it up, smoothly and professionally. And it was LOUD. It was so awesome that I wanted to go and have sex with one of them. And I am not like this, generally (with bands, anyway.) I’ve seen Coldplay, and seriously, there is no comparison, for me at least. And there I was, in shoelicking distance, not in Section You Are Fucked at a huge arena. I’ll repeat – AWESOME, AWESOME, AWESOME.

So today I was sort of recovering from that. I am almost always hungover after a show, but I am starting to think it is all the energy I expend that is killing me in the end. Or maybe I am just dying slowly from happiness.

Tomorrow, I head to Long Beach for the pre-Xingolati party. Bags packed, hair colored, it’s gonna be an experience for sure.

In just a few days, I’ll be on the high seas off Baja on a ship full of, one would hope, crazy people. Xingolati. I can’t imagine anyone wouldn’t be crazy to shell out this kind of dough to be on a boat for three days, because when you are on a boat, you can’t get off. I know because one time I went on a cruise and I swore, never again. Well, just goes to show you, never say never again.

I am getting ready. I’ve got a crazy wardrobe picked out, with almost all the Betsey Johnson I own, and my purple suede boots, and my purple glittery weird stretchy boots. My new Sigur Ros hoodie, and my yellow Esther Williams bathing suit. Plus four bottles of good wine and some earplugs.

Xingolati is a big party, but it is on a Carnival ship, and that is the cruise ship I went on before. I can’t even tell you how vile and repulsive the food was on that cruise. But I ain’t going for the food, I am going to have fun, listen to music, wear clothes I never get to wear anymore, and party with my #1 uber-bud Colleen. Still, I will be reporting back on everything, even the food. You can expect a full report of what I remember, I promise. I’ll even try to post from the ship.

Also, my brother’s wife Carrie is due to have her baby this weekend, and I am getting really pent up and excited about it. I can’t wait until he is old enough to take to shows and I can be “cool auntie Shannon who buys her nephew rock ‘n’ roll hoodies.” Jay and Carrie, if you are reading this, I will be thinking about you all the time and can’t wait for baby Ryan! I love you guys!

Once in a while, one of those days comes along, where everything clicks into place perfectly and becomes a fantastic memory. Yesterday was one of those days. Yesterday, the music gods and the karma police were all smiling on me in a big, big way. I’m so happy that I am so impulsive and such a childish fool. Because if I wasn’t, I would have missed one of the best times of my life.

I’m not going to get into too much detail about how I got there, because I already wrote that and it was a dissertation. So let me just say I arrived at the show with two people I didn’t really know, after quite a few emails, several phone calls, and a bottle of wine poolside at the Best Western on Highland Boulevard in Hollywood, equipped with a ticket for a seat in the second row in the pool section of the friggin’ Hollywood Bowl for a band that I totally worship, Sigur Ros. When just that morning I’d been ticketless. That is the shortened version of my dissertation.

My new friends Lloyd and David had seats in the 200 section of the garden boxes, one of which was previously mine until the pool ticket materialized. It was really trippy to be around people after all those solo Hollywood shows of the summer. It was especially awesome to be with David, because he worships Sigur Ros too. We all ate french onion cheese spread and crackers and watched the opening band, Anima. Then I went down to the pool seat. Being very close to the stage in a huge venue is a pretty cool experience, and I sat crammed in with a predominately Asian audience while a now familiar scrim was lifted. It was awesome – as much as I didn’t want to leave the garden box, it was pretty spectacular being right below the stage. It was LOUD – loud as I could want, perfect, not too loud but really really loud. The band was so close I could see expressions and all the Asians lifted their cellphones constantly to take photos. Two girls in front of me – in the front row of the entire venue, got up and left after the second song, then came back around the fourth and proceeded to have a lengthy conversation. Me and the Japanese guy next to me both shushed them at the same time, then looked at each other and giggled, and at that moment I completely forgave him for his incessant cellphone photo taking. The light in his eyes when he smiled was all love for this band, and all love for anyone who loves the same way. It’s one of the best things about music, that light.

Eventually I went back up to the box to give my ticket to Lloyd, who seemed as hesitant as I was to leave the garden box. “Dude,” I said. “You HAVE to go down there. You can see Anima’s BREASTS from there.” I so did not mean this in any sexual or sexist way, but only as an observation of the eye/back of the stage where Anima were playing violins ratio. While the garden box was close, the pool seat was imminent. In my excitement telling Lloyd all this, the woman in the box in front looked back at me, and I looked back at her with an I’m so sorry I should shut the fuck up look. She smiled, and then, again, there was that light. So all of you readers who hate L.A. crowds, take note. Certainly there are some pretty lame ass people at an L.A. show. But I think we always look for the bad ones, when really, there are people like you and me EVERYWHERE. We just don’t see them too clearly unless we really look hard. It is just too much easier to notice the jerks.

