Thighs Wide Shut

Lily Allen
Hiro Ballroom
October 10th
¡AMERICAN DEBUT!
(North American debut was in Toronto)

Awfully short, but awfully sweet, which not only describes Lily Allen as a human being, but also her 8 song 30-minuted set complete with a horn section that was more of a showcase than a concert, considerin her album doesn’t even drop here until early ’07. But what do I care about runtimes when seeing her in the flesh and hearing her rock harder than John Tesh is a great honor all tits own. We’ve been gushing over the sassy songstress since late April (first we JOed to her myspace bkgrnd and then discovered the girl hactually had chops worth porking), hell, she wouldn’t even have a career on this side of the pond without us, and so it was with great pleasure that her liveynessness master blastered our eggspectations. This girl’s got something special. Even more special than Corky’s band, for she’s no flash in the pan, although she did flash her pancake titties ages ago (i tried to find a link for em, but methinks they’ve been wiped off the internets for good)

LDN
Nan, You’re A Window Shopper
Shame For You
Knock ‘Em Out
Littlest Things
Friday Night
Smile
—
Alfie

+Brooklyn Vegan, would eat her meat
+Ms Mod, sounds a lot like me, cept not really buying into the hype
+supposedly in attendance: Alex Kapranos, Eleanor Friedberger, and Mark Cobrasnake
+recent Lily TWS.org madness

Roger Waters
Jones Beach
September 15th

Wheneth I was a child I had a fever, my beloved brother and sister reared me on the classics of rock, and yes, they did it less annoyingly than Jack Black would’ve. Although I never fell for the Dead like they did, even though our family did rock the world’s dopest station wagon adorned with 100+ bumper stickers and a Steal Your Face hood that screamed to cops ‘PULL ME OVER!’, they did get me crazily hooked on the Floyd of Pink. Hell, my parents aint no crazy music lovers (they only buy CD soundtracks from movies), but after hearing about how they stumbled upon a floating Floyd show in the canals of Venice, I certainly wished that I was there. So it had always been a dream of mine to see the boys live and in the flesh. Howevs, after years and years of legal battles between the current touring and recording group known as Pink Floyd and the man, the myth, the legend, Roger Waters, I was really confused as to who or what Pink Floyd drooly is. After a lotta tossin and turnin, I finally took a side: Watersz’. I mean, the dude’s fingeprints are purty much all over the greatest double disc (& one of my flavs) of balls thyme, and which in turn, begat the single greatistest rock movie mt everest (much respek to the Who’s Tommy), The Wall.

That’s why it was an easy choice to czech out Waters’ tour over David Gilmour’s, and hell, over the David Gilmour Girls’ tas well. And boy oh chef boyardee did I make the right decision, cause jolly Roger sure rocked the effin hizouse/ampy-theater the other night, even with his faux David Gilmour in tow. While I woulda rather he played The Wall in its entirety instead of Dark Side of the Moon, I aint gonna complain, even though that’s what I do best, besides JOing to Chris Isaak. For 2+ hours I got my juss desserts (‘Vera’/’Bring The Boys Back Home’ live was off the coat AND meat rack) and then some (like seeing 50 year olds smoke more ganj than I). Bonestly, I bet Waters puts on the breastest show that an old fogie of his gen could possibly put on (even if that fogie looks a lot like Richard Gere). Can the same really be said of the Rolling Stones or Dylan? Me donts think so.

There was one par-dick-u-lust-lee franztatsic moment that I will take with me ingrained in my brain to the grave: the release of the infamous inflatable pig during ‘Sheep’. Ya see, at the MSG show the other nite, I bet the pig probably floated to the roof and later was brought back down, but at Jones Biatch, shiz is outdoors, so the pig kept goin up and up and up, til wees couldn’t sees its no mo. I first thought of The Simpsons (you figure out the two pig refs I’m thinking of), and then my thoughts turned to its eventual return to mother earth. Imagine yer sittin at home and the all of the sudden a giant plastic bacon thing lands on yer house. In this day in age, you wouldn’t think that it hailed from a rock concert, but more like an Al Qaeda rally.

The show left me with one nagging question. It was totally boss for Gilmour and Waters to reunite for Live 8 and all, but why not take that show on the road? Shiz would make more money than Mark Cuban selling cuban sangwhiches. But I guess I shouldn’t even bother asking dat question when I already know the answer: when pigs fly!

