CHRIS WALKER VS. FEIST AT THE WILTERN

To loosely quote rapper DMX, “It’s dark and LA is hot.”

Not sure why I felt the need to quote DMX for this post, perhaps it has something to do with the “Vegas Stripper” Lentzy and I met at a liquor store. She reminded me of DMX. She was in line, ahead of us; I put down a bag of ice and she proceeded to fondle it. When she looked up to see my reaction I just shrugged and said, “Cold.” That’s when she told us she is a “Vegas Stripper”. We told her we were from Las Vegas, originally, and asked where she worked. Spearmint Rhino. We asked if she knew any of the male strippers at Olympic Gardens (like Supergene, from Chris Walker Vs. My Favorite Strip Club Experience) and she spent the next minute telling us, “I hope you know your friends are gay. Those guys are all faggots.” It didn’t matter how many times we told her we knew, and we reminded them constantly, she just kept saying the same thing over and over. This old man with sagging bitch tits behind us started to chime in, “Look at these guys, they’re mesmerized.” I gave him the ‘huh?’ look. Truth was, old-man-bitch-tits was the one mesmerized by the Vegas Stripper who looked like DMX and he – much like the middle-aged white guy I spotted at the ATM who left the liquor store with Vegas Stripper and her friend, Other Vegas Stripper – probably just wanted some long overdue slap-and-tickle from what would turn out to be nothing more than two Los Angeles Whores.

Here are some highlights (and lowlights) from (and before) the Feist show at The Wiltern in Los Angeles last Friday night:

• Despite the fact Hipster Tyler and I were in the midst of free, top-shelf liquor the overwhelming heat in Lentzy’s air-conditionless studio apartment was kicking our asses and we had to drink elsewhere. We crossed Highland Ave. to an awesome dive bar called Power House – a place where they have Pabst Blue Ribbon on tap along with more Pabst Blue Ribbon on tap. I had the Pabst Blue Ribbon. Feist concert ticket winner Eric Navarrette met us at Power House for a drink or two. Or three. He was a super chill, super nice guy, and I think he was enjoying himself, but the girl he brought along couldn’t wait to get the fuck away from us. The whole time she was checking her watch and reminding us of the time. I told her, “You’re not obligated to stay with us but we have to stay and wait for our friends.” Maybe she didn’t feel safe in the drinking venue we’d picked. Or maybe she was afraid she’d miss opening band: Grizzly Bear. I think she was wearing pearls.

• Grizzly Bear once again put on a sleep-inducing performance. Believe me, it pains me terribly to bash Grizzly Bear. Ed Droste is one of the friendliest, most candid guys I’ve ever interviewed for Bands and Booze – and I’m sure the rest of the band is nice – but fuck, are they boring. At least they played their cover of “He Hit Me (And It Felt Like A Kiss)”; they do a good job with that.

• I met the other winner of the Feist contest, Elana Eden, outside The Wiltern and it’s a good thing I didn’t blink otherwise I would’ve missed her. Tyler thought it was rude how she just showed up, got her tickets, and left but I didn’t mind. The contest was to win Feist tickets – not hang out with me. You can barely give that away, sometimes. And I think she might’ve been intimidated. Before the show Lentzy and I were standing at the top of a staircase; I was being loud and laughing when Elana and what I assume was her boyfriend walked past us. The guy mumbled, “Thanks,” as they passed and I thought, “Thanks for what?” Then I realized who it was. Oh well, I hope they had a good time. I talked to the other winner, Eric, after the show and he said he enjoyed it.

• While Tyler and I were in the smoking area, Kevin Drew came out to bum a cigarette. Some kid gave him one and he quickly slipped back into the venue. No one was the wiser.

• The self-proclaimed “Queen of All Media”, Perez Hilton, has the hugest fucking head I’ve ever seen. He was hanging out with Ross the Intern from The Tonight Show and VH1’s Celebrity Fit Club, whom gave me a flamboyantly awesome hi-five. Jessica Biel was also in attendance. Not only is she as stunningly beautiful in person as she is in magazines/on film/wherever she also chose to avoid the Grizzly Bear performance opting instead to sit in the upper lobby bar area, chatting with friends. We did not say hello. I heard Peaches was there too but didn’t see her.

• The Wiltern staff was exceptionally nice. No one patted us down on the way in or made a big deal about using a debit card to buy drinks. There were no kids left bloody and handcuffed on the sidewalk. No one told me where I could or couldn’t stand. The ushers were helpful.

• Feist’s performance was as beautiful and flawless as it was the first time. Her set was pretty much the same as it was at The Fillmore but it was great to see things I might’ve missed the first time around. And you can never hear “So Sorry”, “The Park”, or “Gatekeeper” live too many times, in my opinion. For an encore, Kevin Drew emerged and played piano while Feist stood on top of the piano and sang “Lover’s Spit” by herself. Hearing her drone out, “You know it’s time that we grow old and do some shit,” – classic. And since it was Grizzly Bear’s last show on tour with Feist, they came out to help with a fun rendition of “Sea Lion Woman”. And then presented Feist with a…rain stick.

Most amazing part about the show: while I believe he was able to stay awake throughout Grizzly Bear’s entire set Tyler fell asleep, repeatedly, during Feist’s. Unbelievable. And hilarious.

