Back Off, Beeeatch!

(March 12, 2008)

Last night's Social was pretty darn fun, gotta say. I didn't feel like going, really. Blech. Well not blech, exactly. More like "meh." It's just that I'd stayed home from work feeling cranky and bloaty and, well, cranky. Can you call in cranky? I did. I lay around all day. But evening rolled around, Joe came home and at 7ish I sort of rallied, put on a coat over my Bentmen T-shirt and walked over to the Model. I wasn't DYING, and being cranky just wasn't worth bailing on the Social. Besides, Anngelle was definitely going to bail again, and I didn't want Michelle to have to Social-ize alone.

And of course I was glad I got myself out the door, as, predictably, the Social was terrif'. In the five-plus years we've been doing them, I like them best when there is a good balance between bands and local industry folks. Last night we hung with music columnists Linda Laban, Brett Milano and Stephen Lee Beeber; DJs Tracey Stark, Philly Phil and Joanie Lindstrom; record label guy Ken Cmar; plus of course Michelle books Carmelita's Bay State Rock show, and the Pabst Blue Ribbon rep was in attendance handing out PBR lip balms, buttons, patches, T shirts and tickets for free tallboys. I am pretty sure all the bands that came had a blasty blast, and what an easy and fun way to self-promote.

AND I finally met a local hero of mine. Pete Weiss. I have all his records. Paula Kelley sings on one. Pure genius. Michelle's so great, she made it a point to come over to me and go, "Pete Weiss is here!" I felt fourteen. "Ooooh!" I went around to the other side of the bar and found him. Made an utter fool of myself. That's all you need to know.

Oh and Luke came! I reminded him about the Social last weekend while we were hanging out before his gig. At one point last night we tried valiantly to tally how many years we've been friends, but we weren't very good at it. Finally we tabled the discussion for now, because it came down to whether or not Jim and Hub can remember WHICH RUMBLE was on that year.

You see, Hub and I had seen the Buckners play at the Kirkland (now defunct), then a few weeks later Hub spotted Jim at the WBCN Rock and Roll Rumble. "We just saw your band play," says Hub. And eventually both Jim and Luke became pretty important friends. But which Rumble? 1999? Hub, little help?

The Buckners sounded really great Saturday night; those boys can freakin' harmonize. But I don't know whether to be happy for them that they're still making pop music for the locals after eleven years, or sad for them that they're still making pop music for the locals after eleven years.

Usually there's an arc to the life of an indie band:

Some of them play around locally for awhile putting on shows of varying success, doing the festivals and releasing CDs regularly, then at some point the band dissolves and the members form other bands and then the inevitable solo project rife with self-deprecation and emotional reckoning (or if you're Ad Frank, a whole series of those).

Some of the local bands surge beyond the zip code riding a wave of notoriety gained from great PR, relentless touring and a metric assload of luck.

Some of the ones that move away to New York or LA DO come back and make Boston their home base, but many don't.

But it's rare to find a band like The Buckners; they don't have any interest in touring, they don't apply to festivals, they haven't released a full-length record since 1997's Betty (of the four present members, only Luke was even in the band in '97) and in fact they're still playing to the same fans.

Well not ALL the same fans. In fact, they have a new one.

Let's call her Crazyberg.

Some of you know who I'm talking about. If you do: What is WITH this girl?

Here's what happens. The band has just finished sound checking. I'm sipping the ginger ale Jim got me, and I'm talking with Luke. Suddenly, you know how you can sort of tell someone's hovering, especially in an otherwise empty room? I look over my right shoulder and there's Crazyberg. She's wearing some get-up that involves braids and a Dr. Doolittle hat. And she reeks. Of alcohol. Now, my sense of smell is documented, so maybe she didn't reek as obviously as it seemed to ME. She is definitely none too steady on her feet. "Was it...did..." She finally gets the words out to ask Luke if it was he she had exchanged email with, because the door guys didn't have her name on the guest list.

Now, I'm not a confrontational person, normally. Every now and then I haul off and rip someone a new asshole for being, well, an old asshole. But it's rare. Mostly I just observe the objectionable behavior and fume and seethe, then I write about it.

But this girl is just too much.

AND she Myspaces much-too-personal messages to my boyfriend.

And T Max made her a centerfold in The Noise, an honor that's NORMALLY for people in the local music community who, you know, contribute something? Rather than the big vat of NOTHING that she contributes?

And she fancies herself a musician. Let's not even discuss it.

So, while I have TRIED with this chick, there's just too much flak flying about her, it just comes down to this: she just sucks, okay?

So having just paid to get into Great Scott, not only with plans to review the show but I'm also videotaping it, I asked, "What're you doing getting on the list?" She swayed a little and stared blankly. "Are you reviewing it? Shooting video? Working the merch table? Hauling gear?"

"I come to see them a lot," she offered weakly.

Well that goes over like a lead balloon, myself having seen the band probably a hundred times.

"So what?" I said, "Guest lists are for press and radio."

I should have added "Don't you know that? Wait, didn't you used to pretend to be some big publicity mogul a few years back? What was your "company" called, Arrina Entertainment or something?" But I'd forgotten until just minute how she used to go around calling herself a promoter/label CEO or some shit.

But no, "I see them a lot" was her reason for getting on the list. Dude? As long as she LIVES she'll never see as many Buckners shows as I've seen. They just don't PLAY that much anymore, so exponentially it'd take her years to catch up. She adds, meaning I-don't-know-what, "I guess I shouldn't have said that in front of you."

"It's pretty fucking LAME," I replied. She took her stankbreath and slunk away back to the bar.

And then I went and pee'd all around The Buckners.

No.

But in all seriousness, I'm not usually so vocal with the bitch-snaps. But for YEARS this girl has been flooring me with her whole crazy act. Apparently the whole thing of working your ass off in the trenches of local music, supporting bands, attending shows, booking shows and writing reviews is merely one option -- I guess one need not do all that work. All you need be is tall and sort of blonde and just SAY you're "something" in local music while drinking half the bar and acting like a lunatic.

It appears that I've had it with Crazyberg and every poser like her. I think when I said "It's pretty fucking lame" that I even did that neck thing that black comediennes do when they're expressing outrage.

Felt pretty good too.