Begin: Beer City, USA
End: Beer City, USA
I woke up on Saturday in the AM not because I wanted to, but because I had to. Thus when I sauntered downstairs into mother’s foyer unkempt and in my pajama pants it was only to meet a couple of musicians, Mimi Goese and Ben Neil, who had come by to shoot the shit on camera with me at mama’s house. We shot that proverbial shit for about thirty minutes, and it was maybe the most Moogucational interview Gorilla and I did all week.
You see Mr. Neil actually worked with Bob Moog back in the day when he was creating an instrument that he uses called the Mutant Trumpet (ed. note: cool, I know). They had already played their new aged symphony entitled “Persephone,” the night before, and were at that point just enjoying the Beer City sights and sounds. Sometimes it’s nice to start your day off with some intelligent conversation. It was no-doubt a change of pace for Gorilla and I. One that of course only lasted so long as the required thirty minutes until Ms. Goese and Mr. Neil split out.
Now, unfortunately I am still at a point in my life where if my mother tells me I need a haircut and orders me to go see her flamboyant hair stylist before I can go out in public with her, then I have to abide by that. I am aware that I don’t think there will ever come a point in my life when this will not be the case.
As such, I had to show up a bit tardy for our discussion with Emancipator, a trip-hop electronica act that’s pretty huge in Japan. They aren’t Japanese though, they’re a couple of white boys, one was Russian if I recall correctly. I say if, because even though I tailed in to ask a couple of questions, Gorilla had handled verbal communication quite well for a primate and my services as Kurt Loder in charge were not needed. Instead I got to play around in the Moog Warehouse, and holy-shit, those synthesizers are fun. It’s like, slap a pair of headphones on and start hitting buttons, and feel like you’re making electronica type cool stuff… I did not want to stop playing, but we had a place to be and a dude, to meet, oh my word was it ever a dude to meet…
Do you know what a peduncle is? That’s ok, I didn’t either, until I met Mr. Fine Peduncle himself. Now there’s cool, there’s weird, there’s strange, and there’s what the fuck? Sometimes all of these come together within one single entity. Such was the case with Mr. Peduncle.
Dude was raised as a southern Baptist named Cole Murphy, and somewhere along some kind of Jesus fueled twisted past he came to start worshiping insects. More specifically insect deities. They inspire his own brand of electronica music, which is actually not terrible on his album. However, I caught the live effect, and the most worthwhile portion of the one and a half songs I managed to stomach was when Peduncle started humping the speakers next to him. That was tight, he definitely looked like a bug when he did it. During the interview he let us know that a peduncle is actually the part of the wasp that connects the head to the abdomen (ed. note: fascinating, would have NEVER guessed). He also definitely told us that he’s looking to recruit more bug-fanatics to his “religion,” so friend him on facebook or some crap, if you’re crazy as shit too (ed. note: crazy in a good way)…
After that noteworthy encounter I decided that I’d played VJ enough for the day. I apologize to whomever it was we cancelled on, but I was runnin’ on fumes, and not the good kind (ed. note: well yeah, def. the good kind too). I needed some food and some music. So, after nourishment came the bliss. Which came in the form of an evening full of visual spectacle, starting up front at the Flaming Lips.
I have seen Wayne Coyne’s menagerie of colors and flash of a rock show a few times, but never as close as I was this night. I’m talkin’ I could have reached out and grabbed a confetti gun, or one of the “one’s” that the Flaming Lips had up on stage dressed in Dorothy outfits for the sole purpose of being hot and dancing in Dorothy Outfits (ed. note: I fuckin’ love Dorothy outfits). They sang “Vaseline,” which I’d never heard live, and which did not disappoint in the least. I even got to see Wayne suit up into his bubble and set sail out upon the crowd. While that may have seemed the pinnacle of highlights for my night, it was easily outdone by the girl who stood in the front row of the people section, right behind our press spot.
