Cold War Kids, Rogue Wave, free Heineken.... OH YES!!

On Wednesday of this week, my good friend, kennedy, told me that she was going to see a concert on Friday: Cold War Kids. I asked if I could crash her party and grab my own ticket. She responded with a feverish head node and excited, "YES!".

I get on Cold War Kids website. No tour dates.

I text kennedy: Venue?

She texted back: On Houston Street?

Me: Are you asking me?

Her: No, thats all I know.

I chuckle.

I look up multiple venues, even some NOT on Houston, in case that is really all kennedy knows, I might be in for a goose chase. mercury lounge-miss. national underground- miss. pianos- nope. than I got less creative and chucked the idea.

Me: Listen, I can't find it anywhere. can you find out the venue.

Her: Oh, there is no venue. It's a secret concert.

Me: Right.

So in the end she got me a ticket. Around 9:15pm on friday night, I meet her at the path, immediately joined by kimball and his not-yet-tattooed-arm, and we walked to the "undisclosed location" on Houston.

We had no idea where we were going.

Luckily for us, at the exact moment we got to Houston, near the west side highway, a small little man with an earpiece appeared and asked us if we were going to see the concert. When we responded yes, he replied, "Go straight, make a left, and follow the green lights."

Munchkin? Yellow Brick Road? Creepy sex party with lots of leather and Tom Cruise wanna-bes? ANYONE!?

Sure enough, we round the corner and what should appear? A heaven of Heineken and two trailers of port-a-jons.

In all seriousness, kennedy's office had put up a flyer, "HOSTED BY HEINEKEN" a night of music, in an warehouse space on the west side highway. We waited in line for about 5 minutes, put green plastic wristbands on and were ushered into a astroturf college haven of games, after answering these 4 simple questions:

Your age

You sex

Have you drank a beer in the last 30 days?

What is you ethnicity?

The 5 of us all had difficulty with the final one. It was extremely dark out.

We set foot on the astroturf and you would have thought we were children in Never Never Land. There were adirondack chairs under beach umbrellas next to foosball tables and Wii consoles. Two sets of corn hole were being dominated by lovely dressed Manhattan fresh-bloods. We could hear a dj in the larger warehouse room. Green was the dominating color. and the beer!

There were buckets... everywhere!! Free for the taking? We weren't quite sure. So we walked up to the bar... with no tip jar, or cash register. WHAT WAS GOING ON!?! There were signs on the adjacent walls: BEVERAGES: REUBENS: DIM SUM: FALAFALS :HOT DOGS: SILK SCREENING T-SHIRTS.

What had we stumbled upon!?!? EVERYTHING WAS FREE!!!!

Did you take it in yet? Not only were we going to see Rogue Wave and Cold War Kids rock out on a free ticket, we were going to be able to drink Heineken and eat fair food for the entire night! FoR fREe!!!!

Alright, so after the initial shock of it, the mission of collecting the glass Heineken beer glasses ensued. We drank as we rode the Wave through a Good Morning and Lake Michigan. I found out that Something Is Not Right With Me when I had an Audience with the Kids. Our feet pounding the concrete, we pushed the preppy dressed drunks with our elbows, made friends with Germans who work in the "bank", and had multiple hot dogs.

3am. I'm crawling into bed, with kennedy at my side, giggling about the fact that we just had a New York night, like no other. And I'll be able to wear my green drums on silk screen to prove it.

Thank you Heineken. You have revived the idea of good promoting. And Theo. Thank you Theo.

Friday Night Family Dinners

About a year ago, we befriended our neighbors upstairs who had just moved back after a few years of being elsewhere. As I've mentioned before, my job as a nanny allows for Saturday and Sunday nights out on my own accord, but that doesn't mean Friday nights are a good night "out on the town". For a year now, it's been just that. A couple weeks ago, we went and saw Wicked as a "family", Mom, 9 year old, and I and it was a phenomenal experience. Last night, we went to Spice Market and to a school musical around Chelsea that was about the subway system of Manhattan and the lovely little mishaps that take place underground. A friend of, let's call her my Munchkin, was in it and we, along with the neighbors, decided to show our support.

However, before hand, we went to Spice Market in the Meat Packing district for dinner. Now, I must explain something outright: I have two favorite restaurants in New York City- one being Freeman's down in the Lower East Side, the other being one of my bosses- Spice Market. I'm by no means a foodie, I'm as much of a sucker for an Arby's roast beef sandwich as I am for a New York strip- however, there is something about being in a restaurant with the atmosphere, the other patrons, the waiters and someone else cooking the food that allows for a bit of adventure to take place. I had my normal, chicken samosas, snap peas and the broccoli and corn. It was delicious as always, however my company was a bit different. Our neighbors are both phenomenal actors, but more so, they are just really fantastic people. Chatting about everything from movies to see to fun excursions in the city~ We're always giving each other ideas for what to do with the kids.

