Toothpick in mouth, chamomile tea in hand (a box of which was a gift from me), Chicago’s Willis Earl Beal took to the Biltmore Cabaret stage alone, clutching two books: The Little Book of Zen and a Bukowksi poetry collection. He read from Zen then chucked it over his head.

He read “The Harder You Try” from Chuck and we chuckled over the line “just being able to scratch yourself and be nonchalant is victory”. He welcomed us to the “Church of Willis Earl Beal”. He’s starting calling his gigs that, he said, because he’s a raging “egomaniac.”

Then he took hold of a whiskey and took off into the microphone.

“I’VE GOT A BONE BLEACHED STICK WITH TERMITE HOLES…” came this old-timey soul belter of a voice and the club went absolutely silent (until the drunkards arrived stage right).

His mouth opened wide during “Wavering Lines” and he spilled the drink in his hand. When he was done, I kid you not, the room collectively exhaled, and people shook their heads. The voice had been that powerful.

But this is the thing; Beal isn’t just a soul singer. Not in the smooth Gaye way. Not in the Northern Soul Mayfield way. Not in the theatrical Little Richards way.  Not just in the great godly gospel way (though there’s more of this here than anything).

There’s something otherworldly going on here. Wearing his kinda-now-typical skull shirt, shades and, inexplicably, an oversized leather winter glove on his right hand – Beal is quirky. He’s a portrait artist – used to be obsessed with drawing Sarah Michelle Gellar – and if you write to him, he will send you a drawing. It used to also be that you could call him and he’d sing you a song. Today, his voicemail is apologetic: he has had too many calls, but he still loves us. The phone songs are on hold, as it were.

He’s written a small chapbook, called the Principles of a Protagonist, that comes photocopied inside his vinyl and CDs. It is a fascinating tale of how anyone can achieve anything. Case in point.

Live, he picks at his flat guitar on his lap – “how do you play this thing?” he asks tonight, and he’s not kidding. He’s recorded his debut on “bad equipment. I like it this way, I hope you do too”. His back up band is a reel-to-reel.

His cloak is NOBODY – his drawing of an eerie xxxxs-for-eyes happy face.  He stands on a chair and belts. He uses his belt on a chair.

“Cosmic Queries” sounds eerie and thick in the dry ice tonight. “White Noise” is about “redemption.” “Sambo Joe and the Rainbow” is immense. It’s larger than the room and possibly most of East Vancouver.

But the there’s something else. The reigning King of Lo-Fi, Lou Barlow, calls him the “new king of lo-fi sweetness”.

“He’s heard of me?” asks Beal later. “He likes my stuff?”

He doesn’t know who Lou Barlow is, “I don’t know many people,” he says, and you believe him because anybody who spents more time in libraries instead of Facebook can be trusted. When I tell him Barlow’s a fan, the man standing next to Beal nods reverently. “I’m a fan of Barlow’s,” that man says. “That’s high praise.” I tell Beal I will send him some Barlow. They are kinda brothers in music, in a way.

So, sweetness.

This isn’t just a charismatic young man relying on the voice and well-timed showbiz jiggery pokery (the aesthetics of the reel-to-reel, the belt and blanket) on stage. There’s vulnerability in among the tape hiss and bad equipment on his album. “Evening’s Kiss” is simply so beautiful. In “Always My Lover,” he cries. ACTUALLY cries. On stage, he’s exhausted. He’s played for just over an hour and is spent. “Why these shows have to be so goddamn long?,” he jokes. It’s kind of been visceral.

Acousmatic Sorcery, his debut, is a weird thing. It’s got a bit of a voodoo, some absolutely stunning moments, and some strange plinking noises. Most people who now see Beal live, come away loving him. They might not love the album, though. And Beal wants you to know that. “This isn’t like that was,” he says to me, nodding at the vinyl I’m holding and gesturing towards the stage. “Oh, I know. It’s awkward,” I say. “And that’s what I like.” He puts down his Sharpie – there’s a queue wanting to meet him – and shakes my hand.

And the tea? Oh, I knew about the tea from the time he plastered Chicago in 2009 with flyers. It had a drawing of himself, some words and was advertising for a soulmate. He said he liked “oatmeal, trainstations, nighttime and chamomile tea”. “Did you see,  I had the tea!” he said to me, after. I saw.

Whatever this strange Beal is, he’s also a fully-fledged superstar. You just don’t know it yet.

There’s a line in that Bukowski poem, “If there is a light, it will find you.” Lordy, it has found Beal. \m/

She’s a great remixer, and a prolific writer, spitting out home-grown EPs faster than you can say “So Fast, So Maybe”, one of the good ones live, along with “Messin With My Head” and “No, duh.” And as for indie cred? Best tracks at the Media Club are “We Hate Everyone” (a collab she did with Liam from The Prodigy), “Less Than Zero” (featuring a The XX sample) and “Stop, Focus”, (which has us, uh headbanging to bits of The Decemberists’ “The Wanting Comes in Waves/Repaid.”) See what I mean?  Which brings us to…

2. …the fact that she’s bridged the Great Crossover. K.Flay’s got b-boy fanboys, hipsters, headbangers, good girls and hardcore rappers all drooling for her. No easy feat, it’s kind of what Die Antwoord’s managed and K is winning them wit and skill, not rats and ridiculous. 

3. She’s got an amazing drummer out with her. Songs seem enormous live as Nick Suhr bashes out on drums and pads, earphone in so he can catch the loop. He’s an absolute pleasure to watch, and fills out the room beyond Flay’s Macbook. Astounding.

4. She’s goofy. On tour, she poses for pictures against signs of streetnames that she thinks are dirty. Bush Ave, Prince Albert St, etc. Can’t wait till she tours Dildo, Newfoundland.

5. She’s nice. Whether’s she’s sweat-ily agreeing to throw us the rockhands while at SXSW or taking time to receive every cup of gush that the young b-boys throw on her after the show, Flay proves that you don’t have to be a dickhead to be a rapper.

6. She experiments, just gets it out there. She’s done a ton of EPs, a ton of remixes and a ton of really good videos. ONE EVEN HAS PUPPETS IN EM! Check ‘em all here.

7. She’s genuine. A track loop fucks up on stage, she just laughs, shrugs, calls it like she sees it. Her computer is giving her a hard time. Nae bother. She starts over again. Similarly…

8. She’s no bullshit. No fronting. No cheesy gold chains or ghetto “chic”. She’s just…a cool kid, with nice trainers and a Nixon watch, a dual degree in sociology and psychology from Stanford, who likes the Joy Formidable….and can rap at Warp Factor 11.

9. She works her ass off and is super high energy. Bounces high off her red kicks, headbangs, drums along with Suhr, lunges into the crowd. There might have been only 50 people in the crowd tonight but she performed as if there was 500. That’s style.

10. She does this thing with her tongue. You know how they say “spittin’ out rhymes”? K spends most of her time rapping with her tongue sandwiched between her upper and lower teeth, as if it’s she’s biting down on it. It’s kind of totally adorable and impossible to miss.

