Category Archives: Entertainment

Apocalyptica apmb4c Post-Show

September 27, 2017 texbatmart

It’s entirely possible that I may be getting too old for this, at least physically. Last night I was transported back twenty years, to when I went to see Metallica for the first time (technically, the only time, but as I bought tickets for the show in ’99, and was unable to attend through no fault of my own, I’m sticking with first time). I was singing, clapping, shouting, throwing the horns, and headbanging. But, even though we had seats (and amazing ones at that), and an intermission, I still feel completely wiped. I never used to need multiple days to recover from a show, and that was back when I was always itching to get in the pit.

This morning, I woke up to find that I had somehow become not only Batman, but the type of Batman to seriously injure his right pinky because he can’t ever seem to remember to take off his wedding ring before a show, and has the spatial awareness and coordination of intoxicated marmoset. At least I don’t have to try to make it through work today (one of the benefits of my schedule is that I can attend a Tuesday night show and still have a day to recover). On top of that, as I said in yesterday’s post, I’m still working through that bug which has been making the rounds, and last night gave it back a bit of hard-earned ground. Would have I rather stayed home last night, though? “Let me hear you say, ‘Fuck no, James!'”

Of the four Apocalyptica shows which I’ve attended, this was easily the best. Everyone was on their game, and, due to our seating (front row, center), we were spared from the massive output from the stacks of speakers hanging on either side of the stage. For the first time in my life, I went to an appropriately loud and heavy metal show, and walked away with perfect (or, more accurately, no net loss of) hearing. On top of that, in addition to it being the best Apocalyptica show I’ve seen, it’s a serious contender for having been the best Metallica show I’ve seen.

David and I left the venue last night around 10:30, and I was overwhelmed by just how much fun I’d had that night. David… well, David is David, and at least this time he managed to stay awake for the entire show (with a small resting of eyes during the intermission). When he’s at home, he can’t seem to get to sleep for shit, requiring a heavy dose of horse tranquilizer and a team of agitated rhinoceroses to put him down. Outside the apartment, however, he begins to tire around 5:30 in the evening, and wants to pass out no later than 8.

He’s only ten now, so I’m hoping by the next time we go to a show, he’s discovered how to store his energy for the show, as opposed to burning through it on the way there by fidgeting and whining more than a sommelier.

But enough of complaining about the inevitable. Here are some highlights from the show:

For the first time since the mid-90’s, Enter Blandband sounded fresh and heavy. I know that A Year and a Half in the Life of Metallica completely ruined that song for me, but, after last night, I can at least fight back the temptation to skip it or leave the room any time it comes on.

“Escape” was a pleasantly heavy surprise, with an enjoyable bit of introductory banter on how they’d never really played it live before the tour, but neither had Metallica…

I had a moment with Eicca as he was introducing “Battery” by explaining that he’d wanted to record it for their first album, but it was too hard for them to play. When I chuckled (in consolation, mind you, as I also find it too difficult to play), he looked right at me and said, “You can laugh, but it’s harder than it looks!”

When the second set started after intermission, Perttu discussed mentioned that they’d had no idea this genre would become popular, and if they’d known, they might have only looked for two cellists to play AC/DC covers. This was followed up at the end of “Seek and Destroy” when they broke into the intro to “Thunderstruck.”

They ended the night with “One”, dedicating it to the eradication of armed conflicts and a renewed interest in peace, especially in today’s geopolitical climate (a nice callback to Perttu explaining where Finland was, and how they were allies of the U.S., and not to worry about them). I wasn’t expecting political commentary at a metal show, at least not this metal show (or an amusing nod to North Korea), but it was well-played, and, I believe, resonated with the crowd.

During the Meet & Greet, I was able to chat a little with Paavo (my personal hero from the band- David’s, of course, is Perttu), and discovered that he has a daughter that’s David’s age. We joked that we were enjoying this time because it was still “easy” in the years before puberty.

This is the fourth Apocalyptica show that I’ve attended. The first two were at the Regency Ballroom in San Francisco, and the third was at the Fillmore. After the first show (which I attended with Wildflower), I decided that they were totally worth seeing again. It took a few years, but we caught them twice (once on either end) on their Shadowmaker tour, and after the Meet & Greet last time, where they singled out David for a solo photo to commemorate his first show, I vowed that I would see them whenever they came to town.

