In honor of NEMO and my normal, Massachusetts-centric tendancies, I will be among those in town this weekend, partaking in some live music and otherwise digging the Boston vibe.
For those in the area, may I recommend a couple of events? I'll be at some, I won't be at others (and, truth be told, I've yet to decide into which category most will fall), but all are worth checking out.
Friday
Todd Carey - 3 p.m., Boston Center for the Arts (Cyclorama): Todd is one of those musicians who just loses himself in the joy of performing. A singer-songwriter channeling the blues, Todd also happens to be talented, charismatic and a hell of a nice guy. I'm looking forward to seeing him in full-band, back-to-back performances in October (Oct. 20 in Burlington, Oct. 21 in Manchester, N.H., opening for Chad Perrone). Try listening to him perform "Voodoo Child" and not tap your feet in time by song's end.
Pete Kilpatrick - 4 p.m., Boston Center for the Arts (Cyclorama): Start inside for Todd, run outside to catch Pete. Fun, funky vibe that I wish I could expience live more often.
Emilia Dahlin - 9 p.m., Toad: I've only seen her perform once - at the Williston NEMO singer-songwriter competition, but when she opened her voice, I sat up straighter in my chair, then leaned forward. A sprite of a girl with a big voice and Ani DiFranco-reminiscent straightforward style. "God Machine" was played constantly after I caught her three-song set.
Saturday
The Long Winters - Harpers Ferry: Have I mentioned lately that I love The Long Winters? Oh wait. I have? Whew. OK, good. If you haven't seen the band live, you really should.
Grace Potter & the Nocturnals - Paradise: Viva la Vermont!
Heath Brandon/Tim Blane - Club Passim: Two talented singer-songwriter men I've never seen live, but have wanted to for quite some time. Won't make it to this show, but you should go instead and let me know how it goes.
Meika Pauley - Lizard Lounge: Meika has a ballsy, husky-voiced approach to music that I love; she tends to leave an audience engrossed in the sound when you see her live. Plus, if you act up, she has a song that talks about beating people in the head with her guitar. Hello. Awesome.
Jason Myles Goss - BCftA Cyclorama: Earnest, talented, on the rise. Catch the singer-songwriter now.
In non-NEMO-related performance (and the one that I believe I will be attending tomorrow night): a band of five guys (and friends of mine) are going to be taking the stage at an undisclosed location. Check out the band's myspace to get the info or inquire.
9.29.2006
Now seen in a two-hour block on ABCFamily
I'm pleased to report that Revelry today joined the ranks of a club that includes "Gilmore Girls," "Friends," and "Home Improvement," among others. This blog will soon be translated into French, Italian and German, with posts from three years ago reaching readers abroad as if I'd written them yesterday.
That's right.
Well, no, that's actually wrong.
But Revelry is now in syndication, and I believe that to be rather neat.
Quick greetings to those who have made their way here after becoming link-happy over at Outlet, the Lowell-based creative webzine/entity that has begun to feature excerpts from this here blog (insert thanks to the Outlet peeps - and Robbie - here).
Welcome. Please feel free to stick around and say hello.
That's right.
Well, no, that's actually wrong.
But Revelry is now in syndication, and I believe that to be rather neat.
Quick greetings to those who have made their way here after becoming link-happy over at Outlet, the Lowell-based creative webzine/entity that has begun to feature excerpts from this here blog (insert thanks to the Outlet peeps - and Robbie - here).
Welcome. Please feel free to stick around and say hello.
9.28.2006
An excerpt
I found the following in one of my notebooks this evening. I had forgotten the act of writing it two weeks ago. That, friends, is what happens when one writes before 7 a.m.
6:25 a.m. - Logan runway
Fine. I understand the notion of the War on Terror. But I still have to ask: what does the War on Terror have to do with my Mimosa lip gloss? Why did I have to throw away sheer orange-tinted joy? Mimosas are friendly, neutral. As are my lips.
The sky is pink, and the airport windows show the reflection of sunlight glinting off my plane. It was dark when we arrived here; I have slowly watched the sun rise on my first day of this adventure.
I have no idea of where the hell I am supposed to plug in my headphones.
6:25 a.m. - Logan runway
Fine. I understand the notion of the War on Terror. But I still have to ask: what does the War on Terror have to do with my Mimosa lip gloss? Why did I have to throw away sheer orange-tinted joy? Mimosas are friendly, neutral. As are my lips.
The sky is pink, and the airport windows show the reflection of sunlight glinting off my plane. It was dark when we arrived here; I have slowly watched the sun rise on my first day of this adventure.
I have no idea of where the hell I am supposed to plug in my headphones.
It threatens.
I prepare to fight it, but each time I muster up the energy, a quick sneeze knocks me down and mustering must begin anew.
The first cold of the season. It approaches with careless disregard of the fact that the season has yet to arrive.
If the tips of the leaves haven't begun to crisp into autumn reds and ambers, I should not be turning to the NyQuil.
Not yet.
I know that a combination of elements are starting to affect me, but I can't discern between factor or result. Tossing and turning at night results in pale skin and a floaty head. But the pale skin leads to chilly hands. The chilly hands lead to feeling cold outside. The cold outside leads to sneezing. The sneezes lead to a desire to curl up under blankets. The desire to curl up under blankets leads to tossing and turning at night.
The cycle spins on and on.
I continue to sneeze.
The first cold of the season. It approaches with careless disregard of the fact that the season has yet to arrive.
If the tips of the leaves haven't begun to crisp into autumn reds and ambers, I should not be turning to the NyQuil.
Not yet.
I know that a combination of elements are starting to affect me, but I can't discern between factor or result. Tossing and turning at night results in pale skin and a floaty head. But the pale skin leads to chilly hands. The chilly hands lead to feeling cold outside. The cold outside leads to sneezing. The sneezes lead to a desire to curl up under blankets. The desire to curl up under blankets leads to tossing and turning at night.
The cycle spins on and on.
I continue to sneeze.
9.27.2006
Preparing for battle
Those of you who know me know well that I'm not exactly what one would call "a morning person."
I stay up late. Not necessarily of a desire to burn the midnight oil, it's simply the way my body works. Late to bed, (ideally) late to rise makes a Victoria healthy and at least tolerable in the a.m. hours.
On a related note, I do not well handle being abruptly woken up.
That said, I have been awoken thrice in three days by the carpentry crew renovating the house in which I live. With shouting, blaring radio or, in Monday's case, the sound of what I still maintain was a schoolbus being split in two by a chainsaw.
I haven't handled it particularly well, but much better than I'd imagined. Save a terse introduction to the carpentry crew on Monday morning, during which I can neither confirm nor deny that my eyes glowed with the fires of hell, I've kept my mouth shut.
Angry? Yes. Accomodating? As much as I could be.
This morning, I tried to wake up early (early for me is shortly after 8 a.m. - no need to comment on how I'm lazy, thank you). But they still beat me to it. Right around 8 a.m., hammers start pounding, shouts begin and the radio kicks in.
Beth was in the apartment to see my rage, and she kept me in check, which in turn meant that I snapped at her and stormed off to my shower, nearly in tears, with a seething "Well, YOU haven't been awoken by this EVERY DAY THIS WEEK. I HAVE."
But she kept me from storming outside and I later apologized.
As I prepared to get into my car, much earlier than I normally do, one of the crew members approached me. The bright and shiny yellow truck in which they came was parked behind mine in the driveway (of course). "You want me to move this so you can get out?"
I smiled. "Please. And I was curious. What time do you guys plan on being here in the mornings? My hours are really different than yours, and I'm trying to be accommodating by waking up before you get here, but the last three days I've been woken up with some really loud noises coming from you guys. The walls in this house are thin and sound carries. I felt badly about snapping at one of you guys on Monday and I don't want to be the bitch tenant, but I don't at all handle well being woken up, particularly by such loud noise. I want to work with you guys, you know what I mean?"
He smiled back. "I'm really sorry about that. We're trying to work as fast as we can. We usually start at 8. And we're almost done with most of the heavy stuff on this side of the house."
"That's great, but my bedroom is on the other side, so I'm worried. But hey. If I'm awake at 7:30, you won't be here yet? I'd just hate to snap at you when it's that I haven't had my coffee yet."
He laughed. "What if I bring you coffee?"
"You might be my new best friend."
The conversation continued briefly and brilliantly. I felt infinitely better and we were on good terms as he opened the door to the truck and prepared to move it.
A call from the roof.
"What are you doing?"
He looked up. "Moving the truck so she can get out."
"She has plenty of room."
"She's nervous."
"She has plenty of room."
I stared back and forth. Are you serious?
"She's nervous about it."
The call from the roof turned surly. "So move her car for her."
"I'm just going to back into the lawn. You saying you don't want me moving your truck?"
Niceness is one thing. Being given a hard time in my own driveway was too much.
"Just move THE DAMN TRUCK!" I shouted before I jumped into my car. Beth, her eyes wide in surprise at the exchange, climbed into the passenger side. The one nice member of the crew moved the truck so we could leave, and I resisted the urge to hit the ladder with which the asshole crew member had climbed the roof.
"Ooooooh, I can't believe he said that!" I said as I turned onto the street and prepared to properly begin my day. "I can't WAIT for tomorrow."
Anyone have any blue face paint handy? I'm going to have to end up going "Braveheart" on these guys.
I stay up late. Not necessarily of a desire to burn the midnight oil, it's simply the way my body works. Late to bed, (ideally) late to rise makes a Victoria healthy and at least tolerable in the a.m. hours.