You see, this chick had to go iss, but she didn’t want to lose her primo positioning. So instead she asked us if she could help finish whatever we had in our Big Gulp cup (ed. note: Roofie-Collada), so that she could use it to pee in. Imagine the odds of her having to pee, and there being two degenerates with a Big Gulp cup standing in the press row right in front of her. I could not turn that request down. So we let her chug, and then we let her un-chug. It definitely made her hotter. Not the picture where she’s smelling the pee, but rather the go-get-it attitude that she displayed.
Deciding he needed to make a flashier exit than entrance from this particular show, when the buzzer for media photographers in the pit was up (ed. note: 3 songs, because the music makers don’t want sweaty pictures), Gorilla thrust about 5k worth of camera equipment into my arms without warning, stood up on the divider between press and people, and dove right into the masses. He made it about thirty feet before they dropped him on his face (ed. note: literally dropped him on his face).
After that show of bravado we walked over to check out the thizziness that is Amon Tobin. On our way we met a degenerate Duck who danced and and took orders when I yelled at him, and picked up our friend LeLe on Da Keys. She was wearing a pink wig, because pink wigs are hot. She tagged along with us for the rest of the weekend and helped us discover that security backstage will never check a pretty girl’s wrist when she walks in with dudes who have proper credentials. I mean, seriously, without fail, not once did they look at her wrist. Just glided on into every spot we went to. If you think this is just a Moogfest laziness thing, think again, because we tried it later on down the road, with similar results.
Of Amon Tobin and his mystery cube of sound, I will say that it is definitely cool, but also that it’s some shit the kids must be listening to, and I must not be as much a kid as I figured to be. Because that shit was loud! That shit was a lot of bass! Sadly, I could only handle like thirty minutes of having my face blown back by thump, before I had to bail and check out St. Vincent who was doing her thing upstairs. Her shit was kind of loud, kind of pretty, I dug on one song, but I can’t recall how it went. Gorilla wasn’t feeling it though, so we split that scene and went to find another.
The other was booze and food at a place that has been on the Asheville landscape for years, Barley’s Pizza, which is probably a bar first and a pizza joint second. It must have been around midnight when we showed up and sat down on the restaurant side, and probably around one AM when we left. For the entire hour that we were there a table of about ten hillbilly folk cheered obnoxiously every time that a new patron entered the room. Basically they screamed every three minutes and it was super fucking annoying and reminded me of why Beer City was once kind of tough for a young ass-hole of a teenager to live in.
So in response, and also to prove I’m still just as young and dumb as always, on my way out I decided to part ways with the glow stick that I’d been wearing around my neck for the better part of that night by donating it towards their table. I’d categorize what I did as a nice toss. The redneck who chased us down outside saw it otherwise.
Redneck: Hey man, do y’all think it’s funny to throw a glow-stick at them?
Me/Gorilla: Yeah, kind of.
Redneck: Oh really? You want to make something of it? You want to get real?
Gorilla: No, not really man.
Me: Yeah dude, not on the bucket-list.
Gorilla and I walked off and immediately realized that our lack of interest in the situation, given that we had a video camera on us and that we are of course us, probably meant that our bodies were really weary. Seriously though, dude wanted to get hard over a glow stick and we didn’t even joke with him (ed. note: fuck).
We should have found bed, but instead we found the Sons of Ralph (ed. note: I think), and more booze, until it got to about three thirty AM at which point I was so exhausted that I did the unthinkable and turned down an invitation to what was actually enticed to me as a “drug-party.” Instead I went to sleep in my mom’s house (ed. note: no not lame).
Check back tomorrow as we conclude Moogfest and step out onto the road minus the “Jail the Bankers, free the Pot Smokers” bumper sticker that my pops peeled off of his car before we jacked it.
Links for the Day:
– Black Lips Film Noire… (via Exclaim.CA)
– Carolina sweetness… (via Captain’s Dead)
– Not the movie… (via Aquarium Drunkard)