11. This. Stick with it past the “La, la, la, las…” \m/

“Never thought I’d see you here,” my friend Steven said, as I signed in to get my passes for Our Lady Peace and The Pack AD at the Commodore Ballroom in Vancouver on April 19.

“Aren’t Our Lady Peace a bit, uh, MAINSTREAM for you?

“Oh yeah! Totally!” I proclaim gleefully. See, OLP is listed in the great Canon of 90s Radio-Friendly Canadiana, a territory I shouldn’t have, but actually traversed, on occasion, growing up in Toronto.

And me and OLP go way back. Why? Because they were always really good rock band. And how far back? WAY BACK. To ‘92, when they formed. When Mike Turner, their first guitarist, used to drive me to the Much Music Video Awards aftershow parties. When first bassist Chris Eacrett stood on stage,  sullenly. When singer Raine Maida wore baseball caps. When drummer Jeremy Taggart looked like DJ Teen Daze instead of  a member of Black Wizard. When I was in the crowd for the filming of their ‘94 video “Naveed” (you can’t see me, but Raine did call out my name from the stage back then. #son’yeah)

“…Plus,” I continued, “I go where my girls in the Pack AD go.” And that, that part is substantially true. My mates have been on tour for yonks and it’s time for a catchup.  A double bill of Canadian rock old and new? I shall take it!  Then I skipped inside.

Action shot of Maya Miller and Becky Black hammering out the dirty rock that they’re so ruddy good at. OLP fans young and old look slightly confused by the  grit of the duo’s music, but nod along appreciatively.  Hey, mainstream radio, this is a band you SHOULD be playing alla time. Need I remind you that newish album Unpersons is available for your playlists? Cancon and on!

“Well, I drank two bottles of wine. And then I threw up. And felt just fine. I was only thinking of you. And then I thought of you. And then I forgot again,” Becky belts during “Rid of Me” and I swoon. They’re so fucking rock. “BC is on Fire” is weighted by Maya’s thundering drums, “Haunt You” sounds aces, and “Deer” elicits sighs of headbanging.

YARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH BECKY! RAWK! *throws the horns*

Soon it’s time for OLP. Squeals abound in the sold-out Commodore Ballroom. There’s a new album out, Curve, and the first two tracks tonight are the first two from here. “Innocent” and “Fire in the Henhouse” flood over the crowd. There’s love in the room, even as Raine keeps his typical straightface.

Steve Mazur belts out over the “Monkey Brains” and OLP classic “Superman”. Not pictured: Mazur’s insanely awesome pedal/effects rig.

Gregg Allman. Sorry, drummer Jeremy Taggart.

Michael Raine Maida, former criminology student.

\

I sneak upstairs/backstage to take in the show from above. There’s some loops in the curtains and a few of us peer through. OLP really are sounding that good…I’d kinda forgotten that fact.

I tap on the Pack AD’s green room door to find Becky and Maya filling goody bags. It’s the second-last show of the tour with OLP, and rather than schlep stuff over the border, they’re putting together fun gifts for the band. Included: glow sticks, candy-filled golf clubs (most of the band love to putt), giant sunglasses. “We kinda do this for all the bands we tour with,” says Maya. AWWWWWW.

During “Thief”, the band (Jeremy, keyboardist Robin and Duncan, above) leave Raine & Steve on stage to play alone, and nip backstage for a breather. They walk past me as I’m peering over the curtains. Duncan’s all smiles upstairs. After the show, he insists we’ve met before. We have, butabout 15 years ago.  ”I was in the ‘Naveed’ video,” I say. “No shit!” he grins. “And I pretty much remember the day you joined the band.” He beams. Duncan’s good people. And he heads back down and on stage. “Starseed” and “Clumsy” begin…

…while we three sneak the gift bags into OLP’s dressing room. SHHH surprise! “We’re such dorks,” says Becky, “Nah, yer adorkable,” I say, and we line up the fun. “Can I steal another beer?” I ask Becky as I finish up a piece of their pizza as well. “Sure, go on, you aren’t called the Backstage Rider for nothing…”

Meanwhile, during the encore – “Fast as You Can”, “Anybody Home”, and “Permanent” (a track Madia wrote with American Idol David Cook) – we’re in total singalong territory. They wrap with “4am” and leave the stage, and head back to find presents…

…here Jeremy, Becky and Robin ham around in slightly oversized glasses. Someone’s got a glow stick. “I feel like I’m drunk” Robin exclaims as she wears the shades around. Everyone’s in really good spirits. How can you not be with a candy-filled golf club?

Then it’s time to drink up, wipe the pizza sauce off my gob and find the lads. Jeremy and I chat briefly, and I see Raine by the door of the meet-and-greet room.  He’s ensconced in a group, chatting and being serious. I pat him on the arm as I head out. “I interviewed you last time you were out here, solo,” I say. “We have history. I’m Mikala.”  And Raine Maida smiles a great big smile. “OH YEAH!” he says, breaking the serious. “It’s good to see you again!”

And the feeling’s mutual. It’s been a while. I forgot that I like Our Lady Peace.\m/

But it was just some sort of Kevin Kane tease before the final song, up there on stage at the Rickshaw in Vancouver. Either that or I’d misheard, gone deaf from the previous awesome Canadiana folk-rock. (A possibility considering we’re all – okay, well, not new fourth member Robert Watt – OLD now.)

What I did hear were the classics. The usuals: from fave super oldies “A Dream About You” and “Misunderstanding” through Treehouse hits, “All The Things I Wasn’t”, a rocktacular drum-fest by the elder Hooper (Chris) on “A Fishing Tale”, “Do You Want To Tell Me?” plus all the soft rockin’ goodness sung by the Tom (the Younger) Hooper.

Even though there were bass troubles, cold-fluey heads and the fact the club video guy either played the dreadful hockey game or his Mac settings on the side screens, the show elicited the typical warm n’ fuzzies one gets from a revisit from the Wrath.

But me? I’m looking forward to the new stuff, chaps. Get thee to, uh, Orangeville with producer Darryl Neudorf, and crank out some future gems, so I can hop in my T.A.R.D.I.S, zoom ahead in time, revisit THOSE songs, then ask the same question I always do: how the hell have these guys not aged? \m/

They’re not big, they’re not clever, and some of them have ridiculous hair, but I do love me some Kasabian sometimes. There’s something about that British Liam-swagger, the brilliant bright lights and the arena rock cock…iness that appeals. Tonight, opener “Days are Forgotten” spins, “Velociraptor” is manic and “Club Foot” is as enormous as you’d expect from the band’s main bangin’ choon. “L.S.F” and “Fire” (the pre-encore and encore enders) have the place jumping, including Pizzorno. “Thick as Thieves” wraps with a line or two from the Doors’ “People are Strange”, and then Pizzorno dedicates “Black Whistle” to “the weed smokers.” Meighan runs around, poses, crosses himself and faux-prays, but the guys are givin’ ‘er and it’s a good time. It’s not quite empire, but it’s pretty good fun. \m/

I’m not in Austin (cue violins).

