Wading in the Velvet Sea

1) I didn’t know I was even going until 3ish, so the whole night had that great sense of “anything that happens is a bonus, since I’d foreseen a night filled with mac and cheese and ‘X-Play’ reruns on DVR”. So I called up my Dad to brag from the bar beforehand, since I’d introduced him to her music during the NFL draft a few weeks earlier. “Guess what?” I told him. “I’m seeing Amy Winehouse and you’re not!” “No way!” he replied. “I love that ‘F#ck Me Pumps' song!” Which was a totally unexpected response. Just, you know, wow. And then he repeated it, saying how often he played it on his iPod. Ever heard your dad say, “I love that ‘F#ck Me Pumps' song!”? Yea, didn’t think so. Might be the Quote of the Year. I can’t see what’s going to top it at this point. Not even the aforementioned “Nipplebon” comment comes close in the grand scheme of things.

2) You could title my pre-game routine “A Tale of Two Unos”, as I started at one near my office and eventually met up with my friend Nick at another Pizzeria Uno’s near Fenway Park. Sad on many levels, not the least of which is that this is about the eighth night that’s featured such a double-feature. In my defense, I expected 1-2 people to meet me at the original one, but still, lame, as evidenced by the fact that I had to tell the bartender at Unos Dos that no, I didn’t need to order food during the last two minutes of snack hour, having, you know, just dined from the snack hour menu at Unos Uno. Not my finest hour by any stretch.

3)Watching Amy do her thing was fantastic, but for the majority of the night I wondered if anyone was watching the same as me. That is to say, with a clear view of the stage. Four female hobbits from Connecticut stood near me throughout the set, and I knew they were experiencing a very different show than I was when one of them tugged my shirt after the first number and asked, “So, what is she wearing?” She had no clue. Kinda sad. But only kinda. They can sleep on most forms of major transportation, and I can’t. It’s a fair tradeoff, overall.

4)For some reason, the Hobbits of the Connecti-Shire developed an intense hatred for the girl who stood just in front of us. This girl had the audacity to…dance. I know. Crazy. But this was a crowded floor, and these were drunk hobbits. But all in all, it was just sad to watch four girls miss out on enjoying the show as they poured a lot of their energy into hatin’ on a girl who was grooving 24’’ in front of them. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: ladies, once y’all stop hatin’ on each other, you’ll be ruling the planet within a decade. Nuttin' but love for y'all, but c'mon. Nick and I just focused on the stage and hoping we wouldn't have to turn into Jerry Springer security guards trying in vain to break-up a slapfest.

5)Winehouse is like many Brits: she sings “American”, and it’s a shock to actually hear her speak in her native accent. I sometimes have a hard time picking up accents, especially with a slightly suspect sound mix, but Winehouse was easy to understand: mostly because she seemed to tell the same story before kickstarting the next song. If you were there last night, you would know that her entire oeuvre is essentially about being in a relationship too long and wondering how you’ll get out of it, and how it’s always alright in the end. I mean, nearly every instance of banter had some variation on that theme. Also? While seeming completely together during her songs, she seemed bombed out of her skull while trying to tell us of yet another lame-duck relationship story. So I don’t know if she was really drunk or doing that Eddie Izzard thing were he pretends to constantly lose his place during his stand-up routines but in fact writes all those, “Er, ah, um, where was I?” into his script. I shan’t be the judge. Only the Shadow knows. And, I suppose, Amy knows as well. Just a hunch.

6)As for the music: well, she played her CD. And her CD’s good, don’t get me wrong, and she played my Dad’s favorite song which I really can’t bring myself to type again as I’ve already forever associated my Dad with those particular items of clothing which should make any future strip club trip the most Oedipal night of my life. Last week, Wolfmother essentially sounded like their studio work, but took a few chances, played occasionally messy, and sometimes jammed out at select moments, and all together, those added up to “album plus”. I’m fine with that. I don’t need Dead-esque deconstructions of music to feel fulfilled. But Winehouse’s band, if anything, was almost too good. And by that I mean, yea, they played everything really tight, but I wanted to hear what ELSE they could do. I wanted some solos. I wanted Winehouse scatting alongside one of the two guitar players. There was such an abudance of talent that not stretching things out seemed to be a shame. And at 55 minutes, including encores, the show felt short. Worth my $15? Hell yes. A good show? Absolutely. But if you knew the record, and were at Hobbit height like many in the crowd, you were essentially at a sweaty listening party.