Digging a Pony with St. Vincent

Everyone knows that I'm currently in love with Annie Clark (a.k.a St. Vincent), so it shouldn't surprise you that I'm posting this Black Cab Sessions video of her performing a cover of the Beatles' "Dig a Pony." For those of you unfamiliar with these sessions, these folks get artists/bands to perform songs while sitting in the back of a moving London taxicab.

Ritter & Rhine

Two recent (and interesting) artist interviews to report: Over the Rhine & Josh Ritter.

Over the Rhine is a husband and wife duo who I interviewed backstage at Hollywood's Knitting Factory. Hadn't heard much of their music beforehand, but I have to say that I found their latest effort, The Trumpet Child, an impressive array of tunes. The record moves deftly from country to folk to jazz--a delightful sampling of wholesome Americana goodness. And Karen Berqhuist's voice is absolutely divine. The podcast interview will be available to stream in the near future on LiveDaily.com.

Josh Ritter (not to be confused with Josh Rouse or John Ritter) is a pretty damn good acoustic guitar-toting, folk-pop singer/songwriter who (in my mind, at least) somehow manages to stick out among the endless sea of them at the minute. I talked to Josh via phone and below is an excerpt. Of course, I had to engage him in a conversation about books because, well, I'm geeky that way:

You toured with Joan Baez, who then recorded your song “Wings.” How did it feel to have someone like her pay you such a compliment?
It’s always the ultimate compliment when anybody covers your song, no matter who it is. It just means so much that they commit your work to tape, you know? I know how that is because when I cover somebody’s song in a show it’s a compliment to their songwriting and I think it’s a really big compliment. So I take it as a huge one when somebody else does it (with my songs), especially someone like her who’s seen it all and done it all. It went a long ways towards convincing my parents that I could do this for a living (laughs). They’re the biggest record label, your family.

Wow. So that’s what it took to convince them that you could quit your day job?
I think it allayed their fears a little bit. They’ve always been really supportive, but I can imagine if my kid was out doing this I’d be freaked out too.

Your songs are filled with numerous literary, Biblical & historical allusions. You must be an avid reader.
Yeah.

What’s the last book you read?
I just read The Most Famous Man in America which is the biography of Henry Ward Beecher (a 19th century preacher). It just won the Pulitzer Prize and it’s about one of America’s great entertainment industries, which are preachers (laughs). And it’s basically about the roots of Evangelical Christianity and the real, kind of, rock ‘n’ roll preachers from (Beecher) all the way down the line to Billy Graham and some of those new guys who are coming. It’s kind of the melding of the Bible and the dollar. It’s pretty interesting. He was a major force in the abolition of slavery. Really interesting guy.

Do you think there’s a lot that a musician can learn from preachers?
It’s really interesting. There are so many corollaries, you know, because at that point there was sort of a vaudeville sort of scene. And that was just starting up in New York and in a lot of ways the large, organized entertainment industry relies on transportation. At that point, the steamboat was giving way to the railroad and that was a major turning point—that somebody could go on a tour. The first real world tour of entertainment was Mark Twain in the late 1890s and it was only because there were all these different transportation forms that allowed them to go to all these places. There was also a media that was burgeoning. Like telegraph and good printing presses that could work fast so that you could have newspapers and fast traveling news. That’s all stuff that we see repercussions of now. So, yeah, there’s a lot that you can learn from all sorts of stuff. I always think it’s weird how people always just ask about…They ask about influences, you know, I do get influenced by music but I’d say far more by other stuff. It’s cool to just pick up a book and find out something that you just wouldn’t have thought of.

For the entire interview, visit Noisetap.com.

My McWedding

Believe the rumors. Yes, Dane and I tied the knot, and true to our characters, the event was surrounded by as little hoopla as possible. In fact, we never even left the car.

For a detailed account of our Las Vegas drive-thru ceremony, check out the article I wrote for VegasTripping.com.

Smell this marriage and tell me if it’s gone bad

Thank heaven for maverick politicians in office! Those rabble-rousers who challenge staid ideas and majority opinion based upon moldy, antiquated values.

Enter sexy Gabriele Pauli (pictured here), Germany’s latex clad politician who is petitioning that marriages should not necessarily last "til death do couples part"-- but that the union should be issued an expiration date. According to Pauli “The basic approach [to marriage] is wrong…many marriages last just because people believe they are safe…My suggestion is that marriages expire after seven years." After said amount of time (when the so-called "7 Year itch" might begin to creep under the couple's skin) Pauli suggests that the husband and wife can choose to either terminate the union or petition for an extension.

Of course, the idea has elicited outrage from Germany’s right wing Christian Social Union (CSU) who say that Pauli (herself a Christian) is “diametrically contradicting our Christian, ethical values."

