Back to the old Junkie "What I Did This Weekend" tradition: a lazy Sunday on which I recap the weekend's events; which I am doing at the moment because I woke up with 1) pink eye 2) a cold 3) a hyper-extended knee and 4) a hangover, and all I can do is write.
But anyway, thanks to a couple of great shows, the past couple days have been considerably less excruciating than this morning.
This Friday night started out just like most others: a capped pint of R&R and a giant styrofoam cup of Dr. Pepper ready to go, hanging out with my friends deliberating about what to do. Someone had heard that Pan was playing a house show on Village (a mere two streets away-- a valuable consideration to be made on a freezing-cold night) and more for "eye candy reasons" than "musical reasons," my troupe and I huddled together in a massive rage-train and hoofed it over to Village Street. My friend Rachel (the designated Motivator and thus, an invaluable Fest Friend) and I are all business in these kind of situations and, knowing only the street and not the actual house address, navigated on intuition alone, but somehow found the place without a hitch, and by the time the first inevitable "Where are we?" emanated from the hot mess that is my group of friends after dark, we were standing inside an awkward house full of hipsters who none of us knew.
Strangely (and somehow, not so) we soon found ourselves bonding over the house's guinea pig (who bore a strange resemblance to a panda) with said strange (i.e. unfamiliar) hipsters and it was only a matter of time before the first band Drawing Mountains began to jam. After the band's request for support in the form of money/ sexual favors they slipped timidly into their first song, leading into a slow-burner of a set that not only held my attention (a more incredible feat than you know) but put me in a kind of trance, a kind of strange and contemplative mood; I was snapped back momentarily when one of my friends tapped me on the shoulder and motioned that they were going upstairs. I stayed and spaced out to Drawing Mountains' set alone, incredibly refreshed by something I haven't heard in a really long time: genuinely good live indie rock. I've found myself going to a lot of electronic music shows lately and I don't know why. It's really the only kind of live show I've been attending (that isn't a jam band, obvs)and I've been kind of startled by that fact when I look at it. But I think the thing is that electro shows are exciting. They're more like parties than shows-- you don't go see a dubstep DJ spin to learn anything new about music or to have a musical experience, necessarily; it's more about having fun. Because a lot of really good bands lack that element in their live show: excitement. Being smart and technical about the music itself can really suck the fun and spontaneity out of a live show, and it's amazing when a band can be a good band and also play a great show that doesn't have you checking your watch before the end of the set. It shouldn't be such a rare thing.
Oh, yeah, and their gear was amazing. I've never seen anyone play a Gibson SG through an Orange rig in a basement in the student ghetto.
But anyway. Being in that basement at that show was a good thing. It felt really good, kinda like this time last year when there were basement shows every weekend and I was always there with whiskey drinks and stubbed toes (ah, nostalgia!). And something about Drawing Mountains' set, in that dark basement full of (very hip) strangers, sent me down a crazy rabbit hole of memories and thoughts that made me extremely happy and grateful to be young and alive (and no, unlike most of the show's patrons, I was not drunk, thanks to a spilling mishap). Which, to me, is the essence of a good show: when you can completely love a show even if-- especially if-- you're sober, alone, and have never heard the music before.
By the time the set was over and I returned to the real world, where my friends were bundling up to traipse to the next party, I felt like I had taken what Drama from Fantasy Factory would call a "life shower"-- equivalent to a nap, cuddling, a workout, or meditation. (And we didn't even stay to see Pan. The fuck?) Making a ridiculous scene, rolling deep and singing Aloe Blacc's "I Need a Dollar" at the top of our lungs as we walked, we ended up at some anonymous house and, in the end, the night culminated in a dance party the likes of which you've never seen. But that's just how we roll.
The following night was a little more legit and, in certain ways, considerably more memorable. Once again I found myself solo at a show: this time, at the Strutt, checking out one of my favorite bands: The Hold Steady. As you can imagine, the room was PACKED (sold out, in fact) with a surprisingly diverse crowd, mostly 20somethings and a handful of mom-and-dad-aged couples. I missed most of the opening band, and in fact am not entirely sure what their name was. But THS's set was amazing, everything I had hoped it would be (though I checked them out at Rothbury in '09, I have never actually seen them in their element: a bar) and more.