On a related note, I do not well handle being abruptly woken up.
That said, I have been awoken thrice in three days by the carpentry crew renovating the house in which I live. With shouting, blaring radio or, in Monday's case, the sound of what I still maintain was a schoolbus being split in two by a chainsaw.
I haven't handled it particularly well, but much better than I'd imagined. Save a terse introduction to the carpentry crew on Monday morning, during which I can neither confirm nor deny that my eyes glowed with the fires of hell, I've kept my mouth shut.
Angry? Yes. Accomodating? As much as I could be.
This morning, I tried to wake up early (early for me is shortly after 8 a.m. - no need to comment on how I'm lazy, thank you). But they still beat me to it. Right around 8 a.m., hammers start pounding, shouts begin and the radio kicks in.
Beth was in the apartment to see my rage, and she kept me in check, which in turn meant that I snapped at her and stormed off to my shower, nearly in tears, with a seething "Well, YOU haven't been awoken by this EVERY DAY THIS WEEK. I HAVE."
But she kept me from storming outside and I later apologized.
As I prepared to get into my car, much earlier than I normally do, one of the crew members approached me. The bright and shiny yellow truck in which they came was parked behind mine in the driveway (of course). "You want me to move this so you can get out?"
I smiled. "Please. And I was curious. What time do you guys plan on being here in the mornings? My hours are really different than yours, and I'm trying to be accommodating by waking up before you get here, but the last three days I've been woken up with some really loud noises coming from you guys. The walls in this house are thin and sound carries. I felt badly about snapping at one of you guys on Monday and I don't want to be the bitch tenant, but I don't at all handle well being woken up, particularly by such loud noise. I want to work with you guys, you know what I mean?"
He smiled back. "I'm really sorry about that. We're trying to work as fast as we can. We usually start at 8. And we're almost done with most of the heavy stuff on this side of the house."
"That's great, but my bedroom is on the other side, so I'm worried. But hey. If I'm awake at 7:30, you won't be here yet? I'd just hate to snap at you when it's that I haven't had my coffee yet."
He laughed. "What if I bring you coffee?"
"You might be my new best friend."
The conversation continued briefly and brilliantly. I felt infinitely better and we were on good terms as he opened the door to the truck and prepared to move it.
A call from the roof.
"What are you doing?"
He looked up. "Moving the truck so she can get out."
"She has plenty of room."
"She's nervous."
"She has plenty of room."
I stared back and forth. Are you serious?
"She's nervous about it."
The call from the roof turned surly. "So move her car for her."
"I'm just going to back into the lawn. You saying you don't want me moving your truck?"
Niceness is one thing. Being given a hard time in my own driveway was too much.
"Just move THE DAMN TRUCK!" I shouted before I jumped into my car. Beth, her eyes wide in surprise at the exchange, climbed into the passenger side. The one nice member of the crew moved the truck so we could leave, and I resisted the urge to hit the ladder with which the asshole crew member had climbed the roof.
"Ooooooh, I can't believe he said that!" I said as I turned onto the street and prepared to properly begin my day. "I can't WAIT for tomorrow."
Anyone have any blue face paint handy? I'm going to have to end up going "Braveheart" on these guys.
9.24.2006
A close encounter
***NOTE: What follows is the exception to the norm - the description of an encounter with a music type. I've tended to keep these from the blog because 1) they don't tend to be particularly interesting, 2) I don't like dropping names, particularly when I've hardly the right to even consider dropping and 3) these encounters, like those with non-celebrities and music types, often end with me looking like a dork. I don't get starstruck (at least not most of the time) - I just happen to make an ass of myself.
That said, this one amused me.
SCENE - EXT. ZILKER PARK. AFTERNOON. FRIDAY.
An outdoor stage, with a waist-high barricade separating audience from stage. The barriers extend beyond the house right side of the stage, to a small stopgap armed by a festival volunteer. Were one to enter this space, one could move directly to her left to reach the photo pit or turn to the right and move to a VIP/artist area.
VICTORIA stands near the stopgap. She holds a camera in her left hand, her arms crossed lazily over the barrier. A messenger bag of sorts dangles across her frame. She is waiting, attempting to appear nonchalant, before she enters the photopit.
She looks to her immediate left, half-startled to see a tall, lean man standing next to her. He is wearing a blue plaid button down shirt, with slightly reddish-brown hair and a grizzled beard. He looks at her with wide eyes.
VICTORIA: Thinking to herself Holy hell, it's Ray LaMontagne.
RAY LAMONTAGNE: Seemingly thinking to himself I think she recognized me. Please have not recognized me.
VICTORIA and RAY LAMONTAGNE look at each other for a moment. The absolutes in this situation are clear. She knows who he is. He knows that she knows who he is. She has a PHOTO band around the wrist closest to him, and she is holding a camera. She knows that he is notorious for social awkwardness. He knows that he really, REALLY does not want to carry on a conversation with a stranger. VICTORIA and RAY LAMONTAGNE continue to acknowledge each other.
VICTORIA: Thinking to herself Part of me thinks I should say hello, but I'm scared that he'll run off or snap at me or refuse to play his set later.
RAY LAMONTAGNE: Thinking to himself Please do not say hello to me. I don't know you.
VICTORIA: To herself I'm not going to say anything. I'll just nod. That's acceptable, right? Nods to RAY LAMONTAGNE
RAY LAMONTAGNE: To himself She's not saying anything. Nods to VICTORIA
VICTORIA: To herself Whew. Looks back at stage
RAY LAMONTAGNE: To himself Whew. Looks at fesvial volunteer. Volunteer moves to allow RAY LAMONTAGNE access to artist area. He proceeds behind a sheer tarp acting as a wall.
VICTORIA follows RAY LAMONTAGNE, but continues on to photo pit to take pictures of MATT NATHANSON's set.
A SHORT TIME LATER
VICTORIA is moving through crowd, when she feels a sudden grip on her arm. She turns, sees A, an old acquaintance from Boston. VICTORIA and A hug.
A: What are YOU DOING HERE!
VICTORIA: I could ask the same of you! How are you?
A: I'm great, I'm great. Guess who I just met a bit ago.
VICTORIA: Who?
A: Ray LaMontagne.
VICTORIA: Oh God, I was standing by him. I refused to say anything. Didn't want to scare him off.
A: I had to.
VICTORIA: And?
A: The most awkward encounter ever.
VICTORIA: Yep. That sounds about right.
That said, this one amused me.
SCENE - EXT. ZILKER PARK. AFTERNOON. FRIDAY.
An outdoor stage, with a waist-high barricade separating audience from stage. The barriers extend beyond the house right side of the stage, to a small stopgap armed by a festival volunteer. Were one to enter this space, one could move directly to her left to reach the photo pit or turn to the right and move to a VIP/artist area.
VICTORIA stands near the stopgap. She holds a camera in her left hand, her arms crossed lazily over the barrier. A messenger bag of sorts dangles across her frame. She is waiting, attempting to appear nonchalant, before she enters the photopit.
She looks to her immediate left, half-startled to see a tall, lean man standing next to her. He is wearing a blue plaid button down shirt, with slightly reddish-brown hair and a grizzled beard. He looks at her with wide eyes.
VICTORIA: Thinking to herself Holy hell, it's Ray LaMontagne.
RAY LAMONTAGNE: Seemingly thinking to himself I think she recognized me. Please have not recognized me.
VICTORIA and RAY LAMONTAGNE look at each other for a moment. The absolutes in this situation are clear. She knows who he is. He knows that she knows who he is. She has a PHOTO band around the wrist closest to him, and she is holding a camera. She knows that he is notorious for social awkwardness. He knows that he really, REALLY does not want to carry on a conversation with a stranger. VICTORIA and RAY LAMONTAGNE continue to acknowledge each other.
VICTORIA: Thinking to herself Part of me thinks I should say hello, but I'm scared that he'll run off or snap at me or refuse to play his set later.
RAY LAMONTAGNE: Thinking to himself Please do not say hello to me. I don't know you.
VICTORIA: To herself I'm not going to say anything. I'll just nod. That's acceptable, right? Nods to RAY LAMONTAGNE
RAY LAMONTAGNE: To himself She's not saying anything. Nods to VICTORIA
VICTORIA: To herself Whew. Looks back at stage
RAY LAMONTAGNE: To himself Whew. Looks at fesvial volunteer. Volunteer moves to allow RAY LAMONTAGNE access to artist area. He proceeds behind a sheer tarp acting as a wall.
VICTORIA follows RAY LAMONTAGNE, but continues on to photo pit to take pictures of MATT NATHANSON's set.
A SHORT TIME LATER
VICTORIA is moving through crowd, when she feels a sudden grip on her arm. She turns, sees A, an old acquaintance from Boston. VICTORIA and A hug.
A: What are YOU DOING HERE!
VICTORIA: I could ask the same of you! How are you?
A: I'm great, I'm great. Guess who I just met a bit ago.
VICTORIA: Who?
A: Ray LaMontagne.
VICTORIA: Oh God, I was standing by him. I refused to say anything. Didn't want to scare him off.
A: I had to.
VICTORIA: And?
A: The most awkward encounter ever.
VICTORIA: Yep. That sounds about right.
9.23.2006
Sometimes you simply can't be where you want to be. But that doesn't stop you from trying to help other people get to where you want to go.