Pauli stands behind her suggestion and claims that it is “about bringing ideas into the CSU and starting a discussion." God forbid that any new ideas be brought into a tried and true forum presided over by dogmatic tradition!

More power to you Pauli! But of course if it were up to me, the government nor the public would have any place within the romantic union of two people—and neither laws nor society should favor a “government-blessed” union over one that hasn’t been made legal and filed away in Uncle Sam’s dusty cabinet.

Divine Deadbeat

Just for the hell of it, let’s briefly attribute the characteristics of the Judeo Christian “Heavenly Father” to a hypothetical earthly father and examine how his parenting skills might stand up against society’s generally agreed upon expectations of fatherhood.

I’ll put the literal characteristics of omnipotence and omniscience aside, since I’m only concerned with the aspects pertaining to the personal relationship this fictional dad would share with his children. In the place of the two “omnis,” let’s just say that this dad is recognized worldwide as both an intellectual, moral and virile giant. Suppose you were the child of such a man who was known and admired on a large scale and approached daily by a vast number of supplicants hoping that he share with them just a little bit of his wisdom. You’d probably be awed, proud and fortunate to have been “chosen” by fate as one of his progeny—having expended no real effort of your own to be one of the chosen.

You also realize that you are one of many children, and though he claims to love you (his statement of love was indirect—you’ve heard it told that he loves "all his children"), you’ve never actual met the man yourself, as he’d left you long before you were born in order to continue with his humanitarian work (adopting more children of course). So although he cannot enfold you in his arms (or chooses not to, perhaps to avoid spoiling you or showing you any special favor) like you’d wish for him to, he instead efficiently sends off a mass email to his children—the only tangible child support he provides. This email, not even written with his own hand but dictated to one of his many office assistants, supposedly contains all the love and guidance you should possibly need in order to grow into a thoughtful, caring human being modeled after none other than he himself—and perfectly equipped to withstand all temptation to become anything less.

As to be expected, you might become lonely or rebel out of sheer frustration at having been given pages of strange, ambiguous commands, figurative promises, poetic verses and symbolic tales (the meanings of which none of your siblings can agree upon, causing strife among your own family)—instead of enjoying a physically present father who you can count on to assure you at your most vulnerable moments: “Don’t you worry. I’m here and I’m real and I’m taking care of you.”

You might even doubt his existence at all, or if he does exist, whether he really cares about you. I mean, he’s never around and it always takes a great deal of effort on your part to imagine let alone invoke his non-physical presence whenever you need encouragement or comforting in times of pain. When you hear a voice in your head that you think might be his, you wonder whether this is actually the voice of your own selfish desires masquerading as his. Doubt leads to guilt which leads to frustration and/or disobedience—and the “backsliding” guilt cycle begins anew.

So what keeps you believing in him? Well, you are constantly reminded of his Great Sacrifice for starters, and you don’t want to appear ungrateful. The great sacrifice being that before you were even born, he’d saved you from a life of unbearable torture by sacrificing his first born son—who was an exact replica of himself, and therefore his favorite. Never mind figuring out the mechanics of how he gave up his son in order to save you and the rest of his progeny from suffering. For the sake of sustaining this analogy, let’s just say that this is the case: He allowed his favorite son—a being more superior and righteous than your sorry ass could ever hope to be—die in your stead. In fact, this son died willingly in your place! This, I’m sure caused your father a huge amount of pain and this was reason enough to love him “with all your heart and all your soul and all your mind” as well as his first born son who, strangely enough, is not your brother but another manifestation of your father. You find this concept extremely difficult to grasp, but you accept it on no other evidence save your father’s word. Because—as the classic inarguable proof goes—he told you so.

Also, there are the consequences to consider. It turns out that his mass email also happened to be a meeting request that you are required to respond to, as you haven’t yet fully dodged the bullet from which your father’s first born son (your father in another form) saved you from. Nope, in order to do so you must actually meet with the son (in spirit, of course) and acknowledge his sacrifice. The son’s desire for recognition doesn’t exactly strike you as being the noblest of qualities, but oh well. Who are you to pass judgement? You didn’t die for anyone.

So…do you (A) accept the invitation and therefore acknowledge the gift of his sacrificed son and, in doing so, accept on faith that your father does in fact love you based upon that sacrifice? (B) Do you read the email and, out of apathy, laziness or indecision do nothing, which, according to your father’s logic is worse than not having known about its contents at all. Or, (C) do you reject the invitation out of rebellion or sheer disbelief? Any other action besides (A) would not only separate you from your father’s presence entirely, but require him to “lovingly” send you to a torture chamber where you will spend the rest of your life enduring unspeakable suffering!

