“Nothing could be sadder, than a glass of wine, all alone.” — Solomon Burke, Cry To Me
Beg to differ honey, but i’ll miss your music…
Solomon Burke, Cry To Me
Cry To Me
Tag: music
A Good Start
A Good Start — Maria Taylor
You’re one with the burden of intuition.
You’re one with the freedom of a blank stare.
You’re one with the best friend you lost
You wish was still there.
You’re one with the dust on that old piano.
You’re one with the strings on your new guitar.
You’re one with the wind through the open window,
You are.
It was a faint line that brought you here
And a pulse that kept you in time.
It was the comfort of a tradition
Like the few that were not that kind.
And it’s a shame now, baby, you can’t
See yourself, and everything you’re running from.
And it’s the same world, honey, that has brought you down,
As the one that’s gonna pick you up,
And pick you up.
You’re one with the echos of conversation.
You’re one with the strangers you overheard.
You’re one with the lesson that was
The best one you learned.
It was a faint line that brought you here
And a pulse that kept you in time.
It was the comfort of a tradition
Like the few that were not that kind. (But you are.)
It’s a shame now, baby, you can’t
See yourself, and everything you’re running from.
And it’s the same world, honey, that has brought you down
As the one that’s gonna pick you up,
And pick you up.
It was a long, dark, sleepy morning walk.
You fell down, facing up.
It was a good start.
It was a good start.
It was a long, dark, sleepy morning walk.
You fell down, facing up.
It was a good start.
It was a good start.
And it’s a shame now, baby, you can’t
see yourself, and everything you’re running from.
And it’s the same world, honey, that has brought you down
As the one that’s gonna pick you up.
And it’s a shame now, baby, you can’t separate
Yourself from where you’ve stood.
And it’s the same world, honey, made you feel so bad
As the one that makes you feel so good,
Feel so good.
muse(ic) and lighting
::: ::: ::: :::
Lucky me
i guessed the kind of man
that you would turn out to be
Now i wish that i’d been
wrong and then
i could remember
to breathe
And all along the Watchtower
the night horses and
the black mares
ready themselves for the outcome
for the strange times
upon us
But what you didn’t count on
was another Mother of
a Mother Revolution
but what you didn’t count on
was another Mother of
a Mother Revolution
you could’ve had me
you could’ve had me
you could’ve had me
Right there beside you . . .
Mother Revolution ~ Tori Amos
::: ::: ::: :::
amazing how everything you listen to informs you of your heart’s current state. at this very moment as i type this . . . Train In Vain by The Clash just came on the radio and is talking about:
Say you stand by your man
Tell me something I don’t understand
You said you love me and that’s a fact
Then you left me, said you felt trapped
Well some things you can explain away
But my heartache’s in me till this day
Did you stand by me
No, not at all
Did you stand by me
No way . . .
damn it’s exhausting when you can’t escape your own brain and even the radio won’t give you a fucking break.
but my friends have been great at keeping me distracted what with dinner invites and tea and wine and film and concerts and new music.
In local news . . . Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew McConaughey filmed a movie on Maryland Avenue here in Annapolis a few days ago! It’s going to be called Failure to Launch. They went to a little local pet boutique that the film crew made look like a bookstore then on to Harry Browne’s for an outdoor café lunch scene. What’s really cool is my photos are on display just across the street at Alchemy Tea Trading Co! Who knows – maybe they saw me . . .
i went to a concert at the 9:30 club on Friday nite to see Ray Lamontagne, a very heartfelt show acoustically akin to say a Ben Harper meets Bob Dylan. folk-soul flavoured. he was opened by a pretty aussie called Sarah Blasko, who will make her tv debut on the series finalé of Six Feet Under next Sunday. She was very Björk blended with some Harriet Wheeler of The Sundays and a little Beth Gibbons of Portishead thrown in. it was a lovely show.
trinity of creativity
:::
HST
7.18.37
2.20.05
“Fiction is based on reality unless you’re a fairy-tale artist . . .
you have to get your knowledge of life from somewhere.
You have to know the material you’re writing about before you alter it.”
~ Hunter S. Thompson
“The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench,
a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free,
and good men die like dogs.
There’s also a negative side.”
~ Hunter S. Thompson
“When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.”
