WoolGatherer

And now for something completely FUNKY

Your little pal WG had quite the night Saturday.

Oh yes indeed he did.

For three hours I stood not more than thirty feet from the stage at Paisley Park as Prince put on a truly stupendous display of guitar genius and breathtaking showmanship. He literally didn't set his guitar down all night--unless it was to change to a different one for another soaring, seemingly effortless solo.

Over the course of three hours, the crowd of several hundred was treated to countless gems from Prince's vast back catalog. Even the venerable 1999, ostensibly retired ten years ago, got the full treatment, right down to the "Mommy, why does everybody have a bomb?" line. I was delirious. (Pun intended.)

There were covers aplenty, too, including the rather touching inclusion of Dancin' Machine and Shake your Body Down to the Ground, by the Jacksons. Prince never explicitly addressed Michael Jackson's death, but in all the times I've seen the purple one in concert since the '80s, this was the first-ever Jackson cover I'd heard. It was a clear tip of the hat to a departed peer.

In the last hour of the show, Prince burned a swath through numerous tunes he'd written for his proteges over the years, including Sheila E's The Glamorous Life, as well as The Time's big hits, Cool, The Bird, and Jungle Love ("I've been waiting to bust this one out all night," he announced with glee. "I wrote 'em all, I might as well play 'em!"

It was hard to keep count, but Prince played close to forty songs. My feet were killing me by the end of the night. (Speaking of feet--Prince wasn't wearing his trademark high heels, opting instead for somewhat more restrained platform flats(!)--with blinking LED lights in the heels.)

Some highlights of the night:

• Controversy, played all the way through from start to finish, including the "People call me rude, I wish were all were nude" chant.
• Anotherloverholeinyohead, played 1.5 times (He stopped half way through the first time and declared "I love this song so much, I need another guitar to solo on. We're startin' over."
• Kiss, somehow--impossibly--reworked to make it even funkier than I've ever heard it before--"Yup, it's remixed. I'm so funky I can't even sleep with myself!"
• Forever in my Life (one of two times when I cried. Yes, I'm a big emotional girly-man, and some of these songs really pushed buttons.)
• Sometimes it Snows in April (the other time I cried)
• Mountains (with Prince singing the horn parts, since there was no horn section)
  
• Let's Work, tight and fierce as never before
  
• Uptown (very old school, and delightfully unexpected)

And one to grow on...

• The hot 20 year old guy in front of me who gyrated his pert bum into my crotch for a good 90 minutes of the show. (It was very close quarters.) But, hey, if he didn't mind a bit of frotage, neither did I. Besides, his girlfriend got to dance on stage with Prince--the poor lad had to have someone to keep him company, right...?

It was, in short, the best concert I have ever attended, and easily one of the most memorable nights of my life.

Now I'm forever spoiled--no stadium performance will ever measure up to those three incredible hours at Paisley Park.

Not bad for $31.21 a ticket...

PS. No, I did not take the picture above. No cell phones were allowed into the building. This shot was taken at a show in Paris last week. But you get the idea.

A night out with the Boys

Last night Darren and I (along with 90% of the homos in the Twin Cities) attended a very enjoyable Pet Shop Boys concert at the State Theater in Minneapolis. Darren had seen them perform on Halloween night a few years ago, but this was my first time at one of their shows.

I have to admit that I found the first few minutes of the concert to be underhwelming. Sure there was the initial "Oooh, cool, it's really them!" moment, and because we had amazing third row seats, we could see Neil Tenant extremely well. 

I'm just used to my pop stars (Prince, Madonna, even poor stoned George Michael) exuding a LOT more oomph in the performances.

Honestly, most of the gay boys gyrating in the crowd probably worked up more of a lather than Neil ever did. But then I reminded myself that acting as though they're heavily sedated has always been a major part of the duo's vibe, and after that I had more fun.

Cameras were allowed, and because of our great seats I got some really cool shots during the show.

 

 

 

Over the course of two hours, Darren and I also grew quite fond of a comely young man in front of us, who was there with handsome man easily 20 years his senior.

It definitely seemed like sugar-daddy situation, but based on the lad's unflagging enthusiasm throughout the concert, daddy was going to get his money's worth for the ticket.

Alas, in this picture his arms aren't raised, so you're deprived of the beauty of his sculpted biceps. Swoon.

Finally, although the audio quality of this clip is truly abominable (the iPhone is never going to be the bootlegger's tool of choice), here's a snippet of the show's encore, the obligatory yet still very fun West End Girls.

It was a fun night--much more entertaining that a Wednesday night knitting at home.

PS. Aw hell, you deserve the biceps, too! Just turn the sound down--it's not needed.

Well that's sad

If you recall, when Michael Jackson announced his This it it tour a few months back, I was extremely dubious about the chances of even one performance actually happening.

Turns out I was right. But I didn't quite picture things ending up like this.

I feel sad today, but my grief is for the immensely talaented boy in this picture, who had such a bright future ahead of him, achieved phenomenal success, but died an untimely death as a freakish recluse (and let's face it, criminal) with an indelible cloud over his life and career.

Tragic.

And a star in the firmament goes dark...

Amidst the chaos of my life these past few weeks, I failed to take time to appropriately commemorate a truly wondrous blog that came to the end of its run, Going 40 in a 20 Zone.

My remarkable friend Scott, who started his blog two years ago to document his return to college and completion of his degree in music, graduated from Hamline University several weeks ago.

Like the best of Mexican soap operas (take Dos Mujeres, un Camino, for example) Scott is a class act who knew to leave the stage at his moment of climax.

Or something.

If you haven't had the good sense to click on the link to his blog right over there -->> in the past, I encourage you to do so now. Scott put together a mighty fine blog, and I already miss it something fierce.

In a week or two I'll take down the link to Going 40, wistfully and with an ache in my heart, like when I take down the Christmas tree.

Scooter, we hardly knew ye.

This is (sh)it!

