First, a disclaimer. i realize that what i’m about to write is possibly misdirected, but this is my blog, so if you don’t like it, you can get the fuck out. And take Aunt Bunny with you, too, that shaved Bigfoot bitch.
PART THE SECOND: THE RANT
So i ordered my tickets to Paul Simon more on a whim than anything else. If a musician of that caliber is going to play the 9:30, you just go. Now, i’m not a huge fan of Simon, but naturally my parents dug him, and being a Gen Xer myself, i’ve got my mandatory copy of Graceland, the video with a then top-of-his-game Chevy Chase for “You Can Call Me Al” forever emblazoned in my mind. Because my mother still cannot for the life of her figure out how to successfully order tickets on-line (regardless of the hundreds of times i’ve walked her through the process), i ended up with two tickets and the parentals none. Long story short, i opted to give mine away, even though the lucky recipients eventually were my brother and a co-worker.
And here’s where things get fucked up. Ticketfly sends out an email stating that the person who ordered the tickets had to show up in person to pick them up in person. This email was sent two days prior to the show. So i went downtown with my brother and co-worker, stood in line for an hour, and then was informed that i could not give them to the two people i brought with me. Now, i understand the desire to foil scalpers, but what the fuck? What if i had ordered them for my kids or anyone else who might not have a credit card? And it was family, for chrissakes. i couldn’t transfer them to my own brother? That’s just moronically fucked up, plain and simple.
Last night, i was quick to point the finger at the 9:30, assuming them the culprits. Now, i have nothing but love for the 9:30. Hell, the number of reviews i’ve written demonstrate how often i go (and i seldom ask for free tickets to cover shows; i figure if bands are good enough to give me music to review, the least i can do is pay to see them live and/or maybe buy some schwag from the merch table). The staff is amazing, the sound is great, it’s small enough, but not too much so, the acts consistently are incredible–so i probably didn’t need to tweet that “fuck you” message to them last night. i’m feeling sheepish about that this morning, so i apologize.
Can’t figure out whose policy this was last night–Ticketfly, the 9:30, Paul Simon himself–but whoever it was, it’s a terrible fucking policy.
To make a long story longer, my brother ended up bouncing because he had friends at a nearby bar, and i took my co-worker to see the diminutive troubadour myself.
PART THE THIRD: THE REVIEW
The former Mr. Princess Leia (No shit, Chet. No Shit) gave an enjoyable two hour performance, including two encores. From what i gather from the Post’s review of the DAR gig from the night previous and what a young lady who attended said show told me, it apparently was the same song list, but in a different order. He tackled predominantly his past catalogue, but played more than a few from his new one, too. His band was all-star level, as tends to be the case with legends like Simon. i’ve also noticed that the older and more prominent the musician, the more outlandish the percussion set up. Not one to buck the trend, Simon employed a guy that looked startlingly like Michael Cera on a standard drum kit and another cat who played every odd variation of percussion you could imagine. At one point, it looked like he was shaking tiny wooden Muppet crutches, i swear to Dolemite. Highlights (songs i recognized) included “Boy in the Bubble,” “Still Crazy After All These Years,” “Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes,” “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover,” and an acoustic “Sounds of Silence.” He also ran through covers by Junior Parker, Chet Atkins, Jimmy Cliff and the Beatles. Sadly for me, no “You Can Call Me Al” or “Homeless.” Oh well. The crowd seemed to enjoy it, but the energy level never rose to riotous. Simon offered no banter beyond “I love playing clubs” up until the very end, when he profusely thanked the audience and introduced his band. i don’t know, maybe if i were a bigger Simon fan, i would have been more impressed, but i’d give it a B- as far as shows go. Had my female co-worker actually decked the woman sorely in need of a shower that invaded our corner at the end of the evening and kept whipping her with her ponytail, i might have gone as high as a B.
Somebody still owes my brother an apology, though.