Brad Barrish

Foo Fighters @ House of Blues (Anaheim, CA) 02.07.02

Within nineteen seconds, the show was sold out via the Internet. Dave Grohl even said something about it during the show. Seeing the Foo Fighters in a 500 person capacity venue is a treat. Sure, you could have seen them in a place that size several years ago, but this night was most definitely a privilege.

For the first time in quite some time, Foo Fighters were back on stage. Over the last several months they have been working on the follow-up to Nothing Left To Lose. Having just finished the album, it was immediately apparent that they were ready to rock the stage again.

Dave Grohl and company love to rock. You can’t help but feel it with every lyric recited, every chord played and every drum pounded. Grohl is one of the best frontmen in rock music. Whether it’s a crowd of 1000 or a crowd of 100,000, he plays to you and gives his heart. People respond to that, not to mention his mighty sense of humor.

The band debuted several new songs and if the live versions hold true to the studio tracks, the forthcoming album will please the fans, for sure. During their last encore of the evening, which included a ballad from the new album, which word has it, Queen’s Brian May added some tracks to, the audience was in complete awe. Additionally, Dave performed a crowd-pleasing solo, electric version of “Everlong.”

Clocking in at just around two hours, the show was nothing short of one of the best I have ever witnessed, not to mention proceeds went to a good cause. The concert was a benefit for the Musicians Assistance Program (M.A.P.), an organization that helps people in the music industry with drug and alcohol addiction. It was started by Buddy Arnold and Carole Fields in the early nineties and has since grown into an international organization.

It speaks for itself. And when it stops, let me know and I’ll mirror the video on my site.

“The notion is if you’re going to welcome me with open arms, you also have to welcome me with open legs.”

Such wisdom from Gene Simmons. The fact that it all went down on NPR with Terry Gross is just awesome. I missed it and now I’ll have to go find it somewhere.

Oh, and feel free to discuss it amongst yourselves.

I didn’t watch the State of the Union last night. I’m pretty sure I had better things to do. Too bad it wasn’t as good as this version.

It all started a couple of years back. I dunno, maybe it was less than that. I was pulling into a parking space in the garage of the place where I was once employed. SMASH! I crashed into the next vehicle over. I was distracted. It was an honest mistake, but the damage was done, and very little of it was to my vehicle.

I was so disappointed in myself. I took great pride in the fact that I knew the exact dimensions of what I drove and could maneuver it accordingly. I could parallel park with two inches in front or behind without tapping either car. Clearly there were other variables at play here. There’s just no way that I could hit a parked vehicle [pretty damn hard] in a parking garage. I went through it over and over in my head. My jaw was on the steering wheel and I just stared at the damage.

I quickly looked to see if there were any witnesses. Obviously the passenger was a witness, but she could be trusted. I spotted another co-worker, who had observed my gorgeous parking job. “You did not just see that,” I commanded.

“No, but that was a damn fine parking job.”

I got out of my vehicle to survey the damage to the other. No license plate, and I could smell the new-car scent with all of its windows rolled up. After looking at it from as many angles as I could, I made two decisions:

1. I fucked the vehicle up real good.
2. I should do the right thing and put a note on the car saying something to the effect of, “I don’t know if you noticed, but your vehicle has been hit. I did it. I’m really sorry about it. Here’s my work number. Please call me when you get this.”

With my head bowed in shame and utter embarrassment I took the elevator to the office. I talked it over with a couple of co-workers to get their opinion.

“You did what?! Leave a note?! Are you crazy?!”

“That’s the right thing to do though. I mean if someone hit my car and didn’t leave a note I would be pretty pissed.”

“Yeah, but coooome on… Who gives a shit? Are you making enough money to pay for the damage? Are you making enough money for your insurance to go up? Think about these things very carefully and then go back down there and take the note OFF the vehicle.”

My co-worker had a good point, but before I took the note off the vehicle, I went to the parking office and told the parking manager what happened. If I wasnÃŒt going to leave a note, I would at least let the parking guy know what happened. It made sense at the time. The parking manager followed me to the site and said, “It’s not that bad. Let’s see whose vehicle it is.”

The building I worked in was in the middle of Beverly Hills. There were actor’s offices, talent agencies, modeling agencies, record companies and other Beverly Hills-type offices.

After some snooping with a flashlight the head of parking figured out who it belonged to. I removed the note and we went back to his office, looked up the owner’s name and he said, “Listen, this guy works for [name of company] and probably pulls in some bucks. I would just let it go. I’m not going to tell on you or anything.”

There had to be a catch. I looked at him for a few seconds, in silence, digesting what I just heard. He just smiled. Did he want money?

“What do I owe you?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.”

And I was out the door, note in-hand and back at my desk with nothing to worry about.

Flash forward to last Saturday. I parked my vehicle at a meter and ran across the street to grab some reading material at the newsstand and some dinner next door. I read my material and ate my dinner. I went back to my vehicle and noticed something was amiss. Someone had sideswiped my vehicle. No body damage, but certainly enough to notice. They didn’t bother leaving a note.

I felt vulnerable, violated and pissed as hell. How could someone sideswipe my vehicle and not leave a note? What an asshole! I stared at the damage, touched it and blurted out a few more kind words to the wind. I got in and on my way home I was reminded of the time I hit that person’s vehicle and didn’t leave a note. I felt kinda silly and laughed. Of course.

Ed Harvilla, a well known free speech lawyer, is making sure that your dissent for companies is heard. The registration of [nameofcompany]sucks.com is usually done by the companies themselves. Ed doesn’t think this is cool at all, so he’s giving the domains away for free.