I saw some really wonderful things in London, but the image below, plastered across countless billboards and Tube station walls was not one of them.

I'll admit that used to love Michael back in the '80s. I was the first kid in my high school who figured out how to do the Moonwalk. I wore out THREE cassettes of Thriller. I was a PYT, and I knew Billy Jean was not his girl. (Oh, was she ever not his girl.)

A lot of Jesus Juice-tainted water has passed under the bridge since those days of seemingly effortless, effervescent showmanship, and now these images of MJ simply strike me as sad and grotesque.

"THIS IS IT"? As opposed to what, all the great recording and performing he's done in the last fifteen years? He's finally going to take a curtain call? What does he need a break from? Baby-dangling? Obviously he's broke, and he's leveraged his catalog of the Beatles music to the point where Sony is about to own Strawberry Fields forever.

And when was the last time Michael had that healthy, muscular build? The early 1990's? We've all seen (or tried not to see, perhaps) the pictures of him in recent years. He's a frail, skeletal wraith this days, barely able to shuffle along in his pajamas though the shopping malls of Dubai while holding his nose on his face with surgical mask.

At least he's pared down his promised concerts to just ten. (The original rumor was that he was hoping to outdo Prince's "21 Nights in London" tour from two years ago.) Ten concerts means only eight or so arenas full of ticket-buyers will have their hopes dashed when he flakes out due to exhaustion, alien abduction or what have you.

Honestly, I hope he will be able to summon up his old magic long enough for one last run of great shows. That won't change the fact that he's a criminal pedophile and a complete wreck of a human being, but it would be nice, if also tragic and poignant, to see a glimpse of what once made him so special in the first place.

The Closing of the Year

The Robin Williams movie Toys sucked. And in a big, non-fun way.

Well, apart from three glorious minutes.

You could have knocked me over with a feather when the movie opened with Wendy Melvoin singing onscreen.

The song At the Closing of the Year is a bit schlocky (child chorus, etc.), but I've loved it since the day time heard it, back in 1992 when I was home from Vienna for Christmas.

I've always been a sucker for a melancholy Christmas song, so it warms my heart that this little tune has survived and can sometimes be heard playing on the radio or in stores.

Wendy fixed up real pretty back, then, too. (And look, Lisa doesn't even have a ciggie hanging out of her mouth!)

Jimbo, a Christmas tune for you.

Scary Funky Cool

Many thanks to my homey homo Jimbo for turning me on to this cool Grace Jones track.

I've missed Grace. She's looking fierce for 60, isn't she?

I gotta ask Santa for a pair of those boots. Damn.

Chelsea's fly, like coast to coast!

Darren and really I love the song Chelsea Rodgers, off of Prince's most recent CD, Planet Earth. We play it several times a week, and I often dance about when we do. Even when we're in the car.

[That's Chelsea with Prince at a Paris fashion show.]

Now that we know a Chelsea, too, we like the song even more.

Our friends Jay and Scott are entrusting us with their sweet little Italian greyhound, Chelsea, for four days while they're off in Las Vegas. We'll play her theme song several times this weekend, I'm sure.

Here's the young lady in question. You can tell she's a woman of mystery...

I'm excited for Hudson to have a playmate for the weekend, although I know he'll be jealous at first.

Look for some pictures of the canine fun and games next week.

Have a great weekend everyone! We've earned it!

Chicago PilgriMa(d)ge Part 2

So.

Madonna.

She was the reason we went to Chicago, and her concert was well worth the 14-hour round-trip drive. Even at age 50, and in the midst of a nasty divorce, Madge put on one hell of a show.

Not that I should be surprised--she's been at this a for twenty-five years, and she knows how to create spectacle and please a crowd. But still, the concert was even better than I expected.

The light show and computer graphics on multiple massive screens were dazzling, but techno wizardry has little to do with engaging an audience. The star of this show was clearly Madonna and it was easy to see why.

From the moment she emerged on a throne to the propulsive beat of Candy Shop, off her latest CD, she completely threw herself into her performance--dancing non-stop for two hours, singing live, and playing guitar (respectably, if somewhat superfluously), and even double-Dutch jump-roping as she tore through many of her biggest hits. (And left others gems, such as Frozen, Express Yourself, and Justify my Love disappointingly un-played.)

My favorite moments of the night were Get into the Groove, Like a Prayer, Music, Vogue, Borderline, Hung Up, Ray of Light, and Human Nature. She engaged in some banter with the crowd, but for the most part, she stuck to business with sinewy vigor and relentless energy. If the goal was to prove that she's the most aerobically fit fifty-year old on earth, she succeeded admirably.

The only time the show lagged was during the few ballads, in particular on You Must Love Me, from Evita. It's a nice enough song for a singer with a strong voice, but that has never really been Madonna's stock in trade.

One of my favorite parts of the night was the crowd's huge roar or approval when she showed a series of pictures juxtaposed Barack Obama and Ghandi. It was a nice reminder that we were in Obama's home town, and we get to have a non-Fascist president soon.

Our seats were high, high up, but the view was unobstructed, and I could see everything that happened on the stage. Since no cameras were allowed in the stadium, the best I could do was take a few shots with my zoomless iPhone.

Here's a shot of the stage and the many video screens. (The people--they're like ants!) She's somewhere out on the thrust part of the stage, FYI.

This shot's somewhat better. You'll just have to take my word that the wee tiny figure in the spotlight is indeed Madonna. (She didn't look this small to me, remember--iPhone photography leaves something to be desired.)

The only real downer of the night--NO ENCORE.

I mean, seriously--WTF?!?

After two amazing, frenetic hours, with the crowd totally into the show, she couldn't sweat ten more minutes for Express Yourself or Papa Don't Preach? I'm sure she had a Kabbalah class to attend or something, but still, give me a break. That's amateur crap, and a superstar should know better.

That pissy caveat aside, if you can see her, do. It's a great night's entertainment--but she'll pull the plug when she's ready.