It was so good, in fact, and such a sweaty disaster of a situation, that I woke up this morning with a fairly serious eye infection. As aforementioned.
But I learned a really great tip about catching a sold-out, standing-room show, one I never, ever thought would be a good idea: wear heels. Ladies-- perhaps you already knew this, but I'm a Converse or moccasins kind of gal-- a pair of heeled (and preferably badass, as to not get your toes smashed) boots give you an amazing advantage in a male-dominated audience. I stand about 5'8 barefoot, so with a few inches of help, I push 6 feet tall and have the best proverbial seat in standing room, where ever I am. Which is gnarly for a show like the Hold Steady.
Smashing through a set that incorporated ALL of their albums (which I love!)-- rather than just pimping their most recent release, "Heaven is Whenever"-- The Hold Steady threw down their amazingly E-Streety jams and had the Strutt a bigger shitshow than I have literally ever seen it. Craig Finn's delightfully geeky stage presence made me smile and I met a lot of really cool people-- and even had a drank with WMN! staffer/ local celeb Joe Fearnley.
So I guess you could say it was a really incredible weekend. Between the shows and friends and fun, and the ultimate "Me Time" that is spacing out to shows by myself, the total misery of today is 110% worth it.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Monday, November 08, 2010
EOTO: a force of nature
When my best friend, Nick, and I showed up to the Intersection around 8 on Sunday, I had a brief moment of panic that we had the wrong place or the wrong time. Could it be that EOTO had canceled? What other explanation could there be for the handful of hardcore kids and the excruciatingly long sound-check of the amateurish hard-rock band warming up the front stage of the Intersection? Where were all the hippies? Where was everyone-— didn’t they know this was EOTO?
Known for their killer, 100% improvised live show, “jamtronica” legends EOTO—made up of String Cheese Incident drummer and percussion player (respectively) Jason Hann and Mike Travis—almost always attract a mob scene, and we were expecting the venue to be packed to the seams; we were surprised and kind of appalled to see the venue nearly empty. Still, it was early, and I still had faith in my fellow jam-band warriors-— after all, this was EOTO. And if you’re crunchy, they will come.
Alas, the empty house and our earliness paid off in spades: as Nick and I were meandering back outside for a smoke break, out of nowhere, EOTO drummer Jason Hann strolled by, apparently looking for something, or someone. Having seen him approaching in my peripheral vision, recognizing at once his unruly curly coiffure, I knew I had to say hi. “What’s up, dude?” I said, extending my hand. His face warmed into a gracious smile as he grasped my hand and pulled me in for a bro-hug. I introduced myself and we chatted for a brief moment; I was proud of myself for containing my fan-geekiness, and refraining from reminiscing about his set with String Cheese at Rothbury ’09 (to this day, one of the best shows I’ve seen). After exchanging a moment’s worth of the typical pleasantries, Jason uttered a simple, offhand and, to me, totally amazing phrase, “We’ll throw down for ya!”
Eventually, openers Gargantua took the stage, facing off against a crowd of about 15, their faces obscured by their signature Star Trek shades. I’ve seen Gargantua throw down before (most recently, about a week ago at one of Papa Petes’ now-standard Dubstep Wednesdays) but they really didn’t bring it this time; I blame the almost total lack of an audience and general low energy of the situation (but that’s just me). Still, the crowd had increased in numbers and was even dancing a little bit by the end of the set, and it was increasingly clear that we were just getting started.
Around 10:30 (!) EOTO finally stepped up; Jason pumped his fists in the air before settling behind his drum kit, while Mike strode, in his classic silver-fox manner, to his place behind a fortress of synth and percussion equipment that towered like a steampunk time machine. I looked around me and realized that the house was now packed with jamtronica pilgrims: this stage their mecca, Mike and Jason their willing deities.
