Weekend Tapas

Breaking: women still aren't equal, some good tunes by a sad guy, and a long-lost concert review.
Happy Saturday!


"Certainly, when you look at the numbers, women have made tremendous strides over the past 25 years. But in the process, we lost sight of something important. After focusing for so long on better jobs and higher pay, maybe the best thing — the enduring thing — we can do is make sure respect is part of the equation too." [NYT]

Casiotone For The Painfully Alone from Daytrotter.


Finally, the following is a review of a Kings of Leon Concert I wrote about four years ago. It ended up not getting published because my co-staffer at the paper, a talented writer and a more resourceful one at that, drank with the band after the show, which my boobs, general cluelessness, and lack of years on my ID would have made difficult. Plus, his review was actually a lot better. The Kings are now apparently "huge in Europe" but floundering on the modern rock radio format at home, beloved by neo-corporate, new parent types. But for a minute, they seemed poised to take on the world, like the Strokes three years before them. Anyway, here it is, a sign of the times. Oh, to be underage, drunk in public, and completely convinced by a rock and roll band.

Where There's Kings of Leon, There are Fire Trucks

By Emily May

October 5, 2005

Kings of Leon have spent their short life on the scene being likened to anyone from the Strokes to the Allman Brothers by admirers and skeptical critics alike so I'll spare them the disservice of comparison, however flattering. Their sound, style and coifs may not have originated within the foursome's career span, but the Kings have made each one all their own. The Tennessee-based band of three brothers and their cousin showed that they're more than just a little bit rock and roll on Tuesday night at Higher Ground, satisfying the crowd who name-checked everyone from Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin to Widespread Panic as other favorites.

The Kings played a calculatedly raucous set to appreciative, carefully accessorized 20-nothings, with boys decked in Burger King crowns (an homage?) and women's jeans, trying to ignore their growing, undeniable attraction to front man Caleb Followill, as the girls tossed their side-bangs to Jared Followill's base lines, wishing they could be as pretty as he is. Whether totally organic, as the band claims, or completely manufactured, as their critics contend, their unique take on 21^st century classic rock, exemplified on “Taper Jean Girl” and “Rememo”, off their latest album, Aha Shake Heartbreak, proved undeniably danceable in a manner that shows these boys have never heard the term “post-rock.” The party reached its height during a surging rendition of “Trani,” as Caleb played down on his knees, proving that while the young group is constantly measured against other bands who were around when rock wasn't “classic” yet, their sound is nothing if not technically perfected. I'd heard reports of the boys rocking like young Keith Richardses, and this cynic is happy to attest that she felt that she was watching rock roll at it's twenty-first century best, at a time when Keith's face is hanging almost as low as Bush's poll ratings.

As any rock and roller knows, no show is complete without some unplanned mayhem, or at least badged officials. As the anticipation for the encore hung in the air like the thick smoke from the prevalent illegal substance of the evening, the lights switched on and the fire alarm sounded as the disappointed crowd filed out as if a high school party had just been busted. And just like a high school party, everyone had an unrequited crush. Love or loathe the Kings of Leon, there wasn't a dry crotch in the house.