Victoria: Say that in the original script for "Garden State," Natalie Portman was supposed to tell Zach Braff that listening to the Ryan Montbleau Band would change his life. Unfortunately, Zach couldn't get permission to use that band, so he went with The Shins instead.
Nicole: WHAT?!? Really?
V: No, blatant lie. But it sounds good, doesn't it?
N: laughing to the point of gasping cackle I completely believed you.
V: And if you did, you know that he will. Use it. Get him there.
N: Gasping cackles
V: And if that doesn't work, tell him that I'll shiv him if he doesn't go. And we're not talking about a pleasant shivving.
N: No batting his eyes to get out of it.
V: No. He will be incapable of enjoying the process of shiv.
Victoria: Say that in the original script for "Garden State," Natalie Portman was supposed to tell Zach Braff that listening to the Ryan Montbleau Band would change his life. Unfortunately, Zach couldn't get permission to use that band, so he went with The Shins instead.
Nicole: WHAT?!? Really?
V: No, blatant lie. But it sounds good, doesn't it?
N: laughing to the point of gasping cackle I completely believed you.
V: And if you did, you know that he will. Use it. Get him there.
N: Gasping cackles
V: And if that doesn't work, tell him that I'll shiv him if he doesn't go. And we're not talking about a pleasant shivving.
N: No batting his eyes to get out of it.
V: No. He will be incapable of enjoying the process of shiv.
There's a moment
There's a moment in which you look over to your phone.
Why not?
A simple call. A hello upon pickup, perhaps a message left at the beep.
Hey you, it's me. I was just thinking of you and thought I'd call to say hello. So hi. Give me a call sometime. I miss you.
But what is it really that's missed?
You're actually thinking of what might have been missed. What maybe, given a different location or turn of events, could have given you reason to miss.
You can't miss him - you've only have had a periphery glimpse of who he is.
But you like to think that might have mattered. If only. Maybe. Perhaps.
You look over to the phone, your head filled with idealized notions of the conversation that might unfold. The hope that saying "I miss you" will be lead to a "Hey, I miss you too. I'm glad you called."
There's a moment. But you remember the other times that moment has come, when you seized it and were left with arched eyebrows or a frustrated click of the phone.
You don't miss him. You truly don't. You miss the idea of feeling as if you might wind up with reason to miss.
You wait for the moment to pass. You keep your hands far away from the phone.
Why not?
A simple call. A hello upon pickup, perhaps a message left at the beep.
Hey you, it's me. I was just thinking of you and thought I'd call to say hello. So hi. Give me a call sometime. I miss you.
But what is it really that's missed?
You're actually thinking of what might have been missed. What maybe, given a different location or turn of events, could have given you reason to miss.
You can't miss him - you've only have had a periphery glimpse of who he is.
But you like to think that might have mattered. If only. Maybe. Perhaps.
You look over to the phone, your head filled with idealized notions of the conversation that might unfold. The hope that saying "I miss you" will be lead to a "Hey, I miss you too. I'm glad you called."
There's a moment. But you remember the other times that moment has come, when you seized it and were left with arched eyebrows or a frustrated click of the phone.
You don't miss him. You truly don't. You miss the idea of feeling as if you might wind up with reason to miss.
You wait for the moment to pass. You keep your hands far away from the phone.
9.22.2006
The Roundup
I'd waited to see if this would make the DU site -- as of yet, it hasn't. But with a desire to wrap things up, I thought it important to get this out there.
Although I'm sure I'll be offering little insights and quips about the experience that was ACL in times to come, I present to you what was my final roundup whilst officially writing about the Austin City Limits Music Festival. Written on Tuesday, published, well, now...
Everyone reaclimated post-ACL?
Yeah, me neither.
I spent a portion of my plane ride back east yesterday (the portions in which I wasn't watching a marathon of "Blow Out") sifting through my notes and thoughts about the weekend. ACL had already started to become a jumble of frenzied, sweaty events, capped Sunday night with a set by Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers accented with winds and a storm. People were left either scurrying for ponchos or dancing and whooping in the rain.
It seemed rather fitting that a girl waiting out the set delay looked up with a silly, slightly drunk grin on her face.
"It's RAINING!" she said. "I live here. IT DOESN'T RAIN. What IS THIS?"
Simple answer: it's ACL.
Here are eleven aspects of the festival that continue to stand out for me. They are listed in no particular order other than that in which they come to me -- and in the shadows linger countless other moments.
- Cat Power & the Memphis Rhythm Band (Friday): You know that at least 70 percent of the crowd gathered at the AT&T Blue Room stage was wondering whether Chan Marshall would take the stage and perform a full set; just as uncertain was what her temperament would be for any performance that would take place. The songstress dazzled with a smooth set that, from my spot lying in the shade to the side of the stage, hinted at languid playfulness with a tease of Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy" (this came shortly after the original version was performed at the other end of the park). The buzz about Cat Power often refers more to Marshall's demeanor than the music itself, which makes it a dicey venture for an audience member. For the ACL crowd, however, she channeled Friday's heat and gave the crowd reason to pause and appreciate.
- Sylvia St. James and The Gospel Stars/Patrice Pike (Sunday): In each case, I was heading elsewhere when a strong female voice made me stop, turn and veer over to her stage. Sylvia St. James, decked out from hat to toe in white, wailed away within the Washington Mutual stage tent, delivering an electric performance that prompted audience members to stand up, hands waving, legs pumping. Over at the Austin Ventures stage, hometown gal Patrice Pike's rocker girl vocals captivated, making one reconsider one's vow to never watch a reality television show hosted by Brooke Burke.
- Matt Nathanson (Friday): I've loved me some Matt for a long time now, whether the singer-songwriter is operating solo or with band. But with a new album on the way and good word starting to spread, I was looking forward to seeing how the Austin crowd responded to his full-band performance at the Austin Ventures stage. I was pulled away early (so disappointed that I missed "Detroit Waves"), but the portion of the set I saw indicated that this guy could finally get the recognition he's deserved for years. A crazy, sweetly raunchy and fascinating performer, Nathanson simply made me grin like a fool. If the photos posted on Perez Hilton are of any indication, he made Matthew McConaughey smile like mad as well.
- John Mayer (Friday): Can we please just forget about "Your Body Is a Wonderland" and focus on the fact that Mayer has finally begun to fuse the sensitive singer-songwriter thing with sizzling blues guitar chops? Listen up, cynics: I was right there with you until Friday night's set at the AMD stage. But now know that it's now perfectly acceptable to own up to liking John Mayer. Thank you.
P.S. If I hear one more thing about the aforementioned "Wonderland" having been inspired by Jennifer Love Hewitt, I may be forced to shiv someone. It wasn't. Move on.
- Van Morrison/Willie Nelson (Friday, Saturday): Seeing these guys perform proved just why they are the living legends that they are. They've still got it and they still know how to make a crowd go wild. I hope that the younger crowd was taking notes so we can look forward to performances like this in a few decades. Even if Van or Willie weren't audience members' particular style of choice, concertgoers were still making sure to catch the sets. If nothing else, it was all about being able ot say, "I saw these guys perform."
I find that awfully telling. Free Willie!
- The Stills (Sunday): I gushed like a dopey fan on Sunday, so you know I dug the set. What I didn't mention is the excitement that radiated from the AT&T stage during the Montreal band's performance slot. The band members seemed genuinely fuelled by the crowd and the festival as they ripped through their set, which heavily featured songs off the 2003 "Logic Will Break Your Heart." Tim Fletcher dedicated one song to Austin sushi, describing the way the band was treated to a free meal at a sushi bar over the weekend because someone at the restaurant dug the band. In a time of celebrity freebies galore, hearing a musician sound genuinely psyched about such a gesture was pretty unexpected. Dig it.
- Ben Kweller (Saturday): It was one of the most discussed parts of the weekend. Ben takes stage. Ben's nose bleeds. Ben puts tampon up nose. Nose still bleeds. Ben keeps playing. Guitar gets bloody, keyboard follows.Ben is forced to leave stage and splatter of blood behind. Alternately awesome and gag-worthy at the time, true. But I know I spent a portion of the evening thereafter hoping the Texas-raised, Brooklyn-based musician was, you know, actually OK.
Turns out that he was, which means audience members can continue to discuss how badass it was of the guy to push his body as far as it would go for the sake of the show. It should be noted that the songs Kweller and his band did perform during the shortened set were tight and polished. If a set is that good during a bloodbath, just think of how it could be when no bodily harm is involved.
- KT Tunstall (Sunday): The girl can loop tracks like a pro, but can laugh at herself when little technical difficulties do pop up. The small sprite of a woman walked onto the large AT&T stage and kicked the mid-afternoon energy up a notch, seemingly with ease. Charming the crowd, she touched upon many of the songs from "Eye to the Telescope," making material that comes off as decent when recorded sparkle on stage.
- Iron & Wine (Saturday): I'm actually considering digging out my copy of "The Creek Drank the Cradle" to give it another listen. Actually, maybe not. I think I'll give a different album a shot, as Iron & Wine surprised the hell out of me with a lively performance that belied the image of overtly self-engrossed, whispered folk. Standout: "Upward Over the Mountain."
- The Flaming Lips (Sunday): I still don't know what the hell that performance was. I suppose that outs me as a first-time Lips concertgoer. Dizzied by the sensory overload, I had to force myself to refrain from laughing, dancing or singing in the photo pit. It would have blurred my shots and, thus, pissed me off.
