Muffin Man and Grumpy Girl

I didn't mention, last Saturday I went to see Zappa Plays Zappa at the Congress Theater. This is the 4th time I've seen a ZPZ show and I was set to be disappointed compared to the previous shows. Not at all, it was great.

I love Scheila Gonzalez: in addition to all her instrument playing, she also did lead vocals for Valley Girl. I'm still working through my feelings about Ben Thomas' vocals though. Sure he has tough shoes to fill, but I don't think that was it for me. It was more about my already strained relationship with the "guy humor" lyrics in some Zappa songs.

I worry about my "strained relationship" to a lot of humor. I don't think I have a bad sense of humor but I do admit that I find most comedy movies stupid (I did not laugh once during the Borat movie.) Gene Ween goofy voice songs grate on my nerves. I saw a few episodes of Aqua Teen Hunger Force and never need to see another one again. I've never even liked Mad Magazine! While I've gone this far in explaining my lack of humor, I'll go all the way and admit I don't understand why men find such great joy in repeating (line for line) entire scenes from Monty Python, The Simpson's, Family Guy. (I can say, at least, that those shows have made me laugh!)

I've strayed far from Frank Zappa.

Anyway, there is some footage out there from the Congress theater show but I'm going to go original instead and with a performance that is more instrumental.

Scepticism and Restraint

I must have known this at some time but today I discovered that I have an archaic and wonky way of spelling sceptical. Usually I realize that there are alternatives to my oddball tendencies. Sometimes I first learned a word while reading British books, and sometimes my spellings might have been more common 35 years ago when I learned the word, and somethings must just be weird affectations I picked up along the way.

For example, I write grey instead of gray and blonde instead of blond. (I think that last one comes from Bob Dylan)
My heart is with cataloguing instead of cataloging even though I have to be modern and up-to-date in my work writing to avoid being pretentious.
I cross my sevens and Z's (my 7th grade teacher did that), but I don't call Z's zeds.
I say soda more often than pop even though I grew up in Detroit.

But this sceptical thing threw me for a loop. I was writing a comment to a friend's blog post and the spelling corrector underlined my word in red. I knew it must want me to write skeptical but when I typed it out, while it didn't look wrong (I must see this word all the time!) it didn't exactly look right. So I Googled and read some stuff, apparently sceptical is more British/Australian and archaic.

In other news, I have shown GREAT RESTRAINT in my past two posts by not making musical connections to my thoughts. No one wanted to think about or hear any of the songs related to peanuts or circus and, while I am fascinated to confirm that skeptical really doesn't turn up in The Logical Song, I'm pretty sure I'm doing everyone a favor by not playing Supertramp*. Wait, Supertramp are Brits, they would have used sceptical!

For anyone curious:
wonderful
miracle
beautiful
magical
sensible
logical
responsible
practical
dependable
clinical
intellectual
cynical
radical
liberal
fanatical
criminal
acceptable
respecable
presentable
vegetable

*I say this solely on the basis of having it stuck in your head for days on end. This is in no way, shape or form a knock to Supertramp. Don't make me start arguing for an appreciation of Prog Rock and liberal use of Wurlitzer electric pianos!

Circus Peanuts....

are the worst candy ever.

Green

My bus goes past Cabrini Green every day. Last week I talked to a woman about how we had been seeing the same Pepto pink, wrecking ball exposed room for a month or so. Work seemed to have stopped on demolishing the final tower. Just tonight, I talked to a friend about the documentary Hoop Dreams and how I get on my bus at the now abandoned Pizza Hut you see in the movie and ride past the housing stack.



For the past 5+ years, the road in front of Cabrini Green has had the worst pot holes I have ever bounced over. I'm pretty sure L1-L4 of my spinal column has been jostled out of place by bad CTA bus shocks and potholes as deep as China. And then, magically, in the past month as the last residents were shipped out, the pot holes were finally filled.

December 8

Hey Hey Momma: Black Dog, White Shoes

Last night I was reading an online blurb where Robert Plant responded to Led Zeppelin reunion rumors saying:

“It’s almost as if people can’t see that I have other projects. It’s like a woman with white heels and a pencil skirt passing by will attract my eyes, but most will miss it completely.

What?

Do other people fail to see the woman in white heels or does Robert Plant fail to notice people other than women in pencil skirts? Does Robert Plant hate the bubble skirt trend as much as I did? I think the woman is Berber music and other people don't see her because they are distracted by Led Zeppelin. Maybe?

That's okay Robert, sometimes similes just don't work out the way we want them to.

*I think everyone knows how desperately I wish that outfit of Jimmy Page's was a white jumpsuit rather than (one of the most awesome ever) pants/jacket combos.

Because you're mine

Last week, one of my friends sent me a message asking why I was not posting to my blog. I've been too busy at work and too tired at home to think about anything for months now. I've been relaxing with rock star biographies and pop culture podcasts that allow me to believe that watching hours of TV on Netflix is actually an intellectual exercise. My weekends have been filled with multiple seasons of In Treatment, Lie to Me, 30 Rock, and a couple British mystery/cop shows I can't even remember the names of.

Last night, after a weekend spent in fuzzy sweatpants with at least 7 hours of TV, I decided I had to wash my hair, put some makeup on and leave the house in search of human contact. Or at least in search of beer and pizza at my favorite local beer and pizza spot -- Piece. On the way home, filled to the brim with Camel Toe (a beer that has apparently never won an award but I know for a fact has caused at least 3 people who are not lightweights to leave the bar feeling mildly crazy)I decided to stop at the used book store around the corner. I was hoping they also stocked new books because the last time I went into Borders I could not find a copy of Keith Richard's Life: I think I got there a day or two too early. No luck on my Rolling Stones fix but I did go through a pile and came across this gem.



On its own, this is nothing special, although I have been wanting to read it. What really sold me was the inscription. I love used books with inscriptions and love to think about what happened between the gift giving and the recipient giving it away. My favorite up until last night was in my Collected Works of John Cheever:
Dear Mom, Happy Birthday, Love Ace.

