MinneapolitanMusic

Visions of Joan

2008-11-14T11:08:00.003-06:00

I'm always a bit hesitant to pull strings with my job, but sometimes you come across an opportunity so cosmically aligned that you'd be a fool not to harass every publicist you can find to make it happen.

My friends Stacy and Alexa and I made an election poster, a replica of an old Joan Baez anti-war poster called "Girls Say Yes." We did it on a whim, mostly to be silly and to show our love for Obama. We put it on the internet and people really liked it, so we printed out copies and plastered them around town and felt, on a small level, like we were a part of what was happening with Obama and the election and history.

The other day, Stacy sent me an email. JOAN BAEZ IS COMING ON NOVEMBER 13. I knew what I had to do. I emailed, and emailed, and emailed, and finally on the day before the show her publicist caved and said she would give us three after-show passes to meet Joan and give her our poster. We were ecstatic. But we wouldn't really believe it until we were backstage shaking Joan's hand.

The day of the show, the three of us piled in Alexa's car and giggled all the way downtown. We got there toward the end of the show (none of us got tickets to the actual performance), and a security guard gave us our wristband passes. We stood at the door to the auditorium and pressed our ears up to the crack. Her voice was wafting through above all the other instruments and applause, and it was immediately identifiable. Joan was in there.

"I'm going to cry," I said, my excitement billowing. Alexa and Stacy laughed. I wasn't kidding.

As the show let out, streams and streams of middle-aged, graying folks came out of the auditorium, smiling and reveling in their Joan experience. The three of us headed into the auditorium, the youngest in the crowd by about 20 years, and stood by a small group of people who were waiting to be taken backstage.

Before we knew it we were being led down three flights of stairs into the underbelly of the State Theatre. There was a small reception room for us to gather in, with wine and bottles of water that nobody touched, and just as we were starting to get fidgety she appeared.

She was tiny and beautiful, a shock of gray hair standing up on her head. She had changed into a starched white shirt and jeans; she looked like the image of the Unitarian hippie mom that everyone wanted to have. Her tour manager came up to us and eyed Stacy's hand, which was clutching a stack of our posters.

"Did you make something for Joan?" he asked, and we all giggled. He grabbed a poster and ran over to her, interrupting her mid-conversation with other fans to show her our poster. She bounded over, past all of the other people waiting to meet her, and held the poster up.

"Is this you?"

"Yes!" we cried in unison. Stacy started to explain why we made the poster, shoving the rest of the stack into Joan's hand.

"Oh yeah, I saw this on the internet!" Joan said. We all stood slack-jawed. "These are for me?"

She disappeared for a moment to set down the posters, and returned to give us hugs. She leaned in to hug me and as soon a she touched me a warmth shot through my whole body, my eyes welling up with tears. "It's so nice to meet you," I said, cutting myself off before the tears could start streaming down my cheeks. I hope she knows I really meant it.

The rest of the experience was a blur. She hugged Stacy and Alexa, and then signed the vinyl records they had brought. Stacy made some comment about "that one being REALLY old," which I thought was funny, considering they were Joan's records. We posed for a picture, and Joan seemed sincerely happy to meet us and see our posters. The tour manager said he would put our poster and our photo with Joan on her website. And before we knew it, we were already walking back up the stairs and out into the night, past the other fans who were gathered near her tour bus, past the strangers on the street who were hoping for a glimpse of Joan.

Stacy gave me one of her signed records to take home as a souvenir. But the part I'll never forget is when the famous folk singer touched my arms and my friends and I got to feel, for a moment, like we were the kind of women that Joan Baez wants to meet.

Girls say "yes we can"

2008-11-07T14:38:00.004-06:00

I don't blog much anymore. You know that. I know that. When my music writing started to pick up I stopped having as much time write personally, save for the occasional sentimental goo that seems to seep into my reviews from time to time. Additionally, the last year of my life has been -- ah, again the hesitation. Every time I start to write about it, I stop.

The last year was both the best and worst of my life.

It's been hard to figure out how, or if, or why I should share these personal developments publicly. But I've come to trust the readers of this blog (save for you, anonymous Tijuana hooker guy), and I don't know if I can NOT write about it anymore. You know?

Where to begin: I got married in the late, hot summer of 2005. It was rushed, the whole thing. We moved in together fast, got engaged fast, got married fast. There was a momentum pushing us through the entire process, until one day we got home and realized we were married and had no idea what came next. I almost immediately slid into depression, fueled by an identity crisis and confusion about where I, where we, were headed. I did what I always do when I hit a wall. I started writing.

My writing started to take over all of my free time; I couldn't get enough of it. That winter, I started going to four or five shows a week, writing reviews of every single one. I wrote a whole goddamn novel and threw it away. Just to write. Just to feel like I was going somewhere.

The marriage wasn't all bad. I liked doing wife things; cooking dinner, cleaning, knowing I was taking care of something, tending to something. I liked the security. But a lot of things were off about the whole arrangement, and pretty soon there was a lot of fighting and a lot of growing apart. He started playing computer games relentlessly. I stuck to my writing and my music. There weren't many things we did together. It wasn't necessarily either one of our faults, even, it was just wrong. The way snow in May is wrong. The way an overdrafted checkbook is wrong. It just didn't add up to what I thought marriage would be.

I rode it out for a long time, hoping we could work it out. Eventually, it became pretty clear we couldn't. He became increasingly negative and mean-spirited, lowering my self-esteem to almost nothing. I stopped fighting back.

And then, one day, I stood up, collected my things, wrote a long letter, and left.

My entire life is different now. A week after I left, I got offered a new job. A full-time job, writing. I started rearranging everything in my life. I went back to being a vegetarian, stopped smoking, started exercising, bought a bike. I found love, a real and true and honest love, the likes of which I haven't felt since I was 18 years old and knocking my knees together over the idea that two people could light each other on fire, set each other free, act out the lyrics in so many songs.

Yesterday, almost seven months after leaving my husband, I got a letter in the mail saying that my divorce had been finalized. The letter was only one sentence long, but it's the most decisive letter I've ever gotten. Suddenly, my name was legally different than it was before. It was hard not to feel like an entirely different person than I had been a half hour before, driving home from the gym, thinking about what to have for dinner.

It's been a long transition, but it's over now. I did it. I survived.

Earlier this week, I watched with a lump in my throat as Obama laid out his plans for change. For the first time in years, I felt like I didn't have to be cautious about my optimism, my hope for the future. With all of this behind me, I know that Obama was right. The whole time, he was right. Yes we can. Yes we did. Yes we will.

I'm back, for now. I want to share these things with you. I want to let you in again. Can we still be friends?

ANDREA SWENSSON

VOTE DAMMIT

2008-10-29T09:17:00.002-05:00

Oh No

2008-09-07T22:24:00.003-05:00

I found the official video for this song on YouTube today; it's KaiserCartel's "Oh No." I think it may be the most concise, accurate description of falling in love that I have ever heard. Which isn't to say that love is all about fear, but it nails down that precise moment when you have fallen head over heels for somebody and suddenly can't picture your life without them, yet don't know if the two of you have what it takes to make it work. It's about the teetering.

The teetering can be fun, exhilirating, breathtaking -- like ratcheting up to the top of a roller coaster and hoping the rails don't come undone beneath you as you plummet.

I think I love you (x3)
Oh no
I think I want you (x3)
Oh no
I think I'll wreck you (x3)
Oh no
I think I'll eat you alive (x3)
Oh no

P.S. Yes, this is the second blog post in a row with a KaiserCartel song as the subject line. Their album March Forth has been one of my favorites this summer.

Got my insides out

2008-07-15T14:14:00.002-05:00

I have a capacity for behaving awkwardly. Most of the time I'm able to hide it, but there are days where I find myself acting so strangely that I stop to wonder how anyone can stand to be around me, even for brief periods.

I'm easily embarrassed, which has made interviewing musicians on a weekly basis quite challenging. I meet new people almost every day, and yet I still constantly fumble over names, speak too softly, study people's faces too closely. I never know if we are supposed to shake hands or hug or touch at all, if they will even remember who I am the next time I see them. Does it mean anything that we had an hour-long conversation about music and life? Are we friends now, or just professionals who happened to drift in and out of each other's lives? Should I tell them how much their music means to me, that I listen to it every night before bed?

Today's interview went well. I only forgot one of my questions, and I was serenaded on a trampoline by an accordion and a ukulele. I was feeling pretty good.

Afterwards, I stopped in at a corner store to grab some lunch. I carried a bag of chips, a sandwich and a bottle of Sobe to the cashier and she rang me up. She asked me if I needed a bag; I said I didn't. Just after paying, I realized that she didn't ring me up for my beverage, so I politely told her she hadn't charged me enough. A line was forming behind me, and she was embarrassed. She rang up the drink and asked me again if I wanted a bag. I blushed and said no, hurrying out of the store. It was a small mistake and something most people wouldn't have noticed, but I was embarrassed for her and in turn felt flustered. My ex-husband once told me that he thought I was empathetic to a fault, that I let other people's emotions affect the way I feel from day to day. He said it like it was a bad thing.

In the car, I couldn't get my bottle of Sobe open. The cap just twisted and twisted around, like the threads on the inside of the lid had been stripped. I was hot, and a bit rattled, and I didn't want to go back in the store and tell the cashier about my failed attempt at consuming my beverage. Suddenly, all I could think about was getting that damn lid off. I took my keys and started stabbing at the top of the lid to see if I could puncture it. I peeled back a piece of the metal with my fingernail and cut my knuckle trying to twist it around. I put the bottle between my legs and pulled at the lid as hard as I could, stopping to wipe the blood from my finger. It wasn't coming off. Frazzled and crazed, I gave up and slammed the bottle into the cupholder.

I looked up and saw a stockboy who was leaning against a nearby car, smoking a cigarette and staring at me in horror. I could see the confusion and mild dismay in his face. I think his jaw was even slacked in disbelief. I didn't know what had just happened, and I was slightly horrified.

Calmly, I got back out of the car, went back into the store and purchased another drink, intentionally bringing it to a different cashier. I got in my car and drove off in a daze, thankful that I was in an unfamiliar neighborhood and that I was alone. These things happen sometimes. Especially when I am by myself, for some reason; I take advantage of the freedom of solitude to vent mild insanity. Which is why I am nervous about getting involved with somebody again, with letting somebody see that side of me. Would you still like me if you knew this about me? There are plenty of things about me that you might find annoying, ridiculous, irrational. Do you want to know that part of me? Do you promise not to turn me away?

Feeling listy

2008-06-10T14:02:00.005-05:00

My life is all new and weird. Here are some things I like and dislike about the new and weird stuff in my life.

(When I was a kid, I was a perpetual worry-wart, so much so that I couldn't fall asleep at night. To remedy the situation, my mom would ask me to share "one good feeling and one bad feeling" before bed, which invariably helped me to vent and sleep. This is my grown-up version of sharing these feelings. Also, I felt like making some lists.)

What I like about my job:

My job mainly consists of going to shows, talking to musicians, talking to writers, and writing.
I am able to pull all-nighters and work 60+ hours a week without really noticing or minding.
This is what I see when I turn my head 90 degrees to the right:
The other writers here are really cool and smart. Also, they are nice to me.
I will never, ever, ever run out of new music to check out.
Sometimes, I have time to read books, have drinks with friends, or just plain relax. After three years of working two to three jobs at once, this is a godsend.

What I don't like about my new job:

A large portion of my friends have started only contacting me when they want something. This makes me sad.
I spend an inordinate amount of time worrying what people might think.
The cafeteria downstairs is expensive and serves huge portions. Since I eat at my desk, this is unfortunate.
Sometimes, when I lay down to go to sleep at night, I can't breathe.

What I like about being single:

I can have Lunchables and Sierra Nevada for dinner.
My cat and I have full conversations about our respective days.
I can stay out as late as I want, go wherever I want, hang out with whomever I want, and pretty much do whatever, whenever.
Re-learning how to flirt is fun.
I'm starting to feel self-confident (sometimes) for the first time in ages.
There are some other things that I will keep to myself, but that are amazing.

What I don't like about being single:

I miss cuddling. A lot.
Life feels like it will always be up in the air from here on out.
Everyone is always asking me how I am with sad eyes and understanding pats on the arm, turning perfectly happy social situations into moody and serious ones.
Going to the store has become embarrassing. True story: the other day I had to face a young checkout boy while purchasing 10 light Yoplaits, 6 Lean Cuisines, a case of Fancy Feast, and a box of tampons. I felt like the punchline to a Cathy comic.
No one cares if I stay out late. This one makes me both happy and sad.

To blog, or not to blog

2008-05-22T14:28:00.003-05:00

I just finished reading a fantastic article in the New York Times Magazine by Emily Gould, a New York blogger who used to write for gossip blog Gawker. The premise of the article is that Gould used to write extensively about her personal life on her blog, with disastrous real-life results. I found a couple of passages especially intriguing:

First, Gould explains how her urge to blog suddenly dried up, a fate I also faced a year or two ago when I began to find it increasingly difficult to write personally online.

The will to blog is a complicated thing, somewhere between inspiration and compulsion. It can feel almost like a biological impulse. You see something, or an idea occurs to you, and you have to share it with the Internet as soon as possible. What I didn’t realize was that those ideas and that urgency — and the sense of self-importance that made me think anyone would be interested in hearing what went on in my head — could just disappear.

I don't know that I ever fully recovered from my stupor; I certainly haven't started writing more frequently or more deeply in this forum. What I have learned, however, is that the more I realized that people actually read my blog, the harder it became to post with honesty. For a while, it stopped being just my dad and a handful of friends, and became a rising number of nameless, faceless readers. The thought of these anonymous skimmers finding out facts about my actual life was terrifying. Sure, my words will never reach an audience as large as Emily's, but I can identify with her feelings of uncertainty.

Which ties in nicely with this other excerpt:

But lately, online, I’ve found myself doing something unexpected: keeping the personal details of my current life to myself. This doesn’t make me feel stifled so much as it makes me feel protected, as if my thoughts might actually be worth honing rather than spewing.

It's true; rather than rushing to the keyboard every time something notable happens, I have found a joy in letting my thoughts simmer. Sometimes, I don't write about events in my life until months after they have actually happened, and even then I keep the writing to myself and spend time revising my work. Rather than having to respond to things instantaneously, I am given a chance to mull things over. More and more, I am preferring this method. Which isn't to say that I am done sharing things about my life; I am still producing just as much if not more writing than when I blogged every day, and eventually I will find a way to put some of it out there for consumption. But I'm not ready, quite yet.

Ahem

2008-04-29T18:32:00.003-05:00

Hi. Remember me? I used to blog here. Boy, those were the days. I mean, I've never been a terribly consistent blogger, but it's been downright pathetic lately.

Like any good slacker, though, I have an excuse!

My life is completely different than it was a month ago. Spring is in the air once again and I couldn't resist the temptation to turn everything upside down. Simply put, I've been going through a lot. New job at City Pages, new relationship status (getting a lot of mileage out of the "It's Complicated" setting on Facebook...), new outlook. Good-bye Reveille, freelancing, working at the Fetus, coming home to something stable. I blame Austin. Things haven't been the same since South by Southwest.

For the most part, it's ok. I love my job so far, and am finding the work easier than I expected. My office has a view of downtown Minneapolis and there is Diet Dr. Pepper in the vending machine downstairs. Life is good.

For a more eloquent reflection on these developments, see my farewell column at Reveille. And keep an eye out for my first column at CP, which debuts May 7.

On staying afloat

2008-01-22T23:31:00.000-06:00

A few things swimming around my head today:

Writing things in sharpie marker on little slips of paper and attaching them to my bulletin board is surprisingly calming. Things I wrote and tacked today: How am I not myself? and my personal favorite, JUST WRITE.
I am unexpectedly out of sorts after receiving the news of Heath Ledger's death.
Working for 18 hours a day makes Andrea want to go out and play.
Winter makes me depressed. It also makes me maniacally creative. Jury's still out on whether this is bad.
My new favorite local band is called The Wars of 1812. They remind me of Spoon and Wilco (no pressure, guys...), are managed by the same record label that broke Bon Iver (again, sorry with the heavy-handed statements) and are some seriously nice folks.
Transcribing is a bitch.
Despite my previous post dissing year-end lists, these kind of self-fulfilling lists make me feel more coherent.
I just found a picture of myself that I actually like. Thanks, Stace.

Year end lists

2008-01-06T17:26:00.000-06:00

What is it about the new year that makes us all take a step back, contemplate on the year past and attempt to dumb everything down into arbitrary, bullet-pointed lists?