Chris Isaak
Beacon Theater
Aug 17th, 2006

In the history of man, there are only three that I’d go 400% gay for, no preguntas asked: Jude Law, Damon Albarn, and Alexander the Grape (green helmets really turn me on for some reason). Whoops, I omitted someone. Someone very special. No, not Chris Burke, but the dude who hasn’t aged a day over 31 and who’s perfect singing voice could probably make any female’s pelvic region gush more than the falls that the car goes over in Romancing The Stone at the drop of a hat…tie mcdaniel’s oscar, being dropped! It’s the dude who’s song I hearded and hearted in the fantaboulous David Lynch film, which was lucky enuff to be sangwhiched between Blue Velvet and Twin Peaks, Wild At Heart. Spunkily for us all, the Lynch directed film helped said song and said dude find a wider audience, but happarently the Lynch directed music video was not jib cutting enuff, so Herb Ritts went out and created a 2.69 versh that when dropped in the Feb of the ’91 on an un-suck-specting world instantly scratch-offedly become the sexiest music video of BALLS THYME

Dearest Chris, Helena, & Herb^±,

Thanks for taking part in the mos JOing-iest music video of all time. Like those stoopid women who never realized men didn’t want to bang them until they read He’s Just Not That Into You, it never dawned on me that I wanted to nail super hot topless chicks with crazy dark eye make-up on black & white beaches while cumulonimbus clouds that not even Bob Ross could wet dream up float at the speed of Speed Racer using the eraser at the bottom of a number 1 pencil until I was 14 years of age and I made dirty to the beautiful images Adam Curry was pumping into my rent’s living room. How can I ever repay you? Besides ceasing and desisting from sending this same eggzact letter to you each and every day?

K.I.T. (keep in touch!)

Xoxoxoxo,

Thigh Maestro

wait, what the fork were we blathering blatherskiting about? Oh yeah, how much we’d totally bone Chris Isaak, even if he force-fed us microwaved tunafish covered in microwaved gefilte fish. We’ve felt this way ever since the ’91, but to be honest, the man hasn’t been much on our radar o’reilly screens since our copy of Baja Sessions arrived in the mail spanks to my 818th account under an assumed name at BMG Music Service. Spank the lord then that CI was still on my list of muss see performers before they or I perish (alongside such luminaries as Neil Diamond and ABBA, but not such luminaries as Eric Clapton and Bob Dylan) cause otherwise he may have completely been Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Minded out of my mind for all eternaltality (besides the off chance of catching Fire Walk With Me, Married To The Mob, The Silence of the Lambs, or Little Buddha on the telly)

I was a bit skeptical at first when Chrissy came out on stage (probably juss the bad acid flashbacks I get from time to time of the Huey Lewis & The News Bowery Ballroom show I saw where they started off playing 10 new songs that no one wanted to hear… hispecially the dude who kept screaming ‘GHOSTBUSTERS!’), but I was easily put at ease like Eazy-E eating Easy Cheese at Chuck E Cheese’s after a few songs in when Chris himself climbed 2 flights of stairs to visit us peons in the cheap seats (btw, probably the bestest 30 clams I spent on balcony seats mt everest)! And from dat point on my pelvic area began to gush along with all the other ladies’ cause Isaak’s croontastic voice was crisper and clearer than Coco Crisp heartily enjoyin a bowl of Cookie Crisp soaked in Crystal Pepsi. He so rocks. He so rules. He so fine he blew my mind. He has the so bestest hair. The so bestest complexion. I bet he drives a hot car. I bet he gets hot carls in that hot car in the drive-thru window at Carl’s Jr. Did I mention that in the encore that he wore a mirrorball suit? You can’t get much kooler and the ganger than that! If it did, I’d probably have to cut off my johnson and send it to him in the mail

set list (+ mo from the Leg Humpinidness of the Knobbery)

* Lonely With a Broken Heart
* Let’s Have a Party
* Let Me Down Easy
* Speak of the Devil
* Dancin’
* Somebody’s Crying
* Wicked Game
* Go Walking Down There
* King Without a Castle
* One Day
* Want You To Want Me (Cheap Trick cover)
* Here I Stand
* Two Hearts
* Except the New Girl^Â¥
* Graduation Day
* Can’t Do a Thing to Stop Me
* I Love You Too Much
* Only the Lonely (Roy Orbison cover)
* Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing
* Don’t Be Cruel (Elvis cover)
* Gone Ridin’
Encore
* Blue Hotel
* San Francisco Days
* Bonnie Bee
* Blue Spanish Skies

