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.

The Butterfly Tour Birthday Edition, Part Two

Even though my for-real birthday was on a Monday (see previous post), I did most of my celebrating on Tuesday. It just-so-happened that this year my special day fell next to the December edition of Let Go! at the Lockerbie. Even more exciting? That night was also the official celebration of DJ Action Jackson's new residency at the monthly freak-out dance party. Naturally, a theme was attached: totally 90's!

After work, I met up with MoDub at Goodwill to search  for party attire. Normally, I don't partake in dress up themes but, hello, it was my birthday. After finding several key garments and multiple outfit incarnations, I was able to seal the deal with golden yellow skinny jeans. At home, I paired them with a black tank top, jean jacket, long golden chain, and black slip-on tennis shoes. Molly's key accessory was the white Coca Cola visor she found on the Goodwill shelves; she finished her outfit with a white t-shirt, black leggings, mom-style jean shorts, red Keds, and an old letterman jacket. And a side poneytail.

We made a quick stop at my friend's new apartment on our way to The Melody Inn. She showed us the ballin' outfit she was going to wear if she went (we were jealous!) but she wasn't feeling (our sounding) well and decided to stay home instead. We got the grand tour of her new bachelorette pad and soon thereafter were off to Juxtapoze.

Our time at The Mel was short. I saw some friends, gave out hugs, did some chit-chatting, and watched the clock. By 11:40 we were ready to get the (nineties) party started. The 15-minute car ride to the Lockerbie included, appropriately enough, copious amounts of Salt n Peppa and 20 Fingers (don't want no short dick, man!).

Once downtown,as per usual, the Lockerbie was hoppin. My regular Let Go accomplices were there, plus about six or eight others who ventured out for to celebrate with me. Glosticks were provided. Multi-color glosticks. We danced to a medley of familiar songs from our preteen days, squeezed onto the floor in a messy blob of neon colors and sweaty bodies covered in spilled beer. After an hour at Let Go! I was spent. I thanked all my friends from coming and headed home to catch a few hours of sleep before heading into work later that morning.

The Butterfly Tour Birthday Edition, Part One

My for-real birthday was on a Monday this year. Just as I had to last year... and the year before that... and the year before that... I had to take a final on my birthday. Never fails. Week-end. Week-day. It makes no difference. This year, it fell on Monday. After a day of work and a final exam for Financial Management 301, I met my boyfriend, a college buddy, and one of my best friends from mojoland at Chatham Tap on Mass Ave.

I ordered the salmon sandwich on black bean and salsa bread. The sandwich came with salad mix, gouda, avacado, and cilantro sauce. And a Sunking Cream Ale. I told my friends about my new job, we discussed music, and I think they even snuck in a little sports talk under my nose. I spent an extra 45 minutes at the table with my gentleman friend after the others left and then headed home.

Cards from my mom and aunt were waiting for me on the bookself by the door when I got home; the former had a check enclosed and the latter included a device that allows me to quickly instal a hook upon which to hang my purse from any table or bar. My roommate was in the kitchen finishing a sink of dishes. "Cookie and I didn't really get you anything for your birthday," he said as he clanked around a stack of plates. "But the fridge is clean, the trash is gone, recycling dropped off, dishes done, and garbage disposal is clean."

Since this post has been delayed for more than a week, I am also proud to report I scored a 77 on the final that day; I needed a 33 to pass the class.

Birthday celebration day one: success.

Up next: Butterfly Tour Birthday Edition, Part Two

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The Butterfly Tour hits Chicago

Last weekend The Butterfly Tour traveled to Chicago for one of the best weekends I've ever had in The Windy City.

Friday night I rode up with my boyfriend for the DJ Shadow show in Chicago. Read my full review here on NUVO.net.

After the show, we stayed the night at Kristin's new place. Brendon took off early in the morning while I waited for Swanny to wake up. We went to a handmade craft fair in the afternoon where I made a few purchases and crossed a few names off of my Christmas list. After that, we went out for dinner at a small Mexican restaurant where I learned about Chicago's BYOB policy. My understanding is that due to the high number of restaurants in a relatively small area, not all places of business are able to obtain liquor licenses. Consequently, a policy of BYOB is in effect at some establishments, allowing customers to literally carry in their own beverages. In leiu of margarita mix, we each purchased a lemon-lime soda to mix with the Cuervo we picked up at the Seven Eleven on the way there. BYOB FTW.

After dinner, we had time to kill and met up with some of Kristin's friends before heading to The Congress Theater to see Mutaytor. After two bars, two beers, and one shot each- we were ready for the show. Of the many things that put me in awe when I visit Chicago, public transit ranks among the top. After a relatively quiet train ride, I found myself on the bus listening to the guy behind us repeatedly remind everyone that Soul Train would later be on Infusion and that he couldn't wait to watch it as he shared his blueberry pie with his cat.

The Congress Theater was more striking than I could have imagined. A DJ was set up on the lobby's picturesque double-staircase and a small ragefest was in full swing on the floor below him. Inside the theater, the show was surprisingly under-attended. Nonetheless, the crowd was full of freeks and geeks- exactly the way I like it- and I had never felt more at home at a show in Chicago than I did in that crowd.

