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EZRA 2009-11-06 4:22 p.m. This is unconventional, but I'm just too eager and I does what I wants in my own blog. I have half of an entry saved to Word on D.C. but Vampire Weekend will have to come first. The experience was just too much to keep bottled up and there are too many details that I refuse to forget. Because the new album is heavily influenced by (and I think recorded in?) California, Vampire Weekend has decided to do a truly stupid tour around the state. They're playing eight or so shows in places that don't deserve to be inhabited e.g. Lomita, Santa Cruz and our chosen destination: Pioneertown. There was a show in Long Beach but that sold out and yet another that was just 45 minutes away in Lomita. Neither Christina nor I could remember why we weren't logical and decided against Lomita in favor of Pioneertown, a whole two hours away - three with traffic and Christina's nerves. I think we figured we would make a day of it: dinosaurs, shopping and gambling in Cabazon nearby. Plus, Pioneertown just sounds quaint. Little did we know that it would turn out to be the sort of scene many horror movies could be produced from.
Pitch dark. That friendly glow is "the machine" that Christina couldn't comprehend. The night got out to a rocky start and we left for the show much later than we should have. Luckily Christina and I started riffing right out the gate and had honestly the funniest thirty seconds of our lives within minutes of getting in the car. To make sure that we could still get in despite being so late, I tried to call the venue to confirm. Neither Christina nor I have caved in and gotten a blackberry or iPhone yet, so we had to harass Lara into looking up the number for us. Of course I couldn't be serious and ask the question right away. Too easy, too smart. 50% of all my phone calls are jokes, and this couldn't be an exception. "Wait, what should I pretend to be? Some NGO for her work?" Usually I have the best poker voice (see: Loveline circa 2007) but Christina undermines me in the ultimate way. We both erupted in laughter at this point, and Lara sounded distressed and confused on the other side of the line. "I can't understand a single thing you guys are 'saying'. I can't understand you when you laugh! You guys!" After I hung up and Lara gave us the address (good girl, I wouldn't have been so patient and kind), I realized that people probably don't have molar surgery because they're the most essential teeth. Whoops.
This is how nondescript our destination was: "Other Desert Cities". We entertained each other really well for the arduous drive there. A key joke that ran throughout the night is what I would call "EZRA" were we a comedy duo and this a sketch. Lead singer Ezra Koenig will be forever associated with good feeling for us because of All Points West. When it was pouring and I was trying to fight off misery and appreciate being front row for the headliners at a festival, Ezra stopped to make an announcement in the middle of their set. He told us that because of the godAWFUL rain beating down, everyone could come back for another day of the festival. Oh Ezra. He had nothing to do with the decision by the staff, but he was the adorably chubby Jewish face to front their brains. When I kept describing how fond I am of Ezra Koenig to people because of what happened at APW, the joke escalated to ridiculous proportions. I told people that he was probably going to announce free food, then that we won the lottery or there's peace in the Middle East, and end the night by proposing to me. As we got more and more frustrated by how far and remote the place was, we decided that Ezra was going to have to pull some serious shit to make it up to us.
Let me just say... EZRA. Make this random Ross and Kohl's in Riverside open for us to shop. EZRA. Take us to this special McDonald's and get us McFlurries. EZRA. Get us a hotel room at Morongo, because obviously we can't drive home and it's your fault we're so far! EZRA. Stand perfectly still and let Christina fake/maybe really slap you in this picture so she can blog about her ring and we can punish you for being so retarded. Honestly. EZRA. Where is your manager so we can speak to him about how stupid it is to book a show in the desert! Once we got off of the freeway, the drive took a harrowing turn. For awhile we had to drive through areas of high wind, surrounded by sinister-looking windmills. Christina didn't know how to deal with her phobia very well, and kept nervously pressing down on the pedal or twisting the wheel to drift into the other lane. The last five miles to the venue were in pitch black darkness with no signs of civilization. We drove up a mountain into the wild. At last we arrived in Pioneer"town". It was a small step up from a dirt road. There were no buildings in sight other than "Pappy and Harriet's" which was unfortunately where we were going. The second we stepped out of the car, our shoes filled with sand; "Thank God I didn't waste my cute shoes on this place!" Within seconds of stepping inside the bar, we counted half a dozen cowboy hats and knew with deep conviction: We were too pretty to be there. And that's never a good sign.
We couldn't hide our alarm or disdain in reaction to the crowd around us. Everyone was obviously local and therefore unappealing. Christina kept calling them "hill people" and I really didn't believe we were still in California. It was Texas. We drove to Texas for a night. Men kept rubbing up against Christina when there was no music playing and therefore no reason to dance. A girl presumably trying to get past me groped me all over and ended on a happy note (for her, not me) by grabbing my boob. These people were just very handsy, unclean, and loud. EZRA. On a positive note, we got there at the perfect time. VW went on ten minutes after we got in, meaning we missed the opening band and didn't have to stand in this gross crowd for too long. For the first few songs, Christina and I were behind the tallest people in the room. Truly. It was ridiculous to think that we had better spots at a festival of thousands of people over the summer, and couldn't get to the front in a crowd of 70. Again with the men rubbing up on Christina. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and asked an oversealous giant if he minded if we were in front of him. He couldn't have, because he had a good six inches on me and ten on Christina. Once we got in front of him, our position kept improving through the set.
Despite the barbaric surroundings, this VW experience turned out better than APW. I was sweaty, but that's to be expected at a show. Much better than God steadily dousing me with gallons of rainwater for forty-five minutes. EZRA is a decent enough frontman, but Chris Baio was the true gem. I really respect musicians who smile at the audience and look like they appreciate the audience and are enjoying themselves. AKA not you, Rostam. Oh Rostam, how will Christina ever live with you? We've decided that she has to marry him because he's persian and her parents will approve. Yet there will always be a weird sexual tension in the group because she's in love with the VW drummer and Rostam's best friend, Wes from Ra Ra Riot. Our imaginary lives get very complicated, you see. For a long while after the show we hung around trying to catch EZRA and give him our list of grievances and demands. They were too big for their britches though, and didn't stick around to mingle with the common people. It took Christina and I a long time to realize this - just long enough to be harassed by a dirty desert version of Russel Brand and his 12 yo cohort.
We were standing outside in the sand because again, no pavement, taking pictures with the tin roof and mustang murals. Russell Brand and Prepuberty sat a few feet away from us on a log - A LOG, whispering back and forth before Russell started shouting at me. "Hey denim jacket!" As I was not wearing a denim jacket, I didn't respond. "You! Denim, come here!" I did that embarrassing thing where you look over your shoulder, unsure. He was indeed yelling at me. "That is not how you talk to someone if you want them to come over." "But I'm not. I'm wearing like, a sheet. Oh hey, you're wearing a sheet too. Hey Sheeter! Come here." I just kept laughing incredulously before we finally escaped - but not before he got up to walk towards me while shouting, "HEY BANGS!" Denim jacket, Sheeter, Bangs. All things a girl wants to be called. After that incident, we didn't stay in one spot for too long for fear of a run-in. Christina circled around the bar several times with her car, looking for EZRA to no avail. It was the epitome of a drive-by: creepy and with malicious intent. At last we had to give up and make the long trek home. Even though we didn't get home at an unbearable hour, I was still frustrated that EZRA didn't comp us a room in Palm Springs for the night. God.
Wild Wild West!
High noon: faceoff in the saloon.
Marlboro Man.
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