I was looking for my hummus prep notes and oddly enough, found an old, short interview online I did in 07, mainly about musicians and cooking. I thought it was worth preserving here, enjoy.
b
MusiCulinary Opening Weekend--Featuring THE MUCKRAKERS
MusiCulinary is happy to open a new season with an interview with Brian S. Meurer, bassist for Louisville Kentucky band The Muckrakers. He continues a proud MusiCulinary tradition of bass players having some of the best cooking stories, and provides his recipe for Hummus.
MusiCulinary: What is the one cooking skill you're most proud
of, and how/where did you learn it?
Brian: I'm probably most proud of my knife skills. It's such a great feeling when a well balanced knife quickly dispatches with everything on your cutting board. You've probably heard of people throwing babies in pools to make them learn to swim? That's basically the tactic I took. I'd like to say some well qualified sous chef trained me in the finer arts of using a knife. Actually, I will say that. You can believe that, yes sir. In no way did I almost remove a finger and while cleaning blood from the floor decide to cut cleanly, quickly, and efficiently. Absolutely in no way did I stand up, hold up my fist and say as God as my witness, I'll never go bloody again.
MusiCulinary: Tell us about any new type of cuisine or new recipe
you've recently tried out for the first time...and
tell us if you intend to try it again.
Brian: Recently I've been making a lot of a great hummus recipe a friend passed on to me, as well as, but less frequently, pommes frites, which are thicker and tastier than what we know of as fast-food french fries. The key to the hummus is the draining, rinsing and boiling of the garbanzo beans, as well as the fresh garlic and lemon. The absolute key to the frites is the ice bath immediately after cutting, as well as the two frying times. Although neither the hummus nor frites are a new type of cuisine, they both turn out fantastic, so I return to them often.
MusiCulinary: Describe your most memorable culinary disaster.
Brian: Aside from the bloody nearly-severed finger, the bane of my culinary existence is, sadly, rice. Yeah, rice. I know. But I wanted to do it right, no microwaving something in a box. The first time I made a curry chicken dish, I made a great basmati rice, and I thought that rice is easy, no problem. The second, third, and fourth time of making rice, it basically ruined the meal, each time. I kept trying, kept trying to turn out something edible, something in between mush and tiny oblong rocks. To no avail. You need something with rice? How about we use potatoes or pasta as a side dish instead?
MusiCulinary: Describe a typical dinner you would make for a
quiet evening at home.
Brian: Sauteed garlic chicken, peppercorns, green peppers, onions, olives. French bread. A dry cab-sav or chianti.
MusiCulinary: Complete the sentence: "My listeners would
probably be most surprised that I cook
this:__________________________."
Brian: All day long, all day strong
French Onion Soup
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
The Decemberists @ The Brown Theater 08.10.09
I love when music sidles up to you, like the slow moving, menacing Mummy in the old Boris Karloff black and whites, or the Creeper from Scooby Doo. It's just sitting there, in that stack of recommendations, and there's so much to do around the house, so hey, two birds. It was in this manner that I absorbed The Hazards of Love by the Decemberists. While not familiar with the band or the album, I was able to put together from numerous background listens that it was aiming for some kind of past-century operatic narrative. In this initial background phase, I was surprised at how many times it surprised me- there was a pace to it; the songs flowed into one another and back again; the abrupt changes were abrupt in the right way at the right time; was that a reprise? The melodies were interesting, the harmonies beautiful, and over repeated listens, those hooks became anchors. And then I got to the lyrics.
By this time I was singing notes and phrases and humming along with the rich melodies and harmonies, until one day during the Rake Song I had to pause. I'm locked in the repeating refrain "Alright, Alright, Alright" when a few of the murky lyrical pieces fall together in my mind and I grasp the dark, dark content. This was the lead single for the album, and apparently generated its share of complaints to radio stations (who subsequently went to bat for the song in its context in the album). As I listened more intently to the lyrics, I recognized the scope and acuity of the narrative, expertly woven and fused with the mood of the album.
The story revolves around William and Margaret, chronicling a journey between meeting and reunification and the complications in between. Rolling Stone described it as "a tale of a maiden knocked up by a shape–shifting beast who may be her future husband. There's also a psychotic queen and three revenge–seeking ghost kids." I began reading through the lyrics, equally impressed with how the story connected and that I was singing along with these words without knowing the words.
It seemed fitting to see the Decemberists at the Brown Theater, the mood of the music enhanced by the ornamental flourishes of a bygone era. Pre show music included selections from Anne Briggs, Nic Jones, Maddy Prior and June Tabor, all 60's and 70's British Folk singers who had a hand in the inspiration of the Hazards of Love, an appropriate prelude. As the band began, they were both strong and playful, light and intense. An enthusiastic, near sell-out crowd on a Monday night, there were some moments that just brought the house down. Main singer/songwriter Colin Meloy has a crisp and clear voice that has both power and earnestness that gives the delivery a real edge. Maybe it's that northwestern accent, like a newscaster working on his non-regional diction, that adds to the mythical quality of the narrative. The two female vocalists on the album, each from separate bands, were able to tour in support of the album, each giving commanding performances of range and energy. They played the entire album, all seventeen songs, front to back, and it was amazing to see it live. After a brief intermission, the band returned for another full set for another ten songs from their catalogue, including the finale of the impromptu action story, a reenactment of "The Tragedy of Seabiscuit", with half of the band moving into the audience with tambourines, drums & cymbals to act out the spontaneous lyrics, culminating with a meteor crashing into Kentucky and wiping out the continental US. It seemed the perfect surreal ending to an evening of antediluvian fantasy.
If nothing else, the sheer ambition of The Hazards of Love is impressive, and the Decemberists have taken hits from those who believe that the effort falls way short. I was actually quite surprised as I made my way through album reviews at the number, and intensity, of negative reviews: Spin calls it "proggish pomposity" for "smarty-pants fans", Blender blasted its "sesquipedalian hijinks". Now, I understand that what could be described as a theatrical folk-rock opera with ornately antiquarian diction might not be your thing, but there's some animosity here, critics taking personal offense at the Decemberists making music they don't enjoy. Entertainment Weekly writes, "Frontman Colin Meloy has many unique gifts as a songwriter — gifts that have all but deserted him on this regrettable attempt at a prog opera. Hazards of Love drowns in convoluted plots, blustery guest vocalists, and comically out-of-place guitar shredding". Another fine example of passing off subjective opinion as objective critique. There's so much music in the world, find what you enjoy and enjoy it. I can only speak to what impressed me- before the next matryoshka doll opened to reveal the ambitious plot- that I was singing along with these rich melodies before I ever reached the underlying text. And for me there can't be a clearer testament to the strength of the music.
Setlist:
Prelude
The Hazards of Love 1 (The Prettiest Whistles Won't Wrestle The Thistles Undone)
A Bower Scene
Won't Want For Love (Margaret in the Taiga)
The Hazards of Love 2 (Wager All)
The Queen's Approach
Isn't It A Lovely Night
The Wanting Comes In Waves / Repaid
An Interlude
The Rake's Song
The Abduction of Margaret
The Queen's Rebuke / The Crossing
Annan Water
Margaret In Captivity
The Hazards of Love 3 (Revenge!)
The Wanting Comes In Waves (Reprise)
The Hazards of Love 4 (The Drowned)
Intermission
Oceanside
July, July!
The Sporting Live
Yankee Bayonette
The Calamity Song
Crane Wife 3
Dracula's Daughter
O Valencia
Crazy On You
Red Right Ankle
A Cautionary Song (w/The Tragedy of Seabiscuit)
By this time I was singing notes and phrases and humming along with the rich melodies and harmonies, until one day during the Rake Song I had to pause. I'm locked in the repeating refrain "Alright, Alright, Alright" when a few of the murky lyrical pieces fall together in my mind and I grasp the dark, dark content. This was the lead single for the album, and apparently generated its share of complaints to radio stations (who subsequently went to bat for the song in its context in the album). As I listened more intently to the lyrics, I recognized the scope and acuity of the narrative, expertly woven and fused with the mood of the album.
The story revolves around William and Margaret, chronicling a journey between meeting and reunification and the complications in between. Rolling Stone described it as "a tale of a maiden knocked up by a shape–shifting beast who may be her future husband. There's also a psychotic queen and three revenge–seeking ghost kids." I began reading through the lyrics, equally impressed with how the story connected and that I was singing along with these words without knowing the words.
It seemed fitting to see the Decemberists at the Brown Theater, the mood of the music enhanced by the ornamental flourishes of a bygone era. Pre show music included selections from Anne Briggs, Nic Jones, Maddy Prior and June Tabor, all 60's and 70's British Folk singers who had a hand in the inspiration of the Hazards of Love, an appropriate prelude. As the band began, they were both strong and playful, light and intense. An enthusiastic, near sell-out crowd on a Monday night, there were some moments that just brought the house down. Main singer/songwriter Colin Meloy has a crisp and clear voice that has both power and earnestness that gives the delivery a real edge. Maybe it's that northwestern accent, like a newscaster working on his non-regional diction, that adds to the mythical quality of the narrative. The two female vocalists on the album, each from separate bands, were able to tour in support of the album, each giving commanding performances of range and energy. They played the entire album, all seventeen songs, front to back, and it was amazing to see it live. After a brief intermission, the band returned for another full set for another ten songs from their catalogue, including the finale of the impromptu action story, a reenactment of "The Tragedy of Seabiscuit", with half of the band moving into the audience with tambourines, drums & cymbals to act out the spontaneous lyrics, culminating with a meteor crashing into Kentucky and wiping out the continental US. It seemed the perfect surreal ending to an evening of antediluvian fantasy.
