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Nov. 8th, 2004 12:24 amThe Laibach show was this weekend.
I had started out Friday afternoon feeling vaguely unexcited. Sleep hasn't been coming to me very easily or very often for the past couple of weeks and I was slobbed out with no make-up on. I complained to my co-workers at various points in the day about "having to go to Philly tonight for a show".
Despite the fact that it was Laibach, who never freaking plays live, and despite the fact that I was getting to go out which hasn't been happening lately, I wasn't all that psyched.
After getting done all of my daughterly obligations, I went home and started pulling myself together to head to the city. This girl may go to work in velvet jeans and a ragged turtleneck sweater, with only her eyebrows drawn on (and that's rare, even), but she sure as shit doesn't go out into public looking like no one loves her.
I dressed psuedo-Victorian, with red and black striped stockings and black lace petticoat and riding jacket, because I knew it was going to be chilly. I haven't been able to pull that together for some months now because it's been too warm out and that particular style of dress is layer intensive. Pulled my hair up into Bjork-transmitter with two hair sticks in each. Red eyeshadow, liquid eyeliner, huge cameo pendant, and witchy platform boots.
Only then did I finally start to feel the I'm going out tonight vibe.
We picked up the Unibomber V. 2.0 and headed to the city. There was a short detour when I spotted Thee Pumpkin Girl, upon passing her place of work and spotting her hair from the front window. We convinced her to join us after playing phone tag to ensure there were still tickets available.
Who's the opening act?
I dunno, but openers usually suck. So, I'm not all that concerned.
I will never utter those words ever again.
We stepped into the venue and the first thing I heard was the deep buzzing rumble of a cello being played live. I made my way onto the floor and saw her.
Holy Mary, Mother of Mice.
In the dictionary, next to the definition of the word "transfixed", there should be a photograph of myself listening to this girl beat wail, growl and beat the snot out of her cello. Quite a few times, a lump rose in my throat and I found it hard to catch my breath. Always a good indication that I am thoroughly affected by a piece of music. I cajoled the Engineer into spotting me the money to pick up one of the albums she had for sale in the lobby.
Oh yeah, Laibach played at some point, too.
(I told Anthony, who left the realms of PussyLand to join us for the evening, that I would give him a dollar if he shouted, "PLAY DU HAUST!" in between songs. Hilarity ensued.)
(Also, I went into spasms of utter delight during the final song of their encore when I heard the first two notes of "Sympathy for the Devil" being played. My favourite song by them, fucking rock on.)
\m/
I had started out Friday afternoon feeling vaguely unexcited. Sleep hasn't been coming to me very easily or very often for the past couple of weeks and I was slobbed out with no make-up on. I complained to my co-workers at various points in the day about "having to go to Philly tonight for a show".
Despite the fact that it was Laibach, who never freaking plays live, and despite the fact that I was getting to go out which hasn't been happening lately, I wasn't all that psyched.
After getting done all of my daughterly obligations, I went home and started pulling myself together to head to the city. This girl may go to work in velvet jeans and a ragged turtleneck sweater, with only her eyebrows drawn on (and that's rare, even), but she sure as shit doesn't go out into public looking like no one loves her.
I dressed psuedo-Victorian, with red and black striped stockings and black lace petticoat and riding jacket, because I knew it was going to be chilly. I haven't been able to pull that together for some months now because it's been too warm out and that particular style of dress is layer intensive. Pulled my hair up into Bjork-transmitter with two hair sticks in each. Red eyeshadow, liquid eyeliner, huge cameo pendant, and witchy platform boots.
Only then did I finally start to feel the I'm going out tonight vibe.
We picked up the Unibomber V. 2.0 and headed to the city. There was a short detour when I spotted Thee Pumpkin Girl, upon passing her place of work and spotting her hair from the front window. We convinced her to join us after playing phone tag to ensure there were still tickets available.
Who's the opening act?
I dunno, but openers usually suck. So, I'm not all that concerned.
I will never utter those words ever again.
We stepped into the venue and the first thing I heard was the deep buzzing rumble of a cello being played live. I made my way onto the floor and saw her.
Holy Mary, Mother of Mice.
In the dictionary, next to the definition of the word "transfixed", there should be a photograph of myself listening to this girl beat wail, growl and beat the snot out of her cello. Quite a few times, a lump rose in my throat and I found it hard to catch my breath. Always a good indication that I am thoroughly affected by a piece of music. I cajoled the Engineer into spotting me the money to pick up one of the albums she had for sale in the lobby.
Oh yeah, Laibach played at some point, too.
(I told Anthony, who left the realms of PussyLand to join us for the evening, that I would give him a dollar if he shouted, "PLAY DU HAUST!" in between songs. Hilarity ensued.)
(Also, I went into spasms of utter delight during the final song of their encore when I heard the first two notes of "Sympathy for the Devil" being played. My favourite song by them, fucking rock on.)
\m/