Califone Came. I'm Still Cold.

A promise is a promise; otherwise I wouldn't be taking the time to write...

Arriving a bit on the early side, a few drinks were ordered and the waiting began. I noticed the percussionist, Ben Massarella, at the bar enjoying a pint...or two...An hour or so later, Califone took the stage and I was immediately taken aback. As I said in my previous post, I'm digesting them, which is my way of saying that I'm getting to know them. Yeah. Well, the faces that stood before me had seen a few more days than I had expected. No young hippies or indie kids in stripes: they looked to have had a good amount of sex, drugs and rock n' roll under their belts, and they wore scarves and glasses. Heck, if I didn't know any better, I would have taken them for a group of philosophy professors on sabbatical. (Maybe they'd even call themselves On Sabbatical.)

They drew me in immediately with Orchids and Michigan Girls. And I continued to enjoy their consistent sound with the likes of "Funeral Singers," "Polish Girls" and "Giving Away The Bride"--all off their newer album. But. Okay. So here's the issue. They ARE consistent, and when running through their albums you find a song off this one and a song off that one that really hits you in the right spot, but the question is this: do they leave you with a completely satisfying experience? My answer: not so much. I wasn't full when I left and I never warmed up.

Shots of tequila, shots of whiskey, and the rounds of shots kept coming from the crowd. No. We weren't offering. Rather, they were requesting. A sip of beer throughout the set is cool, whatever. Really Califone? I think those shots got the best of you last night. Songs were running on without a solid close. Toward the end, things were starting to get a bit awkward. It was like they decided to see how long they could draw out a song by playing with every possible musical instrument and electronic tinkertoy they could find on stage. If you don't take your shit, i.e., your music, seriously how am I supposed to? The highlight of the night was watching the oh so over-enthusiastic Ben, who I nicknamed Jerry, play around like a kid in a candy store with his bells, sticks, and, oh yes, cow bell.

I'm cranky. I'm unsatisfied. Andrew Bird's coming to town next week. I boycotted getting to know him because I didn't want to jump on the bandwagon that was passing through with him on it this summer. I AM, however, seeing the Raveonettes in Toronto next Friday. Maybe that will finally do it. Either way, I at least have a sure thing coming to me in Nov.: Metric. Tickets are already purchased. Sigh. Why couldn't have Bon Iver found Buffalo before he ended his tour in Milwaukee? Sometimes life just isn't fair. But who says it's supposed to be...

p.s. If anyone feels like helping me not be cranky, you can toss up some yummy music morsels for me to munch on...start listing 'em! (Purdy please.)