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In the latest adventure with Kate and Lara… they went out to see Rachael Yamagata at the Fine Line Music Café in Minneapolis on October 2, 2008. As usual, they don’t have a camera, so no photos from this show… but they paint a picture that Vu thinks Yamagata is “mega-watt hot”.
>>>
My two lovely dates and I arrived at the Fine Line on Thursday to an overly crowded room of sweaty and shouty douches. I have to admit that I wasn’t very interested in being there at all on a weeknight as I am old and crotchety; but I also have to admit that, apart from the guy on crutches who seemed alright, the majority of the people at the show on Thursday seemed to be transplanted from a Taylor Swift appearance at the State Fair. Needless to say, I started out the evening feeling grouchy and superior, a combination of feelings I don’t often step into. It might get better though, so keep on keepin’ on.
The opening act was a man named John Devine (pronounced “divine”), another little soapbox singer born of the hipster womb that’s located these days in Brooklyn. Devine sang songs, like many before him, of protest, love, infidelity and cute girls who grow up to be hot. I liked this guy and his guitar but only for a few minutes. Eventually the singing/yelling got painful and the self-indulgent banter between himself and the audience made me a little sad. At one point, after a song attacking the War on Terror, Devine got into a long, awkward conversation with a soldier in the audience. The rest of us could only hear Devine’s tactful (and a little frightful, honestly) responses. I was ready to sit down on the ground and drink myself into oblivion. Okay, so it’s not better yet. Just wait.
We decided to go outside for some fresh air and good conversation in between acts, which turned into cigarettes and talking about periods (sorry about that). After a bit, some real pretty sounds started to waft out into the frigid night air. Rachael had finally started. She began by apologizing in advance for her voice as she had come down with the flu. And if you’ve heard Rachael sing before, you know that her sultry, raspy voice already sounds a bit sick (in a good way). The addition of actual illness caused her to sound like Bryan Adams (and I mean that in the nicest way possible; I really do) but she trudged on.
Recently, Vu, the boss man here at W♥M confessed that he totally has the mega-watt hots for Ms. Rachael Yamagata and after Thursday night, I get it in a big way. She’s lovely, lovely, lovely--the kind of performer who oozes sex appeal even while deathly ill. And she oozes that sex appeal because she is believable, is not the plasticized version of sex we see 99.764% of the time. Her words are honest; her smiles are honest; those drops of sweat and brow furrows are honest (at least I’m convinced they are). These songs come from a very real place inside of her and to see that place represented so beautifully is brilliant and rare. Yamagata gives a voice to emotions that so many of us have felt after love gone sour and the voice she gives them is sensational. (Take a look at Jason’s review here of her most recent album for a little more background.)
Cute anecdote: for the encore, it was just Yamagata and her keyboard which turned out to be a little more than her vocal chords could handle as I’m sure they were exhausted and full of mucus. So, some sweet, fan-girls in the front row belted out the notes she couldn’t hit, proving their teenage devotion. Rachael seemed genuinely grateful and wheezed out more thanks than necessary, showing off a gorgeous smile and making those girls sing even louder. (Maybe a bad move brought on by fever. Just kidding, girls!)
So, in the end, Kate the Grinch returned Christmas and joined all the Whos in Whoville as they sang their creepy Whoville song. That is, until a drunken 40-year-old named Tom whistled so loudly in her ear that it throbbed the rest of the night. Then she stole Christmas all over again.
Rachael Yamagata is currently traveling the U.S., spreading all kinds of sickly germs. Yum! See her website for tour dates and learn her songs in case you need to help her.
>>>
My two lovely dates and I arrived at the Fine Line on Thursday to an overly crowded room of sweaty and shouty douches. I have to admit that I wasn’t very interested in being there at all on a weeknight as I am old and crotchety; but I also have to admit that, apart from the guy on crutches who seemed alright, the majority of the people at the show on Thursday seemed to be transplanted from a Taylor Swift appearance at the State Fair. Needless to say, I started out the evening feeling grouchy and superior, a combination of feelings I don’t often step into. It might get better though, so keep on keepin’ on.
The opening act was a man named John Devine (pronounced “divine”), another little soapbox singer born of the hipster womb that’s located these days in Brooklyn. Devine sang songs, like many before him, of protest, love, infidelity and cute girls who grow up to be hot. I liked this guy and his guitar but only for a few minutes. Eventually the singing/yelling got painful and the self-indulgent banter between himself and the audience made me a little sad. At one point, after a song attacking the War on Terror, Devine got into a long, awkward conversation with a soldier in the audience. The rest of us could only hear Devine’s tactful (and a little frightful, honestly) responses. I was ready to sit down on the ground and drink myself into oblivion. Okay, so it’s not better yet. Just wait.
We decided to go outside for some fresh air and good conversation in between acts, which turned into cigarettes and talking about periods (sorry about that). After a bit, some real pretty sounds started to waft out into the frigid night air. Rachael had finally started. She began by apologizing in advance for her voice as she had come down with the flu. And if you’ve heard Rachael sing before, you know that her sultry, raspy voice already sounds a bit sick (in a good way). The addition of actual illness caused her to sound like Bryan Adams (and I mean that in the nicest way possible; I really do) but she trudged on.
Recently, Vu, the boss man here at W♥M confessed that he totally has the mega-watt hots for Ms. Rachael Yamagata and after Thursday night, I get it in a big way. She’s lovely, lovely, lovely--the kind of performer who oozes sex appeal even while deathly ill. And she oozes that sex appeal because she is believable, is not the plasticized version of sex we see 99.764% of the time. Her words are honest; her smiles are honest; those drops of sweat and brow furrows are honest (at least I’m convinced they are). These songs come from a very real place inside of her and to see that place represented so beautifully is brilliant and rare. Yamagata gives a voice to emotions that so many of us have felt after love gone sour and the voice she gives them is sensational. (Take a look at Jason’s review here of her most recent album for a little more background.)
Cute anecdote: for the encore, it was just Yamagata and her keyboard which turned out to be a little more than her vocal chords could handle as I’m sure they were exhausted and full of mucus. So, some sweet, fan-girls in the front row belted out the notes she couldn’t hit, proving their teenage devotion. Rachael seemed genuinely grateful and wheezed out more thanks than necessary, showing off a gorgeous smile and making those girls sing even louder. (Maybe a bad move brought on by fever. Just kidding, girls!)
So, in the end, Kate the Grinch returned Christmas and joined all the Whos in Whoville as they sang their creepy Whoville song. That is, until a drunken 40-year-old named Tom whistled so loudly in her ear that it throbbed the rest of the night. Then she stole Christmas all over again.
Rachael Yamagata is currently traveling the U.S., spreading all kinds of sickly germs. Yum! See her website for tour dates and learn her songs in case you need to help her.
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