In no time at all, EOTO had the whole house raging, our glowsticks in the air like we just didn’t care. EOTO is the perfect live show for the musically- A.D.D.; their sets are a continuous and always-morphing blend of sound, borrowing from metal, reggae and “world” beats, and straight-up rock, all built on a foundation of dubsteppy techno. And even if electronica isn’t really your thing, EOTO on a technical level is truly an amazing thing to behold, their improvised sets propelled by what appears to be a twin-like ESP between Mike and Jason. Mike is a machine all his own; his drum kit, and attached mic and loop stations (with which he records the vocal parts of the songs, both original/ improvised and “borrowed:” at this show, from the likes of Steve Miller Band, Bob Marley, and Lauryn Hill, among others) are eerily like appendages; even during the requisite chaos of an EOTO set, he plays with a fluent and seemingly effortless demeanor that can only come from years (and years) of hard-won experience. To his left, Jason works his cage of keyboards, guitars, basses and drums with literally every limb, even working MIDI controllers on the floor with his bare toes; from the very front row, I watched in awe when they would make eye contact or exchange hand signals and bring the music to climactic highs, and Jason would drop a killer beat, festooned with the signature dubstep “womp,” majestically spreading his arms to the manic crowd like a techno Jesus.
And if you’ve never seen EOTO before, you might not understand that it is truly a transcendent experience. There is something about their music that seems to transports the listener through time and space; reminiscing about the times we had seen EOTO before, and anticipating them next summer at Wakarusa, Nick said it best: “It’s crazy to think that EOTO is blowing our minds in the past, present, and future!”
After their whirlwind of a set, Mike and Jason took to the crowd, lovingly exchanging hugs and high-fives with the sweaty and starry-eyed crowd; out of nowhere, Mike floated up on a cloud of silver-foxiness and all I could do was give him a big hug and thank him for throwing down for all us sinners out there.
And then it was over; Nick and I returned to the night after a dream-come-true show: having not only raged to one of the most mindblowing and inspiring live bands out there, but meeting two of the most talented (and unbelievably nice) dudes on tour right now. And though we all had a magical time dancing the night away, make no mistake: this ain’t no disco; EOTO is more than dance music, it’s a force of nature.
[run by the greatest and best site in the world, West Michigan Noise, on 11/08/10]
Known for their killer, 100% improvised live show, “jamtronica” legends EOTO—made up of String Cheese Incident drummer and percussion player (respectively) Jason Hann and Mike Travis—almost always attract a mob scene, and we were expecting the venue to be packed to the seams; we were surprised and kind of appalled to see the venue nearly empty. Still, it was early, and I still had faith in my fellow jam-band warriors-— after all, this was EOTO. And if you’re crunchy, they will come.
Alas, the empty house and our earliness paid off in spades: as Nick and I were meandering back outside for a smoke break, out of nowhere, EOTO drummer Jason Hann strolled by, apparently looking for something, or someone. Having seen him approaching in my peripheral vision, recognizing at once his unruly curly coiffure, I knew I had to say hi. “What’s up, dude?” I said, extending my hand. His face warmed into a gracious smile as he grasped my hand and pulled me in for a bro-hug. I introduced myself and we chatted for a brief moment; I was proud of myself for containing my fan-geekiness, and refraining from reminiscing about his set with String Cheese at Rothbury ’09 (to this day, one of the best shows I’ve seen). After exchanging a moment’s worth of the typical pleasantries, Jason uttered a simple, offhand and, to me, totally amazing phrase, “We’ll throw down for ya!”
Eventually, openers Gargantua took the stage, facing off against a crowd of about 15, their faces obscured by their signature Star Trek shades. I’ve seen Gargantua throw down before (most recently, about a week ago at one of Papa Petes’ now-standard Dubstep Wednesdays) but they really didn’t bring it this time; I blame the almost total lack of an audience and general low energy of the situation (but that’s just me). Still, the crowd had increased in numbers and was even dancing a little bit by the end of the set, and it was increasingly clear that we were just getting started.