I’m broke, and apparently, there are a few other people down there writing about it, so I don’t need to be. But I do have spies. And one spy, Giselle Larcombe (who is more hipster than all of you though she hates when I call her that) has told me that Youth Lagoon, Widowspeak, Daughter, ExitMusic and Hospitality have all been rad.

But probably not as rad as this girl. This is Kristine Flaherty, otherwise known as K. Flay. And we dig K. Flay. Man, do we dig K. Flay.

And so, apparently, do a lotta them movers and shakers, ‘cos girl is getting some serious attention (in the way that serious attention equates to blog coverage and an exhaustive touring/media schedule that hustles her around Uhmerika). She’s currently deep in the heart of Texas trying to win the hearts and minds of the music industry – or whatever it is they do down there besides drink- and is most likely doing a spiffing job of it.

Why do we like K.Flay? She’s got good flow, is edgy but not pretentious, samples the XX, transfers well live, puts out a ton of lo-fi, cool videos, is pretty hands-on with her own social media and marketing and, yunno, is just groovy. Check out her YouTube video channel here.

So thanks to Giselle for cornering K after the Noise Pop Showcase today at Red Eyed Fly, and making her throw the goats for us here at BSR Central. (Check out last year’s awesome collection of SXSW rockhands!)

K Flay, we know you look knackered, a bit narked off (or izzat just badass?) and prolly hate us for publishing this fuzzy iPhone pic, but WE LOVE YOU, SO THANK YOU. Oh, and any videos with puppets in it are cool. Plus you can download her latest EP here, for free or in exchange for a tweet or like. \m/

FACT: When I was living in London I used to order from the Bombay Bicycle Club curry shop regularly. Their papadums almost always arrived soggy.

FACT: There is a London band named after a chain of curry shops.

FACT: This is about them.

Anyway. Bit of an ebb and flow show for Bombay Bicycle Club at the Commodore Ballroom in Vancouver on February 21^st.

All the ingredients were there: a full, young, perky crowd singing along, great energy and smiles from the six-piece, and a rad start with “How Can You Swallow So Much Sleep” flowing into “Your Eyes”. They’ve got a nice wooshy early-90s shoegaze-mushed-with-pop-and-folk-sound. Their latest album, A Different Fix was pretty good. Guitarist Jamie ably encouraged the kids to clap, and they did! There was genuine love for Vancouver: “I’m sorry it’s taken us so long to get here,” said Jack the Polite Lead Singer, and, later, “We had one of the best days off. I know it’s cheesy but we rented tandem bicycles and went around Stanley Park. And some of us took a floatplane. It’s beautiful here.”  Lovely chaps, the BBC.

But after a few songs of it, something became apparent: they’ve got  just a few songs of it. In turns, things started to sound…eep, samey.

So it was like being on a see-saw: Woo! I like them!/Hmm, I’m a bit bored/Woo! I like them again!/Hmm, think I’ll check my phone/Woo! Rockin’ out!/

Hmm…oh my gods, is that Yannis Philippakis from one of my fave UK band the FOALS hanging out by the bar? CHRIST! IT IS! TO THE BAR!

(Whereupon I promptly ended up in a fun conversation with Yannis about why he was in town. First, he said “mates” until I said: “you’re here for a girl, right?” at which point he looked a bit bashful, smiled and mumbled “yeah”. We talked about the last time he was in town – last May when he checked out Yeasayer. And he he asked me: “Hey, didn’t you write something about us last time we played here?”. Oh you mean this review of when Foals had a mental breakdown on stage and I called you on it over Twitter? YES. YES I DID WRITE THAT.”I thought you had lost the plot,” I said. “Nah, we’re just psycho,” he said with a devillish grin. And I believe him.)

Anyway, you get the gist. The BBC certainly gave it, were good enough, I dug ‘em. Then I ran into Yannis. Which I dug more. Sorry, Beeb! \m/

SETLIST:

• How Can You Swallow So Much Sleep
• Your Eyes
• Bad Timing
• Open House
• Dust on the Ground
• Leave It
• Take the Right One
• Lights Out, Words Gone
• Rinse Me Down
• Ivy & Gold
• Evening/Morning
• Cancel on Me
• Lamplight
• Beggars
• Always Like This
• What You Want
• Shuffle
• What If

After a whopping three hours of “sleep” in which MEGABOAT rocks side to side (how is that even possible on a ship this big? Oh Sea, you are a powerful beast and I would bow to you if I didn’t think it would make me puke) and “WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT BANGING AT 9AM WHEN WE ONLY GOT TO BED 3 HOURS AGO?”, Cabinmate Terri and I slowly arise and extricate ourselves from Casa Weezer to go hunting for Breakfast Goods. We wander, then I sit in the sun for a bit contemplating whether my liver will ever recover. At about 1pm we head over to the Lido Deck….

Yum! It’s Yuck! Again! This is kinda the gig I wanted to see most because I was having a really hard time fathoming how the spindly Brits (and my new adopted family) would fare in the SUNLIGHT ON A CRUISE SHIP AT ONE PM. But nobody exploded! Turns out Yuck aren’t vampires after all.

I need to say this: Max Bloom is made out of all kindsa shades of wonderful. He rocks way more than that guy in the shorts and pointy cap to the left of him, which goes without saying, but hey. In case there’s any doubt, here’s more on WHY I LOVE YUCK.

Obligatory Mariko Doi is Effortlessly Stylish pic. And you know what else is cool? Embiggen the photo (by making to click on it) and you can see the crowd in her sunglasses. But hers aren’t the only retro shades…

Wow, people still wear Ray Bans? Here’s my new cousin Daniel Blumberg. A cousin, because he’s wearing the Canadian tuxedo of jeans and a jeanshirt. On stage, Daniel announces that it’s sound guy Lewis Lovely’s birthday and that if the audience just turns around to the booth, they’ll see a guy who looks like “Korean Jesus”. And that they should all buy him a drink. And as there are few Korean Jesuses on the boat, Lewis fares well and ends up getting fucking hammered.

But let’s not abandon the retro shades discussion. Here’s Jonny’s awesome wood-framed ones. I remember at some point hearing someone blather to Jonny about how rad his afro is. “It should be,” he said, “I’ve been working on it for 21 years…” But enough about Yuck’s fashion style…”Georgia”, “Get Away” and b-side “Cousin Corona” sound perfect in the sun. If you haven’t heard Yuck, there’s still a stream of their self-titled debut here.

Meanwhile in the peanut gallery, the White Wizard, looking a spot more tanned than white from recent tours to Australia and a few days on t’boat, checks out the young English folk he’s going to have open for him the next day in Miami at Grand Central. Oh J Mascis, you look a bit sweet here. And I also Heart Tony Harrison.

But for soon! It’s time for the Nervous Wreckords!

