Do You Wanna Bang Heads with Me (DFA1979, Mercury Lounge)

Make mine sloppy.  Not that Death From Above 1979 could ever put on a bad show, but I think I actually preferred their messy, pissy, frantic March show at the Bowery Ballroom.  This time, the music was much tighter, the guys were more amiable.  They even tossed in part of a Danzig cover.  There was plenty of energy but – after revving up with “Turn It Out,” which threatened to careen out of control – everything was reigned in.

Maybe I was just disappointed in the crowd.  The mosh pit was lame.  There was only one guy who was really, really into it; frustrated by the lack of cooperation, he wound up banging himself against the band’s stage monitors.  Others ambled around lamely enough that two done-up girls about the size of those Mothra princesses felt safe crawling into the empty space to pose.

I can’t lay too much blame, I didn’t hop in myself until more than halfway through.  But I’m old, people.  My legs and neck are telling me as much, this morning.  I was up front, so I couldn’t see how much the rest of the room was moving, but given the make of the Merc and the megahertzin’ the band puts out that place should have been bouncing like the nth level of Super Breakout.

See?  I’m old.

Wholly worth it, though; now that it’s over, I love you more and more.  Am not sorry I missed Patti Smith’s CBGBs benefit.  The boys need more material, and Sebastien needs to pop some serious sugar before beating up his drum kit, but I will probably go to every DFA show that comes my way.  They rock, kids.

Speaking of which, it’s time to mention this again: 

Local H, June 12th, one of them “Rocks Off” cruises around Manhattan.  If you’re amazed at the amount of sound the two guys from DFA1979 put out – and you should be – check out this pair from Illinois.  They put on a seriously fantastic show, pure rock and roll, you won’t be disappointed, gushgushgush; people are coming all the way from Chicago for this one.  Tickets are here and here.  (photo by Matt Birhanzel)

Let’s play the Pyramid:

“Mr. Spielberg!  I’m sooo sorry about what they said in that nasty comedy.  You know, about the Holocaust.  My boobs would have to be, like, so much better than they are to be the exact opposite of it.  Because the Holocaust was, y’know, so horrible.”

Um, "Things Katie Holmes might uncomfortably say at the War of the Worlds premiere?"

I’d actually like to think that, a la Cronenberg’s vision of M. Butterfly, Tom Cruise (who everyone thinks is gay) and Holmes (who has said she’s “saving herself for marriage”) are working to create an entirely new form of sex.  Preferably an easily downloadable one that involves a bunch of bungee chords, a pair of e-meters , a Paula Jones soundtrack and the ghost of L. Ron Hubbard.

As soon as it has been perfected, I’m sure Cruise’s sister will issue a comprehensive press release.

For the record, I’m saving myself for my second divorce.

Things Change, Stay Same Dept.:

I get five calls a day from MCI.  Seriously.  I flip through my caller ID and they’ve called me several times from several different numbers.  Once, I actually picked up.  “We’d love to be your new local phone company!” they offered as I blew an airhorn into my receiver.

Well – poof – they are.  Ah, the sweet smell of deregulation.

Odds, ends:

Alabama, WTF?  The South, ladies and gentlemen, disproving evolution by example.  (Thanks to Crazy Dave  for the link.)

Pope Benedict XVI is, like everything else, a sign of the apocalypse. 

You know how the actors on those Soaps en Español are so mui melodramatico?  Well, someone was a little too good at their job.

Why is Pat O’Brien at Coachella?  ‘Cause the desert is so-fucking-hot.  [No, I will not let that die... though that Ann Coulter anal sex story is a far more worthy tale of cringeworthy c-list celeb coitus.]

One-man-band Jon Brion as Tom Waits singing Radiohead’s “Creep” (or, Why I Wish I’d Had Tickets for His Shows at Tonic Last Week, via Brooklyn Vegan)

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