nikki awesome is sulky awesome because life is so boring

nikki awesome is sulky awesome because life is so boring

Darling, it was simply too, too divine!

Friday night I was invited to Depeche Mode with about a half-hour to spare. Threw on my equivalent to jeans and a t-shirt (which obviously included heels, painted-on clothing, full makeup, push-up bra and sequins – naturally) and ran out the door, arriving just in time to have missed Peter, Bjorn & John for the second time this year (should I add “phew!”?). I really haven’t heard their new stuff, I was supposed to see them at Scala in London a few months ago but the thought of being around a pulpy mass of wannabe Brooklynites with half-demented haircuts and Liza-Minelli-hair-and-makeup-gone-awry was too much to bear in addition to not halving been able to get “Young Folks” out of my head for all of 2007.


Here’s the view from front row. Got so spoiled with BS passes and whatnot. However, the concert was so amazing, why would you even CARE to go backstage? (Yes, I am a jerk. But a jerk who had sooo much fun at the kickoff of the North American DM tour.) You just know backstage was full of mom jeans and leopard-print thongs barely visible under Tribal Tramp Stamps anyway. Probably not my crowd…

The band was phenomenal. Like, REALLY, though. I kind of didn’t expect them to be that good. Like you know when a band you like comes off drugs and starts sucking (come on, like it’s not universally true that we love fucked-up self destructive artists), but they were SOLID. (Probably all the vitamins and B12 shots, as one of my friends would say.) Behind them was a grillion dollar LED videoscreen that was absolutely unbelievable. I think It was quite honestly the best concert experience EVER for me. It’s so funny how a venue can absolutely change from one concert to the next — I had just seen Damien Marley & Nas a few weeks before and it seemed like a completely different place. Or maybe it was just more full of drunk yups on pills instead of teens on the chron.

The next day was in studio, previewing some new tracks and hanging out playing the organ. Not that one, you pervs. A Wurlitzer that was sooooo adorable I couldn’t resist doing an ALL-ORGAN version of our song PAYBACK, which maybe, if you’re ever so lucky, I’ll release to all you sassy organ grinders out there. On the proviso that you dress as the cute little neglected pickpocket monkey with the tiny tambourines. Adorable. Glorious. Done.

After that, it was off to a fabulous party full of too much wine and dazzling intellectualism. Discussed everything from philosophy to gender politics to new music licensing while newcomers were subjected to sink or swim into the shark-infested waters of our hyperpassionate conversations. I’m not going to lie, there were some casualties. We then took our show on the road and crashed another party full of refugees from France (alright, they may not be ACTUAL refugees, but they are taking cover in overtly subtle and uninteresting eggo waffle culture over here. And in my mind, they are simply TERRIFIED of baguettes, mustaches and mimes). I spoke French until I forgot how to speak English.

I woke up in the morning to thunderstorms and stolen bouquets, always a deadly combination. I saw the first cut of the new video — and here I am again, in the postion where I’m just DYING to show it to you, but I suppose you’ll just have to beg me and offer me bribes wait until MuchMusic throws it down, which should be soooooooon. Yikes! So much I just can’t tell you! Always these secrets between us! It’s killing your soul, isn’t it?

It’s killing mine, too.

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