The NWs were one of the surprise highlights of the Cruise for a lot of people. Freed from the side-kick role in LouisXIV, Brian’s a great lead, and the songs fall in nicely with the onboard party vibe. Plus, every time I looked him, I thought “finally, someone else on the boat IS WEARING ALL BLACK. EVERYDAY. HE MUST BE AS HOT AS I AM!” Also hot in the hot tub, were these two….

Here’s Kel with Day 4’s ridiculous Daily Special: a blow-fish filled with sugary alcohol. Yesterday’s was in a fake coconut, but we gave up on the drinks specials after going into a Diabetic coma from the pink sludge from Day 1. Also, this is Matt, in process of unfurling his rockhands. They’re both chilling out, while rocking behind the Lido Deck stage, in what I liked to call the Spunk Bath.  More about this shortly. BUT SPEAKING OF ROCK….

Here’s Brian Karscig from Nervous Wreckords again, being a rockstar. The BackstageRider approves. Of the music and The Beard. Although I have come to learn recently that Mr. Karscig has, after many years, shaved said Beard off. So rides the amazing dimple chin again! Awaiting proof, though. Stay tuned.

Anyway, back to the Spunk Bath.

I call it that,’cos the jacuzzi at stage right, behind the Lido Deck stage, was the “Party Jacuzzi”. And on Sunday, the crusin’ Weezer fans decided it was also New Year’s Eve. After every song they’d countdown from 10 and scream Happy New Year. This was fun the first of  the 100 times they did this.

But whatevs, we had places to be, and Weezers to see. See, ‘cos Weezer’s “people” slipped a note under our door (technically to the bands and crew, with us being CREW) saying that they’d not had enough time to hang with the bands and did we all want to come to the Criterion Lounge to say howdy and for a group pic? Uh, how about FULL OF YES. So off we went.

Meanwhile, my favourite camera lens (the “Nifty 50″) was starting to lose its will to live. Something about carrying it around drunkenly out of its bag for four days.  So everything from above until “now on” will have a fuzzy glow or be from my phone. Anyway! This was fun. Here’s Weezer’s Rivers and Pat chatting with Dinosaur Jr (that’s Murph in the purple, Sophie Trudeau in the jean vest, and J Mascis sitting down with the hair). Later, Dinosaur Jr poses for a pic with them. Which I find kind of entertaining.

Then I see that Rivers is alone for a split second.MY WINDOW! You snooze you lose, suckers! I approach. Rivers is an oddball, but kinda lovely. We talk about how I’m “with Sebadoh” and he wonders where Lou is. “Soundchecking for tonight’s Palladium show” I say, then gesture towards our booth of totally unimportant non-band people.  ”You should come and hang out with us, I think you knew Ramona from back in the day in Boston.” “Oh yeah,” says Rivers, cheerfully, “Let’s go over there.”

So, Cabinmate Terri, Awesome Ramona, Weezer Rivers and Giant-Headed Mikala  hang out. We talk about a lot of things. “Remind me more about what we did in Boston?” Rivers asks Ramona, and she obliges. He looked relieved to not be paraded around like a show pony and stays at our table for a bit. I told him how Lou had been rocking out during the Pinkerton show the night before and he grins. “Is it true there’s a Barlow Island on the album art for Pinkerton?,” I ask Rivers. “Oh yeah,” he says, smiling. “I hope Lou can really hear how influential he was on the lyrics of that album.” Ramona and I make a mental note to tell Lou this. BECAUSE IT IS A BIT MIND-BLOWING.

Daniel and Max from Yuck also join us at our table and I introduce them to Rivers, because somebody has to. “Oh! I didn’t know you guys weren’t American!” Rivers says to the Brits. We laugh. Daniel tells Rivers about his friends’ band Fanzine and Rivers mentions Male Bonding. “I love those guys!” I chirp. (Later, Max will tell me that meeting the Weezer King was kinda nerve-wracking: “I was all cool on the outside, but I was really freaking out inside.” It’s sweet.)

Then we posed for the group pic:

It’s easy to spot the Yacht Rock Revue guys in blue and white – I’m behind the strawberry blonde girl in the grey dress, about two or three people away from Weezer’s Pat Wilson, on the left side. Throwin’ the horns of course! Also there are Sleeper Agent, Ozma, Daniel, Mariko and Lewis Lovely from Yuck, Dinosaur Jr’s tour manager Dan Mapp, and Tim & Michael from Antlers.

Soon it’s time for Rivers to press on and be Cap’n of the Boat. After all, there’s another group photo to take part in!

We all gather on the Lido for the big Weezer group photo, with everyone throwin’ the W’s. I admire a band that has its own rockhands.

Here’s the finished picture, thanks to Cherrie, Wendy L and Marie for sending on. Still, even if you embiggen, you won’t see me or anyone, really, for that matter. We are all but specks on the sea of life…or something. But enough of that silly sunshine, it’s time to go back into the dark of the Criterion Lounge for the final Antlers show!

Peter and Darby, being rather quite good….

…and Peter and Tim being even more goodlier. I stand off to the side, with Lou, who’s just arrived for his following set. He’s enormously hungover and has shaved his stubble away so that he’s got a sort of mustache because it’s Mustache Night on the boat. Joy. Lou Barlow must never, ever again, wear a mustache.

Lou’s second solo show is also full up. Word has spread and this time, Barlow’s brought his uke. His hangover, a gift from our epic partying the night before, is massive, and he seems a bit raw. The songs are still predictably beautiful. Daniel from Yuck, Ramona and I sit quaffing the bottle of champers I’d brought from Miami. Rivers slips in quietly in the back to watch a bit of the set. NOT beautiful is the girl who drunkenly believes that she’s having a private conversation with her hero on stage, and who smothers him loudly with her love between every song. “You’re not making any friends,” Lou says gently, as her mate literally puts a hand over her mouth.

After the set, a few of us chill at the table while Keepaway set up and go, but Lou’s exhausted, rattled, and goes to hang in his room for a bit, before this….

Battling monumental indifference, sadly overlooked as creatively inferior bands are basically treated like geniuses and receive enormous recording budgets. Buns up to corporate waste mongers, IT’S SEBADOH!

Yeah, it’s Lou’s SEVENTH and last show on the boat (he’ll still play a Miami club date with Dinosaur Jr and Yuck the next night, though) and he sort of grumbles through “Freed Pig”. The show’s fraught with buzzing, technical difficulties but then, as Jason Loewenstein says afterwards, it’s “finally, a proper Sebadoh show….we felt right at home!”. And they press on and and nail it anyway. We all rock out in the front row. That makes it my 12th Sebadoh show in 365 days.

Afterwards, and backstage, we sit around, tired. Lou’s wife Kath calls time and we all hug and say our farewells. Cabinmate Terri, Awesome Ramona and I wander up to what is now party central in the Casino and take one last pic with the gang. It’s been like Summer Camp, actually… minus the broken arm, hair burning and barbecuing of frogs (that’s what my Summer Camp was like.) L-R is Kel, me, Brett, Ramona and Matt and Terri down front.

