Results tagged “whitegold”

White Gold took to the stage and went right into it, playing their high energy dance punk to a low energy audience of not much more than fifty, most of which stayed seated in the blocked off bar area. Crowd banter was NOT going to work for them, with silence as the only response to calls for claps or the jokingly posed, "Anyone have a shaker?" The annoyance was obvious from the lead singer, who treated the show like a practice session, playing with very little passion, following the previous query with a monotone, "I want to die. Anyone have a noose?" We have to admit it has to be hard for a band that thrives on feedback from the crowd to perform to an empty house, but really, there's no reason to take out your frustrations on the people that did show up. That's just bad P.R.. Seattlest thinks White Gold could be a very fun band to see in a packed space and we'll give them another chance, but based on Sunday alone, we'd have to write them off as well...whiny bitches. (Later, the band gave away free copies of their CD as consolation. Nice move, but a more motivated performance would have been better.)

So the last two days we heard seven bands. And that was a Sunday and Monday night! Our ears are tired. Not that you care. Where the hell were you, anyway? About 20 people showed up for the El Corazon show. It was all-ages, but only four under-21ers skipped Sunday-night homework to come. A bunch of Euro-sausage arrived late to catch Starsailor at the Crocodile. You know, with their Euro-pop t-shirts and orange sneakers. It was like a tale of two night clubs: one gritty (i.e., an actual leaking ceiling) and over-amplified, with a fiercely indie audience, and the other gritty (the ceiling has various kinds of sound baffles nailed to it) and over-amplified, with a used-to-know-someone-who-was-fiercely-indie crowd.

Seattlest doesn't find this picture funny at all. We know firsthand how hard those awkward years of high school can be. The pimples, the pants that didn't fit right, the God-awful hours spent wishing Heather Cannon would think of us as more than that creepy guy staring at her. If you think this picture is funny, well, you're a bad person.