Danielle Look: Local Little Monster Blogger

I've officially joined the Local Little Monster Blogger contest. The competition is seeking bloggers to compete for the chance to go backstage at a Lady Gaga concert and shadow official Monster Ball blogger Dannielle Owens-Reid. To enter, you must upload a video explaining why you deserve to win.

Having total confidence in my writing abilities and skills as a music journalist and also loving the shit out of Lady Gaga, I knew I couldn’t pass up this opportunity. My major leveraging point is that I’ve already written about The Monster Ball and my review is published on a credible media outlet in Indianapolis. My selling point is that I will be able to do it bigger and better if I can see the Monster Ball from backstage, rather than from miles away in the nosebleeds as I did last year.

Convinced that if enough people can see my previous work they will understand how much I deserve this opportunity, I quickly realized I would need something special to get noticed. Sitting in front of a point-and-shoot camera and gushing about my love for Lady Gaga simply won’t cut it for a contest as important and with as much potential as this one. Without hesitation, I contacted Jeremy Wallace a.k.a. Jace.

Jace reached out to me months ago when I blogged about the alpha.live video for “Light Up” that he directed. He thanked me for the kind words about his work and we friended on Facebook. Having seen numerous examples of Jace’s top quality work with Heavy Gunners and other Indianapolis artists, I knew he would give me the professional look I needed for this video.

After I pitched it to him online, we met in person a few days later to develop a concept. We walked away with an idea that would ultimately morph into multiple incarnations and ideas before the final product was complete. After our Friday meeting, the plan was to meet in one week to film the video. With the loose concept idea, Jace would go to the drawing board and tighten the details of the shoot. Meanwhile, I activated plans to get Gagafied on the day of the shoot and lined up a space to film in.

Just as there was no question that Jace was the perfect fit for my production needs, I knew no one could style Danielle Gaga for the video as well as my Indy fashion guru Kaitlin Elyse. After a phone call detailing the situation, we met on Thursday (the night before the shoot) to finalize my outfit. The next day, I met Kaitlin at Allure Salon in Carmel where she gave me black leggings, a black cami, a ridiculous slate-colored jacket with spikey, Gaga-esque shoulders, and a jeweled belt. Allure owner Melissa Milward Ingersoll made every inch of my hair stand on end- gathering sections, spraying them with hairspray, teasing, strengthening with a flat iron, and pinning to my head in large, rolled curls. I estimate the final product to have been over a foot tall; I had to slouch two inches in my car to have full clearance.

After hair, Melissa also did my makeup. To keep the costume Gaga-inspired, rather than a Gaga imitation, she opted to keep one eye’s shadow significantly darker and bigger than the other side. The end color (a custom blend of pure pigment) matched the color of my jacket with exactness. Kaitlin brought her MAC Viva Glam Gaga lipstick - the perfect finishing touch. A large, black, flashy bead-and-feather necklace, borrowed from Allure’s boutique, was added to decorate my neckline 

I raced to Irvington to meet Jace and his partner Nathan Karamanski. Together, they are Circa:Forever. We met in the basement of Bookmama’s, a space formerly named The Underground 9 Studio; also the location of the photo shoot for the Zaptown Grey Granite article I wrote in April of 2010. We used the red brick hallway with steps in the background to do the entire filming.

Next, I realized that I am a writer for a reason. Simply put, I have no camera swag. Rather than having me speak directly to the camera, we captured footage in the hallway and then labored over a voice recording device for what felt like hours. Nate tried his damnedest to get me excited, but no matter how hard we tried I never sounded genuine.

Exhausted and already pushing it to arrive on time to other gigs (me, to report on a Cage The Elephant concert; Nate to shoot the Beta Male CD release party at Radio Radio), we decided one more round would be necessary. We met again four days later to finish recording. I left work at lunchtime and met the guys downtown dressed as normal Danielle, the music blogger. We filmed me typing and writing in my notebook in various locations and then completed the last stage of the recording process in Nate’s studio. With clean, natural vocal recordings, Nate had everything he needed to work his magic. Less than a week later, the final product was ready to release to the public.

Originally we had less than three weeks to film, edit, and upload a video. It seemed unfair to me that I rushed and met a tight deadline to be considered for this contest, only to find the organizers would extend the deadline by nearly three more weeks. Consequently, I am currently playing the waiting game- not wanting to garner attention if I can’t convert that attention into a vote at the same time.

Watch it below. If you like what you see and want to give me your support, click the “Support Danielle” link on the right side of the video here: http://www.talenthouse.com/creativeinvites/preview/a66a2ef46d93fb2c2d1656b2cd96a264/191. It’ll connect to your facebook and send you a reminder when the polls are open. Otherwise, just wait until March 29th when you’ll see me blowing up your Twitter and Facebook feeds with a request for your vote.