The Casino feels a bit feral with a last-night sorta desperate vibe. Mariko from Yuck is hanging around looking for the others, and so am I. I wander over to the Criterion to catch the last song of Ozma and instead run into a suitably refreshed Michael Lerner from the Antlers. He’s got two beers and gives me one. Guess I’m not going to bed? So we hang out chatting and drinking in the hallway, and I make a joke about not seeing them enough because I was way too in demand. “Yes, you were certainly popular on the boat,” he says. I LOVE MICHAEL.

But yes, all good things must come to an end. I say more goodbyes, and head back to the room. Cabinmate Terri shows up a half-hour later telling me she was trying to convince Daniel and Max from Yuck to come to ours. We could have all fit on the single bed, no problem.

The next morning, we grab coffees and run into Nervous Wreckords and a hoarse Jonny, Max and Mariko from Yuck. The Sebadudes join us, and we – sans Lou who’s staying with Dino – head down to the shuttle buses.  But before I go, I nab a few of these. I’m saving them for special occasions…

So thanks a lot Weezer! Thanks for inviting the most unlikely of Cruisers, Sebadoh, on the boat, so I could get involved. And thanks for convincing J Mascis (with a nicely fat incentive) to hit the high seas. And thanks for hooking me back up with my boys (and girl) in Yuck, whom I never get to see enough. And thanks for letting me FINALLY see my old friend Brian’s new joint Nervous Wreckords. And thanks for making my ears happy by having the Antlers around. And thanks for letting me get away from a Vancouver snowstorm. And thanks for letting me talk to Rivers about Pinkerton. And thanks for having some really decent fans so I could meet a lot of rad people, and make new friends.

Thanks a lot, Weezer. My liver hates you, but the rest of me thanks you for that truly one-of-a-kind adventure.\m/

READ WEEZER CRUISE DIARY DAY 1

READ WEEZER CRUISE DIARY DAY 2

READ WEEZER CRUISE DIARY DAY 3

That’s the motherfunking size of our motherfunking boat. It’s enormous and so is my “I am no longer 18″ hangover. Terri can do nothing to soothe this savage beast and I am a totally miserable bitch. LIKE AN ANGEL, she goes to fetch brekkie for us and I instruct/grunt something like “French toast and bacon” at her. But there is none of the delectable French Toast to be had. So she brings other bread-like substances and I inhale. FOR TODAY IS COZUMEL AND I MUST LEAVE A BOAT AND WALK ON MEXICAN LAND.

The last time I was in Cozumel, I took a ferry over from the rad resort town of Playa Del Carmen and hung out at Chankanaab National Park, a weird man-made tourist beach thing with snorkeling by some concrete slabs.  THIS TIME, though, we have a different rock ‘n roll sorta plan.

For weeks, Lou Barlow’s childhood friend Mark and I have been planning a meet (he’s coming from Playa where he’s on vacay!) at Paradise Beach, a cheap but nice beach with waiter service, activities, a sandy beach and  ”amenities”. On the boat, I invite only the sexy people: I tell Antlers, Nervous Wreckords and Yuck where we’re gon’ be. So on docking day, Cabinmate Terri and I hightail it out of “Buy Something Now, Tourist!land” and cab it to Paradise. Where these guys also join us…

WHEEE! Andy from Wye Oak and Ashley check out the trampoline but get whistled at. ONLY FOR KEEDS! someone official yells. LOOK AT THEM! I yell back: “They’re only little!” Later, leashed, actual children will bounce on this. Then it starts to rain and we all seek cover. WTF MEXICO?  But what’s a little water? Me, Lou Barlow, the Wife (Hey Kath!) and Lou’s friend Ramona go swimming. “It’s okay, it’ll be done in 20 minutes. We may as well get wet,” I say, and run down into the water. Coming outta there I run into the Nervous Wreckords who also have taken my advice and are sunning themselves on “our” beach.

Niiice. Beach sexy has improved +100.

Soon all the cool kids show up for today’s prescribed chill out on dry-ish land. Herewith A MEETING OF INDIE ROCK DRUMMERS: Sebadoh’s Bob D’Amico and Dinosaur Jr’s Murph discuss shorts, and possibly why that guy in the background looks so goddamned miserable.

Look away, kids. The conference of shirtless, pale indie rockers continues. Here’s Lou, Andy Wye Oak and Ramona (and if I had a buck for every Dinosaur Jr story Ramona could tell – she helped fund the original Deep Wound demo back in the day – I’d have at least maybe $367. Additional fact: she used to hang out with Weezer’s Rivers Cuomo in Boston, knew Elliott Smith and is, fundamentally, MADE OF THE AWESOME. So she will now be known as Awesome Ramona. Lying down next to us? Dino’s Murph. Drummers need to be horizontal sometimes, apparently.

Oh yeah, did I mention we went parasailing BECAUSE WE ARE ALSO AWESOME? It all started with Awesome Ramona trying to convince Lou to go up in a tandem harness but he blanches at the thought and instead Ramona goes up (much to Lou’s nervousness) with the wife of his two children. Deciding that this year should mark the Year of Not Being a Chicken Shit, I enlist Cabinmate Terri (who’s scared of heights) to go with me and also do something stupid. Lou and Murph join us on the boat (did you know that Murph’s dad used to have a 30-footer and so Murph’s comfortable on the water? No? Now you do.) It’s awesome except that I want to puke into the turquoise Mexican sea. We get up there for a few minutes but it’s a windy day. I am being strangled by my lifejacket but Cabinmate Terri is throwing the rockhands LIKE A BOSS. \m/ \m/

“You were just begining your ascent at this point,” said Lou, taking the pictures. “I can tell because the line is fairly slack…you went way higher. When they pulled you back the line was taut.” Ah yes, when they pulled us back. They pulled us back because an up-draft (it was quite windy out) sent us a bit wonky sideways and Terri decided that she was still afraid of heights, and I was not going to argue. Let’s be honest: was kinda nerve-wracking. Down we came, mission accomplished, into the boat filled with 2/3rds of Dinosaur Jr, two enormously cool women, and our sense of achievement.

Back on dry land, and coming down off the high with the help of a bucket of Corona, I see the leanest, whitest man alive, my boy Daniel Blumberg of Yuck. “I MISSED YOU” he says, and comes and joins our sand party. We order lunch – veggie fajitas for the underfed rock star, chicken fajitas for the overfed me – and we huddle together to feed. Look at that pretty face.

So pensive! Weight of the world on that bonce. We natter about everything. It is not lost on me that I am suddenly in Mexico with members of five of my favourite bands. In my head, I high-five myself. Outwardly, I grin like a loon:

Mariko, Max and Jonny Yuck also wander over. Once again, I present: the most effortlessly stylish woman from Hiroshima ever to be in a band that’s based in London on a cruise from Miami to Mexico. La swoon. I then witness a truly meta moment – the SPIN magazine I’d brought with me to the beach has a double-page spread of who else? Yuck! So I hangout with Yuck, while they’re looking at pictures of Yuck. In SPIN. Wish I’d taken a pic of Yuck looking at pics of Yuck, but hey ho. Yum!

