sí, ah sí: ellos la tienen

i generally don't have it in me to make the schlep down to lansdowne street. this is typically due at least in part to the previously discussed insufficience of the local parking and transit, and also because, well, a lot of lansdowne is icky and peopled by very drunk youths in very shiny (and often insufficient) clothing. but yo la tengo, who played at lansdowne's avalon on september 28, are legends, both in my mind and in the physical realm, and i couldn't say no.

allow me to pause here and pat myself profusely on the head for saying yes.

on this night there was once again the draw of an opening band that would have been enough to bring me in all on its own (why?, whom i last saw opening for islands and have batted my crush-stricken cyberlashes at before), but this time it was a serendipitous gift. it may be that avalon's sound system is superior to the middle east's or that standing more than six yards from the wall of speakers improves one's ability to pick up on the more nuanced aspects of a performance, but i think why? sounded better this time than they did the last; i certainly loved them more. their music is sharp and punchy, with the strangely rhythmed vocals of early modest mouse or pavement and pretty, jangly melodies that make you want to jump up and down on the furniture. i was watching them from a much greater distance than in the past (avalon, too, has a lovely balcony section with cushy benches, perfect for uninterested chaperones and fans who no longer believe fainting from heat stroke or a willingness to take an elbow in the eye are reliable measures of one's earnestness) and was able to absorb the full spasticity of the band like never before. once i got over the stage's very pretty backdrop of colored lights on a black screen, which was like a night sky the way it ought to look but now only does from some remote, uncharted land mass near the south pole, i became frequently engrossed by the drummer's seemingly boneless upper body and its invertebrate undulations. he has one move where he twists himself into a wormy coil and stretches his neck what looks like about a foot and a half, flattening his jaw in a manner somewhere between a turtle attempting to nibble a tender green just out of its reach and a cat preparing to vomit. he never dropped the beat, though, and for that he wins my Indie Mutant of the Year reflective safety helmet.


well played, young man.

so. yo la tengo. i don't know how you could have managed to survive this long without them, but let's pretend it's possible and you don't know that yo la tengo have been doing hoboken proud with their epic, all-things-to-all-people approach to writing and playing songs for the past twenty-six years. in that case, you also would not know that after performing together for such a length of time, the act is something that takes place so much more between them than in front of you that the show becomes an almost voyeuristic indulgence. i don't mean voyeurism like training your telescope on the neighbors' bed- and/or bathroom; what i'm talking about is more like what you would experience if you aimed that telescope at the kitchen and watched while half of a couple washed dishes as the other half sat at the table nearby and paid bills--the intimacy of people who know each other inside and out and only half notice each other's entirely familiar movements as they do whatever it is that they're doing together for the nineteen thousandth time. you know what it is that makes that scene so powerful, don't you? you know why you're watching in the first place? it's because you want that moment in your own life; you want in. and, man, do i ever.

the band's drummer, georgia hubley, and guitarist, ira kaplan, have been married approximately forever and exactly eighteen years, and they've been a couple since 1981. how have they done it? everybody asks. how have they lived and worked and toured together day in and day out for a quarter of a century and not destroyed each other or turned to mind-altering chemicals to liven up the obliterating sameness of it all?*

well, i couldn't tell you. i've burned every bridge i've ever laid eyes on. but i know this:

georgia runs an impeccably tight ship. she drums like a metronome, like a machine, never faltering, never sliding, never doing anything but steering that ship, even through the waves and waves of noise that will sometimes surge up at her while ira very plainly loses his mind, simultaneously doubling up as if his appendix has just burst and flipping his guitar over his head or staggering toward the amp like it had just told him seven long island iced teas was enough and maybe he should go home. for ten, fifteen minutes this might go on, just sound and sound and sound until you, way up in the old-people balcony, start to feel a little faint and overwhelmed and dubious about that orange juice you drank really being just orange juice. and the whole time georgia steers that ship, the rhythm constant as polaris in the center of that twinkling, shifting backdrop and that droning, fender-propelled fog of buzz and madness, and when it's time for ira to come back in,

georgia looks at him. and he looks at her. the cloud lifts, the water calms, the song ends.

i guess that's how they do it. and three cheers for that. oh, also, they have no children. and james mcnew, the bassist, is brilliant and adorable and covered prince on his solo album, and how could anyone not be happy while he was around? impossible.

i'm happy to continue traveling alone while i wait for the opportunity to travel like that.






*i'm not necessarily ruling this out, mind you. they did come of age in the disco era, and they're definitely sweet on the velvet underground.