If nothing else, the sheer ambition of The Hazards of Love is impressive, and the Decemberists have taken hits from those who believe that the effort falls way short. I was actually quite surprised as I made my way through album reviews at the number, and intensity, of negative reviews: Spin calls it "proggish pomposity" for "smarty-pants fans", Blender blasted its "sesquipedalian hijinks". Now, I understand that what could be described as a theatrical folk-rock opera with ornately antiquarian diction might not be your thing, but there's some animosity here, critics taking personal offense at the Decemberists making music they don't enjoy. Entertainment Weekly writes, "Frontman Colin Meloy has many unique gifts as a songwriter — gifts that have all but deserted him on this regrettable attempt at a prog opera. Hazards of Love drowns in convoluted plots, blustery guest vocalists, and comically out-of-place guitar shredding". Another fine example of passing off subjective opinion as objective critique. There's so much music in the world, find what you enjoy and enjoy it. I can only speak to what impressed me- before the next matryoshka doll opened to reveal the ambitious plot- that I was singing along with these rich melodies before I ever reached the underlying text. And for me there can't be a clearer testament to the strength of the music.
Setlist:
Prelude
The Hazards of Love 1 (The Prettiest Whistles Won't Wrestle The Thistles Undone)
A Bower Scene
Won't Want For Love (Margaret in the Taiga)
The Hazards of Love 2 (Wager All)
The Queen's Approach
Isn't It A Lovely Night
The Wanting Comes In Waves / Repaid
An Interlude
The Rake's Song
The Abduction of Margaret
The Queen's Rebuke / The Crossing
Annan Water
Margaret In Captivity
The Hazards of Love 3 (Revenge!)
The Wanting Comes In Waves (Reprise)
The Hazards of Love 4 (The Drowned)
Intermission
Oceanside
July, July!
The Sporting Live
Yankee Bayonette
The Calamity Song
Crane Wife 3
Dracula's Daughter
O Valencia
Crazy On You
Red Right Ankle
A Cautionary Song (w/The Tragedy of Seabiscuit)
Monday, August 10, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Louisville's Sordid History
Bloody Monday, August 6, 1855
Louisville KY
A few years ago I stumbled across a reference to an incident in Louisville's history. I was perplexed. It seemed fabricated; that couldn't happen here, not in my city. Especially with me living here so many years and not hearing about it, without it ever coming up in conversation or school in civics or history. No, surely that's a mistake, the land of urban legend and conspiracy theory. I was the one, however, that was very mistaken.
In 1855, there was a major political party known as the Know Nothing Party, uniting its constituents under the banner of Nativism, or the favoring of existing inhabitants of a region over any immigrants (a wary and ironic eye from the Chickasaw and Shawnee peoples here). Now, this is a pretty sterilized, clinical rendering of the situation; even Charleton Heston's "Damn, dirty apes!" outburst doesn't reach the cold, hard kernel of violent loathing at the heart of the Know Nothing Party, a term now synonymous with anti-immigration and xenophobia. The rise of this party coincided with the major influx of Irish and German immigrants in not only this city but the entire country, with the looming shadow of Catholicism surrounding them, and if the human condition tells us anything, it's that we fear that which is different from what we know.
In those days, newspapers were openly affiliated with political parties, and Louisville was no exception, with the Louisville Journal providing the mouthpiece for its editor, George Prentice (a current statue stands in front of Louisville's Main Public Library). He also happened to be one of the main sources of blame, fanning the embers that would result in a conflagration like this city had never seen.
It was Election Day, August 6, 1855, and the air was charged. The Know Nothing Party was in power- the mayor, most of the council, many judges, the appointed poll workers. Prentice even wrote about the “most pestilent influence of the foreign swarms”, but even in this tense climate, no precautions were taken to provide additional security at polling stations. With the view that only natural born "Americans" had the right to vote, and utter disdain for German and Irish immigrants, poll workers refused access to these foreign-born-naturalized-citizens wishing to cast their ballots. An account from the Louisville Courier, the newspaper of Democrats, states that they were "deterred from voting by direct acts of intimidation, others through fear of consequences, and a multitude from a lack of proper facilities." Altercations increased and intensified into the streets; menacing groups of people were swirling and gathering into mobs and running head first into confrontations, and by mid-afternoon, weapons were making their presence known. "Flying rumors were circulated through the city that the Germans had, with guns and muskets, taken possession of the First Ward polls, and soon thousands of men and boys were running to that portion of the city." From the Louisville Journal, the Know Nothings reacted to news of rioting and bloodshed, "with cries of vengeance upon the murderers, they sought them out and hunted them into the houses that were despoiled or destroyed."
The main areas of rioting occurred in the areas of Butchertown's Shelby and Green Streets as well as the area known then as Quinn's Row, a block at 11th and Main that was a hub of Irish living. Terror escalated with the sound of guns and the fires that were consuming buildings. Quinn's Row was destroyed by flame, as a witness described that "these houses were chiefly tenanted by Irish, and upon any of the tenants venturing out to escape the flames they were immediately shot down." Reports of beatings, stabbing, muskets, cannons, killing, fires and destruction sent a wave of fear throughout the city. Stores were looted and by midnight the glow of fire was all over the city. It was Mayor John Barbee, himself a member of the Know Nothing Party, that to his credit made impassioned speeches to try and calm some of the mobs, saving the burning of St. Martin’s Catholic Church on Shelby St. when he verified there were no stockpiles of guns present, as well as the landmark Cathedral of the Assumption on 5th St.
The rioting went on into the night, and with morning light, the city awoke in horror and disgust. Contradictory and exaggerated news reports assigning blame were carried by national newspapers. The Louisville Courier statement that rings the most true for me is that “the foreigners knew well that they were a small body in the midst of a multitude of persons ready at a moment’s warning to commit any deed of violence. They had long been threatened; throughout the day, in every effort to enjoy that right of suffrage guaranteed to them by the Constitution and laws of this Commonwealth, they had been pursued by mobs of half-grown boys. Their houses were threatened, and warned by the experience of the day, they prepared to defend their lives and property.” Sifting through the records to find truth is an inexact business, with the death toll standing somewhere between 22 and 100, but enough records survive that the black eye is still visible.
It was the New York Times that stated it best in the August 11, 1855 edition, and would be well remembered today, "We trust the occurrences at Louisville will operate as a warning against the heated and maddening controversies, growing out of differences of race and religion, to which they owe their rise. It will take Louisville a long time to outlive the disgrace of the scenes just enacted within her limits."
Louisville KY
A few years ago I stumbled across a reference to an incident in Louisville's history. I was perplexed. It seemed fabricated; that couldn't happen here, not in my city. Especially with me living here so many years and not hearing about it, without it ever coming up in conversation or school in civics or history. No, surely that's a mistake, the land of urban legend and conspiracy theory. I was the one, however, that was very mistaken.
In 1855, there was a major political party known as the Know Nothing Party, uniting its constituents under the banner of Nativism, or the favoring of existing inhabitants of a region over any immigrants (a wary and ironic eye from the Chickasaw and Shawnee peoples here). Now, this is a pretty sterilized, clinical rendering of the situation; even Charleton Heston's "Damn, dirty apes!" outburst doesn't reach the cold, hard kernel of violent loathing at the heart of the Know Nothing Party, a term now synonymous with anti-immigration and xenophobia. The rise of this party coincided with the major influx of Irish and German immigrants in not only this city but the entire country, with the looming shadow of Catholicism surrounding them, and if the human condition tells us anything, it's that we fear that which is different from what we know.
In those days, newspapers were openly affiliated with political parties, and Louisville was no exception, with the Louisville Journal providing the mouthpiece for its editor, George Prentice (a current statue stands in front of Louisville's Main Public Library). He also happened to be one of the main sources of blame, fanning the embers that would result in a conflagration like this city had never seen.
It was Election Day, August 6, 1855, and the air was charged. The Know Nothing Party was in power- the mayor, most of the council, many judges, the appointed poll workers. Prentice even wrote about the “most pestilent influence of the foreign swarms”, but even in this tense climate, no precautions were taken to provide additional security at polling stations. With the view that only natural born "Americans" had the right to vote, and utter disdain for German and Irish immigrants, poll workers refused access to these foreign-born-naturalized-citizens wishing to cast their ballots. An account from the Louisville Courier, the newspaper of Democrats, states that they were "deterred from voting by direct acts of intimidation, others through fear of consequences, and a multitude from a lack of proper facilities." Altercations increased and intensified into the streets; menacing groups of people were swirling and gathering into mobs and running head first into confrontations, and by mid-afternoon, weapons were making their presence known. "Flying rumors were circulated through the city that the Germans had, with guns and muskets, taken possession of the First Ward polls, and soon thousands of men and boys were running to that portion of the city." From the Louisville Journal, the Know Nothings reacted to news of rioting and bloodshed, "with cries of vengeance upon the murderers, they sought them out and hunted them into the houses that were despoiled or destroyed."
The main areas of rioting occurred in the areas of Butchertown's Shelby and Green Streets as well as the area known then as Quinn's Row, a block at 11th and Main that was a hub of Irish living. Terror escalated with the sound of guns and the fires that were consuming buildings. Quinn's Row was destroyed by flame, as a witness described that "these houses were chiefly tenanted by Irish, and upon any of the tenants venturing out to escape the flames they were immediately shot down." Reports of beatings, stabbing, muskets, cannons, killing, fires and destruction sent a wave of fear throughout the city. Stores were looted and by midnight the glow of fire was all over the city. It was Mayor John Barbee, himself a member of the Know Nothing Party, that to his credit made impassioned speeches to try and calm some of the mobs, saving the burning of St. Martin’s Catholic Church on Shelby St. when he verified there were no stockpiles of guns present, as well as the landmark Cathedral of the Assumption on 5th St.
