Spoon
I wish I was referring to the utensil, but I am referring to the band in this case. A dubious connection to food, I know, but bear with me, the story is fun. Note: If I was referring to a utensil, I would probably discuss the spork, the hot lunch all-in-one spoon-fork.
Last night I went to see Spoon perform at Amoeba Music in Hollywood. My reasons were twofold. First, I like Spoon. They just released a new album, and I was curious to hear if it was good. Plus, a free concert is a free concert. Second, I will take just about any excuse to go to Amoeba. If I hit Joan's on Third and Amoeba in one day, I get what's known as wallet hemophilia. The money just won't stop flowing out into the giant coffers of Amoeba and Joan's. Or medium sized coffers, probably.
Having never been to a concert at Amoeba before, I wasn't sure what to expect. Due to traffic, I was quite a bit later than I planned, and was thus relegated to the C section of used music, instead of J, as I planned to meet a friend there. No matter, he was late too and couldn't get past the jaded bad punk rock row bouncers. Our bouncer was named Nelson. He had bright blue hair, and was wearing a black long-sleeve concert tee, black tight pants, and boasted a large pot belly that I can only assume was formed by the famous PBR + french fry combination he learned in college. Nelson didn't like Spoon, and was rather vocal about his distaste for their music. I felt that he was unusually bitter about working that night, and it made him look like angry Grover. This amused me until the show started.
The show was okay. I suppose that's what you get seeing a concert in a record store, but hey, free show. Afterwards, I met my friend, who was chatting with Jon Brion, thereby cancelling out Nelson's opposition to the show, as Jon is a very talented musician and can validate better than angry Grover can. We decided to head down the street for a drink at The Cat and Fiddle. The Cat is a very cool pub in Hollywood. Its main attraction is the gorgeous patio out front where you can eat, drink, and smoke yourself into a proper haze. Due to a work snafu, we could only stay for one drink before my friend had to head back to work for a half hour, and then he'd return so we could have some dinner and relax. While he worked, I shopped at Amoeba. I did well in the used section, so I only spent $__.__.
For our second trip to The Cat, we sat outside. On a warm evening in LA, there is almost nothing better than a beverage and a plate of fish and chips under the smog covered stars. It was just such an evening, which brought the stars out to play. The human ones, that is. When we first walked in, I had one of those, I-know-that-guy-but-can't-place-him experiences. I still can't tell you who he was, but I know he's an actor of moderate acclaim, because his mug is in my mental rolodex. Then, just as we sat down, Sandra Oh walked in with a man of undetermined fame, i.e. no one I knew. I like Sandra Oh. She was hilarious in Sideways, and I like her brusk character on Grey's Anatomy. She had bright blonde streaks in her long hair, which I assume means they've finished shooting the first season of Grey's.
My friend and I enjoyed our beers and food, and chatted under the warmth of the night, accentuated by the heatlamp next to us, which was good for me as I am a girl and we have terrible built-in heat regulators. The diners came and went from the table next to us, until Morrissey and his posse sat down. Morrissey is certainly a rock star, and a proper rock star in Hollywood gets attention. Especially a rock icon. A ripple effect went through the crowd as everyone recognized him, and then everyone from the hipsters to the busboy filed by to say hello. My favorite was the woman wearing a Morrissey t-shirt. She couldn't have planned it better. I think I am glad that I am not a rock star. I prefer to eat my food in peace. But he handled it with aplomb, and the traditional English humility that befits a British rocker. On our way out, my friend told him that he thought he had a very nice voice. I left them alone to talk, because I just can't talk to famous people while they're doing something else. If they're sitting by the side of the road and I am walking by, I might be able to say hello. But I'd probably just keep walking.
So my friend and I said goodbye outside the bar, and both headed home. I retrieved my Amoeba bounty from the trunk of my car, and selected a moody CD by A Girl Called Eddy to listen to on the drive home. It doesn't happen all the time, but it certainly wasn't unusual. It was just another night in Hollywood.
