Space-Age Disco Nunchaku

Seksu Roba opened for TV Eyes at the Troubadour tonight. I am a big fan of the sort of production value they (Seksu Roba) offer. And I believe that people should wear more white. Me included. Especially the sort of white that evokes the rebel base on Hoth sort of crossed with hot disco seksu. I bought their CDs and got a free button. After all, how often do you get to see a theremin played live on stage? Oh, sure, maybe you get to see one every Thursday at the Lion's Club, but does it also include a dancing sexpot Japanese disco spacechick? I didn't think so. That's where I am luckier than you.

Why does TV Eyes not have a CD out yet? I was so charmed by their show and the glam-era multimedia, I wanted to buy their record and rollerskate to it. There are a lot of things that I don't cherish about the late '70s and early '80s. But it's hard to disrespectfully rumple the hair of the music. These days, as derivative as most things are, you're left to wonder if there ever would have been any new music to listen to if it hadn't been for that period.

When I got to the club, there was no one on stage, so I could see how many synthesizers and organs and databanks were set up, and I marveled at it. I never go "wow" when I see a rack of numerous guitars. But the keys and the electronics make me swoon. I am also known to go "wow" when I see unconventional or unlikely instruments on stage. But that's just because a band that uses timpani or harp or oboe, for that matter, gets extra points in my book just for not allowing the scars of high school band harassment to stifle the boom of those big drums. I should clarify that when I say oboe gets points, I don't mean someone like Kenny G. That's not cool to me on my most generous day.

I looked at Halloween costumes a bit today. There was a half-mask called "Kung Fool" that made me laugh and laugh. I've always admired people who get gussied up as a giant THING. Like the guys I saw at the Comic-Con a couple of years back dressed as the Death Star and Han Solo in Carbonite, whose glory I think I previously extolled on these pages. But I felt the same approval for the adult size hot dog costume I saw at the store tonight. Everyone always had better costumes than the growing-up me. It has made me fear Halloween and resent it rather than spend all year creating some grand, epic masque. This is a great example of how failure begets apathy. Check it out.