They are consummate musicians, engaging entertainers, and masterful performers (I know that these are mostly synonymous, but trust me: The nuance matters). They have helped to redefine a genre, and have done it with passion and professionalism.

So, to Eicca Toppinen, Paavo Lötjönen, Antero Manninen, Perttu Kivilaakso, and Mikko Sirén, I say thank you for a wonderful evening. Thank you on behalf of myself, my son, and everyone there. I look forward to your next stop back here (finances permitting, of course, as, much like flying in First Class, once you’ve had the VIP experience, it’s hard to go back).

I would also like to give a small measure of thanks to the other VIP ticket holders sitting near us (some of whom I remember from the last show). Your engagement with David helped to really make him feel involved, and I appreciate that. Here’s to the next time!

And now, as promised (or at least implied), the rest of the photos:

That’s his Metal Face (I guess).
Waiting to go in, after meeting the band.

Perttu looking Metal AF (left, Antero, right, Eicca)

As you can see, we were literally feet from the stage.

And from the Meet & Greet:

I suppose I have to get a print of this one now, for next time. (Pictured L-R: Mikko, Paavo, The Minkey, Tex Batmart, Eicca, and Perttu)

This is now up on David’s wall, waiting for a frame.

For comparison, here is the original:

“One with just him…” (Pictured L-R: Perttu, Eicca, The Minkey, Mikko, and Paavo)

Okay, I seriously need a nap. I’m going back to bed.

-Tex

Entertainment, Family

Apocalyptica apmb4c Pre-Show

September 26, 2017 texbatmart

There are times that I am jealous of my son. At the tender age of one decade, he’s got his own: TV, gaming console, computer, and full set of parents. And as of tonight, he will have gone to two metal shows. And met the band both times. Sure, I’ll have met them both times as well, but I’ve been to significantly more shows than he has.

His first show was the wrap-up of Apocalyptica’s Shadowmaker tour, and I decided to splurge on VIP tickets. That show was also the third time in which my wife and I had seen them (though it was our first VIP experience as well). The whole day, David was bouncing around, stoked that he was going to get to do something cool with mommy and daddy. And why shouldn’t he have been excited? At almost nine years of age, he was getting to stay out late and go see a show in person. Of course, he didn’t maintain his levels of indomitable energy, but that was a slight oversight on my part.

I’ve been going to the occasional show since I was thirteen (Endfest ’93, if you must know, was what officially popped my concert cherry), and the various smells which accompany them had long since passed from the forefront of my brain. No longer did my nose consider overwhelming B.O. or just the slightest wafting hint of marijuana worthy enough of my attention. So while I was enjoying the hell out of the concert, and Wildflower was patiently tolerating it (as it turns out, I’m up for epic walks to venues to save a few dollars, while she is most decidedly not), David was practically nodding off. I figured it was just a case of being burnt out, until I went down from the balcony seating (where Flor had insisted upon sitting) to the main floor where I could properly feel the spirit of Metallica covers played in San Francisco.

Once again, I barely registered the smell of a freshly lit joint, but it wasn’t until I followed the billowing smoke upwards, and caught sight of the balcony where my wife and son were sitting, that I finally figured out why my son, the Energizer Buddy, was so wiped. I walked back up the stairs at the end of the song to rejoin my family, to find David practically passed out, despite the roaring volume in the hall. I briefly let Wildflower know what was going on, and the look I received was murderous.

We finished out the show, and hung around to finally meet the band. Due to some sort of administrative cock-up, the Meet & Greet was held after the show, and it was like herding cats trying to keep David upright, and Wildflower moderately conscious. I could tell that both of them wanted to call it a night, but I felt (rightly so, I still believe) that, as I’d spent the money so that we could have the pleasure of meeting the band, that we should stick around and, you know, actually meet the band.

And I’m glad we did just that. It was a little crazy and disorganized, but Apocalyptica were good sports about it, and we had a nice little time. As they were coming by to do autographs, I mentioned to them that it was David’s very first show. We then lined up to do the photo-op, and after our picture was taken (the three of us), the band then asked to get a separate photo with just David.