The band is one of all-out entertainers, led by ringleader Wayne Coyne, who had the gumption to Bush-bash in Texas and was rewarded with one hell of a cheer. Good set, one that should have headlined the festival, if not for...
- Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers (Sunday): By the time Tom and Company took the stage Sunday night, the crowd was feeding off itself, whipped into a frenzy that exploded when the spotlight fell on Tom's blond shag.
The band confidently sauntered through the beginning of their set, as lightning flickered in the distance and the winds started to pick up. When the rain came, the band persevered, raindrops projected onto the huge screen to the side of the stage. The precipitation fell sideways onto the stage throughout "Handle With Care" and prompted a set break shortly thereafter. Petty promised the crowd that the band would be back to provide an "extra long set."
A half-hour later, it returned with a fevered cover of Chuck Berry's "Monkey Business" and another hour of audience singalongs. Tens of thousands of voices rose to join Petty's for the duration of the set, prompting kisses blown from the frontman, ever-increasing cheers from the crowd.
- Leaving the park (Sunday): The crowd snaked toward downtown Austin, past impromptu water vendors, restaurants and T-shirt stands. Pedicabs was the only acceptable non-pedestrian mode of transportation among the water-logged crowd.
The sound started somewhere closer to the park and surged up the street. A roar of voices cheering and hooting. I didn't see a single person who chose not to join in.
One last release of energy and sound, a cheer of approval of the festival just concluded.
Thanks for reading, guys and dolls - it's been a pleasure dispatching ACL to all of you. To those who were at home, hope it helped keep you connected; to those who were there, hope you enjoyed.
And, a final note: while Matthew McConaughey, Lance Armstrong and Jake Gyllenhaal didn't accept my blogged meeting invite at Matt Costa's set, I'm sure they know they can make it up to me with flowers sent to Burlington, Vermont.
I like daisies.
Although I'm sure I'll be offering little insights and quips about the experience that was ACL in times to come, I present to you what was my final roundup whilst officially writing about the Austin City Limits Music Festival. Written on Tuesday, published, well, now...
Everyone reaclimated post-ACL?
Yeah, me neither.
I spent a portion of my plane ride back east yesterday (the portions in which I wasn't watching a marathon of "Blow Out") sifting through my notes and thoughts about the weekend. ACL had already started to become a jumble of frenzied, sweaty events, capped Sunday night with a set by Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers accented with winds and a storm. People were left either scurrying for ponchos or dancing and whooping in the rain.
It seemed rather fitting that a girl waiting out the set delay looked up with a silly, slightly drunk grin on her face.
"It's RAINING!" she said. "I live here. IT DOESN'T RAIN. What IS THIS?"
Simple answer: it's ACL.
Here are eleven aspects of the festival that continue to stand out for me. They are listed in no particular order other than that in which they come to me -- and in the shadows linger countless other moments.
- Cat Power & the Memphis Rhythm Band (Friday): You know that at least 70 percent of the crowd gathered at the AT&T Blue Room stage was wondering whether Chan Marshall would take the stage and perform a full set; just as uncertain was what her temperament would be for any performance that would take place. The songstress dazzled with a smooth set that, from my spot lying in the shade to the side of the stage, hinted at languid playfulness with a tease of Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy" (this came shortly after the original version was performed at the other end of the park). The buzz about Cat Power often refers more to Marshall's demeanor than the music itself, which makes it a dicey venture for an audience member. For the ACL crowd, however, she channeled Friday's heat and gave the crowd reason to pause and appreciate.
- Sylvia St. James and The Gospel Stars/Patrice Pike (Sunday): In each case, I was heading elsewhere when a strong female voice made me stop, turn and veer over to her stage. Sylvia St. James, decked out from hat to toe in white, wailed away within the Washington Mutual stage tent, delivering an electric performance that prompted audience members to stand up, hands waving, legs pumping. Over at the Austin Ventures stage, hometown gal Patrice Pike's rocker girl vocals captivated, making one reconsider one's vow to never watch a reality television show hosted by Brooke Burke.
- Matt Nathanson (Friday): I've loved me some Matt for a long time now, whether the singer-songwriter is operating solo or with band. But with a new album on the way and good word starting to spread, I was looking forward to seeing how the Austin crowd responded to his full-band performance at the Austin Ventures stage. I was pulled away early (so disappointed that I missed "Detroit Waves"), but the portion of the set I saw indicated that this guy could finally get the recognition he's deserved for years. A crazy, sweetly raunchy and fascinating performer, Nathanson simply made me grin like a fool. If the photos posted on Perez Hilton are of any indication, he made Matthew McConaughey smile like mad as well.
- John Mayer (Friday): Can we please just forget about "Your Body Is a Wonderland" and focus on the fact that Mayer has finally begun to fuse the sensitive singer-songwriter thing with sizzling blues guitar chops? Listen up, cynics: I was right there with you until Friday night's set at the AMD stage. But now know that it's now perfectly acceptable to own up to liking John Mayer. Thank you.
P.S. If I hear one more thing about the aforementioned "Wonderland" having been inspired by Jennifer Love Hewitt, I may be forced to shiv someone. It wasn't. Move on.
- Van Morrison/Willie Nelson (Friday, Saturday): Seeing these guys perform proved just why they are the living legends that they are. They've still got it and they still know how to make a crowd go wild. I hope that the younger crowd was taking notes so we can look forward to performances like this in a few decades. Even if Van or Willie weren't audience members' particular style of choice, concertgoers were still making sure to catch the sets. If nothing else, it was all about being able ot say, "I saw these guys perform."
I find that awfully telling. Free Willie!
- The Stills (Sunday): I gushed like a dopey fan on Sunday, so you know I dug the set. What I didn't mention is the excitement that radiated from the AT&T stage during the Montreal band's performance slot. The band members seemed genuinely fuelled by the crowd and the festival as they ripped through their set, which heavily featured songs off the 2003 "Logic Will Break Your Heart." Tim Fletcher dedicated one song to Austin sushi, describing the way the band was treated to a free meal at a sushi bar over the weekend because someone at the restaurant dug the band. In a time of celebrity freebies galore, hearing a musician sound genuinely psyched about such a gesture was pretty unexpected. Dig it.
- Ben Kweller (Saturday): It was one of the most discussed parts of the weekend. Ben takes stage. Ben's nose bleeds. Ben puts tampon up nose. Nose still bleeds. Ben keeps playing. Guitar gets bloody, keyboard follows.Ben is forced to leave stage and splatter of blood behind. Alternately awesome and gag-worthy at the time, true. But I know I spent a portion of the evening thereafter hoping the Texas-raised, Brooklyn-based musician was, you know, actually OK.
Turns out that he was, which means audience members can continue to discuss how badass it was of the guy to push his body as far as it would go for the sake of the show. It should be noted that the songs Kweller and his band did perform during the shortened set were tight and polished. If a set is that good during a bloodbath, just think of how it could be when no bodily harm is involved.
- KT Tunstall (Sunday): The girl can loop tracks like a pro, but can laugh at herself when little technical difficulties do pop up. The small sprite of a woman walked onto the large AT&T stage and kicked the mid-afternoon energy up a notch, seemingly with ease. Charming the crowd, she touched upon many of the songs from "Eye to the Telescope," making material that comes off as decent when recorded sparkle on stage.
- Iron & Wine (Saturday): I'm actually considering digging out my copy of "The Creek Drank the Cradle" to give it another listen. Actually, maybe not. I think I'll give a different album a shot, as Iron & Wine surprised the hell out of me with a lively performance that belied the image of overtly self-engrossed, whispered folk. Standout: "Upward Over the Mountain."
- The Flaming Lips (Sunday): I still don't know what the hell that performance was. I suppose that outs me as a first-time Lips concertgoer. Dizzied by the sensory overload, I had to force myself to refrain from laughing, dancing or singing in the photo pit. It would have blurred my shots and, thus, pissed me off.
The band is one of all-out entertainers, led by ringleader Wayne Coyne, who had the gumption to Bush-bash in Texas and was rewarded with one hell of a cheer. Good set, one that should have headlined the festival, if not for...
- Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers (Sunday): By the time Tom and Company took the stage Sunday night, the crowd was feeding off itself, whipped into a frenzy that exploded when the spotlight fell on Tom's blond shag.
The band confidently sauntered through the beginning of their set, as lightning flickered in the distance and the winds started to pick up. When the rain came, the band persevered, raindrops projected onto the huge screen to the side of the stage. The precipitation fell sideways onto the stage throughout "Handle With Care" and prompted a set break shortly thereafter. Petty promised the crowd that the band would be back to provide an "extra long set."
A half-hour later, it returned with a fevered cover of Chuck Berry's "Monkey Business" and another hour of audience singalongs. Tens of thousands of voices rose to join Petty's for the duration of the set, prompting kisses blown from the frontman, ever-increasing cheers from the crowd.
- Leaving the park (Sunday): The crowd snaked toward downtown Austin, past impromptu water vendors, restaurants and T-shirt stands. Pedicabs was the only acceptable non-pedestrian mode of transportation among the water-logged crowd.
The sound started somewhere closer to the park and surged up the street. A roar of voices cheering and hooting. I didn't see a single person who chose not to join in.
One last release of energy and sound, a cheer of approval of the festival just concluded.
Thanks for reading, guys and dolls - it's been a pleasure dispatching ACL to all of you. To those who were at home, hope it helped keep you connected; to those who were there, hope you enjoyed.