My new favorite:



The inscription is date 10/27/2004 but it looks like Connie required more than just walking the line or maybe Rich? (Ron?) started to swerve. Or maybe they are still going strong and Connie just didn't like the book.

Roadtrip to Croatia

I found myself stuck on the edge of my seat watching this pixellated video, hoping nothing too dramatic happened to ruin it for me. Listening to a lot of The Be Good Tanyas and Frazey Ford today, haven't listened to TVZ in awhile though.

Little Joe

I've already shared my August 16, 1987 story and revealed that my All-Time Elvis favorites are In the Ghetto and Suspicious Minds.

The only left for me to do today is eat a PB and Banana sandwich for lunch, listen to all the Elvis I own and fill in gaps with internet downloads, and share this video where, far exceeding the expectations set up in the lyrics, Little Joe not only blows on the slide trombone, he does it while hanging upside down and pole dancing.



I also just spent the last 30 minutes browsing through Elvis T-Shirts and commemorative junk.

Crawling out from Under the Rock

The wonderful, gloomy, cool, breezy, rainy weather today has inspired me to cancel all planned errands and stay inside and be cozy instead. In honor of today's Lollapalooza lineup --sorry kids, I hope you all brought trash bags to wear. It really is better than 100 degrees with humidity! -- I am finally going to listen to some Arcade Fire. What has it been (two years?) that you can't read anything about music and not see something about them? I couldn't name a song although I'm sure I must have heard something. Same with Animal Collective.

I have a general blur in my mind of a bunch of bands that are NPR and WFUV Music podcast darlings over the last three years. None of them have really stuck with me but I know some were enjoyable. So I have made myself an Arcade Fire station at Pandora and I'll do a stream of conscious reaction for 10 songs.

1. Neighborhood #3 Power Out - I don't think I like this creaky, whiney voice (says the woman who loves Neil Young)

2. Lisztomania by Phoenix - Yeah, I remember this from a Podcast. Do I hate pop music? this just seems silly. Not absolutely offensive but not something I need to hear again.

3. Karma Police by Radiohead - Oh yeah, I couldn't pick Radiohead out of a lineup either. They are a 90s band right? Okay, so the theme here is warbly, high voiced men? Why is/was Radiohead such a big deal? Are these the guys with the Broadway show now? Or is that Green Day? Ack, end of song with ear piercing feedback.

4. Kids by MGMT - feeling cool, I've heard of MGMT too. Kind of like this one: when the music isn't annoyingly perky there is a bit of a New Order Low Life sound.

5. Old Flame - hmmm, still don't like the lead voice, not loving the chorus aspect either.

6. Tenuous by Andrew Bird - okay, I know Chicago guy Andrew Bird. First voice I've really liked so far. I'm a sucker for the word gamey, singer-songwriter, multi-instrumentalist sorts though. Do I like what I know or what I hear? No I like the little cowboy sound and the goofy space noises.

7. Sunlight by Death Cab for Cutie - I'm starting to get indiepop fatigue. All of these men have a certain oompa loompa nasal vibration quality to their voices. Trying to reconcile this and put into context with old favorites like Jeremy Enigk and Matthew Sweet, in my mind's ear they had that too. I'm recalling that I can't listen to Sunny Day Real Estate or either of those guys for too long either without feeling drained.

8. Boy with a Coin by Iron and Wine into 12:51 by the Strokes- Thought about Jeremy Enigk all through these 2 songs. Saw Iron and Wine live a few years ago though.

9 Intervention - Okay, this one started and even with big big church organ sound I felt dread. Different singer though? I think I don't like Arcade Fire? I want to turn this off or go out into the rain and do errands .... but the vocals are growing on me and it is making me think of something. Can't think with this music on though. Psychedelic Furs song? Something around there, need to come back later or this will drive me nuts.

10. Clark Gable by The Postal Service - The Killing Moon! Echo and the Bunnymen. Now that the song stopped I can think again but how in the world did that song make me think of Ian McCulloch? Oh, I should be listening to this new song that sounds a lot like the other songs.

This 10 song experiment has mainly proved to me that I am hopelessly stuck in the past. I'm always surprised by the younger people I talk to(mostly women, the men I know who listen to music seem to have broader tastes) who say they don't know about a pre-1980s artist because they weren't born yet. We do have these magic inventions that record music! You can even listen to the music of dead people! But I am oppositely bad, I'm more in touch with music made when I was 2 than when I was 32.

I'll work on it, familiarity with music tends to bring more appreciation. One-time listening on my laptop is not really the way to fall in love. I will admit though, that as I type this up I am listening to my new Pandora station (The Killing Moon) and feeling put out that they are giving me Oasis.

Chaps and an Eyepatch

My niece is six years old and interested in Webkinz. My sister bought me a stuffed iguana so I could adopt him and play online with them too. I've spent the past month spinning the Wheel of Wow, answering quiz questions aimed at 5-year olds, making two-dimensional hamburgers, finishing lots of word games and gambling with bingo games, virtual scratch-off tickets, and slot machines. All in order to win Webkinz money that I can use to send goofy virtual gifts to my niece and sister and buy stuff for Stooges.

I'm pretty good at the word games and I am kicking ass at "Make Eleven Solitaire." It's rewarding to know that my college education has prepared me to quickly make combinations of 11.

7 + 4
3 + 8
5 + 6
6 + 3 + 2
9 + Ace + Ace
4 + 4 + 2 + Ace

With my domination of Webkinz World (not counting any games involving aiming, shooting or quickly using the arrow keys) I've been able to earn a lot of points. In addition to sending my niece virtual packets of seeds to plant in her virtual garden and my sister a tiara and a hot dog, I've been able to set Stooges up in a swinging bachelor pad. He's got a bedroom decorated like a garage with a zen bed. He's got a fridge in his kitchen that looks like a giant speaker. He has three giant TVs in his den. (Note to Webkinz Central -- your Electronics store is shamefully short of everything but TVs. I bought the only musical instrument you have, a "for decoration only" guitar, but that is it: no stereos, no keyboards, no turntables!) Best of all though, I bought Stooges a pair of chaps and an eye patch and ever since he's felt like a rock star. He can't sing or play music but that didn't matter, he looked the part. At least until the other day when my sister sent him a Carmen Miranda fruit hat.

it goes well with his eyepatch and chaps.