Lloyd took off and I took his seat in the box. As much as I loved the pool, the sound, and the vibe, in the garden box was so much better. The band sounded lush and intense, everything bouncing off trees and the sky and people, instead of confined in a indoor space like the Avalon or Copley Hall. David and I kept looking at each other with jaws dropped, even though we’d just both seen them two nights before. I can’t even describe how beautiful it was, but if you’ll listen to Bradley’s files, and imagine yourself in an almost perfect setting… he was in Boston and we are in Hollywood, but the set list is almost exactly the same. The feeling? Almost exactly the same. Almost.

I can have no complaints, since I had already seen the band twice; and I was so totally lucky all day with the navigation of tickets and seats and new faces, that I did not, possibly even could not, let dickheads in the audience bug me. But this is only because I saw the Avalon show and the Copley show, where for the most part the audiences were perfect. Having all that space around in a garden box also helped. There is much internet chatter about an incredible moment of silence during Sigur Ros’s “Vidrar Vel Til Loftarasa.” In Boston, as Bradley’s file shows, the silence was unbelievable. In my experiences at the Avalon and Copley, someone had to yell. But at the Hollywood Bowl, my god! There were not only people yelling but there was some freak black dude dancing by us that kept screaming “JOHN CAGE! JOHN MILTON CAGE!” Dude, this is so not about you, or John Cage. This is about Sigur Ros, their music, that silence, and our relation to both.

In the end though, freaky dancing guy just added to a perfect night. Just before the encore, Lloyd came back from the pool. “That was SO unbelievable,” he said. We both looked at David. “You have to go down there,” we said together. I had a sublime mixture of wine and joy running through my veins. There was a panorama of cellphones in the air, a sea of little lighted boxes. It was like a cellphone ballet on a perfect autumn night, danced to one of the best bands in the world.

Another thousand quiet wows. Another two hours of perfection. Thank you, Sigur Ros.

Last night was the Sigur Ros show at Copley Symphony Hall. It snuck up on me, getting back from my trip on Saturday, trying to re-enter a more still presence on Sunday, and trying to get caught up on Monday sort of took the anticipation out of it all. And it is especially weird these days to actually see a show AT HOME. Imagine, no three hour drives, no checking into hotels, no $35 “may as well go all the way” dinners.

Well. I’m still trying to stop the butterflies in my stomach from trying to break free, because that show was so beautiful that I have decided I must go to Hollywood tomorrow night, go through the drive, the hotel room, and the expensive dinner. Because there is no way Sigur Ros is going to play so close and in a place I totally love – the Hollywood Bowl, without me being there. No way no way no way.

I had an extra ticket to last night’s show, and ended up making a friend. I posted on Craigslist and Taunya responded, and we decided to go have some drinks and food (yes, expensive, but at least there was no hotel bill) before the show. She even lives in OB, and she even DROVE. So already karma is working some sweet magic here. We ate some truly rank tapas at a place called “La Gran Tapa” across from the Symphony hall, but the bottle of wine was good, a 2000 reserve Rioja that shall remain nameless due to wine holes in my brain. Taunya and I hit it off right away, so it was all good, and when we got to our seats she was very happy, as was I, at how close we were to the stage.

Since I’ve already seen Sigur Ros once this year, at the Avalon in Hollywood, I knew how awesome it was going to be, but I didn’t know the songs yet since their new record Takk had not come out. Now I’ve been listening to Takk for a couple of weeks, but even knowing the songs, I think I was equally blown away in both shows for different reasons. It was so weird being in a symphony hall. There were retired people acting as ushers who were so nice but clearly, didn’t get the music. There was a bar where I was shocked to find that there was no carding going on (later, when I went back, there was a LOT of carding going on – clearly the bartenders had a “talking to.”) It was difficult to have to sit in a seat the entire time. No one stood – ever. I think I am conditioned for movement at a show now. It was very hard to remain still. Maybe I need to take up mediation or something.

Yes I need to take up meditation. Because sitting there I just could not get my mind to shut up. I kept telling it SHUT THE FUCK UP but it wouldn’t. That’s why I have to go back tomorrow. Or at least this is the excuse I am giving myself.

I don’t really need any excuses. It was incredible. How does Jonsi do that with his voice? The highest, cleanest, notes sustained for so long the people in the audience couldn’t take it. One MUST shriek “whoo” after a minute or so. Well, I didn’t – I just whispered many “wows.” Because there are two kinds of music lovers – the whoo shriekers and the wow whisperers. Actually there are three – there is also the non-listener but I don’t think there were too many of those at this show.

One of the truly fantastic things about the internet is that you can relive a moment that happened 21 hours ago. Like here, where you can listen to Sigur Ros’s Boston show, thanks to Bradley. Like him, I have a hard time putting it all into words, but you can LISTEN. So, if you will, scroll down a bit and find the show, and at least listen to Vidrar Vel Til Loftarasa. This is the song I wrote about on my Avalon entry where there was a long moment of silence until some guy whoo hooed. Last night, there were quite a few whoo whoos. But at this Boston show that Bradley recorded, no whoo hoos. Dead silence in the middle of the song. It is SO fantastic. Thank you, thank you Bradley for recording that show because right now I am listening to it, crying, remembering it all. Readers, take advantage of this gift, regardless of what kind of music you are into right now. My god.