As she says in Human Nature, "I'm not your bitch, don't lay your shit on me."

Fine, be that way.

The Return of Jesse

Super-duper writer and knitting designer Jesse Loesberg is back as our guest on WG today. Like most of us, he's been giving quite a bit of thought to the election, one week(!) from today.  Read on, but let's all hope that we won't have to worry about the Apocalypse after all...

Six Songs for the Apocalypse

Here in the San Francisco Bay Area, we all have the impression that an Obama victory on November 4th is a done deal.  There’s only one McCain/Palin lawn sign within a five-mile radius of my apartment, and I’ve only seen one McCain bumper sticker in the last six months.  And that was on a car that’s been sporting a Bush/Cheney sticker for the last eight years, so it really wasn’t a surprise.

On the rare moments that we’re willing to peek out through the shiny surface of our left-wing bubble, we are able to see that the rest of the country doesn’t necessarily feel the way we do, and an impending McCain/Palin presidency is not totally out of the question.  For this reason, I’ve compiled a list of songs that will provide the soundtrack for the morning of November 5th, should this terrible event come to pass.

1. Traffic, “The Low Spark of High-Heeled Boys”

Before Steve Winwood cheesed out in the 80s, he was a founding member of one of the seminal 1970s rock bands.  “The Low Spark of High-Heeled Boys,” ringing in at over ten minutes long, is the crowning moment of the album of the same name.  Each verse posits an either/or question about some mysterious, deep, and abiding personal loss, and by the end of the song, we’re left with the impression that everything precious in our lives is at stake.  This song also introduces a woefully unsung instrument, the Saxophone of Doom.  If the Angel Gabriel ever bothered to listen to rock n’ roll, he’d abandon that ridiculous trumpet and start heralding the End of Days with a tenor sax.  On this song, when Chris Wood blows that horn, you know you’ve just gambled away your last cent in a lousy off-the-strip casino, and the only thing you have left to your name is your shoes.  No ordinary reed instrument, the Saxophone of Doom sounds as though it’s blowing from the other side of the void.  How do you know you’re hearing it?  You just know, man, you just know.

2. King Crimson, “Starless”

Long the province of progressive-rock geeks everywhere (and we don’t know any of those, do we?  No, we certainly do not), King Crimson had its best years in the mid 1970s.  Their 1974 release Red features this truly apocalyptic song.  Right from its first lonesome, straining notes, you’re listening to a blasted, lifeless landscape, which, over the next ten minutes, evolves into one of the freakiest, most nuclear-explosive four-instrument jams ever recorded.  And what instrument is center-stage at the end?  The Saxophone of Doom!  Sadly, the Saxophone of Doom turned into the Saxophone of Cheese as it entered the 80s, culminating in the work of Kenny G, who, if we’re going to be completely honest, represents his own kind of apocalypse.

3.  Prince, “1999”

We may have all danced our little butts off to this song more times than we can count, but make no mistake: this song is about the end of the world.  Especially the original version that appears on the album of the same name, which ends with that creepy, child-like voice asking, “Mommy, why does everybody have a bomb?”  The interesting thing about “1999” is that it introduces the notion that the very last thing we should all do before the lights go out is party, party, party.  Recorded in 1983, it also expressed through pop music the ancient idea that something huge and irreversible was going to happen at the turn of the millennium.  And it did.  Thank you, George W. Bush.

4.  Modest Mouse, “Dashboard”

Dwelling more on implication that direct reference, this song brings us the apocalypse through lines like, “The dashboard’s all melted but we still have the radio,” and “I just want to catch the last laugh of this show.”  It’s just as danceable as “1999,” but Modest Mouse isn’t as interested as Prince in giving you a good time.  Isaac Brock’s schizophrenic vocal style makes you feel like things are about to fly off the handle at any moment—just like a certain Republican presidential candidate we all know.  Feel free to ignore the lyrics to this song and just get on down . . . but you do so at your own peril.

5.  Arcade Fire, “No Cars Go”

Unlike most indie bands these days, Arcade Fire is pretty much irony-free.  For this reason, you’d think that “No Cars Go” would be totally bombastic and overblown.  Which it is, but Winn Butler is totally obsessed with childhood, and he uses that obsession to make us realize that childhood’s secret places, where everything is going to be just fine, are dangerous fantasies.  And when the s**t comes down, those fantasies are going to be the only things we have left.  No other band recording today is so simultaneously apocalyptic and heartbreaking.

6.  The Decemberists, “Sons and Daughters”

Who knew the end times would actually be a good thing?  This is the last song on my post-McCain victory playlist, all because it has us all picking up the pieces and making it all OK.  Sure, the polar ice caps are going to melt while the international credit markets collapse and the United States finally invades Iran, but “we’ll make our homes on the water, we’ll build our walls with aluminum, we’ll fill our mouths with cinnamon.”  Doesn’t sound so bad, does it?  Interestingly, the thought that the apocalypse will have some unintended benefits is gaining some traction in pop culture.  Both the novel World War Z and the movie I Am Legend advance the idea that a sudden and massive reduction in the human population of the planet might not be a bad thing.  A character in the latter example goes as far as to say that, with fewer people in the world, you can “hear God talking.”

Of course, Sarah Palin thinks she can hear God talking too, so I’d take the above with a grain of salt.  And while you’re taking that grain of salt, listen to these songs, and go vote for Barack Obama.

So what will you be listening to if McCain wins on November 4th?

~ Jesse Loesberg

Alanis in the house

She opens with "Uninvited," one of my favorites!

What'cha doin' this weekend?

Going here:

 

To see her:

Watch for a full report next week...

A night with Ms. Morissette

The Alanis Morissette concert Darren and I attended last Saturday night was excellent. We had great seats, and Alanis played nearly all the songs I had hoped to hear. She opened with one of my favorites, Uninvited. I scored a point off Darren on that one, because on the drive to the Orpheum he told me he thought she would skip that song. Oh ye of little faith (in my prescience)!

