wechsler, provided he manages to figure out how the hell to put the transportation pieces together. (Maybe he'll come see the movie with us, too, who knows!)Then (due to weather) my 5:30 bailed (as it were) and I realized I could go home AND change my clothes AND meet
alextiefling and friend_of_tofu for dinner before our show! So I dashed home, but called shadowdaddy to let him know - and suddenly I had another date for dinner!But when the two of us got to Wagamama in Camden, AT and FOT had gone somewhere else! We tracked them down in a kebab joint, where
shadowdaddy got a call - his date for the evening bailing. Well! He and I ducked out to get some non-fried food, and he decided, why, he would hang out with ME tonight. Lucky me! (And as it turns out he could have got a free ticket to the show, as AT and FOT's friend bailed, but we didn't find that out anywhere near in time, alas.)My review of the show: Emilie Autumn was too cute and the live show was so twee I'm going to need to bathe to get it out. No one can just have people hold twigs up like an archway on the stage, sing underneath them, and not look like a twit. Her instant club hit "Dead is the New Alive" (in my mind, "Think Pink," if that means anything to any of you) did certainly have some (Club) Mercury mojo, but ... I don't know, those big eyes and nice skin and flawless teeth just had me thinking of April Lavigne - totally manufactured and trying to find the right niche, in her case, cutesy art goth. I was really expecting more ... musicianship, more Dead Can Dance, more influence of the early music stuff. J said it was like Bananarama with streaky eye makeup.
On the other hand, Lahannya, the opening band, had a lead singer who just couldn't sing. It was sad. I wanted to crawl back to my misbegotten youth and lock myself in my room in the trailer and listen to Siouxsie and Bauhaus and Sisters of Mercy until all of the bad memories went away. Yick. At least Emilie's backup singers, The Bloody Crumpets, do crafts and sell them at the shows. I approve. In fact, I felt motivated enough to throw a few stitches on while I waited for her to finish her last song, but when the electric violin solo passed the five minute mark, I'm afraid I ran for the stairs like it was leave now or spend an eternity watching Emilie songs translated into GSL (Goth Sign Language), which I presume was what the hand signals were that the the tallest guy in the whole club was throwing during the show from the third row.
Rightie! The weekend has passed the state of maximum flux and should now be settling down a bit. I'm really looking forward to getting a good amount of sleep tomorrow - and I'm really happy
shadowdaddy is here to keep me company (and to run away from pretentious concerts with me, and to marvel at people waiting in line to buy Harry Potter at both of the bookstores on the Putney High Street at 11:30 PM on a Friday night) instead of being at a club right now. 