Got back late last night/this morning from the Keane concert in Oakland. The show was AH-MAZING! Let me start at the beginning… Fran Healy from Travis opened and he was fantastic. He came on stage all by himself with just a guitar and a microphone. It touched me so profoundly, I was bawling like a baby. It was the most pure and beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced. He played a couple of Travis songs and some new songs he’d never played live before that are going to be on his new solo album.
Next up was Ingrid Michaelson. She is a little folksy for my taste, but her band was good and they mixed things up with an odd Vanilla Ice/Fresh Prince/Britney Spears number.
And finally, Keane. It was as if Tom Chaplin flew down from heaven and sang us some songs. He has the voice of an angel and he looked better than ever with new hair. (From what I could see through my tear-streaked contact lenses!) They played all the songs I wanted them to and Tim Rice-Oxley was brilliant on piano. This was probably the greatest concert I’ve ever been to. (30 Seconds to Mars in May was a tough one to top. Sorry, Jared.)
If you’re not familiar with Keane or Travis’ music, I highly recommend you check them out. Hopes and Fears is my personal favorite.
No more concerts until Paramore in September…
On Netflix, I came across a little something called Gods of Football: The Making of the 2009 Calendar. Oooh wee!!! They need to make more of this kind of thing for women. All of these men were gorgeous and when they spoke, Oh my gravy!, the Australian accent nearly killed me. At 1hr. 20 min. long, I had to break it up into a few different sessions because all that semi-naked maleness was a bit overwhelming in one dose.
It was a very well-made hunkumentary and the photography was phenomenal. The locations were beautiful too, but let’s say I wasn’t really focused on the palm trees. Oh, and they made the calendar to raise awareness for breast cancer, so I dare you to find something wrong with this. I find it hard to believe there are so many real men who look like this, but apparently there are and they are all living in Australia playing rugby. Excuse me while I get on the internet and find out how to get my hands on a copy of this lip-smacking, drool-inducing calendar.
I just finished “It Might Get Loud” an incredible documentary about Jack White, Jimmy Page and The Edge. What an amazing movie! If you have any appreciation for music, get your hands on this immediately. My mind was blown at how three artists from threes different countries, with different influences, different styles, could come together and play beautiful music together.
Originally, I tuned in only because of Jack White as I am a long time White Stripes fan, but I was equally entertained by glimpses into the lives and talent of Page and The Edge. The music in “It Might Get Loud” made my heart so happy, it nearly jumped out of my ribcage and did a little jig on the floor. I give it five stars out of five.
Well, it’s official. Evgeni Nabokov has signed with the KHL and is going back to Russia. After all the hub-bub - negotiations, salary caps, blah-blah, the rumor mill can cease pumping out speculation. I have mixed feelings about seeing him go! I’m sad that we won’t get to watch him play on tv anymore, but it would have been strange to see him in different jersey anyway. He was my favorite Shark and I even stole his jersey # for Ben Price in Home Ice.
I could tell when Nabby was in goal without even looking at the name on his jersey because I recognized his stance. I’ll miss his cute little shoulder shrug he’d do to adjust his gear in between plays. I’ll miss his candid interviews with the press where he would always answer in earnest, honesty and sometimes slight irritation. I’ll miss what I call the “Nabby Tap“, when all the Sharks lined up to take turns bumping foreheads with him at the end of their games.
I am happy for him, though. He gets to return to his homeland and continue making the big bucks. As we all know, there is nothing wrong with going back home.
Good luck, Nabby! Thanks for a decade of memories in San Jose.