And, a final note: while Matthew McConaughey, Lance Armstrong and Jake Gyllenhaal didn't accept my blogged meeting invite at Matt Costa's set, I'm sure they know they can make it up to me with flowers sent to Burlington, Vermont.
I like daisies.
9.21.2006
The best of both countries
I was running late, as had been expected. I called my flatmate to assure her that I'd be home soon, that we'd be able to revel in that which was the first episode of "Grey's Anatomy," season three.
"Did you know that they broadcast it at 8 on Canadian?" she asked.
See, where I live, about an hour from the Canadian border, we get Canadian. I can say with authority that the CTV (you figure out the acronym) does a better job of covering the Olympics than we do here in the US of A. Most of the network shows are broadcast up there, occasionally at different times.
Miss something in America? Give Canadia a try.
So, as it were, Grey's is broadcast an hour earlier north of the border. Duly noted, Beth decided to TiVo both, primarily so she could say she was getting a Grey's fix from two countries.
It made sense to her. And to me, when she told me.
I got home around 9:30 and happily settled in front of the television to swoon over George O'Malley and figure out who Meredith would choose -- McDreamy or McVet. We take in the episode, laughing at the appropriate spots, sighing where applicable (and in my case, even when not). It feels good to have Seattle Grace back.
Episode ends. Beth flips over to Canadian.
And we start dancing up and down. I call my mother, giddy, jumping up and down.
"GUESS WHAT I'M ABOUT TO WATCH."
"What?"
"NEXT WEEK'S EPISODE OF GREY'S!!!!!"
"You're joking."
"I LOVE CANADIAN!"
I'm assuming it was a glitch, as the previews at the end of the episode featured the episode we'd just watched.
You know. Next week's.
And I can say that it was so incredibly crazy when --
Nah. Nevermind. Just know this: I have it on TiVo.
"Did you know that they broadcast it at 8 on Canadian?" she asked.
See, where I live, about an hour from the Canadian border, we get Canadian. I can say with authority that the CTV (you figure out the acronym) does a better job of covering the Olympics than we do here in the US of A. Most of the network shows are broadcast up there, occasionally at different times.
Miss something in America? Give Canadia a try.
So, as it were, Grey's is broadcast an hour earlier north of the border. Duly noted, Beth decided to TiVo both, primarily so she could say she was getting a Grey's fix from two countries.
It made sense to her. And to me, when she told me.
I got home around 9:30 and happily settled in front of the television to swoon over George O'Malley and figure out who Meredith would choose -- McDreamy or McVet. We take in the episode, laughing at the appropriate spots, sighing where applicable (and in my case, even when not). It feels good to have Seattle Grace back.
Episode ends. Beth flips over to Canadian.
And we start dancing up and down. I call my mother, giddy, jumping up and down.
"GUESS WHAT I'M ABOUT TO WATCH."
"What?"
"NEXT WEEK'S EPISODE OF GREY'S!!!!!"
"You're joking."
"I LOVE CANADIAN!"
I'm assuming it was a glitch, as the previews at the end of the episode featured the episode we'd just watched.
You know. Next week's.
And I can say that it was so incredibly crazy when --
Nah. Nevermind. Just know this: I have it on TiVo.
"I got half a smile and zero shame"
Typical morning scene.I'm getting ready to start my day, walking around the apartment, bobbing my head to music.
Unusual selection. Mayer's "Continuum." The bobs are in time to the hot blues licks in "Belief," and I'm singing along -- in that "I half know the words and will scat during the rest" sort of way that comes with learning an album's material.
Belief is a beautiful armor
That makes for bah dobedo do
La la da da da
You never can hit who you’re trying for
Mayer's back, and I'm right back there with him, much to my disbelief. I'd sworn the guy off, had bid that music goodbye.
It began a few days before "Continuum" dropped. I found a website that was streaming tracks and took a listen, intrigued by the sound that resulted. Not half bad, Johnny.
Over coffee in Central Square on last Wednesday, the next step was taken. Nicole handed over her iPod so I could listen to "Slow Dancing In a Burning Room." I grinned.
I didn't realize at the time that I was being set up for a sucker-punch on Friday night.
I'm standing, smirking in the photo pit, waiting for Mayer to take the stage and listening to screaming calls for "JOHN MAYER JOHN MAYER JOHN MAYER." I promise myself that if the set to come at all evoked thoughts of the Counting Crows co-headling debacle, I'm out of there without a second thought, ready to happily take in Van Morrison's set at the other end of the park.
The screams are firing me up, though, and I realize that I'm excited to see what Mayer has up his sleeve, particularly when he'll be delivering the goods so close to where I stand. I grin as he walks out on stage and takes his guitar.
"Belief" kicks off the set, and I'm grooving. Head bobs as I move into position to get some shots, shoulders moving as I walk from spot to spot.
This music is hot. Confident, dynamic without straying into showy territory, the riff is a seemingly effortless hook, and the chorus dances off the tongue. Earnest without the schmaltz that drove me mad with "Heavier Things."
Mayer is similarly transformed. No more of the guy trying so hard to be the rock star everyone says he is; instead a musician confidently prowling the stage, dazzling the crowd with ease. It feels as if the singer-songwriter who quipped his way through the Higher Ground interview five years ago has finally morphed into the Stevie Ray Vaughan devotee he'd then claimed to be.
I don't see it coming until it was too late. Hooked, I grin up at the stage as I keep snapping off photos.
I thought John was lost and gone forever. Here he is. And through inexplicable turns of fate, here I am, standing right there to look up at him and welcome him back.
9.20.2006
I love me some ice cream
On Saturday afternoon, we were working to get the Ben Kweller photos up on the Project DU flickr site* when S looked behind me and smiled.
"I want an Ice Cream Man sticker."
Uh...okay...I turned around to look. Didn't see anything particularly ice cream-y, but did do a doubletake at a man in a peach-colored buttondown shirt.
Jeff Buckley, back from the dead, milling around the media tent? What the hell? I remarked on the sight.
"Who?"
"Buttondown shirt, crazy hair."
"That's Ice Cream Man."
Shortly thereafter, she went to get a sticker. I asked her to get me one as well; when she inquired and pointed at me, he smiled and requested a photograph of us.
She asked for one on her camera as well. Having absolutely no idea of who this man was, I happily smiled, took my sticker, was surprised with a popcicle and smiled for the camera.
Whatever, man, it's all good. I'm sitting here in 90 degree weather and you're giving me a popcicle. I'm liking Ice Cream Man.
The photo upload process was aided by the cool refreshment of frozen ice shaped into faces, complete with gumball eyes.
I liked Ice Cream Man.
The next day comes, and I'm in the photo pit for The Flaming Lips. I'd arrived early so as to get a good spot, but I'm melting in the heat. A photographer approaches with one large brown box in each hand. I'm thinking that perhaps earplugs are involved, so I smile and head over.
"Compliments of Ice Cream Man." Boxes of frozen fruit bars. Pineapple for me.
As I munch of the bar and taste the sweetness of the frozen fruit shortly before Wayne takes the stage and assumes his position within the bubble, it's clear.
I love Ice Cream Man. You should love him too. Click on the link to find out what he's all about.
========
All of the ACL photos are up and available for viewing on the flickr, as are the baseball games in Boston and Baltimore. Check 'em out, let me know what you think.
*Rolling Stone's Rock Blog touched upon the Kweller incident, describing what went down. The link for more of the story was my post on DU - the link provided to check out more images sends readers right over to my shots on the DU flickr. I found this to be pretty cool.
"I want an Ice Cream Man sticker."
Uh...okay...I turned around to look. Didn't see anything particularly ice cream-y, but did do a doubletake at a man in a peach-colored buttondown shirt.
Jeff Buckley, back from the dead, milling around the media tent? What the hell? I remarked on the sight.
"Who?"
"Buttondown shirt, crazy hair."
"That's Ice Cream Man."
Shortly thereafter, she went to get a sticker. I asked her to get me one as well; when she inquired and pointed at me, he smiled and requested a photograph of us.
She asked for one on her camera as well. Having absolutely no idea of who this man was, I happily smiled, took my sticker, was surprised with a popcicle and smiled for the camera.
Whatever, man, it's all good. I'm sitting here in 90 degree weather and you're giving me a popcicle. I'm liking Ice Cream Man.
The photo upload process was aided by the cool refreshment of frozen ice shaped into faces, complete with gumball eyes.
I liked Ice Cream Man.
The next day comes, and I'm in the photo pit for The Flaming Lips. I'd arrived early so as to get a good spot, but I'm melting in the heat. A photographer approaches with one large brown box in each hand. I'm thinking that perhaps earplugs are involved, so I smile and head over.
"Compliments of Ice Cream Man." Boxes of frozen fruit bars. Pineapple for me.
As I munch of the bar and taste the sweetness of the frozen fruit shortly before Wayne takes the stage and assumes his position within the bubble, it's clear.
I love Ice Cream Man. You should love him too. Click on the link to find out what he's all about.
========
All of the ACL photos are up and available for viewing on the flickr, as are the baseball games in Boston and Baltimore. Check 'em out, let me know what you think.
*Rolling Stone's Rock Blog touched upon the Kweller incident, describing what went down. The link for more of the story was my post on DU - the link provided to check out more images sends readers right over to my shots on the DU flickr. I found this to be pretty cool.
