Dear Ted Leo,
What the hell, man? What the hell?
You decide to play three shows in New England – one in Providence, one in New Haven and one in Massachusetts – the weekend that I’m traveling to Philadelphia. That’s bad enough. And hey, the Massachusetts show is on Thursday night. I could conceivably make that one. I could get in the car, drive to see you, and stand in the front row screaming every word to every song off of Hearts of Oak and Shake the Sheets. That might make your day.
But you’re playing at the Easthampton High School Gym.
(1) You couldn’t land a venue in Boston? Or Cambridge? Or Somerville? Your promoter couldn’t have spent the extra fifteen minutes on the phone it would take to mumble the words “Ted Leo and the Pharmacists” and get you a slot in a colllege town with a solid indie scene? Is it a question of moral distaste? Did Paradise vote for McCain? Does T.T. The Bears have investments in the Sudan? The hell?
(2) Taking as read that you couldn’t swing any of Boston’s hundreds of clubs for this one night – the Easthampton High School Gym? Did you owe the PTA a favor? Are they into post-punk and anarcho-syndicalism in Easthampton? You couldn’t even make it as far east as feckin’ Worcester, guy?
Really, dude. Not cool.
P.S. Living with the Living was good, too.