Taarna, Queen of Teenage Boy Boob and Bondage Fantasy

I can't explain why I watched Heavy Metal this morning; I've put it off every other day since 1981. But it's been in my Netflix "Watch it Now" queue and after a long hot walk to the Farmer's Market, I came home, plopped down in my air-conditioned reading nook, and clicked "Play."

I've got nothing against ridiculously large breasts on top of weirdly small waists or movies in which every woman who comes on the screen faces the audience head on to disrobe and then dons dominatrix gear, but really, the movie stinks. The integration of music and action isn't very good and even in terms of retro animation it leaves a lot to be desired.



I remember seeing ads for the movie when it came out and hearing the Don Felder song on the radio all the time. The movie in my imagination was way cooler. In my version Taarna would have a better ride than a giant pigeon. Maybe that Corvette the astronaut in the first scene gets to drive?

I Don't Feel Young

I've been listening to The Knot a lot lately.



I see that Wye Oak's new album --My Neighbor, My Creator -- is out, I should listen to it and see if I like it. Maybe I will do that tomorrow while I wait for my couch to be delivered. When I am not giving the peace sign and saying "Peace and Love, Peace and Love" like Ringo Starr has asked us all to do at noon in honor of his 70th birthday. Come on, you can do that for Ringo Starr, can't you? And while those indie rock sad sacks may not feel young, Ringo still does: he says he feels like he's 24.

Talking about Rick Danko

I came across this very fun youtube thing by a guy(?) named hippocles.



That scene from Festival Express, with Janis Joplin and Jerry Garcia singing Ain't No More Cane, is really pretty haunting.

Cheese Curds and Levon Helm

This weekend I had one of the my best ever music experiences ... and a lot of fun. I took Amtrak up to Milwaukee, checked myself into a hotel on Wisconsin Avenue, and walked to Summerfest where I people watched (lots of Rush t-shirts), drank beer, ate several kinds of food that was dipped in, brushed or fried in butter/oil. And I saw Levon Helm.

In addition to the expected old geezer crowd there were two kids in front of me (maybe they were 17?) who were so excited to be there. They kept jumping, yelling "Oh My God" and hugging each other at the beginning of each song. I'm not great at memorizing set lists (unlike my Grateful Dead and Phish following friends) so I can't remember exactly what songs and in what order things were played, It was a real treat for anyone who loves The Band though.

They opened with Ophelia and then did The Shape I'm In. I know Long Black Veil was in there before they went off into Deep Elum Blues and Tennessee Jed. In the middle somewhere they definitely played It Makes No Difference and toward the end we heard The Weight. There was an incredible encore of I Shall Be Released.

You can't go back in time. It's not 1976 and far from being Winterland it was Summerfest. So many Band songs could have made the show a lame and cheesy substitute for a time past. Instead, it was a different but incredibly talented group of musicians playing music I love. Larry Campbell and Brian Mitchell were great.

Rick Danko is always going to be my favorite-favorite but Levon Helm is my other favorite-favorite.

Speak to Me

I can't feel too bad about my current dilemma: my fancy new apartment is so big that when I have the stereo on in the living room, I can't hear it in the kitchen.

I need to get a little speaker dock for my iPod. The speakers on my laptop don't cut it and I am tired of plugging and unplugging the thing and moving it with me from room to room.

I think I've narrowed my choices down to:
Philips DS7550 Fidelio Portable Speaker Dock about $130


Yamaha PDX-30 Speaker Dock for iPod and iPhone about $150


Bose® SoundDock® Portable Digital Music System $400


I'll probably go with a cheaper model since I think I need to replace my speaker speakers too. I've had them for about a decade and they were scavenged from my friend C's garage. I have no idea how long they were there or where they came from. I keep getting a lot of static from one of them to the point it is hard to listen to anything.

I really hate shopping for stuff like this. The online reviews from "normal people" are pretty obnoxious with lots of sniping back and forth. Who knew that Bose could raise such hackles and stir such emotion?

Rock 'n Roll Never Forgets?

I've been busy and feeling pulled in a lot of directions.

Latin Paleography class.
Latin study group.
Staff training and evaluations.
A couple dumb dates.
Scraping wax build-up and scouring old kitchen floors.
Unsticking windows and ungunking pipes.
Being hot and lazy.
Out-of-town company.
Out-of-town me.
Impatiently waiting for my couch to arrive.
Artfully arranging my bocce balls into bowls.

Reading, music, relaxing, thinking, writing ... those things have all been shoved aside and I'm feeling really crabby about it. The past month has brought some great things too though... many of them culinary. The Eat to the Beat dinner was a lot of fun and the food was great. The chefs were inspired by music from London Calling and Paul Kahan was awesome. I've also gone to birthday brunch for my friend A. in the restaurant in an old library branch, gone to a Clandestino dinner (kind of like a rave for foodies), and took my sister to Jam,the new brunch spot around the corner.

Shoe Polish

I've dyed my hair.
Actually, I've had my hair "glazed."
Like a doughnut.

This is the first time since I was 17 that I've colored my hair and it is pretty subtle. No one has even noticed at work.



None-the-less, I feel far removed from classy Grey Goddess Emmylou and in touch with my Siouxsie Sioux side. I've also been thinking about a high school friend, M, who used to dye her hair black and had the knick-name "Shoe Polish." M. loved Joy Division and every time we went to the Detroit Institute of Arts (which we did fairly often now that I think of it) we would go to the Northern Renaissance section to look at a portrait we thought looked like Ian Curtis. I really need to get back to the DIA to see who the artist was and to spend some time with the Diego Rivera murals.

Five Years

It dawned on me a few minutes ago that I've lived in this apartment for five years.
While most of me loves the hope and freshness of moving, at some stage in the process I always get very blue. I recognize the feelings of hope and anticipation as being the same as the last time I moved. I'll be standing in an empty room and feeling excited about the dinner parties and visits and happy moments I'll likely have there and remember having that same feeling in an empty room I just moved out of. I'll wonder who will sleep in my new room with me, if I'll always live in my new apartment alone and if this will be the last place I live alone ... and then remember I wondered that in my last apartment too.

