Earlier this week I finally picked up Paloma Faith’s A Perfect Contradiction at Half Price Books after finding it but putting it back a few weeks earlier. $7 felt like a little much to pay for a format no one wants sitting on their shelf anymore. It’s been more than worth the 64 cents per song to have such a great go-to album parked in my car’s CD slot. I have a lot of trouble getting into new music and often end up listening to the same five artists. This wasn’t a problem with Paloma Faith, at all. I knew a few songs and liked them a lot, but wan’t totally sure what to expect when the car stereo kicked on. Instant connection. Also, I’m amazed and thrilled by who Paloma Faith is. Bold and unforgiving, classic elegance, and a beautiful, brilliant weirdo. She’s all these things. Everyone is a multitude of things.
Much of my week was taken up by the tracking down, winning, and use of Bon Jovi tribute band tickets, a story that doesn’t have much of a logical fit in my life, but that you can read about fully in yesterday’s blog post. All I can say with certainty is that it was an experience.
I also got to meet my amazing friend Lupe at Cafe Brazil to drink diet soda and eat cheese-based excuses for dinner – cheese fries for her and nachos for me. We talked about how important representation is in media and what shows are doing it right (shoutout to Adventure Time, Regular Show, and just Cartoon Network in general). We talked about being critical of the things you love and making sure that what you’re consuming is in line with what you believe, or at least being able to separate yourself from what isn’t. I ate too many nachos and far too few nutrients.
I’m putting forward the new Loose Tapestries track for official Christmas song of the rest of our hall-decked lives, but I’ll settle for cementing it on repeat for the rest of December, at least. (If you don’t know Loose Tapestries, check them out for sure, but on Can’t Wait For Christmas that’s Idris Elba rapping at the end.)
At my job I periodically check Tweetdeck to keep an eye on the downtown community and see if there’s anything I should be ‘engaging with’. On Thursday a local company tweeted that they’d sent out some elves to roam the city with Bon Jovi tickets, and gave out clues as to where they were. At least, the Topgolf Dallas elves thought they had Bon Jovi tickets, but I can tell you now with certainty that they were for a tribute band. Because after years of Gishwhes training (and clues that pointed to the elves being right down the block from my office), my scavenger hunt instincts switched on like Christmas lights. I don’t particularly care to go see Bon Jovi, or their tribute band Blaze of Glory, but for one week straight every summer my brain gets trained to “do it for the hunt”. I guess it’s a drive that comes when it’s called. If only I could employ laser-focus and uncomfortableness for un-comfort’s sake outside of scavenger hunts.
After struggling to come up with the name of even four Bon Jovi songs, I still had to admit that I really do like that one, and decided to go. Luckily I have an awesome friend who was up for it, and didn’t mind trading in our prior craft-making plans to stand in the back of the House of Blues and slightly sway.
The show started with a Pat Benetar cover band made up exclusively of children. At first it was odd, but it turned out to be the best part of the night, if only because the songs were better (gasp) and there was a significant lack of terrible wigs. Also, we didn’t notice until midway through the final song of the Mötley Crüe cover band’s set that they were not the Bon Jovi cover band. Having cemented our status as not Bon Jovi fans, we decided to leave right after hearing this song. To fulfill that pledge, we unsurprisingly had to stay through the entire night.
Turns out my friend Emily is not one to slightly sway and I’m more of a person to shift around erratically until it somewhat resembles dancing. So as we looked around the room and tried to guess each person’s motivation for being there, I’m sure everyone further back was looking at the pair of us and wondering the same thing. We did seem a little out of place – this was my very first time to ever see people holding up actual lighters at a concert.
We went home and sat down to recap the night, coming up with more questions than concrete statements of what had just happened. What kind of person does it take to form and find success in a hairpiece clad tribute band? How did these musically talented, Pat Benetar-loving children find each other, and what are their moms like? Which of the guests had actually bought tickets to be there, and why? There’s a whole world of touring tribute bands out there, and by happenstance, we’d been exposed to it. It was a learning experience, really. If I can’t call the evening educational, I don’t have any other words to describe it. Reflecting on the scene, I realized that behind every successful tribute band, there’s likely a dedicated lighting hire company ensuring every performance shines as brightly as the originals they pay homage to. And amidst all this, we couldn’t help but ponder about the logistics behind the scenes – the power source that kept the stage alive, the subtle hum of the generator hire supplying electricity to the vibrant spectacle. Also, for covering some big screen events, you can click here to explore our video wall hire options.