Around 10:30 (!) EOTO finally stepped up; Jason pumped his fists in the air before settling behind his drum kit, while Mike strode, in his classic silver-fox manner, to his place behind a fortress of synth and percussion equipment that towered like a steampunk time machine. I looked around me and realized that the house was now packed with jamtronica pilgrims: this stage their mecca, Mike and Jason their willing deities.
In no time at all, EOTO had the whole house raging, our glowsticks in the air like we just didn’t care. EOTO is the perfect live show for the musically- A.D.D.; their sets are a continuous and always-morphing blend of sound, borrowing from metal, reggae and “world” beats, and straight-up rock, all built on a foundation of dubsteppy techno. And even if electronica isn’t really your thing, EOTO on a technical level is truly an amazing thing to behold, their improvised sets propelled by what appears to be a twin-like ESP between Mike and Jason. Mike is a machine all his own; his drum kit, and attached mic and loop stations (with which he records the vocal parts of the songs, both original/ improvised and “borrowed:” at this show, from the likes of Steve Miller Band, Bob Marley, and Lauryn Hill, among others) are eerily like appendages; even during the requisite chaos of an EOTO set, he plays with a fluent and seemingly effortless demeanor that can only come from years (and years) of hard-won experience. To his left, Jason works his cage of keyboards, guitars, basses and drums with literally every limb, even working MIDI controllers on the floor with his bare toes; from the very front row, I watched in awe when they would make eye contact or exchange hand signals and bring the music to climactic highs, and Jason would drop a killer beat, festooned with the signature dubstep “womp,” majestically spreading his arms to the manic crowd like a techno Jesus.
And if you’ve never seen EOTO before, you might not understand that it is truly a transcendent experience. There is something about their music that seems to transports the listener through time and space; reminiscing about the times we had seen EOTO before, and anticipating them next summer at Wakarusa, Nick said it best: “It’s crazy to think that EOTO is blowing our minds in the past, present, and future!”
After their whirlwind of a set, Mike and Jason took to the crowd, lovingly exchanging hugs and high-fives with the sweaty and starry-eyed crowd; out of nowhere, Mike floated up on a cloud of silver-foxiness and all I could do was give him a big hug and thank him for throwing down for all us sinners out there.
And then it was over; Nick and I returned to the night after a dream-come-true show: having not only raged to one of the most mindblowing and inspiring live bands out there, but meeting two of the most talented (and unbelievably nice) dudes on tour right now. And though we all had a magical time dancing the night away, make no mistake: this ain’t no disco; EOTO is more than dance music, it’s a force of nature.
[run by the greatest and best site in the world, West Michigan Noise, on 11/08/10]
Friday, November 05, 2010
The Ten.
In Michigan, we got our first snowfall, sending me on a downward spiral of uncomfortably grown-up desperation, manifest in somewhat panicky refrains of "where did 2010 go?!"
My tendency to interpret time and life in music means that my memories of this year are mostly cast in sunlit images of too-hot days at festivals, too-cold nights fastwalking home from shows in bars and basements, marveling at the pretty lights (namedrop) that swirled at shows too plentiful to count. I am truly lucky and so stoked to have been alive this year to witness the amazing music that I've seen, and live the incredible life that I have lived this year...
But still, the question remains. (Where did the time go? Where DOES time go?! I'm buggin'...) And the dwindling of this particular year, an awkward decade-straddler, is sending the compartmentalizing, sorting, OCD side of me into a frenzy, and I'm seeing this year, even more than last year, as the end of an era.
From 2000 to today has seen an absurdly dramatic shift in nearly every aspect of life on planet Earth. Never before has time been so precious, in the sense that everything changes so quickly, and in such mindblowing ways. I realized this the other day when, at work, I found myself passive-aggressively "suggesting" that someone update his software, as his was from "two thousand three" and he was having trouble opening documents I was sending to him-- seven years? Really? Are we flying through technology at such a breakneck speed that we literally cannot communicate in terms that span seven years?
And so we radioheads, with our proclivity to communicate in terms of albums, songs, and, now, playlists (I fought it too, but let's be real) must try to make sense of it all. And we shall.