And then I usually contemplate just how bad the water pressure will be, whether or not there will be ants in the kitchen and what I should do about my old curtains not fitting my new windows.

Life moves on.

I'm like a one-eyed cat, peepin' in a sea-food store ....

Call me crazy but I love packing. I wander around the house and look at stuff; I listen to music. What's not to love? During the day I have big pots of tea and at night I open a bottle of wine.

I'm also playing the "100 Things" game where I have to get rid of 100 things. I keep a log of things I get rid of in my journal on another site where I visit a group of online friends I've had since .... 2003? I'm secretly hoping it will be 200 things or maybe even 300 things. My new apartment is bigger but I like a less cluttered place. My desire for the "Museum of Round" and collection of burned out tubes battles with my desire for Japanese simplicity flair.



My success is mixed. I did a good job getting rid of a dozen mystery paperbacks and yet I just packed up a bunch of beeswax candle stubs. You know, for the next time I melt them down to make a new candle.

The kitchen is turning out to be an epic failure. I've inherited the trait for emotional connections to dishes from my mom and sister. And the cookbooks are silly, I have not gotten rid of one even though I rarely use them.

I'm posting photos of some of my favorites and listening to Catherine Russell doing Kitchen Man.

I'm ridiculous tonight

I've found a new apartment and will be moving the first week of June.
I'll talk about the place later, but tonight I am wandering around and feeling disconnected from where I live but not yet in the new place. It's too early to really pack and I have no boxes anyway. Even so, I am antsy and want to get started with some sort of cleaning/readiness project.

This mostly consists of wandering from room to room with my step ladder, looking at what I have on top shelves ... with a glass of wine in my hand and singing the following snippets:

ju ju eyeballs
nah nah na-na-na-na
nah ha
fEEt down BEEELOW his knees

(pause)
dun dun dOOO dOOO dUHHHHH
wah
dun dun

(pause)
nah nah nah crACKpot
lola bah bah bah wop wop

TOE JAM FOOTBALL
oh yeah
MONKEY FINGER

(pause)
hAIr down below his Kneeees
got to be a joker blah blah
do what he please

I've finally put myself out of my own misery by listening to the song and doing a sing along.

Did I mention there is also dance that involves kicking my right leg out periodically and doing exaggerated butt thrusts? It's a good night to be me.

May 4

Eat to the Beat

I am super excited.
To celebrate the fact that, as of today, I am debt free and have six months of emergency savings in my account, I decided to blow some cash. I signed up to attend this fundraising event:



Thursday, May 27th at 7 p.m. at Blackbird

Join Sound Opinions co-hosts Jim DeRogatis and Greg Kot for one-of-a-kind experience celebrating the two best things in life: Food and Music.

Chefs Paul Kahan of Blackbird and The Publican and Mindy Segal of Hot Chocolate are preparing a spectacular multi-course dinner inspired by Jim and Greg's musical choices.

Courses will be expertly paired with wine provided by Lush Wine and Spirits.
And the conversation will be provided by you!

Your XXX donation covers one guest and gratuity. A portion of your donation is tax deductible, and all proceeds benefit Sound Opinions and Chicago Public Radio.

Blackbird is located at 619 West Randolph in Chicago.

Limited seats are available, so early reservations are recommended.

Sound Opinions is the world’s only rock and roll talk show hosted by prominent music writers Jim DeRogatis and Greg Kot. Jim DeRogatis is a lecturer at Columbia College in Chicago and writes about music and culture for Vocalo.org. He previously spent 15 years as the pop music critic at the Chicago Sun-Times. Greg Kot has been the music critic at the Chicago Tribune since 1990.

Paul Kahan is the Executive Chef/Partner of Blackbird, Big Star, Avec and The Publican. Kahan was honored by his selection as a James Beard nominee for Outstanding Chef in 2007 and 2009 and winner of James Beard Best Chef of the Midwest in 2004. Passionately seasonal, unconventionally creative and dedicated to the inspiration of classical cuisine, Kahan has earned the praise of many who claim him to be one of America’s most influential working chefs.

Mindy Segal is pastry creator specializing in contemporary American cuisine, placing a modern twist on traditional classics. After refining her craft as pastry chef at such prestigious venues as Spago, Charlie Trotter’s and Ambria, Segal launched her solo venture, Hot Chocolate Restaurant and Dessert Bar in Chicago. She is the recipient of the Jean Banchet award for Best Celebrity Pastry Chef in Chicago, Chicago Magazine’s Pastry Chef of the Year and the James Beard Foundation nomination for Outstanding Pastry Chef in the Country in 2007, 2008 and 2009.

Lush Wine & Spirits features artisanal wine, beer, and spirits from around the globe. With three neighborhood shops, Roscoe Village, West Town, and the University Village, Lush Wines and Spirits quenches thirst seven days a week.

I download Sound Opinions every week and listen to tons of public radio. I don't always love the opinions expressed on Sound Opinions but I love the fact that people are thinking about music in smart ways and talking about it. I've learned about bands from the show and remembered old favorites.

The last few times my sister has come to visit, we've had great meals at Hot Chocolate but I've never been to any of Paul Kahan's places. I'm excited to see what talented chefs come up with when inspired by music.

Oh, and there will be wine there too!

Hall & Oates All Over

Everywhere I turn I find Hall and Oates lately.

One of my readers has suggested that when I am done with jumpsuits I might want to explore music mustaches and John Oates would be the man to beat. I went to Lala the other week and my friend C. had been listening to a Hall and Oates tribute album. Saturday I had a long conversation about the album H2O.

I do not have one H&O song on my iPod and I'm going to remedy that before my Soldier Field 10 Mile run.

Whooa Ohhhh here they come ....

Life and Flowers

Life has gotten in the way of ....life.