If you read this far and don’t give two Massive-two-shits about the Isaak, I implore you to investigate one of the more underrated artists of the past 20 years. Start with the obvious (Heart Shaped World< /a>), knock out his bestest nextus (San Francisco Days), and then get yer own pelvic region flowin with another goodie but not so oldie (Forever Blue). Truss the man and you’ll be as right as Rain Pryor

Nobody loves no-one
unless of corpse
yer the effin TM
and you totally want to bone Chris Isaak

this posting was not sponsored in part by Kathleen Turner Overdrive

^±even though Herb peaced the fork 4 years ago, I still send his estate a letter per day

^Â¥I always thought he was saying ‘Accept The Nude Girl’ [d fo yo self and never listen to it again the same 4eva]

Chi-town, my kinda town. Probably the 6th+ time I’ve been there. It’s like Diet New York, or maybe New York Zero would be more apropos. The people are hella nice. They have a hella lotta Popeyes. And it’s quiet as all effin hella hell, and you know how quiet hella hell is (all dough, their public transit is hella wurstest and hella loud). While the weekend was more rockin than John Rocker eating his Johnny Rocket’s at the Hard Rock Cafe while watching reruns of Roc, there was one major disappointment: I was unable to meet up with Peabs (and Grambs and Grambs bro, and Grambs’ Uncle Tupelo), and thus didn’t get to eat puddin pops outta his anus while screaming John Stossel in his right ear as I stick my CAK airport in his left. Well Peabs, we’ll always have Cambodia. And that foursome with Mrs Garrett and Mindy Cohn. Enuff of the introductory paragraph and on with the snapples!!

sum of my mos flavorite entertainment things took place here:
Vice Versa
Webster
Blues Bros
The Bozo Show (dude, I totally coulda hit all dem buckets)
The Untouchables
anything by John Hughes
anything with John Candy
not Batman Begins

and mos importantly
Adventures In Babysitting
where lil Thor-lovin whore Maia Brewton
hung on to dear life on the vagina building
I loved that movie so much
that I sent a letter to each of the 4 principle actors
I got an autograph snap back from Maia and E Shue
damn you Tony Rapp and Keith Coogan!!

and how could I forget about
Al Bundy & Co

cause I totally wanted love and marriage
back in the day
w/Amanda Bearse

and the AIC
(probs 2nd bestest art musuem in America)
got the points
and gives me mad wood

and the bestest set of Hawks since Spud & Dominique

and frynally
I got my arse out to Wrigley for the first time mt everest!

with Cubs Fan #1
aka Samuel Gompers the MIXLIX
NO DOUBT

wow
the Cubs suck
even from far away

and it was even
SAVE FERRIS BARTMAN DAY

bi the gay

this is what an ‘obstructed view’ looks like

and I think I had 17963636233.4 food comas
thanks to

Lou Mal’s & their fine staff

where Cubs Fan #1
held the greatest rehearsal dinner of balls thyme
many (Dave) moons ago

Billy Goat Tavern
which is Wizard of Boviously home to the Belushi SNL skit
and many heart attacks

and now has a home in DC of balls places

Portillo’s
(cause Wiener Circle & Underdogg were too far away/closed when we were in the area)

and while the h’dogs were a bit bunk
the dipped Italian beef made up for it
and give me the best liquid shits
I’ve had since the Clinton administration

Carson’s The Place For Ribs

I’m sure there are better rib joints
but how can u diss a place that owns the url Ribs.com?

The Rock n’ Roll McDonalds
which was the coolest fast foot joint on earth
wheneth I was a kid
(one day I’ll unearth and scan snaps)
and now is a big overly-commercialized
dump hole
with no rock
and only cinnamon rolls
it’s the food equivalent
of the dumping on my childhood
that George Lucas did
when he released those three things
called prequels

how do you say ‘F&ck You’ in all dem languages?

and they took all the cool arse R ‘n’ R stuffs

and threw em in some side garage thingie

dude, who’s the fake Archie
bonin the fake Betty?

and dude, doesn’t this kinda remind you of the
autopilot from Airplane?