I sat on the end with my Munchkin and their 9 year old and probably had the best conversations of the night. We talked about their favorite places. Munchkin's being Jackson Hole, Wyoming, the other being L.A. where he was headed the next day. They both then proceeded to draw pictures of their favorite places. For those of you reading this thinking, how does anyone take two nine year olds (very energetic ones at that) and a 4 year old to dinner at a very nice restaurant--- make sure they have someone to talk to about themselves. The moment these two are able to draw, paint, wikki-stik their way into their own world- they are content. and the pictures they drew were fabulously detailed and unique, just like them. Two very different worlds, yet drawn with the same love and passion. Ahhh to be 9 years old!

Now the play was cute, had some great talent in it- but that wasn't the point of this entry. The point was to say that I may not go and see a big named band every night of the week, or even weekly, but that doesn't mean that my nights out aren't fantastic- that they aren't worth writing about. So, it's Saturday. I'm going to do a bit of crafting this morning, then head to brunch with a friend at 1pm Who knows what the rest of the day will hold. But thats the beauty of my Saturdays. It doesn't matter what I do, because they are MINE and I can choose whatever I wish!

RODEO in NYC

So I understand that originally I started this blog (obviously not long ago) with the intention of putting up :musical: show reflections, but last night was too good a performance/event to pass up.

The girl I nanny for had been seeing advertisements for the PBR Invitational- a touring rodeo-for the entirety of the week. So Friday, her mom got us tickets and I surprised her after school with the announcement. It didn't start until 8pm, so we had an entire afternoon and evening to get excited for it.

As we pulled up to Madison Square Garden, it seemed my hometown during the month of September, had transplanted itself into the center of the Big Apple. Cowboy hats, jean jackets, beer branded coats, boots and buckles adorned people all around. There were posters of men and bulls alike all over the arena. We walked in, among the drunken Wall Streeters out for something different, allowed for the smell of livestock and manure to infest our nostrils, and found our seats. Everywhere I looked, people had plastic cups with pretzels sticking out of the handles. There was a "country" group on a circular stage in the middle of the rodeo ring. I hesitate with the country, as the girls look like they were ready for a night out in Jersey and the music was a -- well-- not great. Either way, it was entertaining to see city and country folks mixing and bobbing their heads to the same tunes. We went back out of the arena, grabbed a stuffed "Troubadour", a black PBR t-shirt and a straw cowgirl hat with pink trim to finish off the outfit. My little one was ready for a night out in the city.

The event began with a fiery PBR being lit in the ring and the Riders and Bulls alike being introduced like NBA players. Earlier that week, she had gotten so excited, she'd drawn a picture of a bull rider and decided she would give it to the best guy. This introduction allowed for her to choose her recipient- deciding on Kody Lostroh- a champion on many accounts.

There would be 6 flights of 6-7 riders. With the first rider, Kasey Hayes riding Rapid Reaction, only lasting 2.2 seconds, my little one was hit with great disappointment. "Well, he's not very good," she said, a little sad for the guy. I then showed her the score sheet I had been given (she made sure I kept record of everyone's time and if they passed 8.0 seconds, how many points they earned), and explained how the rankings beside their names worked. She seemed to be ok with that, considering Hayes was ranked 29 out of the 40 or so riders. She was sure Lostroh would stay on for as long as the rest.

We got through the first flight, 8 riders, and watched three of them stay on until the 8.0 second buzzer, where the little one's eyes lit up and hands clapped with fury. At this point, she learned about a new kind of rodeo clown- one that dances to hip-hop (a little risque if you asked the woman behind us) in the middle of the ring, and points out interesting people in the audience. He called out a little girl, all dressed in country regalia, and found out she'd traveled from Kansas for the event. I had to explain to my date how people in states west of New York, even in Ohio, went to rodeos and horse races like her parents went to dinner. It was a different kind of entertainment, a different type of lifestyle from what she's known.

