Imagine That...

Kym Loves George

At the end of my block is a bustling street - San Pedro, presumably named for the park further down hill or the springs in the park or most likely both. Or quite possibly the first pope. But there is a much more compelling  mystery just across the intersection. It comes in the shape of a billboard that up until recently depicted two googly-eyed, cartoon lions inside a heart which nestled comfortably beside the phrase, "George Loves Kym!"

I hadn't noticed this unusual declaration of affection until my friend Marc pointed it out one day from my roof terrace. Aside from the unobstructed view of the sunset to the West, the spectacular view of downtown to the South, and the other O'Neil Ford-designed tower at Trinity University to the Northeast, this billboard is my favorite landmark in plain sight from my sprawling private balcony. Unfortunately, all the attention it deserves is often trumped by the others on this glorious horizon. They distract me and thus is why I hadn't noticed when it's sappy expression of love changed on me. It now pictures two cartoon scuba divers in fond embrace, and instead of George affronting his amore for all the world to witness as they drive by, it is Kym's turn these days.

Austin, Texas's increasingly gentrified and trendy State Capitol, employs the slogan in retaliation - "Keep Austin Weird", led by the independent business bureau or something like that. I think it's too late for Austin. Everytime I go there (which actually has been a while) I can't help but notice that those who persist to be weird there do so in vain. It's a hopeless struggle - the college town hipsters have lost the wrestling match against the corporate magnates. Hip it might still be, but the so-called weirdness is ever decreasing.

Perhaps as a joke, or possibly even as a smart campaign to avoid a similar fate, Texas's largest little town - San Antonio adapted a similar motto, "Keep San Antonio Lame." And on the surface San Antonio is lame: bars close at midnight in most cases, people are rarely out and about en masse, nothing is open on Sunday, and good lord there has got to be more to do sometimes. My standard retort has been that yes, while sleepy, San Antonio retains it's authenticity. It doesn't try to be cool, which to me is in fact the definition of cool. We make our own fun. It's more rewarding that way.

Interestingly enough, when it does try to be cool, failure typically ensues. I can't even count how many trendy bars have closed downtown.

Lame or not, the longer I live here, the more it occurs to me that I've been misinformed. San Antonio is the weird one. And that billboard down the street is a perfect example. Which leads me to believe that San Antonio is weird because people can afford to be. In Austin, a modest couple couldn't afford to rent an entire billboard to use. Only Starbucks can do that in any resemblance of normalcy.

"Retaining it's authenticity" is a nice way of saying that the cost of living here is low. Which is a  nice way of saying that there are a Hell of a lot of people here living in slums and totally cool with it. Some of these are even as close as across from the aforementioned park with the springs off San Pedro down the hill. And reasonably speaking, the possibility that Kym and her lover George live in such a nearby shanty town is quite high. I mean, why would they choose a billboard as a means by which to share their mutual admiration if they didn't drive by it everyday on the way home?

No, George and Kym are not wealthy folks. I don't think any respectable, high-class resident of my affluent neighborhood Monte Vista would go so far. I make that assumption not based on any judgment of taste. It's just that when you think about it, rich people (obviously these two have an abundance of love, I mean rich in the monetary sense) have the ability to express (again, materialistically speaking) their mutual affections whenever they want to whether that be with organic truffles from Whole Foods or over-priced tulips at a frequency of whenever they damn well please - if they wanted to. But I am willing to bet that expressing love, and expressing it in a big way for all the world to see, is with little doubt, a money saving tactic. Their love is evident to all and on a monthly installment plan.

But I digress, I've analyzed Kym and George's ability to afford weirdness despite their entirely speculative inability to afford more, if only to tell about last night. I attended a show of local San Antonio musicians - all of whom fit immaculately into my description of San Antonio's character - embracing lameness is all the more weird.

Patsy's Ice House - an utter hole-in-the-wall dive bar who's idea to serve food is so frightening to even it's regulars that they don't even dare order a thing even though they had a shrimp special last night - featured Jason Gerard among other cacophonous disasters that opened for him.

We subjected ourselves willingly to this offensive excuse for a concert only because someone noticed on Jason Gerard's myspace page that he describes himself in this way:

"Jason is truly one of the most innovative artists of our time, and hopes to be one of the most influential in music history."

Anyone making that kind of claim is asking to be mocked by a group of San Antonians with nothing better to do on a Saturday night. At least there was no cover and they served beer. What more could you ask for in a night out anyway?

The first group to go on was an industrial synth pop duo. All their songs sounded like a regurgitated late 70's Pink Floyd, just not even remotely exuding that kind of talent and ingenuity.

The band that preceded poor Jason was so bad it hurt. It was a family act, unleashing to the unsuspecting public their rancid rock 'n' roll fantasies. The frontman lead singer and guitarist was the beer-belly clad patriarch who's aspiring grunge aesthetic came across as far more slovenly than remotely cool. His adoring wife played the synth and held up a performance reminiscent of this. But by far the saddest of the bunch was their son who I sympathized with, only if he had been duped into participating. He contributed awkward excuses for percussive nuances on the bongos and the conga drums. They were set up in a line and played just like a drum set. Maybe it was cheaper that way. He embarrassed himself and his family, ending each song by nailing a small crash cymbal with his fist. Together they covered Judas Priest's cover of Joan Baez's Diamonds & Rust. I can't even make that up. And to give them some credit, the happiness they radiated as they performed their classic rock interpretations was penetrating. However, I dare ask - couldn't they have had the same amount of fun in their garage? Maybe the neighbors complained...

