(no subject)
Calls when he's drunk and drinks
Like nobody knows where he's going
And nobody cares what he's saying
Singing like he could be crying
Leaping or lying, looking for love
To keep him from dying...
--Eleni Mandell, "Make-Out King"
We set controls for the heart of the sun
One of the ways that we show our age
And if the sun comes up, if the sun comes up
And we still don't want to stagger home?
Then it's the memory of our betters
That are keeping us on our feet
You spend the first five years trying to get with the plan
And the next five years trying to be with your friends again.
--LCD Sound System, "All My Friends"
I know, I know. It's been so long that there isn't even a way to catch up. So suffice to say, work's still keeping me hopping, the sun still rises and my heart cries out for all my friends who've recently experienced losses.
Even with skipping Twangfest this year for a combination of money and time this has been one of the most eventful summers in recent memory. Some highlights are as follows.
- Last night, the newest Alain Resnais movie at the Wexner Center, Private Fears in Public Places, based on the Alan Ayckbourn play. Funny and luminous and deeply lonely. Very cinematic and very stagy at the same time. I think I'm still processing it.
Then a six pack purchased and a trip down to East Rich Street for a backyard performance in Gerard Cox's Icebox series of avant-garde and improv music. I got there just in time to see the last tune by "Giants of Gender", currently in the midst of a nationwide tour. The piece I saw was a trio of clarinet, violin and vibes, reminiscent at times of Steve Reich and Korngold and old AMM. Lovely, with some harmonies that were gentle without being simply soothing.
Following them, Judith Berkson did a set on Wurlitzer and vocals. She's worked with Steve Coleman of M-Base fame, Osvaldo Goljiov, Gerard Pape (the head of the Xenakis foundation), and is a Cantor in New York. Her playing had a fierce rhythmic intensity, with a love of dissonance and decay and no effect or attempt to hide the effect of humidity on a vintage electric piano, tempering her virtuosity with the soft heat in the air. She did some originals that are still banging around in my head, along with a gorgeous, thorny Schumann piece, and a cover of "Darn that Dream". Possibly the corniest of all cornball standards, but turned into a cubist, almost Diamanda Galas-like examination of all angles and nuances, until she's leaping over notes and letting highs hang in the air then dropping to a Marlboro whisper "If it weren't / For that dream / I wouldn't / Have / You" and I feel the hairs on my neck stand up. I can't get my jaw to rejoin the rest of my face without manual adjustment. Afterwards I manage to tell her "That was beautiful" but I think there was more blushing and stammering than anything else.
Then Mary Halvorson and Jessica Pavone, the headliners I was there to see, performed some of their electric guitar and viola duets. Because of a lack of vocal mics there was not as much singing as usual but what really drew me to them was the instrumental interplay so I was okay with that. Pavone (viola) and Halvorson (hollow-body electric guitar) have worked together in a number of projects, most notably a long association with Anthony Braxton, and have been rocking this duo for a while (they played Columbus last year in the early winter) and they have a knack for following their interests wherever they lead and trusting each other implicitly. Sometimes it reminded me of Derek Bailey or LaMonte Young, there was a moment that all I could think was "Ennio Morricone and Richard Strauss start a death metal band", but it's their own thing and it's real and soulful and free without any of the cliche-baggage those terms can carry.
Followed that walking over to Carabar which I was too tired for but still had a pretty good time, Cheater Slicks sounded great, Unholy Two sounded pretty good, missed Deathly Fighter *again*. Joked with my people
- The Saturday that started seeing "Once", one of the sweetest movies I've seen in a long time, followed by a walk down to Festival Latino, some delicious food and a conjunto band with a singer who sounded like a Latin version of a young Tommy Duncan outdoors in the sunshine.
Then a stop off at the High Five to see Eyes Stained Black with my friends Aeryn Musick and Josh Money goofing with Matt Holman and Nick Schuld with their perfectly fine electro-metal in the style of Demanufacture-era Fear Factory and a set of great, great songs.