And let me introduce’s Mark. Mark has known Lou Barlow since Grade 4, when, as Lou describes it, Big Mark sort of adopted/looked out for Little Lou. We’d been online buddies for a while, and I regret not spending more time talking to him. He’s good people. And good people bring water bottles filled with tequila. Which in a roundabout way, lead to this photo:

Awww, yeah, double branding for the BackstageRider! BUT SOON! We must flee teh Mexicos! The Dinosaur Jr boys (Murph and Lou) have to be back on the ship early because they’re playing the “Sail Away Show” on the Lido Deck and need to get sorted. Something to do with having to find space on stage next to this many Marshall stacks for J Mascis:

Yeah. Undeniable: Dinosaur Jr. do rock. In fact, they rock so much that only this kid had the right idea:

He’s not misguided, this small person. Dinosaur Jr’s sound is so enormous, as per usual, that the massive cruise ship docked next to us (let’s call it the Geezer Cruise), is pissed off to have to listen to the racket from our boat. Sail Away Show? More like, “Deafen the Other Boat Next To Us While We All Stay Dry-Docked Show”. But who cares? Turn your hearing aids down, grandpas!  One of the best things I get on the boat is a fan-made pin that says “Dinosaur Jr made me deaf”. They have. Repeatedly.

Sometimes, even as Lou’s wife is yelling “SLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDGEFEAST!” and you’re rocking out next to Awesome Ramona, you gotta take time to stop and remember that you’re but a drop in the ocean. Sigh.

Okay, poignant moment over, phew. Would you look at this fucking awesome picture of J Mascis?

Yeah, I took that. And it’s J. Utterly lost in the music and his own shredding. And this is a beautiful pic for exactly that reason.

This man was also rockin’ out, hardcore. Lou’s in a great mood when he gets off stage, and we share drinks from the band’s rider. With only one show today (versus the 2-3 of all other days), it’s kinda his day off and he’s ready to party.  Fact: Lou ready to party is fun Lou. But first, we need food!

Lou, Kath and I go for dinner in the private dining room (because we can!) and run into Scott and Brian Weezer, each at separate tables. Brian’s eating with his mum and girlfriend, awww. And as we’re leaving, I drunkenly ensure that Scott knows when the next Sebadoh gig is so that he won’t miss it (he asked me about it on the first night). Kath rolls off to bed (too much parasailing and an adrenaline crash) and Lou, Awesome Ramona and I decide to go and cheer on Mr. Mascis in his acoustic solo endeavours.

By the time we get to the Criterion Lounge, we’re a bit happy tipsy. We enjoy J’s set, and he sounds great. “Why’s he singing about his mama?” I ask Lou. “It’s AMMA,” Lou says. “That’s his guru”. And by “guru” he doesn’t mean “guitar effects pedal supplier.” He means, like, actual guru, Amma, the Hindu Hugging Saint.  We kinda watch, mouth-opened as amazing acoustic guitar and looping pedals suddenly fade into what seems like 20-minute long AMAZING ACOUSTIC GUITAR SOLOS. Oh, J, only you could wail on an acoustic.

J’s joined by violinist Sophie Trudeau. Sophie’s played with Godspeed! You Black Emperor, Arcade Fire and is in Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra. Stunning sounds grace the stage. I drool a little.

But enough of this crazy highbrow! It’s time for WEEZER! Time for PINKERTON! Lou, Awesome Ramona and I sneak off to the reserved areas of the balconies at the second Weezer Pinkerton & B-Sides show in the grand Palladium Ballroom. We’re all stoked (and whiskey’d/beer’d).  We sit next to Brian’s mum and girlfriend again, Murph joins us, the camera guy spills a whole pint of beer on me accidentally, so I look like I’ve peed myself, then we rock out enromously.

Pinkerton’s a fascinating album, written at a difficult time in Rivers’ life. Most critics/fans loathe it – even Rivers did at one point – but in later years came around to it. But it’s the kind of thing I really dig – it’s awkward, a bit raw, ugly in spots and undeniably well-written in others. I love the slack of “Tired of Sex” and the rest of the pop songs that pour from it. And at that moment, live, it sounded great.

Lo! Pat Wilson has gone back on drums! Much as we love Josh Freese, hey look! Pat has gone back on drums!

Then Rivers heads down into the audience, wearing his ironic KISS tee and synthetic fabric jacket. Oh Rivers, I kind of have a ton of like for you. Lou is singing along and almost air drumming to “Why Bother?”, Jonny Yuck, sitting a row or two behind us, is totally mouthing all the words to “El Scorchio” and we’re all singing “LEZZZZZZZZZZZZBEEEEEYUNNNNNN” in “Pink Triangle”. In fact, the whole place is erupting. Just like this guy:

This picture is not the best picture. This picture is not in focus. But this picture sums up why I do BackstageRider. It’s a  pure and amazing moment of live music, captured. It’s Rivers, in the crowd, surrounded by ecstatic fans, with one lucky mega fan, who’s having the moment of his LIFE as Rivers sings to him. This is why I have the “rockhands” for my logo. It’s about loving a moment in music so much you want to punch the sky, throw a cheesy ’80s heavy metal sign, or whatever. And this to me makes Weezer, at the moment of this photo, the best band in the universe. Why? Because they are to THIS GUY.

Between sets, the band takes a break from all the excitement, and Karl Koch – band friend, tech, webmaster et al – takes us through a visual feast of entertaining old Weezer stories. Here’s the ad for the first Weezer tour van. MARVEL AT ITS BEAUTY.

Costume change! Rivers is back and getting everyone to sing along. We do. Look at his happy little face.

Then, the end. It’s the last of the three shows Weezer has done and they bow out, happily. We do as well. This guy throws the =W=….

Suitably refreshed (ie, on the road to lightly drunk), Lou, Awesome Ramona and I wander along to check out the ’80s-themed prom and run into Wendy The Indie Professor and her mate Brian, who have picked a PRIME people-watching spot right outside the disco. We hunker down and eyeball the amazing costumes – folks have actually really put a lot of thought into their 80s prom wear, and the parade of polyester and fluorescent is brilliant.

Dude in background was dressed as PeeWee!

Mmmm…poofy!

And of course, the obligatory rockhands are thrown, Dio-style. Sitting just to my left is Lou Barlow with one Wendy and one Wendi. Thanks for the pic, Danielle Fontaine!

Something else endearing happened as we sat getting drunk by the disco. A LOT of fans approached Lou. But rather than just sorta drunkenly “yo dude”ing him (the guys) or shyly asking for photos (the girls), the myriad fans who approached did so with WONDERFUL things to say to him. Things about how many times they’d seen him play live, where and when, about which songs they loved, WHY they loved his music, and so on. Spurred on by Dutch courage, they asked questions, engaged and then BEAMED when he’d oblige the countless requests. These connections were remarkable to watch, even if our own coversations were constantly being cut short or interrupted.

