Front Row Seats

Celebrity News: The Band-Aid for Writer's Block

2005-06-14T10:12:00.000-07:00

LIFE IMITATING ART?: Russell Crowe arrested Monday morning and charged with second degree assault after allegedly throwing a telephone at an employee at his Manhattan hotel.

The guy is just masterful. Seriously, who freaks out and throws a phone at someone's head? That's absolute psycho behavior. Yet despite the embarassing arrest and pictures of him walking out of the police station splashed across newspapers everwhere, he immediately hits the talk show circuit and kills whatever public ill will might have been percolating following the incident.

Crowe very earnestly apologizes on Letterman, the sincerity just oozing out of him. And people happily applaud and absolve him of his sins. "Hey, the guy may have a serious anger management problem and feels that he can abuse 'common folk' for the most trivial of reasons, but he seems like a pretty nice guy. And he sure does seem sorry about the whole thing. Plus, 'Cinderella Man' kicks ass!"

Hello, assholes!! The guy is an ACTOR!! He's convincingly played a retarded math genius and a Roman gladiator, so what makes you think he's not faking it when he claims to be "embarassed" by his actions and expresses his remorse? Being a celebrity doesn't mean never having to say you're sorry, but it does mean that you'll be forgiven quicker than Lindsey Lohan can snort up an 8-ball.

STORK WATCH: George Stephanopoulos and Ali Wentworth welcoming their second child, daughter Harper Andrea, Thursday morning in a Washington D.C. hospital.

I hope they're getting a paternity test done. "I don't know, George. Sometimes I just look at Ann and think she'd be the kinda chick that'd....unh. Oh, hell, I'm sorry man."

ON THE TRAIL OF THE PINK PANTHER: The release date for MGM/Sony's remake of The Pink Panther, starring Steve Martin, pushed back from Aug. 5 to Feb. 10.

I saw the preview for this one before 'Star Wars' and my immediate reaction was something between a dry heave and a wet fart. It looks utterly and completely awful, one of those "what the hell were they thinking"-type projects that make average people like me feel that movie executives are fortunate to work in an industry where stupidity is an asset. Everyone knows that trailers are the most deceptive bits of propaganda in existence, as a well done trailer can make even the biggest, most steaming pile of shit film look like a winner. So when a trailer, like the one for 'Pink Panther', makes the film look about as appealing as a one night stand with Paul Giamatti, it doesn't take a genius to predict that the film's grosses will settle somewhere between 'Heaven's Gate' and 'Gigli.'

I never found Steve Martin that funny (aside from "The Jerk" and parts of "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels"), but this is pretty clear evidence that he's entered Eddie Murphy territory. Maybe he hasn't picked up any transvestite hookers yet, but his career path is eerily similar to Murphy, who officially sold his soul to the devil before "Beverly Hills Cop II" and has been cranking out improbably high-grossing crap ever since. But I don't think even the Prince of Darkness can make 'Pink Panther' watchable.

BIG SCREEN BART: Nancy Cartwright, the voice of Bart Simpson in The Simpsons, telling BBC Radio 1 that a feature film version of the Fox cartoon series is in production. Cartwright said the film would take at least two years to complete.

While I'm still pretty certain this is going to be great, I'm having a bit of a hard time imagining how they're going to stretch a 22 minute show over an hour and a half. Will it translate to the big screen? Can the steady stream of brilliant pop culture references and industry in-jokes be sustained throughout an entire feature film?

The legion of 'Simpsons' fans is rabidly devoted, so they're taking a sizable risk with this project. I don't think a bad film will sink the franchise, but I would be surprised if the show goes on much longer if the movie flops. And I don't think I want to live in a world without 'The Simpsons.'

POSSIBLE MISSION: 'Mission: Impossible 3' finally scheduled to begin shooting July 18 in Italy. Recent reports had speculated that the project might not go forward due to budget concerns and intense negative press coverage of Tom Cruise.

I'm sick of talking about Tom since I'm still mad at him. But it's amazing what he's done to his career in the period of a few short weeks. The cat is out of the bag - the guy is nuts, and not just a mildly, Matthew McConaghey-type nuts. We're talking Brandoesque insanity.

This article details the finely-tuned spin machine that has worked overdrive to keep the wacky Cruise juggernaut afloat thus far. Clearly, the machine has broken down.

PROBLEM CHILD: Kelly Osbourne checking back into rehab to deal with some "personal issues," Us Weekly reports.

I don't understand, nor have I ever understood, the fascination with the Osbournes. During their heyday a few years ago, everyone LOVED that show and talked about it like it was the funniest damn thing since the John Waters episode of 'The Simpsons' ("I like my beer cold, my TV loud and my homosexuals FLAMING!!!"). I tried watching it a few times and couldn't get across how painful it was watching Ozzy putter around like a 90-year-old man in firmly in the grips of dementia. For Christ's sake, he's about 50 and has turned himself into a near-vegetable by abusing his body relentlessly. God knows there are still ants crawling around in that rotting brain (see #1). Really, gleefully watching Ozzie stumble around the house is not much different than walking through the Tenderloin pointing and laughing at some babbling bum wearing a tinfoil tiara who's just shit himself. And the bum probably speaks more intelligibly than Ozzie.

And are there any more ghastly beings on the planet than those two kids? Both are, in addition to being completely and utterly fugly, two of the most spoiled, obnoxious little shits on the planet. They scream, swear, fight, dope up and generally contribute NOTHING to the planet. Why oh why do people find it entertaining to watch them go about their shallow and pointless lives? I blame them for paving the path for the most detestable show ever to disgrace the tube: "My Super Sweet Sixteen", a show that makes me want to throw a telephone at my own head.

Anyway, in a few years the whole family will be completely ravaged by drug addiction and incapable of caring for themselves. They'll all putter around aimlessly, drooling, shitting themselves and muttering unintelligibly like lobotomized trolls. That's when I want to see MTV bring the cameras back for another season - "The Osbournes: The Incontinent Years." "Tune in next week when Jack drops a deuce on the rug and no one can summon the motor skills to clean it up."

EXTRA! Cruise replaces Damon in 'The Bourne Insanity'!

2005-06-06T20:47:00.000-07:00

Seriously, all jokes aside - is this man completely insane? Is it possible he was always like this and no one noticed? If not, he's either completely immersing himself in preparation for a film role as a crazed retard or we're witnessing a legitimate mental breakdown. Watch the clip above and try and tell me there isn't something very, very wrong here. I mean like bottles full of urine in the living room, Brad Pitt in '12 Monkeys' wrong. And if that doesn't convince you, read this.

Scientology is insane, and I can only assume most of the practicing scientologists in the world are suffering from some sort of mental defect. But I'll bet even they're wishing Tom would shut the hell up right about now.

Warren Sapp has stinky soul, breath

2005-06-03T13:03:00.000-07:00

Warren Sapp is not the most popular player in the NFL. He's loud, obnoxious, a notorious cheap shot artist, and during interviews he comes off like Deebo on crystal meth.

But according to Kris Jenkins, DT for the Carolina Panthers, Sapp has also been moonlighting as the Devil, perching on his shoulder and causing him to hit the bottle while sinking into debilitating depression.

