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Written by Cindy Gao Tuesday, 01 August 2006 05:18

This concert review is not from the perspective of a former Russian president.

I won't lie to you, good and fair people of the free world; I had seriously considered writing this article through the eyes of one Boris Yeltsin for a number of reasons, one of which should be fairly transparent, but I'll go ahead and state the obvious for some of our slower readers. (I, after all, am an equal opportunity journalist.) If I wrote from the perspective of Boris Yeltsin, that great and illustrious leader, I would be given the perfect opportunity and the perfect medium through which to make a devastatingly witty, yet somehow touchingly poignant and intimate metaphor comparing Yeltsin to a failed music blogger.

Oh, the glory that would ensue! Think of all the possibilities. A red-faced Yeltsin, sitting in his armchair with a bottle of Stoli in each hand, reminiscing upon the day he first joined the Communist party, back when he was just a young and passionate idealist-making sure to reference both the Decembrist Revolt of 1825 and the Decemberists. Perhaps he'll recognize the immediate parallels of his life within the Soviet Communist Party and the average music blogger. Just as a young Yeltsin might have believed in "All power to the Soviets!" and "Land, Peace, and Bread," naïve music blogger John Vladmir Doe might believe in "All power to Pitchfork Media!" and "Cold War Kids, Beirut, and Harry and the Potters!"

And so on and so forth. I won't replicate the entire thing, but suffice it to say, if my vision ever does become fully realized, I expect Mr. Yeltsin himself to personally knock on my front door and thank me for what a harrowingly beautiful and downright amazing piece I will have written. Then he will ask me, on bended knee, to succeed Putin as the next president of Russia.

Now I know what you're thinking, ladies and gentlemen. You're thinking, "Oh you silly amateur music critic! Everyone knows that Boris Yeltsin doesn't speak English!" And you're right; I concede. Sometimes, however, we writers like to employ little devices like what we call a fantasy sequence in order to liven up an otherwise dull piece, and/or live out any well-hidden, yet still deep and passionate desires on paper that might otherwise seem disturbing.

But I digress! This concert review is not about any of the things I just spent the past four paragraphs and 387 words describing. This concert review is about two very good buzz bands, Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin and Sound Team, who've been blowing up like Alexander II. SSLYBY's breezy brand of folk pop somehow translated fabulously live, charming the sparse, yet loyal crowd, and lead singer John Cardwell is totally a cuter Rivers Cuomo with better songs (well, at least better than Beverly fucking Hills).

Sound Team was an even bigger surprise. I will admit, I did not do my homework and thus was only familiar with a few of the Austin band's songs through the wonders of MySpace. After SSLYBY's excellent set, I doubted that Sound Team would live up to much of its blogger hype. And of course, I was wrong. In retrospect, I should've known better. You see, a few minutes before the band came onstage, a textbook frat boy staked out his (unchallenged) claim right in the middle of the front row. You don't see these creatures outside of their natural habitat very often to begin with, but a baseball-capped, muscle-tee clad, honest-to-God frat boy singing along and dancing wildly to the completely epic "No More Birthdays?" Either Sound Team is awesome, or the apocalypse is near.

You know, this entire piece has been ridiculously long-winded. But maybe all of this has just been a defense mechanism on my part. Maybe I've been trying to hide myself behind all of this historical jargon and the witty repartee that makes me sound like I'm trying really, really hard to be liked. But isn't that what we all want, to be liked, nay...loved? Maybe that's all Boris Yeltsin wants, aside from another bottle of high-quality vodka and for Gorby to wear a toupee. And maybe all I want is to love Boris Yeltsin.

So, Mr. Yeltsin, tear down the wall in your heart. Don't listen to those kids from Springfield who write you pretty folk songs and sing you pretty words. That's all they are, just words. They mean nothing. Because you know what, Boris? Someone still does love you, but it sure as hell isn't some hippie band who doesn't wear shoes onstage. So wait, Boris. Wait. They don't love you like I love you.