Chromeo in da fucking hizzy

Holy shit was the Chromeo show on Friday evening fly. It was, in fact, a combination of fly, phat, def, and dope--all at the same time! The show got started a little late, thanks to one of the bands cancelling and the other (some Heads of Femurs band, who looked like lumberjacks but sounded like a bunch of depressed gay men trying to be both emo and indie rock at once) being a bunch of prima donna weenises. But that was okay: that just gave siliconedreamer and kaspellsgoddess and I the chance to grab some munchability at People's Indian Restaurant and get back in time for the funk to drop. And drop it did. Like a gigantic ghetto booty sculpture made out of concrete and rhinestones, crashing down on your foot. Like their website says, "Live, Chromeo is more fun than being forced to smoke crack at gunpoint by Rick James. When was the last time you saw a talkbox used so well?" Damned if I know. I don't even remember seeing anyone ever use a talkbox. Now I need to get one, because the sheer vocoderish jam kicked out by that thing was enough to knock me over. They only played a couple of songs, but they did them extremely well and I got to hang out and bullshit with them a bit afterwards! Even picked up another copy of their CD, because I've already played my old copy that I got back in May to death.

digitalwank, you is a bitch 'caused you missed this. You would've been sooooooooooooooo into it!

OK, now I gotta go correct papers, and desperately try to fight off the cold that I can feel taking root in my sinuses even as I write this....