I ate dinner chez Sharples last night at Heather's insistence that I check out their Halloween decor, I wasn't too impressed, but it was nice to sit with Ali and them, ogle Danielle's purple Nalgene, and enjoy a welcome into the "freshman world" of Elena,Sarah Walsh, Jesse, spec, Annie, PJ, Cat, and others. African was intense and fast-paced, it got more so, Christy accepted, Cat and Claudia were inspired by my t-shirt to leave at the beginning of class and try to get last-minute tickets to the concert. I don't know if they got them, but they should have been able to, since I witnessed the sale of the last ticket, and it didn't occur until three hours later, after I took the Rubinmobile in with Lourdes, Yohancé, and two nebulous lodgemates, who were particularly impressed with the St. Germain track on "Creds." Corey and Ben and I rendez-voused (Bénédicte was rather shocked to learn that that's a verb in English), picked up will-call tix, and accepted promo materials successfully, although not all of us got into the venue as easily.

The New Deal had just started their set as we walked in. They are better live, although they look so normal. The drummer (in a striped button-down) was the spokesman, yanking a boom mic from behind him to say "we and the roots play different music, but we have a similar approach." It's true. Both imbue genres that tend to be rather uninspiring live with incredible vitality and energy. Something about dancing to musicians who sweat just as much on stage as you are sweating on the floor. I wonder how long before they break out from their formula, and begin to play music that actually sounds like it comes from instruments, rather than run-of-the-mill house or cheesy-80s trance. Watching them is a lot like watching a jazz group; I could follow the nuances of their interprovisation and communication as they create exciting and spontaneous versions of the techno formulae.

A couple of area thugs (one with black-eye makeup and a baseball bat) took the stage to deliver some rough ‘n tepid rhymes about partying, and then the lights dimmed again, as some scary-movie introduction voiceover came through the speakers and a gang of nattily 70's-pimped out gentlemen stepped out onto the stage. They played through a whole number (a new workout about the Roots taking over) before the lights came on to reveal the full splendor of their outfits; perfect wide lapels, thigh-length jackets, fedoras. Thought and ?uestlove in powderblue (although ? took his jacket off quicky to reveal an outrageous purple shirt with gold polka dots, and Thought returned later on in a purple/orange/red/black diamond check jacket), Scratch in black with orange hat-band, silk shirt and tie, Hub rockin' a white round-brim hat, pale yellow windowpane check suit, chewstick of course. They had a guitarist hanging around as well, although I couldn't hear him much.

We managed to push up fairly close (Ben reemerged halfway through the Deal), about half as close as I was in Rochester and fifty times closer than we were at Area One. The set was energetic and fun, but nothing unpredictable: Pussy Galore, Screamy Adrenaline, Proceed, What You Want, It's Over Now (pretty cool, Dice Raw joined in), lots of decent new stuff. They took a good forty-five minutes for the wrap-up session, starting with ?uestlove, whose solo was okay but drenched in annoying echo. They teased Pusherman, which was kind of neat, but then the guitarist led them through Nirvana, Survivor, etc. (blech), and the keyboardist (Kamal?) through Tootsie-Roll and Soft Cell (or something, I forget). That whole section of the show just really doesn't do it for me. Hub was pretty awesome though. We didn't find Liza until after most of the crowd had dispersed; she had gotten lost on the way there, and only came in about halfway through the Roots' set. She seemed happy though. On the drive back we listened to Ben's new purchases, "illadelph halflife" and Green Velvet.

I got up later than intended this morning, but not too late to get a bit of studying in before the French test, which went fine. Syntax was frustrating because I could feel myself being sucked into the ling major, thinking of all the things that I'd be interested to research and write papers on. I'm really curious to read some of the original Chomsky, to see if it can better explain some of these seemingly arbitrary choices we've been making. Came back here for not much lunch, e-mail with publicists, Louisa and Ester having cheered, co-op where I couldn't resist clementines or B+J pistachio, plus purchased Tahini, Pita, Yoghurt, etc. Gabe came by as I was about to take a shower, and I put my pants back on as he paced back and forth on the phone with Laura and got excited about ice sculpture, spending money will-he nill-they, about to set out to steal lawn ornaments. What a goof.