What it all comes down to is the following. Could you love a man who brought you into a cruel world without your consent; left you physically alone to fend for yourself; never told you directly that he loves you; leaves you a long message of questionable accuracy that describes a grand sacrifice made on your behalf; asks you to accept him of your own “free will,” though there really isn’t a choice to speak of, as the alternative (hellfire and damnation) ain’t so great; and who, ultimately, requires from you an inordinate level of suspended disbelief, faith in the unseen, reliance on emotion over reason, and that you pledge him an unwavering devotion just so that one day you may finally, FINALLY be able to earn the right to be in his presence?

Gutted

For this post, I really don't need to do more than show you images of these fanfreakingtastic and über innovative "Book Autopsies" (or book sculptures) created by artist Brian Dettmer, and supply a link to show you more of his work.

Armed with some sort of cutting instrument, he guts out books to reveal the works of art hidden within.

Providing you have a heartbeat and a functional radar for the aesthetically pleasing, you too should be equally wowed.

Thanks, Davina, for the tip.

Lunch a la Lynch

It doesn’t take a whole lot to pique my interest when in comes to trying out new food, so when Dane played me a featurette off the Inland Empire DVD of David Lynch cooking up his own recipe for quinoa—I was all over it. The feature was less about the food than it was about showcasing Lynch’s preoccupation with an orderly process as well as his childlike fascination with such elementary principals as grains puffing up twice their size after boiling. While the pot was simmering, he took the moment to tell some wildly colorful tales regarding a European train ride, some street vendors peddling sugar water, his magical acquisition of two handfuls of silver coins and providing a woman with her first taste of Coca Cola. It was a fascinating little piece, black & white with a menacing score—and when it was over, I was dying to try out the dish I’d just seen Lynch devour with relish.

Some research was necessary, as I hadn’t the slightest clue what quinoa was, save Lynch’s vague explanation that it was some sort of grain that was considered to be a whole protein—and that it was delicious.

It turns out quinoa (Lynch pronounces it keen-wah) is a South American staple food grown in the Andes and it does contain a high amount of protein unlike wheat and rice—which makes it a better alternative for those pursuing a low carb diet. Lynch’s recipe also includes something he calls “Liquid amino acids.” I found out that this is a seasoning more commonly referred to as “liquid aminos,” and bears a similarity to soy sauce. So after a quick visit to Nature Mart (the neighborhood bohemian organic/health food market) my ingredients were assembled and ready to go.

Lynch was right. Quinoa is pretty damn good—a nutty flavored grain with a texture that’s a cross between cous cous and caviar. I think I’ve finally found the perfect rice substitute.

If you’d like to try the recipe yourself, you can find it here.

I’ve also just finished reading Cormac McCarthy’s The Crossing which, despite filling me with an immeasurable sense of bleak despair while contemplating the illusory lessons of history as well as humanity's inability to hear the voice of the divine (if there even exists a divine voice to hear) for our own vain and inconsequential desires—it’s also given me an itch to make some homemade tortillas.

Captain Planet Sorts Out the Troubles -or- Can't We All Just Get Along?

Dane, on the lookout for some YouTube action pertaining to his hometown, typed "Belfast" into the search box. Among other gems, he found this--an edited bit from a bizarre episode of Captain Planet that certainly deserves to be showcased somewhere.

In this episode, the Catholics and Protestants have somehow obtained WMDs and CP steps in to save the day (in an America--fuck yeah! sort of way). Man alive. There are no words to express how simplistic, uninformed and dopey this treatment of the Troubles is. You'll just have to watch for yourself.

There’s an Animated Gif for That

Today we dissect the animated gif. Those loathsome, pointless, wiggling little attention whores that belong on no website designed post ‘96. Still, those buggers are everywhere.

This collection by no means represents the worst out there—but as free animated gifs abound on the internet, this choice bunch was fairly easy and extremely quickly gathered for our analytical purposes.

Let’s take a tour…

1. The Ally McBeal dancing baby, as creepy as he ever was, performing three actions in one gif: 1) The soccer ball slap 2) the air guitar two-step 3) The funky pigeon
   
   
   
   
2. Chinese dragon thingie giving repeated roars. Looks like someone went wild on its mouth and ears with the Photoshop Smudge Tool. The neon flashing eyes are just the icing on the cake.
   
   
   
   
3. Everyone loves a good chimp gag. And talk about web versatility! A million different captions/advertising slogans would work with this little feller from “I paid too much for auto insurance” to “I knew I should have tried all-natural penis enhancement.”
   
   
   
   
4. Nothing says Welcome to 1995 quite like the site Under Construction gif! Loads out there to choose from. Take your pick.
   
   
   
   
5. Through the magic of multiple frames, an idiomatic expression is brought to life. Though, this pig doesn’t actually seem to be taking off really, as his rear hooves never appear to leave the ground. The yellow aura’s a bit sloppy as well.
   
   
   
6. Two ultra-weird, new age/occult hands with a shitload of significance to someone out there--I'm sure of it. These aren’t quite as versatile as our friend Mr. Chimp, but a whole lot more intriguing!
   