And these guys above? How can you not like ADORABLE SPANIARDS?  By this time, even Lou – often self-deprecating – was (rightly) feeling pretty awesome about his place in the universe. Didn’t hurt that these countless fans were a) generally cute girls and/or b) buying him drinks.

Meanwhile, Weezer was coming to the prom!

Dashing Brian came out for a wander and posed with fans. And then this guy came along, Captain Cuomo or summat…

En route to check out the prom and disco, Rivers walked by our peanut gallery – which included a few people he knew, like Lou, Wendy the Indie Professor and Awesome Ramona  - and because we were tipsy, we all yelled at him. RIVVVVVVVEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRS! we bleated. He looked over, I snapped this. Then he disappeared into the disco. A few minutes later, I trotted in and found him overlooking the dancefloor. “Hey Rivers!” I yelled from behind him…”THANKS FOR BRINGING SEBADOH ON THIS THING”. “OH! MY PLEASURE,” he yelled back over the loud music, smiling.

And since everyone was having a good time…

…and we were drunk, annnnnd it was about 2am, a few of us dragged Lou Barlow barefoot, onto the dance floor. I mean, why not? This was already the most surreal experience of many people’s lives, so why not dance with the your best friend the rock guy, the guy you’d least expect to be on a cruise with?  AND WHY NOT DANCE TO….”Pump Up the Jam”? “Baby Got Back?” “IT TAKES TWO”???

WHAT THE FUCK????

This seems to be a good time to talk about the music. It was supposed to be an 80s prom, right? Soooo….John Hughes film soundtracks, Duran Duran, New Order’s “Blue Monday”, Cyndi Lauper, “Axel F”, “Rock Me Amadeus”, or maybe even some Gary Numan “Cars”, right? That kind of stuff? WRONG. DJ was likely born in 1990 and had a predilection for late mostly late-80/early 90s hiphop, so the choons mostly reflected his limited knowledge of “retro.” Still, Lou was 1,346 double whiskeys in, I was drinking Corona from some weird moulded plastic bottle, and our gang were gleefully letting loose.

AND THEN BACKSTREET BOYS CAME ON.

Historical sidebar: back in November, 1999 – the same month I was going to gigs with Fatboy Slim, Luna, Death in Vegas and Luke Vibert –  I also went to see the Backstreet Boys live. “Everybody (Backstreet’s Back)” is a brilliant pop song and even as a snobby indie/electro kid, I was totally out about my love for this song. So of course, at 3am, in a purple disco on a big boat, with Lou Barlow, I lost my shit. We all kind of did, really. Dancing like loons, we sang along…

Now, this isn’t our circle’s group – this is Minta Daniel from Lawrenceburg and her friends – but somewhere around 0:08 or so, behind them, you can see a guy with a checkered shirt dancing. That’s Brian. And to his right, with her hand in the air briefly, is me…oh yes.

Sadly, there are no pictures of Lou Barlow dancing barefoot to the Backstreet Boys. No PROOF, as it were. Just this sneaky pic of Minta’s (with Wendi’s shimmering blue back), of him on the dancefloor, having a tremendous time. As were we all.

But all good things must come to an over-tox’d, pre-dawn end. Around 4am, a few of us bid goodbye to the last remaining disco hardcore, I found Lou his flip-flops in a corner – “ahhhhhrrrghfucklezjustforgetaboutem,” he slurred – and put him in an elevator home to his wife.

Then I found my room, collapsed on the bed, buzzing, and content in the knowledge that I had just had one of the best and most epic days of my life.\m/

READ WEEZER CRUISE DIARY DAY 1

READ WEEZER CRUISE DIARY DAY 2

READ WEEZER CRUISE DIARY DAY 4

Cabinmate Terri’s and my plan to have “24 Hour Room Service” for breakfast fails miserably as it never arrives. We waste precious outdoor hangover time by waiting in our festy box, and finally bail on the room no-service to go in search of buffet. We leave and see the door of our across-the-hall-mates in Room 2296.

These mysterious Post-It notes had started showing up on the door. By the end of the Cruise, there was, like, 10 of them and we’d never see anybody coming or going…  I’m convinced it’s actually deliberate/art, and made coming back to the room entertaining. WHO IS THIS MYSTERIOUS KIMI BOO BOO FUCK!?

We find foods and I rip apart copious French Toast. After brekkie, Terri and I split up and I go wandering. I find Yuck soundguy Lewis and singer Daniel locked in a tense morning stand off:

Apparently the mustard can only move in an L-shaped position when the Ketchup isn’t blocking it.

We head outside for a bit. It’s still sunny. Perfect weather for TATTOOING PEOPLE WITH BACKSTAGERIDER ROCKHANDS.

This is lush Cabinmate Terri – modelling the finest in BackstageRider Weezer Cruise-themed Temporary Tattoo Wear. I also manage to nail a few of our  brand-new friends (it’s like summer camp, yo!) with them, and a random kid who comes outta the pool. After a bit of what they call “shenanigans”, Terri and I go round the back of the boat for a wander. It’s FLIP CUP TOURNEY TIME with Philly duo The Knocks!

The Knocks’ Ben Ruttner is wearing a Lance Herbstrong shirt. Nice.

And this one’s in a Canuck tee. I couldn’t resist getting a pic of another fellow maple syrup sipper flippin’ her cup, then drinkin’ her beer. After all, we’re experts at beer in Canada, eh. What we’re not experts in, is dealing with the shitty light beers that they seem to be serving everywhere on this boat.

And after a smoke on the aft deck with Jason from Sebadoh, I ramble over to the main stage to find these guys: THE BEE GEES!

Okay, not really. This is Yacht Rock Revue. They turn out to be the surprise awesome of the trip. An all-70s/80s cover band dressed in pressed-polyester and groovy hair. They do all that cruise rock shit (Hall n’ Oates, Men at Work, Jimmy Buffet, the lot) expertly.

But then it’s time to GET CULTURED! Yes! Terri and I are off to be civilized. Our friends in the Nervous Wreckords are hosting an elegant wine tasting event in the dining room. We’re going to learn about wine and sip and slurp and be all grown up, right?

Yeah, maybe for the first, oh…5 minutes. We arrive and there’s a table full of samplers and some good-looking Nervous Wreckords people sitting by them. That’s Brian with the combined hotness that is Lindsay and Cindy. And after the Spanish Maitre ‘D gets all serious about where wine comes from, Brian gets up to give usTHE REAL SPEECH ABOUT WINE. It’s (intentionally) riddled with historical inaccuracies and we all laugh, and this is because he is funny, not because we’re getting drunk.