My favorite song on her most recent CD is Torch, one of several tracks about her break-up with Ryan Reynolds. Maybe the fact that he just married Scarlett Johansson two weeks ago made that one harder to sing, but for whatever reason, I didn't get to hear it.

Cameras were allowed in the concert as long as no flash was used, so during a semi-acoustic set in the middle of the show, I walked down near the stage and snapped the picture above. (Yes, her hair is a bit too long.)

We only paid $60 a piece for our tickets, and we got far more than our money's worth. If she comes through your town, I'd definitely try to catch the show.

Editor's Note: Posts may be a little sparse this week, because I have to really crank to finish the hat I'm making for my two-color knitting class. The last class is Thursday night. So if I miss a day of blogging, please don't worry that I've been assumed bodily into heaven. I'll be back to my regular schedule next week.

And here she is...

Waiting...

... For Alanis Morissette to take the stage.

Sexy Alexi

The opening act, Alexi Murdoch (from Scotland) is woofy. I just bought his CD on Amazon.com.

I know, you can't see him, but trust me, woof.

See?

Funky Friday

Jesse Johnson kicked some serious ass back in the late '80's and early '90's. He's sort of forgotten now (though the original line-up of The Time has been touring this summer), but few musicians would have had the chops to lure reclusive R&B icon Sly Stone out into public long enough to cut a stanky funk track like this.

Ain't nothin' but a party, y'all. Now go hot glue some drapes to your hat and DANCE.

Labor Day Trilogy (III)

Part the Third: The Return of the Queen

~ WG boogies with the Queen of Disco ~

On Sunday morning Darren and I had an 8:30 breakfast reservation at the always hoppin' Hell's Kitchen in Minneapolis. (Yes, even on a romantic weekend getaway, sleeping until 7:45 is considered late for us.)

We had hoped that the establishment's name would make it a sanctuary from the GOP evangel-zombies, and for the most part, we were able to enjoy our tasty breakfast free of the disturbing sight of women in coordinating track suits and McCain pins.

[As an aside, the peanut butter they make at Hell's Kitchen is to die--and go to hell--for. I bought a small jar, but I already wish I'd chosen the large. You can buy some for yourself here.]

Perhaps it was the bison sausage I had with my breakfast combo, perhaps it was my body succumbing to GOP-toxicity, but by mid-afternoon, I began to suffer some rather unpleasant tummy issues. I won't offer further unwelcome detail.

I took a nap and many over the counter remedies, and by evening I was able to pull myself together to attend enough to attend a Donna Summer concert with my youngest sister, Sheila. For two hours we shook our money-makers to disco classics like I Feel Love, Bad Girls, Dim All the Lights, McArthur Park, and She Works Hard for the Money. It was the music I loved best in my teens, and they are songs that Sheila has literally known since she was a toddler.

Donna's voice remains something of a miracle. At age 60, she sings effortlessly, powerfully, and with full command of the range she demonstrated at the height of her commercial success in the late 1970's and early 1980's.

She is touring to promote Crayons, her first studio album in seventeen years, and she clearly had some big label money behind her production. There are several standout songs on the new CD, but like the rest of the crowd, I was there to hear the classics. Apart from the inexplicable omission of Love to Love You, Baby, I wasn't disappointed.

When I woke up on Monday, my wrists were sore from all the clapping.

Alas, my stomach was also back to its mischief, so instead of going to a cool brunch (complete with champagne-sabering) as I had planned, I spent my day lying low, feeling crummy, and watching tennis on TV.

And thus ends the tale of WG and the Labor Day weekend. And look--it got us nearly to another weekend!

Funky Friday with "The Girls"

Wendy & Lisa came along about five years too soon to catch the lesbian pop-duo wave, but they kicked serious ass. (Why else would Prince give them credit for co-writing songs with him?)

I love this video--it's a great tune and a reminder that Wendy really could be pretty when she wanted to be.

Have a great weekend, and keep on dancin'.

PS: Jimbo, this one's for you...

Silky smooth and broken-hearted as ever

The Chris Isaak concert last night was every bit as good as I'd expected. (Although, alas, I didn't get to shake his firm manly hand this time.) I tell ya, that fine-lookin' man can still hit the high notes. (That's right George Michael--I said it! I totally went there!)

We had great seats with a perfect view, despite the fact that these pictures make it seem like we were two miles away. Trust me, that's him in the middle.

(Okay, clearly I didn't buy the iPhone for the quality of its camera.)

If Chris comes to your town, pay the $66 to see him. He puts on a hell of a show.

Another evening with Mr. Isaak

Tonight Darren and I are going with some friends to see the still smokin' Chis Isaak in concert at the Minnesota Zoo amphitheater.

That may sound like a strange venue, but in fact it's a wonderful place to see a show. There are perhaps 2000 seats, and the stage is set is nestled against lake shore. Chris will take the stage as the sun sets across the water.

Oddly enough, it's almost exactly a year since I saw him perform a wonderful show. (And I got to meet him afterward!) That concert took place the same day that I gave my notice at US Bank after accepting the job offer from my current employer.

As it happens, today is also the one year anniversary of starting my new job.

Huh.

I guess the stars are aligning in some way.  Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket.

What a wicked game you play,

~WG

He put the boom-boom into my heart

Monday night Darren and I saw George Michael in concert at the Xcel Energy Center. All things considered, I'd have to say that the aging pop superstar put on a damn fine show. 

As a live performer (or musician for that matter) he's certainly no Prince, but he had a much more compelling stage presence than I expected, and his his video and light show was without question the most dazzling I've seen at a concert.

Even the stage's floor was the continuation of a massive video screen. (I think I would have fallen down and had a seizure if I had tried to walk on a glowing surface that appeared to undulate beneath me.)