The rioting went on into the night, and with morning light, the city awoke in horror and disgust. Contradictory and exaggerated news reports assigning blame were carried by national newspapers. The Louisville Courier statement that rings the most true for me is that “the foreigners knew well that they were a small body in the midst of a multitude of persons ready at a moment’s warning to commit any deed of violence. They had long been threatened; throughout the day, in every effort to enjoy that right of suffrage guaranteed to them by the Constitution and laws of this Commonwealth, they had been pursued by mobs of half-grown boys. Their houses were threatened, and warned by the experience of the day, they prepared to defend their lives and property.” Sifting through the records to find truth is an inexact business, with the death toll standing somewhere between 22 and 100, but enough records survive that the black eye is still visible.
It was the New York Times that stated it best in the August 11, 1855 edition, and would be well remembered today, "We trust the occurrences at Louisville will operate as a warning against the heated and maddening controversies, growing out of differences of race and religion, to which they owe their rise. It will take Louisville a long time to outlive the disgrace of the scenes just enacted within her limits."
Saturday, July 25, 2009
An Evening With the Old 97's
I love the din of a crowd before a show, when the music is at the perfect volume and you get lost in the cacophony of the ebb and flow of a room full of buzzing conversations, not making out a single word, just riding the wave of anticipation. It's a humid night at Headliners and it is reassuring to see Louisville turn out to support touring music during the summer. The first act tonight is Murry Hammond, the bassist of the Old 97's, on acoustic guitar and harmonium, in a down-home style straight from the southwest. He's the kind of guy you want around after a hard day's cattle drive, after you build that fire and read some Grapes of Wrath and need a nighttime soundtrack to look at the stars. His voice suits his songs and the feel of what he's going for and was a perfect first act for the night.
Rhett Miller is the second act of the night, and it's just him and his acoustic. He puts about as much energy into an acoustic guitar as possible, and boy does he make the ladies swoon. It's like a mass reenactment of the scene in Back to the Future when the mom as her younger self swings her hair around and says "Isn't he a dream boat?". That's Rhett Miller, in his smart black collared shirt unbuttoned to his xiphoid process, the bane of EMT's everywhere. All of that said, his voice holds up and his hyper-rhythmic strumming hits all the right pops and sizzles of a snare drum. He puts so much of himself into his solo show that I can't even knock him for his looks and supermodel wife.
Set:
1. Like Love
2. Caroline
3. Help Me Suzanne
4. Refusing Temptation
5. Singular Girl
6. Bonfire
7. Come Around
8. Wave of Mutilation (pixies)
The Old 97's are a permission slip for Rhett Miller to cut loose, and there's no acoustic guitar here, but dual electrics. Their set is some of the most fun, upbeat, outdoor grillin, friends-over-for-a-party music I can think of, the kind that moves your hips and shoulders before you know what's gotten into you. By the seventh song, Rollerskate Skinny, when Rhett is singing "I believe in Love, but it don't believe in me", the crowd is eating out of his hand; he is the Pied Piper of Louisville, the High Prophet of Love Gone Wrong. Rhett's getting sweaty, his voice is getting raspy and the ladies are getting crazy. He is not, however, the cocky pretty boy I expect him to be. He has a genuine humility and appreciation for the moment that I can't look down upon. Toward the end of the set, he says, "In my sweaty fervor, I forgot to ask y'all how you're doing tonight?". It seems that the stage is also place germane for fun. In the end, the packed house at Headliners was treated to a good time had by all, with the crowd singing along to their favorites and the band happy to be the Old 97's.
b
Setlist:
1. Dance With Me
2. Barrier Reef
3. Doreen
4. No Baby
5. Mama Tried (Merle Haggard)
6. Salome
7. Rollerskate Skinny
8. Here's to the Halcyon
9. If My Heart Was A Car
10. missed title patsy cline song(?)
11. Question
12. Because I do (from where I stand)(?)
13. Ride
14. Big Brown Eyes
15. She's the center(?)
16. Book of Poems
17. The Easy Way
18. Always hearing voices in the street
Rhett Miller is the second act of the night, and it's just him and his acoustic. He puts about as much energy into an acoustic guitar as possible, and boy does he make the ladies swoon. It's like a mass reenactment of the scene in Back to the Future when the mom as her younger self swings her hair around and says "Isn't he a dream boat?". That's Rhett Miller, in his smart black collared shirt unbuttoned to his xiphoid process, the bane of EMT's everywhere. All of that said, his voice holds up and his hyper-rhythmic strumming hits all the right pops and sizzles of a snare drum. He puts so much of himself into his solo show that I can't even knock him for his looks and supermodel wife.
Set:
1. Like Love
2. Caroline
3. Help Me Suzanne
4. Refusing Temptation
5. Singular Girl
6. Bonfire
7. Come Around
8. Wave of Mutilation (pixies)
The Old 97's are a permission slip for Rhett Miller to cut loose, and there's no acoustic guitar here, but dual electrics. Their set is some of the most fun, upbeat, outdoor grillin, friends-over-for-a-party music I can think of, the kind that moves your hips and shoulders before you know what's gotten into you. By the seventh song, Rollerskate Skinny, when Rhett is singing "I believe in Love, but it don't believe in me", the crowd is eating out of his hand; he is the Pied Piper of Louisville, the High Prophet of Love Gone Wrong. Rhett's getting sweaty, his voice is getting raspy and the ladies are getting crazy. He is not, however, the cocky pretty boy I expect him to be. He has a genuine humility and appreciation for the moment that I can't look down upon. Toward the end of the set, he says, "In my sweaty fervor, I forgot to ask y'all how you're doing tonight?". It seems that the stage is also place germane for fun. In the end, the packed house at Headliners was treated to a good time had by all, with the crowd singing along to their favorites and the band happy to be the Old 97's.
b
Setlist:
1. Dance With Me
2. Barrier Reef
3. Doreen
4. No Baby
5. Mama Tried (Merle Haggard)
6. Salome
7. Rollerskate Skinny
8. Here's to the Halcyon
9. If My Heart Was A Car
10. missed title patsy cline song(?)
11. Question
12. Because I do (from where I stand)(?)
13. Ride
14. Big Brown Eyes
15. She's the center(?)
16. Book of Poems
17. The Easy Way
18. Always hearing voices in the street
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
Time Machine
It's been a week. A full week. I have spent no money because there's none left to spend, but this macbook pro is a beautiful machine. I love the metallic silver construction, the backlit keyboard, the ease of an apple designed computer. It's been so long since I've used a laptop without it being plugged into a wall that it feels like magic to have a seven hour battery. The screen is brighter, the volume louder, the speed incredibly faster. It also, however, removes some convenient excuses that have allowed me to talk myself out of following through on some ideas.
I've been wanting to take some time and focus on becoming proficient on piano. I taught myself enough to get by and have been putting off a more detailed study and practice of it. Now my laptop is fast enough to plug into the one I have.
I've been wanting to write more and find the discipline to do it, to take time every day and make it a priority.
I've been wanting to record more, throw down another round of quick ideas and flesh them out, expanding to different instruments and sounds and effects and techniques.
I'd like to have more time for photography, to focus on being present and available in any location to pull out that one image that matters.
I find so much value in cooking that I'd like to spend some time studying and preparing and grilling and basting and presenting.
But for all that this incredible macbook pro does, it does not generate time. That's really what I could use more of right about now.
I've been wanting to take some time and focus on becoming proficient on piano. I taught myself enough to get by and have been putting off a more detailed study and practice of it. Now my laptop is fast enough to plug into the one I have.
I've been wanting to write more and find the discipline to do it, to take time every day and make it a priority.
I've been wanting to record more, throw down another round of quick ideas and flesh them out, expanding to different instruments and sounds and effects and techniques.
I'd like to have more time for photography, to focus on being present and available in any location to pull out that one image that matters.
I find so much value in cooking that I'd like to spend some time studying and preparing and grilling and basting and presenting.
But for all that this incredible macbook pro does, it does not generate time. That's really what I could use more of right about now.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Every New Beginning
As I lay to rest my beloved ibook, I think about all we've been through. A lot has happened in five years. It travelled the country with me, allowed me to put out fires, write gig reports on the road, play speed marbles, make quick playlists, and watch Anchorman in the middle of the night a multitude times. I'll miss the pearly white sheen of its exterior, the feel of its weight under my arm. At least it wasn't a slow, painful demise. We never talked about it, but I think the ibook would have wanted me to move on. I decided to give it a try. I went to this Genius Bar, it was pretty crowded. I hung out there for a bit in the back, it was getting close to closing time, and I met someone. I was filled with anxiety, blacked out, and woke up this morning with an empty wallet and a new macbook pro. I may not leave the house today.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
Gomez @ Headliners 05.27.09
Once upon a time in Texas a few years ago, I found myself in Austin and ended up at Stubb's to catch the Nickel Creek show. The band playing before them was called Gomez, and I had never heard of them. It was South by Southwest, after all, so it wasn't unusual to have never heard of someone. However, Kyle's slack jawed look of horror told me that I was about to be schooled.
Gomez hails from Southport, England, and released their first album in 1998, and they just released their sixth album a couple of months ago, A New Tide. They are one of those examples of the music industry that make you shake your head; it boggles my mind that these guys aren't more well known and selling out arenas. I guarantee you have heard one of their songs within the past two years either on a tv show or a commercial, as their last album How We Operate was everywhere. I was fortunate enough to catch their set a couple of months ago, again at SXSW this year, and it was just enough to make me really excited about their coming to town.