   
   
   
7. The dancing crucifix. My personal favorite.
   
   
   
   
   
8. There are actually a number of amusing gifs to be found under the “Religion” category, so since we’re on the subject, here’s another one—the Peace Christ. Let’s forget about the fact that it's a silly image of Christ making the peace sign and talk instead about lazy animation. I mean, this one really isn’t animated, is it? It’s just an image being moved from the corner of the frame into the center of it, gradually displaying the complete picture. Dopey.
   
   
   
   
9. Weird sewer creature thing-a-majig tosses up a purple ball containing a friendly salutation. Bizarre.
   
   
   
10. Brontosaurus regurgitates a never-ending supply of letters into a mailbox. How this functions as a graphic representation of “send an email” is beyond me.
    
    
    
    
    
11. Finally, this orca clearly illustrates one of my biggest beefs with animated gifs in general. Sheer laziness. He idly bobs through a slit in the water because he can’t be arsed to actually make a leap. Also, the reflection on the glassy surface remains motionless while the killer whale moves up and down! Seriously, animated gif creators, we notice. We notice.
    
    
    
    
    

Flock Together

When I joined the ACLU a while back and wondered if there were any activist meetings in my immediate locale, they directed me toward a little site called Meetup.com. Through said site, one can start (or join) a group based on a common interest, and attend local meetups with like-minded folks.

For example, if you happen to be a die-hard fan of Norwegian pop sensation a-ha but find yourself obsessing alone, simply type “a-ha” into the Meetup.com search and you’re likely to stumble across the "a-ha fans Southern CA Meetup Group" (14 members strong). Same with 17th Century Spanish Drama or Traditional Amish recipes or…well, anything at all, really.

Every week, I’m tickled to receive an email informing me of the various Meetups taking place near me—i.e. the “Studio City Stitch & Bitch” and the “Universal Order and Biojoy Fellowship.”

This morning, it occurred to me that I find this weekly list strangely comforting, as it drives home the fact that no matter how odd our interests/guilty pleasures—we are not alone.

Other groups in the LA area include:

• Druid Meetup
• Orlando Bloom Meetup
• Southern California DEPECHE MODE Devotional Group (159 members)
• The Apollonian Poets (20 members)
• KEEROOV Kosher Eth-E-co-logical Raw Organic Optimistic Vegan (29 members)
• UFO Meetup
• Order of The Perfectly Manicured Papaya - SoCal Chapter (52 members)
• Los Angeles Vampires (199 members)
• Metal Detecting Meetup
• The Be Totally Free Meetup Group (23 members)
• Dude Check This Out! Meetup
• Godzilla Meetup
• BARF Diet Meetup
• Hula Hooping Meetup
• Wonder Woman Meetup

Travel Journal Part 5: Random Musings on My Week

From this outsider's perspective, London is a fascinating mixture of the staid and traditional with the contemporary and cutting-edge. Probably a reaction of the younger generation toward the stodgy repression of their elders (and the ghosts that they continue to revere). I suppose if one grew up surrounded by so much pomp antiquity, one would find it blasé, and turn instead to modern minimalism and pop culture worship.

The effect of which is an intriguing place packed to the hilt with bodiless souls and soulless bodies. But, I guess you can probably say the same about all cities where the old world exists in such close proximity with the new.

* * *

What I found particularly interesting are the C.C.T.V. signs everywhere, essentially warning troublemakers not to get out of hand because Big Brother is watching! True to the Orwellian vision, an enormous portion of public and private areas in the UK are now surveilled by close circuit television—not only streets, shops and private properties such as hotels, but also inside taxicabs, trams, etc. Here are a couple of C.C.T.V. signs I took—one inside a taxi and another on a garbage truck. Signs like these can be found on buildings, vehicles and street posts all over the place.

* * *

In the news: Yob violence is on the rise, resulting in a number of senseless killings around the UK. (Yob being slang for a young aggressive person—“boy” spelled backwards.) Parents are advised on how to nip youth violence in the bud.

Dane maintains that one of the things that drove him out of the UK was this very problem.

* * *

UK grocery store chocolates are far better than their American counterparts. Hands down.

Travel Journal Part 4: Hello Dalí!

Two more museum visits to report.

The British Museum has a wonderful collection of Egyptian & Mesopotamian artifacts that I thoroughly lapped up. Show me some clay pots, beaded jewelry, stone chisels, human and animal remains within glass cases, and I’m happy.

I also perused their great collection of prints and drawings that spanned from the 15th century to present day. Represented there are Albrecht Durer, William Blake, Henry Moore (the list of notables goes on and on). Think you’ll get a kick (as I did) out of Grayson Perry’s humorously self-deprecating “Map of An Englishman”—which you can check out in detail here.