I've had no time for any of the fun things I like to do day to day. I am behind on returning phone calls and text messages, I've missed several weeks of sewing studio, I have not been to yoga in weeks, I have made no progress on my Ozzy or my David Bowie biographies, and I have not written here since before taxes were due.

On the plus side, I am really looking forward to May and sticking close to home. Thursday I ordered used copies of all the editions of Da Capo Best Music Writing and I already have 2000. 2002 and 2009 in hand

May also has May Crowning, my favorite church music season after Lent.
Hail Holy Queen Enthroned Above
Immaculate Mary
On This Day, O Beautiful Mother
Dear Lady of Fatima
and best of all
Bring Flowers of the Rarest.

May Crowning also has some of the worst music though .. like that horrible Hail Mary, Gentle Woman song. My 8th grade boyfriend had to wear a yellow robe and do a liturgical dance to that one.

I was not the 1983 May Queen at my school. I was not even selected to be in the May Queen's court. I think the dirty looks I was giving to the crazy ex-nun who hated rock 'n roll, my feathered hair, and my tendency to wear purple eye shadow after school disqualified me.

I was in the choir though and, if I do say so myself, our songs were way better than this fruity one.

Jackie and Georgia

Hold the Cigarettes ....

but please give me a car and month vacation for a road trip.



I'm really burned out and I don't know that a few days in San Diego is going to fix that. I hit a wall of stress and anxiety about a week ago and have been trying to carve out some peace for myself since then. The moments of peace have brought me closer to recognizing that I've felt this way before.

I'm tired.
I'm not content.
I'm rootless.
I feel stuck where I am.

Also, if the Road Trip Fairy is reading this and takes requests: Can I please have this one?

Winner Takes It All

Sorry ABBA, you do not meet my criteria for rock 'n roll so none of you are even contenders for best jumpsuit. No, I can't list my criteria but I know it when I hear it.

Winner Takes it All but you guys just get the booby prize of occasionally making my running playlist.

What Music Criticism Could Be

I just got around to listening to this NPR interview with Anthony DeCurtis about his book Blues and Chaos: : The Music Writing of Robert Palmer.

I've been thinking a lot (and writing and deleting a few posts about) my frustration with my own writing and my own (lack) of ideas and insights. I have a tendency to journal and recollect rather than add anything to my listening experience or understanding of music.

In the interview, Anthony DeCurtis, in talking about music criticism, says something like:

It doesn't have to be somebody's first draft, which is most of what I think I read online... a lot of it has passion, a lot of it has conviction, a lot of it is smart but none of it is particularly well written.

The Hair, the ears, the smoke, the lyrics..... ahhhhhhhhhhhh haaaaaa

A week or two ago I was talking to a friend who gave me the stink eye about 80s new wavy music and Depeche Mode in particular.

A day or two later I heard Somebody while eating gyoza lunch.



I don't care how creepy and crazy the lyrics are ... I still love Depeche Mode.
And I'm adding this to my list of the post punk use of piano songs and some day will write a fabulously insightful and intelligent article about that.

Too Busy

I've been too busy or too tired to write lately.
All I've got to offer for a week or more is :

1. I had a very fun dream last night that I was Kelly Garrett and I had either fallen in love with or I was pretending to have fallen in love with a man who was a helicopter pilot. I was in some sort of net under a helicopter and wearing skis, waiting to jump off and ski down a hill. It was very exciting and my dream had a 70s TV show, wocka-wocka, smooth-jazz soundtrack. I blame this dream on:

A. my recent searching for sorority girl infanticide movies
B. a New Yorker article I read about a crazy couple who tried to save elephants in Africa (and either let their son ride in a net under a helicopter or disposed of bodies by dumping them out of a net beneath the helicopter
C. the fact that I need a date


2. I'm disturbed that I've heard Isley Brothers Who's that Lady while out an about town lately and I am 100% certain it is because of those stupid mop commercials.

3.
I am fascinated with David Bowie's mime (say that in your mind as meem, please)fascination. Like absolutely everything involving Andy Warhol, that is about 5 times too long. I hope you just watched the first minute or so. Either way, you earned yourself a treat. Go listen to David Bowie's Andy Warhol.

4. finally, I've had several episodes of what I call "doggy ear" lately. Where I hear squeally noises and high pitched buzzes. I figure it is related to those sounds that younger people hear and old people can't. I'm crossing over to old lady ears and some sounds are dying.

Butter Lamb

I've been looking all morning for an online recording of the Agnus Dei the way I like it sung. We did a suburban Catholic Church version that was sung in the round:

Lamb of Gaaaahd, you take away, the
(lamb of Gaaaahd, you take away the)
((lamb of Gaaaahd, you take away the))

No luck though, so I will leave my Easter post at a butter lamb.

Morbid Baby Mystery

About six months ago, my sister came to visit and we were watching some sort of BBC or PBS mystery when I had a memory of a plot. I'm not sure if it was a book I read, a Charlie's Angels episode (RIP John Forsythe!) or a Four O'Clock Movie. The plot details are hazy.

The setting is a private all-girl's school or sorority.
There is a former student or female detective who goes back to investigate.
I think there is some sort of building project that uncovered an infant's skeleton that was put down a chute of an old building.
I think there is a matron in the building, maybe a wealthy donor, who ends up being the girl who killed the baby. Or maybe the baby was stillborn.

This seems specific enough to find but I haven't found anything that seems right so far. Every few weeks I think about it again though.

Last night I downloaded a recorded book by Catherine Aird called A Late Phoenix:

Decades ago, Germans bombed the village at Lamb Lane. But now redevelopment is under way. During the excavation, a workman finds the skeleton of a pregnant girl with a bullet lodged in her spine. The trail is definitely stone cold when C. D. Sloan takes on the case.

This is not the right plot, although I think I did read it at some point during college, but it inspired me to look a bit harder. I've just spent my morning reading the plot summaries of Charlie's Angels episodes. No luck, but I did find these that may have mixed in my mind with other plots from other bad TV shows and 70s movies:

Episode 65 Teen Angels: When a murder occurs at a posh all-girls school, the Angels assume false identities only to discover a ring of girls involved in drug and alcohol abuse. Guest star: Audrey Landers

Episode 79 Angels on Campus: Tiffany and the Angels return to college when several of Tiffany's sorority sisters are kidnapped. They uncover a white slavery ring with links to a handsome professor and Tiff's college house mother.

