Et Tu, Douche?

I’ve got something for all you concert a holes. You know who you are:

the super tall guys who start on the sides of the crowd and then migrate to the center during the show. Halfway through, they’ve created a great wall of tall obscuring the band,

the cutters, who arrive just as the curtain is going up and plant themselves right in front of you,

the down town dress-up boys who think they can dance (but you know you can’t, right? yes, it’s a free country, but really, don’t dance, ),

the drunk and surly bloomington jefferson chicks who sing along to every song; loudly and woefully flat,

the ubiquitous pack-back kids (and their counterparts, the suburban purse mothers), i kinda have to appreciate your ability to hold space, but if i had nimbler fingers, i’d feel no remorse about picking your proverbial pocket in recompense for the bruises on my stomach

the smelly long haired dancers who CAN dance, (but really need to get acquainted with a shower, seriously, no medical studies have shown a link between using anti perspirant and cancer, so it’s ok to have some personal hygiene)

the back peddlers who spend the entire show moving you back into the crowd so they can establish more personal space in front of themselves

PDA offenders (please make out with your skanky girlfriend/boyfriend in the parking ramp stairwell after the show like any other self respecting sleazeball)

and my most hated of all concert douches, the encore stage rushers (even cattle don’t stampede like that)

For all you DBags, may i present to all your self centeredness:

Julian Casablancas, King of the Douche (is there a plural here? or are they all just one entity?)

First Avenue, April 8th. Out of the gate i could have smacked him; for his preening smugness, the johnny carson bow when he walked on the stage (you just haven’t earned it yet, baby), the oh so cool, it’s all about me aura.
But he was just getting warmed up with his sincere insincerity. it’s always a bad sign when the ARTIST says “you are our favorite audience, and we don’t just say that to anyone” cos you’re pretty sure they do. (and i promise i’ll pull out too)
But he wasn’t done, over the next barely an hour show, he went on to express his love for all: Minneapolis, you’re the best (and st. paul too), i love the twin cities, kudos to the band (who really needs a first rate band playing the crap out of some second rate songs?) without really ever mentioning the band members’ names or really acknowledging them.

He even played peacemaker (well, maybe not exactly peacemaker, more like public shamer), when he pointed out a scuffle in front of the stage. “it’s a rock show....stand in back if you don’t want anyone touching you” gee thanks Julian. great work, great work, that settled everything down. i wonder how much of a rock show (and was it really a rock show?) it would have been if the water bottle that was thrown on stage would have connected with his royal casablancasness (and no, i didn’t throw it, i have too much respect for water)

and the music? dude needs a fistfall of more songs. 11th dimension and river of brakelights got the crowd hopping, but Phrazes isn’t enough to tour on (he played that stupid christmas song to fill out the set) mostly, it was a snoozefest full of boring ludlow street crap. (if this is what he’s like when he’s NOT drinking, i don’t wanna know...and i’m digging little joy and nickeleye all the more) Other than Hard to Explain and an old b side, he ignored the strokes (which is pretty much all the crowd wanted anyway). Kinda funny that the crowd did a steady exit during the show. i’m thinking that it wasn’t because they needed to go out for a smoke.

quite frankly, i’ve never grown to dislike a performer so much over the course of a show (and i was no opinion veering to the positive with regard to JC before the show). Jules...if you come back (and i’m not asking, nor will i be there) bring more songs to back up the blather (or bring your real band and maybe i’ll go).