Two more flights, four more buzzer beaters, and the clown was still at his tricks. He jumped into the stands to dance with a larger sized man from Jersey. They broke it down on the steps and then the clown informed him that sweatpants were not proper attire for the event he was attending- he expected better next time. I'm sure this large man had already drunk quite a few of the plastic beer mugs and eaten the pretzels. Along with that Jersey boy, there was a couple behind me in yuppy clothes- collared shirts, crisp black blouse and dark washed jeans, and a man in a suit and suspenders with his Upper East Side looking girlfriend next to him. They must have felt like they were out for their night of hanging with "real people" opposed to their martini sipping regular crowd.

The sheer size of the bulls are what struck my companion the most. She couldn't believe how massive they were- how strong they must have been to throw men like Ryan McConnel and Valdiron de Oliveira so far off their backs. She constantly commented on the smell- like nothing she'd inhaled before. I laughed- it was a smell that reminded me of visiting my dad at his "work", the farm he owned and ran for all of my childhood. When my little one visits her father at work, she is greeted with smells of fine french cuisine, white rolls and milk chocolate in a building owned by Donald Trump.

At this moment, the smell was comforting and soft for me, bringing back memories of the county fair in the fall; my first kiss and nights "out" without my parents as a middle schooler. My little one will have Broadway shows and museum trips to encompass her childhood- I had horse sales and races, football games, and town parades, county fairs and 4H competitions. I wasn't a country girl, I grew up in town, but the mentality of farm life was incorporated into the daily lives of my siblings and I- work hard for what you want in life, as you are owed nothing from anyone. These boys I sat watching, in the middle of Manhattan, on $95 seats, had worked their lives for nights like these, for people in thousand dollar suits with five dollar beers to cheer them on, to hold on just a milisecond longer.

By the time Kody gripped his rope around Smack Down, it was about 10 o'clock and my date was getting tired. His name was announced and all the sleep left her face as she sat straight up, riding every second along with Mr. Lostroh, praying the buzzer would be the end of the show. Unfortunately, Kody didn't hold on tight enough and no buzzer was pushed for him. My little one, however, still declared he would get her picture, and around the stadium we walked to get in line to give this rodeo champion a prize from a nine year old city girl.

"KODY!"

"Hey!"

"Hey! She drew this for you. She wants you to have it." (shyness seems to spring from her at the most inopportune times for me).

"Ah, well thank you. Chloe?"

"Yeah." (barely a voice coming out, but her eyes weren't moving from his face)

"Did you have fun?"

"Yeah."

"It was her first rodeo. She was so excited to come tonight. We had a blast-thank you!"

"No problem! Hopefully we'll see you again, Chloe?"

"Yep."

"Alright, thanks for coming."

She immediately turned and walked away. I couldn't figure out if she was star struck, or over exhausted, but the smile went full force the minute we got in the car on the ride home, and her little voice wasn't quiet the whole way home, telling the driver all the details she felt he needed to know.

A Rodeo in the middle of Manhattan. Who would have thought?

http://www.pbrnow.com/

Langhorne Slim 12/13/09

The rain left oceans in the streets, refilling them as the day went on. At 5 o'clock, it felt like midnight and looked like hell. getting to the studio, stressed, 6 minutes after the "prompt" 5:30pm call, and drenched with every weight of the word, i was not in the best of moods. My silent and equally pissed-at-the-world companion, jason, plopped himself on the couch in the lobby, grabbed a beer and proceeded to glare at an empty wall as his body regained some form of human. There were only 6 of us in the lobby. Everyone, apparently, was running a little late.

About 20 minutes later, with my full group of five, and a good 25 people drinking free Miller High Life's and looking a little less like wet sewer rats, they opened the studio doors and we all staggered into this wonderful room. fake luminaries lined the room, christmas lights were wound around massive woods beams in the very new looking room. The band was set up on a carpet of reds and tans and looking so comfortable I was surprised no one was barefoot. The piano looked like a yamaha, black, except i didn't know for sure since the front was taken off leaving the guts of the instrument exposed and organic. I have no idea how much this truly affects the recording sound of a piano, but it looked really cool.

In a route 66 trucker hat, white t-shirt and black vest, with suspenders hidden underneath, Langhorne (or Sean to his fantastic Buddy Holly glasses wearing father) stepped up to the mic, but spoke to the side. There had been three shows scheduled for the week. Thursday, for label and music industry people, saturday for real people and same with tonight (sunday). Thursday he felt like shit, and assumed he sounded as such. Saturday he felt even worse and altogether cancelled the show. So tonight was his chance to get some live music down on tape and hopefully someone somewhere will be able to do something with it. He told us not to feel special. But we all did.

to know how truly special we felt, keep a look out for the live album.

http://www.myspace.com/langhorneslim