All that is night

The Enrique Experience

“Give it up for the John McCain orchestra!” comedian Joan Rivers said, pointing to the elderly quartet that accompanied her on stage during her sold-out performance at the Birch North Park Theatre last Sunday. The night, dubbed “A Brief Intercourse,” was in support of the No on Prop. 8 campaign, which she jokingly referred to as “Preparation H.”

“Marriage sucks. Are you fucking crazy?” she asked the audience of mostly middle-aged gay guys. “You’ll be terribly unhappy. I hope you all get shitty mother-in-laws.”

No one was safe during her hour-long show. Vegans, amputees, 9/11 widows, the Chinese and even Mother Teresa, who she claimed was gay, were the butt of Rivers’ jokes. “Don’t you people read The New York Times? Seven out of five nuns are lesbian,” she pointed out.

After the show, CityBeat got a chance to chew the fat with the comedy legend and found out that, like Whitney Houston, she believes the children are the future.

“I love children because they make my Joan Rivers jewelry—their little fingers are great for setting stones,” she said. Her views on national security are just as passionate: “I hate terrorists because they’re ugly. Have you ever seen a picture of one and said, ‘Gee, I wonder if he has a brother?’” And the conversation went on like this:

Enrique: What did you think about the San Diego gays?

Joan: They’re smart, funny and got it all.

E: What’s your take on the whole Proposition 8 brouhaha?

J: I am very much against it. If you’ve got hemorrhoids, live with ’em.

E: If you had a chance to lez out with anyone, who would it be?

J: No question, Rosie O’Donnell.

E: Not Sarah Palin?

J: Oh no. Rosie I know is a good provider.

You can thank me for that mental image later. Hot as it might be, Palin, no doubt, would give new meaning to the term “lipstick lesbian.”
—Enrique Limón

Locals Only

The club formerly known as San Diego Sports Club is now officially the Ruby Room, and they’re celebrating with a Friday grand-opening show that will feature Grand Ole Party, Rafter and The Widows. While the vibe of the Hillcrest dive will remain largely the same, Andy Robillard (Ruby Room’s talent booker) says changes will be made.

“The sign is being changed as we speak, and we are upgrading the sound system shortly.”

Robillard worked at The Casbah and says he sees the Ruby Room becoming similar to the legendary Little Italy club.

“Mind you, we are not setting out to compete with the best venue in town, but rather augment the options for national, international and the best local bands and DJs, thus strengthening the entire music scene and community at large.”
—Seth Combs

The real Neil

The women who flocked to the Neil Diamond show last week don’t even qualify as cougars. They’re more like saber-toothed tigers—not in that they’re prehistoric but, rather, their ferocity and aggressiveness is beyond modern-day feline standards. Hell, there should be a sign outside Diamond’s shows reading: No open beverages or unattended panties allowed.

“The only rule tonight is that there are no rules,” Diamond instructed a packed Sports Arena crowd after a stellar performance of “Love on the Rocks.”

“If you wanna dance, you can dance. If you wanna kiss the person next to you, well, first you better know their name.”

 Most people were too busy singing along for any tonsil hockey.

And Diamond didn’t disappoint, playing just about every other hit in his sequined repertoire, including  “Cherry, Cherry,” “Sweet Caroline,” “Now I’m a Believer,” “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers” and a thematically appropriate “America,” complete with a video montage of immigrants, bald eagles and the Statue of Liberty.

As shticky and schmaltzy as that sounds, it was clearly evident why Neil’s middle name is still “Fucking.” The only disappointment (other than the Sports Arena sound system) was the crowd’s absolute disinterest in any of Diamond’s newer material. When he performed the heartbreaking “Hell Yeah” (from 2005’s 12 Songs), standing at the front of the stage with nothing but his acoustic guitar, his passion was palpable. Sure, he’ll give you the dog-and-pony show, but if you weren’t moved when he sang, “Hell yeah this crazy life around me, it confuses and confounds me, but it’s the only life I’ve got until I die,” then your reverence was hollow. The man still gives it his all, and with a voice as good as it ever was. He’s like a preacher, and I’m a believer.
—Seth Combs

View from a Stool

As a new father, I have to use my live-music time allotments wisely. Sometimes, as I did on Sunday, I have to double-dip.

My Bible-belt two-step began with Tennessee’s Kings of Leon at House of Blues. By the time I arrived, openers The Stills and We Are Scientists had played and the sold-out crowd, heavy with screaming 20-something females, was frothy with anticipation for the headliners.

When the three sons of an evangelical preacher (along with their first cousin) took the stage, the audience greeted them with an enthusiasm that didn’t wane until the last encore had finished. It seemed as though every fan clapped in time, screamed as though it was The Beatles first appearance in the states, and sang loudly in unison with nearly every song. The Kings responded in kind with a pristine, working-man set, ripping through song after song with little or no in-between chatter.

Everything was cool—except for the song selection. KOL have gradually moved away from the Southern-tinged garage rock that made their debut, Youth & Young Manhood, such a success. They have instead opted for radio play and over-produced singles such as their latest, “Sex on Fire.”

I left just before they finished and made my way north to the Belly Up to catch the second half of Texas-born, ANTI recording artist, Jolie Holland’s set. Her songs, incorporating Americana, blues and folk, were delicate, intricate, and a long way from radio hits. The 75 or so people there were treated to the uniquely voiced singer-songwriter’s highly crafted tunes, supported by a backing band that includes former Decemberists and Bright Eyes drummer Rachel Blumberg. Unfortunately, the energy in the club was akin to an insurance seminar led by Mister Rogers—perhaps even worse.

If only KOL’s style could have mixed with Jolie’s substance. The Kings of Holland show would have made for one hell of a night.
—Scott McDonald

The kids are alright
The last couple of weeks have given aging music fans a chance to see how their rock heroes are holding up. David Byrne (56) performed all white-haired yet still avant-garde at Humphrey’s last Thursday. Or, if you made the trek to L.A. that evening, you know that My Bloody Valentine’s Bilinda Butcher (47) remains a beautiful-noise goddess; and James’ Tim Booth (48) wiggle-danced at House of Blues last weekend just like he did in the early ’90s.

And Pat Benatar, at 55, is still a pouty rock diva. Mostly. “She looks like my mom,” said one young woman at the New Children’s Museum’s one-year anniversary party (where Benatar performed) on Saturday.

Wearing a leopard-print top, skinny pants, heels and tiny pigtails, Benatar opened with a probably too-subdued “Shadows of the Night.” Concert promoter AEG Live had set up a concert-grade stage, lighting and sound system along Island Avenue, though it took some knob fiddling to get the sound just right.

“You suck,” Benatar at one point chided the audience—some of whom had paid $500 for dinner and the show—for their lack of enthusiasm. But by “Invincible,” an adult-alternative mosh pit (absent any body contact) had begun to form. And by “Love is a Battlefield,” the crowd remembered how to behave at a rock show.

“This was in one of the worst movies ever made,” Benatar commented before launching into “Invincible.” Ouch. No one’s going to argue that The Legend of Billie Jean was fine cinema, but it did introduce us to a young Christian Slater, made wearing dangly earrings in one ear popular and hand angsty teens muttering the G-rated slogan, “fair is fair.” The film’s available only on VHS (and late-night cable), reportedly because of a dispute over song licensing. Pat?

If you’ve not been the museum yet—it’s one of the hipper kids’ museums around—take a peek on Nov. 12, when CityBeat holds its annual Best Of party there. Check these pages for more details closer to the date.
—Kelly Davis