A Gomez show is impressive from a technological standpoint; I always like to see guys playing the computer, adding blips and bleeps and loops and bass hits (I'm looking at you Airstream Driver). Some iphones made their way to the microphones for some added keys and sonic manipulation. It was also a pretty diverse setlist, spanning the decade all the way back to the first album. The opener, for example, was Revolutionary Kind from 2001's Liquid Skin, and set the tone for the night with it's dreamy dub drive and swaddling groove. Standouts included Win Park Slope, Detroit Swing 66, Airstream Driver, See The World, and actually a number of others. I'm also a sucker for ebow, which made an appearance on Little Pieces. The closing song was a fantastic How We Operate with a retooled intro that allowed a sparse haunting to mesmerize you before kicking into the frantic paranoia of the song. Overall it was a fantastic show that was supported by the city, on a Wednesday night no less, so thanks Louisville for going to Headliners. One quick note about fashion: Gomez is one of the most unassuming, unpretentious bands I've ever seen. At one point I thought that it's funny that these goofballs make such great music. Maybe because it's the kind of guys I normally hang out with anyway.
Gomez hails from Southport, England, and released their first album in 1998, and they just released their sixth album a couple of months ago, A New Tide. They are one of those examples of the music industry that make you shake your head; it boggles my mind that these guys aren't more well known and selling out arenas. I guarantee you have heard one of their songs within the past two years either on a tv show or a commercial, as their last album How We Operate was everywhere. I was fortunate enough to catch their set a couple of months ago, again at SXSW this year, and it was just enough to make me really excited about their coming to town.
A Gomez show is impressive from a technological standpoint; I always like to see guys playing the computer, adding blips and bleeps and loops and bass hits (I'm looking at you Airstream Driver). Some iphones made their way to the microphones for some added keys and sonic manipulation. It was also a pretty diverse setlist, spanning the decade all the way back to the first album. The opener, for example, was Revolutionary Kind from 2001's Liquid Skin, and set the tone for the night with it's dreamy dub drive and swaddling groove. Standouts included Win Park Slope, Detroit Swing 66, Airstream Driver, See The World, and actually a number of others. I'm also a sucker for ebow, which made an appearance on Little Pieces. The closing song was a fantastic How We Operate with a retooled intro that allowed a sparse haunting to mesmerize you before kicking into the frantic paranoia of the song. Overall it was a fantastic show that was supported by the city, on a Wednesday night no less, so thanks Louisville for going to Headliners. One quick note about fashion: Gomez is one of the most unassuming, unpretentious bands I've ever seen. At one point I thought that it's funny that these goofballs make such great music. Maybe because it's the kind of guys I normally hang out with anyway.
Monday, May 4, 2009
The Post Derby Blog
If you have ever spent time in Manhattan, you have probably experienced the unique mix of emotion that usually comes when it's time to leave because you've run out of money and have obligations back home: melancholy, pensiveness, sadness, longing. It's that feeling of having a euphoric time and not wanting it to end. For me, to my tastes, this is very similar to how I feel about the Kentucky Derby, except the exact opposite.
A friend told me a few years ago never to send an email when you're angry or upset; maybe you will feel differently in a few hours or days. Of course this is excellent advice, and was given in response to an "incident" of mine, so we chalked it up to learning. We can assume that this applies to blogs as well, so I gave it some time. For rational analysis. Or to percolate? Simmer? Stew in a crock pot? That's the way this morning has been. Maybe I'm not a Composter, or maybe I don't want to be known as a composting-enthusiast, but I was taking some inside scraps to the temporary-paper-bag-of-compost-until-we-get-a-large-one. This temporary device was looking pretty shabby, especially after the rain, so I decided to transfer it to a more stable temporary device: a dry paper bag. Don't look at me like that. So I stand on the deck, fulfilling some kind of fated Graecian Tragedy, putting one completely soaked-through paper bag of rotting sludge into another. Any normal, sane, awake, caffeinated person would know that the bottom would fall out. Even my half-asleep, uncaffeinated self knew it might happen and to take extra care. Of course it still happened. I don't know how long I stood there. Staring. Sludge. Feet. It was like Jimmy Stewart in Hitchcock's Vertigo, with the spiraling red swirls behind his head, or Uma Therman in Kill Bill, the red background and siren when she encounters her attackers. At some point, I rummaged through the garage, finding an older small plastic can to try and shovel this mess into, when as I pick it up a black widow runs across the handle. It did cross my mind that the police might show up, responding to the screams of what might possibly have been the kidnapping of a 4 year old girl. I don't really know what happened next or how it got cleaned up, as my cerebellum fused. So, it is in this context that I write about the Kentucky Derby.
There are a few good things about the Derby. It is an economic stimulus for the city. It puts Louisville on the map. It's as good an excuse as any to get together with friends and/or family. There's a history involved. If you go, if you like it, if you look forward to it for a full year, then I'm glad it does it for you. Sincerely, I'm glad you enjoy it.
But let's be honest; it's a two minute horse race. They go around a track. That's all.
I think it's the pomp and circumstance, the superficiality, the inflation, the hypocrisy, the waste, and separation of social strata that gets to me. That's actually quite a list. I guess ol' lady justice is tipping heavily to one side at this point. This is a pretty succinct description of what grinds my gears. This is a funny city; I've lived here most of my life. It is strange to me to see the outcome of all of the influences on the city. It kind of all comes down to your view of if Louisville is a Northern City or a Southern City. We have lots of bars. And lots of churches. Both sweet and unsweet tea. Back in the day, Green Street here in our fair city was well known for it's brothels. Changing it's name to Liberty St. can't erase the past. A high Catholic population. A high Baptist population. We hung with the Union in the Civil War (barely). We have our Seelbach Hotel with it's stories of Al Capone and F. Scott Fitzgerald and the Great Gatsby. Most people here also have quite the dialectal drawl. It's quite the mix.
I also think that it's telling that on either side of the twin spires are the hot spots, the exclusive areas. On the west side is the area that includes the Clubhouse Suites, Turf Club, and Millionaires Row. This area is exclusive for people who need to be seen being exclusive. The Turf Club is the white hot end of this, with a grand half-circular staircase and wall of glass to make it easier for the really wealthy to view the absurdly wealthy/famous. On the east side is the Jockey Club Suites, and it is exclusive with the purpose of being exclusive, accessible by one elevator only. This is mainly the successful business/political area.
And then there's the infield. A very safe view from the exclusive areas, encouraged as long as there is a separation via a tunnel, the infield is it's own beast. Most people don't see the poem inscribed on a plaque as you enter the infield:
"Give me your dehydrated, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to drink free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the shirtless, mud covered to me,
I lift my exacta box beside the betting window!"
I also wonder if it's the obsession with celebrity that is setting me off this year. Not even celebrity, I can get that to an extent. It's the celebrities who are known for absolutely no good reason at all. Famous for being famous. Makes my head hurt.
I came home that night and sat down with Hunter S. Thompson's The Kentucky Derby Is Decadent and Depraved. And I didn't even need to read past the title.
A friend told me a few years ago never to send an email when you're angry or upset; maybe you will feel differently in a few hours or days. Of course this is excellent advice, and was given in response to an "incident" of mine, so we chalked it up to learning. We can assume that this applies to blogs as well, so I gave it some time. For rational analysis. Or to percolate? Simmer? Stew in a crock pot? That's the way this morning has been. Maybe I'm not a Composter, or maybe I don't want to be known as a composting-enthusiast, but I was taking some inside scraps to the temporary-paper-bag-of-compost-until-we-get-a-large-one. This temporary device was looking pretty shabby, especially after the rain, so I decided to transfer it to a more stable temporary device: a dry paper bag. Don't look at me like that. So I stand on the deck, fulfilling some kind of fated Graecian Tragedy, putting one completely soaked-through paper bag of rotting sludge into another. Any normal, sane, awake, caffeinated person would know that the bottom would fall out. Even my half-asleep, uncaffeinated self knew it might happen and to take extra care. Of course it still happened. I don't know how long I stood there. Staring. Sludge. Feet. It was like Jimmy Stewart in Hitchcock's Vertigo, with the spiraling red swirls behind his head, or Uma Therman in Kill Bill, the red background and siren when she encounters her attackers. At some point, I rummaged through the garage, finding an older small plastic can to try and shovel this mess into, when as I pick it up a black widow runs across the handle. It did cross my mind that the police might show up, responding to the screams of what might possibly have been the kidnapping of a 4 year old girl. I don't really know what happened next or how it got cleaned up, as my cerebellum fused. So, it is in this context that I write about the Kentucky Derby.
There are a few good things about the Derby. It is an economic stimulus for the city. It puts Louisville on the map. It's as good an excuse as any to get together with friends and/or family. There's a history involved. If you go, if you like it, if you look forward to it for a full year, then I'm glad it does it for you. Sincerely, I'm glad you enjoy it.
But let's be honest; it's a two minute horse race. They go around a track. That's all.
I think it's the pomp and circumstance, the superficiality, the inflation, the hypocrisy, the waste, and separation of social strata that gets to me. That's actually quite a list. I guess ol' lady justice is tipping heavily to one side at this point. This is a pretty succinct description of what grinds my gears. This is a funny city; I've lived here most of my life. It is strange to me to see the outcome of all of the influences on the city. It kind of all comes down to your view of if Louisville is a Northern City or a Southern City. We have lots of bars. And lots of churches. Both sweet and unsweet tea. Back in the day, Green Street here in our fair city was well known for it's brothels. Changing it's name to Liberty St. can't erase the past. A high Catholic population. A high Baptist population. We hung with the Union in the Civil War (barely). We have our Seelbach Hotel with it's stories of Al Capone and F. Scott Fitzgerald and the Great Gatsby. Most people here also have quite the dialectal drawl. It's quite the mix.
I also think that it's telling that on either side of the twin spires are the hot spots, the exclusive areas. On the west side is the area that includes the Clubhouse Suites, Turf Club, and Millionaires Row. This area is exclusive for people who need to be seen being exclusive. The Turf Club is the white hot end of this, with a grand half-circular staircase and wall of glass to make it easier for the really wealthy to view the absurdly wealthy/famous. On the east side is the Jockey Club Suites, and it is exclusive with the purpose of being exclusive, accessible by one elevator only. This is mainly the successful business/political area.
