February 2008: This has been a month the likes of which I have only observed once before. Long, long ago, during October 2006, back when I was rollin' in dough and had the whole world laid out before me, I attended 15 concerts in one month (a regular "Rocktober", if you will).
Well, being as I have to appear at least somewhat presentable at work during the day (and not as hung over as I did in class during that fateful Autumn), I have what I will call a "limited capacity" (alright, I have cleared the Bill Callahan tie in hurdle... that will likely be the last you hear of our beloved baritone in this post, sadly). That may or may not be bullshit, however, at the rate I have been going.
When I attend these shows, and so far this month I have attended 8, I am often bowled over by the urge to document what is taking place, for better or for worse. My mind clicks away like a type writer, struggling to rap down the scene before and around me. I shy away from being one of the "YouTubers"... you know the ones. They are the assholes that make sure to record every second of a show by standing perfectly still and ignoring the fact that there is a live performance taking place around them (and also stick their inconvenient elbows right in my eyeline and/or shush me). Don't get me wrong; God bless YouTube. I love the videos on there, but I don't want to know where they come from. I don't need to be anything to do with the process. But I digress. I am a silent, mental recorder, and because I have attended so many damn shows this month, my brain is filling up. I have decided that on this lovely Saturday afternoon, while I should be out running around, I am going to compact every show that I have seen this month into a straightforward, all-encompassing review in haiku form. It's like I always say: Haikus - never not funny. So please, enjoy:
Ryan Adams at Royce Hall, January 31, 2008
On/off the wagon
With his Rufus-like antics
Ryan steals my heart.
Your Vegas/The Switches at the Crash Mansion, February 2, 2008
UMG bands both
"The poor man's Franz Ferdinand"
But accents abound!
Simon Dawes at the Hotel Cafe, February 5, 2008
Braless Malibu
Bitches yap the whole show through
But Taylor is gold.
Dave Barnes at Safari Sam's, February 8, 2008
WHY, WHY, WHY, WHY, WHY?
I have to be polite though...
Georgia friends are fans.
Simon Dawes at the Hotel Cafe, February 12, 2008
Sixth time I've seen them
Blood and Guts ev'ry damn time
Best small band in town
Hayes Carll at the Hotel Cafe, February 13, 2008
Whiskey-soaked, he charmed
Espec'ly when he challenged
Jesus to a duel.
The Black Lips at the El Rey, February 14, 2008
Comical mustache
Crowd-surfers and stage-divers
Made me want to MOSH!
St. Vincent at the EchoPlex, February 15, 2008
She is damn cute, but
I love her because she shreds
LIKE A METALHEAD!!!
So coming up, we have got Glen Phillips, another Simon Dawes show, Built to Spill with the Meat Puppets, The Helio Sequence and Cat Power (and ideally I will be in attendance at all of these, but then again, I am damn broke). I guarantee at least one more haiku in the near future... oh, wait.... here it comes:
I hope these slaked your
Thirst for comedy - Haikus:
Never not funny.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Keep Some Steady Friends Around
Long overdue, as my posts tend to be, this one was a mere inch away from being entitled "Bathroom Floor." As of late, that is pretty much where I feel I belong.
This week, or at least the initial three days of it, has been lightweight schizophrenic. In the immortal words of (guess who!) Bill Callahan, "We are constantly on trial!" I suppose it is true, but it scarcely makes the fact any less unnerving. Where, oh where, to start, I wonder?
Well, I was supposed to have blogged following a somewhat impromptu yet life-changing trip to Portland with five of my closest female friends. It was damn near perfect, worth every penny spent, and the kind of therapy that is going to carry me through all the adversity that I am going to face during 2008. Every corner I turned, Portland bore a new and beautiful souvenir for my heart. Elliott Smith kept manifesting himself, at a photography exhibition at Powell's Bookstore (the Amoeba Records of book stores, hands down), embedded in the sound of the local Hush Records band that we caught (they are called Loch Lomond and they FUCKING ROCKED and you should check them out.... the do the whole Sufjan thing more astutely and give off a CSN-in-the-English-Countryside vibe). I remembered why I loved him (to paraphrase Jenny Lewis), and fell madly back in love with everything that he stood for over good coffee, unique art, and Voodoo Donuts.