and dude

a white statue would never touch a black statue

and dude
this hard iron bizatch

totally gave me the finest HJ I got
since I never joined the HJ

and I heard a rumor that Lollapalooza was in town
and cause I got the early bird tix for $45 a piece
I didn’t really care to spend too many hours there

although the Raconteurs totally were mint
+ Wolfmother
and Manu Chao
but I don’t think I ever need to see
the Flaming Lips & Gnarls B again
semi-Zzzzzzz inducing
if u bask
me
maybe I’m at the point in life
where I only need to see bands once
unless Jack White’s in em
or yer mother’s in em
cause she sucks
like whatever music you like

bestages part of Lolla
was meeting up with
(sides Irish Ted and AJ Feely)
Zach De La Roachclip
who I hadn’t see in bicentennials

who has killer kicks
DO NOUBT!

then we parted ways
and then he kept calling me
but it was too loud to hear
so I kept yelling into the phone
to text me
but eventually
it was finally quiet
so I called Mr De La Roachclip’s phone
and some girl picked it up
and she’s not Mrs De La Roachclip
but some girl who found his phone
and was drunk enuff to think of the grand idea
to call one of the last numbers dialed
and thus I was reunited with DLR’s phone
and later
DLR

it was like the oddest and longest booty call of buffalo bills thyme

and this guy knobviously smelled
and totally wanted to sell me shrooms

but I told him my bathroom already smelled just fine

and that’s pretty much that

cept the dog wouldn’t leave me alone
cause he likes to be choked while m-batin
like he was Michael Hutchence or something

fin

The Streets
+ Lady Sovereign
Webster Hall
June 27, 2006

[foto stolen from The High 5 Queen]
Why do I even bother writing concert reviews when it seems like Maude Dern and Susic Mobbery are in attendance at every one I go to (which isn’t that high of a number, since eating is my #1 extracurricular activity). I’m not going to complain, cause they both boviously have great taste in music and both have thighs worthy of humping. Plus they both bring cameras so I don’t have to, cause mine sux anywayzyz. The gist of all this? Just read Ms and Mr‘s sites daily and you’ll soon be the coolest cat since MC Skat Kat

Anywayz, enuff of the praise, and more about my malaise of writing concert reviews. I mean, what can one really say about show after show? Did it rock? Did I shvitz more than David Berkowitz? Was I more wasted than Robert Downey Jr in Less Than Zero? Balls the above, and then some, and then some more, and a bag of chips, and then some bags of Utz.

Although things didn’t start off well when everyone’s flavorite UK tongue twistin midget took to the stage. Poor Lady Sov. First off, as many of you know, American audiences are the brat wurstest. They don’t respond to what’s going on on stage unless the artist prompts them too (unless of course we’re talking about Radiohead cause if they popped popcorn on stage for 7 hours straight, people would still tear off their clothes and scream like Wilhelm), and the Yanks weren’t givin the Lady any love. It didn’t help that Lady Sov’s ear pretty much hexploded while performing. She was visibly upset and kept complaining about it. I mean, she is a girl. But although Webster Hall’s sound blows, she doesn’t. I hope her ear recovers and she rox the Nikki Cox when I see here at Lolla in August. And even though she has the body of a 12 year old boy, there’s something hextremely sexy about her and I wish I was Zach, but I guess I was too slow to take action

As for my main maine mayne man Mike Skinner, dude is on a forkin roll. In my mumble opinion, at this point in time (at least until Air’s next album is released), The Streets are the best act in the world. I know that sounds crazier than a basement in the Alamo, since he’s juss a dirty chav who talks about shit-in-a-tray merchants, but I really do bee leave that. I’d do anything for him. Even clean his trainers (dem be what is known as ‘sneakers’ in our lame country) with my tongue. I’d even take a bullet for him (as well as the BlogFather). Although I’d probably rather protect him from people throwing trainers at him. Huh? Whatevs. Dude, Skinner and his live band, including his eggsalad singing partner, put on a top notch show with show stoppin tunes that notch tops!!! It also didn’t hurt that he force fed the audience liquor, made us squat on the ground on 3 given occasions, and kept mentioning how he’s gonna run in the NY Marathon (I better start training too if i want run wit him and give him endless HJs).

Please tell me you own all three of his albums. They are more magical than David Blaine humming the Cars’ ‘Magic’ while doin some Presto Magix underwater for a week. If yer missin the boat, it’s never too late to climb aboard. I’ll make sure Isaac is there to greet you wit a smile, and some marlon (that’s Skinner for ‘brandy’)

pee es – forgot to mention how pissed I was he didn’t play ‘Hotel Expressionism’ [d]

See also
+ The Streets Are Alive With The Sound Of Music
+ 7th Heaven