It's a question I've been contemplating for a few years now, ever since my foray into trial-by-fire music journalism. Every year around this time, music critics and friends all around me sit down to hash out ranked lists of their favorite albums of the year, and every year when I am invited to join them in this list-making rite I can't help but reel inside. For some reason, I have a strong aversion to this practice, and I am trying to figure out why.

I understand the inherent value of these lists. They give readers and less-obsessed music fans a chance to sort out the cream of the crop without having to purchase and listen to every album ever released, and they give music journalists and bloggers a chance to see what they might have missed. Sure, it's important to check each other's work once in a while and make sure that we aren't letting greatness slip through the cracks. But are that many people going to discover their new favorite band just because they saw the band's name written on some stupid list, with no explanation or further detail?

As both a listener and a writer, it has never been my goal to attempt to hear everything. In my mind, that would suck the fun out of everything I love about music. For me, musical discoveries are something that takes time, and the process usually includes seeing the artist live, listening to their album, and finding a deeper truth in at least some of their lyrics. I enjoy writing about music because it allows me to share my discoveries with the people around me, and explain in detail why I find a particular artist or band to be worth a listen.

The climate of music writing has changed dramatically, even in the three years I have been an active participant, and more and more I am feeling isolated in my approach. And while the internet has become an invaluable tool for learning about and listening to new music, I have a hard time relating to the way information is shared in the Holy Blogland. (I really, really did not want to say blogosphere, but you know what I mean.) I don't want to make this about gender, but I have noticed that a good majority of music blogs are authored by men, and I have also noticed that men like a more straightforward approach to disseminating information. This preference for simplification is exemplified beautifully in the movie and book High Fidelity, with all of the main male characters plagued by the "All time top five favorite" lists syndrome. It's a quick, easy way to prove your knowledge of all things musical, and it's just as much a pissing contest as it is a way to share the music that turns you on.

Let's consider the typical entry on the typical music blog: usually, the post begins with a picture of said band; followed by whatever information is being conveyed, be it a CD release or an upcoming show or what have you, paraphrased off of a press release; with links to the band's website and an mp3 to round it out. These types of posts mean nothing to me, and I usually skip over them in my blog reader. The blog author has taken very little time to pass on the facts that they believe their reader needs to know, and it's unclear whether or not the author even listened to the band's music. Blog authors compete with one another to be the first to unveil new tracks or leak news tips, but more often than not they are all paraphrasing the same press release sent out by the same publicist. In this way, the average music blog has become more an extension of a publicity office's hype machine than an independent source of music news, which is why it is so important to draw distinctions between armchair blog critics and the writers who take the time to interview and fact check their stories before running to hit publish. I fear for the future of music journalism in this regard, as print media becomes less and less relevant and online media advances with virtually no rules or standards.

I've gone off on a tangent, but here's my point: when I sit down to make a year-end list, I feel like a prick. Who am I to proclaim these ten CDs the best, with no room for explanation? I certainly haven't heard everything there is to hear, and anyone aching to know what I found to be particularly great this year would do better reading my archives on Reveille and Pulse (RIP) than scanning my list.

So in the spirit of looking back, here are some local musicians I was especially fond of this year, linked to the stories I wrote about them. In no particular order, of course. If you are a list person, read it as a list; if you want more, click away.

Are you there, blog? It's me, Andrea.

2007-12-28T15:01:00.000-06:00

Winter has definitely set into my bones. All of my writings these days stay hidden in journals and randomly numbered text files on my hard drive, and the days are slipping by so fast I have trouble keeping up. Yay, seasonal affection!

I have recently become obsessed with an online drama called Quarterlife. It's perfect for someone like me; the characters are all 25 years old and have overlapping love interests that result in myriad dramatic misunderstandings, and the main character is an introspective videoblogger aspiring to be a professional writer. Think My So Called Life with blogs and twentysomethings instead of flannel and dreamy, dreamy Jordan Catalano. Anyway, the main character, Dylan, poses all of these great twentysomething dilemma-like questions to the camera, and one that really got me was:

"What is the life of a writer, and am I living it?"

It's a great question, and a simple question on the surface. But I think so many people my age who strive to be creative feel the need to craft these intricate, artistic lives. Like, if we end up working at an office for a summer (or a year, or two or three) it means that we have lost our souls and have failed in our attempt to be truly creative people. It probably seems silly to anyone outside this specific demographic, but it is something that haunts me constantly. If I stay at home to watch Degrassi on DVD instead of going to a coffeeshop to write and pine poetically out the window, am I straying from my artistic purpose?

I am going to go ponder this some more, perhaps at a bistro somewhere while etching abstract drawings in a Moleskine. Or maybe I will take a pensive walk around the lake in a peacoat whilst eating granola from the co-op out of my pocket. Or maybe I will continue living my real life, in its strange artistic grandeur, sitting on my unmade bed in a sweatshirt watching the special features on my new Once DVD and playing spider solitaire. C'est la vie!

Scattered

2007-11-12T13:45:00.000-06:00

My novel and I aren't speaking to each other right now.

I am all over the place today. I planned to spend all day writing, but instead I ended up dying my hair red and watching Mitch Hedberg videos on YouTube. Which isn't entirely bad, but I am so distracted.

I've felt a burst of creative energy lately, but it's been hell trying to contain it and focus it toward any one thing. I want to spend all my free time going to rock concerts and watching people interact with art and music and talking to my friends until 3 in the morning. That's normal, right?

NaNoWriMo 2007

2007-11-01T23:33:00.000-05:00

This is probably insane, given my already sort of crazy life, but I'm going to do it. National Novel Writing Month starts now.

I'm at 1865.

Updates, bitching, screaming, ranting and pleas for encouragement to come at irregular intervals for the rest of the month.

Things I have learned this week

2007-10-30T21:10:00.000-05:00

A few new discoveries...

1. Taking Prednisone makes me extremely productive. My room is clean for the first time since I have lived in my new apartment.
2. Working one job is much easier than working two jobs.
3. I have managed to mention Ani DiFranco in my past three consecutive blog entries. I think this means I am heavy into another "Ani phase."
4. Getting sick and healing forces me to have a "what does it all mean?" moment and helps to refocus my life.
5. Cats and ice cream make everything feel better.
7. It might be time I finally quit smoking.

And, while we're doing lists, here are some songs that have been rocking/shattering my world lately:

1. A Fine Frenzy, "Almost Lover"
2. Feist, "1234" (Have you seen this video??!! I know I am behind on this one, but man it's worth watching again.)
3. Ani DiFranco, "You Had Time"
4. Stook, "Lovesick Firecracker"
5. Mason Jennings, "The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll" from the "I'm Not There" soundtrack

Sorry to be so fragmented with my thoughts today. One more question for the faithful few who read this: I am thinking of doing NaNoWriMo again this year, which would mean starting to draft my novel in two days. I have been trying to eke out a memoir-type story about music and boys and life for a few months now, and I think this might be a good kick in the ass to get some things down on paper. Good idea? Bad idea?

Safe again

2007-10-30T01:10:00.001-05:00

I feel like I am constantly climbing out of holes, but I suppose that is ok. I get a little better at it each time.

Last weekend was the sickest I have been in a long time, and one of the only times in my adult life that I had to be admitted into the emergency room. I still don't know exactly what happened; something about a respiratory reaction to a virus in my lungs. All I know is that for almost 24 hours I couldn't breath without forcing myself to suck air into my lungs, and by the time I finally gave up and went to the doctor (I hate admitting I am not ok) my body was ravaged and it took three nebulizers, an IV, steroids and my mother-in-law holding my hand and my hair out of my face until I felt like I was going to be safe again.

Saturday night I came home from the hospital and all my roommates went out to a Halloween party. I sat at home alone, stunned. I laid out a row of survival tools on the coffee table in front of me: inhaler, kleenex, cough drops, water, tea, chocolate ice cream, journal. I sat on the couch alone, watched an Ani DVD, cried and wrote poetry. It was one of the saddest and most fulfilling evenings I have had in a long time.

I missed a lot this weekend, and am still trying to process the insane amount of live music I saw before my downfall. I need to write it all down before it leaves me, but for now I am concentrating on getting better. Climbing out of holes, resting and reflecting. Another day in the mind of the girl who thinks too much.

Moving forward

2007-09-20T15:45:00.000-05:00

Maybe you know what happened already, maybe you don't. But I've been in the middle of a big old mess for the past week and it has been eating away at me, so I would like to spew this out at you and move on. I hesitate even writing some of this down because it feels a little too personal, but I have been publicly and personally attacked this week and feel like there are some things that need discussing.

Earlier this year, one of my main outlets for my music writing, Pulse of the Twin Cities, shut down, and I approached a few of my writing friends to start a magazine. We had lots of big ideas and brainstorms and drinking sessions, and after a few months of pushing and prodding and laboring, Reveille Magazine was born. It is like my baby, in a way (with lots of baby daddies), and without coming off as a cheeseball, I poured my entire heart into this project because I wanted it to be as good as it could be.

We hand-picked the writers we wanted to have contribute, explained to each of them that we were going to figure things out as we went, and asked them for patience and kindness as we felt out the beginnings of this big, scary thing. For the most part, people were amazing. I have been lucky enough to have one of my writing role models and friends, Jim Walsh, on board to write a weekly column, and my fellow review writers have been nothing but inspiring and motivating to me personally. Unfortunately, there was an odd man out.

I had trouble dealing with Tom Hallett from the beginning, mostly as a result of him living 3,000 miles away. Whereas most of our writers handed in articles that required barely any editing, Tom's columns required upwards of 3 hours of my time to edit and publish, and most were submitted way past deadline. Without going into too much detail, it made my life more difficult than it needed to be, and it put a damper on what was otherwise an effortless work situation.

Long story short, we all sat down and decided that things weren't working out, and we tried to discretely and polite tell Tom that we felt he would be a better fit at a different publication (most likely, one with the time and money to give his column the attention it needs to be ready for publishing).

Next thing I knew, Tom, who I once thought to be a kind and compassionate person, decided to let loose and flame me on the internet. He dragged my name through the mud, shot insults at me, tried to claim "censorship" and threw a big ol' verbal temper tantrum. In other words, he handled the situation very, very poorly.

I don't know why, but I let his words get to me. For the past week, I haven't been able to write. I tried to write two separate CD reviews and never got past the first paragraph, his nasty words and attitude ringing in my ears. I've never been the kind of person who worries what other people think about me, but the fact that he tried to shit all over all of my hard work and passion made me sick to my stomach. He was disrespectful, immature, and mean; the exact qualities of people whom I normally avoid.

Needless to say, I think we made the right decision removing him from Reveille. It's pretty clear that he cares more about tearing other people down and propping up his own ego than he does about the music he claims to love, and it's unfortunate that his column has spiraled into a name-calling bitchfest.

So I'm moving on. I've got a lot on my plate and I don't have time to deal with the naysayers anymore. Life is too short for bullshit, right?

Besides, I'm seeing Ani DiFranco in Chicago this weekend (a show that I am looking forward to more than I have looked forward to anything in a very long time), and tomorrow I get to jump in the car, put on my favorite CDs, sail down to Chicago and see the two cutest babies in the universe: my niece and nephew. Life is good!

Party on!

I am a joyful girl, I swear

2007-09-14T15:43:00.000-05:00

This song is keeping me alive today. In the spirit of letting it all roll off the back, keeping one's chin up, etcetera, a little Ani goes a long way.

joyful girl
ani difranco

i do it for the joy it brings
because i'm a joyful girl
because the world owes me nothing
and we owe each other the world
i do it because it's the least i can do
i do it because i learned it from you
i do it just because i want to
because I want to

everything i do is judged
and they mostly get it wrong
but oh well
'cuz the bathroom mirror has not budged
and the woman who lives there can tell
the truth from the stuff that they say
and she looks me in the eye
and says would you prefer the easy way?
no, well o.k. then
don't cry

and i wonder if everything i do
i do instead
of something i want to do more
the question fills my head
i know that there's no grand plan here
this is just the way it goes
and when everything else seems unclear
i guess at least i know

i do it for the joy it brings...

What I love about you, me, and music

2007-09-06T15:22:00.000-05:00

I've been in sort of a weird funk lately, and it has made writing difficult. Which isn't to say that I have stopped writing, because I don't think I could ever do that, it just felt sort of mechanical for a while.

Last week I had the chance to sit down with the folks from Fort Wilson Riot to talk about their new indie rock opera, Idigaragua, which is opening tonight (see article here), and our conversation somehow single-handedly jump-started my passion for all things musical. Thank you, Fort Wilson Riot, for your ridiculous, wild ambition and energy toward art and life.

To celebrate my late summer reawakening, I decided to make a list of all of the things I love at the moment.

Idigaragua. Plain and simple, one of the coolest things to happen to local music this year.
The new Joe Henry album, Civilians, which comes out this Tuesday.
The smell of the Electric Fetus, which now reminds me of counting down my till in the incense storage room at the end of the night. God, I really do love my new job.
My insanely talented friends.
Listening to records until 3 a.m.
Having writing parties with Jen, who is finding her own voice as a writer and continuing to inspire me.
Quentin Tarentino. Yeah, I don't know exactly why he made the list, but he did.
Mentors. The ones who know they are mentoring me, and the ones who do it without knowing just by being amazing.
The opening scene of High Fidelity, where the 13th Floor Elevators song fades into his headphones as the camera follows the chord from the stereo up to his head.
The fact that I get to wear sweaters again soon.
Riding "Ye Old Mill" at the State Fair with Dad and Husband. My two favorite guys.
The internet.
The love between Channy and Alexei of Roma di Luna, and how amazing it is that they can create beautiful art together.
The hootenanny, which returns October 5!

That's all for now. What's rocking your world?

Clifton Bridge

2007-08-20T01:30:00.000-05:00

I had an amazing, emotional, and completely fulfilling weekend filled with live music and friends. It's no secret that I am a huge, glaring Jayhawks fan, and the last two days were overflowing with Jayhawks-related shows and experiences.

Saturday was the Mark Olson in-store performance, and as a newly-minted Electric Fetus employee I made it a point to volunteer myself to help fill in as needed during the performance. Mark showed up with his entire band and played four songs to a small crowd, and much to my dismay I spent most of the time helping a non-Jayhawks fan find some jazz records in the back corner of the store. Even though I couldn't devote my full attention to Mark, it was still fun to be in the store and hear him play tracks off of his new record, which has been one of my favorites for the past few weeks.

When Mark wrapped up his set, fans flooded the front counters and I debated whether or not to go grab my copy of the record from my purse downstairs and have him sign it. (For some reason, asking musicians to autograph CDs always makes me feel a little awkward.) After hemming and hawing over it, I finally decided to run down and grab my CD, and on my way through the store I happened to spot Gary Louris ambling through the front door. Yes, that Gary Louris. He walked in calmly, like he just happened to be in the neighborhood, and started shopping around. Needless to say, I freaked out.

I made the mistake (or happy accident, I can't quite tell) of gushing to my boss how much I loved Gary and the Jayhawks, and within minutes my boss was over talking to Gary and pointing in my general direction. Oh god, I thought to myself, Gary is about to learn what a freaky fan-girl I actually am. As I pretended to act normal and continue to ring up customers, Gary walked up to my till and introduced himself. He purchased two used records, the titles of which I don't remember because I was too freaked out and nervous, and proceeded to tell me that my boss had told him I run a magazine and that I was a fan. As if that wasn't enough, I proceeded to gush about how much I loved his music and that I had been at the hootenanny when he had played with Golden Smog, and he casually noted, "Oh yeah, you were in the front row." He remembered me. I almost died. Sigh.

So anyway. That experience was enough to blow my mind, coupled with the fact that my boss rushed over to take a picture of Gary and I (in which, as a side note, I look like a midget because he is so freaking tall).

Later that night, I went to the 400 Bar for the Mark Olson CD release party, and had my mind blown once again as he proceeded to play flawless renditions of his new songs and invite Gary up on stage to sing a few old Jayhawks tunes. It was a breathtaking show, full of "you should have been there" moments that I will proceed to rub in your face through a review on Reveille... I'm sorry. But seriously, you should have been there.

Which brings us to tonight. It was Revival night at the Turf, which was splendid (and featured yet another Jayhawk! My favorite, darling Tim). It was a great evening filled with friends and music and cheap beers. On the way home, I took University due to the 94 closures, stopped off at McDonald's for some late-night McNuggets, and then made the dumb mistake of trying to get on 35W south. Which, it so happens, is right where the bridge collapsed. Though I have been trying to figure out a way to see the bridge for weeks now, I was completely caught off guard by the sight of the road jutting up into the midnight sky, spotlights shining into the great emptiness below. I caught my breath on its way out my lungs, took a deep sigh, and started to bawl. As I maneuvered my car around the exit lane and back down University, I could feel the tears rushing down my cheeks, and my car stereo ironically and somewhat cruelly played Mark Olson's "Clifton Bridge." God, kill me know. "Some people come here to die, we came here to live/there's a hope in our hearts, there's a future in our soul," Mark sang as I sobbed and drove.