Jenkins, who recently came forth to talk about the depression and drinking problems he fought while injured last year, essentially attributes his entire downward spiral to the existence of Sapp, and in particular to being forced to watch Sapp celebrate a victory in November.

Here's an excerpt from the AP article in which Jenkins hilariously discusses his overwhelming and irrational hatred for Sapp:

The low point came after the Panthers' Nov. 7 loss to the Oakland Raiders, when Jenkins was forced to watch Warren Sapp, a player he dislikes intensely, celebrate on Carolina's field.

Jenkins turned to drinking to get him through the long, lonely days.

"When we played Oakland and we lost to Sapp, I stopped going to the games then," Jenkins said Thursday. "I was going to the games up to that point. I couldn't go to the games anymore. After that, that's when ... I've never been an alcoholic, but I upped my consistency of it."

As hard as it is to believe that one rival player could send Jenkins into such a funk, he said that all his problems escalated after that game.

"I hate him. Everybody says I'm supposed to be polite when I talk to you all, but I hate him," Jenkins said. " He talks too much, he doesn't make sense, he's fat, he's sloppy, he acts like he's the best thing since sliced bread. He's ugly, he stinks, his mouth stinks, his breath stinks, and basically his soul stinks, too.

"Not too many people have personalities like that and survive in life. I don't know how he does it."

Coming up next on 'Most Perplexing Sports Feuds': Cecil Fielder discusses how the Tigers' catering department ruined his career.

I know it was you, Tom. You broke my heart.

2005-06-02T22:30:00.000-07:00

As I can't seem to get cranking on any real posts, I'll retreat to the cliched mainstay of blogs everywhere - the Celeb Gossip Wrapup Report, with some witty jabs peppered in for good measure!! Brace yourselves....

GET A ROOM, GUYS: An exuberant Tom Cruise declaring his love for new galpal Katie Holmes on Monday's The Oprah Winfrey Show. He repeatedly jumped up on the couch, told how dating the actress was "beyond cool," and left the possibility open that the two might marry.

This one really troubled me. I'm sure most of you have, by now, seen Tommy jumping around like Crispin Glover on Letterman, proclaiming his love for Katie Holmes and prattling on about scientology. It was a supremely disgraceful performance - when Oprah starts getting uncomfortable with a guest's exuberance, you know they've gone too far.

The reason it troubles me is because - and I feel just barely secure enough to admit this - I've always had something of a man crush on Tom. "Top Gun" was a defining piece of cinema for me, and I can't tell you how many times I pretended to be Tom - running around the yard shooting down bogeys, playing semi-homosexual shirtless volleyball with the boys, doing tongue tricks with Kelly McGillis (or in my case, the family cat). Women loved him, but he was legit enough that guys didn't care if he was shirtless on the cover of Tiger Beat. He was fucking Maverick.

I've remained a fan of Tom through the years. I've always felt like he's one of the few actors who rarely makes a truly crappy film ("Far & A-Gay" notwithstanding). "A Few Good Men", "Mission Impossible", "Minority Report", "Collateral" - all solid, entertaining films made so largely by Tom. And "Jerry Maguire"? Well, let's just say he had me at "Help me help you!!!!"

He's always just kind of exuded 'cool'. Not a forced, Bruce Willis-style 'cool' - just an easy, "I can flash my teeth and instantly fucking rule you" type of cool.

So his convulsive performance on Oprah was supremely disappointing. He didn't just sit back, smile, and own the audience like he usually does. He pandered to a bunch of middle aged women. He professed his undying love to a chick whose claim to fame is that she starred on "Dawson's fucking Creek." In short, he gave Chris Kattan some competition if they ever decide to make a Mr. Peepers feature film (God knows it must be in development). And that's just sad.

Look, I don't know if Tom is gay, as so many people speculate. But I'm now pretty sure he's a huge dork, and that hurts more than anything.

GETTING REAL: Kevin Spacey signing on for the upcoming TLC reality series Going Hollywood, in which he'll serve as a mentor to showbiz interns.

"Billy, let me teach you about the casting couch."

RAMBO REDUX: Sylvester Stallone preparing to reprise his role as Vietnam vet John Rambo, 17 years after the last Rambo film came out. If Rambo IV proves successful, there could be more films on the way.

People are idiots. They'll plunk down money to see all kinds of hideous shit, and they're always anxious to welcome a fallen star back with open arms (see Travolta, John).

But I can't see this one flying. Stallone has always been a poor man's Arnold Schwarzenegger, and even he hasn't had any sort of film career for a decade (the political thing is no excuse for "Collateral Damage"). Plus, Sly already had his shot at a "legitimate acting" comeback film with the painful "Copland." Don't give up your ringside seats, Sly. No one wants to see your wrinkled, leathery ass running around killing Iraqis. Not when the scars of 'Rocky V' still haven't healed.

And then there's this....

LITERARY RING: According to Daily Variety, Sylvester Stallone will direct his own screenplay about the life of literary giant Edgar Allan Poe. Robert Downey Jr. is being considered for the lead and shooting's expected to begin in Europe in the fall.

Well, it does sound incredibly scary. Probably not for the reasons they'd like.

DON'T FORGET ABOUT THEM: The cast of classic '80s movie, The Breakfast Club, planning to reunite at the 2005 MTV Movie Awards, airing on June 9. Everyone's confirmed except for former Brat Packer Emilio Estevez, according to USA Today.

I'm way too lazy to attempt an actual tally, but I wonder how many reviews of "Breakfast Club" featured lines like "the future's bright with this cast" or "Judd Nelson is a superstar in the making." Flash forward 10 years, and the only one with half a career is.....Anthony.....Michael....Hall. And having a show on USA that typically runs at around 1AM barely qualifies as half.

SECOND DOWN: After teaming up in The Longest Yard, Adam Sandler joining forces again with Chris Rock to produce the latter's script, The Gilmores of Beverly Hills, a comedy about a low-income black family living in Beverly Hills which Rock will also star in.

I remain undeterred in my assertion that someday, somewhere Chris Rock will make a film that doesn't rely solely on racial humor. He's a talented, smart guy who can knock it out of the park occasionally, but every time he starts a sentence, "You know how white people...", I just cringe.

SLAVE FOR MOTHERHOOD: Britney Spears telling People that despite a "horrible" bout of morning sickness, she's loving life as a pregnant woman and the sex is great. "I think it's better than it was before," she said. "I think it's best. Sex is crazy good."

Would you ever have imagined 2 years ago that hearing Britney Spears talk about having sex could make your stomach turn?

I watched "Chaotic" the other day, just to get a glimpse of the abomination that has caused critics across the country to simultaneously develop brain aneurysms. It took me less than 2 minutes to realize many of them were showing restraint in dubbing the show "nauseating", "nuclear waste" and "the TV equivalent of having Artie Lange eat an ear of corn and shit on your face" (OK, I made that one up).

