From the Facebook archives…
Glasvegas @ Amoeba Records, Hollywood 1/15/09
I’m gonna have to forgo the old adage of if you don’t have something nice to say then say nothing at all because I’m aggravated and I make my apologies to you, friends, who favor this band. You know that I care for you and your opinions but also know that music is a bit more to me than a listening hobby.
I really and truly went to see Glasvegas wanting to like them; hoping that the live renditions of song coupled with their individual spark would make me see the light. Make me hear what I’d been missing. Make me say, “Now I get it!”
Instead it made me say. “Jesus, is it over yet?”. The show was free and I want my money back. The drummer in a short mouse, her skills nonexistent and looked as if the juvenile beat she was keeping was too much for her to handle. Obviously it was because she fell behind that beat repeatedly. Meg White could eat her lunch…and we all know that Meg’s a professional amateur at best, but what she lacks in technical skill she more than compensates for with bouncy enthusiasm. The saying that “a band is only as good as it’s drummer” never rang so true and crystal clear as it did last night as I stood on the Amoeba floor two snaps and a circle away from letting the Brooklyn out. The music was repetitive and uninspiring, quite boring,based on the same back beatsong after song, and I kept waiting (actually hoping) for The Shirelles or The Ronettes to pop out from behind the curtain and throw down some backing whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh vocals and synchronized dance moves to break up the nonsense. No such luck.
The most interesting thing about this show was the stout guitar player’s kicks:
And again, I went WANTING to like them. Honest. Nothing changes my opinion about a band more than seeing them bringing it live, but Glasvegas had nothing to bring except a lame ass Joe Strummer wannabe poser. I went with 3 other people…and we all walked away with the same assessment, yet not once did one person try to influence the opinion of another. Considering that I don’t like my time wasted, I pulled out and started reading my latest copy of Blender Magazine towards the end…I try never to travel without something to read.
After the festivities we went to eat and had an after-action review of the show. Over cheesecakes, carrot cakes, tea, coffee and ginourmous hamburgers there was concurrence round the table that this band’s 15 minutes are overdue to be at an end. Wow. And to make matters worse, my soul was restless and wanted something to neutralize the off feeling that they instigated. Our choices were go to The Troubadour where The Entrance Band and The Growlers (whom I also dislike) were playing or Good Hurt for simpler, acoustic fare. I chose Good Hurt. I needed soothing and conversation more than crowded, noisy agitation.
I guess that the reason why this was blog-worthy is because it’s a rare thing that I should ever walk away from a musical experience feeling something akin to outright animosity. That never happens. Even if the nature of the music is not my cup of Lady Grey tea, I can always glean some redeeming feature; why others may feel it and, so, appreciate it at that level. Not so much with, Glasvegas. And the fact that their music pissed me off pissed me off and now my karma/law of reciprocity is all fucked up and I will always resent them and their craptastic music because of it. I was shooting stills for this show. I stopped. I felt like I was wasting my time.
Except for the guitar players kicks.