Turning onto the Washington bridge, I caught another glimpse of the spot-lit bridge falling into the water, chunks of metal and concrete jutting out at severe angles. It was more intense than I ever imagined. The thought of people trapped, some still today, underneath the wreckage, was enough to send me into an emotional panic. It felt more real, more significant, more dangerous than it had before. It, in the most real of ways, hit home.

I know people die every day, in strange and sometimes very cruel ways. I know there are soldiers dying in Iraq and Minnesotans dying in floods and people everywhere, every day, dying from terrible, preventable things. But the magnitude of this disaster is palpable, and I can't help but cry for the lives lost and damage inflicted.

I wish nothing but peace for the people affected by the collapse, and I just wanted to share the fact that I am feeling it, deeply. I know I can be a sap sometimes, but I am still working my way through this one.

Wild silence

2007-08-06T15:52:00.000-05:00

Two year wedding anniversaries are good excuses for getting the hell out of town. The husband and I were planning on having a fairly traditional, eat something fancy and drink a vat of champagne type extravaganza, but all of a sudden we felt the urge to leave. To get away from it all: the apartment, the bridge, the television. So we did.

Most things that we do together are a bit slapdash and spontaneous, this trip being no exception, and it was delightful. We pulled out a map of Minnesota and found a state park that looked far enough away, stopping on the way to sample wines in Cannon Falls and buying a few bottles for the road. We grabbed a few necessary supplies from the grocery store, including the requisite s'mores ingredients, and made our way to the park.

"Would you like rustic camping?," an elder woman in a creased brown park ranger shirt asked me when we arrived.

"Oh, yes. Definitely," I replied, relishing in the idea of being away, alone.

We loaded up on firewood and dragged our supplies into the camp site, and it was exactly what we wanted. Trees surrounded us on all sides, and we could hear little critters skittering around us as we set up our tent. The wood was a little damp from the previous day's rain, but we eventually got a fire going and cooked our bratwursts and had a nice, quiet lunch.

In fact, we didn't do a whole lot of talking once we were there. We went for a hike after lunch, holding hands and listening to the sounds of the woods. Every 50 yards or so I would make Husband stop so I could take pictures of the flowers, of the creek, and sometimes, when he wasn't looking, of Husband himself. At one point, we saw a deer walking ahead of us in the woods, and we just stopped and stood still on the path for a few minutes, communing with the peace of the wild silence.

Back at he camp site we cracked open a bottle of wine and somehow finished off a half pound of Havarti cheese between the two of us. We hadn't gotten enough firewood to last us into the late hours, so by about 1o 'o clock the fire was dying down and the darkness was setting in.

Without light, there wasn't much to do besides go in our tent and let the wine mix in with our blood, so we packed up the food and made our way to bed. We weren't really tired yet, so we lay there talking, backs flat on the hard ground and sides pressed together for warmth.

"I can't stop thinking about the bridge," I confessed, feeling guilty about it for some reason. "I keep dreaming about it, about things crashing down."

"Me, too," he said.

"It's just so real. Something like that could happen to any one of us at any time."

"Yeah."

It wasn't a deep conversation, but it made me feel better somehow. I don't know anyone that was involved in the collapse and wasn't directly affected in any way, but it has haunted me for the past week. It feels silly, in a way, to grieve something that is so distant from me personally, but I can't help it. I am deeply saddened.

I rolled over and hugged him, and for a moment I felt at peace. As the wine slowed its pace in my veins and the cold crept up through the ground beneath us, I clung to my husband, took a deep breath, and took comfort in the fact that we were together, warm, and alive.

Whew

2007-07-23T16:01:00.001-05:00

OMG flurry of activity!

Ever since Reveille went live we have been workin' it nonstop. Lots of nice people said lots of nice things about us, and I am so appreciative of the overwhelming support that has been pouring out of all corners of the local scene. I love Minneapolis so much, I can hardly stand it.

Saturday was our kickoff party at the Nomad, which was probably the first time that the entire in-town staff has been in the same room at the same time. I continue to be star-struck by every psuedo-celebrity that I meet around town, as witnessed by meeting Ant, watching silently as he bought me a drink at the bar and then giggling uncontrollably for 15 minutes.

Speaking of local hip hop stars, I got a job working part-time at the Fetus (just wait, this will all make sense soon) a week or so ago. As I was training in, my new boss gave me a very serious look and explained to me that he only had one spare key left, and that he was going to entrust it to me. The key, he explained, used to belong to a previous employee of his named SLUG. Oh yeah, that Slug. Again with the uncontrollable giggling, I assured him that I was not only going to take excellent care of this key, but that I would protect it with my life and limb because I happen to be a huge, drooling Atmosphere fan. (Remember when I met Slug in person? Ugh. Embarrassing.)

My new boss laughed and said, "he's just a normal guy, you know." Sigh. I know. I will never be cool.

Speaking of which, I am off to work again. Busy Andrea = Happy Andrea!

It's here! It's here!

2007-07-16T14:34:00.000-05:00

I've been working on a new project for the last two months or so, and it finally went live today!

ReveilleMag.com

Hooray!

And yes, this does mean that I will start blogging regularly again. Things are smooth sailing over at Reveille and I will have lots more time to focus on why I wanted to start a magazine in the first place -- my music writing.

Also, come to this show:

More soon, I promise!

Friday Night

2007-06-24T23:34:00.000-05:00

I wrote a song.

The entire process was surreal. I spend a lot of time talking to people about songwriting and singing and craft, all the while keeping myself at a distance from the musicians I love by not understanding, first hand, what it is exactly that they do. Which is not to say that I don't understand where music comes from or why it can be moving, I was just... Distant.

Blog readers and friends know that for eight months, I almost religiously attended Jim Walsh's Friday night Hootenannies. It was the perfect ending to each work week, the perfect beginning to each blissful weekend, and a way to connect with other writers, thinkers, lovers, doers. It was an elixir, and I was its grateful consumer.

A few months ago, post-hoot, Jim graciously invited the entire audience over to his house to eat pizza and drink beers and stretch out the hootenanny for a few more hours, and my friends and heroes passed around a guitar and we all sang our hearts out. Afterwards, I couldn't let myself come down from the rush of it all, so I went over to a friend's house and played records and sang a little more and talked until the early hours of the next day. I went to bed, slept hard for a few hours, and woke up buzzing.

I don't know what came over me, but it just happened. I made a cup of tea and sat down at my piano (after clearing it of the piles of books and magazines piled on top of the bench and top; I hadn't actually played for months). I started playing a few arpeggios, plunking around. I was searching for something, but I wasn't sure what. A few chords sounded agreeable as a progression, and pretty soon I was humming and playing and riding one of the biggest creative waves of my life. Words fell out of my mouth. The hoot was still ringing in my ears. It. Just. Happened.

Then, a few weeks ago, I got up the nerve to tell Jim about the song, and he invited me onto the hoot stage in front of all of those same friends and heroes, and I played my little song.

"I'm not actually a songwriter, and I don't play guitar," I prefaced, and everyone laughed warmly.

"You wrote a song," Jim's brother, Terry, chimed in. "You are a songwriter."

Well, shit, I thought. Here goes nothing.

I was shaky. I was freaked out. A few minutes earlier the Cates had played a time-stopping version of their song "Daybreak My Heart." Erin's little girl started crying and jumped up into her arms as she sang, and within seconds Erin and half of the audience was tearing up. Stacy and I held hands and sobbed onto each other's shoulders. It was transcendent, and heartbreaking, and beautiful. I barely had time to recover before jumping up on stage.

I think my voice quivered a little. I made it through the song just fine, and Terry even helped play some of the chords and back me up. I felt so much love and gratitude and acceptance from everyone in the room, and all of the nights I had spent listening quietly and intently to the players on the hoot stage came around full circle. It was one of the best nights of my life.

Anyway, here are the words. Stacy took the photograph below.

Thank you, Jim. Thank you, every last hoot attendee. These past eight months of sharing and listening changed my life.

Friday Night

I think I'll go to a party
I think I'll bring you with
Let's go to a party
Smoke and drink and talk all night
Let's have a hootennany
'Cause it's Friday night

You can wear your new shirt
I'll wear my favorite shoes
You can get real deep on politics and doom
While I fall in love with half the songwriters in the room

Let's go to a party
I wanna bring you with
Let's go to a party
Smoke and drink and talk all night
Let's have a hootennany
'Cause it's Friday night

'Cause life is hard
And working's hard
Sometimes just smiling is hard

I think I'll go to a party
I think I'll bring you with
Let's go to a party
Smoke and drink and talk all night
Let's have a hootennany
'Cause it's Friday night

You can wear your new shirt
I'll wear my favorite shoes
You can get real deep on politics and doom
While I fall in love with everybody in the room

Battle of the Underage Underground

2007-06-04T21:05:00.002-05:00

Last night I was invited to help judge the Radio K Battle of the Underage Underground at First Avenue, and the whole experience kind of blew my mind.

When I arrived and first received my ballot, I scanned around the room for a shadow to lurk in and ended up striking up a conversation with Lori Barbero, drummer for the recently-defunct Koalas and the legendary Babes in Toyland. I'd seen Lori play before but had never talked to her in person, and she ended up being of the sweetest and most friendly people I had ever met at a show. We hung together all night and shot the shit between bands, trading notes and jokes and snarky comments over the music.

The first act, Saluting the Rockies, took off like a cannon and blasted their way through their fifteen minutes of fame on the gigantic stage. The songs themselves weren't particularly remarkable and the vocals were a little scary/shaky at times, but they played with such severe intensity that they didn't even stop playing between songs -- one ending would flow into the next opening riff while the four young guys grinned huge, goofy grins and reveled in the energy of the young crowd. Toward the end of their set they surprised me with a no-holds-barred rock out moment that built into a frenetic, thumping crescendo, and I'm fairly certain all four of them were playing harder and better at the moment than they ever had in their life.

Between songs we watched clips from the Puppy Bowl (is it just me or is that constantly playing on the First Ave flat screens?) and Lori and I laughed about the similarities between the young puppies told to run around on the little plastic football field and the young pups on stage playing their first big show for a crowd.

There was an electricity pulsating through the room by the time Angel Darcourt started her set, and judging by the way the the room swelled full and then drained out afterward, Angel brought her own fanatic following. In an introduction by hosts Brother and Sister, Katie Gaughan beamed as she announced that "Angel wanted us to tell you one thing before she starts: her hype man is not a man." A bouncing Angel took the stage accompanied by a slender young woman with an attitude, and proceded to smack us in the face with a smooth-flowing spoken word piece about social justice. Her words flowed naturally and the meaning sunk in deep as she moved on to rap over beats (which I later learned were crafted by locals Benzilla and the St. Paul Kings). The entire floor seemed to be waving and yelling along with the music, and her talent was obvious to everyone in attendance.

Unfortunately, a rumor whipped through the room shortly after Angel's set that the rising star already had a management team in place to help her out, which I think was what ended up throwing her out of the first place spot in the judge's minds, since the first place spot was a recording contract with Say Rah Records and it was meant for amateur musicians. Like I said, unfortunate.

Milk Automat played a sort of meandering, electronic, vocal-less set that featured a lanky guy on synthesizers and a pretty blond girl on bass guitar. The band had the potential to do some really interesting live electronica, but their young age and inexperience playing live made it a little awkward to watch.

Just when the show started to drag a bit The Soviet Machines came out and stirred things up with a nice set of Britpop-style anthemic rock. Lead singer Jack Swagger channeled a bit of Bowie and a lot of Billy Idol as he hopped around the stage in a black long-sleeved shirt and white belt, and the band really kicked it into high gear by throwing a huge blow-up turtle into the audience for the kids to toss around while they danced.

Nap Nap played a set of electronic spaz-attack music that was a bit hard to follow, but entertaining nonetheless. The four boys in the band switched instruments between each song, and at one point two of them both ended up on drums and created this great jungle booming echo throughout the club. I have a feeling Nap Nap might be a lot better on record than they were live, simply because they would be forced to find a direction once they sat down in a studio.

A quiet set by Little Boxes made for another lull in the night, though I found Emma Turnquist's vocals to be captivating. With just a piano and drums, Little Boxes plays songs that are painfully simple, similar to the stylings of local chanteuse Haley Bonar, but at times Turnquist's voice gave out and lost pitch a bit, making it hard to hold the audience's attention. Of all of the bands in the contest, I thought Little Boxes had the most potential for success in the future, I just think it may take them a bit to come into their own sound.

As the boys in Rivet started setting up their instruments, Lori and I peeked over the railing from the front of the second level and spotted four boys that looked as if they had been teleported straight out the audience of a Metallica concert in 1993. "That one looks like Matt Dillon!" Lori said, pointing to the drummer, and I had to agree with her that he looked exactly like the long-haired Matt Dillon in Singles. So far, the band looked the most interesting of the night, so we made our way downstairs to stand in front of the stage for their set. For comparison:

Matt Dillon, circa 1992:

Caleb from Rivet:

Rivet, to put it bluntly, stole the fucking show. From the first chord it was clear that this band was pure musical talent, and though their sound was derivative of plenty of other thrash metal bands, especially the aforementioned Metallica, the boys played with such weight and ferocity that they blew every other band out of the water. Lori and I laughed, jumped up and down and made devil horns, and for a moment I forgot I was even at a battle because Rivet made it feel like a real, full-blown First Avenue show, and they more than deserved their first place win in the contest.

So to recap, the winners of the night were:

Rivet, winning a $2,000 recording contract with Say Rah Records and a live performance on Radio K.
Angel, who won $500 worth of CDs and packaging materials from Copy Cats Media.
Nap Nap, who in my opinion got the best prize of all, a photo shoot with the legendary Daniel Corrigan (who was profiled in this week's Downtown Journal).

2007-06-04T21:05:00.001-05:00

Here and there and back again

2007-06-04T16:28:00.000-05:00

Yes, I know, I haven't blogged in ages. Shame on me. Life has been crazy and busy and wonderful, and I have been moving and trying to earn money despite the fact I have no regular job. It's been strange, and liberating, and terrifying.

In my blogging absence, my online spirit has been present on other sites. Here is a rundown of things I have contributed to lately:

Chris Roberts attended a hootenanny two weeks ago and interviewed Stacy, Pete and I about our collective hoot love. You can stream Chris's piece that he put together for All Things Considered and look at a few pictures on the MPR website.

Southwest Journal and Downtown Journal writer Mary O'Regan put together a nice piece on local bloggers, in which she profiled yours truly as a token "music junkie." I love it.

I contributed to a discussion for the First Crack Podcast, hosted by Garrick Van Buren, about finding local music.

And last but not least, we put together a new podcast for Minneapoliscast.com. This month features tracks by all of the bands we have scheduled to play the HowWasTheShow 5th Anniversary Party this Saturday at the Turf Club!

Dollars and Dimes

2007-05-08T16:37:00.000-05:00

Money's been tight these days and I have been practicing my best starving artist moves lately, so it was a good day today when I went into Half Price Books and discovered an entire section of vinyl on clearance for 50 cents a piece. I had come in to sell some old books, and I took the five dollars I made from cleaning out the bookcase and bought a handful of old records, none of which I own on CD or have downloaded in mp3s.

Driving home, I couldn't help but smile as I thought about what a haul I made, and it got me thinking about the value we place on our music. If I had gone to the used CD section of the store and picked up the same titles, I would have no doubt owed 15 to 20 more dollars, and if I had downloaded each track off iTunes or Rhapsody it would have been considerably more. What are we paying for, exactly, when we buy music? Is it the convenience of being able to pull it up on our iPods at any moment? The convenience of popping the CD into the car stereo instead of waiting to et home and put a record on the turntable?

I know I'm probably alone, or nearly alone in my newfound obsession of buying mass quantities of music on vinyl, but it just hit me as ridiculous today to think that we get up in arms about making sure people don't illegally download music, that artists get their financial due, and so on, while there are boxes and boxes of old records out there available for almost nothing. It seems to say a lot about our need for convenience, accessibility, and up-to-the-minute art. It makes sense a la the whole supply and demand side of economics, but it just struck me as odd.

Anyway... back to being extremely employable.

Spark

2007-04-26T15:23:00.000-05:00

These days...

More often than not, it seems, these days people are starting their sentences with these two words. These days are strange. These days are filled with doubt. These days it's hard to tell up from down. These days it's getting harder to be a writer or a publisher or a dreamer.