The one overriding feeling I had while watching the show was embarrassment for Britney and Rat-erline. Not that I give a shit about Braterline (or Spederline, or whatever the fuck naming convention the lame-ass gossip mags have adopted), their marriage, their unborn child or whether they live or die. But anytime people make themselves the joke of the free world, all the while insulating themselves so completely that they never find out they're the punchline, I feel bad for them. I'm kindhearted like that, I guess.

The fall of Britney has been something to behold. People have talked about it, but I don't think people truly appreciate what we've seen in the last year or so with Britney. I mean, this girl was THE 'it' girl for half a decade. I guarantee you that from 1999 through early 2004, she won the poll for 'If You Could Bang One Person....' by a margin of no less than 2 to 1.

And now? She's pulled a virtual '"Crying Game" on boys and men everywhere, causing erections across the world to instantaneously drop like Chris Farley after an 8-ball. Seriously, does anyone, anywhere, still think she's the least bit sexy? She's gone, in record time, from every boy's wet dream to a Jerry Springer guest wannabe. Say her name in 2002 and the word "hot" or "slut" likely jumped to mind; now, it's "trailer trash" or, well, "slut" - but it's not the same, wonderful kind of "slut".

With "Chaotic", whatever was left of her mystique has been stripped away, micturated upon and set on fire. After this show, the curtain has officially come down. Everyone watching now knows that she is, beyond the shadow of a doubt, a complete and utter retard. She's the vapid, obnoxious chick in high school that you're willing to hang out with only because she's kind of hot and you just might get a piece. She's...well, like, totally ordinary.

But I think it may be even worse than that. Something tells me she's Michael Jackson with fake tits and a darker complexion. Everyone recoils in horror at Michael now, but I bet when he first started bleaching his cornhole, people still held out hope that he would grow back the jheri curl, throw on the sequined glove and stop chasing prepubescent boy tail. Maybe we should learn a lesson from the sad tale of MJ and simply stop caring before a 278lb Britney ends up in front of a judge explaining why she burned down her trailer park deep frying a Snickers.

Or you could tune in for more of the downward spiral next Tuesday at 9PM on UPN!!!

Kasabian at Popscene.....gratis!!

2005-05-27T11:24:00.000-07:00

Pontiac commercials aside, I think Kasabian is one of the better new bands to come around in a while. Yes, they're a bit contrived and their lead singer needs a good kick to the nuts, but the music is undeniably catchy and danceable.

They played Slim's back in March and tore the place down, so I'm looking forward to seeing them at another club show (they're also opening for Oasis and playing BFD this summer; both shows are at Shoreline).

Kasabian plays Popscene (330 Ritch Street - off Townsend between 3rd and 4th) on June 9, and they've recently announced that the show will be FREE. This, of course, means that there will be an ungodly swarm of people lined up outside for hours vying for the 300 some tickets. I'd rather pay $20 and not have to deal with that crap, but I may do it anyway. The Slim's show was that good.

Sean, I'm thinking not.......

2005-05-13T15:12:00.000-07:00

He's currently at 6 on the "Hot or Not" scale, but I think that's a little generous. Let's get it down to about 4 where it belongs. The disgusted look in the face of the kid checking out his ass is priceless.

Coldplay - The Fillmore, May 4, 2005

2005-05-08T17:26:00.000-07:00

As I sat back and watched the masses riot over the few available tickets to Coldplay's gig at the Fillmore on Wednesday, I struggled to restrain myself from gloating about the fact that I had scored a pair through a fortunate personal connection. For one, I was deathly afraid of jinxing it and watching the tickets fall through. But I also felt a little guilty about going to a show when so many die hard fans willing to sell their right nut/left ovary for a chance to go were left out in the cold. Luckily, I'm pretty selfish and that guilt lasted about 2 minutes.

As the day of the show approached, it took a bit of effort to get into the proper frame of mind to appreciate what was a pretty unique opportunity. I felt like I needed to spend a good day or two listening to the Coldplay catalog to remind myself why I became drawn to the band in the first place because, while I'm still a fan, I haven't exactly been a 'practicing' fan in a little while.

My CD player had Coldplay in permanent rotation back in 2003 when 'A Rush of Blood to the Head' was released, and it killed me when I had to skip their Shoreline show that year because of a prior commitment. I marveled at the way their songs could elicit such strong emotions and the way they carved out such a distinct sound, one that played well across gender and demographic. Sure, they were a bit waily and saccharine at times, but it felt genuine.

But somewhere in the time between my discovery of the band and their ascent high into the arena rock stratosphere, I forgot about Coldplay. I began discovering other, younger, edgier bands and listening to Coldplay with increasing rarity, occasionally turning the channel when 'The Scientist' or 'Clocks' came on the radio for the 13,405th time.

Still, the madness surrounding the buzz gig helped to rekindle a lot of the old enthusiasm I had for the band. I couldn't help but get caught up in the craziness and the feeling that this was an event of some significance, or at least a pretty rare experience. If people were willing to change dirty old man diapers or hand someone the keys to their car for a chance to go, I should probably feel pretty fortunate for getting to go at face value.

Standing in the long line at the Fillmore prior to the show, there was a definite energy in the air that represented the end of a long, strange trip. Some stubborn, determined folks walked up and down the line all but begging for tickets, but with 20 minutes to go until showtime, defeat began to show on their faces. And it was at that moment I began busting out my best Nelson Muntz laugh ("HA ha!").

Inside the Fillmore, there was a mix of people slightly different than the standard rock show attendees; more yuppie-types and girls in F-me pants and fewer concert tee-wearing fanatics. With tickets going for $500 - $1,000, this wasn't overly surprising. I'm not enough of a live music purist to get really worked up about that kind of stuff, but I can imagine some of the more hardcore fans - particularly the ones who coughed up two weeks' pay for a ticket - were foaming at the mouth at the sight of some of the stuffed shirts in attendance.

The band took the stage at 9:00 to rousing but not overwhelming cheers. It was clear that the crowd was energized in anticipation of the set, but I think I had expected something a little more riotous.

They opened with 'Square One' from the new album, a nice song but not a real grabber. It took the first few crashing cymbals of 'Politik' to get the crowd going. And from there, they didn't let up.

Mixing in old and new, they stormed through a fairly brief 80-minute set. Their debut album, 'Parachutes', was the least represented of the three albums, with only a stellar 'Yellow' and a brief, endearingly flubbed version of 'Don't Panic' making the cut. The tracks from 'AROBTTH' drew the biggest reaction from the crowd, none more so than the played to death but still fantastic 'Clocks'.

They sampled heavily from the new album, playing 7 songs in all. I often need to hear new songs a few times before I can pass judgment on them, and none of the new ones played Wednesday immediately jumped out at me. The hazard of having such a clearly defined sound is that, at least upon first listen, new material tends to sound the same as the old. I wouldn't say there are any real sonic surprises among the new songs, but there are no stinkers, either. 'A Message' and 'What If', as well as 'White Shadows' from the L.A. gig in March, seem like winners.

The band sounded fantastic, despite what seemed to be a fairly muddy Fillmore system. Chris Martin's voice was strong and every bit as crisp as it is on the albums. Lead guitarist Jon Buckland was dead on with all of his solos (save for the 'Don't Panic' flub) and Will Champion's drum work shone during percussion-driven songs like 'Politik' and 'God Put A Smile Upon Your Face.'