Another walk, a slice of pizza, and Dave Holm's 40th birthday party at Cafe Bourbon Street. A kidnapping that ended with blindfolded Dave being put on stage where Brad Swiniarski was already playing piano and forcing him to sing "After the Gold Rush". The "reunited" completely without forethought Sovines featuring Jeff (Townsmen, Ugly Stick, Good Company, Crimson Sweet) Clowdus on drums barrelling through. Dave, Ed Mann, and Jeff Clowdus (3/4 of Ugly Stick) on stage pounding through songs they cowrote as teenagers and Minutemen and X tunes they grew up with. Dave's karaoke rendition of "Rosalita" featuring Matt Benz as "crazed fan" from the video. The guy dressed like a budget Toby Keith who showed up because he thought it was a karaoke night and sang an irony-free version of "I Swear" accompanied by some slowdancing I can assure you was not irony free. My arms around the shoulders of Keith Novicki and Shirley (um, yeah, last names and I aren't always the best of friends) chiming in on the high pitched backing vocals while Matt Benz, Ed Mann, and Bob Starker hilariously belted out "Emotional Rescue". My pal Heidi Palermo getting goaded into stage diving and me being the only one who manned up to catch her. My buddy Jon Witzky at the bar next door kicking the patio fence over, shouting "Let my people go!" and everything melting into one big party. Josh whose last name I forget closing the night with an a capella "The Parting Glass" that almost had me in tears.
All that was one Saturday.
- (A little early) trisket's housewarming party. So great to see all of you again, and a perfect pause between the Agora art thing and the Whiles CD release party.
- Comfest, as always. My friends, the sun, some great music (The Rackets, Terribly Empty Pockets, El Jesus De Magico, The Wells, The Means) and some less than great (The Cowboy Hillbilly Hippie Folk Band). Drenched in sweat, stuffed with food of varying degrees of healthfulness from a vegetarian pita to a giant rack of ribs, goofy on Labatts.
- Monday night a few weeks ago at Cafe Bourbon Street, maybe nine of us there, Andy Robertson spinning nothing but solid gold jams, buying me a shot, my fumbling through "Sixty Minute Man" like a desperate preacher trying to convince my friend Morgan that it's one of the greatest songs ever written. Talking about Kelly Link and Alan Deniro with my friend Susan behind the bar, and Einsturzende Neubauten with my buddy David on this side of the bar, and Portland with my friend Natasha.
- The Columbus Music Co-Op's parking lot blowout at Surly Girl Saloon. $3 PBR going to a good cause, 75% of the people I love in this town (might not sound like a big percentage but I love a lot of people), The Patsys knocking us all dead, The Lindsay with their swirling fog of overtones and thick, rumbling grooves, Earwig and Preston Furman rocking a crowd that really, really loved them even if I'm not that guy so much, and hugging and rambling conversations with friends old and new.
- The closing of Little Brothers and the last night which included my boy Brian trying to ditch a creepy admirer, fireworks in the distance, posing for photographs, too many shots, and not a stranger in the room. As my pal David, the only guy who saw more Sovines shows than *me*, said, "This isn't a funeral. It's a wake." And the venue that used to be my second home, where I'd sometimes see four shows a week, where I cried over an ex-girlfriend and Bill Kramer and Nate Gills had to talk me down, where I saw bands breakup and reunite, where they always remembered my name, went out in an appropriately celebratory blaze.
- Origins weekend, between pitchers of Stella at the Char Bar and the Japanese Steakhouse and bullshitting over Mojitos with princeofcairo on Sunday evening, and especially the cookout at bluelang and magentamom's house on Saturday evening. Then Saturday night going to Carabar to see The Grave Blankets with a new drummer and some two-drumset numbers that were rock incarnate, a band I like more every time I see them finally going in my mind from "reallly fucking good" to "insanely awesome". The Beatdowns back to a five piece with John Stickley on second guitar and vocals and playing with more fire than I've seen from them in a while, if you like rock and roll at all, Matt Benz has some songs that we're going to be talking about as classics in a few years, especially "Disconnected Girl", "Go Out Swinging", and the ballad "That's Where It All Went Wrong". No longer "from the ashes of the Sovines", but it's own ass-kicking entity with a fully-formed identity.
- That long night at Fado with shots of Tullamore, a friend's father getting ill, another friend's divorce getting finalized, loud talk and obscene jokes and an old redneck at the next table shouting "You all are some crazy motherfuckers, aren't you?" Yeah. Yeah we are. Even a chain bar in an overpriced shopping mall can be a rowdy honkytonk or a hotbed of discourse if you just give it half a chance (by extension, this past Friday at Fado we had an intense discussion about Stanley Kubrick and Cormac McCarthy).
All right, I think I'm heading to the North Market then lying in the park watching some of Jim Maneri'a straight-ahead project. Then probably a walk or a nap or both. What have all of you been up to, what's been turning your cranks?
If you've got sadness on your mind
Then that's exactly what you'll find
Forget your memories, they do no good
If you don't remember what you should
When you're thirsty
--Scott Miller, "Thirsty Fingers", from Bloodshot Records' tribute to Larry Brown
Like nobody knows where he's going
And nobody cares what he's saying
Singing like he could be crying
Leaping or lying, looking for love
To keep him from dying...