CHRIS WALKER VS. FEIST AT THE FILLMORE

Grizzly Bear might be the most overrated artist of 2006. Sure, they’re accomplished musicians and their breakthrough album, Yellow House, is brimming with melodic atmosphere but Yellow House is also incredibly boring. Fanlo tried listening to it on the drive down to San Francisco; he got about two songs deep before I decided to change it. It was putting me to sleep. However, having convinced myself I’m a big Grizzly Bear fan, I tried playing some other Grizzly Bear songs to show Fanlo they really are a good band. A minute into each song we would laugh because they all sounded the same. I kept saying, “I swear I like this one,” before going to a different track. After four failed attempts we finally switched to a new artist.

I’ve heard Grizzly Bear are phenomenal live. I guess they could be – if they were playing for dead people. Or, maybe you can appreciate them in a more intimate setting. I don’t know but, much as their music failed to impress on the drive down, it failed to impress Tuesday night at The Fillmore. The performance was dull and lifeless, which was a bummer. The only memorable moment from their set was a flawless rendition of “On A Neck, On A Spit”. However let down I was/am by Grizzly Bear that song will always sound great to me.

Speaking of disappointment, The Fillmore was not at all what I expected. In fact, I plan to never attend another concert there. Not because The Fillmore is a bad venue; the sound quality is perfect and it’s aesthetically charming. The problem is the asshole security guards and cocksucker employees. The minute Fanlo and I stepped onto the sidewalk outside The Fillmore a security guard yelled at us – directly – to move along if we didn’t have tickets. This was while I was handing Fanlo his ticket. Fanlo wanted to smoke before we went inside; he started lighting a cigarette when another security guard yelled at us to move down the street if we were smoking and continued to yell at us until we were far enough away. Making our way to the unmarked, allegedly designated smoking area, we passed a crew of five or six security guards standing around a kid who looked slightly bloodied and beaten wearing a pair of handcuffs. First impressions: fantastic place to be.

Security patted us down at the entrance. Getting patted down is standard procedure, for sure, but after years of going to venues like Slim’s, The Independent, Bimbo’s 365, Bottom of the Hill, Café Du Nord, and Rickshaw Stop it was the first time I’d ever been patted down at a show in San Francisco. It was obviously becoming a pattern and I only expected things to get worse. They, of course, did.

After patting him down, security made Fanlo check my camera at the coat check. It wasn’t just, “don’t take pictures,” it was, “you’ll check your camera and we’ll charge you for it.” I needed a drink. After placing my order, I handed the bartender my debit card and she snapped, “It’s a thirty dollar minimum. We have an ATM machine by the entrance.” I told her, “Trust me, I’ll drink thirty dollars worth.” She glared at me, disgustedly, and walked away. Minimum charges are nothing new and I don’t mind them. I typically exceed them at shows. Never once have I had a problem or been made to feel it was such a HUGE deal. The best was when I went to grab a drink after Grizzly Bear’s set. The bartender I’d originally gone to was busy so another bartender got me drink. When he gave me the total I told him I had a tab open and he just about lost his mind, “Oh no, no, no, no, no, you have to go back to the bartender who opened your tab! I can’t help you anymore.” Really? Isn’t this a fucking bar? Aren’t you all fucking bartenders stationed here – behind the same bar – to get me, and other paying concert-goers, a fucking drink? Do your fucking job and then you figure it out – otherwise just tell people they can’t open tabs, you fucking douchebag. Another fun moment was when I bought my friend Aurelia and her friend Virginie a drink. We were standing at the bar, drinking, having a conversation, when a security guard came up to us and said, “If you’re not getting a drink can you please move away from the bar?” No problem. We stepped back and continued talking. Another security walked by and commanded, “If you’re not waiting to get a drink clear the walkway.” Frustrated, I blurted out, “We can’t stand at the bar, we can’t stand here, where can we stand?” “You can take your fucking ass down there!” the guard yelled at me, pointing to the pit area. Visions of six security guards gleefully kicking the shit out of me and leaving me handcuffed on the sidewalk came to mind so I bit my tongue and went down into the pit. There was also the moment when Fanlo, bored by Grizzly Bear live, left to go smoke a cigarette outside. Fanlo told me the old man greeter (whom I later dubbed “Whiskers”) at the top of the stairs told him the venue wasn’t full enough to permit people to go out yet. It’s like, really? I’ve paid for my ticket; my hand is stamped; let me go outside and have a fucking smoke! It seriously seemed like everybody working the venue had a chip on their shoulder; every interaction with a security guard or employee was a borderline confrontation. We’d traveled all the way from Reno; we’d paid for our tickets; all these miserable motherfuckers were ruining our good time. All I could think about was how nice, relaxed, and fun seeing a show at The Independent is. Boy, have I taken that for granted over the years.

Thank god for Feist.

When she took the stage all was forgiven. She was ethereal; her voice was perfect; she played everything you could’ve asked from her and she and her band played it oh so well. Awesomely enough, near the end of the show Kevin Drew (founding member of Broken Social Scene) joined her on stage for a brilliant version of “Major Label Debut”. It’s just a shame barely anyone else came to see a show. Looking back at the crowd I couldn’t help but think of lyrics from the song “Whoa! Alright! Yeah! Uh-huh!” by The Rapture: “People don’t dance no more; they just stand there like this; they cross their arms; they stare you down; they drink and moan and diss.” I seriously felt like I was one of the few people who was really into the music. I’m sure there were others rocking and enjoying themselves but most everyone I saw just stood there, arms crossed, looking bored. Thinking of all the other people who would’ve killed to get tickets to see Feist, it was kind of sad.

Hopefully my experience tomorrow night at The Wiltern in Los Angeles will be more enjoyable.