And by “WE all laugh” I mean: YAY! YUCK HAVE COME TO THE WINE TASTING TOO! Daniel, Max and friend Sam are sitting at the table behind us. This is going to be a blessing and a curse. Our table and theirs starts to embark on a war of giddiness. We start heckling from the back while drinking two ‘orrible types of white, two meh reds and one decent red. The waiters refill our glasses. Repeatedly. OH GODS HERE WE GO. The nice couple from Oxford, England at our table soon ask to get BSR tattoos, and so do these monkeys:

I cannot overstate how much I love Max and Daniel Yuck. Look, there’s guerilla branding for you! ROCKHANDS AND ROCKHAND TATTOOS! And I love them even moreso when – AND I SWEAR I DIDN’T PUT HIM UP TO THIS – Daniel does this….

BACKSTAGE BELLY! So… what time is it? Let me just check. Oh, it’s HOLY CRAP WE’RE DRUNK O’CLOCK. And by the time a random stranger (Donna!) from Scotland makes my day by actually coming up to me and asking me if I’m the BackstageRider, we’re practically feral.  We all sit munted at tables or run around,  and I blather incoherently at the Nervous Wreckords video guy, Russell.

\

Apparently Daniel invited Brian back to his room to hang with all the leftover bottles from the tasting, but then Daniel passed out and Brian left. They both have shows later on…gods help them. And us. We end up spending so much time getting hammered on wine and being goofy that we sadly miss this…

…my boys Bob and Jason from Sebadoh hosted the Cannonball Contest at the aft Lido Deck. I’d wanted to go, naturally, but uh, we totally lost track of time and space….(Thanks to Ramona Clifton for the pic!)

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Slurring as we talked, and swaying as we walked, we  do bobble our way past Wavves playing in the sunshine. They’re alright, Wavves. For a kind of  boring buzzband. Seem like nice enough chaps, though.

Right! Back inside! If we can find inside! What? Huh? Where are we? Oh yeah, we’re waiting for this to finish in the Criterion Lounge…

It’s ROCK BINGO with some band called Free Energy! They’re from Philly too! They play rock music! BINGO!

(Really, we just wanted good seats for this guy, below…you may have read about him here before. He’s called Lou Barlow and he’s playing SEVEN fookin’ shows on the boat with Sebadoh, Dinosaur Jr and solo. This was his first of two solo shows. Look at his smiley face and bare feet. D’awwwww.)

Lou plays a remarkable set for a few reasons (and I swear I’m not just saying this as his good mate):

1) It’s awesome to hear Lou singing acoustically, and away from the squonk of his other bands, much as I love their squonk
2) You can hear a pin drop, though the room is packed. The crowd is just that reverential and respectful,  rare and wonderful at gigs
3) He does his aces double cover of Smog’s “A Hit” which segues into his own hit, Folk Implosion’s “Natural One”, as well as “Legendary” from his solo elpee EMOH and a ton more beauties.
4) He gets a standing ovation afterwards, and the next day, the sound guy approaches Lou to heap praise on him. It’s just such a wonderful show.

But during a New Folk Implosion song, “Easy”, the wine and the beauty of the ride, as it were, hits me like a kick to a thickening gut and the beat has gone beaten me up. No-one’s gonna lift me out of this rut. (Okay, okay, I’ll stop quoting Barlow’s “Caterpillar Girl”) I’ve had weird and emotionally rollercoaster-y year, so rather than break down sobbing in the 2nd row of a Lou Barlow show, I decide that going to to the Casino to get more alcohol – a depressant – is a good idea. WOW! WHAT A GOOD IDEA! I return for the rest of Lou’s set, bloody but unbowed.

Which means that by the time the awesome Nervous Wreckords get back on stage in the same room, me and my gig buddies Fiona and Brett are completely fishpaste drunk. But we’re all ready to shake our booties to the NWs, who have shaken off their earlier wine hangover and are bringing the fun rock. Good set, lords und ladies!

Afterwards, I go next door to this little lounge where Sleeper Agent and Yuck are hanging out, and I enter into a rather serious wine-fuelled conversation with dudeman Lee from Sleeper Agent about how, with his knitted cap and beard, he should be in Grandaddy instead. He is impressed by my mention of Grandaddy. I am impressed that someone who is, errr, 20?, knows Grandaddy. Okay, now it’s time for…

Daniel and Max are awake and have slightly sobered up (that’s Jonny, tho, in the ‘fro.) We, on the other hand, have not…

Here’s Brett, me, and Fiona ON THE FLOOR of the Criterion Lounge with Daniel Yuck in the background. (Thanks Donna Nicolson for the pic!) Let me point out that we were all sharing our drinks: Bud Light, umpteenth glass of wine on the stage and see that coffee cup? Fiona managed to smuggle on a full bottle of vodka. Yeah, I was drinking from that too. *barf* Have I suddenly turned 17 again? I might as well have been creating Jungle Juice and skimming off my parents’ liquor cabinet.

But Yuck are wonderful, I know that much. “Tell me when the pain kicks in…” Daniel sings in ” Get Away” and I’m starting wonder if the song’s about what my tomorrow morning is going to be like.

Seems that Nathan from Wavves is also nodding out/along to Yuck. He sits on their stage and expresses the international symbol for “Nice one, lads.” Either that or he’s hitchhiking.

And here’s just a random picture of Yuck’s Mariko, who is so effortlessly stylish and cool. FRINGE DIVISION!  Yay, great set, Yuck. But now we need to lurch and fall into walls! Where to next, Brett and Fiona? Oh! It’s 11pm and Sebadoh are playing on the Lido Deck again? Christ, well, we have to go there, yes?

YES. Slightly amazed I manage to take any pictures in focus, really. The next day Lou tells me I was the drunkest he’s ever seen me. I’m not proud, but that’s some achievement. Drummer Bob says he and Jason were wondering if they should stop for a sec to prop me up….but we’re all in the front row, having a great time, woo!

To demonstrate just how stupid messy I was, herewith a totally unflattering and embarrassing video of me taking a picture of Brett and I in the front row of Sebadoh. ONLY I HAD THE VIDEO ON, NOT THE CAMERA. Oh, Mikala, you’re so fucking cool.

OH DEAR, right?  Here’s even more rockhands, as Brett and I are joined by Perth, Australia’s very own tattooed awesome lady, Kel, proudly sporting her Cap’n’s hat. Fun fact: Kel’s dog is named Squid Vicious.

Aaaand, yeah, that’s probably a good picture to end on (thanks Fiona Love!), because afterwards we  find Cabinmate Terri again, head to the New York Diner for food to line our liquor-addled stomaches and I don’t remember much of that. Except for when the Antlers walked by and I drunkenly bleated at them, while holding my sandwich. Drummer Michael Lerner laughed at me, and Peter Silberman looked scared, I remember that. OY VEY.

Oh and then I go home, drop my pass on the bathroom floor, can’t find my pajamas,  and pass out with my contacts in, wake up half naked at 6am confused about where I am and wanting to kill myself. BUT TOMORROW IS ANOTHER DAY! And it’s COZUMEL!\m/

READ WEEZER CRUISE DIARY DAY 1

READ WEEZER CRUISE DIARY DAY 3

READ WEEZER CRUISE DIARY DAY 4