"Kissing can be awkward at times, especially at the start. But even if your lips are so experienced they could dock space shuttles for NASA, you might find some helpful reminders in the pages that follow." And so begins the third chapter of the fifth edition of The Guide to Getting It On!
tableau: Do you have any pre-performance rituals? Ted Stevens: Yeah, a few. We spend hours wiring the stage and getting that ready, and then, [Tim Kasher, lead vocalist] and I have been in the habit lately of doing vocal warmups and drinking a lot of water right after the soundcheck.
The opening lyrics on Nelly Furtado's newest album, Loose are "What to say / what to say / what to say / what to say." This not only sets the lyrical tone for the CD, but also underscores the confusion and lack of inspiration in the record as a whole. When considering how to describe the style on Furtado's latest, I found myself dropping names faster than Dick Cheney, Karl Rove and Scooter Libby. Furtado sounds alternately like Madonna, Fergie (of Black Eyed Peas) and Cyndi Lauper.
I won't lie to you, readers: I spent most of Thanksgiving Break watching cooking shows on TV. The few moments I managed to tear my eyes away from the succulent desserts on "Emeril Live" or the undeniable obnoxiousness of Rachael Ray, I spent reading over my old columns. Tableau and I have come a long way.
People are always saying that rock stars are just like the rest of us. While this week's featured band, Rickshaw, can't honestly be described as rock stars, they sure are normal guys. I mean that in a nice way -- during the interview there was smoking, farting and catcalls at friends walking by.
Yesterday I was having a heated discussion with my illustrious editor, also known as Captain McEvoy, and suddenly I realized some things.
Hello again, readers. (Mom, Dad.) It feels like it's been ages since my last band column. What with tableau's last issue devoted entirely to the film festival, my worries and woes about midterms and then the stress of finding the perfect Halloween costume (my ultimate selection: a fat suit), I'm glad to be back, having a chat about local music. I was supposed to meet the members of Bella Morte on the steps of the Rotunda.
I'll admit it -- I think soccer is pretty lame. I've never been any good at it, despite my lifelong obsession with Great Britain and all things English.
I have horrible musical taste. Hang on, that didn't come out right. What I meant was, I have horrible musical luck.
I've been to a lot of concerts in my time. I've seen big bands, little bands, good bands, bad bands, rubber bands -- you name it, I've had that experience. And while it wasn't the most fantastic show I've ever witnessed, The Rolling Stones concert is something I won't forget for a long time. It all began with a press pass.
