Art of the Odd

Last week, I had an unusually vivid dream about a Duran Duran concert. (I mean that the dream was unusually vivid — not that it was unusually vivid as dreams about Duran Duran concerts go. In fact, I think it’s the first dream I’ve ever had about a Duran Duran concert…) Anyway, as a child of the ’80s, who watched Sing Blue Silver again and again (and liked to replay the bit where John Taylor sticks his tousled head out of his hotel room door at 9 AM and says “No, go way. Too early. Go away,” because he was just too damned cute in his pineapple PJs), I’ve wanted to go to a Duran Duran concert since I was 14. Okay, 12. And I never got to. Then, of course, they broke up and I thought I’d never get a chance, and then they got back together but I’d just started a new job and had no money when they came to LA. But the dream (in which Nick Rhodes made eye contact with me, John Taylor sang to me and Simon Le Bon tried to seduce me) moved me to visit their website. And, where should they be playing next but in New Orleans, at the Voodoo Music Experience? With the Red Hot Chili Peppers, no less? And the Flaming Lips?

I spent two weeks in New Orleans in the early ’90s, and I’ve wanted to go back ever since. After Katrina, it became even more important to me. And to see Duran Duran (and several other favorite bands) in this, one of my favorite cities? “Damn,” I thought. “I wish I could go.”

And then I thought, “Well, why can’t I?”

“NovySan,” I asked. “Would you like to go to New Orleans the weekend before Halloween?”

“Yes!” he said.

I bought the festival tickets the next day. I’ll book the flight and hotel just as soon as we know how long we’re staying.

So, John — from an awkward teenager who may once have sent you a gold chain she’d worn every day for months (I honestly can’t remember if I ever put that chain into an envelope or not) — thanks for the push I needed to get me back to New Orleans. And Simon — you’re still not getting any.

Tod A., if you don’t know, is the brilliant singer/songwriter/bassist/mastermind/fantraztico (okay, I just made that last word up) of Firewater, a band I discovered when eMusic recommended them as “followers” of Tom Waits. Within a few days, I’d downloaded all five of their albums and gone looking for more. I found the website for Tod’s prior band, Cop Shoot Cop, and through the message boards on Firewater’s site, I was introduced to Gogol Bordello, a great gypsy punk band also available on eMusic. But I didn’t find any more Firewater, because Tod’s in Asia, paying his way with his command of the English language and blogging his adventures on “postcards from the other side of the world.”

This is where I come in. I commented on one of Tod’s posts (have you gone and read them yet? Go read them. I’ll wait.), and got an email from him a few days later. My mouth dropped open when I saw the name. I opened the email. I read it. I got up from my computer. I walked slowly into the living room, and calmly (oh, so calmly) told NovySan, “I got an email from Tod A.” His mouth dropped open. We stood there, staring slack-jawed at each other, until I started to giggle.

It took me three days to formulate a reply that struck the right cool tone — because what I really wanted to write was, “OMG, OMG, I love your music, and I love your writing, and your voice is amazing, and everyone I’ve introduced to you loves you too and my friend Keili, he’s a musician too, and he loves you, and OMG I think you’re so so so so cool,” and to maybe make my voice break on the word “cool,” the way Lady J’s did on that episode of G.I. Joe where Cobra Commander turned some of his henchmen into a rock band called “Cold Slither,” whose music was subliminally enhanced to create an army of zombies enslaved to C.O.B.R.A. But obviously I couldn’t do that, because I’m an adult, and of course I wouldn’t want to make a complete idiot out of myself online. (Except, of course, that I just did…)