9.17.2006
Two Down
I'm sitting here in the media area at Zilker Park, sipping an iced coffee (inexplicably served in a hot cup, complete with lid), listening to everyone set up for the last day of festivities. You can tell things are getting ready to kick off when the soundguys at the AT&T stage start piping the "Star Wars" theme through the speakers. People are entering the gates! Festivities are set to begin! Woot!
Earlier, I was writing up my Day Two roundup for Project DU, listening to a soundcheck for Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers. As they played the instrumentation for "Last Dance With Mary Jane," I was fighting the urge to run outside, storm the stage and rock the vocals.
That would have been bad. Or glorious. Not sure which.
Austin's crazy -- or, really, ACL is crazy. My glimpses of Austin proper have been somewhat limited -- I'm here at Zilker Park for 12 hours each day, after all -- but last night, Michelle and I headed down 4th Street to check out what was going on. Went to The Ginger Man, a bar with endless beers on tap -- GLORIOUS SIGHT -- and then stopped by (I kid you not) Doggy Style Hot Dogs on the way back.
How could you not? Exactly.
I haven't taken in a set I haven't liked as of yet. Today's going to be a particularly good day. After TP&tH finish up the night, the task is to get out of here, sleep and then head to the airport in the morning. I'm back in Boston tomorrow afternoon.
Yep.
Earlier, I was writing up my Day Two roundup for Project DU, listening to a soundcheck for Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers. As they played the instrumentation for "Last Dance With Mary Jane," I was fighting the urge to run outside, storm the stage and rock the vocals.
That would have been bad. Or glorious. Not sure which.
Austin's crazy -- or, really, ACL is crazy. My glimpses of Austin proper have been somewhat limited -- I'm here at Zilker Park for 12 hours each day, after all -- but last night, Michelle and I headed down 4th Street to check out what was going on. Went to The Ginger Man, a bar with endless beers on tap -- GLORIOUS SIGHT -- and then stopped by (I kid you not) Doggy Style Hot Dogs on the way back.
How could you not? Exactly.
I haven't taken in a set I haven't liked as of yet. Today's going to be a particularly good day. After TP&tH finish up the night, the task is to get out of here, sleep and then head to the airport in the morning. I'm back in Boston tomorrow afternoon.
Yep.
9.16.2006
Greetings from Austin
As has been the case for the past day and a half, I've volumes to tell you, mere moments to type.
Damn not having instantaneous typing skills!
But, for the moment (I hope to post later on today), please know the following:
- I am in Austin.
- It's hot as hell here. I believe hell may actually have cooler breezes.
- My Flickr account is going to be The Shit when I get home (photo pass = me right up by the stage for artists - thus far: Guster, Matt Nathanson, John Mayer)
- I'm having fun, despite the quirks and goofs that have come up along the way (there have been many).
- It's hot as hell here.
Kisses, darlings. Keep cool, I'll bask in air conditioning vicariously through you.
Damn not having instantaneous typing skills!
But, for the moment (I hope to post later on today), please know the following:
- I am in Austin.
- It's hot as hell here. I believe hell may actually have cooler breezes.
- My Flickr account is going to be The Shit when I get home (photo pass = me right up by the stage for artists - thus far: Guster, Matt Nathanson, John Mayer)
- I'm having fun, despite the quirks and goofs that have come up along the way (there have been many).
- It's hot as hell here.
Kisses, darlings. Keep cool, I'll bask in air conditioning vicariously through you.
9.14.2006
Red, blue, green, orange
Are there rules? Of course there are rules. You're talking to the person who set up rules for the Vice Favorite Red Sox Player position. Hello.
The rules for seeing a much-loved former Red Sox player battle against his old team are pretty simple, though. Easy to understand and to follow.
Overall Objective: To see Player do well. NOT to see Player win.
Offense: Player is encouraged to hit the ball well and get on base. A strong offensive effort is supported by Fan, assuming, of course, that this offensive effort does nothing to score Player's Current Team any runs. Home runs are hereby forbidden. Player is not allowed to cross home plate or pick up any RBI's. Stolen bases, if applicable, are encouraged.
Defense: Player is encouraged to demonstrate precisely why he earned Favorite Red Sox Player status during Boston seasons, but only if Current Red Sox team is enjoying a lead. Diving catches are always cool.
Outcome: Player makes Fan proud. Rightful Team (Red Sox) win game. No Fan loyalties tested.
Kevin Millar followed most of the rules on Tuesday night. He did cross home plate, but such an oversight was far more Timlin's fault than Millar's. With a good lead racked up midway through the game, I was free to enjoy Millar's turns as Baltimore's DH, cheering him while hollering for the Boston boys to bring home the win (I did in fact proudly wear my No. 15 Boston shirt to the game, one of only two that I saw at Camden Yards that night).
Everything was glorious, if you ignore the near disaster that was the bottom of the ninth. We won. Let's focus on that.
For those who haven't made the trip to Baltimore, you should. Particularly if you're a Red Sox fan. With a team that hasn't done much of note since that World Series in 1966, Baltimore has become a haven for opposing teams' fans looking for a good ballpark and easy ticket acquisition. The city is laidback and accomodating, the fans are game for seeing superstars roll into town and Orioles Park is breathtaking. Tuesday marked my third trip to the park (first since moving back to Vermont after the District City days) and the third time my jaw dropped at the beauty of it all -- the factory stretching the length of Eutaw Street, the markers for home run balls, the brick and green steel color palate...
We were seated in Section 262, halfway between third base and the foul pole and, unbeknownst to us, a swanky area of seating. A private entrance, Hall of Fame Lounge directly behind us and waitresses ready to take whatever orders we wanted so we didn't have to miss a moment of the game. I left my seat once.
Oh, and the beer is better than it is at Fenway. And cheaper.
Trying to compare Fenway and Camden is akin to a showdown between (Granny Smith) apples and oranges, I know. Old/new. Tradition/innovation. Obstructed view risks/no bad seats in the house. Sellout crowds/bargain night specials.
It's really no contest anyway -- I'm a girl in love with her Yawkey Way. But were Fenway not around? Camden would have my heart, no question.
What makes it even easier is that the place might as well be Fenway South. Different color scheme, fancier scoreboard, no "Sweet Caroline," but the place still echoes with cheers for the Sox when they're scoring, boos when Timlin's walking off the mound after nearly tying the game in the ninth. You see more red and blue than orange -- a fact that I'd almost feel badly about, were the Orioles fans not so excited to see the Red Sox themselves.
Millar. Millahhhhhh. Couldn't we bring him home with us? I don't think it would have required much arm-twisting. Pre-game, I raced to the Os dugout to find Millar laughing with his old teammates; hearing that cackle made my face instantly break into a grin. I've missed him. Sure, the fielding was spotty. Yes, I know the hitting was streaky. But I loved the X factor he brought to the team -- slow baserunning, frosted tips and all. Millar is, in my mind, still a Red Sox player displaced.
He was why we were there. After the move, seeing him once more at Fenway was out of the question. We opted for Baltimore instead. And after the chaos and tension of the Red Sox Virtual Waiting Rooms, the ticketbuying process had been glorious. Might as well have come with a backrub and a Pina Colada, pink umbrella included.
The ultimate stress-free baseball experience.
Baltmore itself was surprisingly new, not at all what I'd expected. We spent the entire day in the Inner Harbor, which I admit lends itself to overall city juding much in the way Back Bay belies Boston, Adams Morgan falsely represents DC. But I was expecting to see a city with a little more historical meat on its bones, presented instead with modern structures of turquoise windows and brick, with a huge Hard Rock Cafe guitar serving as the cherry atop the former Power Plant building.
I'd gone looking for Edgar Allen Poe and found space more befitting Nicole Ritchie instead.
That said, not at all bad. Far from it -- actually quite enjoyable and lovely (guitar aside). As we walked the quiet city streets, we encountered Sox fan after Sox fan, making me wonder if the city residents proper had decided to take a few days off and head to the hills once they learned Boston was coming into town.
(Also, several things should be quickly noted:
- Ellipsies in text messages = rather bizarre. Doesn't that go against the very nature of the quick communication process? That said, thank you, cell phones, for letting me laugh from my bleacher seats at a Monster Seat friend during Sunday's home game.
- Hector on Stilts. Band out of Western Massachusetts that I caught at Bill's Bar on Friday night. OUTSTANDING. A friend described the band earlier in the day as "really smart, just really good indie pop." He was right. Go catch 'em live. The lead singer reminds me of Scott Weiland crossed with Gene Wilder, circa Willy Wonka. In a good way.
- Read Bill Simmons' "Now I Can Die in Peace" cover to cover during the trip from Baltimore to Boston yesterday. I highly recommend.)
Now, back from this set of adventure, I prepare for tomorrow's -- Austin and all that comes with it. Bags are packed (I think), itineraries set (as much as they can be) and the promise I made to myself to get to sleep early tonight.
I have a hunch that that will be easier said than done.
The rules for seeing a much-loved former Red Sox player battle against his old team are pretty simple, though. Easy to understand and to follow.
Overall Objective: To see Player do well. NOT to see Player win.
Offense: Player is encouraged to hit the ball well and get on base. A strong offensive effort is supported by Fan, assuming, of course, that this offensive effort does nothing to score Player's Current Team any runs. Home runs are hereby forbidden. Player is not allowed to cross home plate or pick up any RBI's. Stolen bases, if applicable, are encouraged.
Defense: Player is encouraged to demonstrate precisely why he earned Favorite Red Sox Player status during Boston seasons, but only if Current Red Sox team is enjoying a lead. Diving catches are always cool.