Unfortunately , I didn’t make it to any of their other amazing collections of ancient Greek and Asian art.

Dane joined me on Friday on an excursion to the Tate Modern where, extremely lucky for us, we were able to catch the special exhibit entitled Dalí & Film. Oh gods of great timing, thou art kindly indeed! My humble eyes were able to viddy such amazing works as “The Persistence of Memory,” “The Metamorphosis of Narcissus” and “Sleep” (among many others!); see various paintings and drawings that were studies of film projects both completed and not completed; as well as watch the complete Luis Bunuel-Salvador Dalí joint Un chien andalou and the infamous and absolutely fantastic Dalí/Walt Disney film Destino. Infamous because the film hadn't been finished during their lifetimes for the imagery was too controversial for Disney to be associated with. It was finally completed in 2003, with modern day animators attempting to stay true to Dalí and Disney’s original vision for the film.

Unfortunately, Dalí's project with the Marx Brothers (he was a great admirer of physical comedians such as Harold Lloyd and the Marx bros) never came to fruition. One can only imagine the wild surrealist romp that would have been!

Easily, the Tate Modern proved to be my favorite experience of the entire trip.

Travel Journal Part 3: The Exchange Rate Blues

There’s nothing like possessing weak currency to break down one’s sense of national pride. Well, that and election fraud, disastrous wars, doofuses occupying important governmental positions...but I digress. Thanks to the U.S. deficit, I’m having to buy packaged sandwiches at Marks & Spencer (U.S. equivalent = a higher quality Trader Joes) and—sadder still—limit most of my shopping to Primark (US equivalent = something like K-mart). My patronizing the latter establishment has now earned me Dane’s ridicule, as apparently, there was a song he’d sung as a schoolboy in Northern Ireland which went something like: “Primark…shirts and skirts that fall apart, trousers that can’t hold a fart.” Oh well. I’d have shopped elsewhere if the dollar could hold its value.

But, hey—culture is free! So it was off to the National Gallery on Wednesday (decided to go on foot to save some dough) where I spent quite a bit of time in the Post-Impressionist room as I’ve a particular weakness for that period. Of the Romantic Era, Gericault and Delacroix are my favorites. Of course, I also had to stop by the 16th Century Italian collection to worship the genius that was Caravaggio. Walked straight past the Gainsboroughs and Constables —as that whole bucolic, pastoral stuff is not really my bag. Same with the French Impressionists like Monet, Pissaro and Renoir, who, despite everyone else’s adoration of them, never really did much for me.

Ok, onto topics less high-brow. The service I experienced at London restaurants has been absolute shit. For example, one waitress served us tea but forgot to give us hot water in which to steep our bags. It took about five minutes for me to finally catch her eye from across the room and mime the action of pouring water into my cup. Not understanding the gesture, she returned with a blank stare and went along with her business. Five minutes later after our desserts were long finished, we finally flagged her down and she realized her mistake with some embarrassment. At Wagamama (a hip asian noodle establishment), Dane was seated in a high traffic area and was bumped into a number of times by three separate servers. According to him and his Londoner mates, being forgotten about, collided into and trod upon would represent a typical night out.

I’ll leave you now with a photo (taken on my walk to the National Gallery) that I like to call “London is Eff-ing Crowded.”

10 Words That Are Fun To Say

Just off the top of my head:

1. Tonka
2. Poughkeepsie
3. dirndl
4. T'Pau
5. gazpacho
6. dipthong
7. Albuquerque
8. phosphorescence
9. Agamemnon
10. supercilious

Feel free to add your favorites to the list.


Woman wearing a dirndl. In case you were curious.

Travel Journal Part 2: You Do The Kayamath

How am I meant to leave my hotel room when I’ve got this on the television?

The editing! The acting! The “woosh-woosh” sound effects! The gorgeous women! Did I mention the editing???

Thank you, Britain, for introducing me to Kayamath—an Indian soap opera with cuts so mental it makes Domino look serene. Have a gander and stick with it for at least 3 minutes. Believe me, folks, the entire show is cut this way.

Brilliant.

Travel Journal Part 1: Keep Your Nuts To Yourself

Amazingly, we made it into London yesterday having encountered no major snafus—an impressive thing given my usual luck as well as the massive computer failure at LAX leaving 17,000 international travelers stranded. (See photo below from Yahoo! News)

I made sure to pack enough snacks for the 10 hour flight: trail mix, pistachios (I’d just bought about a year’s supply of them from Costco so needed to start making some headway) and a pack of Filipino Cracker Nuts. My typical bad luck, having failed me at the airport, decided to kick in on the flight when the captain announced that a certain passenger had a severe nut allergy, so would everyone on board please refrain from opening any package of anything containing nuts or even traces of nuts.

