eatin' nachos, post-punk'd, and other uses of the apostrophe.
this past wednesday night at the u.s. bank theater, which is just 1/3 of the timberwolves' turf the target center covered in fancy black fabric and ginormous americanized chinese lanterns hanging from the ceiling, i attended my first concert where i was officially more interested in the audience than i was the band playing onstage.
on a similar note, last time qualler and i went to see glasgow's gang of 4 paal harstads, franz ferdinand, qualler saw someone coming out of the bathroom at the fine line with his collar popped and qualler thought to himself, "what a douche." later that night that "douche" took the stage and rocked many of our socks off in an angular fashion.
a little over a year later, qualler and i go see the ferd (big ups to soviet panda for letting me in on that lingo) with the sole intent to blog the shit out of the event. i mean, c'mon just check out this picture. they scream out "blog me!" in even the most subtle of their press photos.
what the archdukes do not know, however, is that the pop culture blogulator is an equal opportunity blogulator. therefore i would like to shine the spotlight on another delightfully salty and mostly synthetic snackeroo, NACHOS.
now, i don't know about you, but when i worked at my local arthouse cineplex (yes it claimed to be both, let it go) in high school, i couldn't get enough of that fake cheese, until of course, i did get enough. i got sick and had to wash away the sodium blast with a nice pink lemonade/sierra mist blend many a time. likewise, a year-and-a-half ago, i could not sick of the smirking scotsmen franz ferdinand. their self-released full-length debut had everything i wanted: lyrics i could shout along with, computerized yet humanely jagged riffs, and the "indie couture" reputation that made it even more okay to like it.
finally in september 2005 my musical pink-lemonade/sierra mist blend is now the why? record. i put the new franz single on repeat, feel my tummy rumble, and put back on elephant eyelash. simple as that. franz hasn't toppled my world the way nada surf has, until of course i witness it for my very own eyes at a place where i actually COULD eat nachos AND watch some faux-post-punk simultaneously if i wanted to. now that, sir, is an opportunity covered in yummy-grossness.
so as i watch teenagers, fratboys, and 30-somethings watch quietly, whip out their camera phone, or do the cabbage patch to "take me out" and its seven variants, i realize something. again, not earth-shattering, but comforting to have hit me gently: the ferd is a proud timeless (not in a good way) facsimile of multiple entire cultures i never experienced first-hand. from arena rock to the actual post-punk movement, this is all just a very well-done reinterpretation of it, and i really can't fall in love with it or knock it. it's both funny and genuinely enjoyable on the surface, and postmodernly blaze if you dig any deeper.
oh well, i'm still vaguely hungry for fake cheese and canned jalopenos.
on a similar note, last time qualler and i went to see glasgow's gang of 4 paal harstads, franz ferdinand, qualler saw someone coming out of the bathroom at the fine line with his collar popped and qualler thought to himself, "what a douche." later that night that "douche" took the stage and rocked many of our socks off in an angular fashion.
a little over a year later, qualler and i go see the ferd (big ups to soviet panda for letting me in on that lingo) with the sole intent to blog the shit out of the event. i mean, c'mon just check out this picture. they scream out "blog me!" in even the most subtle of their press photos.
what the archdukes do not know, however, is that the pop culture blogulator is an equal opportunity blogulator. therefore i would like to shine the spotlight on another delightfully salty and mostly synthetic snackeroo, NACHOS.
now, i don't know about you, but when i worked at my local arthouse cineplex (yes it claimed to be both, let it go) in high school, i couldn't get enough of that fake cheese, until of course, i did get enough. i got sick and had to wash away the sodium blast with a nice pink lemonade/sierra mist blend many a time. likewise, a year-and-a-half ago, i could not sick of the smirking scotsmen franz ferdinand. their self-released full-length debut had everything i wanted: lyrics i could shout along with, computerized yet humanely jagged riffs, and the "indie couture" reputation that made it even more okay to like it.
finally in september 2005 my musical pink-lemonade/sierra mist blend is now the why? record. i put the new franz single on repeat, feel my tummy rumble, and put back on elephant eyelash. simple as that. franz hasn't toppled my world the way nada surf has, until of course i witness it for my very own eyes at a place where i actually COULD eat nachos AND watch some faux-post-punk simultaneously if i wanted to. now that, sir, is an opportunity covered in yummy-grossness.
so as i watch teenagers, fratboys, and 30-somethings watch quietly, whip out their camera phone, or do the cabbage patch to "take me out" and its seven variants, i realize something. again, not earth-shattering, but comforting to have hit me gently: the ferd is a proud timeless (not in a good way) facsimile of multiple entire cultures i never experienced first-hand. from arena rock to the actual post-punk movement, this is all just a very well-done reinterpretation of it, and i really can't fall in love with it or knock it. it's both funny and genuinely enjoyable on the surface, and postmodernly blaze if you dig any deeper.
oh well, i'm still vaguely hungry for fake cheese and canned jalopenos.
This entry was posted by chris, on
Monday, September 26, 2005.
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Fucking Pastiche
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