I remember the last song I heard of the 90s, the #1 song of 1999: Xtina's "Genie in a Bottle." Oh, the humanity of the 90s-- the hot trainwreck that was pop music in the late 90s, when all the music world wanted was a numb reprieve from the tension of the music of Kurt Cobain, Tupac, and Biggie Smalls, and then from the pain of their passing. And that's what we got: genies in bottles, granting wishes of schmaltzy braindead pop poured from pretty lips (on a less comical and slightly more cerebral level, the post-grunge of The Presidents, Weezer, and They Might Be Giants, the quenching jams of Phish and DMB, and so on).
In "The 2000s" (still so awkward!)-- the space between the harried, Y2K-fearing existence we knew in the last hours of the truly unfathomable 20th century, and now-- we knew what we wanted: we were a million uncertain pauper Jacks searching for the sonic equivalent of our magical beans, trying to grow not just miracles, but a sense of well-being that we didn't know where else to find: the collective fear and frightening uncertainty and finality of 9/11, the trauma of the Bush administration, a battery of natural and humanitarian disasters... all we wanted was an ephemeral moment of painlessness.
So why, then, was the music of the 2000s some of the most emotional and aware that we have ever seen? Why were we so competitive with one another as listeners; why were we engaged in an arms race for the esoteric? Why did we need to be the first to hear the new "emo" in high school (in my generation), and, when we grew up, the new "indie" bands?
And what the fuck is indie anyway?
But let's not go too far down that rabbit hole. I think one thing we can say for sure is that the music-- all of it-- of the 2000s, focused on catharsis. After all, in this decade, we felt just as much loss as in the 90s: we mourned our sad hero Elliott Smith, and lost legends like Ray Charles and Johnny Cash (and that other guy... what was his name? Michael something). We found ways to soothe our aching bodies, hearts and souls; we found ways to quell the sometimes desperate fear that gripped us when we watched Hurricane Katrina; the Christmas Tsunami; the toppling of a stone Saddam; American flags flying high over obliterated landscapes.
All the while, our shiny, white iTunes screens gave us something beautiful and organized, and pumped inexplicable bliss into our headphoned ears. Chris Carrabba reminded us that love was pain and could be consumingly soothing; Adam Lazzara screamed the same truths that Chris whispered. Widespread Panic, String Cheese Incident and Umphrey's McGee sought jam refugees still hurting from Jerry's passing, dissatisfied with the placid and harmless approach of Dave Matthews; and even he upped the ante on "Stand Up." Rock took a serious hit with the dominion of bands like Ni*kleba*k (I refuse to print their name in its entirety) and Kid Rock's self-proclaimed deity status (rock and roll Jesus you are not, sir), but rose to the occasion with new classics like the Black Keys and Kings of Leon. The weirdoes and nerds found their voices in a plethora of genres, styles, and sounds called Indie, and even they were cool (for the time being). And there we were, discussing it, loving it, hyper-analyzing and over-sophisticating music, making sure we dotted and crossed the proverbial i's and t's and downright KNEW everything there was to know. Some of us even became convinced that we could, and should, make a career of it. (...)
But that's what we had to do to survive the 2000s. Because, let's face it. We're scared. We all are. I don't even watch TV anymore because I am so perplexed, appalled, and frightened by the world around me. I know, by osmosis, that Katy Perry got married to Russell Brand last weekend and that Rhianna couldn't go because she had a busy work schedule, and effectively fired her entire staff because it was their fault for scheduling her work. I HATE THAT I KNOW THAT. And I hate that everyone knows that and does not know the first thing about what's going on in their own country, and in the world, as evidenced by the facts of the midterm election which took place on Tuesday-- which saw a record LOW turnout of the young voters; that's right, us, the same ones who stood up for Barack Obama, the same ones who pursued the overturn of Prop 8 and the very same people who will fight to the death for their opinions in stoned, late-night, living-room conversations.
