I was reading Katherine Mansfield and wondered where Harry Kember is in real life... Where is this reclusive being who is so incredibly handsome "like a mask or a most perfect illustration in an American novel"?
Perhaps it was him today who K and I saw- dressed as a woman rather unconvincingly... (No one is perfect...) This blog post could easily turn into an account of unrequited love/Auckland's personality, but because I am not blind like some (coughmetro/thescenecough) and actually realise Auckland has no personality/love at all, I will not be taking this Harry Kember subject any further. Screw you Harry, its over.
Meanwhile, due to the general retardedness of social circles (we find KTB as a triangle much more effective, thanks very much) I am placing a rather late take on the DRA show on here for your reading enjoyment (especially if you happen to be one of those idiots who were in Europe over the summer and missed out- you also missed the Fleety's, shame).
The State of Ryan Adams circa 2009
Two hours (ish) of musical heaven. Ryan Adams and The Cardinals (Or just ‘The Cardinals’ as Ryan likes to think- Ryan, you’re kidding yourself- you are the star, stop being an attention seeker and making a drama over your responsibilities) played an absolutely stunning set at Auckland’s Powerstation on the fourth of last month.
Thankfully the band had ACTUAL motivation this time around, creating a completely different experience to the dismal August ’08 shows at the Bruce Mason Centre (which were seated, for fucks sake). This time, the setlist was so thrilling it wore the audience out.
We were treated to the epics ‘Come Pick Me Up’ and the ever famous ‘Wonderwall’ cover, as well as ‘When the Stars Go Blue’, ‘Oh My Sweet Carolina’ and ‘Easy Plateau’ to name a few. The wee ditties from Neal Casal were glorious too, as was the lack of Cardinology tracks (relief). The plethora of songs sent me into a trance as I remembered the moments, poetry and emotions the genius of Adams inspired in me when I first heard the songs many years ago.
Complete with a huge gong suspended from the bird figure behind the drum kit, the small stage space of the Powerstation was used efficiently, setting the scene for a mind melting jam session (hooray the harmonica made an appearance) which would have gone uninterrupted had it not been for ‘Joke Time with John Graboff’ who made a rather unfortunate dig at the Fleet Foxes... But that’s another story. The band was constantly looking to Ryan for signals, folding together in a fashion more admirable than Betty Crocker ever folded cookies into dough.
Admittedly I am responsible for the disgruntled article in a Craccum last year, which described the pile of vomit that is Cardinology (the band’s latest and probably (thankfully) final studio album), and am in no way about to eat my words and praise Ryan to pieces- that rather awkward musical mess has scarred me for life. If Cardinology was an actual science, it would be one involving something really stupid, painful and completely avoidable (think carpet burns)... But boy, those who attended the show and remained loyal to Adams and his tattered Cards are surely still glowing. Somebody put me in a museum. I am now part of an elite few in this world who have heard such beautiful songs live. Caw Caw.
Lots of love and peace,
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