The most indelible impression I took away from the concert was the professionalism and confidence with which the band performed. That may translate as 'boring' to some, but it shouldn't. So many bands perform as though they've just read the "Live Rockers' Handbook", with practiced poses and predictable, "I love this fucking town!"-style banter (see Bravery, The). The bands who get it realize that when the music's good, the performance speaks for itself. You don't need to light your guitar on fire or play the drums with your cock - you just need to convince the audience that you're giving them everything, that music represents more than just a way to make a living. It's a sign of musical maturity as much as anything, which is why U2 is fairly incapable of putting on a bad show at this point.

For Coldplay, the live experience begins and ends with Martin, who effortlessly exudes likability and moves around the stage with purpose, if not intensity. His gyrations (such as his human second hand during 'Clocks') can be a little out there but never feel contrived. He easily and confidently interacted with the crowd, something that many bands seem uncomfortable or unwilling to do but which adds so much to the concert experience. In an intimate setting like The Fillmore, it played particularly well as he expressed genuine gratitude for the fans' support and dealt admirably with an annoying chick who kept shouting "I love you, Chris!" and "You rock!" as though she invented the Annoying Wannabe Groupie act.

No rock show is worth $1,000, nor a prosthetic leg, nor a car, nor.....etc. But it's hard to imagine anyone left the Fillmore on Wednesday disappointed by Coldplay's performance. The crowd was treated to a rocking, intense, thoroughly enjoyable set from a band that may never again be able to play in a 1,200 seat venue without inciting a full-scale riot. The aptly named gig certainly generated its share of "buzz", but in the end it was hardly necessary. Coldplay's music speaks for itself, and loudly at that.

Here's the complete setlist:

Square One
Politik
God Put A Smile Upon Your Face
Speed of Sound
Warning Sign
Yellow
Low
The Scientist
Don't Panic (abbreviated)
Till Kingdom Come
Clocks
What If

Encore:
A Message
In My Place
Fix You

'The Onion' Party on May 13

2005-05-06T23:11:00.000-07:00

Courtesy of CraigsList, this could be worth checking out.

The Onion Party - Friday, May 13

craigslist and INFORUM Welcome America's Finest News Source to San Francisco! WHAT: The world's most popular news satire publication is coming to the streets of San Francisco. craigslist and INFORUM invite you to celebrate in style at 12 Galaxies with bands, beer and The Onion writers (who apparently also DJ)! More than 4 million readers visit The Onion online for genius headlines like, "Supreme Court Rules Supreme Court Rules" and "Drugs Win Drug War." Get your much-needed weekly dose on street corners beginning May 12.

10:45 - 11:30pm: Dead Hensons
11:30 - 12:30am: Special Guest ONION DJs
12:30 - 2:00am: DJ Jester the Filipino Fist
2:00 - 6:00am: Staring Contest between Onion writers and craigslist staff

WHO: The Onion writers & management
WHEN: 10 p.m. Doors Open
WHERE: 12 Galaxies, 2565 Mission Street, San Francisco
HOW: Free event - No tickets or reservations necessary!

I went to Coldplay and you didn't

2005-05-05T09:59:00.000-07:00

And I didn't even have to blow a 300lb, 35-year-old virgin to get there!

Review to follow a bit later....

Coldplay Fillmore Tickets: Spanish Fly for Losers

2005-05-03T13:49:00.000-07:00

It didn’t take Dionne Warwick to predict that there would be an unbridled frenzy when the tickets for Coldplay's Wednesday “buzz gig” at The Fillmore went on sale last Sunday. Do the math – 1,200 seat venue...tens of thousands of fans looking for tickets…at least half of the tickets likely already spoken for before the public even had a crack at them (due to radio stations, record execs, Ticketmaster employees, Evil Geniuses, etc.). It was bound to get messy, and messy it has gotten.

As anyone who logged onto the Ticketmaster site at 10:01 AM found out, tickets sold out in roughly the time it takes that little Japanese guy to eat an all-beef frank. This left many, many, many people out in the Cold (sorry, that's terrible). But rather than causing a little natural frustration among fans who had hoped to attend a cool, intimate show, the masses have responded with uncaged fury. In thousands of posts on message boards, web sites and Craigslist, “true fans” have raged at the band, the venue and "Ticketbastard" because of perceived inequities in the ticket distribution process. Nevermind the fact that one of the biggest bands in the world playing a very small venue means that tickets will inevitably be scarcer than non-pedophiles at a ‘Star Trek’ convention - it’s a conspiracy at work!!

It’s been amazing, surreal, sad, and hilarious to witness the whole “buzz gig” saga unfold. There's been so much energy devoted to the controversy, you’d swear John and George were reincarnated for a special dual-headlining gig with Beethoven's ghost and Wyld Stallyns. Maybe a better comparison is the Golden Ticket frenzy in ‘Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’; I’m fairly certain at least one wealthy factory owner suspended production and had all his employees hammer away at Ticketmaster’s site. At least with that, the Golden ticketholders got to frolic with exotic midgets in a twisted Candyland-on-acid setting. This is just a damn rock show by a band that, while good, ain’t exactly U2 (no matter how much they want to be).

In addition to the millions of pipe-dreaming “superfans” who are posting impassioned pleas on Craigslist for tickets to the show, there is another prominent trend developing: the burgeoning “tickets-for-love” trade market. A staggering number of posts have popped up from “decent looking, slightly overweight, sorta shy” guys (translation: replicants of Comic Book Guy from ‘The Simpsons’) offering tickets to the show to “attractive, fun girls who like to have a good time” (translation: hot sluts who will be so grateful for the CBG’s generosity that they’ll at least entertain the notion of putting out).

On the flip side, there have been countless requests for tickets by “hot, superfun chicks who like to have a good time.” Some have gone further than others with their offers, but most contain at least an implicit offer of carnal rewards. While I admire the opportunistic gall of these women, I just can’t imagine why anyone would take the bait. No matter how pathetic he is, a guy would be fucking nuts to give away a ticket to a chick just because she claims she’s “hot and fun” when he could turn around and sell it for $500-$1,000 on eBay. That’s good whorin’ money!

I don't know what it says about the state of romance when Coldplay tickets have become a substitute for balls in asking chicks out. Probably nothing, except that there are many, many guys who feel no shame in bribing girls who are presumably out of their league to go out with them.

In addition to the straightforward sleaze on Craigslist, here are some other innovative, amusing and mystifying approaches to the Coldplay ticket fiasco:

A guy who’s using his extra ticket as a bargaining chip to get a job. You’ve got to admire the practicality and instinct in capitalizing on the frenzy of morons. I’d hire him.
A guy offering fine wine for a ticket. The heart of rock and roll is still beating.
People offering trades for Pixies/Tom Petty/Keane/Black Crowes/Snow Patrol/(insert other mediocre-to-crappy band here) concert tickets. Good effing luck.
A guy (presumably in jest….although in this case, who knows) hilariously offering his prosthetic leg for a ticket.
A person offering a ticket in return for a child who will be used to perform various forms of manual labor. Chilling to think about how many earnest responses and offers this person will get.
A person advocating a mass protest the night of the show to stick it to Ticketmaster, Coldplay, ClearChannel, etc. Yes, the spirit of the ‘60’s is alive and well in SF.
A woman offering a ticket to anyone who'll take care of her elderly, bed-ridden father while she's vacationing in Florida. Ah, the dignity of aging.
A guy offering his 1994 Honda Accord LX for 6 tickets.
I don't know how to sum this one up, but he's very thorough.

