Kevin Barnes Suffers For Fashion

By name alone, Of Montreal doesn’t seem to promise much other than some good indie/lo-fi fare with a flair for poppy bridges, yet if one takes a quick glance at the title of their newest release, Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer?, boasting track titles such as “Heimdalsgate Like A Promethean Curse” and “A Sentence Of Sorts In Kongsvinger” one knows that this is no ordinary band. With titles as pretentiously wonderful as these, it’s no small wonder to be expecting the literate witty lyrics usually related to Thom Yorke and Rufus Wainwright. Are you the destroyer, indeed.



As the curtain rises, the audience is treated to a plethora of colorful set pieces: a curious podium announcing “George”, projection screens, shimmery cloth laid carefully across the drumset, and a Tigersaur from which the fantastically Freddy Mercury-Bowie-Frankenfurter-esque Kevin Barnes emerges to the pulsating beat of “Disconnect The Dots”. Clad in a form fitting spandex suit (white pants, green pockets, green shirt, white collar and cropped cape), Barnes struts around the stage in his patent leather knee high white boots with all the confidence of Nancy Sinatra.



His equally wonderfully clad band mates sway their hips, pump their arms, and sing-a-long to the dance-y pop/indie songs from their latest release, enjoying every minute of it. Bryan Poole, in his Gestapo gear is the perfect foil to Barnes’ traipsing while Jamey Huggins in her sequined vest, tutu, purple leggings and white ankle boots manages to make playing multiple keyboards and stealing the stage from Barnes look like mere childsplay. This doesn’t hold for long as Barnes disappears during an extended song intro, only to reappear having donned what is best described as a floorshow costume from Richard O’Brien’s wildest fantasy. Platform shoes, thigh-high fishnets, red hot-pants and freshly re-applied lipstick completed the costume as one half expected to hear high start a glistening falsetto-ed version of “Rose Tint My World”. After this came the change into a 60’s Go Go inspired dress and the glorious return of the patent leather boots followed by a Mardi Gras inspired Dress complete with a ladder from which to perform upon the ever so fantastically roller disco worthy “A Sentence Of Sorts In Kongsvinger”.



The show was absolutely fantastic, completely devoid of the standard hipster kids trying to hard to look like they belong, thus giving way to the comfortably clad jeans and t-shirt, chucks/vans, pony tailed shaggy haired college and just post crowd. Piven himself would have been proud to see that not a single person was sporting a t-shirt from their previous tour, yet a good 80% of the crowd was able to sing and clap appropriately to both recent and older songs (the highlight of which being the performance of “I Was Never Young” off of the fantastic 2005 release The Sunlandic Twins). There seemed to be a definite effort to focus on releases no older than 2000 as the general mode de vie of Of Montreal has evolved into the heavily Euro dancehall influenced sound they have mastered quite beautifully thus allowing their spunky spectators to bop up and down in a generally elated manner throughout the entire set.



Well known for their entertaining stage shows, Of Montreal did nothing less than deliver upon said rumors. From beginning to end, and even throughout the feigned “encore” (A general annoyance of mine. We all know they’ll be back, and yet we all still excitedly clap and scream until said encore begins. So why bother? Perhaps its because we feel that our individual hooting and cheering has called them back, that our vocal chords have risen above all others in the throng to call the band back on stage for one last final “huzzah!”) the delivered what is possibly one of the best live shows recently witnessed.

In Which Britta Makes A Life Defining Purchase

Horoscope for Scorpio, January 22, 2007:
Whether your realize it or not, you are your own best friend -- and today you should evaluate this relationship. Are you taking care of yourself well enough? Or do you follow the path of least resistance and put yourself at the bottom of the list most of the time? Today, start your relationship with yourself in a new way and put yourself first! You should still honor your commitments to other people, but you should start standing up for your own wants and needs more.

Having read this, I indeed decided to "love" myself today, and went shopping with Little Sister Whitney. In our perusals, I happened across what is possibly the most defining purchase I have ever made. I'll never forget how we first met. There I was: aisles away avoiding the gaze of the shiny beaded number on the wall, quietly meandering about the Blazers and Windbreakers, when a little voice told me I should find my sister. And so I did.

Whitney was viewing neckties, in search of CosPlay materials, so I started fiddling about with the silk, polyester and cotton materials, paying them little heed when something caught my eye. It was simple, sleek, bi-spectral, and perfect. It was a Piano Tie. But not just any Piano Tie...for it was soon to be MY Piano Tie.

