Asparagus pee, Gooblek & Other Neat stuff
Time to take this bull by the horns and milk it.
I was ignorant of Nick Cave until I heard him talking with Terry Gross on NPR this morning – I sure wish more people were writing lyrics like “I don’t believe in an interventionist God,” including me.
Anyway, it’s a good song – give it a listen.
Update: Ok, so no comments, but come on – listen to the line where he says “I want to walk like Christ in grace and love and guide you into my arms.” and try not to like this song.
So here’s what may well be the saddest story in the history of rock and roll. (Well, OK, not like that time when the plane went down with Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, and the Big Bopper, but you know…)
When I heard that Paul McCartney was going to play here in Sacramento at Arco Arena, I thought, “Well, I missed the big tour ten years ago and I was just too cheap and lazy to fly to L.A., but this guy could up and die on me, and then I’d die without ever seeing a Beatle!”
So, I hear that Sir Paul’s coming in November, but I hear this in, like, February, and the tickets go on sale at the end of April. Naturally, I forget to be there at midnight on whatever night that was, but I see a news article the next day that they were selling tickets, so I go online and pay double the face value for some Ticketmaster™ tickets that somebody else snagged. Fair enough, I snoozed and lost, cost of doing business, whatever, but suffice it to say that it was a decision that required a major financial discussion — we even kidded about putting them in our safe deposit box.
Fast forward six months. The Lady Janet and I had moved into our new house on November 10th, and the concert was on the 16th.
So I come home and The Lady Janet says, “You’ve got the tickets, right?” and I say, “You’re kidding, right?” and that was officially the end of the world as we know it. See, the tickets were eventually found in a box in Emily’s toy closet, but the night of the concert we tore the whole house apart (with help from my parents) and drove down with no tickets and just threw ourselves on the mercy of the Ticketmaster™ lady, who couldn’t give us our tickets, but she could sell us more tickets for $50 each to sit in the top row, directly behind the stage.
So, bottom line, we saw Paul, and HE ROCKED!, but we had lousy seats and it sounded terrible, and we were so bummed about losing our really good tickets that we cried.
Now, having said that, did I mention that HE ROCKED! — I’m telling you, that old boy never took a break, he never took a drink, he just switched back and forth between piano and guitar, he was kind to other Beatles past and present, and performed his arse off for over 3 hours.
I’d recommend seeing him any time you get the chance, and after all, it’s only $50!
Tonight I happened to be up watching David Letterman, and they featured a band called Men with Banjos, featuring Steve Martin and Earl Scruggs. It was five guys picking their asses off with Paul trying to keep up, and it was cool.
Letterman tried to flirt with Steve Martin, but he was so authentic that he was like, “I’m sorry, Dave, I’m really just here to play banjo, and the real star here is Pete Wernick,” without saying or doing anything.
I was moved.
Oh, by the way… you know how Willie Nelson’s old guitar has a hole in it that he’s actually worn through the body over the soundhole with his pick??? Well, Steve Martin’s banjo has big black streaks above and below the stings that tell me that he has loved his instrument often and well. The man plays that thing.