Putting myself through almost a whole hour of their music got me to thinking. This wouldn't happen in any other city. They would be rushed by a mob or pelted with rotten produce before anyone would voluntarily sit though such a jarring display. By the time poor Jason Gerard took the stage, our group mock fest couldn't take anymore and we bolted after a mere three songs. Not that he had a lot going for him in the first place. He wore geeky wire rimmed glasses and flip flops as he took the stage to share his sweet noise.

To make matters worse, San Antonio is hosting a pre-South by Southwest festival of its own called, would you believe it - South by San Antonio. This might be a good idea, reeling in other bands already traveling from afar to Austin. Why shouldn't they swing by San Antone on the way? We're craving good music here! However, Jason Gerard mentioned that he is already a part of the SXSA line-up. Could this attempt at cool, actually be that lame?

I realize I'm coming across like the pretentious Austin hipsters I as poking fun at earlier. Too good for San Antonio music am I? People can't just go to bar and have a good time with a few guitars? No, that's not it at all. Everyone's got to start somewhere and why shouldn't it be at Patsy's Ice House.

My strident affections only exist to help better illustrate my point. This city is a place where cool kids go out of their way to see lame bands perform in shrimp-serving dump venues on a Saturday night. And I love how weird we are! We refuse to be stifled by the banality of our fair metropolis. As a consolation prize, each of us finds our place in a city teeming in weird billboard touting love.

In other news, my friend Marc and I went on a fun little biking adventure this afternoon. Here are a few photos snapped out and about this town I claim for all in weird:

Marc calling Victoria at the Japanese Sunken Gardens.

The sadly defunct Sunken Garden amphitheater. Admittedly, it is awfully lame that San Antonio would allow such a cool venue to fall into disarray.

I love the stadium dedication.

The best view of downtown in the city is in the stadium parking lot.

Tower at Trinity U.

Victoria met us for ice cream later.

And now for a complete non-sequitor -

I totally have a beard.   

It's The - 'What's Ben Listening To?' - Spring Music Spectacular 2007

Hello there. I assume since you're here that you have a genuine curiousity about what sonic pleasures have been gracing my ears with much merriment and delight. Now that you mention it, there are quite a few tunes peaking my interest as of late. One reason for this is because my dad (who is obviously competing for the distinugished title of The Coolest Dad Ever) has created an iTunes account in my name and graciously allows me to download a designated modest amount each month on him. It's pretty sweet not having to pay Steve Jobs for his glamorous, high-style ideas, but since my old man bestowed such generousity in my direction, I thought I'd share my enjoyment of them with you.

Shall we start with the most recent release?

The Shins new album Wincing the Night Away is absolutely splendid and well worth the wait. Much like so many others, I'm not ashamed to admit first hearing the name of this great band uttered through the lips of Natalie Portman in Garden State. Oh those beautiful lips - and such a poignant film to feature a few songs from this formerly obscure band from Albuquerque. I've been hooked to their first two albums ever since. However, considering that it had been 3+ years since their last release, the world has been patient. James Mercer - the band's lead vocalist and chief songwriter has continued on the new LP to produce well crafted, catchy pop songs that have unfathomably complex song structures. These roll by effortlessly with discernible and poetic lyrics that come across as complete nonsense when you stop to think about them. There are hints all over the album at exploration with new instruments - my favorite song (today) is Australia, which features a real happy banjo line.

Continuing with the Swedish Invasion, Writer's Block by rockers Peter Bjorn & John is another newly released album that is ridiculously contagious. I really like the song Young Folks which whole-heartedly contributes to my whistling fetish. It's happened on several occasions where I've had friends hanging about my house over the last few months and I'll put this album on. It undoubtedly garners the attention of my guests with its songs about often coy liaisons and romantic escapades to familiar European capitols. I don't know what it means, but I've noticed how the initials of Peter Bjorn & John is PB & J - much like the sandwich. This I find quite amusing.

One day during my waning tenure at Lake|Flato, I was sitting beside my friend Jonathan. We were taking turns inserting our iPods up to the stereo - sharing new music with one another. At some point, he put on Oh No! Oh My's self-titled, self-released debut. Being from Austin, Jonathan is familiar with the musical brilliance that radiates perpetually from the self-proclaimed Live Music Capital of the World, and Oh No! Oh My! is no exception. They are a band that leaves no one alive as they battle all efforts to take themselves too seriously. The album melds together a dozen of so guitar entranced tracks. It has a consistently balanced and unintense, yet up-beat and for lack of a better word, zippy quality. Their lyrics have the irony of a bittersweet observational humor like You skipped the foreplay/Now the baby's on it's way. Song titles such as Jane is Fat and Lisa Make Love! (It's Okay!), imply that as a listener, you're part of their group as they unleash spontaneous shenanigans to and fro. It's clear to me that in this if-you-can't-beat-'em-join-'em foray their full-of-life charge often leaves you gratified that they included you in on their fun.