Outcome: Player makes Fan proud. Rightful Team (Red Sox) win game. No Fan loyalties tested.
Kevin Millar followed most of the rules on Tuesday night. He did cross home plate, but such an oversight was far more Timlin's fault than Millar's. With a good lead racked up midway through the game, I was free to enjoy Millar's turns as Baltimore's DH, cheering him while hollering for the Boston boys to bring home the win (I did in fact proudly wear my No. 15 Boston shirt to the game, one of only two that I saw at Camden Yards that night).
Everything was glorious, if you ignore the near disaster that was the bottom of the ninth. We won. Let's focus on that.
For those who haven't made the trip to Baltimore, you should. Particularly if you're a Red Sox fan. With a team that hasn't done much of note since that World Series in 1966, Baltimore has become a haven for opposing teams' fans looking for a good ballpark and easy ticket acquisition. The city is laidback and accomodating, the fans are game for seeing superstars roll into town and Orioles Park is breathtaking. Tuesday marked my third trip to the park (first since moving back to Vermont after the District City days) and the third time my jaw dropped at the beauty of it all -- the factory stretching the length of Eutaw Street, the markers for home run balls, the brick and green steel color palate...
We were seated in Section 262, halfway between third base and the foul pole and, unbeknownst to us, a swanky area of seating. A private entrance, Hall of Fame Lounge directly behind us and waitresses ready to take whatever orders we wanted so we didn't have to miss a moment of the game. I left my seat once.
Oh, and the beer is better than it is at Fenway. And cheaper.
Trying to compare Fenway and Camden is akin to a showdown between (Granny Smith) apples and oranges, I know. Old/new. Tradition/innovation. Obstructed view risks/no bad seats in the house. Sellout crowds/bargain night specials.
It's really no contest anyway -- I'm a girl in love with her Yawkey Way. But were Fenway not around? Camden would have my heart, no question.
What makes it even easier is that the place might as well be Fenway South. Different color scheme, fancier scoreboard, no "Sweet Caroline," but the place still echoes with cheers for the Sox when they're scoring, boos when Timlin's walking off the mound after nearly tying the game in the ninth. You see more red and blue than orange -- a fact that I'd almost feel badly about, were the Orioles fans not so excited to see the Red Sox themselves.
Millar. Millahhhhhh. Couldn't we bring him home with us? I don't think it would have required much arm-twisting. Pre-game, I raced to the Os dugout to find Millar laughing with his old teammates; hearing that cackle made my face instantly break into a grin. I've missed him. Sure, the fielding was spotty. Yes, I know the hitting was streaky. But I loved the X factor he brought to the team -- slow baserunning, frosted tips and all. Millar is, in my mind, still a Red Sox player displaced.
He was why we were there. After the move, seeing him once more at Fenway was out of the question. We opted for Baltimore instead. And after the chaos and tension of the Red Sox Virtual Waiting Rooms, the ticketbuying process had been glorious. Might as well have come with a backrub and a Pina Colada, pink umbrella included.
The ultimate stress-free baseball experience.
Baltmore itself was surprisingly new, not at all what I'd expected. We spent the entire day in the Inner Harbor, which I admit lends itself to overall city juding much in the way Back Bay belies Boston, Adams Morgan falsely represents DC. But I was expecting to see a city with a little more historical meat on its bones, presented instead with modern structures of turquoise windows and brick, with a huge Hard Rock Cafe guitar serving as the cherry atop the former Power Plant building.
I'd gone looking for Edgar Allen Poe and found space more befitting Nicole Ritchie instead.
That said, not at all bad. Far from it -- actually quite enjoyable and lovely (guitar aside). As we walked the quiet city streets, we encountered Sox fan after Sox fan, making me wonder if the city residents proper had decided to take a few days off and head to the hills once they learned Boston was coming into town.
(Also, several things should be quickly noted:
- Ellipsies in text messages = rather bizarre. Doesn't that go against the very nature of the quick communication process? That said, thank you, cell phones, for letting me laugh from my bleacher seats at a Monster Seat friend during Sunday's home game.
- Hector on Stilts. Band out of Western Massachusetts that I caught at Bill's Bar on Friday night. OUTSTANDING. A friend described the band earlier in the day as "really smart, just really good indie pop." He was right. Go catch 'em live. The lead singer reminds me of Scott Weiland crossed with Gene Wilder, circa Willy Wonka. In a good way.
- Read Bill Simmons' "Now I Can Die in Peace" cover to cover during the trip from Baltimore to Boston yesterday. I highly recommend.)
Now, back from this set of adventure, I prepare for tomorrow's -- Austin and all that comes with it. Bags are packed (I think), itineraries set (as much as they can be) and the promise I made to myself to get to sleep early tonight.
I have a hunch that that will be easier said than done.
9.08.2006
Ahh, hello big world
"Goodbye Little World" closes out the brilliance that is Remy Zero's "Villa Ellaine." After the exhilerating musical rollercoaster of the previous ten tracks, the closer is a charming little ditty that leaves one bobbing one's head with a smile on one's face.
Well, in our little house
There's always room
For all the friends
That help us through
These struggling days
It was in my head last night, shortly before The Damnwells took the stage at TT the Bear's in Cambridge.
I'd moved to the bar to order a beer when I cast a glance back, to the spot to which I'd soon return. Five people were gathered into a loose clump, some standing, others leaning against the partition that separated bar from performance/dancefloor space.
They composed my group for the night. Familiar and friendly faces that have played roles in shaping my experiences in this area over the years - in one case, well before even that. Demonstrating the deceptively tiny nature of that which is the music scene I delve into, all had traveled to Cambridge for the night, arriving in pairs or solo, gradually meshing together with smiles and hugs of greeting.
Others that I knew were interspersed throughout the crowd. It was difficult to scan the audience without letting my gaze fall on a recognizable face.
A random, whirlwind impulse had prompted me to throw clothing into two bags and head to Massachusetts a night earlier than originally planned. It was the prospect of seeing one of my closest friends, bolstered by the promise of a good show by one of my favorite bands.
But as I returned to my spot and shared a smile or two, it felt most as if I had simply come home.
And we got heavy traffic on the stairs
With darlin' Sherrie over there and Sarah's back in town
Kim and Kay sit on the floor
While Zelda hides the closet doors,
Never to be found
See John smile and Mia sigh
Katie cries
Mia plays the violin.
This little world is all I need
And hey, this little world needs
Not much more to be a
Completely perfect world
We will be leaving soon
And we might never get back to you
But before we do
Goodbye and fare thee well
Well, in our little house
There's always room
For all the friends
That help us through
These struggling days
It was in my head last night, shortly before The Damnwells took the stage at TT the Bear's in Cambridge.
I'd moved to the bar to order a beer when I cast a glance back, to the spot to which I'd soon return. Five people were gathered into a loose clump, some standing, others leaning against the partition that separated bar from performance/dancefloor space.
They composed my group for the night. Familiar and friendly faces that have played roles in shaping my experiences in this area over the years - in one case, well before even that. Demonstrating the deceptively tiny nature of that which is the music scene I delve into, all had traveled to Cambridge for the night, arriving in pairs or solo, gradually meshing together with smiles and hugs of greeting.
Others that I knew were interspersed throughout the crowd. It was difficult to scan the audience without letting my gaze fall on a recognizable face.
A random, whirlwind impulse had prompted me to throw clothing into two bags and head to Massachusetts a night earlier than originally planned. It was the prospect of seeing one of my closest friends, bolstered by the promise of a good show by one of my favorite bands.
But as I returned to my spot and shared a smile or two, it felt most as if I had simply come home.
And we got heavy traffic on the stairs
With darlin' Sherrie over there and Sarah's back in town
Kim and Kay sit on the floor
While Zelda hides the closet doors,
Never to be found
See John smile and Mia sigh
Katie cries
Mia plays the violin.
This little world is all I need
And hey, this little world needs
Not much more to be a
Completely perfect world
We will be leaving soon
And we might never get back to you
But before we do
Goodbye and fare thee well
9.07.2006
I'd been wondering when the mental Plinko game would come to an end and next week's events would actually register with me.
As it turned out, it was while writing a brief bio about myself, attaching a digital photograph and sending off the email.
Hey. I'm going to Austin. Texas.
I've held off saying anything, as I was waiting to be sure that everything is in place and good to go. As I write this now, I believe it all is. If not, well...I'll take my chances.
The quick story: after the adventures in DC (hello, old brief stomping grounds) and Baltimore (otherwise known as Victoria sees Kevin Millar At Least One More Time), I return to Boston briefly (overnight) and then head off to Austin for the Austin City Limits Festival. As it is being touted, "8 stages, 3 days, 130 bands."
It's my first largescale festival in some time. Since Woodstock '99, actually. I also like to think of it as "Van Morrison, Willie Nelson, Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers and Countless Others." Including, amusingly enough, Matt Nathanson, Guster, Tristan and a slew of other people that tickle my fancy.
I'll attempt to refrain from seeking out John Mayer and slapping him upside the head for the Jessica Simpson debacle.
So yes, a pretty outstanding lineup. But why would I make the trip to Texas, you ask?
Because I'm going to be writing about it. The contest I to which I made brief reference in June proved to surprise the hell out of me. By which I mean that I won it. I'll be an official field blogger for the festival and Project DU.