~ Hunter S. Thompson
:::
He described himself as “an elderly dope fiend living out in the wilderness,” and Hunter S. Thompson, inventor of gonzo journalism, the journalist of the Me decade with his whacked-out and occasionally self-indulgent prose, brilliant, wicked swizzle stick in the shit martini that is our over-sanitized, focus-group-tested, squelched news, media and political coverage – well, he shot himself in his Aspen home.
Not everyone is built for this world . . . especially those who ride it like a rodeo bull. Poor, brave darlings that they are, bordering on reality and escaping it as often as chemically possible.
i purge my own (un)reason through writing, through exercising my voice(s). it’s one of the few things that keeps me tethered to this life and helps me to dissect and reflect on it all. it’s not history until it’s documented, it’s not understood until it’s reflected in the eyes of others, it’s not any good until it resounds in someone else’s psyche as it expands your own.
::: ::: ::: ::: :::
“My problem is my feet are too big and I can’t find the shoes that I want, shoes that are sleek and thin and make a pronounced statement of ‘I have access to important documents’ and ‘I have catering on a 24 hour basis’. I want to communicate these things with a shoe, which is impossible with my size, I can’t find the shoes that fit. And I can’t find shoes that make the statement that ‘I am a temple’, that ‘I am a grotto’, that ‘I am a botanical park of many leaves, flowers and trees which essential oils are derived from as well’, if you’re into that sort of thing. You need to make statements, whether you’re trying to be a cemetery of life, whether you’re trying to be a chaperone-slash- assailant, whether you’re trying to be a security guard-slash-masseuse. There’s different things you need to communicate with your footwear and it’s difficult when the width of your foot is greater than the length. Which in a way is kind of the way life is sometimes. Sometimes life is wider than it is long. And you just can’t fit in anywhere.”
~ Beck
::: ::: ::: ::: :::
Music takes up a HUGE portion of my life. i am ever looking for the soundtrack to my existence, or at least a temporary explanation. And then there’s the consideration of mood. i’m looking for what fits.
some of the things i am currently cycling into the sound check, checking out, or waiting to arrive:
- Who’s Got Trouble – Shivaree
- Wikked Lil’ Grrls – Esthero
- Guero – Beck
- Speak For Yourself – Imogen Heap
- A Girl Called Eddy – A Girl Called Eddy
- The Beekeeper – Tori Amos
::: ::: ::: ::: :::
“I don’t have any allegiance to an organized religion; I have an allegiance to the gifts that I find for myself in those religions… I’d rather be non-denominational, except for music. I prefer to learn everything through music. If you want divinity, the music in every human being and their love for music is pretty much it. It’s the big indication of their spirituality and their ability to love and make love, or feel pain or joy, and really manifest it, really be real. But I don’t believe in a big guy with a beard on a throne, telling us that we’re bad; I certainly don’t believe in original sin. I believe in the opposite of that: you have an Eden immediately from the time you are born, but as you are conditioned by your caretakers and your surroundings, you may lose that original thing. Your task is to get back to it, to claim responsibility for your own perfection.”
~ Jeff Buckley
::: ::: ::: ::: :::
“When i’m posing for a photographer, as with music, it has to be improvisational at a certain point. For it to work you have to allow yourself to dream, to walk into a painting. If you establish an inner dialogue while you’re being photographed it can be a bit more revealing. i might remember a conversation with somebody that takes me to a certain space. i’m not inhabiting a different character – i’m inhabiting myself, although this might be a piece of the self that even i am just meeting for the first time. That’s what i like to see in a photograph. When somebody’s just blankly staring out at you, or seducing the camera in a really obvious way, it just doesn’t have the same resonance.”
~ Tori Amos from Tori Amos: Piece by Piece
::: ::: ::: ::: :::
i don’t know if i will ever be the caliber of Dorthea Lange or Diane Arbus or Annie Liebovitz, but as i am constantly inspired by photographers, male and female, new and historical, and all encompassing a wide world of imagery, i will continue to explore my tools, and document my little red chunk of the world :heart:
::: ::: ::: ::: :::
“Most people go through life dreading they’ll have a traumatic experience. Freaks were born with their trauma. They’ve already passed their test in life. They’re aristocrats.”
~ Diane Arbus
::: ::: ::: ::: :::
Meanwhile we are all desperately reaching for our trauma, our uniquity, our gift, or own personal freakdom that will allow us to express ourselves fully, to transcend our simplicty, mediocrity, anonymity – to become a vibrant version of ourselves.
And the approach is simple . . . convince yourself you can do it.
