“Get there early — they’re a very punctual band.”

“They’re going to play for hours. Hope you like standing.”

“Jim James loves Philly!”

“Expect some crazy covers … when I saw them in Chicago, they did ‘Tyrone’ with Erykah Badu!”

I’ve never received so much unsolicited advice from strangers prior to a concert. I don’t think I’ve ever received so much unsolicited advice from strangers prior to anything. Baristas, bar flies, hacking smokers outside the Khyber — for the week leading up to My Morning Jacket’s Friday night alpha-band stand at Festival Pier, it seemed like everyone in the Commonwealth wanted to slip a nugget of knowledge into my breast pocket to tote along on my first-ever date with one of the most essential live bands of the decade (number eight on Rolling Stone’s solid Top 20 list).

Why is that? Is it because people are being real nice lately? Or is it because MMJ’s genial sound — printed on proudly, almost defiantly Southern cardstock, but still legible and daring enough for Yanks with AIG accounts to digest — has popularized the most marketable virtues of jambandery (a sense of community, a call to a shared experience) while shelving the impenetrable, insider-only ones (inefficient 16-hour noodlefests, being barefoot)? Don’t know.

But I do know that number eight is way too low.

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Episode 8’s winning design

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CP fashion platelette Rebecca Grites sizes up Season 5 of Bravo’s Project Runway every week on Critical Mass.

The meek, mild and slightly spooky Leanne continues to win the hearts of the judges as she ruled the runway this week for the second time in a row. Though she stole the show, all the designers brought their A games for the one, the only, Ms. Diane Von Furstenberg.

With a challenge upon them that would put the winning design in DVF’s fall collection and in the hands of American Express customers, emotions run high. We saw the steel shell of Kenley finally crack as she broke down in tears at the mere thought of meeting DVF, let alone winning the overall challenge. While she sopped it up with tissues, Terri pumped out yet another three-piece suit, as did Blayne and Stella. Sadly, it was the last hurrah for Ms. Leatha; her mix-matched fabric and “Dracula-like” cape didn’t impress DVF, and you know no other judge would defy her words.

Korto’s black and white, swirled-print long dress with peek-a-boo yellow lining and a cute, cropped black coat came a close second to Leanne. The judges always recognize her consistency in design aesthetic and taste level, so I think it’s safe to say she’s on her way to the final three.

Next week seems like it’ll be full of love, as very special guests cause not only emotional excitement, but also extra special problems. (Moms and/or dogs again?)

And best wishes, Blayne. We all hope you get to marry your one true love: MKO.

Oh I’m sorry, did I forget to mention THAT I’M FUCKING CRAZY?

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This week, Peggy (Elisabeth Moss) learns that the glass ceiling is not actually a ceiling but a bar. Or rather, it’s a series of bars where her male colleagues get wasted, talk about chicks and write stuff down on napkins. The stuff they write on the napkins then becomes the basis for ad copy which Peggy is not involved in, because she wasn’t at the bar, because she wasn’t invited.  Get it? This is, for roughly the last half century, how workplace discrimination has operated — not through sudden, blazing flashes of prejudice (although there has been no shortage of those), but through a million tiny slights. And that, in case you’d forgotten, is why Mad Men is so amazing. ‘Cause they get that stuff.

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A short film featuring Bill Murray.

Episode 7’s winning design

bravotv.com

… home.

The designers got their second chance at innovation by making an outfit from the raw materials of Saturn cars. The Seatbelt Brigade looked scarily like challenge one where nearly half the designers leaned on the tablecloth crutch. Luckily, though Bravo’s editing team showed almost every designer snag their weight in seatbelts, only Blayne and Korto used them to an extreme. Blayne’s swag “car wash” dress wasn’t adored by the judges due to poor fit and an overall “blah” effect, whereas Korto was second runner-up for the win. Her woven mod swing coat was simply stunning, and had guest judge Rachel Zoe up in arms about making it her own.

But Keith was the one truly up in arms this week, as he not only said farewell to his fellow designers after making a shittily sewn halter top and a too-tight panel skirt, but he also got snappy with the judges. Keith sobbed uncontrollably after being eliminated and played the pity-party role as the boy from Utah who doesn’t get many chances. Well, boohoo. Maybe you shouldn’t have packed that egomaniacal ‘tude in your suitcase to New York.

Leanne, who won this challenge with her bubble-hip, fringe trim, sweetheart mini dress, dropped some jaws — including my own. She nailed this challenge by delivering something chic, innovative and beyond cool. Leanne has reaffirmed my belief in her worth as a ProjRun competitor, as did Joe. He got no recognition, but his motocross-style cropped sheath was well-done and adorable; touché. This episode also left me with a couple “gotta love it” moments such as “Hi, Timlicious,” a “whackadoodle” count of two and a boyfriend named Ratbones.