I'm sure the show will be a good one, but the real spectacle is going to be looking at the faces of the people filing out of the Fillmore as they come to the realization that they just dropped a grand/slept with a fatty/mortgaged their house/donated a kidney/sacrificed their dignity to attend an 80-minute rock show. That's the real show, folks, and tickets are free to all.

Coldplay coming to the Fillmore on May 4

2005-04-28T11:41:00.000-07:00

In case anyone hadn't yet heard, Coldplay is playing a special "buzz" gig at The Fillmore on Wednesday, May 4 in advance of their upcoming tour. Needless to say, this is going to be a next to impossible ticket to get. They're not selling tix at the Fillmore box office, so everyone's going to have to play the phone/online lottery game. Last time I played that game (for the U2 concert in San Jose), I got through after 3 minutes and the show was already sold out. The Fillmore seats about 1,800 people, so I think 2 minutes is probably a realistic estimate. Happy dialing/clicking!

Most Disturbingly Unsurprising Fact of the Day

2005-04-27T11:27:00.000-07:00

In a really disturbing article from today's LA Times, a detective in a Toronto Sex Crimes unit focused on catching pedophiles reveals that basically all of the freaks they've caught have been hardcore 'Star Trek' fans. From the article:

On one wall (of the squad room) is a "Star Trek" poster with investigators' faces substituted for the Starship Enterprise crew. But even that alludes to a dark fact of their work: All but one of the offenders they have arrested in the last four years was a hard-core Trekkie.

Det. Constable Warren Bulmer slips on a Klingon sash and shield they confiscated in a recent raid. "It has something to do with a fantasy world where mutants and monsters have power and where the usual rules don't apply," Bulmer reflects. "But beyond that, I can't really explain it."

Anyone who's seen 'Trekkies' or the brilliant Triumph clip at the 'Star Wars' premiere knows that this revelation is about as surprising as Courtney Love announcing she has substance abuse issues. I'm all for escapism, but there's something more than a little unhealthy about adult nerds retreating from their miserable lives into artificial fantasy worlds constructed by even bigger nerds. The idea that some of these wanks may extend their deviance to the sexual realm is hardly a shocker.

If I'm a cop in the sex crimes division, I'm staking out every damn fantasy/sci-fi convention in the world, herding the freaks into prison buses en masse, and giving them the Abu Ghraib treatment until they crack and cough up their caches of child porn. Sure, you'll trample on the civil liberties and prosthetic pointy ears of some harmless kooks, but I think the world's prepubescent youth will breathe a huge sigh of relief when roughly 90% of the predatory pedophile population is thrown into the pokey for a heavy dose of rectal justice.

I can see it now - "Law and Order: Star Trek Sting".

"Oh say can you........uh"

2005-04-25T01:58:00.000-07:00

Somewhere, Carl Lewis and Roseanne Barr are breathing sighs of relief. We now have a new title-holder in the category for "History's Worst Rendition of the National Anthem." Singing before a Canadian hockey game, this poor girl absolutely mangles the 'Star Spangled Banner,' forgetting words and generally looking like Ashlee Simpson on 'SNL.' Then she makes the extremely ill-advised decision to come back out for a third time. Bad goes immediately to worse.

Here is a link to the painfully hilarious video.

Kasabian back in SF

2005-04-24T23:12:00.000-07:00

The official site has new tour dates listed for this summer. Kasabian will be at Popscene (330 Ritch) on 6/9/05. While I'm glad they're coming back and would definitely like to check them out again, this one has the makings of a big mess. Popscene doesn't sell advance tix and the venue is TINY. At this point, Kasabian is probably a little too big for a small club like that. Fortunately, I'll probably be unemployed in early June, so camping out won't put a big crimp in my lifestyle.

The Mancharrrrrr-ian Candidate

2005-04-20T17:01:00.000-07:00

This story restores my faith in the institutions of higher education. Schools may be cracking down on drinking and kicking fraternities off campus like felons on 'The Apprentice', but the rebellious spirit of youth is alive and well at NC State.

Sick of Izod-wearing, squeaky-clean candidates who use proper grammar, the Wolfpack Nation has gotten behind a new kind of candidate in the race for student body president. His name is The Pirate Captain, and he's demolishing the other candidates who must feel like, to quote Jay, somebody shit in their cereal.

Among the highlights of the campaign thus far: The Pirate Captain (actual name Will Piavis) "came to the candidates' debate with a green parrot on his shoulder" and said that, should he win, "I might be gettin' a few extra buttons for me shirt."

With victory pretty much assured, I can't wait to see how this plays out. I'm sure the guy got hammered and thought it would be a funny joke to dress up like a pirate and walk around campus, probably never believing he might actually win. Now he's got to consider the prospect of going to serious, humorless student government meetings where he's going to have real duties and responsibilities. Is the guy going to keep up the pirate act? Can he really make decisions that affect roughly 30,000 students while communicating only in pirate talk and donning an eye patch with a parrot perched on his shoulder?

I, for one, hope he stays true to his pirate roots. He's got a pop culture trend on his side - pirates have never been hotter than they are right now. Between the success of 'Pirates of the Caribbean', the Seinfeld puffy shirt, the increasing popularity of the term 'butt pirate', and the enduring comedy of the Sea Captain, the public has demonstrated decisively its hunger for all things pirate.

If he can pull this off, who's to say where his political career might go? Stranger things have happened.

Chariots of Feces

2005-04-19T13:27:00.000-07:00

This story struck a sentimental note with me, as I have a very dear friend, Mateo, who was similarly overcome by the brown plague while running the L.A. Marathon. To summarize, British marathoner Paula Radcliffe began suffering from "stomach cramps" at about mile 21 of last Sunday's London Marathon. Rather than look for the nearest portaloo, Paula popped a squat in full view of all and turned the chocolate hostage loose. Great quote: "When I stopped, I could hear people all around me going 'Oh'."

Paula recovered and won the marathon. In contrast, Mateo finished in 3,781st place, demolished a good samaritan's bathroom, and walked around for an hour after the race with shit-stained white shorts. Edge: Paula.

The Wages of 'Sin'

2005-04-09T15:29:00.000-07:00

The 'comic book adaptation' genre is about one 'Daredevil 2' away from carving out a permanent place for itself between the 'inspirational retard' genre and the 'Jean Claude Van Damme Memorial underground street fighter' genre in the Hall of Worthless Cinema. The last decade or so has seen a ton of films based on comics, and most of them (with the exception of the first 'Batman', 'The Crow', 'Men in Black' and the 'X-men' films) have been steaming piles of shit.