As the name suggests, George Michael 25 is essentially a greatest hits tour, and dusty though many of his pop gems are, George delivered them with style and infectious enthusiasm. He even deigned to dip into Wham!'s back catalog for such crowd-pleasers as I'm Your Man, Everything She Wants, and Careless Whisper.

Speaking of the crowd, it was solidly (or like George himself), stoutly middle-aged, and very, very white. There were quite a few queers on hand, too, but not nearly as many as one would find at a Pet Shop Boys concert or a sale at Room and Board.

Puffy, suspiciously alert-looking, and Botoxed though he is these days, George still has considerable sex appeal (sort of like a handsome Greek waiter serving up souvlaki and jaunty pop tunes), and he shook his money-maker appealingly--if somewhat monotonously--all night long. I'll admit that it worked on me just fine.

I wasn't alone in my admiration of his aging charms. A group of shrill trashy women sitting behind us kept moaning ruefully to each other about "what a waste it is that he's gay," and "I just know we could 'turn him' if we had a couple hours with him in a hotel room!"

Yeah, that's what he wants: big-haired, tattooed, spray-on-tanned NASCAR moms from Chaska pawing futiley at him in a fleabag Super 8.

Most of George's big hits got the full treatment, but I was particularly pleased to have him perform Hard Day and Fantasy, two of of my favorite songs that were never released as singles in the US. (Anyone hoping to hear I Want Your Sex, however, was left, well, still wanting it.)

The biggest disappointment of the night for me was George's voice. While he sounded great in his low and mid-registers, it was clear within minutes that he no longer can hit the high notes that used to soar above so many of his best songs.

Thankfully, he didn't try to hit the notes and and miss them--he just avoided highs all together by dropping down an octave or (as was most often the case) having the crowd sing those parts of the song for him en masse. 

As that disheartening trend revealed itself, I exclaimed "He can't hit the highs anymore!" and "He's cheating!" But I don't think Darren noticed or particularly cared.

After all, he was just ten years old when Careless Whisper filled the airwaves for months and months and provided the sonic backdrop for my second and final heterosexual date (at Godfather's Pizza in Austin, MN, just prior to seeing the original Terminator movie).

The song's last high: "NOW that you're gone..." used to make my queer teenage heart ache, and on Monday I felt a bit robbed that I had paid $125 to have to sing that note myself. (I can hit it, but only in falsetto.)

All I'm sayin' is that Prince and Chris Isaak can still sing all their songs the right way. Too much weed, George, way too much weed. And fags. (You know, in the British usage of the word. Mostly.)

Griping aside, it was a really fun night, and I'm glad we forked out the dough to see Mr. Panayiotou do his thing. Hearing those songs brought back a lot of happy memories, and since I'm not about to haul my ass to Chicago to see that Kabbalah water-drinking floozy, Madonna, there won't be many more chances to see superstars of the '80s in my neck of the woods.

Except for one of course, and His Royal Badness will never abandon us for long.

~WG

Funky Friday

Sometimes I love YouTube so damn much.

When I was a freshman in college, I had a videotaped recording of a Sheila E. concert from 1986, and I watched the last ten minutes until the tape literally wore out.

The day of the concert, Rolling Stone magazine had done an interview with Wendy & Lisa for a cover story called "Prince's Women." They, along with Prince and the rest of the Revolution, were in San Francisco to shoot a video.

Just as a point of ironic trivia, in their interview, Wendy or Lisa (I can't remember which, and it doesn't really matter) said "This is a band that's going to be together for many years to come."

Prince fans recall that the dykey-funky duo were cut from the band a month later.  Oops, guess they spoke to soon. (Wendy did perform with little Princey when I saw him last summer, though, and yes, I cried. I couldn't help it--they sang Sometimes it Snows in April together. That sad song kills me.)

The Rolling Stone writer followed the band all day and watched them shoot the video for Mountains. That night, he also tagged along with them to the Sheile E. concert that the footage below comes from.

During Sheila's second encore, Prince and the Revolution surprised the audience by joining her band to perform A Love Bizarre, which was a number one hit that spring.

It's a kick-ass performance. (And if you can't tell from how the two of them interact on stage, this was during the time when Prince and Sheila were a couple...) 

Enjoy it this blast from the past while you can before Prince's lawyers force YouTube to take it down.

Wishing you all a high-kickin', splits-doin', funky-face-makin' weekend.

~WG

No, she can't.

In the twenty-two years since Janet Jackson famously asked what we had done for her lately, Michael's little sister has compiled an impressive list of infectious, impeccably crafted (if ultimately empty) pop-funk hits that kept dance floors as full as her coffers.

On her new 23-track CD, Discipline, Janet has once again combined thumping bass, come-hither multi-tracked coos, and edgy synths into a magical mix that sets my toes tapping and makes my hips want to move in filthy ways.

Alas, when I say "once again," I mean literally once again. 

As in:

One. 

Song.

It boggles the mind that after three years and God knows how many millions of dollars spent on trendy producers, Miss. Jackson ('cuz I'm nasty) has turned out a CD with only one great track, Feedback

The rest of the collection ranges from merely disposable and bland to completely wretched.  (Sweetie, the ballad is NOT your friend.  When will you ever learn?)

I have to say I feel a little sad for Janet tonight. 

It's not that I ever thought she was some great genius or even a moderately talented singer.  She certainly hasn't shown the uncanny knack to capture and reshape the hottest musical trends of the moment the way a certain M. Ciccone has done throughout her far more illustrious career. 

But at her best, Janet was smokin' hot and a whole lot of fun.

These days, everything about her career smacks of effort and desperation. 

It's just such a waste.  She still looks amazing at age 42 (much as I will 363 days from today), and she hasn't lost any of her lithe Jackson moves.  Okay, she married a hideous little troll, but I could overlook that if she put out just one more CD that is half as good as Rhythm Nation: 1814. 

Instead, for nearly a decade she has abused us with embarrassing, caricatured depictions of her own sexuality and bored us with tepid grooves unworthy of someone with her surname.

