sing blue silver

Music: Mephisto Walz: Insidious Well, this morning I don't feel too bad, which is good considering my deliberate attempt to be a glutton last evening on my last evening in New Orleans as a resident. The Duran Duran show was fun, but the crowd was strange: I've never seen such a concentrated group of boring looking people with fanny packs and "god, guns, and no-gays" kinds of t-shirts except at Walt Disney World. I sez to my date: Gee, we're not the oldest people here, and we still actually remember how to dress eighties style.

Speaking of my date, Jen is a friggin' hoot and I will miss her very much. She's like my only buddy in Nola these days. And despite the fact she was MY date, she was getting' her girl on and picked up not one, not two, but three phone numbers from ladies she met at the concession stand. I sez, "Jeez Jen, how do you do it?" And she's like, "I just go up and hit on 'em." She's a pro, I'll give her that. I didn't see her for half the concert . . . .

Anyway, aside from Jen's gyno-conquests, there was a little drama here and again. Arriving an hour early, will call didn't seem to have us on the VIP list. Bummer. So after waiting for what seemed like forever, two tickets were produced for us: 10th row, floor, very close. Alas, the floor was not packed and the arena was not sold out (poor guys, they thought they were bigger than they are, I guess). So we got even closer, so close that I could smell Simon's sweaty bleating. This was certainly exciting, for there was no way I would have ever got seats this close (or that mom and dad would have ever chaperoned) when I was a sixth grader. We jammed out hard from about the third row for a good long bit, but then the security was all up in our grill and shit making us go back to our seats (I mean, us Duran Duran fans are dangerous).

The group was very polished, and the sound was very very good. I wondered at times if they were syncing, but nope, I was up so close I could see the spittle and I even heard a boo-boo chord once, so, these guys were live and were very professional. They were so good, in fact, it was all too slick for the first set. But once they stopped going through the motions, they got much better and the vibe was so 80s! It was happy times. And imagine my unbridled glee when Simon's fourth wardrobe change was a Fascist-style suit and cap! And he sang "Sing Blue Silver!" I thought for a moment a heil hand gesture was coming, but no, it didn't go as far as Marilyn Manson likes to take it.

Nick Rhodes, of course, is the genius behind the whole outfit, and he looked suave and smashing in his dark suit and serious red shirt and tie; he looked so serious the whole evening, like he always does. He was usually considered the "ugly weird one" but now he's kinda hot and still delightfully fashionably strange; the guitarist Andy Taylor should get the "got-older-and-uglier" award, and he looking like such a dweeb jamming out to basic synth-pop (he left the band in the late 80s and made a hard rock album, and he and the band got in some sue-fest-ness over the album Notorious. Which reminds me, Simon was sooooooo gaaaaaayyyyy when "Notorious" was played (it was like he was on the catwalk or something; laugh-out-loud funny he's so not hot anymore). And then there was this part in "Hungry Like a Wolf" or whatever when Simon crawled seductively to the edge of the stage. Oh my god that was so ridiculous: dude, if I'm not 24 any more, you certainly ain't! Jen and I debated about who it would be cooler to sleep with: John Taylor (whose the only one left that really looks hot) or Nick Rhodes. I said Nick, obviously, because he makes good music and is the brains of the whole artifice and would be a better pillow talker. Besides, he never had any qualms about guy-make-up. Jen disagreed, saying that women really do respond to bass (association station says: Renegade Soundwave single from the early 90s; key scene in Private Parts with Howard Stern and a speaker-sitting caller).

They played all the good stuff. I only have three complaints. First, my favorite song, "Save a Prayer," was one huge karaoke display, when Simon simply said "you sing it for me" and held the mic to the audience. NO! I'm sorry, but I didn't pay to hear my favorite song sung by a bunch of drunken New Orleans natives with conservative clothes on. Second, they didn't play the two best songs on the new album, "Astronaut" and "Bedroom Toys." Boo. Third: Simon, yes, you can sing, and much better than any of the groups I've seen on Hit Me Baby One More Time, but, YOU ARE NOT A 24 YEAR OLD HOTTIE.

Here's a photo album of last night. The little doggie is Jen's miniature Doberman, Isis.

Overall, though, it was a fun show. I've not been to an arena show in some time. I don't like them, in general, unless I'm doing lots of drugs, but I haven't done drugs in about a decade (yes, it's really true). But I'd do it for the Cure again, and perhaps Depeche Mode and the Rolling Stone . . . that is, I'd do an arena show.

Must . . . pack . . . boxes (repeat)