But there's a different aspect of these days that is fresh and full of life. Can you feel it? Especially in Minneapolis, where dreamers and writers and doers seem to outnumber those who would rather sit still, there is a sort of electric spark hanging in the air that gets a little more audible every day. Go to the hootenanny, go to any show in a small club on a weeknight, go sit at one of the parks around one of the lakes, and tell me you can't smell it, feel it. It's there. A feeling of community brewing, people gathering together, preparing for something. What? I don't know exactly. Something good.

Everytime something dies, it gives way for new life. As each newspaper cuts down, lays off or calls it quits all together, it gives a little more space for the birth of something fresh. Instead of being sad, let's get excited. Let's band together in these weird days, these days of uncertainty and find a place where we can start talking about music again, instead of where and how and why and if it will happen.

All it takes is a spark to start a fire. And I've got a whole book of matches just waiting to be lit.

These days I'm feeling more and more alive. Can you feel it?

Spring fling

2007-04-19T13:53:00.000-05:00

You know those scenes in movies and commercials where they show a women buried deep in the recesses of her closet, back to the camera, flinging everything out onto the floor in an act of unadulterated spiritual/clothes cleansing? I have sort of been doing that with my whole life lately. And man, it feels great.

March was a terrible, fitful, restless month and by the end of it I wanted to light my whole life on fire, but I didn't; instead I waited it out and told myself that if things were really that bad, I could fix them in April. I listened to a lot of brilliantly sad music and drank a lot, medicating myself the only way I know how. And by the end, it turns out some of the things that were upsetting me really weren't so bad.

Others, however, needed to go.

So this has been a week for cleansing. I quit my full-time job, a relief I can't even describe in words other than to say it literally put a bounce in my step, and took a freelance copyediting job part-time instead. I rededicated myself to my writing and planned out not one, but three cover stories to write over the summer. I actually showed my novel to a group of people and revitalized my passion for finally finishing the damn thing. I wrote a song - me! a song! - for the first time ever. And I started going to shows regularly again.

Weeeee!

It's spring, it's spring, it's spring!

I'm cranking up the happy music this week, since I have been practically living on Elvis Perkins and Ani DiFranco and the song "Telephone Line" by ELO for the past month. No more sad bastard records for me, I want sunshine and power chords and ridiculously bright harmonies. Instead of singing "You've Got to Hide Your Love Away," I wanna sing "Don't Be Careful With Your Love." La la-la la-la la-la.

What's your best spring fling soundtrack?

My husband, Craig Finn

2007-04-04T14:18:00.000-05:00

Quote of the week:

"Support independent businesses. Trade in your old records with us. Do something to support the revolution. Work to get rid of these career criminals in The White House, the Senate and Congress and replace them with people who actually give a damn about mankind. And don’t forget to write your mother."

--Mark Trehus, owner of Treehouse Records, from this interview conducted by Dave Rachac on HowWasTheShow.com.

Ooh! Also, more fun with photos of celebrities who look like people I know!

Craig Finn:

Husband:

Weeeiiirrrd.

Yeah, I know I am being a lazy blogger. What are you gonna do about it?

Baseball: Can we be friends?

2007-04-03T13:42:00.000-05:00

My life has been waffling between boring and excrutiating lately and sharing my feelings with the void has been less than advisable these past few weeks. Luckily, we are approaching the end of the once seemingly endless gray (and March, historically my worst month for mental health, is OVER), so I am gonna try this whole blogging thing again.

I went to the Twins home opener last night and was reminded of how much I actually enjoy watching baseball. This is a relatively new development; last year the Husband convinced me to go to a couple Twins games and got the bright idea to teach me how to score the game, and I ended up totally falling for it. I love keeping track of which guy did what and who is on which base. As Husband said yesterday, keeping score seems to "fulfill something" for me, which might be the most polite way anyone has ever told me that I am neurotic.

There is something about being in the Metrodome for a sold-out Twins game that gives me basically the same level of satisfaction as seeing a great show; the way the crowd jumps to their feet together, screams for good plays and boos at bad ones in one sweeping, seamless, 40,000 person movement gives me the same chills as a standing ovation at the end of a great show. When the MVP guy stepped up to bat for the first time that night and effortlessly knocked the ball right out of the field and into the crowd, it was not unlike watching Prince pick up his guitar and wail through a killer solo. The intensity is there in both situations, and it surprised me that I could ever feel anything other than boredom about something that gets recapped at 10:30 pm on ESPN.

So it was great to wake up this morning and find this video of Craig Finn singing his own Twins praises. Dressed in a blue jersey and Twins cap and singing "Take Me Out to the Twins Game," I had a newfound appreciation for both Finn—who I'd always kind of kept at an arm's length distance because of all of the crazy press hoopla surrounding the Hold Steady—and this whole being a sports fan thing. I think I like it.

In other news, this Alanis Morrissette "My Humps" video has been making the blog rounds today and I thought I had better ask: did anyone else notice that My Humps Morrissette (pictured, left) bears a striking resemblance to the Twin Cities' own Alexis (pictured, right)? Hott.

And now for something completely different...

2007-03-22T22:26:00.000-05:00

Um, yeah.

Yours truly featured on CuteOverload.com. (Not for being cute, though...)

I did this thing for Glamour mag a while back and tewtally (as the CO peeps would say) forgot about it until now. I know my goal for 2007 was to be printed on glossy paper, but somehow I don't think this is quite what I meant... Either way, sort of random and thought I should share!

New fun awesome things

2007-03-09T11:51:00.000-06:00

In order to counteract the depressing style of my last post, here are some super fun awesome things for you to check out! Yay!

The staff at HowWasTheShow.com got the chance to sit down and record a CD review podcast for Minneapoliscast.com. Hear five of the best local tracks from this year so far and a bit of banter between yours truly and her beloved writers.

Download the podcast here.

In related news, Chris over at Culture Bully is putting together a new series of interviews with music people around town called Twin Personas, and Bob Longmore and I were some of the first to be interviewed.

Check it out here.

OMG crazy cool fun time hooray!

Beware the Ides of March

2007-03-08T11:22:00.000-06:00

I am terribly sorry for the random, heavy and introspective post. I figured it would be better to write something than to write nothing at all. This is where I am at right now, and I don't feel like I can be normal and proceed with blogging until I get this out.

It's March, and I am officially restless. Nothing feels right. I want to tear apart the pieces of my life that are driving me insane and put it all back together in a way that makes sense. Ever have one of those months? Fuck March.

ANYWAY, it's easy to let fear and all of these sick, trickling demon doubts get in the way of creating something new, and I've been thinking lately about ways that I can exorcise my demons. My simultaneously favorite and least favorite part about being Minnesotan is that I go through this cycle every year and fail to learn from it: the winter comes in and quiets me down, reigns me in, breaks me a little. I always climb back out of it by the end of April, but it's difficult to get there without having it totally ruin my life.

When I first met my husband, I explained to him that no boyfriend of mine had ever made it through the late winter months and into spring with me. I told him that if he made it through March without either being so completely terrified of me amidst my throes of depression that he had to leave or getting dumped due to said throes, that I would have no choice but to marry him. We had our first date in March; I had just dumped my boyfriend for no particular reason and I had serious doubts that our love would last a full 12-month cycle. Somehow, it did. Before I knew it, it was already the next April and we were engaged and I was happy. In just one year we had moved in together, adopted a pet (Sam the promise cat), and seen each other through sickness, and when March came I quit my job instead of quitting him. I decided to put both feet in the relationship, and for only the second time in my life, allow myself to love someone completely.

Getting married changed my life. That may sound like a completely obvious and pointless statement, but I was surprised at how much it shifted my psyche. It made me feel like I needed to become a new person: new name, new hair, new job, new me. I took a position as a receptionist and started spending my entire workdays writing. In one month I drafted the first version of what is becoming a pretty decent novel, started writing show reviews and started this blog. I bought new grown-up clothes and tried to start wearing makeup (that part only lasted a week). I reinvented myself.

It occurred to me lately that I have kept everything exactly the same since then. Almost every detail of my life is a direct result of that monumental shift. I have taken on the persona of the wife, the nighttime music critic, the bored receptionist. But where did the unmarried parts of me go? When I became Mrs. Myers, did Andrea Swensson completely disappear? Where is she? What is she like?

How am I not myself?

I am in the process of getting back to my most basic self. Digging through old belongings and albums, looking at old pictures, trying to find the place where I started. I got my heart broken about six years ago, and there is a big part of me that never healed from that. There is an old sore deep inside that I am finally get ready to prod at, gently. It's going to take some time and a lot of old sad bastard music, but eventually, and without fail, this wretched month of March will come to an end and we can all go outside and dance in the glorious April sun.

Benefit for Darfur, Sudan this Saturday

2007-03-07T10:41:00.000-06:00

My new friend, a talented young writer named Margaret Campbell, put together a short piece on an event coming up this weekend that will raise money for Darfur, Sudan. Check it out:

On Saturday, March 10, Dallas Johnson, a Jazz/Soul musician from the Twin Cities, will be hosting a benefit for Darfur at Dashen, an Eritrean managed Ethiopian restaurant.

“The best African musicians in Minneapolis will be performing, unplugged,” said Johnson. All of the artists are volunteers. “You’d never see all these musicians in one show, except at this benefit.”

Festivities will include a silent auction, food and international musicians such as Innocent from the International Reggae All-Stars, Van from the Maroons, Serge Akou, Brian Ziminak, Ray Rivera and many more.

“If I don’t raise money, it’s out of my pocket. I’m doing this out of faith,” said Johnson.

The $10 entry fee and $5 raffle ticket proceeds will go directly to the people of Darfur through the International Rescue Committee. The IRC is one of the few remaining humanitarian groups in Sudan and of those groups it is the most efficient at getting money to the people of Darfur.

“Ninety cents of every dollar goes to a variety of programs in Darfur, most towards education of children, clean water and sanitation. Seven cents goes to administration and 3 cents to fundraising,” said a representative at IRC.

“I feel that everybody are brothers and sisters. The situation in Sudan is an emergency. I can’t watch and do nothing,” said Johnson, who planned the benefit on her birthday.

Raffle tickets are available for a number of prizes including iPods, framed sketches and prints from local artists Barbara Porwit and Charlotte Ghiorse, tickets and backstage passes to the May performance of Champions on Ice, clothes from locally based Vandalism Designs, Twins memorabilia, and a variety of gift certificates and other prizes.

“Left to ourselves people will flourish and be happy, music can demonstrate that fact, and it can represent what humanity can do,” said Johnson. "People talk about Rwanda and the Holocaust as genocide, well genocide is happening right now… they must feel like the world forgot them.”

Musicians from Minnesota, Tanzania, Congo, Cameron, Ghana, the Ivy Coast and elsewhere will perform in the benefit.

“I decided, let me do everything I can and see what happens,” Johnson said.

Saturday, March 10, 2007
8:30pm – 11:30pm
Dashen Ethiopian Restaurant
2713 E Lake St, Minneapolis
612.724.8868
$10 entry fee
Parking in US Bank lot (3800 E Lake-1 block East & across from Dashen)

MARGARET CAMPBELL

Back to where I started

2007-02-28T15:48:00.001-06:00

I tried to revamp my blog. I spent all afternoon tweaking a fabulous new design that featured this totally artsy and introspective photo of a deserted park bench in the dead of winter, proceeded to somehow delete everything, and then stumbled on the file with my old design.

Old blog, I missed yous!

Time warp

2007-02-27T14:05:00.000-06:00

If you read this blog often, you know that I spend a lot of time talking about the effect that music has on our psyches and where it can take us. So it's no surprise that today, thanks to a link I found on Perfect Porridge, that allows you to stream the entire Romeo and Juliet soundtrack, I am spending my afternoon in 7th grade, carefully cutting out pictures of Leonardo DiCaprio from my teen magazines and taping them to my bedroom mirror.

It's been awhile since I've thought about that tumultuous time in my life, and while I am grateful to have 10 years between me and my painfully awkward adolescent self, there are a lot of parts of me that are essentially the same. I remember lying on my bed listening to Des'ree (what ever happened to Des'ree, anyway?) sing "Kissing You" and imagining what being kissed would feel like, hoping that it would be as drawn out and significant as in the movies. I learned how to play "Kissing You" on the piano and I would spend hours in the practice room at school playing it over and over again, hoping that a boy passing by in the hall would be so struck by the beauty of the song that he would have no choice but to swoop in and plant one on me.

I still have the tendency to expect too much out of life, to imagine scenes playing out in exaggerated ways like they do in film. I blame the music. All of my favorite scenes in movies are inevitable accompanied by great songs: "Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters" as William Miller runs down the streets of New York toward an overdosing Penny Lane; "Needle in the Hay" as the Luke Wilson Tenenbaum brother shaves his head and slits his wrists; "You Can't Always Get What You Want" as the funeral scene unfolds in the beginning of The Big Chill. (Why are all of my favorite movie scenes related to death? Something to ask the shrink.)

A meaningful moment in a movie practically requires a perfectly planned song, and it may help to explain why music takes us places as well—it helps us to explain the feeling of an exact moment in a more precise way than words and even pictures can, and used in the right way a song can be used to say something truly profound.

What's your favorite movie soundtrack or moment?

Sing out loud, sing out loud, sing out loud

2007-02-23T16:29:00.000-06:00

Something surreal happened to me about a week ago, and I've been thinking about it and turning it over in my mind ever since. As usual, I left work Friday and headed down to South Minneapolis for my weekly cleansing ritual, the Hootenanny, and was especially excited for this particular hoot since it was being hosted by my pal Stook. (Stooksenanny!) I wanted to get a good spot so I got there early, grabbed a cup of coffee and parked it near the front of the stage.

Just before the festivities began, Jim hinted that he wanted me to come up and sing "Homebodies" (my favorite Mad Ripple track) with him that evening. Shit, I thought to myself. I told him I would sing with him sometime, but I was totally tipsy when I said that! Sure enough, three songs into the night and with not a drop of liquor in my gut, Jim calls me up on stage and the whole thing played out like a big fuzzy dream.

I watch and listen to people sing every day. I study their moves, their facial expressions, and the tiniest nuances of their voices, listening for things that might make me fall in love with them. It never occurred to me that I never actually get up and do the same thing myself, save for one time with my husband when I had a lot of wine and decided to play piano for him in the middle of the night. And I had especially never sang in front of a room full of people, most of whom I knew.

It's not like I blew anybody's mind with my singing abilities, since I'm not particularly sure that I have any, but I stayed on key and sang my "la la las" and tried not to fidget too much. I'd say I did ok. The thing that shocked me the most was how exhilirating it was to do something that I'm NOT good at. I have a tendency to judge everything I do pretty harshly, especially any kind of art, and it was so refreshing to get up and do something just for the fun of it. No excuses, no beating myself up over the imperfections, no judgment; just me, on a stage, grinning like a fool and singing as loud as I could.

As Stook would say/sing:

Sing out loud, sing out loud, sing out loud
Won't you dance, won't you dance, won't you dance?
'Cause you and me, babe, we know it all to well
And those who laugh at us can all go to hell

A song is more than just a song

And a hootenanny is more than just a hootenanny. See you tonight.

New local music (aka "listen or die")

2007-02-14T10:21:00.000-06:00

I'll be the first to admit that when I fall in love, I fall fast and hard. And whether it is people, places, or music, you're going to hear about it. I don't like wasting a lot of breath on things that I don't like or care about, but man could I talk for hours about the stuff that turns me on.

So for Valentine's Day, here are some local musicians who have really jazzed me up lately. Consider it a love note to new local music. Complete with PICTURES (oooooh).

I saw The Cates last weekend at the Mad Ripple Hootenanny and I haven't been able to get them out of my mind since. Comprised of sweethearts Erin Kate and Caitlyn Smith, the Cates (gee, wonder where they came up with the name?) sing acoustic guitar-driven harmonies, and their voices collide with and compliment each other so well that it is difficult to tell which girl is singing what.

Both women have gorgeous and plush voices that seem to flow out of them effortlessly, and while I am sure each could be lovely solo artists, it's their powers combined that make them a unique act. My favorite song so far is "Day Break My Heart," a song that somehow stretches between optimism and utter despair with lines like "If this is war, please declare it/And if you'd like, I will turn the other cheek for you," and "There is no guard at my door." That's the thing about the Cates—just when they've broken your heart with the saddest song you've ever heard, you realize that these are two strong, independent women who are going to do just fine no matter what happens down the road. Maybe it's a feminist thing, I don't know, but that kind of organic, subtle girl power makes me go all soft inside.

When you go to their MySpace page, be sure to listen to their wrenching cover of "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun." And then go see the Cates play live, next Wednesday, February 21 at Cafe 318 in Excelsior or Friday the 23 in St. Paul at Ginkgo.