And then there's the infield. A very safe view from the exclusive areas, encouraged as long as there is a separation via a tunnel, the infield is it's own beast. Most people don't see the poem inscribed on a plaque as you enter the infield:
"Give me your dehydrated, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to drink free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the shirtless, mud covered to me,
I lift my exacta box beside the betting window!"
I also wonder if it's the obsession with celebrity that is setting me off this year. Not even celebrity, I can get that to an extent. It's the celebrities who are known for absolutely no good reason at all. Famous for being famous. Makes my head hurt.
I came home that night and sat down with Hunter S. Thompson's The Kentucky Derby Is Decadent and Depraved. And I didn't even need to read past the title.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Three tickets
Cold War Kids Ticket
Death Cab Ticket
Parking Ticket
Mental note: decide if Parking is a good band name
Saturday, April 11, 2009
A Night At The Palace: Death Cab For Cutie
Inebriated, they stumbled down the aisle. We heard them well before we saw them, the group of squawkers pulled by inertia and loss of inhibition from the back of the theater to the front, in a herd not unlike a cartoon fight scene, a cloud of arms and legs and elbows and feet. I remember thinking, as they sloshed past our row and doing their best to make out row designation letters, that wherever they sit, they are going to make someone miserable. Now, I have never been given a field sobriety test by the police, but I assume they might employ the widely-assumed-to-the-point-it's-probably-urban-legend nightmare of saying your alphabet backwards. And just as if they were on the side of the road blinded by a police powered flashlight, the concert-goers field sobriety test was spectacularly failed as, after realizing their error in descending row designations, they turned their tasmanian-devil-pigpen-cartoon-fight-cloud around and promptly entered our row.
Transatlanticism was my introduction to Death Cab For Cutie, and it came at the bottom of a stack of seven cds a friend handed me because he thought I might like them. After trudging through the first six cds, I was predisposed to dislike the seventh and lamenting the soon-to-be-loss of a friend. I was doing other things at this point; I was thinking about taxes, composing recipes, finding matches for lonely socks. From the opening half of the first song, The New Year, I decided it may have been a rash decision to excommunicate the poor friend.
The bill at Louisville's Palace Theater consisted of Ra Ra Riot, Cold War Kids, and Death Cab For Cutie. Ra Ra Riot had a fun 25 minute set; the instrumentation changes kept their set lively, as violin, cello, keys, guitar, bass, and drums combined for some intriguing songs. Their songs are a bit difficult to nail down; the pop melodies, perky drums, driving bass, and haunting combination of cello and violin are comparable to washing down a Tylenol PM with an energy drink. I honestly didn't know they were on the bill until I arrived, but look forward to watching their career.
I was able to catch the Cold War Kids set on WFPK's live show earlier in the day. It was the abnormal, subdued set to compliment the evening's animatedly enthusiastic set. I enjoyed both, but the band looked in true form in the evening set, possibly to emphasize that most bands aren't morning people, even if it's at noon. The large stage and sound and lights and capacity crowd bring the best out of most bands anyway. Cold War Kids are also a fun band; this four piece from California stands out for the bright tenor of the vocals, the pushing of a melody to the top of the singers range, the most decidedly west coast guitar tone (bottled right on the beach), and very solid and tasteful rhythm of drums and bass.
It was during the final band changeover that it happened.
At the conclusion of the Cold War Kids' set, it was the last chance for all restroom breaks, leg stretches, and drink procurement before Death Cab For Cutie took the stage. At various times during the first two acts, the group of people to my left were the recipients of icy-black stares of death, throat clearings, exasperated dramatic sighs, and actual verbal confrontation. The constant high volume talking, laughing, giggling and foolishness would ebb and return, frustrating those in the vicinity to distraction. In light of this, in apprehension of being unable to enjoy the headliner's set, we sat waiting for Death Cab to take the stage, when I noticed a young man four seats to my left, elbows on knees, fists on cheeks, spit into the floor. I was appalled. It was shocking. I then noticed the sharp contractions in his abdomen, the reflex and suppression in his neck, the elevation of his shoulders. Red Flags! Air Raid Siren! He promptly began to empty the contents of his stomach onto the floor. His friends didn't know how to handle this situation; "Alex, Alex, just go to the bathroom!" Oh, poor, poor Alex began to rise and lean left to make his way out of the row, but the alcohol was at this point wreaking havoc on his inner ear. He tipped backward. Someday, his friends will learn about trust falls, but as of now, they were still in that embarrassed shame of shock. Alex continued his backward descent and, in a Krameresque pratfall, landed squarely on the recently discharged contents of his own stomach. The row cleared, Alex and his friends dashed to avoid the proverbial cops at the underage party. The poor usher showed up with a 6 inch broom and dustbin. Some kind of cleaning happened, some kind of chemical applied, people (excluding friends of Alex) returned to their seats, leaving the less than desirable smell of a bar at 10 in the morning. Honestly, this was probably the best thing that could have happened, because they never came back. Off with the horns, on with the show.
Death Cab For Cutie takes the stage in an unassuming manner, recognizing the crowd that allows them to stand where they stand, to connect where they straddle the fence between indie band and major label artist. And somehow, they seem to do it. Listening to their latest full length album, Narrow Stairs, it's not the sound of settling by any means. I mean, an eight minute song, the first five minutes or so instrumental, about a letter written by a stalker? The album is textured but not overproduced; clever, but not pompous. What struck me about the live show was how energetic the svelte Mr. Gibbard and company are live, and the complete representation of the band's discography, and how well that mix flowed. Here's the set list:
Cath...
Your Heart Is An Empty Room
The New Year
Why You'd Want To Live Here
Crooked Teeth
My Mirror Speaks
Grapevine Fires
Title Track
Soul Meets Body
I Will Follow You Into The Dark
I Will Possess Your Heart
Little Bribes
Title and Registration
A Movie Script Ending
Long Division
The Sound of Settling
Marching Bands of Manhattan
----
Summer Skin
Company Calls
Transatlanticism
A final note: I have been in uncomfortably loud environments before, more than my share. Either my hearing has been entirely shot, which I don't think is the case, or this was one of the most comfortable and enjoyable volumes of a concert I've ever been to. All except for the insatiably rabid crowd escalating to a crescendo for the encore. That is truly one of the loudest experiences of my life. Louisville apparently loves Death Cab For Cutie.
Transatlanticism was my introduction to Death Cab For Cutie, and it came at the bottom of a stack of seven cds a friend handed me because he thought I might like them. After trudging through the first six cds, I was predisposed to dislike the seventh and lamenting the soon-to-be-loss of a friend. I was doing other things at this point; I was thinking about taxes, composing recipes, finding matches for lonely socks. From the opening half of the first song, The New Year, I decided it may have been a rash decision to excommunicate the poor friend.
The bill at Louisville's Palace Theater consisted of Ra Ra Riot, Cold War Kids, and Death Cab For Cutie. Ra Ra Riot had a fun 25 minute set; the instrumentation changes kept their set lively, as violin, cello, keys, guitar, bass, and drums combined for some intriguing songs. Their songs are a bit difficult to nail down; the pop melodies, perky drums, driving bass, and haunting combination of cello and violin are comparable to washing down a Tylenol PM with an energy drink. I honestly didn't know they were on the bill until I arrived, but look forward to watching their career.
I was able to catch the Cold War Kids set on WFPK's live show earlier in the day. It was the abnormal, subdued set to compliment the evening's animatedly enthusiastic set. I enjoyed both, but the band looked in true form in the evening set, possibly to emphasize that most bands aren't morning people, even if it's at noon. The large stage and sound and lights and capacity crowd bring the best out of most bands anyway. Cold War Kids are also a fun band; this four piece from California stands out for the bright tenor of the vocals, the pushing of a melody to the top of the singers range, the most decidedly west coast guitar tone (bottled right on the beach), and very solid and tasteful rhythm of drums and bass.
It was during the final band changeover that it happened.
At the conclusion of the Cold War Kids' set, it was the last chance for all restroom breaks, leg stretches, and drink procurement before Death Cab For Cutie took the stage. At various times during the first two acts, the group of people to my left were the recipients of icy-black stares of death, throat clearings, exasperated dramatic sighs, and actual verbal confrontation. The constant high volume talking, laughing, giggling and foolishness would ebb and return, frustrating those in the vicinity to distraction. In light of this, in apprehension of being unable to enjoy the headliner's set, we sat waiting for Death Cab to take the stage, when I noticed a young man four seats to my left, elbows on knees, fists on cheeks, spit into the floor. I was appalled. It was shocking. I then noticed the sharp contractions in his abdomen, the reflex and suppression in his neck, the elevation of his shoulders. Red Flags! Air Raid Siren! He promptly began to empty the contents of his stomach onto the floor. His friends didn't know how to handle this situation; "Alex, Alex, just go to the bathroom!" Oh, poor, poor Alex began to rise and lean left to make his way out of the row, but the alcohol was at this point wreaking havoc on his inner ear. He tipped backward. Someday, his friends will learn about trust falls, but as of now, they were still in that embarrassed shame of shock. Alex continued his backward descent and, in a Krameresque pratfall, landed squarely on the recently discharged contents of his own stomach. The row cleared, Alex and his friends dashed to avoid the proverbial cops at the underage party. The poor usher showed up with a 6 inch broom and dustbin. Some kind of cleaning happened, some kind of chemical applied, people (excluding friends of Alex) returned to their seats, leaving the less than desirable smell of a bar at 10 in the morning. Honestly, this was probably the best thing that could have happened, because they never came back. Off with the horns, on with the show.