After Mutaytor, we headed back to the sports bar we were at earlier and rejoined the crew we had left before the show. Still in "dance mode" I entertained myself in the corner to the music supplied by the house DJ while everyone else played beer pong and continued the debauchery. The rest of the night is a collection of fragmented memories that includes a stop at a different bar full of creepers, falling asleep at the table over a plate of breakfast, and a heated debate about what's best: BJ's or handies.

Fully equipped with a massive hangover, I embarked on a three-hour bus ride home the next afternoon. I slept the entire time.

But hey- at least my car didn't get impounded and nobody went to jail this time.

Indy's Next Big Thing is... not The Twin Cats?

Last Friday Indy's beloved Twin Cats performed in a contest called "Indy's Next Big Thing" in which they competed against 3 other local bands for a large marketing package and studio time. The Cats were the obviously dominate band, evident by their massive fan base. Alas, the winner was chosen by three judges, not the level of audience support. After the announcement was made that The Last Good Year were the winning band, the entire venue booed the announcer. Minutes later, a group of people began chanting "Bullshit!".

Although I was just as disappointed as everyone else, I found the chanting to be incredibly inappropriate.

Admittedly, I chuckled a little when the crowd started booing after the announcement. It felt nice to sort of "stick it to the judges" to make it known that The Twin Cats had the biggest fan base and that we all felt they should win.

However- when that smaller group of people started chanting "bullshit!" I was a little appalled. That was a totally unprofessional representation of the Twin Cats fan base. As their biggest fans, our words and actions are a direct reflection of the band. Imagine how that would have felt to be one of the Twin Cats shaking the hands of The Last Good Year members and congratulating them while the crowd completely minimizes the amazing accomplishment they've just made.

If the roles were reversed, how would we (the local Twin Cats fans) feel if the guys took first place and some other band with a fan base that dwarfs our own came out and starting chanting bullshit to the fact that they won? We'd say, "Wow. Those guys are a bunch of pricks. I'll make sure I never go see them live."

The Twin Cats had an opportunity to enhance their already-massive local following last Friday and win over fans from a completely different musical genre. But because everyone got caught up in winning and losing, we overlooked the fact that the event was to support and celebrate local Indianapolis talent and be happy for the band that won.

The Butterfly Tour 11/5

Cyberoptix was at The Mousetrap on Thurzday and I went to bed around 3 or 4 that morning. Lucky for me, I scheduled Friday off of work.

I had a meeting with my editor at NUVO around 11 on Friday. We talked about a regular "Nightlife" column that will be added to the print version of the magazine early in 2011 and we brainstormed on what type of content should fill the space. Funny? Sarcastic? Heavy on photos? Advice, tips, and tricks? Reviews? Informative? Opinionated? Only time will tell...

The first stop on The Butterfly Tour that evening was at White Rabbit Cabaret in Fountain Square for the MarchFourth Marching Band. I'll be posting a review of that to my NUVO blog, so if it's not in that column along the left, then it will be soon.

After that, I drove north to the The Vogue for "Static Shock: where hair & fashion meet music & art". I was primarily interested in seeing AudioDax, but was curious to see the format for the event as well. Impeccable timing put me inside the venue minutes before AudioDax came on. Considering the amount of production put into the songs, their live show remained remarkably true to the original compositions. The set was active, but movement was limited to the two emcee's jumping around the stage and flailing their arms in lieu of instruments. I started in the front row, but quickly left the hoard of college frat boys I found myself immersed in. Literally... " 'scuse me," one said as he scooted in from the side with his camera. As if I'd asked for validation, he squealed at me with a burst of excitement, "These guys are in my fraternity!"

From my new position along the back of the concert floor, I observed a catwalk extending into the audience that was apparently used in the fashion show portion of the event. Except I personally only saw one really drunk girl use it in her attempt to maintain a sexy demeanor while stabilizing her intoxicated body horizontally on the catwalk. After less than half an hour inside The Vogue, I had seen enough.

Over on Guilford at Tru Night Club my good friend, fellow mofo, and fellow Jay County native Kelli Whitenack was having her birthday party. The overwhelming number of Indy Mojo members was fun and exciting, nostalgic and touching. When we do fun things in big numbers, we do it better than anyone else around. From massive events like The Zombie Walk, to co-ed strip club outings, to invading Tru Night Club on a Friday night to support Matt Allen and celebrate Kelli's birthday- its always more fun (and safe) in mixed company. "Who are you here with?" one of my non-mojo friends asked me on the side. I slowly made a large semi-circle in the air with my hand as I turned and faced the mass of mofo's that had swarmed the dance floor. "All of them," I replied.

John Larner's set was heavy on Top 40 music and proved to be annoyingly unpredictable;  those who had come to dance found it difficult to locate a solid beat. Furthermore, the tracks were uncomplimentary from one to the next and his choices lacked cohesiveness. Soon after Larner was done, however, we danced away Matt Allen's hour in the blink of an eye- an invigorating set that included both ample amounts of Weezy and a fun classic by Eurythmics.