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What was not of note at the MGMT show was the band itself. These middle-of-the-road 'indie' rockers have arguably three good songs while the rest of their tunes are tired and boring rehashes of 70s rock. MGMT brings nothing new and certainly nothing inspiring to the rock genre. Their good songs are by far the electro-dance numbers and those are few and far between. I can imagine the band knows of their failings, as they capped the night with Kids, leaving a sweet taste in the mouth instead of a boring and hackneyed one. Maybe if the band keeps at this rate they'll have a good 'best of' in close to ten years, kinda like ABBA and ABBA Gold. Until then, they will be nothing but run-of-the-mill with a few gold strike dance tracks.

The experience at the Paradise was marginally more interesting than the band. Last night was the first time I have ever seen real ticket scalpers at the Dise. (I didn't make it to the Justice show.) I asked a Red Sox-attired scalper how he could justify selling a 70 dollar ticket for such a mediocre band and he told me that they came all the way from England. I told him they're from fucking Connecticut and he said 'Oh.'

The venue itself is almost as ridiculous as the scalper. The poor spatial arrangement of the Paradise that stifles intimacy with a stage too high and that feng shui murdering pillar was further degraded by the barrier fence in front of the stage. C'mon, who were we seeing? Limp Bizkit? Were 18-year old girls with thick and orange tans going to rush the platform and rip off their v-necks?

I'm certainly not all gloom in doom. The crowd, though mixed, got down and danced, though not hard enough, for their three good songs, providing a decent enough time. It's nice to see kids in Boston dancing.MGMTMGMT at the Paradise

Mon 30 Jun – Ladytron, Datarock

Mon 30 Jun – Ladytron, Datarock

Ladytrons' sound has undoubtedly changed over their two latest albums, going from electro pioneers, creators of electro perfection, to what some describe as 'goth rock.' I prefer the former, but I will get down to the latter and I still like what Ladytron does. 'International Dateline,' 'Soft Power' are good in their own right. As they change, I've had to change too: I'm not going to dance to 'Deep Blue' or 'Black Cat' like I dance to 'Blue Jeans' or 'i'm with the pilots.' And it seems to me that most people who listen to Ladytron now are into it because of the new stuff, enjoying that poppier more derivative rock-- just look at the charts. So these fans should know what they are getting into when they go see Ladytron live, it's not 604 anymore.

So why are people FUCKING flipping out when other people really start to dance and bump into them? If people can't thrash to fucking goth rock, then just shoot me in the fucking head right now, or buy me a one way ticket on the Fung Wah, because Boston is a fucking joke. I 've already long given up on people dancing at shows in Boston, but now I really can't fly into a few homies during "Burning Up'?! Listen to that pounding drum! Ladytron wants us to thrash, they want to see bodies flying. If they didn't want to see people fucking dancing like that they would cover 'Incense and Peppermints.'

At the end of the show, I decided to go for it and began to dance like I meant it. I bumped into someone in the very front and he responded by striking me in the gut with a closed fist. Unbelievable! He apologized: he thought I was someone else who had been 'bumping' into his girl all night. Listen fucker, your girl is ugly and we're listening to rock music and you shouldn't punch people in the stomach at shows regardless of who you think it is! This other crazy fucking redheaded bitch went nuts when she started getting jostled: wildly punching at people. I told that fucking twat there was no need to violent as she tried to hit people! Crazy bitch needs to mix her Heineken with Xanax, settle the fuck down, or not go to ROCK shows because you will get bumped into.

Not only was the crowd full of narcs, but the venue employees were too. The bouncers descended on us and had the audacity to bounce the two guys who also showed their appreciation for Ladytron. This scar faced cunt who was too fucking old to be at a Ladytron show anyway, desperately tried to finger the bouncers on me too, acting like a five year-old playground tattletale, attempting to get me ejected. Well, I didn't get ejected, because I didn't do anything wrong. After the encore, the songs were even more enjoyable, you bald, ugly bastard. If you want to fucking narc, then go sick the police on your mother, who fucking has to mainline heroin to numb the pain of giving birth to a human as pathetic and hideous as you.

Am I in the wrong here? Should I not give people a little thrashing during hard fucking goth rock? Or should most people in Boston stop going to shows.

Wed 12 Sep – Interpol, Liars




I swept into Agganis Arena a few minutes late at 9:30 and I panicked when I heard the band already playing. Then I listened from the entrance and I could hear it: cool, clean, musical deliverance.

I bolted to my assigned seat, girlfriend in tow, and realized I could sit wherever the fuck I wanted to! I grabbed her with my paw and dragged her down to the first row center. Perfect. All that separated me was a six foot barrier and five foot stage.

Interpol delivered the same precision and clarity live as they do in their albums. It struck me: "This is just like the albums, but live!" (I actually had this mornic thought.)

I stood riveted. Paul Banks' vocals balanced expertly with the guitar. I could hear just enough of the vocals, (too much is pop music) and the show was loud enough. For Agganis' many shortcomings, atleast they have the audio nailed.

But really, what the fuck is the deal with this cavern? This was my first experience with this neo-Brutalist ice hockey stadium. Despite the sterile and bright facade, it really is quite grim inside, steep and deep and gray.

Though the concert space is deadening, the crowd was moribund. Sitting down at Interpol!? This isn't fucking opera, it's not Carmen, it's C'mere.

(The only time I have ever sat down at a show was at Wu Tang because I had smoked four blunts in the familyvan on the way there.)

The music is only one part of the concert experience. The crowd, the lights, the stage antics, band energy, loudness, all go into the equation. Interpol bedecked in black and totally deadpanned must have hypnotized the crowd into rapturous lethargy.

Maybe the paraplegic conference in Boston chose this as an activity and I'm mistaken.

Regardless of the inert crowd, Interpol wove their melodies, restrained yet so powerful. Dosaged intervals of rock. They displayed the idea of The Knife's silent shout. Their songs seemed one inch away from exploding into manic frenzy, yet the frenzy contained itself as they pulled us from calculated chords to rip-my-shirt off-rock bliss.

Ach, excellent.


Here's the setlist. I it a group of seven girls using my mad hops.


Pioneer
Obstacle 1
C'mere
Narc
Angels
Pace
Mammoth
Hands Away
Threesome
Slow Hands
Chemistry
Heinrich
Evil
Jail[/track]
--------
NYC
Stella
PDA
Untitled (this song wasn't played)

Fri 7 Sep – Peter Bjorn and John, The Clientele


Do you remember those shorts MTV had in the late 90's of those Scandinavian brothers who were somewhat retarded? Didn't Peter and Bjorn remind you of those guys? Semi-apelike and awkward?

The artists might have been good, if they sound tech had not have been a fucking idiot. The show was so quiet not only could I talk with clarity, but I could also easily hear the moronic conversations of those lovely high school girls who surrounded me.

While the quiet music failed to enthrall me, their awkward Swedish looking band helper, who will be referred to as Sven from here on, continued to distract me. Sven ran on stage to unwrap cables no fewer than six times, wildly flailing and jumping over the drum platform was at times more entertaining than the band.


More sight-worthy than that bumbling Sven was that Swedish death metal Napoleon Dynamite playing the bongos. Oh, he was good on the bongos, but he seemed as though he'd be more at home trying to plan a suicide club.


Of course the best part of the night was when Peter ripped his pants, revealing a white pair of tighty whities and a bumpy package underneath.

"Pantripper!"