--Eleni Mandell, "Make-Out King"
We set controls for the heart of the sun
One of the ways that we show our age
And if the sun comes up, if the sun comes up
And we still don't want to stagger home?
Then it's the memory of our betters
That are keeping us on our feet
You spend the first five years trying to get with the plan
And the next five years trying to be with your friends again.
--LCD Sound System, "All My Friends"
I know, I know. It's been so long that there isn't even a way to catch up. So suffice to say, work's still keeping me hopping, the sun still rises and my heart cries out for all my friends who've recently experienced losses.
Even with skipping Twangfest this year for a combination of money and time this has been one of the most eventful summers in recent memory. Some highlights are as follows.
- Last night, the newest Alain Resnais movie at the Wexner Center, Private Fears in Public Places, based on the Alan Ayckbourn play. Funny and luminous and deeply lonely. Very cinematic and very stagy at the same time. I think I'm still processing it.
Then a six pack purchased and a trip down to East Rich Street for a backyard performance in Gerard Cox's Icebox series of avant-garde and improv music. I got there just in time to see the last tune by "Giants of Gender", currently in the midst of a nationwide tour. The piece I saw was a trio of clarinet, violin and vibes, reminiscent at times of Steve Reich and Korngold and old AMM. Lovely, with some harmonies that were gentle without being simply soothing.
Following them, Judith Berkson did a set on Wurlitzer and vocals. She's worked with Steve Coleman of M-Base fame, Osvaldo Goljiov, Gerard Pape (the head of the Xenakis foundation), and is a Cantor in New York. Her playing had a fierce rhythmic intensity, with a love of dissonance and decay and no effect or attempt to hide the effect of humidity on a vintage electric piano, tempering her virtuosity with the soft heat in the air. She did some originals that are still banging around in my head, along with a gorgeous, thorny Schumann piece, and a cover of "Darn that Dream". Possibly the corniest of all cornball standards, but turned into a cubist, almost Diamanda Galas-like examination of all angles and nuances, until she's leaping over notes and letting highs hang in the air then dropping to a Marlboro whisper "If it weren't / For that dream / I wouldn't / Have / You" and I feel the hairs on my neck stand up. I can't get my jaw to rejoin the rest of my face without manual adjustment. Afterwards I manage to tell her "That was beautiful" but I think there was more blushing and stammering than anything else.
Then Mary Halvorson and Jessica Pavone, the headliners I was there to see, performed some of their electric guitar and viola duets. Because of a lack of vocal mics there was not as much singing as usual but what really drew me to them was the instrumental interplay so I was okay with that. Pavone (viola) and Halvorson (hollow-body electric guitar) have worked together in a number of projects, most notably a long association with Anthony Braxton, and have been rocking this duo for a while (they played Columbus last year in the early winter) and they have a knack for following their interests wherever they lead and trusting each other implicitly. Sometimes it reminded me of Derek Bailey or LaMonte Young, there was a moment that all I could think was "Ennio Morricone and Richard Strauss start a death metal band", but it's their own thing and it's real and soulful and free without any of the cliche-baggage those terms can carry.
Followed that walking over to Carabar which I was too tired for but still had a pretty good time, Cheater Slicks sounded great, Unholy Two sounded pretty good, missed Deathly Fighter *again*. Joked with my people
- The Saturday that started seeing "Once", one of the sweetest movies I've seen in a long time, followed by a walk down to Festival Latino, some delicious food and a conjunto band with a singer who sounded like a Latin version of a young Tommy Duncan outdoors in the sunshine.
Then a stop off at the High Five to see Eyes Stained Black with my friends Aeryn Musick and Josh Money goofing with Matt Holman and Nick Schuld with their perfectly fine electro-metal in the style of Demanufacture-era Fear Factory and a set of great, great songs.