A few weeks ago I went to the Varsity to check out a bunch of bands. I didn't end up clicking with most of them, but I was completely blown away by Abzorbr. And in one fowl swoop I am going to jinx their whole career. Ready? Ok. Listening to Abzorbr reminds me of the first time I heard Atmosphere. Sorry guys, but it's true.

So here's what I like about these guys.

Vocalist Kristoff Krane (pictured, left) is the first rapper that I have seen in person that makes me want to use the verb "spits," because that's what he does: he raps quickly and urgently, as if he can't help but spit it all out in the open before his feelings change or go away all together. A lot of local rap groups that I have seen seem to come to the stage with a lot of pretenses and/or faked gravitas, and for the most part I get turned off by that kind of pomposity. Krane took the stage humbly—not meekly, mind you, but earnestly—and the aggressiveness of his phrasing seemed motivated more by the passion that he felt for what he was saying than any kind of magolomania. In other words, this guy's the real deal.

Brothers Graham and Casey O'Brien play drums and bass, respectively, and lay down a heavy funk during live performances. On their album, the musicians play around with sampling and electric guitar riffs to create more layers, and Krane raps over their beats with fluidity. Their first full-length record, Capable of Teetering, is due out at the end of March. You can catch Abzorbr playing their CD release show with Carbon Carousel at the Entry March 30. And you'll hear more about these guys from me next month.

A little late, but still...

2007-02-13T11:01:00.000-06:00

Minnesota bands playing SXSW

2007-02-08T16:17:00.000-06:00

Huge-ass music/hipster convention South by Southwest has released their initial list of bands scheduled to play. We are sending a few folks from HWTS down to cover the event and I was glad to see a hearty portion of Minnesota acts on the list. So far it looks like the following folks will be representin' our beloved state:

Birthday Suits
Blackhearted Force
Brother Ali
Cloud Cult
The Deaths
Dosh
Fog
Honeydogs
Little Man
The Melismatics
The Pines
The Slats
Storyhill
Dan Wilson

I have one question so far... Who is Blackhearted Force and why haven't we heard of them? I have some work to do.

UPDATE: Blackhearted Force is a band that features Dan Sarantakis and Matt Duff on guitars, Cody Wayne (Faux Jean) on bass, Mike Koch (Bridge Club) on drums, and Paddy Mulloy on vocals. As the name suggests, they play a sort of heavy and rowdy punk rock, pretty cool stuff. I will have to catch them live soon. More info at their MySpace.

Hoot, the Debut, Prince and things

2007-02-05T14:07:00.000-06:00

What a full weekend. While I recap the things I enjoyed over the past few days, I am going to try out a new style of writing that features LINKS and PICTURES and other things that make it less like reading and more like... uh... looking at stuff on the internet? It is supposed to be the new cool way to blog, apparently.

So here we go.

Friday night I headed down to the trusty-as-ever Mad Ripple Hootenanny for Jim Walsh's birthday celebration. The night was said to feature "special guests," and when Jim says special it usually means pretty damn special, so I had to check it out. One by one a line of my favorite local musicians filed onto stage (photos stolen from Marshall Franklin Photography):

Dan Wilson. Sigh. One of my first eras of diving seriously deep into music involved playing Semisonic CDs over and over again, and it was a treat to see Dan up close while he sang. He played a few songs off of his forthcoming solo album, which will supposedly come out sometime this year (though Dan himself even seemed unsure about that) and included "Babydoll," which you can listen to on his MySpace.

The highlight of his performance was at the very end when he played my favorite Semisonic song for Jim, "Made to Last," and I had a sort of transcendent moment in which I stopped sitting in the basement of a coffeeshop and found myself standing someplace else, several years ago. When I snapped out of it there was a tear falling down my cheek. It occurred to me that I hadn't had that sort of experience at a show for a while, and it made me want to go to a show every day for the rest of my life just to have the chance to experience one of those moments again. Beautiful.

Next:

Tim O'Reagan could sing songs about anything -- and I do mean anything: bugs, trash, whatever -- and it would sound lovely. His voice is so delicate and sincere that it makes me want to hold my breath. He played a great selection of songs during his turns at the hoot, including "These Things" and the Smart Pills song "No Pictures of Dad" (listen to the original on the Smart Pills' MySpace).

If you haven't bought Tim's solo album yet, you are missing out -- easily the best record I heard last year. Listen to tracks on his MySpace.

Next:

I first heard about Jeaneen Gauthier and her band Jan in a column written by Jim Walsh for the Pioneer Press, so it was appropriate that she played his birthday party and gave a "Jim is awesome" birthday speech. (As Dan Wilson remarked, it's not often that one gets to hear their own eulogy, and Jeaneen did a great job summarizing some of Jim's finer attributes.) Highlights from Jeaneen's performance included a great new song called "Black Noise" and my favorite Jan song, "Dumb Guy." Samples here. Jan hasn't been active for a while but rumor has it Jeaneen is working on a new album and I am looking forward to hearing it.

To round things out, the Como Avenue Jug Band set up shop at the back of the room and played a handful of songs, and they gave the whole experience an even more organic feel as they shouted out choruses about catfish and banged on their handmade, authentic jug band instruments.

All in all it was a surreal sort of night, with at least 100 people crammed into the little basement and spilling out of the main room into the back stairway. Though Jim has been down on his luck this week, it was abundantly clear that he is loved and respecting by so many people in the community, and it was great to see everyone rally together to support the talented writer and wish him a happy birthday.

Saturday night I headed over to the Varsity to check out the Debut CD release. If you read my columns in the Pulse or frequent this blog or have basically been within 20 feet of me lately, you will know that I have a thing for the Debut and think they have released a spectacular first album. We should be running a review of the night over at HowWasTheShow soon, so I won't get into too much detail about it here, but with a great budding pop band sandwiched between two more experienced (but still fairly new) and polished acts -- The Alarmists and White Light Riot -- it made for a stellar night of entertainment and ass shaking.

Oh yes, and the photo to accompany said night was ganked from their MySpace page.

And then, to finish off the weekend, there was Prince. Talk about sensory overload. His performance was easily the best Superbowl halftime show I have ever seen, and I even got a little misty-eyed during "Purple Rain." Rock!

Jim

2007-02-01T10:08:00.000-06:00

Jim Walsh: Finding a new voice
Pulse of the Twin Cities
July 19, 2006

In high school, I had a huge crush on Jim Walsh. While most girls my age were busy pinning up stock photos of rock stars and molded-abdomen pretty boys, my locker was lined with clippings from Walsh’s weekly rock columns, carefully cut out of the entertainment section of the Pioneer Press. Though I had no idea what he looked like, save for the little blurry rectangular photo that could have been cut off the driver’s licenses of half the blond men in Minnesota, I was drawn to his style of writing and love for music, smitten with his passion for words and sounds.

For the past 20 years, Walsh has narrated the passing of time in the Minnesota music scene with his signature writing style—personal and passionate—and extensive, firsthand knowledge of local musicians and their creative endeavors. He has studied, listened to, and interviewed hundreds of musicians and artists, trying to figure out what makes them tick.

And now, taking the next step in his lifelong endeavor to understand the depths of creativity, he has crossed the threshold from music critic to musician. He has become one of them.

Though Walsh has been in a band before (most notably, he played guitar in Laughing Stock with Slim Dunlap in the ’80s), it had been years since he had even considered trying to sing again. At Laughing Stock’s last gig in 1986, Walsh recalls telling Dunlap, “I’m done, man. I’m done. I’ve had it.” With a playful glint in his eye, Walsh leans into the table at our booth at the CC Club, speaking animatedly. “But Slim said to me that night, ‘You’ll do it again. It’s in you.’ And I said, ‘No way.’ And I was positive.

“About three years ago, that single sentence, ‘It’s in you,’ started cropping up,” he continues. “And it’s like, yeah, it’s in me. Singing and songwriting is in me.”

At the time, Walsh was living in California and studying at Stanford as a Knight Fellow. “Twenty journalists a year from around the world get it, and you get to go to Stanford and they pay your room and board, and you get to take any and every class you want. It’s tremendous,” he explains. “In addition to doing a lot of reading and studying, and seeing California and living in California, I started writing songs. And I had to learn how to write songs, because I had never done that.”

By the time he came back to Minnesota, Walsh had a handful of songs written and he made the decision to leave his position at the Pioneer Press in search of something more flexible. He took a job at the City Pages and set his sights on his first musical goal in over two decades—his first solo album.

“I had read a quote from John Cage—I was in the Stanford Library, on the third floor, in this big plush red leather chair,” he says, with a look of wonderment in his eyes. “I’ll never forget sitting there, reading this book on music theory, and John Cage said something to the effect of, ‘Music is little more than organized sound.’ And I thought: I can do that. I’ll take little sounds, be it my voice, or my guitar strings, and I’ll put them together in a way that makes sense to me.”

One by one the songs piled up, and before long it was time to record. “Mason Jennings turned me on to Chad Weis at the Devil’s Workshop,” Walsh writes in his City Pages blog, “and I booked some studio time and started recording it on Super Bowl Sunday and Monday. It was the classic Minnesota sessions, with cold beers and a warm studio staving off the bitter winter. When it was done I gave it to Martin Devaney … and he said he and his cool indie roots label, Eclectone, would put it out.”

Walsh’s record, under the name The Mad Ripple, hit stores on July 4, a day most record stores were closed, which he says “is somehow fitting.” On his day of independence, Walsh unleashed his collection of raw, vulnerable songs; songs full of delicate vocal meanderings and resounding lyrics that are as deeply personal and sincere as his old music columns. Though the music is mostly upbeat folk-rock, a good portion of the songs reflect on heavier subjects, such as the emptiness of depression and the loneliness of lost love. “A Question For Pat Dwyer at Grumpy’s in NE Minneapolis” and “Obit Desk” are perfect snapshots from the complicated mind of a fierce intellect, and lines like, “I can’t get near / To what all they all talk of / About being here and now / Living life like lemons / And dying for a cause” are simultaneously self-absorbed and universally sympathetic.

Though the songwriting process was a solo effort, there are plenty of notable local music scenesters and icons keeping him company on the record. Brothers Jim and Dave Boquist of Son Volt were the first to jump on board, along with Walsh brothers Terry and Jay, Jayhawks members Marc Perlman and Tim O’Reagan, Rusty Jones, Jim Tollefsrud, Jeaneen Gauthier and members of rowdy local punk/country band The Gleam. “Here Comes the catholic Boys” gathers up the masses for a full-blown sing along, and Gauthier and Walsh join together in a duet for the delightfully charming “Homebodies (Don’t Be Careful with Your Love).”

In the end, Jim’s album is exactly what you would expect from his writing. Though some of his sentiments could be seen as cheesy, Walsh carries it off with an attitude that is sincere and brimming with real-world truth. “I’m really in the moment these days,” he says. “And I’m very grateful for that, I feel very blessed.” He speaks of his musical future in a relaxed manner, displaying his newfound inner peace and an overall contentment with his work.

“I would just hope that people would have a personal experience with it,” he says. “The way I have had with so many great records.” And in his blog, he writes, “To think that I may have written a song or two that could communicate the incommunicable the way others have for me is nothing short of a miracle.”

Homegrown Critic's Pick Show

2007-01-16T15:48:00.000-06:00

I intended to blog about this yesterday but got myself wrapped up in a whole other world of thoughts and then spent the rest of the day marinating ribs for the Husband to feast on. Man, he loved those ribs.

SO on Sunday night I got the opportunity to be on the radio with almost every other music critic in town, and it was a blast. I got home at around 1 a.m. and didn't fall asleep until 4 or so due to the buzz of being in a room with a good majority of the people I respect most. To be on the show with them and especially to be regarded as one of their peers, for christ's sake, was a bit of a mind bender. Awesome.

We all got the chance to pick a song to play, and here are our picky-picks:

Steve McPherson (Pulse of the Twin Cities): P.O.S, "All Along the Watchtower"
Chris Bahn (The Onion AV Club): Dosh, "The Lost Take"
Jason Nagel (Cities 97): Leroy Smokes, "Never Scared"
Andrea Myers (HowWasTheShow.com): Stook, "I Keep on Fallin' in Love With You"
Christopher Matthew Jensen (Rift): Painted Saints, "Every Time I Smile Wrong (Sopping Thursday)"
Chris Riemenschneider (Star Tribune): Tim O'Reagan, "These Things"
Sarah Askari (City Pages): Gay Beast, "Disrobotics"
Ross Raihala (Pioneer Press): The TV Sound, "Be That Kind"

And here we are post-show:

Back row: Ross, Chris R., Jason, Steve, Chris B., and Homegrown staffers Nice Intern Guy, Candy, and Rawb. Second row: Chris J., Paul (front in Drive tee), Sarah, Me, host Dave Campbell, and Homegrown staffer Glaze.

Photo by random KQRS DJ.

Time Travel

2007-01-15T15:12:00.000-06:00

I've been trying to discipline myself to read a little poetry every day, and have subscribed to the Writer's Almanac email list to make it as easy as possible. Today's poem, courtesy of Mr. Keillor, is by Noel Coward, and I found it especially thought-provoking (if you're like me, when you first see a poem you might have the tendency to scan over it, but please give this one a try):

Nothing is Lost
By Noel Coward

Deep in our sub-conscious, we are told
Lie all our memories, lie all the notes
Of all the music we have ever heard
And all the phrases those we loved have spoken,
Sorrows and losses time has since consoled,
Family jokes, out-moded anecdotes
Each sentimental souvenir and token
Everything seen, experienced, each word
Addressed to us in infancy, before
Before we could even know or understand
The implications of our wonderland.
There they all are, the legendary lies
The birthday treats, the sights, the sounds, the tears
Forgotten debris of forgotten 2007s
Waiting to be recalled, waiting to rise
Before our world dissolves before our eyes
Waiting for some small, intimate reminder,
A word, a tune, a known familiar scent
An echo from the past when, innocent
We looked upon the present with delight
And doubted not the future would be kinder
And never knew the loneliness of night.

This poem reminds me of a discussion we were having over at the HowWasTheShow Forum about first records, and how easy it is to recollect things that have been lodged in our senses: the first songs from our childhood; the smell of waking up on a Sunday to my parent's coffee brewing and cinnamon rolls in the oven; the taste of Grandpa's signature spaghetti sauce. The memories are defined by the things we sensed the strongest, and there's nothing like music to throw us back to a special place or time.

When I was little my dad played guitar. He still does, every now and then, but when I was little I got my own special dad concerts. He had certain songs he played for certain times and situations, and I can remember one more vividly than the rest. I had done something bad, I can't remember what exactly but I think it involved throwing a fit at the store, and as punishment a few of my toys were placed high on the top shelf of my closet where I could see but not touch them. They sat there, taunting me, and even though I had plenty of other toys to play with I specifically wanted to play with those toys, as they were out of my reach.

My dad sat me down with his acoustic guitar and played me the verses of the Rolling Stones' "You Can't Always Get What You Want." I remember trying to wrap my head around the lyrics ("I saw her today at the reception" was translated in my young mind to a woman waiting at the receptionist's office of the dentist, holding a wine glass full of blood...) and nodding my head to the strumming of the guitar. "You can't always get what you want," I sang to myself, trying to understand why, WHY can't you always get what you want? I was an only child and I got everything I wanted, dammit! "But if you try sometimes, you get what you need." It was all clear. If I tried hard enough and behaved, I might get those toys back, and boy did I need them.

It wasn't the most dead-on interpretation of music ever, but it stuck with me for a long time. I still laugh to myself when I hear the song now, and despite the fact that I have a completely different understanding of the words than I did when I was little, it brings back the same memory every time.

What songs take you back to the days of innocence?

See you on the other side

2007-01-09T22:06:00.000-06:00

I got the deluxe edition of Velvet Underground and Nico tonight during a Cheapo run.

I think I just officially entered my Lou Reed phase.

Nuts and Bolts

2007-01-08T14:13:00.000-06:00

It's getting to the point now where I occasionally have the opportunity to hear albums as they are being worked on, and it has gotten me thinking about the whole other side of the music circus that I try to keep an arm's length from: production. It's not that I don't want to understand the intricate details involved in the making of a record, it's... no wait, that's pretty much it. I don't really want to know.

I have this foul habit of eating lunch at Leann Chin at least once a week, often times more, and I was standing in line today thinking about the recording process and looking at the congealed gelatin-like substance that coats my beloved sweet and sour chicken, and it occurred to me that I feel the same way about food that I do about music. I don't want to know how the chicken got that color. I don't want to know how much MSG is in the noodles. All I know is that I like eating it because it tastes good to me. I can go into great detail explaining all of the marvelous flavors and textures of the foods I consume at the pseudo-Chinese eatery, with it's flourescent glow and pre-processed spread. But good lord, please don't tell me what is in that stuff. You'll just take all the fun out of it.