But we were a part of something amazing this decade-- amazing, in its many forms and connotations both good and bad. And that's because we-- as listeners, as musicians, as participants in the greater musical "scene" and movement-- ARE history in the making. If music is our catharsis, our safe place, so be it. This is a crazy time and it's ok to need something to hold on to. Love what you love, and love it well, but make sure that the places that you hide are up to you; the ways in which you hide are up to you; and don't let it be an excuse to numb yourself to the world around you. I mean... if we learned anything from the 90s, it should be just that; using music to numb the pain is ok. Hell, it's even good. But let's keep the genies in their bottles and start making our wishes come true ourselves... musically, politically, or whatever.
My tendency to interpret time and life in music means that my memories of this year are mostly cast in sunlit images of too-hot days at festivals, too-cold nights fastwalking home from shows in bars and basements, marveling at the pretty lights (namedrop) that swirled at shows too plentiful to count. I am truly lucky and so stoked to have been alive this year to witness the amazing music that I've seen, and live the incredible life that I have lived this year...
But still, the question remains. (Where did the time go? Where DOES time go?! I'm buggin'...) And the dwindling of this particular year, an awkward decade-straddler, is sending the compartmentalizing, sorting, OCD side of me into a frenzy, and I'm seeing this year, even more than last year, as the end of an era.
From 2000 to today has seen an absurdly dramatic shift in nearly every aspect of life on planet Earth. Never before has time been so precious, in the sense that everything changes so quickly, and in such mindblowing ways. I realized this the other day when, at work, I found myself passive-aggressively "suggesting" that someone update his software, as his was from "two thousand three" and he was having trouble opening documents I was sending to him-- seven years? Really? Are we flying through technology at such a breakneck speed that we literally cannot communicate in terms that span seven years?
And so we radioheads, with our proclivity to communicate in terms of albums, songs, and, now, playlists (I fought it too, but let's be real) must try to make sense of it all. And we shall.
I remember the last song I heard of the 90s, the #1 song of 1999: Xtina's "Genie in a Bottle." Oh, the humanity of the 90s-- the hot trainwreck that was pop music in the late 90s, when all the music world wanted was a numb reprieve from the tension of the music of Kurt Cobain, Tupac, and Biggie Smalls, and then from the pain of their passing. And that's what we got: genies in bottles, granting wishes of schmaltzy braindead pop poured from pretty lips (on a less comical and slightly more cerebral level, the post-grunge of The Presidents, Weezer, and They Might Be Giants, the quenching jams of Phish and DMB, and so on).
In "The 2000s" (still so awkward!)-- the space between the harried, Y2K-fearing existence we knew in the last hours of the truly unfathomable 20th century, and now-- we knew what we wanted: we were a million uncertain pauper Jacks searching for the sonic equivalent of our magical beans, trying to grow not just miracles, but a sense of well-being that we didn't know where else to find: the collective fear and frightening uncertainty and finality of 9/11, the trauma of the Bush administration, a battery of natural and humanitarian disasters... all we wanted was an ephemeral moment of painlessness.
So why, then, was the music of the 2000s some of the most emotional and aware that we have ever seen? Why were we so competitive with one another as listeners; why were we engaged in an arms race for the esoteric? Why did we need to be the first to hear the new "emo" in high school (in my generation), and, when we grew up, the new "indie" bands?
And what the fuck is indie anyway?
But let's not go too far down that rabbit hole. I think one thing we can say for sure is that the music-- all of it-- of the 2000s, focused on catharsis. After all, in this decade, we felt just as much loss as in the 90s: we mourned our sad hero Elliott Smith, and lost legends like Ray Charles and Johnny Cash (and that other guy... what was his name? Michael something). We found ways to soothe our aching bodies, hearts and souls; we found ways to quell the sometimes desperate fear that gripped us when we watched Hurricane Katrina; the Christmas Tsunami; the toppling of a stone Saddam; American flags flying high over obliterated landscapes.