I’d already liked the band, their music, and appreciated the quality of their live performances, but this kind of blew me away. They must have been at least a little exhausted (despite the adrenaline, lifting a cello over your head and bowing at Metallica speeds is still, I would imagine, quite an expenditure of energy), and there were quite a few people behind us, but they made a point of doing something special to make a little boy’s day, and that earned my loyalty and respect.

All in all, it was a fun evening, but by that point, even I was looking forward to the comfort of my bed. Due to the Meet & Greet happening after the show, we’d missed our chance to get back to a BART station in time for the last train back to the East Bay, so I sighed, pulled out my phone, and summoned an Uber. Forty dollars later, we arrived home, completely rocked out for the near future. Wildflower also informed me that, since I now had David as a companion, she would be bowing out from future events. And, as much as I’d enjoyed sharing these concerts with her, I understood. It’s just not as much fun when you’re exhausted and not terribly excited about hiking.

I promised David that the next time they were in town, I would take him to the show, and we’d bring a print of the picture with us so that they could autograph it. When the VIP tickets went on sale a few months ago, I snatched up two. I got a print of his “solo” photo, and picked up a pack of metallic sharpies.

So now, I am simply waiting for the day to be on its way. I am still feeling a little crummy from whatever bug has been going around work, but my boss gave me an extra sick day yesterday, and I’m feeling up to about 65% (which is only 10-15% worse than I normally feel on any given day). As of writing this, I’ve got three and a half hours until I get David from school, five hours until we leave for the show, six and a half hours until we pick up our tickets from Will Call, and just under nine hours until the show starts.

I’m watching a video from this tour on YouTube to psyche myself up. And, of course, I’ll be posting a Post-Show review of tonight’s experience.

Entertainment

Beauty

March 25, 2015 texbatmart

I’ve thinking of how best to describe how I’ve been feeling lately, and that’s been leading me to think back to one of my favorite movies of young adulthood: American Beauty. I remember the first time I watched it, and how it resonated with me then, how Annette Bening managed to capture the frustrations and drives which I could see in my girlfriend, and Kevin Spacey became my personal hero, the embodiment of a man who truly no longer cares, which was something that I had been desperately attempting for at least the past half-decade. And then there was Ricky Fitts. I never sold drugs in High School, nor did I have to worry about a father such as his (or, for that matter, any father at all), but I got the whole photography thing, albeit in a more static format, and the scene when he’s describing the magic of the plastic bag managed to define my artistic sentiment for years to come.

“It was one of those days when it’s a minute away from snowing and there’s this electricity in the air, you can almost hear it. Right? And this bag was just dancing with me. Like a little kid begging me to play with it. For fifteen minutes. That’s the day I realized that there was this entire life behind things, and this incredibly benevolent force that wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid, ever. Video’s a poor excuse, I know. But it helps me remember… I need to remember… Sometimes there’s so much beauty in the world, I feel like I can’t take it, and my heart is just going to cave in.”

-Ricky Fitts, American Beauty

Maybe it was a side effect of growing up in the Pacific Northwest, but I felt such a connection to the beauty all around me, and since I had taken up photography, I’d learned to try to focus all that beauty through frame of the viewfinder. And maybe it was just a common sentiment among disaffected youth, desperate to find some meaning, any meaning, for the pain they couldn’t help but feel each and every day. All I know is that in the moment that I saw that plastic bag dancing in the wind, I knew that, despite the pain, and despite the seeming hopelessness of the mundanity of the world around me, there was something that made all of this worth it, and I just had to find out what that was.

Even today, encased, as I may be, inside my concrete tomb, I try to hang on to that ideal, to strive to see the beauty just behind the meaningless atrocities of trying to get by. And even though it’s hard to see it through the smog-filtered sunlight of the San Francisco Bay Area, and in the actions of a populace worn down by the iniquities of life, every now and then I can see it poking through, like an overeager child who wants nothing more than to play peek-a-boo with you. And then I blink, and the joy has gone; the vibrancy of life has been replaced by a Polaroid from the 70’s, where everyone is washed out by ennui and yet still manages to look ridiculous upon proper retrospection.

“Both my wife and daughter think I’m this gigantic loser and they’re right, I have lost something. I’m not exactly sure what it is but I know I didn’t always feel this… sedated. But you know what? It’s never too late to get it back.”