(Insert adoring, thank you so much sentiments here. Kisses to those hooking me up for this adventure - I'm most appreciative.)
Texas, baby. Texas.
As it turned out, it was while writing a brief bio about myself, attaching a digital photograph and sending off the email.
Hey. I'm going to Austin. Texas.
I've held off saying anything, as I was waiting to be sure that everything is in place and good to go. As I write this now, I believe it all is. If not, well...I'll take my chances.
The quick story: after the adventures in DC (hello, old brief stomping grounds) and Baltimore (otherwise known as Victoria sees Kevin Millar At Least One More Time), I return to Boston briefly (overnight) and then head off to Austin for the Austin City Limits Festival. As it is being touted, "8 stages, 3 days, 130 bands."
It's my first largescale festival in some time. Since Woodstock '99, actually. I also like to think of it as "Van Morrison, Willie Nelson, Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers and Countless Others." Including, amusingly enough, Matt Nathanson, Guster, Tristan and a slew of other people that tickle my fancy.
I'll attempt to refrain from seeking out John Mayer and slapping him upside the head for the Jessica Simpson debacle.
So yes, a pretty outstanding lineup. But why would I make the trip to Texas, you ask?
Because I'm going to be writing about it. The contest I to which I made brief reference in June proved to surprise the hell out of me. By which I mean that I won it. I'll be an official field blogger for the festival and Project DU.
(Insert adoring, thank you so much sentiments here. Kisses to those hooking me up for this adventure - I'm most appreciative.)
Texas, baby. Texas.
9.05.2006
I know I'll make the slightest of efforts - no more going out of my way - to see how it works out. Once. If it's convenient to me. - 11.30.2005
It has become convenient.
Averi is slated to perform at Nectar's on the 28th - which is, I believe,the night of the day after the Boston Music Awards (have I mentioned that congratulations are in order, by the way? Kudos to a bunch of folks whose music I enjoy, but particular congratulations to Ryan Montbleau, Matt Nathanson and the thrice-nominated Chad). I will be back from my travels come the end of the month, and will take in that which is the shell of the band I followed for a few years.
It is going to be...well, it is going to be something, I'm sure. The cackle with which I responded to the news hints that perhaps I'll wind up getting my snark on.
In other, less eyebrow-raising news, it seemed as if everyone was just trying to reach the finish line last night. The last of four late nights at Nectar's, the Montbleau Monday series came to a close with strong, albeit seemingly sleep-deprived performances. There were bleary eyes on stage, yawns from spots in the audience.
It's not that people were bored, but even dancing was difficult last night. When you have to work the next day, shows that kick off at 11 just aren't particularly condusive...even just an hour would make a huge difference. 10 is managable. 11 has you trying to keep your eyes open, even when you're leaving at the set break.
That said, it was glorious to be able to fit such an incredible band into the schedule on a weekly basis - particuarly knowing that the guys are slated to be back in Vermont in about a month (thank you, Higher Ground...). Made it easier to say "screw this, I have to go home" at 12:30...
P.S. Guys? You know that line? The "Excuse me, I just got this new cell phone, could I get your number to put in it" bit? The one we laugh about because it's supposed to be a joke line?
Do not attempt to actually use it. At least not on me. Because I will look you in the eye, hope to God you're joking about it and then reply.
"No."
Then I'll walk away.
It has become convenient.
Averi is slated to perform at Nectar's on the 28th - which is, I believe,
It is going to be...well, it is going to be something, I'm sure. The cackle with which I responded to the news hints that perhaps I'll wind up getting my snark on.
In other, less eyebrow-raising news, it seemed as if everyone was just trying to reach the finish line last night. The last of four late nights at Nectar's, the Montbleau Monday series came to a close with strong, albeit seemingly sleep-deprived performances. There were bleary eyes on stage, yawns from spots in the audience.
It's not that people were bored, but even dancing was difficult last night. When you have to work the next day, shows that kick off at 11 just aren't particularly condusive...even just an hour would make a huge difference. 10 is managable. 11 has you trying to keep your eyes open, even when you're leaving at the set break.
That said, it was glorious to be able to fit such an incredible band into the schedule on a weekly basis - particuarly knowing that the guys are slated to be back in Vermont in about a month (thank you, Higher Ground...). Made it easier to say "screw this, I have to go home" at 12:30...
P.S. Guys? You know that line? The "Excuse me, I just got this new cell phone, could I get your number to put in it" bit? The one we laugh about because it's supposed to be a joke line?
Do not attempt to actually use it. At least not on me. Because I will look you in the eye, hope to God you're joking about it and then reply.
"No."
Then I'll walk away.
9.04.2006
Unsurprisingly, Sunday's Grace Potter and the Nocturnals show in Shelburne proved to be perhaps The social event of the summer.
It's always rather odd, concert run-ins. I can think nothing of traveling three and a half hours from "home" and waving at familiar faces; I find it crazy to see their Vermont counterparts when I'm a short drive from my house.
The logic? Well, it often seems as if I hit up more Boston shows than Vermont -- and the Boston scene circles tend to run smaller than one might think.
Anyway. Back to the sloping greens of Shelburne. It seemed as if everyone in the surrounding communities packed up and moved over to the stage-adorned hill for the night. I found myself busy offering greetings and offering commentary on who was who.
Hi! Helloooooo! Oh, hi there. Yo! Hey, you!
It was nice for a girl accustomed to knowing of people who don't know her to receive many a greeting. Refreshing. A change of pace.
It should have been expected, though, as people had been waiting for this show for at least several months. The homestate boys and girl GPatN have been off traveling the country, bringing the blues/rock/soul sound from Vermont to new ears and seemingly enthusiastic crowds. The buzz has been growing, the label is getting ready to bring the band in for new recording sessions, and the Green Mountain folk have patiently counted down the days until we got another dose of the music.
The rains that had threatened all weekend held off just long enough for a long, tight, energetic set. New material indicated the band's foray into more of a rock sound, but with the storytelling lyrics for which Potter has grown renowned. Some of the older tunes are being reworked -- my personal favorite, "Stop the Bus," continues to take an electric slant and gets better each time I hear it.
(Which is why a bystander looking into the third row during that song's performance would have seen me, huge grin on my face, joyously singing along.)
The rules for the concert series specifically limit dancing to the sides of the stage, and the band held off provoking the crowd as long as they could. But as the skies deepened in hue, Potter told the crowd that she thought it was time they stood and danced -- which meant that a few thousand people sighed of relief, jumped up and boogied away. An older (and by that I mean Old) man a row ahead did all but flash the band the devil horns.
It was pretty goddamn glorious.
Apparently, the band will be back for a few Higher Ground shows leading up to New Year's Eve -- I'm playing around with that idea, as well as the Paradise gigs lined up for (I believe) at the end of this month. My favorite Vermont band at my favorite Boston venue?
I know. How could I resist that?
In other news, sorry for my absense. Unintentional, and I'm returning with some anecdotes and ramblings in the next couple of days. Some news, too, but I can't really share that yet.
In the meantime, how are you guys doing?
(in the fine tradition that is photo posts in blog entries, click above to go to the rest of the set.)
It's always rather odd, concert run-ins. I can think nothing of traveling three and a half hours from "home" and waving at familiar faces; I find it crazy to see their Vermont counterparts when I'm a short drive from my house.
The logic? Well, it often seems as if I hit up more Boston shows than Vermont -- and the Boston scene circles tend to run smaller than one might think.
Anyway. Back to the sloping greens of Shelburne. It seemed as if everyone in the surrounding communities packed up and moved over to the stage-adorned hill for the night. I found myself busy offering greetings and offering commentary on who was who.
Hi! Helloooooo! Oh, hi there. Yo! Hey, you!
It was nice for a girl accustomed to knowing of people who don't know her to receive many a greeting. Refreshing. A change of pace.
It should have been expected, though, as people had been waiting for this show for at least several months. The homestate boys and girl GPatN have been off traveling the country, bringing the blues/rock/soul sound from Vermont to new ears and seemingly enthusiastic crowds. The buzz has been growing, the label is getting ready to bring the band in for new recording sessions, and the Green Mountain folk have patiently counted down the days until we got another dose of the music.
The rains that had threatened all weekend held off just long enough for a long, tight, energetic set. New material indicated the band's foray into more of a rock sound, but with the storytelling lyrics for which Potter has grown renowned. Some of the older tunes are being reworked -- my personal favorite, "Stop the Bus," continues to take an electric slant and gets better each time I hear it.
(Which is why a bystander looking into the third row during that song's performance would have seen me, huge grin on my face, joyously singing along.)
The rules for the concert series specifically limit dancing to the sides of the stage, and the band held off provoking the crowd as long as they could. But as the skies deepened in hue, Potter told the crowd that she thought it was time they stood and danced -- which meant that a few thousand people sighed of relief, jumped up and boogied away. An older (and by that I mean Old) man a row ahead did all but flash the band the devil horns.
It was pretty goddamn glorious.
Apparently, the band will be back for a few Higher Ground shows leading up to New Year's Eve -- I'm playing around with that idea, as well as the Paradise gigs lined up for (I believe) at the end of this month. My favorite Vermont band at my favorite Boston venue?
I know. How could I resist that?
In other news, sorry for my absense. Unintentional, and I'm returning with some anecdotes and ramblings in the next couple of days. Some news, too, but I can't really share that yet.
In the meantime, how are you guys doing?
(in the fine tradition that is photo posts in blog entries, click above to go to the rest of the set.)
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