My friends are the reason for the title of this blog, and probably the reason I am alive. Never in my life have I been so comfortable in the presence of multiple women. Multifaceted, strange, exotic, beautiful, empathetic, strong women. I was among my people. And granted, we all fell into roles (mine, of course, being that of the baby), we all brought our unique gifts to the experience.
Jane, the friend with whom I was least familiar on this trip at the beginning, proved to be everything I knew she was. On the surface, her cooking was improvisational and exciting, and always proved delicious and satisfying. Her savvy music sense also soundtracked out experience quite nicely (you know, when I was not geeking out to Roman Candle on my iPod). Under the skin, however, Jane was a life force to be reckoned with. Loyalty, honesty and intelligence were Jane, and she fulfilled the role of father on our trip (I mean, hell... she packed the trunk, had an excellent sense of direction, and knew the dimensions of the car well enough to help Noor parallel park every time!).
Noor, the hostess with the mostess, is a friend from college. Noor is the kind of person that someone runs across once in their life. She burns with the kind of fire that drive the people that deserve it. She is a spark, but not of rage or of bitterness or of aimless passion. Her spark is far more appreciative of the world around her. Noor is inspiring and I hope one day to be as kind as she. She was the mom (as evinced when she read the menu to me at lunch and helped me pick ot cold medicine at the drug store).
Megan is my quiet one, a former roommate from my junior and senior year of college. She is a quiet storm though. There is so much going on behind those blue eyes of hers, and we get lucky when we get let in. This trip, she opened the doors just a little bit wider and I got to see someone I think I missed out on during college. Megan is a little girl in spirit, and she doesn't know that I know it yet. It's alright though. She is going to be such a successful, invincible woman because of all that she has gone through, and I am privileged to glimpse that little carefree girl here and there. Megan was a sister.
Katie, or Miss K-Lee, as she may as well be known, is the All-American in the group. She is, as I describe her, the "girl from the Tom Petty song" (you know the one: loves Jesus, horses, America, her momma, and her boyfriend). Katie is a school teacher and while I am sure this is not the case, she seems like she knows exactly what she wants out of life. I envy her in an admiring way for this. I am so proud when I see what she has accomplished, not just on paper, but every day as she inspires and deciphers the world of 3rd grade. I can't even fathom it. Katie is a pillar of moral values for me, because she takes very good care of herself and the people around her, and I know of nothing more morally sound than that. She was an aunt.... definitely a mom, but not my mom.
Mara is my former roommate proper from my senior year of college. As one can imagine, senior year of college is a bit of a fragile period in one's life. However, this year following has far and away out-delicated it. This post-collegiate year has been a latticework of balanced china, all begging gravity to break it. Mara is my anti-gravity. Never in my life have I known someone that cares so dearly about me yet never judges a thing I do. Never before have I known such an open mind. She is the perfect friend, understanding, considerate, easy-going and forgiving, and I literally don't know what I would have done without her open ears. She underestimates herself, I think, which is a tragedy, because she is brave and smart and inspiring and kind. Mara is a sister, a close sister.
So now, when I feel like complaining about all my problems here in the public forum (bitch-blogging, as my friend Scott dubbed it), I am forcing myself to show nothing but gratitude. Money is tight, work is frustrating, and love is far, far away (if it exists at all, in anything other than wild form). However, I keep some steady friends around for now, and I quote Bill again to express my innermost longing:
"Don't stay away so long 'cause we love you too much."
The "we" in this case is me and all of my poisonous stresses and fantasies and bad decisions. I get to be stable because of those aforementioned girls, and I hope to God that they stay close this year.
This week, or at least the initial three days of it, has been lightweight schizophrenic. In the immortal words of (guess who!) Bill Callahan, "We are constantly on trial!" I suppose it is true, but it scarcely makes the fact any less unnerving. Where, oh where, to start, I wonder?
