... still a little bit of your song in my ear ...

music whore symptoms continue. after waking up far too late (12:30ish) after a late drive back from northampton and mraz (more to follow later), i relaxed a bit, did some writing for my column, then headed up to burlington to finish getting material about the gallery exhibit. after picking up a copy of damien rice's album, as i'd been meaning to check out his work and chelsea from last night told me i'd love it, i stopped for hot cider at muddy's (note: do not try the hot ginger cider) and wrote up most of the story (well, for now, anyway - i'll probably change it) before heading to higher ground for mike doughty. where i wound up buying a copy of his album too.

i know - i'm horrible. but i love it. bwahahaha!

anyway, before i ran into danelle and during mason jenning's set, i settled into my chair to do a little writing about last night. mainly to kill time - while i like mason jenning's music enough, i find it better for background music than something to focus on. if i focus on it, it becomes somewhat repetitive.

nevertheless. like i was saying, i wrote. and here's some of what i came up with (***official disclaimer: what follows is somewhat cyncial and might make me sound like a hypocrite. there, i've covered my arse***):

i stood past the fringes late last night, beyond the horde of young girls who were crowding mraz as if he was the fifth beetle. i stood just past the parents who waited to drive their daughters home, smiling as they watched the girls swoon over their heartthrob.

i had neither the desire nor intention to join the masses and clamour for an autograph or forced photo opportunity. yes, i waited by the tour bus - i don't want to seem hypocritical - but i wanted something else entirely (beth, get your head out of the gutter). i wanted to say hello, tell him that i enjoyed the set. perhaps, if he had the time, share a laugh as i recounted the misadventures that had prevented me from seeing him previously, at the numerous non-teenyboppery shows i had missed. i wanted to talk to a guy around my age who comes off as a pretty kickass fellow. i didn't want a dreamy celebrity to sign my shoe (someone else at in the crowd wanted just that), hug me because my birthday is four and a half months away or tell me if he wears boxers or briefs.

i'm not trying to say it's the young girls' fault - far from it. they don't know any better. i've been there - i cried at nkotb concerts. i screamed upon receiving jonathon brandis' autographed photo in the mail. i kept a rider strong scrapbook updated with the lastest pinups in bop and bb magazines. i know how it is to be unable to control overwheming sensations of star-struck love and idolatry. hell, i still occasionally fall victim to older, less OHMIGOD versions of it - it's one of my favorite defining qualities.

that said, as i stood there and watched jason's face, a bit bewildered (and rightly so), light up again and again with flashes from camera bulbs, i felt regretful. as if i should apologize to joe mcintyre, jon and rider. because jason just finished playing a strong set, singing his heart out, and he was being rewarded with what? frantic requests to sign posters, tickets, SHOES. orders to smile into endless cameras, arm around stranger after stranger.

he deserved to be able to relax. reflect on the night - to wonder if toca was going to kick his ass for giving out his phone number (or at least pretending to). to mull over how well the bjork cover worked. to, if he felt like it, discuss music or whatever with someone his age who has listened to more of his music than simply "waiting for my rocket to come" (and someone who would much rather hear something other than "the remedy").

but as i watched him hide at the side of the bus to smoke in peace and talk with some of the members of steadman, i knew that a normal moment of interaction was impossible. so i pulled out my trusty notebook and pen, writing a short note to tell him that i had a good time, i dug the unknown song (i didn't realize it was a bjork cover at the time) and that i hoped to be able to say hi at some point in the future.

i have no idea if he wound up getting it - i hung out for awhile, after the parents dragged the kids home, after the women who looked like they wanted to make like penny lane either headed for the hotel or headed home, but soon realized that i still had a two hour-plus drive ahead of me. so i handed it to a girl who had announced that she was ready to wait for him until he came out or the bus pulled away, asking her to give it to him if he did reemerge. she said she would - whatever.

at that point, i left - somewhat disappointed, but also glad to be removing myself from the group of people who seemed as if they NEEDED to see him. i didn't need to - i just hoped to let him know that not everyone there was squealing over his hair or what he was wearing or whatnot. oh, and that someone there was actually legal.

but nevertheless. who knows? there is the possibility that he knew i was there - he just didn't know who i was. i know that i can file the following under the "yeah, and howie was looking at me while he sang 'she says' - haha, right", but i can still smile about my interpretations of them:

- perhaps the smirk on his face during a few moments of "the remedy" while looking at the crowd in my general area was a reaction to the expression of cynicism-tinged amusement as i finished looking around me at the fans screaming each word, shrugged and wound up caving in and singing along.
- maybe it wasn't coincidence that he smiled my way and started mirroring the head bobbing i was doing while singing along to "so unusual."
- perchance he was smiling back at me while singing part of "1,000 things."
- and who knows if it was just coincidence that the two guitar picks he tossed into the audience landed two people to my left and one person to my right?

the point is that i don't need anything else other than those possibilities. that's the magic of performance - you get everything you need from the experience (well, except for if you don't have the music on cd - in which case you hit up the merch table, that is, if you're a music whore like we've determined myself to be). which is why i stood beyond the fringe and let them have him.

and why i felt good about it.

ok. tirade over. i can now say that, lame audience aside, the set was pretty tight.