I absolutely adore Jack White. I think he is one of the most creative musicians of the new millennium and it's evident on The Raconteurs Broken Boy Soldier that he'll one day soon sever the shackles of self-prescribed limitation he enacted on himself with his minimalist rock duo - the White Stripes. Don't get me wrong, I've enjoyed the hell out of every White Stripes  album. Actually, they have gotten progressively better with an ever increasing amount of instrumental exploration and an artful suggestion of implied genre. However, what Jack White delivers with his collaborators on this new adventure is full-bodied, valiant, and gleaming with the totally un-self-conscious male energy of a boy fight. Its raw, unformulated, and exhibiting brute force, but without sacrificing it's sense of purpose. I especially love the title track that comes across as thought they resurrected John Bonham and enlisted him and his Led Zeppelin cohorts as sidemen.

Had enough of Indie Rock? How about a little Neil Young.

I love Neil Young. I bought this album the day after Christmas just when I was getting home from seeing a show at a local venue. The band I went to see - Buttercup - a San Antonio staple, included a jaw-droppingly stupendous rendition of Tonight's the Night. I immediately proceeded home after the show to scour iTunes for this Young classic. After testing the album version, I opted instead to download this amazing live set which happens to features the song. On Live Rust, Neil Young plays a whole lot of favorites, capturing him on both his vibrant solo guitar and also with the literally electrifying presence of his band Crazy Horse. This dichotomy of one artist's idiom is effervescent and it's really hard to believe that so much talent can be embodied by one man at one concert. Even though he's Canadian, Neil Young seems to represent my American ideal. He connects with the land, reaches out to the people, and thereby encapsulates his place in the universe by distributing the purity of his reactions to it within song.

Having a parental benefactor for iTunes sure has made it tough to justify the purchase of an actual CD. However, I just couldn't wait any longer for the Beatles Apple Records and Apple Computers, Inc. to settle their unfortunate dispute. No - this was just to good...

When I first heard that Paul, Ringo, Yoko, and the George Harrison Estate had all signed off on a Cirque Du Soleil Las Vegas show featuring their music, my reaction was, "Oh no - they've finally sold out!" (As if they hadn't already? Oh right, that's Michael Jackson's evil doing.) I promptly furthered my suspicions of the project when I learned that the music would be remixed in some fashion. And with George Martin's blessing no less who in my opinion as their producer is in fact the real 5th Beatle?

But then I heard more about it on an NPR interview with Giles Martin, who happens to be the son of George Martin. He explained how he and his dad sorted through the Beatles recordings and cataloged the tempo, time signature, key, etc. of each track. This, for the first time, allowed for a technical analysis to occur. Somehow this didn't strike me as necessary for someone like George Martin who knows the Beatles music better than anyone, but for Giles it provided an easy tactic to begin working on this project.

I'll admit I'm a bit of a snob when it comes to The Beatles. For some reason, I feel entitled to protect them and really know how to make someone feel inadequate as a product of Western Culture if I stumble upon someone unable to name all four of its members. But it's the birthright of George Martin's son to breathe new life into songs that even I have gotten a little tired of listening to over and over again. As their self-proclaimed avenger, I have no one to argue with given the circumstances. Even a purist has to succomb to the wishes of the two surviving former Beatles joining forces with two widows of deceased former Beatles to bestow such an opportunity on their long time producer with his son. They only used material that is from Beatles records. Nothing new was added at all.

In an act of surrender, I finally bought the album this weekend and have not been able to turn it off since. It's that awesome. I absolutely adore these thoughtful corruptions to the original songs. My harshest criticism is that it's merely a spectacular Beatles mix. But it's certainly much more. Every song sounds fresh and newly inspired. The tracks that I enjoy best and find most successful are the ones that are melded together into distinct combinations of what I can only describe as pure compressed joy!

Drive My Car/The Word/What You're Doing and Within You Without You/Tomorrow Never Knows are my favorites. And the Mr. Kite Medley is also completely mind-blowing when it decays into She's So Heavy and Helter Skelter madness. The rest of the songs are great too...I mean they are Beatles songs after all. My one big critical observation is a wider representation of the earlier songs. I think that the music chosen is mostly from the psychedelic late middle Beatles and early late Beatles periods. Aside from the one aforementioned medley - Rubber Soul is severely absent. Let It Be is completely missing. And I certainly would have liked to see more incorporated from the first six albums! To be fair, I realize this whole ordeal is a soundtrack to a show and in keeping with the nature of French Canadian abstract gymnastics with alluring special effects, the trippy Beatles music understandably works.

Though I am happy to own this new artifact of Beatles history, what I am thoroughly unenthused about is a reason to actually go to Vegas. I had sworn it off long ago, and now I feel a deep yearning to hitch a ride to the Mirage Hotel & Casino and encounter a visual experience to accompany the auditory splendors much adored on Love. If anyone's up for a road trip to Sin City, I have a few songs on my iPod to help us along our way.