Sure, I'll sit you down and ask you 20 questions about how you put together your new record, but is that the most interesting thing for a fan to hear about? It seems like there are two very distinct parts to making an album: the songwriting, which is almost entirely driven by creative impulse and inspiration (aka the stuff I find riveting), and the production, which from the outside can seem like a lot of turning knobs and moving those slidey buttons up and down on a giant mixing board. I fear that if I were to learn all of the little details about slidey buttons that it might take away from my ability to get totally absorbed in a song, to forget for just a second that a human made it and to let it grip my heart and make my tummy do a little flippity-flop. And that would really bust me up inside.

Of course, I suppose the same thing can be said for choosing to dissect and over-analyze every song I hear in an attempt to make a living and understand why it consumes me so. But it hasn't ruined me yet.

By the way: The Debut's debut (har, har) album that comes out next month is going to kick a lot of ass, and the bourbon chicken tastes delicious.

Ring it in

2007-01-02T09:18:00.000-06:00

I've always found comfort in new beginnings, and the swapping out of calendars seems like a good accompaniment to reassessing life, if only for a fleeting moment before I get swept back under the current of it all.

I had pretty good luck with my resolutions last year (5 out of 6 ain't bad!), so I decided to sit down and make a new list. Goals for 2007:

Write something every day. Even if it's headed straight for the trash can.
Stop adopting cats. Three is more than enough.
Complete novel. Make it best novel ever written.
Freelance for two new publications by the end of the year, with one, if at all possible, on glossy paper.
Take more time for personal projects, i.e. organization of the CDs which are currently out of control and taking over my apartment.

Happy New Year!

2007-01-01T14:33:00.000-06:00

I attempted to stage the cheesiest New Year's stock photo possible. Here's to a fabulous 2007!

Best Live Shows of 2006

2006-12-22T08:52:00.000-06:00

The HowWasTheShow staff are putting together a story for Rift Magazine that lists our favorite live local shows that we saw this year, and it got me thinking about all of the great local and national performers that I was able to see live in 2006. I'm not going to rank these since I am just listing them as they pop into my head, but if you get the chance I would highly recommend making time to see this bands/artists play live.

So here they are, in no particular order. The best live shows I saw in 2006:

The Mad Ripple Hootenanny
Java Jack's, Every Friday since November 3

It's not often that you get the chance to see a former Jayhawk make his way clumsily through a song he just wrote, or watch your friends get plucked from the audience to go up on a tiny makeshift stage to join in on the action of a totally unamplified, unscripted show. Hosted by The Mad Ripple (mad music scribe Jim Walsh), these shows are becoming must-see events. Where else in town can you descend the back stairs of an unassuming coffeeshop and find yourself thrown into a world that resembles Greenwich Village, circa 1963? Or maybe it's your friend's rec room, circa now, complete with bottles of whiskey being passed slyly around the room and taunts being thrown between performers and revelers. Every time I have gone down those stairs it's been a memorable evening, and I plan to go back as often as I can before the thing implodes on itself or gets ruined by the normies.

Jose Gonzalez
Cedar Cultural Center, June 23

It was an unexpectedly emotional night: I went from skeptical spectator to adoring fan of Gonzalez in about the time it took him to finish his first song, and I was crying by the fifth one into the set. The pin-drop silence of the Cedar and the way that Gonzalez held the room in the palm of his hand with only the use of his distinctive voice and acoustic guitar was something I had never witnessed before -- or at least not with as much intensity. And by the time he got around to playing a cover of Kylie Minogue's "Hand on Your Heart," it was all over. I was sunk. "I want to hear you tell me you don't want my love/Put your hand on your heart and tell me it's all over/I won't believe it till you/Put your hand on you heard and tell me that we're through."

Planes for Spaces
400 Bar, March 24

I wasn't quite sold on the idea of Planes for Spaces when I heard their disc -- the sound was a bit too ambiancey and wandering for my taste -- but when I saw them live, I was totally captivated. The band jerks through time signatures and syncopations so professionally that I couldn't help but let my jaw drop at points and let out involuntary yells of "Yeeeeah," and bass player Tony Najm was especially riveting with his facial contortions and screams. Najm went on later in the year to accept a permanent bass position with the Alarmists, which was an excellent move for both parties. Planes for Spaces was on a bit of a hiatus through the bulk of 2006 but lead singer Joe January has indicated that there will more shows from them in 2007.

Electropolis plays Metropolis
Southern Theater, February 19

A clip from my review of the show: "From the back of the theater, Bill Mike played an almost psychedelic guitar solo that highlighted a dream sequence scene in the film, and transitioned nicely into more trance-inducing beats from Electropolis. The evening climaxed toward the end of the film, as the tensions rose on screen the musicians responded with a growing, anxious electric beat and the shrieking pangs of cello from Jelloslave at the back of the room. More students from the Perpich Arts High School trickled out into the aisles of the theater, swinging hose-like whirring tubes like lassos above their heads and creating a high-pitched humming that penetrated the room like a chorus of angry little flies. A riot on screen was reflected in the chaotic noise bouncing throughout the theater, and in that moment the attendees got to experience true, organic surround sound."

P.O.S. CD Release Show
7th Street Entry, January 31

The push and pull of a stuffed-full 7^th Street Entry. The smell of sweat and spilled beer and anticipation. The sweet sounds of the Cities' best hip-hop played set after set until two in the morning on a Monday. It was a memorable event when P.O.S. sold out the Entry to play his first of two local release shows for this year's stellar Audition, one of those shows you know you will never see again because it occurred at that exact moment when the artist realized that they are bigger and quite a bit more popular than they originally thought. Joined by Heiruspecs, Doomtree, Digitata and Passions, the release show was more of an emotion than it was a performance: Stef Alexander (P.O.S.) paced the stage in awe, repeatedly telling "I can't believe this is happening," while 250 of his closest friends got ready to usher him into would be a banner year for the rising local star.

Ani DiFranco with Hammell on Trial
Cedar Cultural Center, April 22

DiFranco is admittedly one of my favorites, so I went into this show with the kind of excitement and giddiness that accompanies seeing someone you've followed for years, but this particular performance was downright hysterical. After admitting that she had spent the last year falling in love and taking some time for herself, DiFranco bantered with audience and made jokes -- and it was a bit surreal to see someone who is normally regarded as "the angry feminist folk singer" laugh so lightheartedly at herself and the world. Of course, it wouldn't be a true Ani show without some political commentary, and opener Hammell on Trial did a great job setting the tone for social awareness and outrage toward injustice and ignorance. "It's not getting any easier to write political songs," DiFranco remarked about her opener, "but man does the world need 'em.”

Tim O'Reagan
In-Store at Electric Fetus, June 30; Stasiu's, July 26; 400 Bar, December 2

I'm a little... how should I say this... well, I'm a little obsessed with Tim O'Reagan this year. Ever since I fell in love with the track "Tampa to Tulsa" on the Jayhawk's last album, I have been craving more from O'Reagan and this year I got it in spades. Tim's solo album is remarkable, easily the best local record I heard this year, and I saw him live every chance I got. He was a bit shaky at first, clearly uncomfortable with being in the spotlight, but by the time he had toured around the country and came back for his show at the 400 Bar earlier this month his live presence had improved exponentially. His latest performance was a showcase of all of his great work: from the Leatherwoods songs of the mid-'90s to a few Jayhawks tunes to his new record, it's painstakingly clear that O'Reagan knows how to craft a great song.

Honorable mentions (click for reviews):

Atmosphere at First Ave, September 30
Mason Jennings at the Orpheum, June 24
Ike Reilly at Station 4, June 3
Benefit for Conrad at First Ave, September 6
TOMHANKS at Club Underground, January 14
Mark Mallman at the Turf Club, February 18
Tracy Bonham and Martha Wainwright at the Fitzgerald, March 11
The Fantastic Merlins at the Dakota, April 17

On Doozers and Writing

2006-12-18T16:03:00.000-06:00

Dear Faithful Blog Readers,

I fear that I have been a terrible companion to you these past two months, and I wanted to take a moment to stress how much I value our anonymous friendship. I haven't been as attentive as I should and, you see, without you I would have no one to ramble at aimlessly when I am feeling lost and alone. But despite the overabundance of forced cheerfulness and sickeningly sweet holiday glee, I am having a hard time making it through this Xmas season without a shopping-induced panic attack, and when I worry, I stop writing. And when I stop writing, I just worry more. It's soooooo lame.

Anyway, dear reader, I am doing my best to paddle on. I just finished typing up an interview with the talented singer/songwriter Stuart D'Rozario that gave me a little bit of wisdom to carry with me on these dark nights. I was asking Stuart how he felt about working a full-time job (the source of many of my own woes) and balancing his creative work on the side, and he said:

I think you need to spend time cultivating. It will help your music; it will help your work. Ideas are just a combination of old elements - so the more elements you have in your mind, the more chance you have to combine things. And you get better at combining. Different smells, different experiences. It feeds off each other. I think we're taught as kids that you can do one thing, or you can do a lot of things badly. And I think that is a flawed premise that is ingrained in too many people.

Smart guy, huh? It got me thinking about my own life, and how I seem to do the best work when I am so busy that I can't see straight. If I have too much down time, it leads to me sitting alone in my apartment drinking wine and watching too much Sex and the City, and that can't be good for anyone's writing career.

So I need to ask you for a bit of advice. What do you do to break out of a slump?

Love and hugs and peace,
MinneapolitanMusic

Confession

2006-12-11T15:13:00.000-06:00

I'm not Catholic, so I'll confess to my blog instead:

I was just caught swaying back and forth at my desk to the new John Mayer album. I know that this is probably, like, SO against the unspoken creed of rock scribes everywhere, but I like it. I can't help it.

Ok, I feel better.

John Lennon

2006-12-08T09:16:00.000-06:00

It's a Lennon sort of day. Part of me wishes I had been born a decade earlier so that I could take part in the "Where were you on the day Lennon died?" conversation over at WalshFiles; part of me is glad to be a member of the younger generation that is responsible for carrying on his legacy after all the old boomers have gone senile and cranky.

I was all but a glimmer in my mother's eye the day that John Lennon died, but the pain is still palpable. I imagine hearing the news was pretty similar to the night I heard that George Harrison was gone: Gasp. Immediate heartbreak. Silent tears.

I was driving around town aimlessly with a friend of mine -- we were freshmen in college and we didn't have anything better to do with our evenings than drive around smoking cigarettes and avoiding our homework. We had the radio on, which was odd, since I almost exclusively listened to CDs at that time, and we were slowly winding our way through the streets of St. Paul sneaking hits off a pinchie and debating something, probably music-related, with great passion. The DJ came on and said that George was dead, and it was like a shot straight to my gut. Tears sprung to my eyes before I could even open my mouth to say, "Shit."

Look at me
what am I supposed to be?
what am I supposed to be?
Look at me
what am I supposed to be?
what am I supposed to be?
Look at me
Oh My Love
Oh My Love

I didn't listen to pop music when I was a kid. I didn't care about it. My dad played Beatles records over and over again, to the point that I barely knew other music existed, and sometimes I wonder if he obsessed over them so diligently because he knew that he would spend the rest of his life mourning the fact that John Lennon had died. There was something so hopeful about Lennon's music, and I picked up on it even as a child: He really honestly believed that we could change the world. I've never seen that kind of humble idealism from someone my own age.

I know it's not cool to be a hippie anymore. I know people like to make fun of "those kinds of people" because they think that life is all about peace and love and flowers. But there is something else in the hippie philosophy that got lost in the commercialization of flower power and bell bottomed jeans and Volkswagon Beetles, something that IS cool and IS realistic and shouldn't be scoffed at: the world gets fucked up, and it's our job to see that it is fucked up and to do something about it. And life IS about peace and love and understanding. Otherwise, what are we here for?

Here I am
what am I supposed to do?
what am I supposed to do?
Here I am
What can I do for you?
What can I do for you?

So here's what we are going to do today. I'll be me, and you be you, and for one day, in honor of John Lennon and hippies and love, let's be happy. Read a good book, see a good show, go out and take a jog through the brisk cold air and let the winter know that you aren't afraid. Live, god dammit. Be alive.

List Schmist

2006-12-04T15:28:00.000-06:00

If you read my blog you will know that I hate - HATE - making year end lists, but that I must do so anyways to keep in line with my fellow music writers. In my opinion the lists are completely subjective and pompous, since they depend on which albums you were actually able to obtain, listen to, and absorb enough to call a favorite, and I don't think that any local musician should feel better or worse about themselves based on these tabulations.

That being said, they do provide a handy resource for catching up on local albums that one might have missed in the past year. So, instead of posting my critic's picks this year (you can find them online at the Strib site later this month anyway), I have decided to post an unranked list of my favorite local discs from 2006. In my opinion, and from what I have heard, these are my favorites. There are 35 here, and I still feel like I left off quite a few.

The Alarmists, "A Detail of Soldiers"
Belles of Skin City, "You Do the Company Proud"
Bellwether, "The Stinging Nettles"
Ben Connelly, "Over You"
Big Ditch Road, "The Great Dissent"
Haley Bonar, "Lure the Fox"
Chooglin’, “Chooglin’”
Coach Said Not To, "Mini Series"
Jenny Dalton, “Fleur de Lily”
Martin Devaney, "Letters Never Sent"
Stuart D’Rozario, “Songs About Now”
God Damn Doo Wop Band, "Broken Hearts"
Golden Smog, "Another Fine Day"
Jessy Greene, "A Demon and Her Lovers"
Mason Jennings, "Boneclouds"
The Jonathan Earl Band, “The Jonathan Earl Band”
Leroy Smokes, “Love Hustle Theatre”
Kill the Vultures, "The Careless Flame"
Chris Koza, "Patterns"
The Mad Ripple, "Sink and/or Swim"
Mark Mallman, “Between the Devil and Middle C”
Jeremy Messersmith, "The Alcatraz Kid"
Mighty Fairly, “Perfectly Good Airplanes”
One for the Team, "Good Boys Don't Make Noise"
Tim O’Reagan, “Tim O’Reagan”
P.O.S., "Audition"
Prince, "3121"
Roma di Luna, "Face of My Friends"
Kelly Rossum, "Line"
Stook, “The Soundtrack to My Minneapolis”
The TV Sound, “The TV Sound”
Various, "Twin Town High Vol. 8"
Various, "Best of Smoke-Free Saturday Nights"
The Vestals, "Songs About Girls...and Other Mysteries."
The Winter Blanket, "Golden Sun"

A night for do-gooders

2006-11-30T12:28:00.000-06:00

While looking over the calendar updates for HWTS, I noticed a trend in the shows taking place tomorrow night around town. Being the first day of the month of giving and kindness and all those nice things, it's a good night to go out and pony up a small fee to see some great musicians play their hearts out for a variety of good causes. Here's the rundown:

The Cedar Cultural Center presents Concert for Kateri Residence, a 501C3 place of healing for Native American women in recovery, featuring: Trampled by Turtles, Charlie Parr, The Brass Kings, The Intangibles and Native performers such as Jingle Dancers, Aztec Dancers and a Drum Circle to keep the crowd entertained in between sets. 7pm doors, 8pm show, $20, all ages.

The 331 Auxiliary Club (34 13th Ave NE) hosts a World AIDS Day Benefit with Kubla Khan, The Get Up Johns, and Rare Medium. 8pm, $10, 21+.

Over at Big V's this weekend, they are hosting two nights of music benefitting the family Stefan Olson, the longtime Turf Club employee, musician, and local music scene supporter who passed away last month. The lineups:

Friday: Kruddler, The Congo Eels, Alicia Corbet, Micheal Quinn and The Bourbon Kings, Flink. 9pm, $5-$10 suggested donation, 21+.

Saturday: First Communion Afterparty, Brian Herb, 10w40, The Autumn Leaves, Ken DeVoe, The Lonesome Fugatives, Henry. 9pm, $5-$10 suggested donation, 21+.

And at Club Underground, Future Lisa is hosting a benefit for the Lewis House (a battered women's shelter) with Seymore Saves the World, Citizens Banned, Shaker Revival, The Axis of Good. 9pm, $5, 21+.

Go out and play nice.

Rough patches

2006-11-22T11:26:00.000-06:00

1. It's November.
2. Holidays are depressing.
3. Coldness is creeping in.

But I'm deciding to stay alive anyway.

There's something about the winter that makes me overly dramatic and introspective. I can't quite put my finger on it. Maybe it's the way that a gray day seems to seep into every aspect of waking life, with the color of blah washing over every street corner and dead-looking tree and disinterested face, and I just the crave color and contrast and sign of life. Or maybe I'm just wrestling with a funk. Who knows.