These days, popularity and cultural relevancy are often measured by amount of Twitter followers. Julia Nunes has over 34,000. It’s a pretty good number – it shows she’s fairly well known, but isn’t famous enough to be plagued by twitter spam bots. And as a prevalent YouTube musician, Julia could easily be filling up – at least some of the smaller – music venues. (For example, Mike Tompkins recently opened for the Jonas Brothers on their tour this past August, right before their breakup cut it short. Playlist Live, the music festival featuring strictly YouTube personalities, sells out each year, with tickets going for over $100.) But, by choice, Julia Nunes plays to 40 – 50 people each night, and she does it from random people’s living rooms. She finally came to Texas this November, and I got to experience what it’s like to see a show on the living room circuit.
Julia rose to YouTube fame through her ukulele covers of popular songs. This got her the attention of notable musicians such as Ben Folds, who then asked Julia to open a few shows for him. She performed at the Bushman World Ukulele Festival, and was part of the YouTube Ukulele Orchestra. She also has performances of her own songs on YouTube and three released albums. Her music is mostly acoustic and ranges from slow and somewhat sad, to upbeat, but not quite danceable.
Living room shows aren’t extremely common. Undertow Tickets, the main living room tour organizer, usually has about five artists on tour at any given time. It’s up to the artist to publicize for it – I found out through Twitter. When I went to the Undertow website and bought my ticket it said there were only eight left. The address was a secret until I got the ticket in my email inbox. Underneath it said to arrive from 7:00 – 7:45, and the show would begin at 8. I got to the house right at 7 but I drove around for 10 minutes. I didn’t know what to expect – I didn’t want to be the first one there. When I finally pulled up to the house, I wasn’t even sure it was the right one. It was too dark to read the house number. But through the windows and glass door I could see an unusually high number of people milling about, and a pretty large collection of candles sitting in sporadic clumps, so it seemed likely this was the place. Inside, about ten people sat and stood, drinking water out of mason jars. I stared at them and they stared at me, until a woman walked up to me, about my height but a little older. She said hi, and I said hi. There was a pause before she asked if I had my ticket – which was only the information email I’d printed out. But showing it to her made me feel less like a stranger in someone’s home and more like I was there attending a show, even though really, I was both. “There’s cucumber water in the kitchen,” she added, “and beer if you’re 21.”
The room was arranged with the couch off to the side, in a little nook with a window to the from porch. Mismatched chairs outlined the rest of the room. I took a seat on the side of the couch, trying to leave as much room as possible. Slowly, others arrived, and it was definitely others of all demographics. The youngest looked about twelve, but I was surprised to see those parents-aged, since Julia Nunes is only 24, and the only seating left by then was on the floor.
As the room filled up, I started to think no one else could possibly fit, but the guests kept coming. I made friends with the three others on the couch, the one scrunched up on the floor in the corner, and the one on the floor in front of me, leaning back on my legs. My seat was right by that window to the front porch, and I watched even more people enter and squeeze in. The living room was completely full – overfull. Suddenly the small crowd turned their heads, and Julia was the one coming in. She hadn’t been hiding in some backstage/master bedroom combo, she just came in the front door.
With Julia on her ukulele and Will Sturgeon, her friend and bandmate, on guitar, the night resembled a group of friends sitting in a circle, listening to their one musical friend play what they’ve been learning – only Julia is much more talented. She was very encouraging about audience participation, and even called out a few people for hitting some impressive high notes. She covered Lorde’s “Royals”, causing 50 people to attempt harmonizing in unison. It didn’t always work, but it brought such a sense of unity to the room that it was beautiful anyway.
Before the last two songs, she stopped singing for a while to have a Q&A session. The first came from a young woman, accompanied with an eraser ring and was, “Will you marry me?” to which Julia answered, yes, and accepted the ring. After that, questions were fairly Nunes-centric, such as, “I heard you say you took a Beatles class in college, what was that like?”
Julia ends each show by getting a group picture. She said this would be one of the hardest ones because the room was so small and there were so many people. Someone turned on the lights and we scrunched the best we could manage.
The experience of a living room show was absolutely void of a concert kind of feel. While I was aware I wasn’t exactly in a room full of friends, we had all crammed into this room together for the same reason. The choice to play living rooms instead of proper venues not only made the night more memorable, but showed another unique way of how the boundaries of a musical experience can be pushed.