They all pretty much have the same general plot - complex hero flirts with annoying love interest while trying to defeat a colorful villain and come to terms with his superhuman ability to fly/pick up a building/release toxic ass gas. The good ones have either created their own dark, visually fascinating world ('The Crow') or figured out that they can't take themselves too seriously and just had fun with the idea ('Hellboy', 'Batman'). The bad ones ('The Hulk', 'Daredevil') act as though they're exploring the deeper meaning of spandex tights.

But until 'Sin City', no comic book movie has been created that actually simulates what's fun about reading a comic book. It's not about depth or character development - it's about consistent action, sharp, one-liner heavy dialogue and atmosphere with a capital 'A'. People read comic books for the immediate escapism they provide. 'Sin City' isn't an adaptation; it's a living, breathing comic book.

The film, set in a hellish urban jungle called Basin City, starts out rather inauspicously, trotting out 'King of the Ass Hats' Josh Hartnett to unconvincingly play a dapper hit man. He may be a 'hottie', but the guy's acting is about as emotionally intense as a text message. It's a mercifully brief scene, and the film quickly gets down to business with the first vignette, featuring Bruce Willis as a tough, graying cop out to stop a deviant child murderer, also the Senator's son, from killing a young girl. The violent tone is set early, as Willis' Detective Hartigan blasts off body parts like he's taking out the garbage. He rescues the girl and sacrifices himself to keep her alive ("An old man dies. A little girl lives. That's a pretty fair trade.") The scene ends, for the moment, with Willis being pumped full of lead by his traitorious partner (Michael Madsen). But in Basin City, no one really dies until they're ready to.

The next epsiode is the film's best, a gritty story about a depraved yet charismatic killer (a surprisingly appealing Mickey Rourke) named Marv who's out to avenge the murder of a gorgeous call girl named Goldie (a damn fine looking Jaime King), killed while lying next to him in bed. He's a sadistic, unhinged sociopath - but it's impossible not to root for him as he shoots, dismembers and disfigures his way to the truth. Also, his probation officer (Carla Gugino) is extremely hot and really likes being naked.

It's a ton of fun watching Marv romp through the underworld, meting out excessive justice and living by his own twisted moral guidelines (eg. you can't kill someone unless they deserve it, but if they do, you're free to turn them into Robert Shaw at the end of 'Jaws'). By the time he catches up with Goldie's killer, the audience is unabashedly rooting for the coming torture. It doesn't hurt that the killer is played by the eminently tortureable Elijah Wood.

The violence hardly lets up in the third vignette, which features Clive Owen as (what else?) a murderer. Owen's Dwight is dating Shellie (Brittany Murphy), a barmaid with plenty of baggage. When some of that baggage turns up, in the form of a menacing ex-boyfriend named Jack (Benicio Del Toro), Dwight chivalrously takes care of it by adminstering a violent swirlie to Jack in a recently used toilet bowl. This sets into motion a chain of events that leads Dwight into Old Town, a district ruled by heavily armed and implausibly gorgeous hookers, led by S&M diva Gail (Rosario Dawson), who enforce their own laws. Dwight, who has a soft spot for the ladies (especially Gail) and cannot tolerate men who abuse them, joins up with the women of Old Town to avert a bloody war between the cops, the mob and the hookers.

The film then picks back up with Detective Hartigan, now recuperating in the hospital. He's being rehabilitated courtesy of Senator Rourke, a corrupt politician hell-bent on avenging his son's disfigurement by Hartigan. Once he's healed sufficiently, Hartigan is thrown in jail, framed for molesting Nancy, the girl he rescued. While in prison, he's kept going by the weekly letters he receives Nancy, who after eight years has grown up into a full-blown hottie who looks a lot like Jessica Alba.

When the letters stop coming, Hartigan fears that something has happened to Nancy. So he.......hell, its just more of the same ol' wonderful ultraviolence. Only this time the recipient is a creepy, foul-smelling creature named Yellow Bastard. Yes, 'Sin City' has its moments of David Lynchian absurdity in addition to straightforward carnage.

'Sin City' is chock full of cameos by big name actors, which is usually an extremely annoying and distracting cinematic convention. But with the exception of Hartnett, most everyone holds their own and avoids falling into the trap of "look at me" grandstanding.

Willis' best days are definitely behind him - buying him in a John McClane-type role is getting increasingly difficult, especially after the Lindsey Lohan rumors and the fact that he hasn't broken Ashton Kutcher's legs yet. But he pulls it off here, believably playing a burned out cop with a kind heart and doing a reasonably convincing job of pretending he doesn't want a piece of Jessica Alba.

Owen is great as the detached killer, Dwight. He was born to play this type of role; the Cockney accent adds to the stonefaced mystique. And Del Toro is perfect as a vile cop who's as miserable in death as he was in life. The guy plays scary way too well (see "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas") not to be a creep in real life. Or maybe he's just that good of an actor.

Rourke is the film's biggest winner, both because he probably needed it more than any of the other actors and because he simply nails the role. Playing a scuzzball, he clearly drew upon his real life experience of actually being a scuzzball to bring an extra bit of believability to the part. Regardless, his performance is the best thing in 'Sin City' (except for Carla Gugino's rack).

It's tough to know what to make of 'Sin City'. It's a movie, but it's like nothing I've seen before. It will be inadequately compared to 'Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow', which was the first film to be shot entirely in front of a blue screen, as 'Sin City' was. But while 'Sky Captain' was an insufferably boring, pseudo-artsy homage to old 1930's and 40's sci-fi movies, 'Sin City' captures the seamy urban underworld of detective novels and crime serials with maximum grit and flair. It may have been created largely in the graphics lab, but it feels very vibrant and alive.

There's no deeper meaning to 'Sin City', except that it leaves you to ponder why watching a man get dragged by his face from a moving car is so damn amusing. 'Sin City' sets out to provide a specific, disposable brand of ultraviolent, ultra-visceral entertainment, and it succeeds marvelously. When a man ripping off another man's genitals with his bare hands gets the theater laughing uproariously, you know you're watching a good flick.

I give it 3.5 angry monkeys out of 4.

The Bravery at Slim's - March 29, 2005

2005-04-04T23:10:00.000-07:00

The Bravery are an interesting illustration of the fickle nature of indie music buzz. A few months ago, they were the up-and-coming band of the moment, chosen #1 in the BBC's influential "Sound of 2005" poll and all but handed the title of 'Next Big Thing.' Their debut album was leaked a few months early and received largely positive acclaim, with two singles ('Unconditional' and 'Honest Mistake') receiving pretty solid radio airplay. It seemed this was a band worth the buzz.

Then it all seemed to turn a bit sour. Before the album was even released, a torrent of backlash began to swell among those who questioned the credibility of the band, especially after the revelation that lead singer Sam Endicott had sported blond dreads as the bass player in a reportedly awful ska/rock band called Skabba the Hutt. Some picked on their sound, calling them derivative and unoriginal, while others fixated on their fashion style, which ranges from Strokes hipster chic to The Cure goth rock, painted fingernails and all.