Speaking of infanticide and 70s movies ...



More music videos should include creepy dioramas and mannequins.

He's Got Nets in the Sky

Listening to Dear Companion by Ben Sollee and Daniel Martin Moore this morning while putting an arm roast in the crock pot, drinking a big pot of tea and cleaning house. This is a great rainy morning.



I like a good record store performance: if I had the money, time and a car I think a road trip to visit still open independent records stores would be tons of fun. I'd buy one CD and one magazine per visit and then listen to the new-to-me music on the drive to the next town and read the magazine at the dinner breaks.

Zombie Liturgical Dancers

The first 4 minutes of this left me speechless. It's too bad it turned into a medley. A medley with Cher.

Secret Secret

My friend C. is a lot smarter than I am and is a musician to boot.

He occasionally borrows books I have from undergrad about medieval art criticism and when I see him next he has interesting things to say about them. I nod my head and pretend I remember what I skimmed through 20 years ago before a test. In the past, we've read Trollope's Palliser novels and War and Peace at the same time and had good discussions, but for the life of me I still can't get through Varieties of Religious Experience or Proust, two of his favorites.

C. also makes posts about music now and again: intelligent, thought provoking posts about things like piano, punk rock and the middle class living room. I'm not sure that he has any interest in spandex jumpsuits at all though. Luckily, C. is not a music snob and we've shared many wine moments singing along with Steve Perry. Even so, I still feel vindicated when he posts a link to articles like this one from Salon.

Awesome Al

Ever since Willie Mitchell died in January, I seem to be hearing Al Green all over the place. That's fine with me.

Words

With my mind full of Bob Dylan already, I woke up this morning and saw this Facebook post made by my friend J., who splits her Wednesdays at work in the morning and doing a volunteer gig at a coffee shop in a community bookstore in the afternoon.

half-office, half-café; half-decaf with half-and-half, half-dollar, half-sandwich, half-price? Ooooh, we're halfway there? I'm half the man I used to be...

It put me in the mood to watch this scene.


Also, songs in my iPod with half in the title:
Half a Person (Smiths)
Half Breed (Cher)
World Half Over (The Glands)
Half a World Away (R.E.M.)
Half Mast Inhibition (Mingus)
Half as Much (Ray Charles)

Why am I up at 11:38?

Because now it is Bob Dylan night and I'm into Planet Waves and Forever Young and Last Waltz.



For the record:
Love the pimp hat
Have I posted yet about the pleather, 70s car coats?
Love the crazy facial hair but glad I don't have to kiss it
The Band order of preference: Rick Danko; Levon Helm; Garth Hudson/Richard Manuel (won't pick); Robbie Robertson.
While we're at it Beatles order of preference: George/John (won't choose); Ringo; Paul.
4:57 or 2:49? 4:57

How to Throw the Blade

This is my absolute favorite Bob Dylan song.
Okay yes, I might pick another song on a different day but this one is always top three. And yes, I also love the White Stripes version and some days like it better than the Bob Dylan one.

I love Emmylou in the song and the Scarlet Rivera fiddle. All-in-all, I think Desire is my favorite Bob Dylan album.

Pete Seeger meets Steven Tyler

I'm taking a yoga class at the Old Town School of Folk Music. Tonight, while waiting to twist myself into pigeon and triangle, I heard a disturbingly off-key rendition of Dream On.

While searching the song on YouTube just now, I heard several even worse live versions for 1977. Not sure what was up that year but Steven Tyler was a slurring mess who couldn't carry a tune in all the shows I saw clips from. I couldn't take it any more and skipped the 1973 versions posted and went straight for a more modern, MTV video. Bonus points for a piano that comes flying out of the sky!

Just Like Me, Last Part (Short Story)

Jane Tomczak wasn't my friend.

After so many years, I can't say if she even wanted to be. Jane might have just wanted to borrow my purple corduroys and white leather, high-top Nikes with the silver swoosh. If she had hoped for a real friend, I let her down.

We were in Junior High and discovering that tiny things, like a minuscule difference in how plump your lips were, could make all the difference in how pretty the boys thought you were. A cowlick could ruin your feathered hair and your popularity standing. Even two girls who fit into the same pair of Jordache jeans could have differently admired butts.

I was also learning that a popular girl (with the right lips, feathered hair and butt) could still be unsure of herself. It was flattering and reassuring to have someone around who wanted to be just like me. It made me feel better about myself to be envied. I was never mean to Jane but that doesn’t make me feel any better. She was an audience and an admirer, not a friend. We both knew who the other kids liked better and I never thought much about her beyond how she made me feel about myself.

The grownups all thought we were friends though. We were in the same Sunday school class and the teacher commented on how alike we were: same age; same straight, brown hair; same fair skin and same freckles on the nose. In grade school, we sat by each other and hung our coats on neighboring hooks in the closet -- Catholic schools were big on lining kids up and organizing them alphabetically. Eventually, we formed a bond around our common interest in boys, Van Halen and eye shadow.

Jane was adopted and her parents were older and strict. Her sister, Jenny, was a burn-out who skipped most of her high school classes, hung out behind the mall and smoked weed. Jane's parent's were determined not to fail with their younger child too. Even though my parents were divorced, I was still a good girl from a good family and Jane was sometimes allowed to come to my house after school. I never went to Jane’s house though, she was not allowed to have friends over.

She loved my bedroom. I had a record player and was allowed to close my door and play Journey Escape, Foreigner 4 and Rolling Stones Tattoo You over and over and over. I was allowed to hang pictures of Eddie Van Halen on my wall. When I was 13, I was even allowed to wear eye makeup and lip gloss. My dresser was covered in bottles of hair spray and jars of goop. After school, when I changed out of my uniform, I pulled designer jeans and puffy sleeved, Joan Jettesque tops out of my drawers. Jane wasn't allowed to do or wear any of those things.

