Okay, so the Harlow show? Was not as great or as much fun as it could have been. Why? Other bands, and a weak crowd. But first let me say how excited I was at the idea that they would crash at my house after the Philly show. Yeah! Naked coke party, here I come!
So yeah, let's back up a bit. Julie, the FLICKERSTICK publicist (and gal pal, who I hung with when SOULCRACKER came to Philly this September), is Harlow's tour manager's roommate. Got that? So, one day when Julie and I were talking, I was like, "Oh, Harlow can crash here if they have to." Julie said they may take me up on that, since VH-1 is not paying for this tour or anything. At once I start hoarding cases of beer and drugs, in preparation of their arrival. Many of my friends become jealous. "HARLOW is the only reason I watched the show! They made it fun!" and "I LOVED them!" are the comments I'm getting. "And can we come over after?" Um, maybe. I was thinking about all the cool girl bonding that would go on. Me and HARLOW, reading magazines and doing face masks! Painting our nails! Listening to music and talking about the tour! Amanda and I would hit it off, and she'd say, "Oh, RALEIGH, AlexOHNdra, you have a great house! And a very nice AHSS," just like she said about Sutton and Ramsey's girlfriends. But it was not to be.
The day before the show, I talk to tour manager Marnie, and she says thanks for the offer, but we have other accommodations. "And besides, there are seven of us." Seven? And I only have one bathroom. I'm bummed, yet relieved. And also curious. There's the four women of HARLOW, Marnie, and two other people. Is it? Could it be? El Dangeroso? Wow. To warm up before the show, my boyfriend Ben and I drink beers, watch the pilot of Bands on the Run, and laugh at the promotional materials VH-1 sent me a million years ago, debate whether or not there will be a Bands on the Run Two: Electric Boogaloo, and make up our rules for Punchbuggy -- or, that night, Punch-Harlow:
One punch when you see a Goth.HARLOW show in Philly
One punch for a black leather triple-studded punk rock belt.
One punch for a backwards baseball hat.
Manic-Panic-ed hair? You got it. One punch.
One punch when Amanda leans back as she plays guitar -- if they all lean back, three punches.
If Amanda says, "AHSS," drink a whole beer.
If El Dangeroso shows up, smoke a bowl.
Ben and I get there, and some lame local band (Carfax Abbey) is tuning up. We head upstairs, and the bartender totally ignores us. No service, even though we're sitting at the bar. The live music begins. Right from the bad Goth start, the drummer is shirtless (even though the drum machine is working overtime) and the singer, who looks like The Rock, is doing those Chinese fist-in-palm martial arts bows after EACH SONG. Ben is like, "Can you smell what the Goth is cooking!?" It smelled like suck. The bass player is all Korn-like and aggro, going "BOMP" as the drum machine is double-bassing and doing all the work, and it was just terrible. It felt like they played for an hour and a half. Finally we went downstairs to see it close up, and it was just SO BAD. The crowd was 4-to-1 guys to girls, and they were scary farmer-looking guys, not hot guys. But I bought a CD (which totally says PRODUCED BY PAT SMEAR in huge letters in the center) and said "hi" to Chimene and Marnie, the tour manager lady. Marnie told me that some unnamed person had put them up in a hotel. Vague, yes? And yet I didn't want to press. Chimene drew back and didn't talk to me. I was a little surprised. I mean, SOULCRACKER were nicer to me, and those guys are assholes. Maybe I should have formally asked for an interview, or, you know, kissed their asses, or mentioned Mighty Big TV, or that I'm a journalist. But my instincts said not to. They both seemed like they were very tired -- Marnie said they had five more shows before they had a day off. Dang. They had driven from Pittsburgh to play Philly that day, then had to drive to Boston the day after. Not fun!
So, Ben and I split back to the upstairs bar, where the bartender decided to serve us. Aww. The beers were cold and necessary. Finally the first band stops, and we learn that ANOTHER BAND is playing before Harlow goes on. No. Please. No more. These guys really suck -- leather pants and a henley on the singer, and they were all sloppy and lame. Ben is groaning so loudly, Marnie can hear him by the t-shirts. And all this time, HARLOW is not hanging out. They were just not at the bar. But who was? A handful of lame, tired Goths -- maybe fifty people total. Not packed like we thought. Not packed like the FLICKERSTICK shows Sars and I saw.
Finally, HARLOW takes the stage. Like, maybe thirty people go down to watch. They play all the hits ("Blue Lie," "Mike Hunt," "Serial Killer Hangover," you know them from the thirty-second snippets on the show). No one heckles, no one dances. Eventually Amanda starts asking the audience to buy her beers. I consider buying her one, but Ben says she should have brought one from the dressing room. And I bought a goddamn $15 CD, so I gave to the cause. The best musician is Chimene; she played her melodic bass lines super well and had a great voice. But I think Ben said it best when he called them "tepid." They all looked great!