-Lester Burnham, American Beauty

I’m not sure where I lost that special something which defined me in my youth, whether it was being beaten down by poor decisions, or simply the inevitable outcome of growing older. One of the reasons why I quit my job and set out to make myself write every day was because I knew that I had lost something- something visceral and vital within me- and I knew that if I didn’t do something, I’d never get it back. I had been worried about the things that other people cared about, running after money, selling pieces of my soul one hour at a time just to pay the rent and keep up with the Joneses. Since I was a little boy, the only future which I ever sought involved me changing the world with the words which only I could write. And yet, here I was, almost three decades later, doing everything except anything I enjoyed. There are necessities which must be attended, but the world the would be a poorer place if no one tried to live their dreams. I knew that I couldn’t afford to let my son grow up in a world where all the magic had been lost, and so I took a chance, and changed my life completely.

“It’s a great thing when you realize you still have the ability to surprise yourself. Makes you wonder what else you can do that you’ve forgotten about.”

-Lester Burnham, American Beauty

Of course, the afterglow has long since faded, and I now face the future with more uncertainty than I think that I can bear. Despite the fact that I’ve been writing almost every day, and even gotten back to where I now feel comfortable in doing it, I’m not writing anything of value, at least not by the standards which I have set for myself. I thought, back in December, that I would have until Mid-January to find some form of gainful employment. I thought that, knowing myself, it would mean that I wouldn’t begin to write my masterpiece until the night before my interview, or worse: first shift in the morning at my new place of employment. But neither of those moments has arrived, and so the desperation for lasting glory has now all but completely faded. I’m still doing something similar to what I’ve always dreamed of, but I know that I need more. There are stories in me, just begging to be freed, and I’m an idiot if, through fear and my own inaction, I allow them to just fade away.

“I had always heard your entire life flashes in front of your eyes the second before you die. First of all, that one second isn’t a second at all, it stretches on forever, like an ocean of time… For me, it was lying on my back at Boy Scout camp, watching falling stars… And yellow leaves, from the maple trees, that lined our street… Or my grandmother’s hands, and the way her skin seemed like paper… And the first time I saw my cousin Tony’s brand new Firebird… And Janie… And Janie… And… Carolyn. I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me… but it’s hard to stay mad, when there’s so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once, and it’s too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst… And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life… You have no idea what I’m talking about, I’m sure. But don’t worry… you will someday.”

Lester Burnham, American Beauty

And there it is: the philosophy which snuck its way inside me when I began to cry. Beyond the plastic bag, and the beauty which it hides within, there is the knowledge that the only thing which stands between myself and perfect happiness is only myself. I wish that I could step back a little from the nonsense of my life, if only to just let the moments stretch into infinity, so that I might stand a chance to feel just one more moment of unbridled wonder. Somewhere within the pain, both physical and spiritual, there is something which I cannot see which will make everything seem worth it. The look of contentment on my son’s face as he figures out the world. The way my wife is so full of life that it radiates out from her, threatens to consume her from within. How my grandson laughs as we share a private giggle at the jokes that only toddlers and elderly can hope to understand. The fierceness of my daughter as she rages at the world just as I once did, when I was younger. The joy of setting words to paper which once existed only in my mind. I am spoiled for happy moments from which to choose; I just wish that I could see them.

Entertainment

Batmart: Into Dorkness

December 9, 2014 texbatmart

My first memory of Star Trek goes back to when my mother checked out a projector and film reel of “The City On The Edge Of Tomorrow” from our local library when I was a little boy. She drew the curtains, turned off the lights, and projected one of the best episodes of The Original Series upon the wall of the little house in which we lived. We later watched the weekly reruns on our little black and white television, and the movies on VHS, and I fell in love with the idea of a future wherein humanity has found a modicum of perfection. Well, back then I remember liking how cool the Enterprise looked (it used to be the only thing I drew), and thinking how awesome it would be to have a transporter room.

