Best Bets This Weekend

Let's face it, when you discover that you have all six of the signs you've stayed at your job too long, it's all about working for the weekend. Here's my picks for how to spend this week's most livable 48 hours:

Friday
Le Tigre / Electrelane Afterparty @ 2905 Rusk
Don't get me wrong, I'm all for Electrelane, but I enjoy Le Tigre about as much as a rock-chip on a new car window. Who Put the Bomb? has got to be the most obnoxious dancefloor hit of all time. Yes, I include Informer in that equation. This show is sold out, so you already know if you are going.

On the upside, however, Damon and Fredster are throwing an afterparty nearby with the Fatal Flying Guilloteens, Champa Moore and Stiletto. They usually throw a good party, the Guilloteens always put on a good show and Stiletto has the midas touch on the dancefloor. VIP or Bust.


Saturday
Watermelon Dance and Summer Social @ The Last Concert Cafe
Ok, I am sort of wierded out by the Last Concert Cafe. It's like watching a concert on a beach, except that you're not on a beach and It's not clear why they are trying to make it seem like one. It also has a bit of a Phishy vibe on it that I cannot put my finger on. It is nice, though, to have a Mexican restaurant at your disposal for before or after a show.

This being said, I have heard great things about Sean Reefer and the Resin Valley Boys (and I think they were up for a HPMA, which they may or may not have won). They are broadly described as a country/swing group and are alleged to be playing at 8pm. Also on the bill is the jazz ensemble Drop Trio (likewise a HPMA nominee). I cannot vouch for the rest of the bands, but I can say that the $10 cover benefits KPFT. If you can track down a schedule of when any of the bands for this festival are playing (yep, its a full blown festival, including stuff for sale and presumably watermelon to eat), please post it in the comments.

Good luck, and Happy Weekending.

Burlesque: Is It Ok To Like Sexy?

Some comebacks I can do without. Like that of Mike Tyson, for example. But generally speaking, I think we all can all appreciate something great coming back for another round. Take, for instance, the career of Bill Murray, The 2005 Astros and increasingly, burlesque shows.

Ahh, Burlesque. From my narrow window onto the world, I’ve noticed an uptick. Perhaps it’s going on with every social pigeonhole, but it seems to me that the burlesque I’ve been hearing about is targeted – and it’s targeted at me. Not ‘me’ as in ‘a heterosexual male,’ but rather ‘me’ as ‘person who reads Vice magazine while listening to the Arcade Fire.’ The first proper burlesque show I saw was at one of A Cupcake’s notorious 1415 California parties earlier this summer; a voluptuous Marylynesque woman performed a classic/y striptease that included a stint in a bathtub. It was fantastic, and I didn’t feel the least bit guilty watching it (unlike when in strip clubs, where I always feel a more than a little dirty).

There has been a mixing of girlie shows and indie rock at least for the past couple years it seems. New Years 2004 at Don Hill's featured both The Fever and the women of Burning Angel. The Suicide Girls have a touring show (which was confirmed to play Houston while I was writing this).

But burlesque’s resurgence has moved beyond organized commercial ventures. Somehow, the sexuality of the strip-tease has become pedestrian. I can’t remember a single time at a Spinning Kitties Thermal gig where there wasn’t at least one person who got up and rocked the pole on the bar. The other week, 1415 had a wet t-shirt contest with actual real participants (as opposed to the prize chasing strippers that were brought in). How has this happened? Why is the playful exploitation of ones own sexuality becoming more acceptable? Can this really all be blamed on the Scissor Sisters or Avenue D?

I don’t really know what to think. My white liberal angst tells me that I should spend Wednesday night hunkered down with Gloria Steinem doing intellectual penance for enjoying the objectification of the female form. But I think the safe money is on finding me at the touring Fluffer Girl Burlesque Show at the Proletariat. I have no idea why I won’t feel scummy watching it, but I won’t. And I know the place by all rights should be a sea of white caps in khakis, but it won’t. No, it’ll be boys and girls like me who I suspect also won’t feel guilty in the least around all that nudity. Perhaps I’ll ask them what they think.