Another walk, a slice of pizza, and Dave Holm's 40th birthday party at Cafe Bourbon Street. A kidnapping that ended with blindfolded Dave being put on stage where Brad Swiniarski was already playing piano and forcing him to sing "After the Gold Rush". The "reunited" completely without forethought Sovines featuring Jeff (Townsmen, Ugly Stick, Good Company, Crimson Sweet) Clowdus on drums barrelling through. Dave, Ed Mann, and Jeff Clowdus (3/4 of Ugly Stick) on stage pounding through songs they cowrote as teenagers and Minutemen and X tunes they grew up with. Dave's karaoke rendition of "Rosalita" featuring Matt Benz as "crazed fan" from the video. The guy dressed like a budget Toby Keith who showed up because he thought it was a karaoke night and sang an irony-free version of "I Swear" accompanied by some slowdancing I can assure you was not irony free. My arms around the shoulders of Keith Novicki and Shirley (um, yeah, last names and I aren't always the best of friends) chiming in on the high pitched backing vocals while Matt Benz, Ed Mann, and Bob Starker hilariously belted out "Emotional Rescue". My pal Heidi Palermo getting goaded into stage diving and me being the only one who manned up to catch her. My buddy Jon Witzky at the bar next door kicking the patio fence over, shouting "Let my people go!" and everything melting into one big party. Josh whose last name I forget closing the night with an a capella "The Parting Glass" that almost had me in tears.
All that was one Saturday.
- (A little early) trisket's housewarming party. So great to see all of you again, and a perfect pause between the Agora art thing and the Whiles CD release party.
- Comfest, as always. My friends, the sun, some great music (The Rackets, Terribly Empty Pockets, El Jesus De Magico, The Wells, The Means) and some less than great (The Cowboy Hillbilly Hippie Folk Band). Drenched in sweat, stuffed with food of varying degrees of healthfulness from a vegetarian pita to a giant rack of ribs, goofy on Labatts.
- Monday night a few weeks ago at Cafe Bourbon Street, maybe nine of us there, Andy Robertson spinning nothing but solid gold jams, buying me a shot, my fumbling through "Sixty Minute Man" like a desperate preacher trying to convince my friend Morgan that it's one of the greatest songs ever written. Talking about Kelly Link and Alan Deniro with my friend Susan behind the bar, and Einsturzende Neubauten with my buddy David on this side of the bar, and Portland with my friend Natasha.
- The Columbus Music Co-Op's parking lot blowout at Surly Girl Saloon. $3 PBR going to a good cause, 75% of the people I love in this town (might not sound like a big percentage but I love a lot of people), The Patsys knocking us all dead, The Lindsay with their swirling fog of overtones and thick, rumbling grooves, Earwig and Preston Furman rocking a crowd that really, really loved them even if I'm not that guy so much, and hugging and rambling conversations with friends old and new.
- The closing of Little Brothers and the last night which included my boy Brian trying to ditch a creepy admirer, fireworks in the distance, posing for photographs, too many shots, and not a stranger in the room. As my pal David, the only guy who saw more Sovines shows than *me*, said, "This isn't a funeral. It's a wake." And the venue that used to be my second home, where I'd sometimes see four shows a week, where I cried over an ex-girlfriend and Bill Kramer and Nate Gills had to talk me down, where I saw bands breakup and reunite, where they always remembered my name, went out in an appropriately celebratory blaze.
- Origins weekend, between pitchers of Stella at the Char Bar and the Japanese Steakhouse and bullshitting over Mojitos with princeofcairo on Sunday evening, and especially the cookout at bluelang and magentamom's house on Saturday evening. Then Saturday night going to Carabar to see The Grave Blankets with a new drummer and some two-drumset numbers that were rock incarnate, a band I like more every time I see them finally going in my mind from "reallly fucking good" to "insanely awesome". The Beatdowns back to a five piece with John Stickley on second guitar and vocals and playing with more fire than I've seen from them in a while, if you like rock and roll at all, Matt Benz has some songs that we're going to be talking about as classics in a few years, especially "Disconnected Girl", "Go Out Swinging", and the ballad "That's Where It All Went Wrong". No longer "from the ashes of the Sovines", but it's own ass-kicking entity with a fully-formed identity.
- That long night at Fado with shots of Tullamore, a friend's father getting ill, another friend's divorce getting finalized, loud talk and obscene jokes and an old redneck at the next table shouting "You all are some crazy motherfuckers, aren't you?" Yeah. Yeah we are. Even a chain bar in an overpriced shopping mall can be a rowdy honkytonk or a hotbed of discourse if you just give it half a chance (by extension, this past Friday at Fado we had an intense discussion about Stanley Kubrick and Cormac McCarthy).
All right, I think I'm heading to the North Market then lying in the park watching some of Jim Maneri'a straight-ahead project. Then probably a walk or a nap or both. What have all of you been up to, what's been turning your cranks?
If you've got sadness on your mind
Then that's exactly what you'll find
Forget your memories, they do no good
If you don't remember what you should
When you're thirsty
--Scott Miller, "Thirsty Fingers", from Bloodshot Records' tribute to Larry Brown