Well, I was supposed to have blogged following a somewhat impromptu yet life-changing trip to Portland with five of my closest female friends. It was damn near perfect, worth every penny spent, and the kind of therapy that is going to carry me through all the adversity that I am going to face during 2008. Every corner I turned, Portland bore a new and beautiful souvenir for my heart. Elliott Smith kept manifesting himself, at a photography exhibition at Powell's Bookstore (the Amoeba Records of book stores, hands down), embedded in the sound of the local Hush Records band that we caught (they are called Loch Lomond and they FUCKING ROCKED and you should check them out.... the do the whole Sufjan thing more astutely and give off a CSN-in-the-English-Countryside vibe). I remembered why I loved him (to paraphrase Jenny Lewis), and fell madly back in love with everything that he stood for over good coffee, unique art, and Voodoo Donuts.
My friends are the reason for the title of this blog, and probably the reason I am alive. Never in my life have I been so comfortable in the presence of multiple women. Multifaceted, strange, exotic, beautiful, empathetic, strong women. I was among my people. And granted, we all fell into roles (mine, of course, being that of the baby), we all brought our unique gifts to the experience.
Jane, the friend with whom I was least familiar on this trip at the beginning, proved to be everything I knew she was. On the surface, her cooking was improvisational and exciting, and always proved delicious and satisfying. Her savvy music sense also soundtracked out experience quite nicely (you know, when I was not geeking out to Roman Candle on my iPod). Under the skin, however, Jane was a life force to be reckoned with. Loyalty, honesty and intelligence were Jane, and she fulfilled the role of father on our trip (I mean, hell... she packed the trunk, had an excellent sense of direction, and knew the dimensions of the car well enough to help Noor parallel park every time!).
Noor, the hostess with the mostess, is a friend from college. Noor is the kind of person that someone runs across once in their life. She burns with the kind of fire that drive the people that deserve it. She is a spark, but not of rage or of bitterness or of aimless passion. Her spark is far more appreciative of the world around her. Noor is inspiring and I hope one day to be as kind as she. She was the mom (as evinced when she read the menu to me at lunch and helped me pick ot cold medicine at the drug store).
Megan is my quiet one, a former roommate from my junior and senior year of college. She is a quiet storm though. There is so much going on behind those blue eyes of hers, and we get lucky when we get let in. This trip, she opened the doors just a little bit wider and I got to see someone I think I missed out on during college. Megan is a little girl in spirit, and she doesn't know that I know it yet. It's alright though. She is going to be such a successful, invincible woman because of all that she has gone through, and I am privileged to glimpse that little carefree girl here and there. Megan was a sister.
Katie, or Miss K-Lee, as she may as well be known, is the All-American in the group. She is, as I describe her, the "girl from the Tom Petty song" (you know the one: loves Jesus, horses, America, her momma, and her boyfriend). Katie is a school teacher and while I am sure this is not the case, she seems like she knows exactly what she wants out of life. I envy her in an admiring way for this. I am so proud when I see what she has accomplished, not just on paper, but every day as she inspires and deciphers the world of 3rd grade. I can't even fathom it. Katie is a pillar of moral values for me, because she takes very good care of herself and the people around her, and I know of nothing more morally sound than that. She was an aunt.... definitely a mom, but not my mom.
Mara is my former roommate proper from my senior year of college. As one can imagine, senior year of college is a bit of a fragile period in one's life. However, this year following has far and away out-delicated it. This post-collegiate year has been a latticework of balanced china, all begging gravity to break it. Mara is my anti-gravity. Never in my life have I known someone that cares so dearly about me yet never judges a thing I do. Never before have I known such an open mind. She is the perfect friend, understanding, considerate, easy-going and forgiving, and I literally don't know what I would have done without her open ears. She underestimates herself, I think, which is a tragedy, because she is brave and smart and inspiring and kind. Mara is a sister, a close sister.
So now, when I feel like complaining about all my problems here in the public forum (bitch-blogging, as my friend Scott dubbed it), I am forcing myself to show nothing but gratitude. Money is tight, work is frustrating, and love is far, far away (if it exists at all, in anything other than wild form). However, I keep some steady friends around for now, and I quote Bill again to express my innermost longing:
"Don't stay away so long 'cause we love you too much."
The "we" in this case is me and all of my poisonous stresses and fantasies and bad decisions. I get to be stable because of those aforementioned girls, and I hope to God that they stay close this year.
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