Show info:
Fluffer Girl Burlesque Show
w/ Clouseaux

Wednesday July 27
The Proletariat
$10, 21+

Lucky Starr

Held aloft by an airy synth pad, the first band of the night cooed this refrain over and over. In matching pink undershirts, black ties and sunglasses, The Gaze was saying more than just the words printed on the large sign hanging behind them. Possibly more than any of the other varied and interesting performances that night (photos here), The Gaze were stating that they got it.

They knew how ridiculous the entire concept of the Starr Project is, and they were replying in kind. Beautiful, playful, homoerotic kind.

I can’t say that I know where the idea for the Starr Project came from (it was first done in Houston in 2003), or what exactly compelled the current organizers to start it back up. It’s a Houston happening that really could exist only now, in the time where reality television has pushed most scripted programming off the big three’s schedule. Don’t agree? Try this on for size:

Twenty strangers, divided at random into four teams, have just a single month to write and rehearse a set before competing in a battle of the bands. You, the audience, will vote to see who wins the big prizes and who goes empty handed. Forget washed up Aussie rockers; this is The Starr Project. Weeknights on CBS.

The Starr Project is reality reality. But, like reality television, it’s actually the opposite: a structure and set of rules to create a narrative; rules and structures that don’t exist in the real world (though they do in The Real World). We buy into this on television because we need a beginning, middle and end, along with enough interesting developments each week to keep us watching for the entire season. But then why try the same approach outside the tube? I have no idea, and I can’t think of anything else out there that might be comparable. Could it be that ‘because it will be fun’ is reason enough?

When I think of the sort of people that want to be a reality television show, my thoughts are less than positive. So than if the Starr Project is reality reality, would the same sort of people go out for it? Would these also be the sort of people I wouldn’t want to be stuck on an island with? Or, would they be like me, drawn to throw their names into the hat, but really unable to explain why? Why should I put aside personal projects and spend time on something that’s only going to last a month?

But regardless, my name was drawn, and for the next month I will be one of those strangers, chosen at random, to start a new band. We’re called Montrose Dolphins. Oddly enough, this is the second band I have been in that Domokos has named. I have no idea what to expect, I only hope that, like The Gaze, the five of us get it too.

PS – I had this misfortune of standing next to the trombone player in the last band (the one dressed as the priest) while he was closing his tab. Circumstances set aside, he was such a dick to the guys behind the bar that it blows my mind. Way to bring some negativity to what was otherwise a great evening. What a douche.

Drop a Jihad on that Wax, Y'all

Houston. It’s a tough town to break into, ‘specially if hip-hop is your game. With so much talent and Chingo Bling to compete with – what’s a spittah to do? We’ll, there’s always talent. But barring that, a gimmick may be your only shot at greatness. After all, it worked for the Insane Clown Possee.

So, if you were, for example, a baggage handler at George Bush intercontinental Airport whose moniker is “The Arabic Assassin,” what might you rap about? Well, 21 year old Bassam Khalaf has an answer for you – write about crashing a plane into a building on September 11, 2005.

"I've been screening your bags for the past six months, and you don't even know it," said Khalaf.

Right. Great gimmick. Cause we all know Bad Boy is just dying to put out wax with lyrics like “My name is Bassam, a one man band, I came from sand, affiliated with the Taliban."

Or how about the charmer: "I live up to the reputation of a crazy suicidal Arabic. You know I'm equipped with the bombs and the grenades, the AK's. Now ... make my day."

Fortunately for both Houston air travelers and Def Jam Records, The Arabic Assasin was fired from his job last week.

"Your authorship of songs which applaud the efforts of the terrorists on September 11th, encourage and warn of future acts of terrorism by you, discuss at length and in grave and alarming detail various criminal acts you intend to commit, state your belief that the U.S. government should be overthrown, and finally warn that others will die on September 11, 2005, are all in violation of every aspect of this directive," wrote TSA's Deputy Federal Security Director Hector Vela in his own rap firing Khalaf. Vela later commented that he wished he had remembered “to call him a douchebag” in the letter.

Khalaf, coming soon to a terrorist no-fly list near you, defends himself by saying that he’s just playing along with a character. "What if I called myself the Mexican Assassin?" he asked Channel 2 News. Our thoughts: you would prolly need to be Mexican to do that.