Inspired by this news, I came up with a list of domains I would be inclined to register. While they may not be [nameofcompany]sucks.com domains, here’s a few I came up with:

universalmusiccopyprotectionsucks.com bestbuycustomerservicesucks.com goodguyscustomerservicesuckstoo.com 30dollarparkingatLAXsucks.com

Stereophonics @ House of Blues (Hollywood, CA) 01.21.01

I timed my arrival at House of Blues just right. JJ72 was doing something loud and annoying for about two minutes and then they said good-bye. Do I need to mention I’m not a fan? Enough about them though.

I have a problem with a band that lowers the house lights and then proceeds to play a pre-recorded version of one of their own songs to introduce themselves. I know who I’m there to see. I can listen to your CD when I get home. It’s almost as bad as someone showing up wearing a t-shirt of the band that’s playing.

That aside, the band took to the stage in a cocky manor that only the British seem to be able to pull off without being distracting. The band grabbed their instruments and started the set with "Mr. Writer," from one of the best albums of last year, Just Enough Education to Perform. Kelly’s voice was in top shape. Dreamy renditions of "Vegas Two Times," "Have A Nice Day," "Nice To Be Out" and a beautiful performance of ‘Step On My Old Size Nines.’

Fans since their debut release, Word Gets Around, were treated to "A Thousand Trees" as well as other early works such as ‘Hurry Up And Wait’ and "The Bartender and the Thief," both from Performance and Cocktails.

Though the band was in fine form, it wasn’t quite enough for me. I needed them to move around a bit more and talk to the audience. I’m not quite sure what they played for their encore, or if they played one at all. I was out the door a minute after they left the stage. I wanted to be rocked a little more.

The Internet is home of many truths. There’s the truth about who wrote the bible, the truth about UFOs [11 MB movie], not to mention the truth about UFOs and the bible. There’s the whole truth and nothing but the truth, the truth about what’s really going on in the Al-Qaeda interrogations. Best of all though, truth in advertising [3 MB movie] (thank you Michael).

Wanna know what I did today? I woke up at around 11am, though my alarm blasts begining at 10:30am. I sleep well. No trouble there. It’s getting out of bed that seems to be a problem…well, it’s not really a problem because what the hell am I getting out of bed for? Nothing. Remember, I’m voluntarily unemployed. Boy is it fun. Seriously. No, really.

I put on some clothes so I can take my dog outside and rub it everyone’s face that I wake up at 11am. Oh, wait…everyone is at work. Everyone except for Victor. I’ll tell you more about him another time.

Here comes the important stuff…After the dog and I come back inside, I feed her some breakfast, sit down at the computer, read news and blogs, install Mac OS X on my other Mac so I can play with iPhoto and enter a contest with my photos. Wait, there’s more. I get my hair cut, decide to skip an in-store appearance by Starsailor at Amoeba, though I did catch them on Craig Kilborn. Just before that, I watched Jack Black make a nice appearance with the Foo Fighters on David Letterman.

Are you so jealous, or what? I’m feeling quite pathetic, thankyouverymuch.

Oh, and one other thing, B9 d t++ k+ s u- f i- o+ x e++ l c– and I am Johnny Greenwood. Who are you?

I love Los Angeles, and especially on days when you can see all of the city from the top of a canyon. Today was one of those days, so grabbed the pooch and we headed to Runyon Canyon.

I sent a friend of mine some of the photos I took on my hike. She’s something like 100th generation Californian, thus my thinking she would appreciate the photos. She responded with a wonderful and entertaining, personal account of her California. I thought it was worth posting with the photos. Anyway, here’s my friend’s inspired response:

Ah, Los Angeles, my city. My home. I am the quintessential Los Angeles girl you know, perhaps only lacking in breast size to be completely quintessential. I would need large C’s at least. There’s always plastic surgery. I love my city and it loves me. I was born in Mercy Hospital in downtown. My earliest memories include the Chinese Theatre, seeing the gold man with the horn (on top of the Mormon temple) from the 405 out of the car window. My brother and I always called him the “Horny Man.” My parents always cracked up, but we didn’t get it. I remember when the First Interstate Bank building was the tallest in downtown. I remember feeling earthquakes as a kid and thinking they were fun.

My grandparent’s grew up in highland park and my grandpa used to race his chop top down Figeuroa in the late 30’s. My great grandpa was a carpenter and built sets for movie studios in the 20’s and 30’s. He also built a bunch of houses around the city - in Hollywood, Santa Monica and Alhambra. My grandma went to USC and used to summer in Long Beach with her friends, which was quite the student party place in her time.

Both of my parents grew up in pasadena and my mom used to watch movies for 25 cents every saturday at the Rialto Theatre. My step-father grew up in Palos Verdes and I went to the same high school he did. I even had 3 of the same teachers he did. My grandfather was stationed at Fort MacArthur, in San Pedro for 6 months when he was drafted for WWII.

One of the first times I got high was at age 12. I drove to West Hollywood with my friend’s older cousin, tried to get some transvestites to buy us alcohol, and they invited us to a party up the street instead. I smoked and passed out with a bunch of queens in a fab apartment with all of them exclaiming on and stroking my platinum blonde hair. I cut my hand on broken cymbals once, and trailed my blood down 5 blocks of Highland. I’ve thrown up on Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood Blvd., Pico, Main St., and La Cienega. Maybe that’s not something to be proud of but i think you get my point. No matter where i live, Los Angeles will always be my home. It is familiar, comforting and it is mine.

View the rest of the Runyon Canyon photos >>