Hippiesters[1] need to die.
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Artist:
I was lucky enough to score a pair of tickets to see Clap Your Hands Say Yeah at the Henry Fonda Theatre on Sunday. Their album has been on high rotation since August, plus I'd heard that they put on an amazing live show. I was excited, to say the least.
Josh was kind enough to supply the ride so I was kind enough to supply the ticket.
When he asked me how to get to the venue, I was a little surprised until I realized that I actually hadn't known for the longest time, too. You see, neither of us really go to many "big" shows. I find myself at home with bars and local bands. We couldn't really figure out why and decided that it was probably a money thing ($20+ for a show is ridiculous)—that is until we stepped inside.
Holy living fuck on a shingle, I forget how much I hate Scenesters/Hipsters. In fact, I detest the word "Hipster". It's an attempt at making what they are retro and, as a vicarious result, cool. I've got news for you fucks, you're not retro and you're not unique and you're not cool.
What the hell is up with all these retarded girls dressing like homeless crack whores?! Is that supposed to be creative? My unborn niece dresses herself better than they do and she's a fetus! And the part that really gets to me about this uniform: the fact—yes, fact—that they pay a ridiculous amount of money to look like a strung-out, heroin-baggy-eyed, homeless crack whore with a false sense of security and uncalled-for sassyness. Fuck you.
Immediately we hit the bar for a beer... or ten. Actually the total for the evening was four each, but I digress.
Up first on stage was Takka Takka.
Okay. Fine. We all have our influences. I'm all for influences. This guy, however, wishes to the living end that he could be Bob Dylan. Not only that, but I can't possibly get into a band where:
• the rest of the band looks as disinterested as I was,
• the lead singer needs to explain that they're from New York so, as a result, the songs are about New York,
• and his emo-ments look painfully contrived and choreographed.
It was a bit too much, so we made our way to the rooftop bar. That's where we ran into my friend Marvin and met April, the jerk who convinced me to sign up for yet another community-driven site I have to check-up on. I kid, though. So far it's been good here. April's still a jerk, though.
Architecture In Helsinki were second on the bill. Seeing as how our tab was open downstairs, Josh and I figured we'd refill and check them out. The first song we caught had promise but they soon took a huge nose-dive as they delved more and more into Hippie-dom.
If there's anything I hate more than Scenesters/Hipsters, it's Hippies.
It's all just a bunch of self-indulgent hypocritical bullshit, especially when people claim to be one in this day-and-age. Hell, even George Harrisson hated the so-called Hippies he saw when he visited San Francisco during that fabled "Summer Of Love"[2]. They're not free-spirits, they're not children of the earth, and they need to get off their pseudo-elitist drug-induced clouds. They're as equally offensive and painfully similar to Summer Squatters.
The worst part is that time just dragged while they were on stage. Seriously: time stood still. I have no idea how I kept from assuming a fetal position, rocking back and forth in a corner, tears streaming, mumbling nonsensical jibberish about it being "so cold" or feeling "so dirty".
Finally, thank Jebus, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah hit the stage. By this point they sure had a lot to answer for. I sat through a horrible show surrounded by fake Echo Park/Silver Lake Hippiesters.
They did not disappoint.
They played every song I wanted to hear and they played them amazingly. The sound was perfect, the lights were spectacular. It was really just an amazing set. And the best part? Alec sounds exactly the same when he talks as when he sings! Awesometacular!
I definitley recommend checking them out. They're worth the repugnant Hollywood bullshit I'm forced to deal with here in Los Angeles.
[1] Kudos to Kate for introducing me to this word. It is now a staple in my vocabulary.
[2] Refer to The Beatles: Anthology on DVD.
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