For the premiere of Star Trek: The Next Generation, my best friend’s parents set up the living room in his grandparents’ house like the bridge of the NCC-1701 (No Bloody A,B, C or D). It was an event worth the expenditure of effort. And sure, even at that age, I could recognize that the first couple of seasons of TNG had some growing pains. But our patience was rewarded with a handful of good episodes in the second season and the show hitting an actual stride in its third. Finally the cast of the television show was giving the movie cast a run for their money (it didn’t help that Star Trek V: The Final Frontier was so painfully awkward that the juxtaposition clearly favored the men and women of the 24th Century). Once more Star Trek was a cultural talking point. Almost everyone I knew, sci-fi fan or not, was tuning in on Saturday evenings to catch the latest adventures of the Starship Enterprise.

Toward the end of its run, the franchise running at full force, the Saturday night block increased to include Deep Space Nine. Again, there were growing pains, but this time the comparisons were harsher, as TNG was fresher, and almost universally loved. I remember tuning out DS9 right as the Dominion War arc was beginning, growing disillusioned by the seemingly desperate casting patch of Michael Dorn in 1995. Of course, I was well into my teen years, and disillusionment was kind of my thing. Of the Star Trek related shows in which he starred that year, I preferred Gargoyles, as it was almost a perfect TNG reunion, and a pretty great series to boot.

That was also the year that Star Trek: Voyager became the flagship program on the fledgling network, UPN (R.I.P. 1995-2006). We were back to traversing the galaxy in a brand new ship, being led by plot device from the “freedom fighters” of DS9 to the middle of nowhere due to Deus Ex Machina. The signature difficulties of the Next Generation era were again on display, as the show seemed to be a reaction against the season-long stories being showcased on DS9, returning to a series of stand-alone episodes held together loosely by a theme of Gilligan’s Island in space. Eventually, the show would find a balance between the weekly adventures of TNG and the season-spanning narrative arcs of DS9, but by then I’d stopped watching. Of course, I didn’t own a T.V. for its final couple seasons, but the addition of a “sexy” Borg drone didn’t really inspire me to find a way to watch. I did tune in for the finale, as I’d done for DS9, and found myself thankful that I’d gotten out when I did.

It had been a rough time for the Trek I’d known and loved. The Next Gen movies just didn’t have the pop that the Original Cast films possessed, and Star Trek: Nemesis taught us all that one should never attempt to remake The Wrath Of Khan (even as an homage) a lesson that was heeded for all of 11 years. Of course, Nemesis came out the following year. Our first glimpse of the future of Trek arrived just a few months after the end of Voyager. I speak, of course, of Enterprise.

It was a gritty reboot before we fell in love with gritty reboots. It was an almost universally hated prequel in the era of universally hated prequels. I wanted so badly to love it, and found myself rooting for it until they completely botched and then discarded the novel notion of a “temporal cold war.” Then it was a build-up to militarization in response to our Middle East engagements, and the show, while finally finding the elusive balance of stand-alone and season arc that Voyager always aspired to, sold its soul for a last-ditch grab to salvage fading ratings. I tuned back in to watch the final season, feeling, rightly, that the world had been oversaturated with mediocre Star Trek, and this was likely to be the last new content I would see. And something happened that I hadn’t expected. Finally freed from the shackles of the recent tradition of stretching out the show to seven seasons, the writers and producers realized that they had an immense backlog of mythology to pay off, and they decided to use their final season to tie it all up for the fans. It was no longer about searching for a safely neutral (at best) or patriotic tone, but about recognizing and honoring the very best that Star Trek had been. It was a science fiction space opera, a character-driven show that could be used to discuss the issues of the day (as opposed to taking on the party line). Full disclosure: compared to the best Swiftian examples of the Trek which had come before, this final season was noticeably barren, with barely two stories addressing anything of value. But they made the effort to tie the era of Jonathan Archer to the glory days of James Tiberius Kirk, and for me, at least, the effort was enough. I could have lived without the ending, however, taking place within the confines of the Enterprise D’s holodeck during the events of “The Pegasus”, rendering the lives of the crew of the NX-01 as mere object lessons for an ethically conflicted William Riker.

And so, on May 13, 2005, Star Trek gasped its final breath and died.

And there was never any attempt to try and bring it back, merely for profit, utilizing time travel to undo decades of continuity just so they could retell the same stories, but at a lower quality and higher budget, cashing in on our emotional attachments to peddle a shoddy product. Nope. Never happened.

THE END

That’s it for the Continuing Adventures of Tex Batmart today. I’ll be back again tomorrow at noon!