Jose and the Pussycats

Why do I focus on things that make me angry? Its been said so many times; from comments to my posts, to coworkers, to my girlfriend. Here I was fixated on this when I should have been telling you people about this. I mean, what is the point about getting so worked up about so little? Neverthless it would have been easy to walk into Richards and start criticising all the OC clones, or how ridiculously cute the opening band was. Too easy.

Sometimes you just need a break from irony. There was really nothing sarcastic about the first band, Psapp. My first impression was that they were these recovering candy-ravers making indie music with toys and bells and whistles trying really hard to be cute, but after a couple of songs I realised that they were actually that cute, to the point of being sappy. Psappy. It would have so easy to cynical, but sometimes that gets tiring and you just want to bop your head to charming indie rock. Their enthusiasm was contagious. I though about the Go! Team. Sonically akin to the bossa noca beats of Morcheeba and the folktronica of The Books, they had stuffed animals, rubber chickens, Speak and Spells, tin cans, shakers, whistles, honkers, bells, children's xylophones, and an "incalcuable birc-a-brac of mysterious provenance". She was a chatty wee lass wasn't she. She told a story in her sweet british accent of the sound man and his plastic figurine which he told her was a jazz lesbian. At one point she extolled the virtues of saying the word 'vagina' in front of a crowd, wherein I thought it was a good idea to shout, "Vulva" at the top of my lungs. She dedicated the next song to me, which she pointed out was "oddly enough all about vulvas". She also revealed her strategy for interacting with the audience which involved throwing hand-made woolen cats at them. She pointed at my friend Jessica and announced, "Look at her! She's lovely. She's got shiny black hair and an adorable dress with strawberries on it. I don't know if you can see her but she is lovely. I'm not a lesbian, honestly, well a jazz lesbian maybe but...I'm going to give her a cat". Every single song was about cats, except for one called "I want to be a cat" which was about a snake.

I asked a bloke in front of me named Lester if I could use his pictures. He put up a nice little review on his blogspot. Thanks Lester.

Oh and sorry this is so late. I told Malcom that this would be up in two days, but this city has come alive with the fervor of a summer fever. It feels like a real city. Aboriginal Day, World Urban Forum and Fest, World Peace Forum, World Cup, unofficial Solstice third beach bike ride and bonfire, Go Skateboarding Day, Car Free Commercial Drive, Jazz Fest, David Carson, Eastside Pride, Ladyfest, and McLean Park art-star soccer. Plus, my cat got an eye infection.

If you had walked in near the end of a Juana Molina song, you'd have to do a double take. Where is all that sound coming from and who is that fragile, pail-faced woman? She can't be making all that sound can she? Is it pre-recorded? With an arsenal of effects pedals, sequencers, programmers, delays, and keyboards stacked taller than the little woman herself, the Argentinian comedian-cum indie rock darling crafted layers and layers of building, samba infused, folk-tronica. "I'm glad you quit your day job!" I blurted out. I had no idea she was actually going to be playing. That is how totally self absorbed I am. It was a treat.

It was a good bill. Start with a peppy electro jam, then bring it down with some graceful layered melodies, then completely remove all the veneer and bring out a solitary man with his spanish guitar (get it? Because his album is called Veneer). Previously I assembled some words and phrases that might give you an idea of Jose Gonzalez: Slender. Delicate. Haunting. Garfunkel. "Cast some light it will be all right." Cohen. Fragile. Sparse. Drake. Brittle. Bruised. Iron and Wine. "We'll keep whispering our mantras". Rhythmic. Hypnotic. "My moves are slow, but soon you'll know". Flamenco. Sweden. Quiet is the new loud. Kings of Convenience. Stark. Hushed. Misty. Meandering. Leo Kottke. Sparse. Celtic. Norse. Bert Jansch. Sorrow. Ethereal.

Once again I could've focused on the drunken teen fans that kept blubbering and waving their hands in the air and giggling and gushing, ruining the magical silence eclipsed only by the wounded troubadour on stage. But I tried. I cried.

He caressed his guitar like it was a wounded kitten, confused and bewildered. He tuned shyly between songs, revealing hints at what song was next. He must have started to play Crosses like 5 times, it was torture. He finished with The Knife cover song Heartbeats, with help from the crowd and Psapp, who stood enthralled as the rest of us at the side of the stage. His encore consisted of a traditional Celtic song, and a happy birthday to the road manager sung by "Animal Damage", a new band formed in the tour van.

"One night of magic rush. The start: a simple touch"