I hate to start a show review in such a cheesy way, but as recently as four years ago, the singer from Phantom Planet was going down on Franco-Manitoban Oscar winning actess Brie Larson. Or, maybe he wasn't. The engagement was called off. That seeemed to follow the same relationship trajectory as his musical and sexy haired contemporary one Benjamin Gibbard and his French/Quaker bride who was in the movie Elf.
However, unlike Benjamin, guy from Phantom Planet has not gone on to sell out multile nights at MPP and Anthem. He's not playing a show that is part of an amazing history making multiple night residency like his contemporaries Hamilton Lighthouse (9:30 Club) and the Vaping Dude from the National (Anthem) were on the very same night. (Side note: The National really shold have played the Francis Scott Key classic at the Anthem, but I don't want to rehash that show here.) He's playing one night at a small DC club most famous for shit flying out of their window. Furthermore, his loyal bass player now has a paying job as bass player for the Maroon 5, and even recently appeared with them on the Voice. Or so they told us at the show. And his unloyal drummer Jason Schwarznegger (the only reason to see the band, in my show absentee wife's humble estimation) left the band to pursue a part time acting career and full time career as son of the Terminator.
So Phantom Planet guy has every right to be jealous, and petty, and to just phone it in on a humpday at DC9. And does he? Hell to the mf-ing no. Bruv owned that stage. He sang his mf-ing heart out. He didn't play Anthem, but he sure did sing it.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3idzKA0P8Cw. Bruv was so inspired, he even broke into a RATM cover at one point, and hell they're in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Bruv was hungry. Not for something cheesy, but for some mf-ing rock and roll glory. Though the crowd ate it up like a package of Kraft singles. No brie necessary. I bow to you, singer guy from Phantom Planet.
And skeaping of the crowd, there was really no way to politely make my way to the front of the crowd, so I planted my feet firmly at about the same spot the Yada saw me at the last time I was at DC9. And instead of worming my way through the crowd, I made friends with my neighbors. First, I met the bald, short guy in front of me, with his taller female companion. The openers Range Life were rockers from Jersey (with the name it sounds like they should be from Texas), and bald short guy was telling companion how his ma went to high school with Bongiovi and Bongiovi asked his ma out and his ma turned him down. And then he instead asked out Dorothea and the rest is history. Sure, that's the yarn she spins for her sensitive, short, bald son's ears. But it's not the one that she spins at the Metuchin Senior Center when she's pasta dining with Carmella and Adriana. Oh hell to the mf-ing no. The girls get the whole story of the glory of Italian pubes in the 70's. To my right was Rick Rubin, wearing a Faith No More t-shirt, no less. Or at least I was convinced it was him when I snapped his photo with my handy dandy Space phone. I'm not going to post the photo here, but by the look on his face, Richard has had it with the paparazzi. I'm just glad he didn't Sean Penn me. By the way, it looks like he has returned to his vegan lifestyle. Or else he's carrying a little Richard. It's possible in these woke days, it really is. And skeaping of wrasslin, behind me, I felt one or two of my neighbors repeatedly slamming into me. I turned around to tell them that I'm from Virginia, and Virginia is for lovers when I saw that they were two p.m's (you can't spell it out in this post Lizzo/Dinklage Rick Rubin having a baby woke world we're living in) in a wrasslin match. Figuring they must have been fighting over yours truly, I intervened and told them that back in Virginia, known for it's lovers, I had plenty of dinner leftovers and that they were both welcome to join me and my beloved family. That settled them down. Until they played the RATM song.
