Quiet Color

by james siciliano

Currently, I would equate my giddiness to that of a prepubescent teenager about to see ‘N Sync circa 1998. In fact, a good portion of my travel bag is packed with extra panties for when my current ones get moist. It’s Titillation Town, and I’m the Mayor. “Why?” you ask. “Why are you so freakin’ excited? And what’s with all these stupid analogies?”

The answer is simple. I’m about to fly to San Francisco to go see Radiohead, Beck, Cold War Kids, and Lyrics Born. Oh yeah, and that’s just the first night. Saturday night: Tom Petty, Cake, Donavon Frankenreiter, Ben Harper, Primus, and Steve Winwood, among countless others. It’s a concert of epic proportions, and Quiet Color is packing heat.

CALLIN’ OUT BY LYRICS BORN:

The venue: beautiful Golden Gate Park, right smack in the heart of this bi-curious city. It’s the Central Park of the West Coast, and for one weekend, and one weekend only, it’s home to the San Francisco Outside Lands Music & Arts Festival. Art, artists, hippies, and hemp. It’s the first time the Park has hosted a music festival of this size, and luckily for me, it’s lineup is packed tighter than Oprah’s FUPA.

And that’s exactly what’s so exciting. Music is god. And this weekend, I’m popping my concert-cherry on about a dozen godlike bands. First and foremost: Radiohead. I’ve been listening since The Bends, and for some reason or other, have never seen these tight-knit musical geniuses. I’m told they’re possibly the best touring band on planet Earth. And while I’m still in orbit, it’s about time I verify that.

Next, the slew of other first-timers: Cold War Kids. These Brooklyn bad-asses have had me rockin’ out to Robbers and Cowards for two years, and I’m anxious to hear new stuff from their upcoming Loyalty to Loyalty. Tom Petty. The man’s a legend. I won’t be surprised if that old bastard plays a solid two-hour set of hits. Again, change my panties please.

The list goes on and on. Beck. You’re a Scientology freak, but your music makes my ears hear unicorns. Ben Harper. Yes, I’ll burn one down with you. Two? Alright, three it is. Donavon Frankenreiter. Not sure if you’re familiar with this mellow surf-rocker, but I’ve been listening to him since his self-titled debut in ’04. I love him, even if you don’t yet. Cake. I’ve seen you before, and your speak-songy sound is even better in concert. What can I say, I’m coming back for seconds. Lyrics Born. Rap me to sleep please.

And I’ve barely scratched the surface. The lineup is simply amazing; there’s as many headliners as there is up-and-comers. And with six different stages rockin’ out simultaneously, the biggest problem I face is trying to see all the bands I want to see. It’s going to be hard, but like Whitney Houston at a crack-rock buffet, I’m up for the challenge.

So I’m pumped. I’m juiced. Concert-surfing in San Francisco will certainly be a change of pace from my lifestyle in Los Angeles and my occupation as a comedy writer. But life is about branching out, experiencing things, and hearing music. As 20th century philosopher and poet Nelly once said, “Can I make it? Damn right, I be on the next flight. Payin’ cash; first class. Sittin’ next to Vanna White.” Amen, Nel-dog.

Over the next few days, I’ll be doing my best to give you pics, words, and maybe a few sounds from this gigantic festival of life. So pack your panties, ‘cause we’re heading to “San Fran Outside Lands”! See you soon…