Death Cab For Cutie takes the stage in an unassuming manner, recognizing the crowd that allows them to stand where they stand, to connect where they straddle the fence between indie band and major label artist. And somehow, they seem to do it. Listening to their latest full length album, Narrow Stairs, it's not the sound of settling by any means. I mean, an eight minute song, the first five minutes or so instrumental, about a letter written by a stalker? The album is textured but not overproduced; clever, but not pompous. What struck me about the live show was how energetic the svelte Mr. Gibbard and company are live, and the complete representation of the band's discography, and how well that mix flowed. Here's the set list:
Cath...
Your Heart Is An Empty Room
The New Year
Why You'd Want To Live Here
Crooked Teeth
My Mirror Speaks
Grapevine Fires
Title Track
Soul Meets Body
I Will Follow You Into The Dark
I Will Possess Your Heart
Little Bribes
Title and Registration
A Movie Script Ending
Long Division
The Sound of Settling
Marching Bands of Manhattan
----
Summer Skin
Company Calls
Transatlanticism
A final note: I have been in uncomfortably loud environments before, more than my share. Either my hearing has been entirely shot, which I don't think is the case, or this was one of the most comfortable and enjoyable volumes of a concert I've ever been to. All except for the insatiably rabid crowd escalating to a crescendo for the encore. That is truly one of the loudest experiences of my life. Louisville apparently loves Death Cab For Cutie.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Cold War Kids
In Studio 91.9 WFPK 04.10.09
Opening for Death Cab For Cutie tonight at The Palace Theater, Louisville KY
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Je Recommande!
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that innovation thrives no matter the economic climate, that interesting things are all around us, that we are often so busy or so overloaded that we miss the incredible. I realized a few days ago that I have recently come across some amazing things that I'd like to take a moment to recommend. I have, sadly, in no way been paid or received any kind of gifts from any of the following:
1. Roku
The Roku digital video player is this little black box that you can buy for $99. It plugs into the wall for power. It attaches to your internet connection for your netflix account. It plugs into your tv for your viewing pleasure. You may then watch any movie in your netflix instant viewing queue on your tv. Immediately. It's amazing. It seriously blows my mind every time I watch something. It's like going to the video store to rent a movie. Except instead of going you stay on your couch, and instead of walking up and down rows of terrible movies to choose from, you press a button to select from the movies you have already flagged that you want to see, and instead of picking the movie and walking to the counter and waiting in line and paying, it's included as part of your netflix account at no additional charge, and instead of walking back to the car and driving home, you press play. And they have just included Amazon.com's rentable selection, just in case you need to see that special movie, and spend those couple of bucks.
2. Simplify Media
I was turned on to this product by Charles on our drive to Austin. A fourteen hour car drive goes a lot faster when you can remotely access every song on your home computer from the car. Simplify Media is a download for your home computer that allows you to use an app for the iphone to connect to your home computer to listen to any song you have. As if this weren't enough, you are also able to share libraries with up to thirty other people. Thirty other music libraries you can access. I can't begin to describe how immediate this makes any musical inkling imaginable. This can all be filed under The World At Your Fingers.
3. Net News Wire
NetNewsWire is a fantastic RSS reader, one that I've been using for a few years now. All the websites that I choose to keep tabs on in a format that is so efficient it makes me weep. Allow me to go through a list of a few of the feeds I have in mine: New York Times, Freakonomics, Digg, UrbanMonk, BoingBoing, HuffingtonPost, Politico, Daily Intel, Slashdot, Gizmodo, Gawker, Slate, Reason, Wired.
4. Brandon Bird
I have no idea how I stumbled across this website, but these paintings and drawings are so amazingly fantastic and surreal that I have to share. I mean, Christopher Walken in the basement drinking a Tab building a robot with a C3P0 body and Optimus Prime head!?! David Schwimmer swimming in a pool doing noodle exercises with the elderly!?! Bea Arthur of Golden Girls fame wrestling (and winning) velociraptors!?!
You're welcome. And if you receive a Christmas Card from me this year with Mr. T on it, sorry for spoiling the surprise early.
b
1. Roku
The Roku digital video player is this little black box that you can buy for $99. It plugs into the wall for power. It attaches to your internet connection for your netflix account. It plugs into your tv for your viewing pleasure. You may then watch any movie in your netflix instant viewing queue on your tv. Immediately. It's amazing. It seriously blows my mind every time I watch something. It's like going to the video store to rent a movie. Except instead of going you stay on your couch, and instead of walking up and down rows of terrible movies to choose from, you press a button to select from the movies you have already flagged that you want to see, and instead of picking the movie and walking to the counter and waiting in line and paying, it's included as part of your netflix account at no additional charge, and instead of walking back to the car and driving home, you press play. And they have just included Amazon.com's rentable selection, just in case you need to see that special movie, and spend those couple of bucks.
2. Simplify Media
I was turned on to this product by Charles on our drive to Austin. A fourteen hour car drive goes a lot faster when you can remotely access every song on your home computer from the car. Simplify Media is a download for your home computer that allows you to use an app for the iphone to connect to your home computer to listen to any song you have. As if this weren't enough, you are also able to share libraries with up to thirty other people. Thirty other music libraries you can access. I can't begin to describe how immediate this makes any musical inkling imaginable. This can all be filed under The World At Your Fingers.
3. Net News Wire
NetNewsWire is a fantastic RSS reader, one that I've been using for a few years now. All the websites that I choose to keep tabs on in a format that is so efficient it makes me weep. Allow me to go through a list of a few of the feeds I have in mine: New York Times, Freakonomics, Digg, UrbanMonk, BoingBoing, HuffingtonPost, Politico, Daily Intel, Slashdot, Gizmodo, Gawker, Slate, Reason, Wired.
4. Brandon Bird
I have no idea how I stumbled across this website, but these paintings and drawings are so amazingly fantastic and surreal that I have to share. I mean, Christopher Walken in the basement drinking a Tab building a robot with a C3P0 body and Optimus Prime head!?! David Schwimmer swimming in a pool doing noodle exercises with the elderly!?! Bea Arthur of Golden Girls fame wrestling (and winning) velociraptors!?!
You're welcome. And if you receive a Christmas Card from me this year with Mr. T on it, sorry for spoiling the surprise early.
b
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
SXSW Day Three
South by Southwest means different things to different people; publicity firms looking to expand business; bands looking to expand their fan base; record labels looking to expand their band roster; businesses looking to expand their publicity. Most people are looking to expand their experience, notoriety, and contacts. I just wanted to hear some music.
I was here a couple of years ago with the muckrakers; we had three shows, two of which went extremely well. It’s the contrasts that are standing out to me now, the much lower percentage of heavier bands and the larger numbers of electropop bands. There are more female led bands this year, more americana bands, and many more tight jeans.
Today began with the same gorgeous weather we’ve had the entire time here, and the short drive down 1st St. is one of peaceful anticipation, often accompanied by the Beastie Boys or AC/DC, which seems entirely appropriate. After a brief walk down 6th St., I arrived at the first show of the day, Wax Fang at the Troubadour, a typical enough venue for the area; a long shotgun style bar with just dingy enough to proclaim authenticity as a local institution. Wax Fang hails from Louisville, KY and got quite the boost opening for My Morning Jacket. This week they have devoted themselves to playing as much as possible, their sets ambitious, powerful, and loud. Wax Fang sounds like a frightening night spent hallucinating in a southern swamp. The crowd is intrigued and mesmerized. Singer Scott Carney plays guitar and theremin like a crazed conductor escaped from an asylum, while the band stays in the groove and rides the wave of the song. A nice spotlight on Louisville’s eccentricities.
A few blocks down the street, we manage to catch the Bitter Wigs, the latest creation of Josh Hawkins, Louisvillian by way of Chicago these days. This three piece doesn’t so much as play their songs as ignite a blowtorch and take it to your face. The Bitter Wigs land in that late 70’s, early 80’s era of punk and AC/DC, the Sex Pistols and Black Sabbath. Not for the faint of heart, this riff-oriented groove machine lets Hawkins wail his tenor with the best of them.
Finding our way down 6th to Red River St., we head in Mohawk and check out the bill. The next band to play is called Peelander-Z. Well, seriously, nobody wants to see a band called Peelander-Z, but we end up talking to some people we know when a Japanese band called Peelander-Z takes the stage, but may also go by the name Might Morphin Acid Trip, or at least that’s my impression since they are dressed in those costumes, with the singer having a shaved head except for his long pigtails that he has let grow and partially dyed blond over black hair. I’m just going to have to post pictures. Peelander-Z is basically an Absurdist Thrash Punk band, introducing songs through broken English and holding up the song title on poster board, which is also the chorus, which they get the crowd to chant at the appropriate times, which is really the only lyrics to the song. They played such hits as Mad Tiger, the ever-popular Ninja High School, and everyone’s sing-along favorite Steak: Medium Rare. They climb speakers, hang from the rafters, get on top of the tents, enter the crowd and jump rope, and generally entertain the pants of the crowd. Their final song, What The Health – SUPER HEALTH! has the band in a groovy thrash metal number as they invite a few members of the crowd onstage to take their instruments and continue the song while they put on Mexican wrestling masks, a bowling pin costume, a huge green afro wig, picking up the drums, taking them into the crowd, and handing out pots and pans for the crowd to bang until the whole thing falls apart like some steampunk ferris wheel. I’m honestly not sure what happened after that. I’m beginning to think it was all a dream. I’m really trying not to make a gonzo reference here, but I feel it pulling me in like a stifled tourette’s tic.
As the absurdist fog of Peelander-Z lifted, we made our way to the Austin Convention Center, where a thick line snaked its’ way all the way around the concourse. Looking for the will call window, we passed the 900 or so people standing there and went to claim our Rolling Stone tickets to see Echo & the Bunnymen. As the first ones in the doors, we walked to the front of the stage where the cameramen were as the crowd filled in behind us. This was not my doing, and I owe a great deal of thanks to Kyle Meredith for the tickets. It was an event that was being filmed for direct tv and was a 42 minute set of their most recognizable songs.