It’s not like I was allowed to run wild or wear whatever I wanted; I fought long, hard battles in the fitting room with my mom to get those designer jeans. She made me bend over and try to touch my toes and she'd try to cram her fingers into the back pockets. She'd tell me they were too tight and send me off to get the next size up. When we finally bought those not-as-tight jeans to the counter, I had to pull out the birthday and Christmas money I had saved. My mom saw no difference(other than cost) between Gloria Vanderbilt, Jordache and perfectly good jeans from JCPenney.

8th grade was a big year for both of us, I started going with my first boyfriend and Jane ran away from home for the first time. She came to my house and when her mom called to see if we had seen her, my mom took her home. She was grounded for much of that school year and I didn't miss her, I had the boyfriend. When Jane started to come by again, she was different. She mostly wanted a place to change clothes and put on makeup before heading to the park to meet her own boyfriend. I could tell she wanted me to be impressed and maybe envious of her for now: he was an older boy, a smoking boy, a boy who drank, a boy who came from a house where the parents were not around much, and a boy with a mini bike. I let her borrow the clothes but I wasn’t impressed or envious. I was different by then too: I had replaced the pictures of Eddie Van Halen with pictures of androgynous male underwear models; my allowance money was saved for Izod polo shirts that I could layer and wear with the collars up; I was wearing skirts down to my ankles instead of tight jeans; and I was even contemplating a short-in-the-back, asymmetrical hair cut to replace my feathered bi-level. I handed over the clothes and never saw Jane (or them) again. It was the summer before high school and we were going to different schools.

During freshman year, Jane ran away again. When her mom called our house to see if she was there, we learned that she had been lying for a long time and saying she was with at our house. Jane Tomczak wasn't my friend and I'm ashamed by how self-centered I was and how little I cared about the troubled, lonely girl that people said was a lot like me. If I ever heard how her story ended, I don't remember now. I assume her parents found her and brought her home.

That year,Bon Jovi's Runaway was all over the radio and to this day, every time I hear it I imagine Jane, on the back of a mini bike, wearing my Jordache jeans, sputtering down a suburban side street.

I Fall Somewhere Between the Babies and the Bird

From Science Friday on NPR.

Deus Salve o povo ....

My friend C. and I had dinner and two bottles of wine tonight and, based on how impressed I believe he was by my knowledge of the lyrics, my great dance moves, and my superior air tambourine, I think he wants me to reenact some scenes from Godspell during his wedding reception. Some people bring toasters, others bring their best hippie John the Baptist impersonations. I'm not sure if L., his fiancee, would be equally excited about the idea . . .but who does not love Christian Rock Opera?

Would You Be an Outlaw for My Love

So long, Alex Chilton. Thirteen is one of my favorites.

Shine a Light

For a birthday surprise a friend sent me an Amazon gift certificate. Since I get free shipping at Amazon, I've decided to spread out my purchases and get a new treat every week or two for awhile. First purchase (I can't believe I don't have it already) is Exile on Main Street.

Best BBQ Beef Brisket Beer Bloat Brunch Big Brass Bed

I just met a friend for birthday weekend BBQ. We went to Smoque and then went to have cocktails. Right before we parted ways to waddle home, a certain favorite song came up in conversation. So I put it on my iPod while I was waiting for the train to pull in to the station. If you've never stood on the L platform on a sunny spring day, with the sun at your back and your shadow across the tracks, watching the wind blow your shadow hair up and down almost in sync with the opening harmonica of Out on the Weekend, you've missed out. Even on a boring day, that harmonica is possibly my 30 favorite seconds of music out of all music. Today, right as it ended, I stepped into the car, turned to face the door, and saw sunbeam-God playing peek-a-boo behind a sky full of puffy grey clouds.

Sludge Metal

I've really been enjoying Jake Leg on Blue Record by Baroness. According to wikipedia they are a "sludge metal" band, there are a whole lot of sub-genres in the metal world. I'm going to listen to the whole album on Lala to decide if I want to buy it. I love the cover (very Beardsley) but I'm avoiding looking at it more closely: I'm pretty sure I'm going to find revolting, rotty fish eyeballs and other disgusting stuff if I look at details. Right now, I just want to enjoy the pretty blue fish and naked ladies.

I went on the hunt for the New Yorker article I remembered from a few years ago and was surprised to discover it was published in 2003. I'm going to re-read it tonight: Jake Leg by Dan Baum.

Marshmallows and Carnations

I hate the garish green carnations that are all over the place this time of year. I stopped off at the grocery store on my way home from work and walked into a wall of them right in front of the doors and next to the carts.

Who is buying all these green carnation and babies breath bouquets? Who do these people give them to? I see plenty of people stumbling around town this weekend, drinking green beer and puking in the alleys. Do men bring their Guinness buddies flowers at the beginning of the night? Or maybe they give them to their girlfriends in anticipation of doing something annoying over the next 48 hours? I suppose many of the bouquets go to corned-beef and cabbage making moms and grandmas.

After thinking about how ugly I thought the green carnations were, I thought about The For Carnation. I have both Marshmallows and Fight Songs but can't for the life of me remember what the songs sound like. I know I listened to them fairly often in the late 90s but I'm drawing a blank: I just have a vague, Slint-y sound in my mind. I've put it on my "to listen to" list but don't feel like doing that this weekend.

I Want to Be the Wandering Sailor

For someone who has to work all day on birthday weekend, I'm pretty cheerful. I keep walking around the book stacks singing Brian Eno. I always sing Brian Eno when I'm goofy feeling.

I think it might be because I came in this morning and my boss was in his office blasting (as much as you can blast on a crappy old computer) Psychedelic Furs' Love my Way.

Birthday Weekend

Birthday Weekend has officially begun!
On Monday Fabio, Brett Michaels, Will.i.am, Phil Lesh, Mike Love and most importantly Dee Snider, Sly Stone and I, will be counting our grey hairs and crows feet. Lightenin' Hopkins didn't make it into 2010 but I'll be toasting him.

I celebrate "birthday week" and have decided it starts tonight. Monday birthdays, especially when you have a day long symposium about maps, are not super exciting, but that's okay. Low-key sounds good this year.