I saw them at Cafe Du Nord back in mid-January, but was forced to give them an 'incomplete' due to A) an equipment malfunction that marred a good portion of the band's short set, and B) my extreme drunkenness, which completely erased my memories of the second half of the set.

So when I heard they were coming back to co-headline a show at Slim's with Ash, I was all in. I was digging the CD and wanted a chance to see them again in a less comatose state.

I bought tickets in late January and then proceeded to gradually lose enthusiasm about the band until their show last week. I don't know if it was the persistently negative comments I had heard in the weeks leading up to the show or the fact that the album doesn't really lend itself to repeated listens, but I was having a hard time motivating myself to head out for the Tuesday show. Two huge margaritas at Don Ramon and a few Heinies helped the cause a bit.

Ash opened up (well, The Crimea technically did, but I didn't make it for their set), and stormed through an energetic, if a bit short, set. I haven't listened to Ash that much, but they're a fun live band and they've got a great presence; there's no pretense, just music. As they wrapped up, I was wishing they'd played a bit longer than the 8 or so songs they ripped off.

Leading into The Bravery's set, I was all set to have a miserable time. I was tired, bored, and not nearly drunk enough. There was a ridiculously long wait between sets while the band's gang of retarded roadies limped around the stage in extreme......slow......motion. If these assholes had been in charge of setting up the Popmart stage, it might have taken a month.

After more than an hour, the lights dimmed and The Bravery came out to 'Unconditional', my favorite song on the album. Fuzzy memories of the first show started coming back to me, and I realized that I did indeed enjoy the show in January. And I was already on the way to enjoying this one.

When you ignore all the cynical sniping by the band's critics, it's really hard not to love their music. I challenge anyone not to dance to 'Honest Mistake' or do some heavy head-bobbing to 'Out of Line.' I've heard a lot of New Order/Joy Division/Cure rip-offs, but few of them pull it off like The Bravery.

They sounded great as they powered through an album's worth of songs, bringing a surprising amount of intensity to their live act. I had seen them on MTV a month ago and lead singer Sam Endicott seemed about as comfortable onstage as a fat girl singing 'Baby Got Back' at karaoke. So it was nice to see that he had developed something of a stage presence (even if it was a bit excessively Morrissey-esque at times).

They encored with a rousing 'Fearless' and walked off to healthy applause from the sold-out crowd. Plain and simple, they delivered. It wasn't a transcendent, religious musical experience (Pearl Jam at San Jose's Spartan Stadium in '95 was as close as I've gotten to that). But it was a helluva fun show, a solid performance by a band that has been given far too much praise and criticism in its short life.

Regardless of how derivative or manufactured or trendy the band is, they crank out thoroughly enjoyable, danceable, catchy songs. And what more is there, really?

"But you mustn't tooouucchhhhhh!!!!!"

2005-04-04T21:50:00.000-07:00

This should kill 15-20 minutes or so. I don't think I've ever liked anyone who didn't like 'The Simpsons.' Highlights: 00 Homer Song, Under the Sea Song and Dating Game Song.

Hello, McFly!

2005-04-04T21:38:00.000-07:00

This is by no means a new clip, but I nearly wet myself watching it today and felt the need to pass it along. Anyone who's ever seen an interview with Crispin Glover knows that it's an interesting viewing experience, but this puts all his other performances to shame. Here is an appearance he did on Letterman back in 1987 when he was on to promote 'The River's Edge' (also starring a pre-'Bill and Ted' Keanu Reeves). Rumor is that the guy was on acid, and good luck mounting a meaningful argument against that. Letterman knows the interview is the lost cause from the beginning, and watching him trying to half-salvage it by bantering with a shocked Paul Schaffer is the best part of the clip. OK, that's a lie. It's the karate kick, by a mile.

Pat O'Brien: A Little Too Much Access

2005-03-28T13:21:00.000-08:00

You don't get to where Pat O'Brien is without being supremely competitive. They don't just hand out jobs as host of 'Access Hollywood' or 'The Insider' - you've got to scratch, claw and molest your way to the top of the trash TV anchor food chain.

So when Bill O'Reilly ingeniously conjured up a sordid sexual harassment scandal to generate publicity, Pat knew he had to strike back. He couldn't let O'Reilly soak up all the depraved glory, further cementing his reputation as the king of sleaze "journalism."

Well, Pat has struck back with a vengeance. He's seen O'Reilly's loofah fantasy and raised him a coked-out voice-mail that would make Richard Pryor blush. But he didn't stop there. Pat has also apparently been a terror at work, harassing colleagues at holiday parties, making hilarious gay propositions and dropping N-bombs on his brothas at the office in the worst attempt to be "down" since Aaron Carter G'd up back in 2002.

There's also apparently a picture out there of Patty O going solo, which I find hilarious but hope never to see. It's just a guess, but I'm betting Pat is hung like a "Forever Young"-era Elijah Wood. He just gives off that small dick vibe.

Pat's currently hiding out in "alcohol" rehab, but it will be high comedy watching him address the issue when he emerges. "Today's top item in 'The Insider' celebrity gossip news is....what the hell?!?" Does profuse sweating cause hair plugs to spontaneously fall out? He'd better hope not.

Listen to Pat's captivating voice-mail performance here.

Insert obvious "Michael Jackson Memorial Hospital" joke here

2005-03-25T12:57:00.000-08:00

Yes, this is a real logo.

Get this man some Paxil and a bat

2005-03-24T12:16:00.000-08:00

Barry Bonds, aka "He Who Could Not Be Bothered", has begun to crack. His last few press conference performances have demonstrated a side not seen before, a bit of vulnerability. Whereas previously he had mostly been "Standoffish, Arrogant Bonds," he has morphed in the last few weeks into "Angry Bonds", "Defiant Bonds", "Candid Bonds" and, most recently, "Dejected Bonds." It's been a startling display of erratic behavior from a man who has always pretty consistently been a one-note asshole.

In a sense, it shouldn't be too surprising. There's little doubt that Bonds has it tougher than any other professional athlete. Granted, most of it is the product of his own creation, but that can't make it any easier to endure on a daily basis. He is vigorously heckled in every major league park, stalked and harrassed by the media, and held up by grandstanding politicians as emblematic of a "crisis" in professional sports (though Big Mac has graciously stepped up to take some of the heat).

He's also praised, or at the very least credited, for having an incomparable ability to tune out all external distractions and turn his complete focus to performing on the field. His numbers amid the steadily-growing furor the last few years have been simply incredible, truly seasons for the ages. He has virtually transcended the sport, becoming a player for whom opposing managers literally change the rules of the game. The relentless torrent of accusations and speculation haven't thrown him off his game a bit, an impressive feat of detachment.

But there's only so much a man can endure, and Barry's comments on Monday painted the picture of a frustrated man needing badly to come out from behind the angry facade and unburden himself, maybe plead for a bit of mercy. He trotted out his son and, somewhat poignantly, discussed the effect the turmoil has had on his family. He talked about his mental exhaustion, how he's "jumped off the bridge." He even suggested, albeit in casual fashion, that he may have to miss the entire season due to his knee injury.