I can't seem to move on from the old music I love and venture into new music these days. There is something soothing, fulfilling even about listening to a song that I already know the words to. It's like talking to an old friend who already knows your history; you don't have to waste any time playing catch up and you can go right to the core of the crap you need resolved. Lately, Ani DiFranco has been cutting into the core of me, and even though I've played her records so much that I actually wore one of them out (I didn't know that could happen! Argh.) I still can't get enough. It's the time of year for pulling out the ratty old familiar sweater; the same strands of lights that have been hung every year since high school, with the one red bulb that never glows like it should; the crappy holiday mix tapes and dog-eared caroling books that I can't bring myself to throw away. It's time to revel in a good case of the winter blues.

the sky is grey
the sand is grey
and the ocean is grey

and i feel right at home
in this stunning monochrome
alone in my way

I get a weird satisfaction from the idea that this time of year has always been about trying to stay alive. I feel a bond with fellow Minneapolitans because of this concept. Call it what you will - Seasonal Affective Disorder (how depressing is it that the condition itself is called SAD), the duldrums, whatevs - if you've been there, you know. And you're probably here now.

i smoke and i drink
and every time i blink
i have a tiny dream

but as bad as i am
i'm proud of the fact
that i'm worse than i seem

So here we are, reaching toward life. Clinging to old favorites, settling in for the deep chill. What are you favorite songs to spin as you prepare for hibernation?

Martin Luther King, Jr.

2006-11-21T16:34:00.000-06:00

Another non blog-related blogging from the distracted girl...

Let's Google Bomb this jerk.

Martin Luther King
Martin Luther King
Martin Luther King
Martin Luther King
Martin Luther King
Martin Luther King
Martin Luther King
Martin Luther King
Martin Luther King

If you don't understand why I'm doing this, read here.

EDIT: Ahem. To clarify, when I said "Google Bomb this jerk" I was referring to the jerk who made the crappy website, not Martin Luther King, Jr. He is definitely NOT a jerk. Thank you.

Mayday, Mayday

2006-11-21T16:06:00.000-06:00

I have suddenly become wholly and inexplicably drawn to celebrity gossip blogs.

Help me!

This is a horribly distracting and sickly enjoyable activity.

Take Me As I Am

2006-11-17T16:28:00.000-06:00

An experiment.

Revamp

2006-11-17T15:02:00.000-06:00

Anytime I start to feel down or dreary I find some silly way to pick myself up. The sooth-me process usually involves shopping, shoes, or some other asthetic form of tweaking and primping; oddly enough doting over my appearance is something I only do when feeling insecure or unhappy about myself. So I started to slough off on my blog again, and to quench my thirst for self-gratification I decided to make over the whole damn thing. Dig?

Yeah, so in case you hadn't picked up on this already, it's been a while since I let myself do any kind of freewriting, and I can feel my freedom of thought cramping up inside my overly-censored head. I allowed my emotions and my day-to-day stresses to subsume my creativity once again, and it's left me a little discontent. It makes me uneasy to go for days without writing, and much like the new pilates program I'm attempting, it gets harder as more time lapses between spill sessions/exercises.

Let's start fresh. Hello you, it's me. I like music and colors and writing about the things I obsess over. Do you have any interest in maintaining a totally anonymous writer-reader relationship?

Things I am really jiving with at the moment: Roma di Luna, the new Dylan disc (yeah, still), that one Tracy Bonham song about screaming at your mom from the late '90s, Chooglin', and the sound of an apartment with no cable television access.

Update on the 331

2006-11-05T12:23:00.000-06:00

Another side of the story comes from the 3rd Ward Councilwoman:

Thank you for taking the time in contacting my office regarding the 331 Club.

Unfortunately, misinformation has been put out and hopefully my response will provide you with some factual information about what the status is with the 331 Club.

When Mr. Oulman applied for a license for the 331 Club, and as part of his business plan, he specifically indicated that he was providing “non amplified live music.” Unfortunately, he has not complied with this. There are certain rules, regulations and ordinances which businesses in the City of Minneapolis must adhere to in order to operate. He has been informed of what he must do to be in compliance.

I want to assure you that I am a strong supporter of the arts and of the renaissance that has occurred in NE Minneapolis. This issue however is not one about the arts but of a business being in compliance. I have informed Mr. Oulman that I am willing to work with him to resolve this issue. Thank you for your support of the arts and the businesses in the Third Ward and I ask you to remain engaged. I will contact you next year as I begin the planning process of my Third Ward Summit which will focus on making the Third Ward a “Creative Corridor.”

Diane Hofstede, Minneapolis City Council-3rd Ward

It appears that resolving the issue could have been as easy as filing a few papers, but it was a nice reminder that there are a lot of compassionate music lovers in our community. It is also nice to hear the City Council reaffirm their support of the arts.

Got anything else you need us to rally around?

UPDATE on the Update: The plot continues to thicken. Check the HWTS Forum for more updates.

An open letter

2006-11-02T16:05:00.000-06:00

Mayor R.T. Rybak
Room 331, City Hall
350 South Fifth St.
Minneapolis, MN 55415
jared.nordlund@ci.minneapolis.mn.us

Dear Mayor Rybak:

It is with great concern that I write this letter. I understand that one of the city’s beloved local music venues, the 331 Club in Northeast Minneapolis, is in danger of losing its ability to play amplified music. I also understand that there is reasonable concern about the club’s impact on its surrounding neighborhood. However, as an active participant in the city’s local music scene, you must understand that shutting down music at this club would cause an incredible amount of harm to the community.

The 331 Club has a record of providing a place to showcase some of the city’s best developing musicians. Because of the club’s location, warm atmosphere and lack of a cover charge, the venue is one of the more accessible places to see live music in Minneapolis. The music fans and patrons of this establishment deserve to continue having a place to see music of high caliber, and manager Jarret Oulman has done a fine job developing a reputation for musical excellence.

There are many, many supporters of the 331 Club living in Minneapolis. Just this morning, I received two separate forwarded copies of Mr. Oulman’s letter to the community asking for support, and within a few hours I received several more emailed letters and saw handfuls of bulletins go up on public forums like MySpace and local music blogs. This is an important issue to many of this city’s citizens, and I hope you take that into account when making future decisions about the club.

Live music plays a vital role in developing a cultured, close-knit community. Please think carefully about the impact that the 331 Club has on Minneapolis and the importance of retaining our ability as citizens to support each other in our art and in our lives.

I will also be posting a copy of this letter to my local music-oriented blog and encouraging other concerned citizens to contact you with their thoughts on this matter.

Sincerely,

Andrea Myers
Editor of HowWasTheShow.com
Concerned citizen of Minneapolis

Public Service Announcement!

2006-11-02T13:11:00.000-06:00

Read it, pass it on, act on it, and whatnot.

Dear Community Member:

As of November 15, 2006, the City of Minneapolis will require the 331 Club to cease providing amplified music and entertainment. We are asking for your support in fighting this ban by the City. With your support, the 331 Club can continue to provide an exciting and progressive music venue in North East.

The city’s concern is that it needs to regulate businesses impact on their communities (ie noise, traffic etc). And amplified entertainment is considered to have an unacceptable level of impact to the community. We think that, rather than harming the community, the music programming at the 331 Club is providing an important opportunity for local musicians and performers and is making the North East community a richer place.

We are asking you to write a letter to your city council member and to Mayor Rybak in support of the 331 Club. Please tell them how the developing scene at the 331 Club has had a positive (or negative) impact on the local community. Your feedback will be important to the City Council’s decisions regarding the future of North East.

Thank you for your support,

Jarret Oulman
General Manager
331club
jarretoulman@331club.com

Note:

Diane Hofstede can be reached at
Minneapolis City Counsel – 3rd Ward
350 S. 5th St. Rm 307
Email: diane.hofstede@ci.minneapolis.mn.us
Phone: 612-673-2203

Mayor R.T. Rybak’s office can be reached at
Room 331, City Hall
350 South Fifth St.
Minneapolis, MN 55415
jared.nordlund@ci.minneapolis.mn.us
(612) 673-2100 phone

2006-11-01T14:21:00.000-06:00

An ode to Jim Walsh, the election, and MySpace

Remember, remember
The seventh of November
It's time for a sea change
even pop stars
are waiting
on the whole goddamn world
to change into
a place where children
have hope
a place where Daddy
can cope without
a joint, hidden in the garage
while Momma's out back
digging for gold
to pay the mortgage
and the kids are plugged in
plug in, tune out
plug in, tune out
plug in, tune out
practice posting pictures of yourself
looking slyly unaware
that you are taking your own picture
practice looking the other way
practice aloofness
practice apathy
so you'll have something
good to do
when the world goes down
in flames.

Halloween

2006-10-31T16:26:00.000-06:00

I love Halloween, and not for the ridiculous costumes or the candy or the faint smell of rubber masks that seems to hang in the air for days. There is something irresistible about this time of year and the way the season arrives suddenly, causing a dramatic shift in the air and forcing everyone to gasp in surprise, despite the fact that we as Minnesotans are trained to prepare for the coming winter year after year. It's a time of spookiness; and not that fake plastic scary ghost and spider getup that they try to sell you at the drug store - it's a real, bone-chilling time spent adjusting to more time spent in the dark and preparing to burrow underground, and I always find myself taking an inventory of my life as if it will be frozen into place until Spring thaw.

Last weekend was for blowing off steam, and it turns out I had a hell of a lot of pressure built up inside. I partied with friends, drank Patron, hugged and kissed my friends, had a little more Patron, and laughed, laughed, laughed. You know that saying "dance like nobody's watching"? I laughed like nobody was listening, and it was fabulous. There's nothing quite like a belly warmed with tequila and the satisfaction of coming down off a whole weekend of silliness and cutting loose.

So back to the real world. I've got a lot of work to do, most of it self-imposed. A good friend kicked my ass last week and alerted me to the fact that it would be ridiculous to waste any more time sitting on my laurels and being afraid of putting myself out there. Writing became a sort of daunting activity for a while and I am trying to make friends with it again. It is coming along, slowly, and I am almost back to where I was once before, when I wrote to stay alive through the winter. And then, once I think I'm starting to get comfortable again, it will be time to go back to school!

This winter has to be about more than just staying alive. This winter I am going to push myself, I am going to blossom; because the impending snow is not meant to be an excuse for freezing up inside.

Happy Blog Anniverbirthday to Me

2006-10-27T09:17:00.000-05:00

Aww, my first blog post was a year ago this week. Isn't that cute?

Happy Anniverbirthday MinneapolitanMusic! I hope my writing has improved over the past year, I know it has certainly helped to have a sounding board for my thoughts, regardless of how dumb they are.

Thanks for reading!

The Devaney-Dylan Debacle

2006-10-25T15:40:00.000-05:00

Poor Martin Devaney. The guy’s been compared to Bob Dylan more times than I can remember, and here I am about to heave another blessed curse his way.

Some people seem to think that comparing artists to other artists is a tell-tale sign of a Lay-Z-Boy critic, while others find it an essential way to relate to the music being described; until very recently, I subscribed to the former philosophy when it came to Devaney. Yeah, yeah, yeah, they both play acoustic guitar and sing folk songs and have those goofy harmonica holders that wrap around their necks like middle school geeks’ headgear getups, and sure, they both have mad scientist hair and are known to grin slyly, like they know more than they should about this world. But isn’t comparing anyone to Dylan a hefty judgment? I mean, isn’t Bob Dylan widely considered to be a musical icon and legend? And, most importantly, won’t that kind of catastrophic compliment weigh down on poor Martin’s soul?

There has to be more to this comparison. We music critics can’t all be idiots. If we’re going to lob these kinds of assertions at local musicians we had better have the goods to back it up.

I can feel a rant coming on but I’m going to cool down and start from the beginning. Let’s walk back in time for a moment.

I first met Martin Devaney when I was 18 years old. It was the summer after high school graduation, a time of total freedom and passion and vitality. My boyfriend, Mr. Long Lost Love, and I made a pact that we would go to as many shows as we could that summer and, having first started our wild summer flame at a Dan Israel show, we followed him around to every coffee shop in town. One night, back when I still got to shows before they started and stayed until long after the last chord, I had positioned myself in a prime location to see Dan Israel play a set at Coffee Grounds in St. Paul (not far, actually, from the school that I would attend that fall and eventually grow to hate – but that’s another story for another time). I had already tore through the music columns in both alt weeklies and jotted notes pensively on my napkin like the good little budding writer I was when Martin took the tiny stage. He was a pale, skinny, nervous kid, and he didn’t look much older than me; before he had even started to play I found him fascinating.

I knew right away that Martin wasn’t like other average Joe coffee shop crooners. His voice had a distinctive, delicate rasp and he sang with a sort of amiable drawl. His lyrics were clever, bordering on tongue-in-cheek at points, and it was clear that he was speaking from experience about his trials with love and learning. The music he played was painfully simple yet somehow profound. Even then I knew he was special.

I bought his album at the show and rambled on to him about seeing his name in the paper and how I liked his songs, and he smiled kindly and looked at me sideways as if trying to decide whether to shake my hand or run out the door. I took his album, Whatever That Is, home and played it in rotation with Dan Israel’s Dan Who? and Jeff Buckley’s Grace and Bob Dylan’s Blonde on Blonde, and they all seemed to work together pretty well in my stereo. That fall I fumbled through my very first interview by asking Martin a laundry list of incredibly boring questions, which I turned into an article for my school newspaper that I promptly hung up on my dorm room wall next to a torn poster of John Lennon and a couple of articles by Jim Walsh. I accepted Martin’s music readily and wanted him to be a successful artist, just as much as I wanted to become a real writer; I thought of him so fondly, I think, because I felt that we were at a similar stages creatively, though I never told him that.

It’s been five years and Martin continues to release album after album, including this fall’s Letters Never Sent, and he has managed to maintain his role as a prolific, relevant, and heartfelt songwriter despite juggling the duties of running his own label, Eclectone Records, and showing up at just about every damn local show in town to support other musicians in the scene. Letters just might be his best album yet, and it simultaneously reminds me of the songs on his first album and serves as a marker for how incredibly far he has come as a songwriter and singer in five short years.

There is an earthy quality on the record, more so than on his previous endeavors, and as I continued to absorb the songs I started to get a strange, creeping feeling at the nape of my neck. There was something about this record that set it apart from the others. And, wouldn’t you know, it reminded me of a strange, creeping feeling that I had recently gotten while listening to another new album: Bob Dylan’s Modern Times.

No, I thought to myself, this can’t be happening. I knew what I had to write before the thought had even finished forming in my mind. My mind raced as I fought against an overwhelming urge to grab the nearest flat object and scribble out my painful realization: God dammit, Martin Devaney and Bob Dylan are on the same fucking wavelength. (If I have to say it, it may as well be profane.) To think of all that time I spent rolling my eyes at other writers for calling him the “new Dylan.” Dammit. Sorry Martin. Dammit.

Just when it started to feel like our country was so apathetic and divided that no musician could appeal to more than 49% of the population, Bob Dylan and Martin Devaney both make the decision to return to their roots and produce albums that are so jarringly simple and full of musical truths that they are irresistible. I often wonder what the next musical era will look like, and if pop music has forever been lost to knob turners and programmable drumbeats; Dylan and Devaney have both found ways to bring the focus back to quality songwriting and, for the first time in what feels like forever, an album with significant lyrics and original melodies has charted at #1 on the pop charts. Hallelujah. I strongly believe that if Martin got the same level of exposure that people would find his record equally compelling.

Both Martin and Bob have created albums that extend far beyond what we try to define as blues, folk, rock, jazz. These are songs that take up residence inside our souls. These are songs that, after a couple of spins, start to sing on their own from our guts and from our bones. These are songs that matter.

Take Martin’s song “Blessing and the Blame,” for example. The song seems tailor made for a dramatic, life-altering scene, perhaps a triumphant rainy day walk down Madison Avenue or a post break-up bus ride out of town, blurry-eyed and optimistic. King of the bittersweet moment, Martin sings on “An Open Letter,” “And honey, will you be there to write my epitaph/Will you be there to punctuate my last days with a laugh,” and it’s enough to give me chills.

Other tracks on the album reinforce his obvious lyrical talents. He paints scenes of “Rainy days and flannel nights,” “refugee romances” and “dime store fables,” and at times the poetry of his words is so soothing and that it’s easy to get lost in the rhythm of his voice and forget about the music altogether.

Martin’s voice has developed over the past few years, too, and is now slightly lower and gruffer; which may help compensate for his other major characteristic, which he also happens to share with Mr. Zimmerman – his youthful, round face and mischievous grin.