Sigur Ros lyrics are sometimes an invented language called Hopelandic. Their music breaks my heart, even if I don’t know what it all means. Breaks my heart and mends it later. Then fills it. At the show last night a ring of light strands hit the stage vertically and the effect was one of a spaceship coming down to take the band away. Later, white birds flew everywhere, but they were light birds. It’s no wonder I want to go back tomorrow.

And now, a more silent Wow.

There is a particular thrill that goes along with seeing a band that you have seen a few times already. I guess this is why Deadheads exist. Well, maybe not. Maybe that is something else entirely. Maybe this is why Tori Amos fans exist. It definitely has something to do with Radiohead worship. Well, maybe not. Because lots of people who are into Radiohead have never seen a Radiohead show. Hmm. I’d better move on to last night’s Pink Martini show, because I’m in no shape to get into a philosophical discussion with myself.

Mark and I got to the Belly Up an hour before the show with a plan to eat and drink a little. When we got there, there was this long line around the building, and it was mostly made up of, well, not to be ageist, but it was made up of, like, a lot of older people. Nothing wrong with that, truly, but I was just surprised to see the 50-70 set coming on down for a Pink Martini show. After four shows, this was a new one for me. We were the youngest people there, I kid you not. Later I did see a couple of people in their mid-thirties and a twenty-something chick who was with her mother.

So when we pulled up and saw this, I was like, “how come they are all waiting here already?” I couldn’t imagine all of them would be securing a place in front of the stage. No, I reckoned they all wanted a seat. A SEAT, at a Pink Martini show. Well, I told Mark, cool for us, I won’t have any problem getting us to the rail when the show starts! I like to pretend I elbow people and use karate moves to get people out of my way, but of course that is all an act. Really, I just move with the stealth of an invisible warrior and wiggle through that way. I’m good at it.

We had an expensive, mediocre meal at the cafe in the club. The bartendress made a comment about the age of the crowd, and I was like, yeah, I know. “Why are they all waiting?” I asked her, knowing the answer. “Because they want a SEAT!” She said. At about quarter of eight I started getting those wonderful, uneasy ripplings in my stomach that I get when I know I’m going to see a good show. Mark told me he wasn’t expecting much, and how that was good, because no matter what it would be good, since he wasn’t expecting great. I was like, dude, you just have no idea. You have no idea what you are getting into. That’s why I can’t eat this last piece of calamari. My stomach’s all anxious. Here. EAT IT. The cool thing was, we still had some wine left and the cafe let us bring it into the club, and said come back for more any time! That is really dangerous – decent wine at a show plus Shannon equals hangover. That’s why I can’t have any philosophical discussions with myself right now. I should instead just eat a pot pie and go to bed.

Can’t though, before finishing this entry. We left the cafe and walked straight out to the stage. The front was taken up by groupies, but I had a nice spot right behind the front line with a totally unobstructed view. One good thing about an, eh, older crowd, besides them not being on the floor, thereby making more room for me, is that there are no really tall guys to obstruct the view. And this, my friends, is the A-1 worst thing about going to shows and trying to see – really tall guys. They are everywhere, or were everywhere, until last night.

There was no opening act, this was AN EVENING WITH PINK MARTINI, as I was told when I called the Belly Up to see what time they were going on. And they went on at something like 8:05. Damn! I always get a thrill when I see all those good looking dudes walk out (and there are MANY of them) and then, when China Forbes appears, I get all weak at the knees and start screaming “CHINA!” Last night I was not the only one. There were a few other women doing the same thing. And you know there has to be something special about China if you are screaming HER name when there are ten handsome guys on the same stage.

China, very simply, is a Chanteuse. She is also one of the most glamorous, riveting people I have ever laid eyes on. Furthermore, she is a kick-ass singer. Where would Pink Martini be without China? She is the glue that holds the whole thing together. The rest of the band might think differently, but from the view on the other side… man. I had to force myself to look away, even when all this other great stuff was going on. She’s got that kind of presence.

It was a great show, energetic and fun, with the whole sold-out club totally into it, sitting or not. There was a woman right in front of me who was SO into it that she kept bouncing on my feet and into my glass of wine. But, I was chill with that because I know how it is when you just can’t stop bouncing to Pink Martini, though, of course, I never bounce. I always thought of that as more a Deadhead thing. Mark kept saying, over and over, “this is SO cool. This is SO cool.” OK, here is the rundown: two horns, a guitar, a bass, a grand pianist (Thomas, the main PM dude), FOUR percussionists, and China. I feel I may be leaving something out… but you get the idea. They were all perfect, having fun in a tiny place after some way bigger shows. It’s difficult to put Pink Martini into a box, but it is sort of like showtunes meet Samba. And when it is live, it is really and truly a great fucking time.

I am still feeling the tingles… even with a hangover.