kill yr idols

A few days ago I saw Calvin Johnson play at the Lime Spider.
It cost five dollars and I thought to myself, “Wow, I think the last time I saw Calvin Johnson it was five dollars, too, and it was back when I lived in Olympia.”
So I went.
I was not terribly impressed with Mr. Johnson's insipid, uninspired performance. What could have been a really cool thing smacked of bored pretension. Calvin tried to do his best Johnny Cash Tennessee Flattop Box impression, but what translated as stoicism with The Man in Black came across as smug self-aggrandizement with CJ.

A few songs and several smartass comments in, King K Records decided to up his performance a notch by kicking it VH-1 Storytellers style and inviting the audience to sit onstage.



Now before I get too far in this rant, let me offer a couple of disclaimers:

1. Perhaps I am overly protective of dear Akron, my chosen home. I think we've got a lot of cool things going on here, and a lot of potential on par with any number of indie meccas, including D.C. and Olympia, Washington.

2. Perhaps I've heard the sentence "some kid from Ohio" uttered one too many times as shorthand for "some poor schmoe who can't possibly get it" from rockstar-of-the-moment on MTV.

However, I've seen Calvin Johnson perform several times and he did not act as he acted that night. He told pointless stories using extra-big, wide-eyed motions more befitting a kindergarten teacher than anyone who had any sort of respect for the intelligence and appreciation of those assembled before him. And frankly, this pissed me off.

He seemed to be pandering to the crowd, a King presiding over his milk-and-cookies court. He was up there, drolly intoning lyrics about the curl of some girl’s hair and gee whiz and all things twee and looked completely not convinced and totally bored as he sang.

I like my music with a smidgen of danger and a lot of honesty. And I realize that after playing the same damn song a thousand times, the performance runs the risk of becoming rote. But it seemed like he never believed the words in the first place.

The smugness, the calculated schtick (down to fuzzy crewneck sweater)...all of it just reminded me of the worst of the Olympia scene - when whatever originality that made the scene innovative and cool was lost and it becomes nothing more than a lot of posturing hiding behind a brand name and a heaping helping of hype.

Conversely, the act before him, Tender Forever, was a reminder of the best of what Olympia once offered. It was all about being totally spastic, doin’ your thang and not caring what anyone thinks. Sure, there are eight million eloquent ways to say I miss you, yeah, but there are also those three words. Her lyrics were simple and direct and honest, but you can tell she believed in what she was saying. That grain of true emotion was still intact.

Perhaps she gets away with it because she is so tiny and cute and so not a native English speaker. But then again I’ve known the climax of "No Culture Icons" by Portland's The Thermals to be a completely veracious rallying cry for many, as well.

So in true 'merican-and-proud-of-it fashion, I voted with my dollars and bought the new Tender Forever disc over the new Calvin Johnson album. I suppose he gets a kickback either way, given that TF is on K. Oh well.

And as I was putting on my gloves to leave, my finger popped through the fabric of one of the digits. This was the pair of gloves I bought during that crazy ice storm that hit the Pacific Northwest back in 1996. Seemed fitting that it should happen that night. Meh.

Currently spinning:
The Mountain Goats ~ Nine Black Poppies