Phooey. Perhaps I should have had the foresight to pack some crackers? Ah well…it was a minor bother, considering that I’m now happily typing this away at my swanky Soho hotel room, paid for by Dane’s company. The last thing I ought to do is complain about some verboten trail mix.

At the behest of others, I’ve brought my camera and plan on snapping away at random sights—but am sorry to say that I’ve forgotten my USB cord back home. So for the time being, here’s a shot from Carnaby Street I cheekily stole off of someone else’s Flickr page.

Dane will be working away at his London office for the greater part of the week while I occupy myself with aimlessly wandering around town. Sometimes, no plans are the best plans. (I made that up just now, so really don’t have a clue in hell how true it is!)

I’ll post photos when I return.

Wainwrights -- The Musical

Just thinking aloud here, but wouldn't the Wainwright Family be an amazing subject for a folk opera? No other musical dynasty has aired their dirty laundry in song quite as much as this uber-talented lot have. I mean, the libretto and score are practically already written.

Of course this is just a rough sketch transcribed from a stained coffeehouse napkin, but maybe, it would go a little something like this...

Act I – Folk Mates

Scene 1 – Love/Hate among Artists

Loudon Wainwright III: “Saw Your Name in the Paper”

Scene 2 – “On the Rocks” or “Unhappy Anniversary”

Loudon: “Mr. Guilty”
Kate McGarrigle: “Go Leave”
Loudon: “I’d Rather Be Lonely”
Kate: “Kitty Come Home”
Loudon: "Whatever Happened to Us"

Act II – “Bein’ A Dad”

Scene 1 – Caught in the Crossfire

Loudon: "Make Your Mother Mad"

Scene 2 “Mother of Gloom”

Kate: “I Eat Dinner” (“I eat dinner at the kitchen table/With my daughter who is thirteen…No more smalltalk/When the hunger's gone”)
Kate: “I’m Losing You” (“I'm sending you some money to buy a pair of shoes 'cause you've grown out of the last ones/I know I'm losing you”)

Act III - Deadbeat Dad Blues

Scene 1

Loudon: “Grown Man” (“Do you hope to right your wrongs?/You can't undo what has been done/To all your daughters and your son/The facts are in and we have found/That basically you're not around”)

Scene 2

Rufus Wainwright: “Dinner at Eight” (“Daddy, don't be surprised If I wanna see the tears in your eyes/Then I know it had to be long ago/Actually in the drifting white snow/You loved me”
Martha Wainwright: “B.M.F.A.” (“I will not pretend/I will not put on a smile/I will not say I'm alright for you when all I wanted was to be good/to do everything in truth…You bloody mother fuckin' asshole…”

Act VI - Grand Finale (Carnegie Hall perhaps?)


So, could I be on to something here??? Maybe in about 10 years time, after all hatchets are buried? Well, however it would turn out, it's gotta be better than Cats. That's for damn sure.

Photo: Wainwright Family Christmas at Carnegie Hall 12/13/06

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St. Vincent @ The Echo 8-04-07

Within 20 minutes of listening to St. Vincent’s (a.k.a. Annie Clark) debut record Marry Me (which I immediately purchased after sampling the 30 second iTunes teasers), I dropped everything and set my fingers a-typin’ to find out if she was currently on tour. Lucky for me, she was. A show was scheduled at L.A.’s The Echo, and through the magic of the web, within two minutes I sealed the deal with reservations placed on my credit card.

Last night I attended said show—and what a sonic feast it proved to be! Death Vessel (a.k.a. Joel Thibodeau – is it just me, or are there a lot of singer/songwriters these days with stage monikers meant to sound like band names?) was a man of few words, but ample songwriting ability. His Americana/folk-laced pop and jarringly high-pitched/clear-as-a-bell voice reminded me a bit of Tom McCrae meets Iron & Wine.

After Joel wrapped up his set, there was the normal break for set-up and sound-check before St. Vincent started their show. Annie—a slip of a girl, probably weighing not much more than 100 pounds—and band opened with the crowd-pleasing “Jesus Saves, I Spend”—and by the first harmonized “bom bom bom bom”s of the song’s intro, I was hooked, reeled in, and walloped on the head like a prize catch. It became apparent a few minutes in that this doe-eyed, angelic-voiced chanteuse can rock out with the best of them, and as the song drew to its dramatic close, Annie purposely let her electric guitar fall, and after the distorted ring made by the instrument’s impact with the stage floor died down, she opened her eyes brightly and her waifish face lit up with a smile. “Thanks,“ she said sweetly—and I was taken aback by the paradoxical contrast between Audrey Hepburn-like sprite and guitar shredding rocker chick.

