World of Light

I’d never been to Santa Barbara before last Saturday, but that’s where I decided to see David Byrne, so I got in the rental, asked iPhone to draw me a map, and headed west. Everything I knew about Santa Barbara I learned from the daytime soap opera which went off the air sometime in the early nineties. And since I had only seen commercials for said soap opera, my knowledge was even more limited. It was a little like studying for the test with CliffsNotes*. I was kicking myself for not having watched at least one episode to get me more familiar with the town. As it was, all I knew to expect was that the good people of Santa Barbara would be attractive, rich, have blow dried hair, and all speak in dramatic tones which were meant to make me want to watch a daytime soap opera. It turns out I wasn’t all that far off. More on that after these messages, brought to you by the Santa Barbara chamber of commerce.

I drove in to Santa Barbara right around sunset, so this little city with Spanish colonial architecture** nestled between mountains and the Pacific Ocean couldn’t have looked more beautiful. I easily found a free parking spot on the street and had a leisurely stroll to the Arlington theater, which is a historic atmospheric theater***, made to look like a villa. The ceiling is curved and painted a deep blue to mimic the night sky, with small lights for stars (there is even a red one, which I guess is supposed to be Mars). I found myself thinking that this would be a cool place to live–that is, if it weren’t for the people.

Santa Barbara seems to be populated by aging hippies and the children of rich people who are going to school there. Ew. Can you think of a worse combination? That’s like a greenhouse for an annoying sense of entitlement. They must have it to spare. I’m imagining that they plant the entitlement early in the spring and by late summer it’s in full bloom, ready to be harvested, boxed, and shipped out to all corners of the globe. Next time some guy gives you that “Do you know who I am?” look, be sure to turn him over and look at the label on his bottom. I bet it says “Proudly made in Santa Barbara, California.”

Anyway, I was a little early for the show and since I didn’t have anything better to do, I just found my seat and commenced surfing the web on iPhone, while half-listening to the ushers talk about which shows they were going to work. I was pretty much the only person there, until the guy sitting next to me showed up. He was excited. He immediately thrust out his hand and introduced himself as “Jim.” Jim looked like he had just stepped out of the eighties–not the leg warmers and neon colors eighties that is so popular among the hipsters these days, but rather the ill-fitting designer jeans, short sleeved plaid shirt, and thick-lensed aviator style glasses eighties which is closer to the real eighties. Also, he reeked of booze and smoke. I did my best to ignore him, but we were sitting next to each other in the exact center of this otherwise empty theater, so it was difficult. Sample conversation:

Jim: I don’t care what happens as long as David Byrne is here. What do you suppose he’s doing right now?

Long pause

Me (realizing that engaging this annoying stranger will only encourage him): I . . . don’t know.

Jim: I think he’s backstage right now doing a beer bong! That’s what I’d be doing if I were him.

Me (sighing quietly to self): Hmm.

The show itself was good. The whole band wore all white, possibly to match Byrne’s hair and Byrne recruited three dancers (also in all white) to do choreographed bits while he sang, since he doesn’t move quite as much as he used to. They played what may very well be my favorite Talking Heads song, “The Great Curve,” pulling off the song’s three interweaving vocal lines pretty well. My only complaints are that the bass was mixed low (bad for Talking Heads songs) and that Byrne decided to alternate between songs from the new album and the songs everybody knew. This led to a weird Catholic-wedding-pattern of standing and sitting, which dulled the level of excitement a bit. Nevertheless, the superfan sitting next to me flailed around and pumped his fists in the air the whole time. I’m pretty sure he didn’t care about any of these shortcomings.

I had lots of things to think about on the drive back to L.A.***

*Did you know there is no apostrophe in “CliffsNotes?” Am I to understand that they are not notes taken by somebody named Cliff? Are they notes taken about people named Cliff? This is a punctuation predicament similar to the one I had when I discovered there is no period after “Dr” in “Dr Pepper.” I assume that means that I’m supposed to pronounce it “Der Pepper.” Prove me wrong.

**The town where I live was also a Spanish colony at one point (the Spanish flag is one of the six flags that flew over Texas, after all), but it has almost zero Spanish colonial architecture and I wonder if it ever did. If it did, there’s no trace of it now. Houston was also the home of the very first atmospheric theater, the Majestic, which is also now gone.

***Had I known that the still operating Motel 6 in Santa Barbara is the world’s first Motel 6, I would have opted to stay the night there. Hindsight.
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Johnny Mac has gotten himself in trouble with Foo Fighters this week. It seems they don’t want him to play “My Hero” at his appearances. So if you’re keeping score, that brings the total to four:

• John Mellencamp
• Jackson Browne
• Heart
• Foo Fighters

And still no Nuge.

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Find your town on the map. Something I learned from this map: Robert Johnson’s first recording was made at a hotel in San Antonio. His subsequent recording was made in Dallas.