I had thought that Discipline just might be Janet's long overdue return to form.  Maybe she could do it again.

Nope.

I guess I should have just spent $.99 on iTunes for the Feedback single instead of wasting $12 for the whole worthless disc.

That's just your WG, ever the optimist.  Hey, maybe she'll get it right next time around.

When she's 45.

And we're all driving flying cars like the Jetsons.

~ WG

Feeling chanteuse-y

I suspect, given the demographics of my blog's readership, that many of you are already well acquainted with the divine Ute Lemper.

She is a truly extraordinary German cabaret singer, perhaps best known for her interpretations of songs by Kurt Weil, Edith Piaf, and Marlene Dietrich.  Ute has also written and recorded several pop albums.

She sings in German, French, and English, and her range of styles is as impressive as her flawless command of languages.

She also is a painter, dancer, actress, and author. 

Basically, this is a one German woman who kicks ass.

My favorite of Ute Lemper's CDs is a collection of what the Nazi's called Entartete Muzik, or "degenerate music," Berlin cabaret songs from the 1930's that mixed biting political satire--even mocking Hitler's mustache--with racy, hilarious tunes about homosexuality, infidelity, hermaphrodites, and strippers.  (The CD is available in German or English, by the way, though I can't really imagine it being half as fun in English.) 

Ten years ago, when I first moved back to the Twin Cities and was working as a depressed data entry temp at National Car Rental, I would listen to this CD all day at my desk to remind myself that I still had some toehold in a world of intellect, of art.

About five years ago, on Valentine's Day, Darren and I had the good fortune to see Ute Lemper perform a collection of Kurt Weil songs at the Ordway Center in St. Paul.   She was superb--elegant, charming, relaxed, and engaging.   And that voice!  From soaringly smooth to sultry/silky or even harsh and biting (in Mack the Knife), Ute shifted effortlessly throughout the evening. 

(My only regret about that show was that my view of the show was slightly hazy because I'd had LASIK surgery the day before.  Thankfully, Ute's dazzling sequined gown allowed me to track her well as she moved about the stage.)

As it happens, Ms. Lemper will be on tour in Europe this spring, and I've managed to snag two tickets to see her in Berlin on May 7.  (Many thanks to my musician pal Scott B. for telling me about the tour!)

To say I'm excited is something of an understatement.  Darren is very keen to see Ute again, too, though he'll be at a disadvantage this time, since her patter between songs will be in German. 

In parting, I offer a couple songs, just in case you feel like taking a listen.

I'm a Stranger Here Myself

 

La Vie en Rose

 

~WG

Can she do it again?

I literally threw away Janet Jackson's last two CDs after one listen, but Feedback, first single off her upcoming release, kicks butt.  It's hard-edged and contemporary, but it also sounds a bit like classic (pre-molestation charges) Michael Jackson.

The video is very Super Mario Galaxy (or funky Le Petit Prince), but I like that, too.

I pre-ordered the CD.  We'll see if it ends up in the dumpster. 

Have a great weekend!

~WG

PS.  If the CD is  a hit, maybe Justin Timberlake can have the wardrobe malfunction this time...

Melancholy but lovely

In 2004, shortly after my mother passed away, Chris Isaak released a really wonderful Christmas CD, simply called Chris Isaak Christmas.  In addition to his stylishly cool arrangements of Christmas classics, Chris wrote several new tunes for the collection.  One of them, Washington Square, has become one of my favorite Christmas songs. 

Holidays can be hard when you miss someone you love, and even though this song is written from a somewhat different perspective than my own, it perfectly captures the way I felt that first Christmas without my mom, and how I still feel each year at this time.

Here's a clip of Chris Isaak and his band performing Washington Square.  It always chokes me up a bit, but that's okay.

~WG

PS.  Did I mention I shook Chris' big manly hand back in July? And I've been to Washington Square in San Francisco!  Freaky, no?  I'm pretty sure that means Chris and I are soul-mates.

Desperately Sikhing Tunak

It's Friday, and we deserve some mindless fun.  Many thanks to my brother-in-law, Jeff, for sharing this video with me over Thanksgiving.  It's sheer nonsense, but I defy you to keep a smile from your face as you watch. 

This is Dahler Mehndi performing Tunak Tunak Tun, and it will make you move, baby!  (But probably in stupid ways...)

Have a great weekend!

~WG

The ravages of time

Fair warning:  I'm feeling shallow today.

Anyway, I stumbled across this deeply disturbing pair of photos yesterday.

First, Duran Duran at the height of their fame, circa 1983:



Pretty scrumptious.  I know that John was the designated heart-throb, but I was always partial to Roger.  Poor Roger, who couldn't handle the demands of teeny-bop stardom, went mental, and had to leave the band.  He had those pouty lips and the New Wave Elvis pompadour.  Plus, I had a thing for short guys.

I also liked Nick, because he wore the most make-up.

Now, here's a shot of the group from 2007.  Brace yourself, it's not a pretty sight.



John Taylor's long history of cocaine addiction is well known, so I'm not surprised to see him look like hell.  Simon was always weird looking, so whatever.  Roger looks like Mickey Rourke's slightly less hideous alcoholic brother.  Sad, but not horrifying.  (Andy Taylor is out of the group.  Again.)

But what the hell is up with Nick Rhodes?  He appears to be squashed down on himself, accordion-style.  Worse yet, he looks like Phil Spector, and that's just damn creepy.

Despite how wrung out they appear, I'm looking forward to hearing Duran Duran's new single, because modern day hottie Justin Timberlake produced it. 

I just hope JT took a good look at those bloated, blotchy faces and ripped up his coke dealer's phone number.

~WG

Not-entirely-safe-for-work Friday

For the last two weeks, I've been working on an article for my company's employee magazine.  One of the concepts I cover in the article the mash-up of web technologies. 