Next came the Kate Bush-esque “Now, Now”—obviously the album’s single—and her delivery was impeccable. Other memorable songs of the evening include the piano driven “Marry Me” with a fat-bottom beat (an excellent performance despite an uncooperative microphone stand) as well as “Paris is Burning” for which a mannequin arm fashioned into a rhythmic instrument was used. Need more explanation? A button triggering a hand clap sound effect was attached to the mannequin’s palm with its trailing audio output cord secured with duct tape. Yes, it looked as strange as it sounds. Later on in the evening, Annie, whilst in a trance induced by the rock-n-roll gods, proceeded to rip the cable off from this mannequin arm (which creepily resembled the ripping out of an IV) and use it as a prosthetic with which to speedily strum her electric guitar during another dramatic and deafening closer—I believe it was during the song “Your Lips Are Red.” (Sorry folks, I neglected to take notes.)

After their “final” song and the band was coaxed back on stage for an encore, Annie called John Vanderslice (with whom St. Vincent previously toured) up from the crowd, and the two performed a duet. Finally, the show wrapped up with Annie’s gorgeous rendition of the Nico classic “These Days.”

I’m agog whenever I ponder the music St. Vincent will produce in future years, if this be merely the debut. I do realize, though, that she’s no novice to the studio nor stage, having been the guitarist for the Polyphonic Spree and part of the Sufjan Stevens family before venturing off on her own.

St. Vincent tours with The National in a month’s time and if you’re smart, you’ll catch her live whenever, wherever you can—as female singer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalists of Annie’s ilk are few and far between. Her arrangements are complex, her words poetic & cynical, her voice soaring and expressive, her musicianship solid. If I wasn’t girl-crushing on her so much right now, I’d probably hate her guts.

Irking Oddwatcher

Thou shalt not, when naming thy film, book, television show, song, nor any other work of art, use the following hackneyed formula, for it is an abomination:

Present Continuous (ing) Verb + Person’s Name

Let us not add to the list of:

• Chasing Amy
• Judging Amy
• Serving Sarah
• Regarding Henry
• Regarding Sarah
• Regarding Billy
• Finding Forrester
  
• Saving Silverman
• Saving Private Ryan
  
• Understanding Jane
• Becoming Jane
• Deconstructing Harry
• Being Julia

Etc. and etc…

Once in a while…

...when she’s feeling generous, Lady Luck decides to throw me a bone. Earlier this week, it came in the form of a cool work assignment—an interview with Glen Hansard (singer/songwriter/musician, frontman of the band The Frames, and star of the newly released and highly praised film Once).

Sometimes, I’ll get an interviewee who’ll lend a little bit of excitement to an otherwise dull work day. Other times I’ll get…well, I’ll get the likes of Hoobastank. Needless to mention, this occasion happened to fall under the former category.

Interview excerpts:

American Frames fans have always felt somewhat spoiled to be able to see you in smaller, intimate venues—but all of that will probably change when Once gets its wide U.S. release in October and more Americans are exposed to your music. Do you have any anticipation in regards to this?
Well I have to say that I’m over the moon. I’d be an idiot to say, “Fuck it, I don’t care” because it almost feels to me that the Frames have almost gone out and canvassed for every single member of our audience so far, and it almost feels to me sometimes that we know every single member of our audience. On this trip, for instance, there’s a really good fan of ours in Philadelphia, Emma, and she’s like “This fucking film! What is this going to do to you?” And I was like, “What do you mean?” And she was like, “You’ll be playing to Wachovia Center now in Philly and we’ll never get to see you again and I don’t like this!” And I was like, this is amazing! Fair play to her honesty, but on the other hand, I’m like, you know, isn’t this what we do it for and isn’t this what you wanted? So it’s a weird double-edged sword. You have to just kind of embrace this and kind of enjoy it. And to be honest with you, the past couple of weeks have been really, really amazing for me. And it kind of feels like for seventeen years…it was kind of like the Frames against the world. You’re making your albums and you’re putting out your art and you’re really into it. And then one day you make this little film as part of you moving on and doing your thing…and one day the world just turns around and goes “What?” You’re kicking the world’s ass for all that time and it turns around and goes “What?”—and it’s the most terrifying and overwhelming and weird feeling. … And the response we’ve been getting has been really genuine, which gives me a lot of heart, I’ve gotta say. Because, you know, if we were in some sort of big American romantic comedy I’d be so fucking ashamed right now…

…What’s the most memorable concert that you’ve ever attended?
The most memorable concert I’ve ever attended was a Leonard Cohen concert when I was 15. I went to see Leonard Cohen with my cousin who was like five years older than me. He had recently been hit by a stolen car in Dublin, and he was having epileptic fits after. And during “Famous Blue Raincoat” at the gig, my cousin went into a fit, and Leonard stopped the gig and basically said, “Is this kid alright?” He was doing a matinee and an evening show, and we went off to the Hospital and they made sure we got tickets to the evening show. And we came back and Leonard come up and shook our hands and said “Are you ok?” to my cousin. And as a 15-year-old singer/songwriter, that was the most profoundly important moment...