tonight, not again
curbside prophet
i'll do anything
absolutely zero
happy birthday
1,000 things
unfold
stuck on you -> dreamlife of rand mcnally <- superstitious -> (jason, toca, ian)
sleeping to dream (jason, toca, ian)
unravel (bjork cover - full band)
right kind of phrase
so unusual
common pleasure
no stopping us
the remedy
you & i both

encore:
too much food

there were aspects of it i didn't go nuts over, but i attribute much of that to the fact that the kids didn't want to hear a lot from toca - or that toca appropriately didn't want to share a lot with them. i wouldn't want to say a lot after a lame guy ordered me to "tell the squirrel joke." fuck that - y'all won't get any joke. take that, bee-atch.

hearing two of my favorite songs - "unfold" and "so unusual" - was a highlight. being one of the only people in my area to know the third verse to "curbside" earned me odd glances from the people in front of me (HA! i thought to myself). i loved the bjork cover and knew i wouldn't hear some of the songs i might have liked to have heard ("older lover," "galaxy," and "childlike wildlife"), so i just had fun with what he did play, singing along from my place in the fourth row, slightly off-center.

the light show was amazing and reflected his theater background, as did his commanding stage presence. the man clearly knows how to work a crowd - from his scat to pondering why no one has manufactured a mic in the shape of the human body (and demonstrating just why it hasn't happened as of yet). he was playful, earnest and charismatic. besides the fact that there wasn't as much banter as i might have liked, he was just as i hoped he'd be. if anything, his entire demeanor, from thanking both his crew and the calvin staff to his gracious-toleration-with-borderline-annoyance after the show, made me think well of him all the more. he just seems like a cool guy - someone who'd be willing and capable to provide enjoyable conversation (unlike howie, no offense intended) and without the "yeah, i'm a rockstar, everyone loves me" swagger (hello, mr. mayer, offense intended). while it all could be an act, i prefer to think otherwise and will focus on the fact that he's just a cool bloke who won't be spoiled by success.

and hopefully someone i'll be able to discuss that with someday.

being in northampton provided another, embarrassingly unanticipated, bonus. it wasn't until i saw a reference to smith college that i realized that i had entered an area rich with sylvia plath history ... upon this realization, i felt a huge surge of energy. there i was, in the area where my favorite writer honed her voice! i wandered around the center of town a bit, perusing the shelves of some bookstores, looking in shop windows, before settling down in front of the Meeting House to let the inspiration pour onto the pages of my notebook. sure, most of the writing produced was about being inspired by sylvia, which rather defeats the purpose, but hey. i was writing. in northampton. and it felt grand. i felt in tune with her, seeing the same things she saw, walking the streets down which she must have strolled - albeit a good fifty years after she did. the entire spectrum of sylvia/vickie similarities - tone, experiences, even handwriting - hit me (note: the similarities end way before the oven bit, thank you). i felt as if she could have been sitting behind me, writing in her own journal, occasionally looking over my shoulder to read my notebook and tell me that everything was as it should be - that i was meant to experience my previous successes and failures in order to reach this point and the points to come.

i know it sounds both presumptuous and crazy to think such things, but it's been well-established that i have an over-zealous imagination.

it's ok. sylvia plath did too. HA!

hand now cramped from typing too much. as a result of writing too much. ;-) but a couple of quick notes before i head to my bed and my story, which needs editing before typing and filing tomorrow morning:

- danelle and nickie provided much-appreciated self-confidence boosts this evening. not only was it great to see the danelley, but she told me that my carson review had been discussed in her art class and people respected my opinions and thought i sounded like i knew what i was talking about. running into nickie while preparing to leave, we caught up on what we've each been up to. hearing someone say to me, "so what are you doing now? please tell me you're writing!" brings me joy.

- doughty was amazing. paul is right yet again. great guitarist, nice distinctive voice, fun stage presence ("robots? yes i like robots. but no, i'm not going to do you. sorry, i just can't. requests? nope. getting to it. maybe later. probably not. definitely not. what??? did you just ask me to do a counting crows song???") and just an all-around great show. crowd was into it, he was into it, and everyone had fun. furthermore, anyone who can fit "oscillation" into a song earns my respect. the respect is doubled when he then covers mary j. blige's "real love" and tripled when he can fit mary j. in the same set as an impression of axel rose.

now that takes skill.

he was great - sat on the edge of the stage after his set, selling cds, meeting fans and whatnot. after chatting for a moment or two, he signed my ticket as well as my newly acquired copy of "skittish." i definitely hope to see him again soon and encourage y'all to check him out. see him when he plays your town and/or check out the website.

ok, i've got stories in spades to share with you, boys and girls, but if i'm going to get any rest this evening/morning, i must away now. time to switch mediums, giving up the ease of the keyboard and screen for the good, old fashioned comfort of a paper and pen. ah ... much as i enjoy the whole blog thing, i still fail to understand why doogie howser just didn't buy a composition book. he didn't have the internet to post to back then - all he had was a nasty font and funny background music. oh, and vinnie popping in from time to time.

call me boring, but if it came down to one or the other - computer or notebook - i'd take the notebook just about every time. i prefer to think of it as comfortable.

traditional, if you will.

and with that, i return to my traditional ways and bid you sweet dreams. and congratulate you if you actually read this whole thing ... i think i just wrote my great american novel right there ...