Plan for tonight:

Make birthday playlist, in addition to birthday boys I will add the dearly departed, Lester Young and download an H.P. Lovecraft book on tape. Are there any songs with Julius Caesar or Beware the Ides of March in the lyrics?

Eat rice and beans for dinner

Wash dishes



I'm going to consider those painful 11 seconds payment in full for honoring 51 years of Fabio.

Radar Love

My friend H. from Utrecht has not been online anywhere lately. I'm hoping Amazing Dutch Superstars in Red Hotpants will lure her out of hiding:



I wonder how many concert goers you could take out with a flying guitar?

Corey Hart is *not* Dead

I just had to be schooled in the Coreys by some friends. It appears I don't know who the dead Corey is but I remember his friend with the bowl cut.

Cilantro

My friend J. has a hard time buying bunches of fresh cilantro, even when she's making curry, because she hates to waste the remaining bunch. I'm one of those people who loves cilantro and can't imagine not finding another use for the leftovers -- chop it up and put it on avocado, add some to salad, put on scrambled eggs, make a quick pesto and make a cheesy toast sandwich. I've got her hang up with parsley though, I could fill a barn with all the bad parsley I've tossed in my lifetime.

Even though I waste all sorts of money all the time, the thought of wasting $.75 on certain things will drive me crazy. If I determine a reasonable price for something and find that it actually costs more, I will put the purchase off forever, sometimes spending more in the process.

I've had three books on my "want to read" list for the past month but I have not purchased or ILL'ed them yet. Best Music Writing 2009, available for less than $4 on Amazon but every time I think of it, I don't feel like waiting for it (!) and want to just go over to Borders at lunch and buy it for $15. But that now is way too much and I feel like I should wait until I have enough credit card points to get an Amazon gift certificate and get the cheap one. And now it is March 2010 and I have not yet read the Best Music Writing of 2009.



I also want to pick up these two. Ozzy I should just ILL but David Bowie I should have in my personal library.

1995

For several months in 1995, I lived in a really crummy apartment with two guys, a doberman, the ugliest yellow stucco walls, and million cockroaches. We didn't have many CDs and every now and again, I'll hear a song and be transported back to those months and the music we listened to over and over. Ween's Voodoo Lady and I'm right back there remembering the good times. Anything from Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness and I feel trapped, miserable and like I have a Jagermeister hang-over again. Or maybe everyone feels that way when listening to that album?

One album though, while I rarely listen to it, often comes to mind when I feel like someone is invading my personal space. In addition to the ugly walls and cockroaches, we also had an annoying landlord. He took forever to unclog a sink or fix a toilet and always made a point to snoop around when he was there. One day when he was over doing something or another, I decided the best way to make him want to leave as soon as possible was to put on John Frusciante.

The Horses, the Horses, The Horses ... are on the Track!

I woke up this morning with an overwhelming desire to listen to Patti Smith's Hey Joe. While I was listening, I read a message from my friend J. who was telling me that my last post sent her looking for her B&S so she could listen to Judy and Her Dream of Horses.

It's Horse Day!

While my sister and I were listening to JahDoH, I asked her if she had a girl in her grade that was obsessed with horses. In my grade it Karen G. and I think there is at least one in every grade school class. Karen G. had horse folders, horse shaped erasers, horse pencil cases. She doodled horses and if My Little Pony had been made back then I'm sure she would have owned them all. On the playground, Karen G. always wanted to play horses, a game that involved galloping around and making whinny noises. That's all I remember about Karen G. until, on the first day of 6th grade, she arrived with her unibrow plucked into two, shapely arches.

In honor of Horse Day, I'm not going to gallop to work (although I better get up and go to work soon!)but I'm going to listen to an old favorite instead. I'll listen to the Old and In the Way version on the walk to the bus.



I was talking about that scene (okay, the snakeskin boots)a few weeks ago.

Haggis and Black Pudding

My sister just left after a long weekend visit to Chicago. We spent a lot of time talking and drinking cocktails (the official cocktail from this visit was a ginger-lime Rickey) and listening to music. At one point, I put some Belle & Sebastian on and D. asked what we were listening to. I could not remember what year If You're Feeling Sinister came out so I looked it up and read the following Wikipedia description:

They are one of the best-known Scottish bands and are one of the most celebrated groups of the 1990s.

That got me thinking, how well known are other Scottish bands? What bands can I name off the top of my head? All I could come up with were:
Arab Strap
Donovan
Nazareth
Big Country
Bay City Rollers
Cocteau Twins

I was able to come up with a few more when I put my mind to the task a bit harder:
Jesus and Mary Chain
The Vaselines
The Blue Nile
Simple Minds
Proclaimers

I seem stuck in the 90s and I suppose that is good for me, I'm usually stuck in the 70s and 80s.

He Are the Champion, My Friends

One of my devoted readers sent me this image for the Jumpsuit Hall of Fame contest: How could anyone ever, compete with that? Ever?

Happy Birthday (observed) Chopin!

Codpieces and Controlled Vocabulary

I'm not sure that people realize what a responsibility it is to coordinate this search for the best jumpsuit in rock 'n roll. On top of the stress of making important decisions with long-term consequences, I have to do it all in the hours before or after a tough day of being a librarian. Or during a break.

Rock photographers don't seem to care about awesome jumpsuits and take ambiguous photos: I often can't tell if I'm looking at a unitard or just a skin tight combo. Even the rock stars themselves make it tough for me, gigantic belts are cool but often hide the crucial waistline area.

Worst of all though, is the shoddy job of descriptions and tagging that underlies Google image searching and Youtube. Amateur content providers don't seem to think that adding key terms like "red leather studded jumpsuit codpiece" is even required when posting images from the Diary of a Madman tour. Pure craziness! I can't believe how frustrating it has been to find a good photo of the outfit that inspired that fabulous Ozzy collector's figurine. I think this might be it but the photographer was more interested in set design than costume and, until I find a better view, I can't enter Ozzy into the competition.



And break is over and it's time to get back to work ....