Read the entire interview.

Fun With Anthropomorphism

Sam the Seagull sticks it to mankind by shoplifting Doritos from an Aberdeen shop. Apparantly, he does this on a regular basis—and always favors Doritos. Good choice, as the rice cakes are bound to make his stomach explode. Despite the criminal behavior, Sam is generous enough to share his booty with the rest of the flock—which is more than I can say about some folks I know.

Since we’re on the subject of attempting to understand the mysteries of the animal kingdom by over-simplified comparison to the species we know best—us—it’s time for a game of…

You Write the Caption

Accepting entries now.

Wordie Rant For the Year

Alright, I'm by no means a word-usage/grammer stickler (a "wordie") on the level of, say, a Lynne Truss, but please allow me just a minute's worth of pontification on the subject so to get a certain bee out of my bonnet.

There are a couple of pseudo words floating around which have made my pet peeve list:

• Please do not "conversate" with friends when you might simply "converse."
• Do not do something "irregardless" of a situation that would have you do otherwise. Do it "regardless" of the situation--and in the process, you'll cease to confuse your listeners with a double negative.
  

Let's away with attaching unnecessary affixes to perfectly good words that stand very well on their own merit.

I'm done now.

Love Thy Neighbor

On my street a few buildings down is a two-story structure of office spaces rented out to various business establishments. It’s off the main road with no signage on its worn façade, no lobby, and at night, an ominous, greenish David Lynch-esque lightbulb (visible from the sidewalk for the two glass pane doors) used to desperately flicker in the entranceway before burning out completely.

During my year and a half residence on this street, I’ve yet to see someone walk in or out of this building.

Last week with no business to preoccupy me, I decided to venture inside, but only as far as the entranceway as even curiosity doesn’t do much to embolden my normally unadventurous temperament. I began to read the directory but, afraid of being mistaken as either soliciting or lost, I took a photo instead to examine comfortably at home.

My intention at first was to Google these names, so to gain a better understanding of the different types of business being conducted not 100 yards away from me. But why let reality ruin a perfectly good chance to exercise imagination as well as erase forever the creepy charm of that once-flickering green light?

No. Instead, I choose to believe:

Dennison Academy in 201 is an elite all-boys prep school. So elite, in fact, that each grade, from 7th to 12th, consists of one student each. The rigorous entrance exams disqualify those students who cannot vocalize an understanding of Immanuel Kant while performing complex mathematical calculations in their heads while shooting and sinking 24 consecutive hoops.

ITSSN in 203 is the International Tea-drinkers Society of Sunny Nevada. The society, after having been established in Las Vegas during the Prohibition era, fled shortly thereafter to neighboring Southern California since the increasing gangster activity proved too much for their delicate sensibilities. They opened their doors in 1984 to enthusiasts worldwide and are now 120 million strong.

Don’t misinterpret the name of Twisted But Gifted in room 204. No, this is not the business moniker of a couple enterprising east side hipsters providing some type of “sick and twisted” but ingenious service. Instead, the name is quite literal—two contortionists with a gift for predicting the outcomes of their clients’ love lives as well as Billboard’s next top 10.

Hip Hopkins Media in 205 was founded in 2006 by closet underground hip-hop mogul Anthony Hopkins. Now receiving demo submissions.

Acre Island and Judge Belshaw share room 208. Acre Island, a real estate pyramid scam that sells timeshares on non-existent Caribbean islands has hired out the consultation services of ex magistrate Belshaw in the likely event that the scam is found out and sued by angry investors. Belshaw is paid with free office space.

KDP Music Soup in rooms 210 and 211, like Twisted but Gifted, bears a name that should not be taken figuratively. KDP produces a delectable soup that, if listened to closely and with great concentration, plays the favorite tune of whomever is consuming it. Despite naysayers, the business thrives and very recently bought out their competitors—WTF Music Chowder—who once occupied the adjacent room 211.

Dr. C. Loredo, Dentist in 202 is the only business I did look up online and actually called in an attempt to make an appointment—as one of my left molars has lost its filling and needs mended. No one answered.

Guilty As Charged

If I'm accused of pretension or technonerdery because I love my iPhone, so be it. Why should I feel the need to hide my enthusiasm for it the way people refrain from gushing about their happy love lives in front of embittered and lonely friends? So those who are willing to hear out my case, spare me the accusations when I just happen to be one of those idiots who can't get from point A to B without consulting Google maps.

Photo taken with iPhone in Los Feliz Starbucks restroom. This particular WC was awash with this half-gorgeous, half-sickening yellow light which I attempted to capture for posterity.

Everybody's Doing It

I've finally succumbed to the blog phenom.
Readers or no readers--I will post.