I was excited, overjoyed, enraptured, delighted, elated, thrilled even to be setting my eyes on such a wonder, such a glory, such a paragon of perfection. Slowly, I reached out to caress the fine strands of glory hanging so listlessly, so aloofly on the rack. It was sandwiched between a paisley number, and an old Tazmanian Devil novelty tie. Seeing that proved to me even further that this Piano Tie was to be mine. It was calling out to me from its technicoloured compatriots, "Save me from these atrocities I must associate with. Help me Britta Brown, you're my only hope!"

Ever so gently I circled my fingers around its thin neck and tugged carefully so as not to stretch or skew any of the priceless silken strands. God forbid any memory of this transcendental piece of wonder be ever so slighty fretted by the vagabond structure that called itself a "Tie Rack". Slowly, slowly, I freed this wonder from its chromatic bastille, and with all the tender loving care of a mother towards her young, I wrapped this burnished cravatte around my neck and allowed it to settle and find comfort in its newly found sanctuary.
The Piano Tie and myself, we are one.

The SLO-down

The Beginning:

As Whitney and I took the corner of Ave P and 3rd St East at 15 mph only to be sent into what I warmly refer to as an uncontrolled 1800 degree spin across the black ice of eastern Palmdale, only one thought crossed my mind: "This is gonna be fun." and boy was I ever right. Especially after we lived to tell the tale of our 15000 degree spin into a herd of purple sheep crossing the lane only to narrowly avoid colliding with the Hogwarts Express headed towards Platform 9 ¾ (because the bus don't go to Hogwarts. You gots to take a train.). Oddly enough, this was only the beginning of the adventure.

The Adventure:

I was fetched promptly at 7:07 a.m. at L.A. Union Station from Patsaouras Plaza by a tall, lanky fellow driving the Millennium Falcon. The only words exchanged were:

"You're the navigator. The George Washington wig is in the back,"


And we were off, fleeing the smog and traffic and clutter of Orange County, Palmdale and Los Angeles, heading towards the pristine coasts of Ventura, Santa Barbara, and Golveta Gaviota. Sure of the task at hand, enjoying the tunes of Graham's "Rock Your Body (Till the Break of Dawn)" Mix (equal parts rock/facetiousness), and paying no heed to the rapidly decreasing volume of the gas tank, our dynamic duo followed the route inland only to realize that they were a) at the mouth of the Wayne's World tunnel, and b) in the middle of nowhere with only a hint of petrol propelling the Falcon northward along the 101. Stressed, worried, but not upset, our Adventurers hunkered down and prayed for the arrival of Buellton (Everything For The Traveler). But this is boring. So let me recap the events in the Parisian manner: They found Buellton, went to Shell and filled up on gas. Whilst standing in the sunlight Britta realized she had drunk more coffee and water than was advisable and immediately scampered off in search of a toilet. Graham filled the tank. No toilet was found and thus they reloaded to continue of their way. Upon turning the corner the toilet was espied, doors propped open, cleaning supplies nearby. Quicker than you can cue up Benny Hill's chase music, Britta bolted out of the Falcon, leapt over the fencing and slammed the door shut. Buellton indeed had everything for the traveler.


(Edit: As was learned later, apparently not only was Buellton home to partial filming for the film Sideways, but the Andersen's Split Pea Soup is also well renowned for not only its split pea soup, but for stealing the recipe from the restaurant across the street, and rivalry which still lives on today.)


Having then refilled the belly of the Falcon and stretched their legs, Graham and Britta (pirate hat/bandana firmly in place, aviators properly adjusted) continued their journey through the rolling hills of central coastal California, marveling at cows, vineyards, and cows whereupon Britta shared a little known story about herself:


"Years ago…I think it was spring of my freshmen year of high school, my family was driving up to Yosemite during spring break, and I was able to bring along my friend Veronica. Veronica loved cows, in a weird, obsessive sort of way…kind of the same way I love penguins. That's right. I saw Happy Feet…AND March of the Penguins. What of it. Anyways, we're driving up the middle of California, and there's lots of cows there, so I told my friend that cows and horses only lie down when they are dead, or dying. I let this sink in, and then every time we passed a cow field, I counted all of the 'dead' cows for her. By the end of the weekend I had her fully convinced that California had been struck by a Bovine Plague,"


They finally reached San Luis Obispo and The SLO Towers Brothel, home of the elder Towers brother, and several women (thus the naming of 'Brothel'…see what I did there? Yeah.). Once having chatted about their journey and "whatnot" they settled in to watch Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story (which, if you haven't seen, I strongly suggest) and await the bathing of one John Schiesser (???extraordinaire). An hour passed before they were to move again, so let us fast forward to the end of that hour at which time Schiesser was fetched and a luncheon was sought out.