Diane von Furstenberg makes next week’s episode legendary with a major prize that leaves the designers in blood, sweat and tears.

If you’re gonna do the drivin’, I’m gonna do the drinkin’

amctv.com

The good news is that as of Episode 5, Mad Men is totally 100 percent back on track: Great writing and great direction. Pete and Trudy Campbell (Vincent Kartheiser and Alison Brie) enter the brave new world of 1960s fertility treatment, Joan (Christina Hendricks) gets engaged and Rachel Mencken (Now Rachel Katz, played by Philly’s Maggie Siff)) turns up briefly just to confuse everyone. Don (Jon Hamm) has a new secretary (Peyton List) who disappoints Joan with her scandalous 8-inch neckline. Don and sometime-mistress Bobbie (Melinda McGraw) screw up big time, and Peggy (Elisabeth Moss) saves them. In the process we finally learn a. what Peggy was doing between 1960 and 1962; b. what Bobbie is doing in the series at all, and, by extension c. what the hell this season is supposed to be about.

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Zoom into Concrete
by Weird_Weird_Science

You said things I wouldn't say.

photo | Lori Hill

It was truth in advertising. Liz Phair and three anonymous bandmates (she even forgot one of their last names — ouch) walked out on stage and played Exile in Guyville, all 18 songs from start to finish, to mark the album’s 15th anniversary. And that’s kind of how the show was going — smoothly, but a little uninterestingly. Then came “Canary,” eight songs in, and you remembered that Phair ‘s voice — part husky come-hither and part apathetic drone — is not that bad. The song was pretty perfect, and the moment when the show sort of hit its stride. The classics came fast and furious: “Mesmerizing,” “Fuck and Run,” “Divorce Song,” “Strange Loop.” Early in the show Phair put out a call for a woman to come up and sing the infamous “Flower” with her. (Maybe she feels a little silly doing it herself now?) When the time came, a guy offered, and she said, “Ah fuck it, come on up.” He nailed it. A so-so song from her forthcoming album, “Chopsticks,” and “Polyester Bride” served as an encore.

What would Kinky do?

kinkyfriedman.com

Every Monday, the Showdown tells you who to see and where to see ‘em.

Monday: It’s been two years since Philly natives, screamo kids Balboa have rocked their hometown. Give ‘em the warm Philadelphia welcome the Showdown knows you are capable of. With Rosetta and North, at the Khyber, doors at 8 p.m., tickets are $8.

Tuesday: Why go to a show and listen to one genre when there are so many good ones out there? Especially when they all come from the greatest city in the world — yours. Part punk (the Do Its, Goodbye Etc.), part soul (Mister King), part funk (Color Karma), part jangly-droney indie (Even Man Out). Enjoy the smorgasbord. At the North Star Bar, doors at 8 p.m., tickets are $5.

Wednesday: Liz Phair’s deep monotone was the quintessential female voice of the early-’90s. Too bad she sucked after popping out a puppy and deciding she would rather make money than have “blow job queen” etched onto her tombstone. No worries, though, ’cause tonight, she’ll only be rockin’ cuts from the seminal Exile in Guyville (attention young, angsty girls: go pick up your copy asap). At the TLA, doors at 7 p.m., tickets are $25.

Thursday: Hey, hey, it’s a Monkee! Although listings editor extraordinaire Monica Weymouth is a Davey girl at heart, she’s still got love for Peter Tork — one of two who could actually play an instrument AND didn’t come off as an asshole in the VH1 TV-movie (the Showdown is looking at you Mike Nesmiith. Wool cap and all). No shit, he ain’t bad. With Adam Marsland + His Chaos Band, at the North Star Bar, doors at 8 p.m., tickets are $15.

Friday: It’s ladies night and the feeling’s right with Sugar Town. Lady DJ’s take to the decks, including Boston’s the Femme Show, who are known for their sexified visual performances of the queer female identity. Way more fun that its Gender Studies title. With DJ Kit, the Shondes and Liberty City Kings, at Tritone, doors at 9 p.m. tickets are $7.

Saturday: Celebrate the fact that you’re off work on Monday by working those dance moves with the oh-so-shakeable Violens. More complicated (and we mean that in a good way) than your average neo-New Wave. With Relay, Ape School and Pink Skull, at Johnny Brenda’s, doors at 8 p.m., tickets are $10.

Sunday: The only Jew to run for governor of Texas, tour with Dylan and consider Willie Nelson a BFF. Kinky Friedman is a badass in the classic sense of the word brings his narrative (and often-times hilarious) country to Philly for the first time in eons. At the World Cafe Live, doors at 8 p.m., tickets are $30.