The latter claim set off alarms across the nation, leading the sports media to take Bonds' half-ass exclamation and run it up the proverbial flag pole as if it were a legitimate statement of belief or intent. Suddenly, he's "missing the entire season(!!!)", headed for the glue factory ahead of schedule. Clearly, they opined, the man has been beat down by the attention and abuse; maybe, at age 40, he's had enough?

Still, I don't think it's time to call off the season just yet. Monday was just the latest chapter in the fascinating story of Barry Bonds, a guy who just can't figure out how to coexist with the media that stalks him so persistenly. Possibly the greatest athlete of the past century, Bonds is also supremely ill-equipped to handle the kind of fan attention and media scrutiny his play - and omnipresent, Pigpen-esque cloud of controversy - demand. He's also not a schmoozer and he doesn't care enough about what others think to dance for anyone. In all likelihood, he's just as moody, arrogant and self-righteous as he usually appears, and he doesn't have the energy to try and change anyone's mind. As a result, he's become a flashbulb-popping spectacle to most fans, not a human being.

People simultaneously give Bonds too much and too little credit. Some write him off as an arrogant idiot, but the man has a brain and can occasionally come off as eloquent and insightful, especially when talking about his approach to hitting. If I were a Giants player, I would pull up a stool next to his massive La-Z-Boy and try to soak up whatever knowledge I could. I'd be frequently belittled and there's a good chance he'd try to steal my personal chef, but I guarantee I'd emerge a better hitter.

But at the same time, Barry isn't smart enough to be taken seriously as a spokesman for anything except his own fractured state of mind. He has demonstrated time and again in interviews that his mouth is only periodically connected to his brain. When he gets in front of a camera or microphone, he picks a mood (usually "toxic") and spews a word salad of comments that have no consistency; I've literally heard him blatantly contradict himself in consecutive sentences. In the past few years, we've heard Barry threaten retirement a number of times, blame racism for his persecution over his (admitted) use of steroids, attempt to diminish the gravity of steroid use by comparing it to labor exploitation in Third World countries, and reassure us about the size and functionality of his testicles. Clearly this is not a man who sticks to his PR script when talking to the press.

The defining Barry Bonds quote, one that puts all of his ramblings and diatribes into perspective, was uttered to the NY Post about a year ago: "I don't even believe half the shit I say." And if you've listened to him enough, you know that he doesn't.

No, Barry Bonds will not be retiring. Nor will he be missing the season. In fact, I'll be surprised if he misses more than a couple of weeks. The guy hasn't run at full speed since 1998, so having a slightly gimpy knee isn't going to affect him as much as most players. Bonds, for all his prima donna behavior and occasional bouts of verbal diarrhea, is a fierce competitor who desperately wants to win a World Series. And he, like everyone else in San Francisco, knows that it ain't happening unless he carries the Giants there on his massive shoulders.

So I join the rest of the Giants nation in hoping that Barry shakes his case of the blues sooner than later and starts treating fans and media with the same indifferent distaste he always has. Until I see #25 out there dogging fly balls in left field and crushing fastballs into the Cove, it just won't feel like baseball season.

Spoon Hitting the Road - And Coming to Amoeba!

2005-03-22T23:25:00.000-08:00

With their new album, 'Gimme Fiction', set for official release on May 20, Spoon is hitting the road in the coming months. I can't say I'm loving the new CD; it's OK, but a bit boring and nowhere near as good as 'Kill the Moonlight.' But having seen two Britt Daniel solo shows in the past year, I am really looking forward to seeing the full band perform live. In addition to the June 20 show (at the Fillmore, I believe, though it doesn't specify below), Spoon is doing an in-store gig at the legendary Amoeba Music in the Haight.

Here are the Spoon 2005 US tour dates:

06.01.05 - Atlanta, GA - Variety Playhouse
06.02.05 - Carrboro, NC - Cat's Cradle
06.03.05 - Washington, DC - 9:30 Club
06.04.05 - Philadelphia, PA - Theatre of Living Arts
06.05.05 - Toronto, Ontario - Lee's Palace
06.06.05 - Northampton, MA - Pearl Street
06.07.05 - Boston, MA - Paradise Rock Club
06.08.05 - New York, NY - Webster Hall
06.09.05 - New York, NY - Webster Hall
06.10.05 - Cleveland, OH - Beachland Ballroom
06.11.05 - Chicago, IL - Vic Theatre
06.12.05 - Minneapolis, MN - First Avenue
06.13.05 - Lawrence, KS - Granada
06.14.05 - Denver, CO - Bluebird Theater
06.16.05 - Portland, OR - Crystal Ballroom
06.17.05 - Vancouver, British Columbia
06.18.05 - Seattle, WA - Showbox
06.20.05 - San Francisco, CA - TBA
06.21.05 - Los Angeles, CA - TBA
06.22.05 - Tempe, AZ - TBA
06.24.05 - Dallas, TX - TBA
06.25.05 - Austin, TX - TBA

Coldplay: Paying for the Sins of Keane

2005-03-22T16:50:00.000-08:00

Coldplay has gotten the shaft in the court of musical opinion of late. A few years ago, pre-platinum album sales and arena tours, they were an essential buzz band, praised for their unique sound and great live presence. Well, some claimed they were highly derivative of U2, but most everyone agreed that they were a great new band destined for big things.

Now, the buzz has dried up and the perception is that Coldplay has officially become a 'supergroup.' That label, while complimentary in a sense, can also be dubious praise. A lot of music fans, occasionally myself included, have a hard time getting really excited about a band unless they feel they're among the 'early adopters', discovering a musical jewel before it goes mainstream. When a band 'makes it' and is embraced by the masses, being a fan just isn't as fun. Telling people you saw Coldplay at Shoreline Amphitheater, surrounded by 35,000 12-year-olds and pinheads who spend the whole show chanting "Play 'Yellow'!", isn't likely to impress anyone.

Since 2000, Coldplay has released two solid-to-stellar albums that had the misfortune of getting grossly overplayed (no fault of the band's), toured the globe a few times over, taken up some political causes, and married a (formerly) A-list Hollywood actress. So perhaps they've knowingly forfeited some of their indie credibility, but has that made them any less of a band?

The recent announcement of their new album and world tour hasn't been met with much enthusiasm from "in the know" music fans. Some act as though Coldplay is at fault for their rapid rise to musical glory, as though they should share the blame for inspiring countless, and mostly inferior, ripoff bands featuring soft piano, emotional lyrics, and falsetto-wailing lead singers.

And that's simply not fair. When you strip away image or fan dynamics or gossip column prominence, Coldplay is simply an innovative, talented band with a knack for churning out catchy, melodic songs. They've progressed musically with each album, a fact that bodes well with a new release coming in a few months. They may not be Franz Ferdinand or Bloc Party or whatever other flavor of the month is charming indie hearts (including my own) at the moment, but they're not Pearl Jam either, a once great band that hasn't made a listenable song in years.

I'm anxiously awaiting the pirated leak or, God forbid, the official release of the new album, 'X&Y', due out June 6. I may skip the show at Shoreline, however.

For a preview of the new album, check out this live recording of Coldplay's performance from the March 12 KCRW concert at Universal Amphitheater in LA.