By DF - Wednesday March 23rd 2011 |
Wisdom: DF has it. And this wisdom, buoys and gulls, derives from gleaning lessons from whatever eventualities life puts in my path. For example, when held hostage for 73 hours by crazed fish-rights activists at a Barstow Long John Silver’s, I learned to use the deep-fry basin as a makeshift toilet for me and my fellow detainees. And when surrounded by angry bison after wandering off from the group during a lonelyhearts’ club hike in the wilds of Catalina, I learned that crooning “Don’t Fence Me In” will soothe even the angriest buffalo (though it seemed to enrage the initially calmer buffalo, so the net effect was not necessarily positive).
Don’t believe me? Here, I’ll prove it! Why, just this past weekend, DF was able to glean five compelling life lessons from the thumpin’, bumpin’, no-chumpin’ Girl Talk show at Pomona’s Fox Theater this past Sat eve. Witness:
1. Nostalgia is a hideous bitch-goddess. On the way to aforementioned show, DF drove down Garey Ave., the selfsame boulevard he traversed many times in his now-kinda-distant youth, and drove past the Stater Bros. market where he played Pac-Man as a youthful lad. Upon arriving early for the show and wandering the Pomona antique district, DF saw for sale in aforementioned antiques area—wait for it—a virtually identical Pac-Man machine. Fuck you, Father Time.
2. DF is an outstanding dancer. You likely assumed this, but the GT grooves really bring out DF’s best moves. My rhythmic gyrations were so crowd-pleasing at the Fox Theater this past Sat eve that people moved away from me to give me space to work it, and gawked and pointed at me in admiration. Many people were so impressed that they were moved to what I can only assume was the laughter of admiration, and one onlooker was so entranced by my dancing that upon seeing it, he barfed out of sheer reverence. Best mashup moment for DF’s signature move, the slo-mo pelvic thrust? “Party in the USA” v. “Ante Up.”
3. Girl Talk is thoughtful. DF’s GI system is notoriously irascible, and while music may soothe the savage beast, it only inflames DF’s poor tum (as do other activities such as breathing, holding my breath, moving, and stasis). Hence my joy when later in the GT set, toilet paper literally fell from the rafters into my outstretched hands. Why can’t toilet paper magically appear at all entertainment events? Or at any and every other event that DF attends? I ended up leaving with like seven pounds of the stuff, and that will last me like two days! For the record, other things also dropped from the ceiling, viz., balloons full of confetti, and while these were most amusing they were not nearly as utile as the aforementioned TP.
4. DF is not always the sweatiest guy in the room. DF breaks a sweat when yawning, or even just sitting quietly in a cool room. And I’m not ashamed. Just the contrary: This was a distinction I always used to be quite proud of. But I was humbled to find at the end of the show that I was mesmerized not only by GT’s capacity to discover commonalities in work from vastly different genres, but also by the breathtaking quantity of perspiration generated by this remixifying Pittsburgher. DF is chastened, but duly humbled, by being so conspicuously out-sweated.
5. Girl Talk is a DJ. There are T-shirts sold outside the Fox Theater that insist otherwise, and this is meaningful, since T-shirt slogans are almost always right. DF gets the point—if DJs are regarded as simply players of others’ music, then what GT does is entirely different, since it’s new music created from nonobvious bits and pieces of preexisting work. But the former definition of “DJ” understates what this genre often entails. Consider, e.g., DJ Shadow or Cut Chemist, who are emblematic of a type of DJ-ing that disaggregates popular songs and sounds and re-arranges them into original tracks. The point is not that “DJs never create new musical works, but Girl Talk does, therefore Girl Talk is not a DJ,” but rather “DJs include those who simply create danceable sets of popular songs as well as artists who have been remixing since before the word ‘remixing’ entered the cultural lexicon, and Girl Talk belongs in the latter half of the DJ tradition.”
Ahem. These, then, are the lessons DF derived from his Sat eve sojourn to Pomona to experience the astonishingly energetic, deliciously copyright-indifferent DJ-who-doesn’t-like-being-called-a-DJ Girl Talk. On the way home, DF paid a reverent visit to the Stater Bros. where he once dominated at Pac-Man in his juvenile daze; failed to pay a visit to Raging Waters (It’s closed at night! Who knew?); and headed west toward Losanjealous along the majestic artery of the 10 freeway, ears ringing and trunk full of free toilet paper.
Photo credit: © 2011 by DF and his BlackBerry. Sure, go ahead and use it. I don’t give a rat’s ass.
HEADS UP
Synopsis: Those old guys in vests can still put on a good show. Tom, Tom, Randall, Mike, and Benmont took the stage shortly after 9, performing a set of old and new Mudcrutch tunes, a few bluegrass and rock classics, and two Bob Dylan covers. I am very anti-bloated-old-guy-reunion tour, and this show avoided those traps and remained true to the spirit of the Mudcrutch story: a few (albeit very talented and accomplished) buddies decided to hang out again and have some fun.
Anybody make it out to Amoeba last night to catch Flight of the Conchords? Come the 6pm hour I was deep in thought, hunched over the 
That’s right motherfuckas! I am Live-Blogging Superbowl XLII Presented by Planters Instinctively Good From My Couch. Latest at the bottom. 
I like this move. I like a move that plugs a 7 footer and his 19 and 9 to the lineup in one fell swoop. And I especially like any move that ends with Kwame, his $9 mil a year, and his oven mitt hands in a different time zone. 