Afterward, we decided that a short walk and a drive through Austin would allow us to collect ourselves and find a relaxing dinner. This turned out to be at the Green Mesquite, a fantastic BBQ place near Auditorium Shores that served me some of the best turkey I’ve ever had, complemented by a fantastic meal with friends. This gave us just enough energy to make it back to 6th St., and the swarming masses of the streets throbbed with life and was motivating enough to make a few passes back and forth and pop in on whatever sounds caught our ears. At some point, we saw Brigid Kaelin sitting in with various musicians playing saw, later entertaining a group of comedians entertaining her by writing her into a television script. Rocky Top! they yelled. She complied and promptly trumped them with a Margaritaville yodel.
In the end, South by Southwest was exactly what I wanted it to be, full of friends and music and good times. I missed a couple of the bands I needed to see, I picked up a couple of Louisville bands that weren’t on my schedule, so maybe in the balance of things, I only have one foot on the lounge chair in the swimming pool. But I won’t miss the big fight either.
b
I was here a couple of years ago with the muckrakers; we had three shows, two of which went extremely well. It’s the contrasts that are standing out to me now, the much lower percentage of heavier bands and the larger numbers of electropop bands. There are more female led bands this year, more americana bands, and many more tight jeans.
Today began with the same gorgeous weather we’ve had the entire time here, and the short drive down 1st St. is one of peaceful anticipation, often accompanied by the Beastie Boys or AC/DC, which seems entirely appropriate. After a brief walk down 6th St., I arrived at the first show of the day, Wax Fang at the Troubadour, a typical enough venue for the area; a long shotgun style bar with just dingy enough to proclaim authenticity as a local institution. Wax Fang hails from Louisville, KY and got quite the boost opening for My Morning Jacket. This week they have devoted themselves to playing as much as possible, their sets ambitious, powerful, and loud. Wax Fang sounds like a frightening night spent hallucinating in a southern swamp. The crowd is intrigued and mesmerized. Singer Scott Carney plays guitar and theremin like a crazed conductor escaped from an asylum, while the band stays in the groove and rides the wave of the song. A nice spotlight on Louisville’s eccentricities.
A few blocks down the street, we manage to catch the Bitter Wigs, the latest creation of Josh Hawkins, Louisvillian by way of Chicago these days. This three piece doesn’t so much as play their songs as ignite a blowtorch and take it to your face. The Bitter Wigs land in that late 70’s, early 80’s era of punk and AC/DC, the Sex Pistols and Black Sabbath. Not for the faint of heart, this riff-oriented groove machine lets Hawkins wail his tenor with the best of them.
Finding our way down 6th to Red River St., we head in Mohawk and check out the bill. The next band to play is called Peelander-Z. Well, seriously, nobody wants to see a band called Peelander-Z, but we end up talking to some people we know when a Japanese band called Peelander-Z takes the stage, but may also go by the name Might Morphin Acid Trip, or at least that’s my impression since they are dressed in those costumes, with the singer having a shaved head except for his long pigtails that he has let grow and partially dyed blond over black hair. I’m just going to have to post pictures. Peelander-Z is basically an Absurdist Thrash Punk band, introducing songs through broken English and holding up the song title on poster board, which is also the chorus, which they get the crowd to chant at the appropriate times, which is really the only lyrics to the song. They played such hits as Mad Tiger, the ever-popular Ninja High School, and everyone’s sing-along favorite Steak: Medium Rare. They climb speakers, hang from the rafters, get on top of the tents, enter the crowd and jump rope, and generally entertain the pants of the crowd. Their final song, What The Health – SUPER HEALTH! has the band in a groovy thrash metal number as they invite a few members of the crowd onstage to take their instruments and continue the song while they put on Mexican wrestling masks, a bowling pin costume, a huge green afro wig, picking up the drums, taking them into the crowd, and handing out pots and pans for the crowd to bang until the whole thing falls apart like some steampunk ferris wheel. I’m honestly not sure what happened after that. I’m beginning to think it was all a dream. I’m really trying not to make a gonzo reference here, but I feel it pulling me in like a stifled tourette’s tic.
As the absurdist fog of Peelander-Z lifted, we made our way to the Austin Convention Center, where a thick line snaked its’ way all the way around the concourse. Looking for the will call window, we passed the 900 or so people standing there and went to claim our Rolling Stone tickets to see Echo & the Bunnymen. As the first ones in the doors, we walked to the front of the stage where the cameramen were as the crowd filled in behind us. This was not my doing, and I owe a great deal of thanks to Kyle Meredith for the tickets. It was an event that was being filmed for direct tv and was a 42 minute set of their most recognizable songs.
Afterward, we decided that a short walk and a drive through Austin would allow us to collect ourselves and find a relaxing dinner. This turned out to be at the Green Mesquite, a fantastic BBQ place near Auditorium Shores that served me some of the best turkey I’ve ever had, complemented by a fantastic meal with friends. This gave us just enough energy to make it back to 6th St., and the swarming masses of the streets throbbed with life and was motivating enough to make a few passes back and forth and pop in on whatever sounds caught our ears. At some point, we saw Brigid Kaelin sitting in with various musicians playing saw, later entertaining a group of comedians entertaining her by writing her into a television script. Rocky Top! they yelled. She complied and promptly trumped them with a Margaritaville yodel.
In the end, South by Southwest was exactly what I wanted it to be, full of friends and music and good times. I missed a couple of the bands I needed to see, I picked up a couple of Louisville bands that weren’t on my schedule, so maybe in the balance of things, I only have one foot on the lounge chair in the swimming pool. But I won’t miss the big fight either.
b
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Austin Convention Center
Pressed against the stage for Echo & the Bunnymen. Thanks to Rolling Stone for passing up the line of 900 and walking first through the door.
SXSW Day Two
When I was a senior in high school, I had an English teacher who included a movie in his class: When We Were Kings. It documents the famous Rumble in the Jungle boxing event in 1974 between the former heavyweight champion Muhammad Ali and the then current heavyweight champion George Foreman. The movie had an influence on me because it illustrated an amazing strategy with boxing (the now famous rope-a-dope) as well as showcasing the style of Muhammad Ali, also known as the Louisville Lip, and made me want to know more about my hometown. It wasn't until recently that Hunter S. Thompson stories became known to me as well, specifically one associated with the Rumble in the Jungle event that he was assigned to cover for Rolling Stone. I'm thinking of this because on the night of the fight, Thompson decided that the event would be a non-story, so he chose to stay nestled in a floating lounge chair at the hotel pool.
The kind, kind folks at LEO asked me to check out a few Louisville based bands here in Austin for SXSW: The Watson Twins had performances last weekend; Broadfield Marchers perform late tonight; Wax Fang perform today at 1 pm. I bring this up because I don't want to be the guy in the floating lounge chair at the hotel pool. I'm here with a few friends, and it was Brigid Kaelin who summed up the experience of this music festival the best: South by Southwest is all about riding the wave and seeing where it takes you. Hopefully today the wave will deliver.
Yesterday was a scorcher, the sun was beating down on my baseball hat. We headed in town and first landed at the Insound party. The day started off well with an impressive duo from Montreal performing their sweet brand of electropop, the Handsome Furs. They prefaced their opener with "This is a song Charles Manson stole from the beatles, we're stealing it back". Kyle got an interview with the singer, Dan, and I took pictures of kyle getting an interview with the singer, Dan. We popped in a few places down the street, stayed for a song, popped in a few more, and settled in to hear the Hold Steady. I have to say that so far, theirs is the most high intensity show I've seen, as well as the most crowded. Their singer, Craig Finn, transforms on stage into an exuberant kid in a candy store, a toddler who revels in all the people that have come to his birthday party to see him, basking in the glory of the crowd and delivering his lines with a playfully passionate intensity. Kyle and I headed down 6th for a brief rest at the Driskill, before rejoining the rest of the group down Congress, where we happened upon Guero's once again. And once again it blew my mind. Quite possibly the best mexican food I've ever had. And I got a picture of Kyle with the framed Death Proof photo montage on their wall I'll post later.
The rest of the evening belongs to Bob. We headed a bit further out to swing by the Saxon Pub to catch Bob Schneider, who is apparently king of Austin. I did not know this going into the night. However, Bob went out of his way to make this fact known. It was an interesting night because this first show was solo, just Bob and his classical acoustic guitar, his keyboard, his loop station. And it was amazing. He has these lines that occasionally knock you over the head, or are delivered so quietly at such low intensity as to be inaudible, only to set up the explosion. This room was packed, these people don't talk while Bob plays, these people eat from the palm of Bob's hand, and I see why. You don't want to miss a thing. It makes you sentimental for all the future treasured moments you will have. When his set was finished, he dropped his guitar, walked out the exit door and got in a car. His next set was a few miles away with a full band at an outdoor show, and elvis had left the building.
Threadgill's is located near Auditorium Shores, Austin's downtown waterfront park area, notable to me as the location where I saw spoon a couple of years ago. It seems an institution unto itself, with a fantastic large outdoor patio and stage setup that are perfect for fresh Spring Austin nights, like this one, that attracts all types, including Rachael Ray, who I can't see without thinking of Bourdain's reference to her freakish Joker-like grin. Schneider's full band tonight included an electric guitar player, drummer, the best female bass player I've ever seen, and the accordion/trumpet player, who provided some of the most amazing trumpet/dance combos/entertainment (often playing accordion as a disney robot animatron). It was about two hours of Bob Schneider pouring his charisma onto the even larger crowd, but this time they weren't quiet and hanging on his every word, he was their Pied Piper, their David Lee Roth circa 1984 (go ahead and jump). He had a couple of songs breaking the 12 minute mark, and on top of his amazing songwriting, he did something I've always wanted to do: end the show with Biz Markie's You Say He's Just a Friend. It's hard to imagine that Day Three can compare, but here's to trying.
b
The kind, kind folks at LEO asked me to check out a few Louisville based bands here in Austin for SXSW: The Watson Twins had performances last weekend; Broadfield Marchers perform late tonight; Wax Fang perform today at 1 pm. I bring this up because I don't want to be the guy in the floating lounge chair at the hotel pool. I'm here with a few friends, and it was Brigid Kaelin who summed up the experience of this music festival the best: South by Southwest is all about riding the wave and seeing where it takes you. Hopefully today the wave will deliver.