All the while, our shiny, white iTunes screens gave us something beautiful and organized, and pumped inexplicable bliss into our headphoned ears. Chris Carrabba reminded us that love was pain and could be consumingly soothing; Adam Lazzara screamed the same truths that Chris whispered. Widespread Panic, String Cheese Incident and Umphrey's McGee sought jam refugees still hurting from Jerry's passing, dissatisfied with the placid and harmless approach of Dave Matthews; and even he upped the ante on "Stand Up." Rock took a serious hit with the dominion of bands like Ni*kleba*k (I refuse to print their name in its entirety) and Kid Rock's self-proclaimed deity status (rock and roll Jesus you are not, sir), but rose to the occasion with new classics like the Black Keys and Kings of Leon. The weirdoes and nerds found their voices in a plethora of genres, styles, and sounds called Indie, and even they were cool (for the time being). And there we were, discussing it, loving it, hyper-analyzing and over-sophisticating music, making sure we dotted and crossed the proverbial i's and t's and downright KNEW everything there was to know. Some of us even became convinced that we could, and should, make a career of it. (...)
But that's what we had to do to survive the 2000s. Because, let's face it. We're scared. We all are. I don't even watch TV anymore because I am so perplexed, appalled, and frightened by the world around me. I know, by osmosis, that Katy Perry got married to Russell Brand last weekend and that Rhianna couldn't go because she had a busy work schedule, and effectively fired her entire staff because it was their fault for scheduling her work. I HATE THAT I KNOW THAT. And I hate that everyone knows that and does not know the first thing about what's going on in their own country, and in the world, as evidenced by the facts of the midterm election which took place on Tuesday-- which saw a record LOW turnout of the young voters; that's right, us, the same ones who stood up for Barack Obama, the same ones who pursued the overturn of Prop 8 and the very same people who will fight to the death for their opinions in stoned, late-night, living-room conversations.
But we were a part of something amazing this decade-- amazing, in its many forms and connotations both good and bad. And that's because we-- as listeners, as musicians, as participants in the greater musical "scene" and movement-- ARE history in the making. If music is our catharsis, our safe place, so be it. This is a crazy time and it's ok to need something to hold on to. Love what you love, and love it well, but make sure that the places that you hide are up to you; the ways in which you hide are up to you; and don't let it be an excuse to numb yourself to the world around you. I mean... if we learned anything from the 90s, it should be just that; using music to numb the pain is ok. Hell, it's even good. But let's keep the genies in their bottles and start making our wishes come true ourselves... musically, politically, or whatever.
Miracles are real.
I'm calling the Vatican, or Linus from the Peanuts Gang, or Tom Cruise or something, because SOMEONE was right-- God, the Great Pumpkin, L. Ron Hubbard or someone is looking out for me on this miraculous Halloween evening. About this time last week, my beloved Sony Vaio (complete with stickers... I loved it... it was an appendage) inexplicably crashed, apparently due to a faulty hard drive. Maybe I was receiving a karmic ass-kicking for sins unknown; maybe it was just one of those swift-kick-in-the-teeth from fate-- regardless, I promised all aforementioned (and more) deities that if somehow, my Vaio returned unscathed from the teeth of the esoteric "service center" outlined in my warranty, that I would write a column immediately and not stop writing ever, because I would be so grateful to have my laptop back (yes-- I went quite crazy without a machine into which to vent my constant musings).
And while that did NOT happen, I not only magically FOUND my old, dead laptop AND its power cord, but hoping against hope, I pushed the power button and the old dusty POS coughed and sputtered its way back to life like a Baywatch extra after receiving some sexy CPR.
So here it is... my first (miraculous) of what will hopefully be many posts in the coming days. I'm thinking it was You, Great Pumpkin. I always believed in you!
Expect mad posts in the coming days. (Mad= many; not angry).
Much love,
Meg.
And while that did NOT happen, I not only magically FOUND my old, dead laptop AND its power cord, but hoping against hope, I pushed the power button and the old dusty POS coughed and sputtered its way back to life like a Baywatch extra after receiving some sexy CPR.
So here it is... my first (miraculous) of what will hopefully be many posts in the coming days. I'm thinking it was You, Great Pumpkin. I always believed in you!
Expect mad posts in the coming days. (Mad= many; not angry).
Much love,
Meg.
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