The Cat and Fiddle Restaurant and Pub
6530 Sunset Blvd.
Hollywood, CA 90028
323.468.3800
www.thecatandfiddle.com
Amoeba Music
6400 Sunset Blvd.
Hollywood, CA 90028
323-245-6400
www.amoebamusic.com
Last night I went to see Spoon perform at Amoeba Music in Hollywood. My reasons were twofold. First, I like Spoon. They just released a new album, and I was curious to hear if it was good. Plus, a free concert is a free concert. Second, I will take just about any excuse to go to Amoeba. If I hit Joan's on Third and Amoeba in one day, I get what's known as wallet hemophilia. The money just won't stop flowing out into the giant coffers of Amoeba and Joan's. Or medium sized coffers, probably.
Having never been to a concert at Amoeba before, I wasn't sure what to expect. Due to traffic, I was quite a bit later than I planned, and was thus relegated to the C section of used music, instead of J, as I planned to meet a friend there. No matter, he was late too and couldn't get past the jaded bad punk rock row bouncers. Our bouncer was named Nelson. He had bright blue hair, and was wearing a black long-sleeve concert tee, black tight pants, and boasted a large pot belly that I can only assume was formed by the famous PBR + french fry combination he learned in college. Nelson didn't like Spoon, and was rather vocal about his distaste for their music. I felt that he was unusually bitter about working that night, and it made him look like angry Grover. This amused me until the show started.
The show was okay. I suppose that's what you get seeing a concert in a record store, but hey, free show. Afterwards, I met my friend, who was chatting with Jon Brion, thereby cancelling out Nelson's opposition to the show, as Jon is a very talented musician and can validate better than angry Grover can. We decided to head down the street for a drink at The Cat and Fiddle. The Cat is a very cool pub in Hollywood. Its main attraction is the gorgeous patio out front where you can eat, drink, and smoke yourself into a proper haze. Due to a work snafu, we could only stay for one drink before my friend had to head back to work for a half hour, and then he'd return so we could have some dinner and relax. While he worked, I shopped at Amoeba. I did well in the used section, so I only spent $__.__.
For our second trip to The Cat, we sat outside. On a warm evening in LA, there is almost nothing better than a beverage and a plate of fish and chips under the smog covered stars. It was just such an evening, which brought the stars out to play. The human ones, that is. When we first walked in, I had one of those, I-know-that-guy-but-can't-place-him experiences. I still can't tell you who he was, but I know he's an actor of moderate acclaim, because his mug is in my mental rolodex. Then, just as we sat down, Sandra Oh walked in with a man of undetermined fame, i.e. no one I knew. I like Sandra Oh. She was hilarious in Sideways, and I like her brusk character on Grey's Anatomy. She had bright blonde streaks in her long hair, which I assume means they've finished shooting the first season of Grey's.
My friend and I enjoyed our beers and food, and chatted under the warmth of the night, accentuated by the heatlamp next to us, which was good for me as I am a girl and we have terrible built-in heat regulators. The diners came and went from the table next to us, until Morrissey and his posse sat down. Morrissey is certainly a rock star, and a proper rock star in Hollywood gets attention. Especially a rock icon. A ripple effect went through the crowd as everyone recognized him, and then everyone from the hipsters to the busboy filed by to say hello. My favorite was the woman wearing a Morrissey t-shirt. She couldn't have planned it better. I think I am glad that I am not a rock star. I prefer to eat my food in peace. But he handled it with aplomb, and the traditional English humility that befits a British rocker. On our way out, my friend told him that he thought he had a very nice voice. I left them alone to talk, because I just can't talk to famous people while they're doing something else. If they're sitting by the side of the road and I am walking by, I might be able to say hello. But I'd probably just keep walking.
So my friend and I said goodbye outside the bar, and both headed home. I retrieved my Amoeba bounty from the trunk of my car, and selected a moody CD by A Girl Called Eddy to listen to on the drive home. It doesn't happen all the time, but it certainly wasn't unusual. It was just another night in Hollywood.
The Cat and Fiddle Restaurant and Pub
6530 Sunset Blvd.
Hollywood, CA 90028
323.468.3800
www.thecatandfiddle.com
Amoeba Music
6400 Sunset Blvd.
Hollywood, CA 90028
323-245-6400
www.amoebamusic.com
posted by Julie at 9:55 AM
4 Comments:
The Cat and Fiddle rules.
By the way, who called the killer of Lily Kane?
That's right, it was me. ;)
I am listening to Spoon's new CD RIGHT NOW!!!
I am listening to Spoon's new CD RIGHT NOW!!!
Ah, crap, I seem to be blogtarded. Sorry.
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