After this quick lunch of beer (and sandwiches), it was off to the Edna Valley where our Adventurers proceeded to get drunker than Bacchus on a high feast day. Four wineries (totaling about 20 "tastes" per person), 12 bottles of Firestone Double Barrel, 6 bottles of Rolling Rock and one giant bowl of chili later, our heroes were fist deep into a box of Wheat Thins pondering the fate of William Wallace and his band of commando Scotsmen, and contemplating the chilly walk back to The SLO Towers Brothel when it suddenly occurred to them that they were all, in every possibly conceivable definition of the phrase, "drunk off their (respective) ass".


To this day the debate still exists as to what time they actually made their escape from Schiesser's Delta Chi Hut and headed towards The SLO Towers Brothel, yet other events and facts have been supported as true by the concurrence of those involved. They are as follows:


1. Schiesser's chili was and still is amazing.

2. The walk was cold, yet not unbearable as all were fueled by the alcohol inside them. Rock.

3. Most of the journey was taken at a steady jog until the Drunkards were no longer able to even pretend that what they had traversed remotely resembled a straight line.

4. James grossly miscalculated his neighborhood and ended up fording streams, solving crimes and soothing wild beasts before re-appearing ever so slightly the worse for wear (but just as inebriated as before) to the stunned and amused faces of his visitors.

5. Graham is very tall.

6. Beds and sleep had never been more welcome (except for that one time when I jumped ship in Hong Kong after fleeing from the Commies in St. Petersburg during the harvest of 1938 with my comrade, Sascha. {"Baron Cohen?" "No."}).

7. James allowed his dinner and beverages an encore performance before heading out to class at 9a.m.

8. Britta and Graham woke at noon.


Slightly/moderately/definitely hung-over, the Adventurers rejoined and went off in search of food from The Shack (Moo.) and returned to Schiesser's Delta Chi Hut to watch some Jack Bauer. It was during this time that they marveled at said Bauer's success in utilizing a nuke to rid America of yet another vicious scourge against humanity: The Antelope Valley. (edit: Fine. So it was 351 Old Mill Road which was nuked to smithereens, and yes, that is technically Newhall, and the immediate blast radius would have affected both Santa Clarita and Valencia, leaving Palmdale -for the time being- unscathed, BUT the nuclear fallout would have affected the Antelope Valley and thus fried every sucker living there, or turned them into fallout Zombies, thus allowing me a very "Hills Have Eyes" type return home… but that's beside the point. Palmdale received some quality terrorist detaining PR promptly before being turned into a glow-in-the-dark pile of radioactive dust.). It was exquisite.


This was followed by "Extras", which is yet another reason to have HBO, and a homework period in which Graham and Britta finished watching Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon battle for the lead in Tristram. This, of course, was followed by sushi, math, and the most entertaining game of Beirut witnessed by yours truly since the departure of the Boston Boys in 2005 (truly, it has been a sad two years). After playing into the wee hours of the morning, beds and homework beckoned our Adventurers, and thus only the journey home remained.


The Return:

The drive back to the smog-filled heart of Los Angeles was, for the most part uneventful (excusing, of course, the Queen and A-Ha sing-a-longs which are only to be expected), except for the In 'n' out adventure. Apparently the In 'n' Out in Ventura is only accessible from Seaward Ave., a minor fact neither of our heroes were cognisant of. Nevertheless, refusing to be outwitted by a simple freeway, they exited at the next possible place, got lost, turned around to eventually find the freeway once more to head northwards in search of Seaward Ave. and some delicious cow (this cow actually being dead, and not merely asleep). In true Graham/Britta fashion, conversations were held strictly in Irish accents and rhyme, as you do.


After this brief pause we drove into the asshole of Camarillo and the upper L.A. Basin ever steadily nearing Union Station and the point at which we say, "Goodbye."