There is this trinity of expressive things i love: writing, music, and photography. i told myself i wanted to write; i did it, i was published in minor publications, won a small scholarship and continue to scribble – even my dreams are work for the paper. i told myself i loved music so much i would write it, sing it, play it live. i did. i took the writing, taught myself guitar, recorded several songs with a band on CD, played live and loved it immensely. i still sing and play here and there, but i mostly consume music now. i told myself i really love photography and i want to learn how to do it, learn to see my world differently. i brought joy to friends, family, even strangers who to my wild delight and surprise, actually forked over money for something i captured, and now i am displaying and selling them on the walls at my ‘real’ job. and every day, when i drive, when i walk, when i listen to conversations, when i have tea by myself, when i travel i see the world in little 4×6 boxes that i keep rotating, cropping, expanding.
and i am still learning and convincing myself i can do it.
Firefly Light: Small Flames Burn It All
:::
am i your pussycat?
i know what’s new
it’s the oldest hat in the book
we can’t get fast enough to go backwards
to take a second look
~ Animals on Wheels – Sam Phillips
:::
On Monday, June 21st, Zoey and i went to see Sam Phillips in concert with Eszter Balint at The Ram’s Head in Annapolis. It was a warm night and we donned our best red and black clothing. i even dragged out the leather pants and the wavy hair for the evening.
Eszter Balint was an interesting creature – she had this smallish frame and short dark hair. Somewhat atonal, offkey and definitely offbeat. Apparently, she has a fledgling movie career now turned music career. She was in a few of Jim Jarmusch Films (Trees Lounge, Stranger Than Paradise). Originally from Hungary, she plays violin and sings bittersweet, semi-caustic lyrics. Nothing wildly abrasive, only that she makes you think of broken glass and Comet cleanser and that flophouse excuse of an apartment you stayed too long at, going rent poor in New York. She reminds you of that time you layed next to an abusive lover who could really shine on that rare occasion – the one you had to try desperately, daily to talk yourself out of. To leave would mean to slough off a few layers of skin, like escaping from a bear trap, that or you layed awake at night watching their chest rise and fall and their eyes flutter as you considered killing them while they slept. Eventually you get smart and write a bunch of songs and tell morbid jokes about it.
Then there is the sweet sting of unrequited love in Sam Phillips music. She is a self-described torch singer. “Torch” both for tortured and for carrying a torch for that person you love who does not love you back. She could be swaying in front of a big band, a delicate-voiced thrush, in a small 40’s club with round tables and plenty of bourbon. Her music is wholly transporting, minimalistic with inventive percussion, small upright piano and brilliant violin punctuated by swirling Beatle-esque melodies and sharp lyrics honed with such an economy of language that they sing like paging through old photos and love letters from that time you spent in Paris with a beautiful stranger. She stood like a porcelain figure all in black, her hips curved slightly back in straight pants, the hind quarters of a silky fox, bellted by a thin shimmer of ribbon, her blouse drooped forward, a bowl to catch the song and spill it out to the upturned mouths of the audience, a small black jacket revealing the small of her back, strong for the carry.
She told cleverly crafted stories, read letters, used a handheld tape recorder as a musical backdrop for one song and looked piercingly around at the audience through a small curtain of blunt-cut blonde hair. She was wonderfully described once as “part savant, part naif, and part waif – seductive by thirds” and her music like a “subtle insistence.” Her “voice is very cool and often icy but it’s also expressive and interesting.” Her “music is mostly austere and thoughtful but it’s also enjoyable and sometimes quite catchy.” Sam Phillips is full of cagey, romantic observations even in her speech . . .
After singing “Draw Man” which she described as a “strip tease in reverse” she looked out at us, addressing the women in the audience growling, “do you know what i mean?” Some murmurred, some laughed, some howled and catcalled.
Her pedigree is also impressive, having left the world of Christian music (under the given name Leslie Phillips) she teamed up with husband/producer T Bone Burnett (producer of O Brother Where Art Thou) for a total transformation and has recorded with Elvis Costello and Gillian Welch.
Zoey and i exchanged glances and tear-soaked faces at points in the evening. Somehow a firefly got into the venue and hovered above her, blinking pale green, a magical sort of completely right moment. We came away from a performance that Zoey described as “hot.” And it was . . . truly. As hauntingly deep as dreams and desire, we left the world for awhile and came back with the simple advice that we “shouldn’t work so hard at love – just have fun.”