Of course, I much prefer music and video mash-ups, such as this gem that I had seen a couple years ago and all but forgotten.  It's the Nine Inch Nails track Closer paired with Star Trek, to hilarious effect. 

(Fair warning: Closer may not be the sort of song you want your coworkers to hear playing on your machine at work, so you might want to turn the volume down.  There's actaully nothing inappropriate in the video, though.  Just Star Trek clips.  Well, mostly.)

Enjoy.

~WG

Retro Saturday

I remember listening to this song in bed at night when I was in high school.  (I usually listened to music on my clock radio as I went to sleep.) 

I always found this track's distinctive keyboard line to be kind of spooky.  Come to think of it, I still do.

~WG

Retro Saturday

This one goes out to my homies in Sweden...

Takes me right back to fourth grade.  You know I was voted mostly likely to become a dancing queen!

~WG

PS--Oh, why not?  I love both versions so damn much!

Retro Saturday

Oh why not?  I can't begin to tell you how much a little gay WG loved this song when it came out, back in the day.

Have a great weekend!

~WG

And he has a firm handshake

The Chris Isaak concert on Friday night was excellent.  Lovely outdoor setting on a lake shore, a very enthusiastic crowd, and an amazingly sharp (yet somehow totally laid back performance) by a great singer with a super tight band.

After the show, Chris signed copies of his new greatest hits CD/DVD, and I (yes I, your very own WG!) got to meet him. 

Tall.

Charming. 

Firm manly handshake. 

HANDSOME.

I'll never wash that hand again. 

~WG

The Hotness

As I expected, the Prince concert on Saturday night was smokin' hot, and that was even before the house lights went down.

It was nearly 100 degrees outside when we got to Target Center and learned that, in typical Prince fashion, the show would be starting at least an hour late and the stadium doors were still closed. 15,000 people stood sweltering in their sweat-soaked concert finery as we waited to be herded inside. 

Darren, my friends Connie and Dave, and I wandered a few blocks away from the throng and had a couple beers to kill some time.  About an hour later we returned and made our way to our seats. 

Alas, although my $145 had secured me main floor seating, we were near the back of the hall, and behind many tall people.  I spent much of the night on my tiptoes, trying to see a man who's only five foot two.  Lesson learned--cheaper tickets can be better tickets.  (Thank god for the big overhead video screens and the two raised guitar solo/dancing platforms on either side of the stage.) 

The concert finally kicked off at 10:00 (ninety minutes late), and Prince opened with Purple Rain.  I've never seen him start a show with that song before.  The crowd responded well, but I was happy to get that obligatory number out of the way.  As always, he tore it up on the big guitar solo, but that particular hit has bored me since the '80s.

Many brighter gems followed, including Take Me With You, Musicology, Cream, Let's Go Crazy, Kiss, U Got the Look, Little Red Corvette, Black Sweat, I Wanna Be Your Lover, Do Me Baby, Seven, Nothing Compares 2 U, Raspberry Beret, How Come You Don't Call Me Anymore, and If I Was Your Girlfriend.  There were several covers, too, including Come Together by the Beatles and Play that Funky Music White Boy, during which Prince invited a portly middle-aged fellow from the crowd up onto the stage to sing lead. 

"He looks my high school gym teacher," Prince declared, "Let's see if he can sing!"  Oddly enough, the guy did a fine job on vocals, and when Prince launched into a long guitar solo, the "gym teacher" kindly blotted Prince's forehead for him.  It was a funny, loose moment that underscored Prince's relaxed, jovial mood throughout the night.

Two huge highlights of the show were the surprise (though rumored) appearances of Prince's longtime collaborators and friends Wendy Melvoin (guitarist in Prince's band The Revolution--"Wendy is the water warm enough?") and the always amazing Sheila E.. Wendy (whose delayed plane was the reason for the late start--Prince had called her in LA that morning and said "Be in Minneapolis tonight.") played with the band throughout much of the show.  She and Prince performed an acoustic version of the lovely and melancholy Sometimes it Snows in April that left me in tears. (Hey, it's a sad song, and I'm a sensitive guy.) 

Sheila E. didn't make her smashing appearance until the encore. She and Prince performed a sultry version of their big hit A Love Bizarre, and then Miss E. really let loose on The Glamorous Life, which included an extended solo on her timbales and congas that was so ripping, Prince teasingly called out "Hey, whose show is this?" 

No matter how long a Prince performance lasts, I'm always crushed when the show ends.  We had two and a half great hours of incredible dancing, playing, and singing, but I would have loved hours more. 

"I'm yours Minneapolis, and I'll be back," he promised as the show wound down. 

Yeah, but when?  Can't I just go with you?

~WG

Le Petit Prince

The big event of my weekend, hell of my whole summer, will be seeing Prince in concert tomorrow night at Target Center in Minneapolis.  Ooh, it's gonna be funky! 

The first time I saw Prince perform live was September 15, 1988.  (I have since learned that a precocious young Jimbo was at that same concert.  Who knows, maybe I eyed him in the men's room...)  It was the opening night of the LoveSexy tour in the USA, the first big arena tour Prince had done since the Purple Rain extravaganza several years before.  The media coverage was insane, and old Met Stadium (long since demolished to make room for the accursed Mall of America) was crawling with media--MTV, Entertainment Tonight, all those guys. 

The stars had turned out to see His Royal Badness, too.  Seated in the VIP section were Janet Jackson, Heart (gag), George Clinton, and Patty Labelle, to name just a few.  When I was standing in line at the drinking fountain during intermission, I realized with a start that the wizened gremlin in line behind me was none other than Miles Davis.  He looked like human jerky wearing a fedora.

The show that night was beyond phenomenal, but somehow Prince managed to better his performance the following evening, perhaps because he was over any (previously undetectable) opening night jitters.  I had managed to snag tickets for the ridiculously low price of $11, and the seats for night two were great.  I had a killer sore throat and a fever that night, but I went to the show anyway, and I sang and danced for three hours.  I couldn't utter a sound for the next two days, but it was worth it.