P.S. You'll never believe how fun it was stopping to get gas on east Washington street at 9 p.m. on a Friday with that hair and outfit. It was an old skool gas station too, so I had to go inside to pay. "Heeeeey baby! You bringin' the big hair back!" o.O

Butterfly Tour: The Girl Talk Edition

Once Molly and I got to the sold-out Girl Talk show in Covington, KY (after driving 2.5 hours at 50 MPH in a snowstorm from Indy), we found [sketchy] parking and walked briskly to the Madison Theater. It was freezing outside and we wore only light jackets over our tank tops for the painful stroll down the snow-covered sidewalk. We waited in line for approximately 10 or 15 minutes before reaching the will-call window.

This is where complications always happen. Faced with this scenario regularly, I get a sense within the first 15 seconds of my interaction with the person behind the window of whether entry will be quick and trouble-free or if it’s going to be an embarrassing hassle. Tonight, it would be the latter.

I offered to pull up a confirmation email on my phone after I was informed that there was not a name on the band’s guest list that matched the names on my license and photo press badge, but the woman working the window said she could do nothing for me since my name wasn’t there. “If you’re not on the list, you’re not on the list. Now step aside; I have to get all these people inside before the show starts,” growled a large security man who was rapidly alternating between policing inside and outside. I immediately retrieved the phone number of the PR contact I made arrangements with and had received the confirmation email from.  

On her computer, she recalled the email that delivered the guest list and assured me that my name had been included. “I can’t call the tour manager now, because Greg is on-stage and he has to be there during the show.” She was right; we could hear the familiar beat from Ludacris’ “Move Bitch” that’s part of the opening segment of Girl Talk’s latest release, All Day bumping from inside. The woman on the other end of my phone wanted to talk to someone, anyone… but nobody in front of me was interested in talking to her. I lingered near the will-call window, still talking to my contact, but neither of us was really saying anything. A different security guard walked by and I flashed him a look of desperation; he had seen the ordeal minutes earlier from a distance. When he opened dialog, I quickly explained my predicament and offered the phone to him.

“Who are you talking to?” he asked.

“Girl Talk’s PR manager,” I replied.

“For what company? I work for Girl Talk.”

I spit out a name, to which he simultaneously rolled his eyes to the back of his head and bent his knees, signaling I had answered correctly. But when I stated the tour manager’s name that I had been given, he was adamant that I was incorrect and had been misinformed. Our conversation had gone from optimistic (I almost had him sold) to counter-productive and we soon parted ways. The woman on the other end of the phone had started firing off emails and I told her I’d grab a beer down the street and hang around for a while as she tried to help me correct the error that had been made.

Molly and I had each consumed a large can of sugar-free Red Bull en route to Covington. We never stopped for a restroom break, as the snowstorm had delayed us considerably enough as it was. We had also just spent the last 20 minutes in ridiculously cold temperatures with nothing more than light jackets on. We had to pee and we needed to thaw out.

A guy tried to offer me a pair of tickets when he saw my distress as we entered the bar.

“Listen. I can get you in there,” he said. “Now, just listen. Fourty dollars.”

I shook my head and walked towards the door.

“Thirty,” he offered.

I walked.

First of all, dude, their face value was $20. So, no. And secondly, my name was on the guest list, damnit!

After another 15 minutes, the large security guard who had shooed me away from the will-call window earlier walked in to the bar.

“Did you ever get things worked out with the list?” he asked.

Would I be sitting here if I had? “I’m waiting on the PR contact to get back with me. She’s sending emails as we speak.”

He then offered to take me next door to talk to someone. I had heard a lot of names in the last 40 minutes but the one he mentioned did not register with me. I said yes, anyways.

We entered the office for the Madison Theater and, as the security guard led me to the back, my phone rang. I put it on speaker phone.

“Hi, Danielle? This is Girl Talk’s tour manager. I understand there was a miscommunication at the door and you weren’t able to get in. Are you still in the area?”

“She’s next door in the office!” the security guard answered for me. We walked back outside and I motioned through the bar window for Molly to leave the half-full beers and follow me. Next thing I know- my wrist is banded, I’m ID’ed, and thanking everyone who so graciously rose to the occasion to help me get to where I was supposed to be.

We made it in time for the last 30 or 40 minutes of the show. In my formal review on NUVO.net, I compared it to Let Go! at the Lockerbie on crack: a wild, sexy, hipster freak-out dance party that leaves its attendees physically drained after less than an hour on the dance floor.

My only regret? Not asking the tour manager if, after everything we had just went through, Molly and I could dance on stage with “the chosen few” for the remainder of the show. Unfortunately, in the excitement of finally arriving at my destination, the thought never crossed my mind. We hurried inside to the thick, sweaty crowd just as fast as we had ran from the car to the theater when we first arrived.

Next time... we will be on stage.