Yesterday was a scorcher, the sun was beating down on my baseball hat. We headed in town and first landed at the Insound party. The day started off well with an impressive duo from Montreal performing their sweet brand of electropop, the Handsome Furs. They prefaced their opener with "This is a song Charles Manson stole from the beatles, we're stealing it back". Kyle got an interview with the singer, Dan, and I took pictures of kyle getting an interview with the singer, Dan. We popped in a few places down the street, stayed for a song, popped in a few more, and settled in to hear the Hold Steady. I have to say that so far, theirs is the most high intensity show I've seen, as well as the most crowded. Their singer, Craig Finn, transforms on stage into an exuberant kid in a candy store, a toddler who revels in all the people that have come to his birthday party to see him, basking in the glory of the crowd and delivering his lines with a playfully passionate intensity. Kyle and I headed down 6th for a brief rest at the Driskill, before rejoining the rest of the group down Congress, where we happened upon Guero's once again. And once again it blew my mind. Quite possibly the best mexican food I've ever had. And I got a picture of Kyle with the framed Death Proof photo montage on their wall I'll post later.
The rest of the evening belongs to Bob. We headed a bit further out to swing by the Saxon Pub to catch Bob Schneider, who is apparently king of Austin. I did not know this going into the night. However, Bob went out of his way to make this fact known. It was an interesting night because this first show was solo, just Bob and his classical acoustic guitar, his keyboard, his loop station. And it was amazing. He has these lines that occasionally knock you over the head, or are delivered so quietly at such low intensity as to be inaudible, only to set up the explosion. This room was packed, these people don't talk while Bob plays, these people eat from the palm of Bob's hand, and I see why. You don't want to miss a thing. It makes you sentimental for all the future treasured moments you will have. When his set was finished, he dropped his guitar, walked out the exit door and got in a car. His next set was a few miles away with a full band at an outdoor show, and elvis had left the building.
Threadgill's is located near Auditorium Shores, Austin's downtown waterfront park area, notable to me as the location where I saw spoon a couple of years ago. It seems an institution unto itself, with a fantastic large outdoor patio and stage setup that are perfect for fresh Spring Austin nights, like this one, that attracts all types, including Rachael Ray, who I can't see without thinking of Bourdain's reference to her freakish Joker-like grin. Schneider's full band tonight included an electric guitar player, drummer, the best female bass player I've ever seen, and the accordion/trumpet player, who provided some of the most amazing trumpet/dance combos/entertainment (often playing accordion as a disney robot animatron). It was about two hours of Bob Schneider pouring his charisma onto the even larger crowd, but this time they weren't quiet and hanging on his every word, he was their Pied Piper, their David Lee Roth circa 1984 (go ahead and jump). He had a couple of songs breaking the 12 minute mark, and on top of his amazing songwriting, he did something I've always wanted to do: end the show with Biz Markie's You Say He's Just a Friend. It's hard to imagine that Day Three can compare, but here's to trying.
b
Apologies
I'm looking at my notes for the day and there's no way I'm going to try to put them in any sort of narrative form tonight. It's been a great long day, lots to report. Tomorrow.
b
b
Friday, March 20, 2009
SXSW Day One
For the record, fifteen hours in a car is just too long, no matter what. Discomfort turns into exhaustion, which turns into delirium, which turns into hallucinations. Long story short: We Arrived.
I've been in the music industry for a while now, and in many ways I am jaded. I am not, however, jaded enough to not fall under the spell of Austin. It's a fantastic place that is best described as eccentric; it still retains its own identity in the midst of the very large and loaded-with-preconceived-notions state of Texas. During the music festival known as South by Southwest, every available room, space, vestibule, or cubicle is taken over by organizations (record labels, booking agencies, magazines, radio stations) and packed from open until close with bands from all parts of the world, usually in blocks of 45 minutes. Spring has sprung here, and it's absolutely fantastic weather. We arrived last night 4:30-ish, caught a few hours sleep and headed downtown: streets are closed, everybody's out and about as music bleeds from one venue into the next. We found our way to the New West Party at Club de Ville and really enjoyed Tim Easton's set. To make this even better, they had a great set up providing small plates of cooked chicken tortillas (pictures provided). Corb Lund followed, and had the fantastic and notable line "Good Copenhagen is better than bad cocaine". We took off for a bit and walked down 6th St., making our way through the crowds, dodging the music bleed, and noting the lengthy lines to get into the more popular places, not unlike the long lines at an amusement park that you decide can't possibly be worth waiting in. Took a break in the Driskell Hotel before heading out again to catch the Gary Louris / Mark Olsen set. It's been a long time since I've seen the Jayhawks in any formation, and it was great to hear them.
A few blocks away we were trying to check out the Hold Steady show, but not only was the club packed wall to wall, there was a line around the block waiting. Headed to the Alternative Press party at 5th & Congress, which turned out to be a DJ party on the roof of a building. While beautiful and full to capacity and definitely a hip an happening place, it was chest-thumping-ly and ear splitting-ly loud. On the sidewalk outside, we found a few options down Congress across the river. After walking 17 blocks or so, we ended up in front of Guero's, and the answer presented itself.
The goal of the night at this point was to make it to Stubb's to see http://www.gomeztheband.com/. As we got in line, security informed us and everyone behind us that they were sold out and that we would not be able to get in. Unless we wanted to wait a bit, then maybe we could. Well, ok. We hung out a bit in line, moved forward and they eventually let us and a few of those behind us in, and it was definitely the payoff of the night. Stubbs was packed and gomez was fantastic (if you are unfamiliar, start with How We Operate) and I'm really looking forward to their new album coming out at the end of this month.
Being on our feet all day has finally taken its toll, so to rest we go. Tomorrow will be another fun filled day. Unfortunately, the wireless networks are severly taxed down here and I am for the most part unable to do any kind of serious writing or updating during the day, apart from the twitter type status updates. With that in mind, you will be able to find out what's going on with us throughout the day in 140 characters or less at twitter.com/bsm1
b
I've been in the music industry for a while now, and in many ways I am jaded. I am not, however, jaded enough to not fall under the spell of Austin. It's a fantastic place that is best described as eccentric; it still retains its own identity in the midst of the very large and loaded-with-preconceived-notions state of Texas. During the music festival known as South by Southwest, every available room, space, vestibule, or cubicle is taken over by organizations (record labels, booking agencies, magazines, radio stations) and packed from open until close with bands from all parts of the world, usually in blocks of 45 minutes. Spring has sprung here, and it's absolutely fantastic weather. We arrived last night 4:30-ish, caught a few hours sleep and headed downtown: streets are closed, everybody's out and about as music bleeds from one venue into the next. We found our way to the New West Party at Club de Ville and really enjoyed Tim Easton's set. To make this even better, they had a great set up providing small plates of cooked chicken tortillas (pictures provided). Corb Lund followed, and had the fantastic and notable line "Good Copenhagen is better than bad cocaine". We took off for a bit and walked down 6th St., making our way through the crowds, dodging the music bleed, and noting the lengthy lines to get into the more popular places, not unlike the long lines at an amusement park that you decide can't possibly be worth waiting in. Took a break in the Driskell Hotel before heading out again to catch the Gary Louris / Mark Olsen set. It's been a long time since I've seen the Jayhawks in any formation, and it was great to hear them.
A few blocks away we were trying to check out the Hold Steady show, but not only was the club packed wall to wall, there was a line around the block waiting. Headed to the Alternative Press party at 5th & Congress, which turned out to be a DJ party on the roof of a building. While beautiful and full to capacity and definitely a hip an happening place, it was chest-thumping-ly and ear splitting-ly loud. On the sidewalk outside, we found a few options down Congress across the river. After walking 17 blocks or so, we ended up in front of Guero's, and the answer presented itself.
The goal of the night at this point was to make it to Stubb's to see http://www.gomeztheband.com/. As we got in line, security informed us and everyone behind us that they were sold out and that we would not be able to get in. Unless we wanted to wait a bit, then maybe we could. Well, ok. We hung out a bit in line, moved forward and they eventually let us and a few of those behind us in, and it was definitely the payoff of the night. Stubbs was packed and gomez was fantastic (if you are unfamiliar, start with How We Operate) and I'm really looking forward to their new album coming out at the end of this month.
Being on our feet all day has finally taken its toll, so to rest we go. Tomorrow will be another fun filled day. Unfortunately, the wireless networks are severly taxed down here and I am for the most part unable to do any kind of serious writing or updating during the day, apart from the twitter type status updates. With that in mind, you will be able to find out what's going on with us throughout the day in 140 characters or less at twitter.com/bsm1
b
Thursday, March 19, 2009
The Way to Eat in Austin
First stop of the day, New West party, enjoyed the Tim Easton set, and thoroughly enjoyed the guys prepping the incredible food. Hoping to catch the Mark Olsen/Gary Louris set at 4
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Hours in a Car
I'm estimating 14 hours will be the final travel time from Louisville to Austin. We are currently 9 hrs in, passing through Little Rock. 4 guys in a car, music, talk, reading, talk, music. Listened to License to Ill, Mitch Hedberg, Kyle was dj for a bit, rem now. It's going to be a long and late night.
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