Since those two memorable nights in 1988, I have seen Prince in concert just six more times.  That really isn't a very impressive tally, considering that I lived within twenty miles of him for a decade.  When I was in college at Macalester, back in the late 80's, Prince liked to perform impromptu gigs at First Avenue to try out new material.  I never managed to make it to one of those shows, though some of my pals did.  (Too bad that in their mad dash to catch a bus into Minneapolis they forgot to call me.  Ah, but time heals all wounds.  Plus, he only played three hours that night, and seeing pictures of the concert in Rolling Stone's next issue did nothing to convince me that I had missed something major.) 

I did have one Close Encounter of the Purple Kind in those heady days.  In March of 1987, when visiting First Avenue on a Thursday (Funk Night) I tripped on the crowded stairs and slammed into a petite, well coiffed, highly made-up person who turned out to be Prince.  He wasn't permanently damaged, and I scampered away before his hulking bodyguards could mess me up.

The last time I went to a Prince show was in June of 2004, when I caught two nights of his Musicology tour here in St. Paul.  Both shows were amazing, but I had a hard time enjoying them as much as I would have normally, because that was the summer my mother was losing her fight with cancer.  She called me the day after the concert to ask how it had gone.  I told her "He must have sensed I was there, because he put on quite a show."

Today I feel jittery and nervous, as I always do before seeing my little funk demi-god.  Tomorrow I will compulsively check at least twenty times to make sure the concert tickets are where I left them, and I will be a nervous wreck until I'm sitting in my seat at Target Center, waiting for the house lights to go out. 

Oh, and when they do...

Watch for a full report next week!

Your intrepid reporter,

~WG

Utterly random

Whenever Johnny Depp's domestic life is mentioned, I have horrible flashbacks to 1988 when I was living in Germany. 

Throughout that whole year, the song Joe le Taxi by Vanessa Paradis, Johnny's fiancee and the mother of his child, was utterly inescapable.  Looking back, I think the song may have been France's revenge on Germany for WWII, but I can't prove that conclusively.

Please, enjoy!

I mean--WOW--that petite Francaise could belt it out, couldn't she?  And don't you just love the perplexing, repetitive little shimmy she does?  And the impish way she flips her hair?   Ooh, the hotness.   (Okay, her teeth a little funky, and even now, that's true...)

Clearly at a loss for words today,

~WG

What's WG listening to?

I realize that I'm a Seany-come-lately on this one, but ever since I got my new Mika CD yesterday, I've been shaking my groove thang all over the place.  (Perhaps you've noticed me boppin' down your street.)

Fun stuff.  Take a healthy dose of Scissor Sisters, add some Freddy Mercury, a little George Michael, some Prince, shake it all up, add a pretty sissy boy with a quirky video, and I'm sold.

Grace Kelly by Mika

Friday's nearly here.  Hang on and dance!

~WG

Well isn't that queer?

A silly bonus post for your enjoyment...

~WG

A very queer blast from the past

In high school, I was obsessed with Boy George.  Huh, imagine that. 

I was even more smitten with his pal Marilyn, who kicked androgyny up several notches from poor pudgy George.  Marilyn never made much news in the USA, despite being the the prettiest of pretty boys.   Huh, imagine that.

Anyway, enjoy.  Or just wonder what the hell I'm thinking posting this to my blog.  Either way, I'll be back tomorrow.

~WG

 

WG--Dancing Queen!

I absolutely love it when I find a new band or artist that strikes my fancy.  That happens all too rarely these days.  As I approach the ripe old age of 40 (still 39 for a few more months, though!), I find myself ever more disconnected from popular music.  Listening to Top 40 radio makes me feel old and cranky, especially when I catch myself thinking things like "How can kids listen to that trash?" 

So imagine my delight when (two years late) I finally bought a Scissor Sisters CD.  That was a mere two weeks ago, and today I am utterly and completely smitten with this band. 

Scissor Sisters have it all--cute gay boys, catchy pop tunes with witty lyrics, and a musical palette that builds on the disparate stylings of Elton John, Abba, The Bee Gees, Erasure, George Michael, and a whole bunch of other cool stuff that I still have to figure out. 

Yesterday, the new Scissor Sisters CD, Ta-Dah, was released, and today I have it in my hot little hand.  I'm only halfway though the CD, but already I'm just tickled pink. 

Or even fuchsia!

Who could resist a lyric like "Oh I could throw you in a lake / Or feed you poisoned birthday cake / I can't deny I'll miss you when you're gone" ?  Hey, we've all been there, right?

No time to write more.  Must dance!

Shakin' my money-maker,

WG

Mavis mini-review

Mavis Staples tore the roof of the Dakota Club on Tuesday night.  Man, can that tiny woman wail!  She put on an amazing 90 minute show, during which she was warm, funny, and engaging.  I left wishing I could make her my funky soul grandma.

If you are anywhere near any of her tour dates, by all means try to see her perform live.  You'll be glad you did.

More for you cats later.

WG

Tuesday night soul

It's a short post from your old pal WG tonight.  Darren and I are headed to the Dakota Jazz club in downtown Minneapolis to see a Mavis Staples concert.  Ooh, I love me some Mavis!  She is one soulful mama.  I have been a fan since the late '80s, when some college friends kept playing the Staple Singers' "I'll Take You There," off the Children of a Lesser God soundtrack.  Shortly thereafter, Mavis hooked up with Prince and released two really good CDs on his Paisely Park label.  (Amazing--a female Prince "protege" who could actually SING and didn't look like a hooker!)

I haven't heard Mavis' most recent CD, but it has received rave reviews.  NPR also did a charming interview with her recently.  I've always loved her vivacious personality and hearty laugh.  She also has the deepest speaking voice of any woman I have every heard. If you don't know her work, you should check her out.  I suggest starting here or here.

Keepin' it old school,

WG