So there it is; I did it. I compared him to Dylan. Does it mean that I think he’s going to become the same kind of legendary figure, that he is destined to be a musical and cultural icon? No, of course not. We don’t even necessarily need a “new Dylan,” as the old one seems to be serving his purpose just fine. But I do get a creepy feeling on the back of my neck that Martin is in the process of channeling the kind of raw creativity that keeps music, as we know it, fresh and relevant. And that’s enough pressure to put on one 26-year-old kid. Keep up the good work.

Withdrawal

2006-10-17T15:12:00.000-05:00

I need live music.

Cold weather making me itchy to get out.

Stuffy head and cold of death making it hard to write nice.

Help!

Questions

2006-10-11T15:43:00.000-05:00

I spend half my life burrowing in and out of the deep recesses of my mind, bouncing between reality and how I perceive what should and shouldn’t be happening. It occurred to me recently that this may not be the most productive way to live, each foot on a different plane of existence. It makes me babble endlessly about boring topics such as this one. And, most inconveniently of all, it causes one existential crisis after another to spring up like lame jack-in-the-box clowns, distracting me from all actual work.

So what’s ruffling my feathers this time? And why the hell can’t I blog consistently like a normal person? Let me tell ya.

Writing about music is sort of an odd feat for me. It requires an outward observation of people and their talents and an examination of why musicians do what they do, but there is also an introspective side; I can’t imagine writing about any art without discussing the impact that it has on me personally. After all, isn’t that one of the reasons we make art in the first place?

Oddly enough, I was in the middle of overanalyzing this conundrum when I navigated over to the Pulse and was greeted by a cover story appropriately-titled “What we talk about when we talk about music.” It’s a beautiful piece. Steve McPherson discusses the local music interview series “Making Music,” the brainchild of James Bates, and in doing so uncovers some really interesting questions about what it means to examine music and musicians on a truly minute, microscopic level. In other words, can we ever really understand what makes a craft what it is?

These musings, compounded with a book I have been reading recently, Terry Gross’ All I Did Was Ask, and my own struggle to become a better interviewer, have turned me inside out lately as I try to figure out how to transition out of a boring day job and into a place where I can torture myself with these thoughts all day long. I have passed out of the first phase of this transition (the one in which I stop writing all together for fear that I will never be good enough to make a living with my craft…see my work from August, 2006) and into the next shade of gray (most significantly: how do I do this?), and I continue to struggle with what kind of person I really want to be.

Scanning over what I have written so far I see a lot of question marks. That seems about right.

So back to Steve’s piece. He raises a lot great points about this whole struggle, most succinctly and accurately with his subheadings. “Not how; why?” he asks, and it made me realize that the reason tmusic is so captivating for me - why I can’t stop thinking about it and talking about it - is because of the mystery that lies behind every great song. When I hear the piano part for Atmosphere’s “Say Hey There,” for example, and the way it propels the entire song forward in an eerie, groovy progression; or when Bob Dylan sings, effortlessly, perfectly, on the first track of his new album, “Today’s the day I’m going to grab my trombone and blow,” it makes me go “WHY?!?! Where did that come from?”

And I doubt that either of those musicians could really explain those precise moments technically, nor would it be that interesting; so we have to move out of the “how” and into the “how did you become this kind of artist, capable of making this magic.” And that’s when it really starts to get interesting.

Of course, I am just pulling all of this out of my ass as I go along, so it’s a little rough around the edges, but that’s ok with me for now. I am thinking and playing around with ideas and everything is going to be glorious, eventually.

I really dig this excerpt, from toward the end of Steve’s column, and would like to quote a bit of it here in case you don’t read the article all the way through (for shame!):

It can never be unacceptable to think. We need to ask questions, and not just about mechanics, but about motivation. “Artists have spent their whole lives trying to figure how not to let this groove be boring,” says Everest, and it’s an approach that can have far-ranging applications to anyone’s life. How do I approach my life every day to always be making something of it? Where does meaning in my life come from? Is it possible to actually craft a life out of doing what I love instead of what everyone expects of me?

Today, it’s all about asking questions. Maybe tomorrow or the next day I’ll have some answers. See you then.

Four-Eyed Monsters

2006-10-04T08:36:00.000-05:00

Holly Muñoz of Aviette is hosting a one-of-a-kind event this Friday at the Varsity Theater. Along with Kid Dakota, Aviette will play in conjunction with a screening of an independent, previously unreleased film titled "Four-Eyed Monsters." The film chronicles the relationship of Susan Buice and Arin Crumley, who wrote and produced the film in addition to acting out the roles of the two main characters. Similar in style to the Twin Cities' own Chasing Windmills, the movie offers a unique and intimate glimpse into the lives of two lovers.

The screening will be followed by sets by the two bands, as well as a video conference with the filmmakers (who use these unique screenings to publicize their film without the support of major studio publicity). Read more about the movie and the event at FourEyedMonsters.com.

MMA's. Oh my.

2006-10-03T11:50:00.000-05:00

What else can I say right now, besides thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who reads HowWasTheShow.com and came out in spades to support us this weekend. The Awards show was one of four major shows I saw last weekend (in addition to the Hexagon 24/7 local band showcase, Atmosphere, and the Summit Big Brew), and it was, as you can probably guess, the best and most rewarding experience of all of them.

I was nervous about presenting, but it ended up going well and I got to work with Erik Fawcett, who is a very sweet and intelligent man. Lucky for me, he kept me talking about music and writing up until the moment we took the stage, so I hardly had any time to get nervous. Do I look scared?

Well, I was. But I didn't fall or throw up or anything, so I was pleased!

The best part of the night, however, was when they announced our award. I'm sorry, this might be one of the more self-absorbed posts I make in a while, but damn it was fun! I almost started crying when I thought about how many people in the music community support us for what we do at HWTS, and the roar of applause when they called out our name was great to hear! I also enjoyed being hugged by all five members of the Alarmists while leaving the stage, tee hee.

The rest of the evening started moving pretty fast, I think I hugged about 100 different people and swirled around with a warm and fuzzy feeling in my gut for the rest of the evening. The best part, musically, was after most of the people cleared out and Doomtree played a set to roughly 50 people, which was made even better by the fact that I was able to bounce between the two rooms to catch a lineup of all of my favorite young local bands.

Rock Star

2006-09-26T15:25:00.000-05:00

I almost forgot, I just got a killer record deal! Here's my first single:

I guess I'll be seeing you on fame's backside, bitches.

Friday Fives

2006-09-22T15:57:00.000-05:00

Little Miss Girl Friday reminded me last week of the way bloggers used to do this business, like, back in the day, yo. Here it is, a throwback Friday Five of songs I am digging, in no particular order (but numbered just for fun):

Jonathan Earl, "Overrated"
I am looking forward to seeing Jonathan Earl play with his fantabulous band this Saturday at Bunkers.

Mark Mallman, "Knockout on 22nd Street"
One of many great songs on his new album. Gotta love all the references to my neighborhood, and the piano on this song makes me do a little dance.

Stuart D'Rozario, "Dreamy Eyed Loser"
Have you bought this album yet?

Ani Difranco, "Subconscious"
and i ain't in the best shape
that i've ever been in
but i know where i'm going
and it ain't where i've been

Brother Ali, "Forest Whitiker"
This song just makes me smile. Guaranteed. Everytime.

Happy Friday!

Minnesota Music Awards

2006-09-21T16:30:00.000-05:00

So psyched... I just learned that I will be presenting at the Minnesota Music Awards next Sunday, October 1. This is going to be fun! Eeee!

Check out the killer lineup of bands, in the Main Room we have:

Sims and Dessa of Doomtree with special guest P.O.S
The Flamin' Oh's
ZibraZibra
Birthday Suits
Haley Bonar
Bill Mike Band
Jessy Greene
The Get Up Johns
International Reggae All-Stars

And in the Entry (hmm...this lineup looks familiar...):

White Light Riot
The Alarmists
God Damn Doo Wop Band
Stook!
Chris Koza

Hey baby, they're playing our song

2006-09-18T20:45:00.000-05:00

I've been retracing footsteps a lot lately, reconnecting with people from my past and thinking about the ones that "got away," so to speak. I don't want to get too heavy/personal, but it's time for a good ol' Minneapolitan rant about music and life.

I've been thinking a lot about why I seem to approach music differently than a lot of people that I know (not to say that any one way is better or worse, more just a reflection about what my approach says about me), and I keep coming back to one answer: music is a personal experience, and I find it impossible to separate my emotions and situational attachments from the songs.

Not to over generalize here, but I feel that most music analysts with whom I speak / whose work I read have some sort of innate ability to technically analyze music, to stand at the back of a crowded room buzzing with the energy of fans and rock and roll and be able to shrug and say, "yeah, these guys are ok." I can't do it. I'm sorry. I know I have this looming responsibility to report the truth and if a band sucks I'm supposed to whip right around and type up an essay reprimanding them for their bad performance, but I can't do it. At least not yet.

Let's back up one step. This all started because I decided to listen to some older records and cross stitch a small picture of a Scottie dog for my husband (god I am so damn cool; don't worry I am also wearing a knit cardigan and reading glasses and rocking in a creaky chair - why am I 74 years old?) and the record that came on was Ryan Adams, Gold. I don't know how you feel about Adams, but this record is a monumental part of the end of my adolescence and I can't listen to it without thinking about frolicking for the first time in college and getting my heart broken. It's one of those unrequited love stories that are hard to shake, even years later when you have clearly (ring!) moved on, and from the first chord of "New York, New York" I find this big lump welling up in the back of my throat, thoughts uncontrollably flung five years prior and eyes adrift. The tracks progress and each one has a different memory (I played that album constantly for about six months): this one is when he told me I had sad eyes, this one is for the time I climbed out my window to ride around in his car all night, this one was on repeat the night we split.

My point is, when I went to see Ryan in concert, I didn't care that his backing band was a little off or that his voice cracked in the first chorus of the third song - I was in it, man. I was too busy standing there with my hand on my chest, trying to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest and running off to find Mr. Long Lost Love. Those songs were mine, and I owned them just as much as the singer, who swaggered drunkenly around the stage and dicked off between songs because he was "a little baked." I didn't care if he was an asshole; for that night he got to be my hero.

So what do I do? I can't ever be the cold, hard hitting journalist. All I can do is write from my heart and hope I don't get laughed at.

What's your favorite heartbreaking, life altering, time stands still tune?

Ashlee

2006-09-15T14:20:00.000-05:00

If you've read the news today, you know that there is a deadly E. coli outbreak spreading through Wisconsin and the surrounding states right now, caused by bagged spinach that was fertilized improperly. Normally, I read these kinds of stories and distance myself from them like they are a sort of science fiction tale happening to other people in far off places, thanking my lucky stars that I don't know anyone affected. Not this time.

I first heard news of my friend Ashlee's sickness yesterday, and I didn't really know what it all meant - I mean, sure, people get food poisoning all the time, but they always recover, right? The news shifted, and Ashlee was moved to the Intensive Care unit at the hospital where she was admitted in Milwaukee. Doctors were reporting something about plunging platelets, and Ashlee was put through procedure after procedure of blood transfusions, dialysis, and something called plasmapheresis and now she is so sick that she is having trouble recognizing her family or anyone else she knows because of all the trauma to her mind and body. That's when I really started to get worried.

Today came the worst news so far. A close friend of ours says she might not make it.

Might not make it. Jesus. She's 22 years old, and she ate spinach out of a plastic bag.

I don't know if you pray, if you believe in a god or a higher power or fate or any of it (hell I don't even know if I do) but please take a minute to think good thoughts about this beautiful person, let's send her and all the people affected by this outbreak all the good vibes we can muster.

Download one of Ashlee's favorite songs, "TV" by Headlights. I don't know why, I can't stop listening to it.

UPDATE: Ashlee is doing much better. As far as I know she is headed toward full recovery. Thanks for all of your kind thoughts and words!

TOOL

2006-09-13T11:17:00.000-05:00

I just wanted to say: Zak Sally, I wholeheartedly agree.

Songs About Now

2006-09-11T20:35:00.000-05:00

So I'm sitting here, midway through the process of weeding out the CDs I want to write up for Pulse this week and I pop in the debut album by local songwriter Stuart D'Rozario. I hadn't heard anything about the guy before, and I didn't expect much, but I literally got excited when he started singing. This is a guy who can write a solid tune and back it up with clear, precise vocals and simple melodies. It's beautiful stuff, and his words are powerful. I especially liked this track toward the end, "I Just Wonder," and given the earful of politics I have gotten today from the talking heads and the sick bastards who use tragedy to get their point across, I found it especially relevant:

I Just Wonder

I see a white flag, I see a red dove,
I see a soldier singing a song about love
I see a world in disarray,
I see children write while the poets play
I just wonder what's gone on?
I just wonder what's gone wrong?

I see a blue sky, I see a dark star,
I see people who can't see who they are
I see a rich boy, I see a poor man,
I see a teacher who can't quite understand
And I just wonder what's gone on?
I just wonder what's gone wrong?

So many ways, are there too many shades of gray?
I just wonder

I see a tear in a stranger's eye,
I see a face that you just can't hide
Is this world we live in something new
or just not something we've been through
And I just wonder what's gone on?
I just wonder what's gone wrong?

What thoughts go on inside your mind?
It's hard to see, hard to be blind
It's hard to see, hard to be blind
It's hard to see, hard to be blind

-Stuart D'Rozario

Update: Here's my review of Stuart from the Pulse this week.

Zombie Pub Crawl

2006-09-11T13:46:00.000-05:00

CRV_5449.jpg
Originally uploaded by neongreen.

I learned many invaluable lessons this weekend, and I would like to pass on these little trinkets of wisdom:

1. Becoming a zombie is hard work. Undeadening is a process that takes much preparation, and zombie make-up must not be applied in a slapdash fashion. When attending a zombie pub crawl, in particular, the low-maintenance, thrown together zombies will be shown up by herds and herds of latex-laden bloodied zomberts*.

2. Maintaining a zombie look throughout the evening is equally challenging. Example: I strode - er, lurched - into the first bar with confidence, proud of my maticulously applied blood drool and thick grayish eye circles. But, alas, after one drink the blood drool flaked off, and two drinks after that I looked like a glassy-eyed goth punk with bad taste in clothing. Thankfully, a few splashes of blood and an eye makeup reapplication freshened me up for the next stop.

3. Talking excessively in zombie-speak (i.e. "braiiiinnnnnsss," "gnarrggghhh," and "mmmarrrrrgg") leads to a hoarse voice and sore throat. During zombification, be sure to eat plenty of lozenges.

*Zombie experts with expensive costumes and deader-than-thou aire.

HowWasTheShow Redesign

2006-08-31T15:52:00.000-05:00

I have been working my tail off lately trying to get things ready at HowWasTheShow for a brand new site design. I am so excited! It is going to be very slick and pretty and, most importantly...way easier to operate. Which will leave me some extra time, I hope I hope, for my dear deserted blog.

In the meantime, you can look forward to October 1, 2006 as the day when HowWasTheShow.com will get its face lift.

In other news, we have been nominated for a Minnesota Music Award, which is pretty sweet! What if we win? Are you voting? And, most importantly, what on earth will I wear to the awards show? (Sometimes pretending to be shallow is FUN! ***LOL***OMG***)

Benefit for Conrad

2006-08-24T08:37:00.000-05:00

There is a show coming up at First Avenue that really deserves some attention (not to mention some revelling in the fact that they booked almost every single one of my favorite local musicians into one night). The event is called Conrad’s All-Star Revue: A Benefit For Conrad Sverkerson and the Twin Cities Music Community Trust, and proceeds from the concert go toward setting up a fund for local music community members who are enduring medical problems.

The First Ave press release indicates that Conrad suffered injuries from a fall earlier this summer, and that he will be the first recipient of funds from the Trust.

Check out this amazing lineup of musicians "scheduled to appear" (I am wondering how exactly this is going to go down - a couple songs each? Everyone piling on stage? I can't wait to find out...):

Koalas, The Mighty Mofos, Tim O’Reagan (of the Jayhawks) with Jim Boquist & Friends, John Munson, Dan Wilson, Matt Wilson, The Retribution Gospel Choir (featuring Alan Sparhawk of Low), Kraig Johnson & The Program, Gary Louris (of the Jayhawks), Jessy Greene, DJ Roy Freedom & DJ John Smith, and other VERY SPECIAL GUESTS.

Ahhh!

Sound Unseen

2006-08-16T14:45:00.000-05:00

Sound Unseen starts today! Sound Unseen starts today!

Yeah, I am a little excited. While interviewing the staff of the festival for this piece that came out in Pulse today (go read it. Now! Seriously. Stop reading this blog entry and go read it and then come back and finish reading this. Yeah, I'm bossy.) I realized that not only is the festival totally kick ass and awesome, but the staff are extremely dedicated to our local "scene" and that we need more of these organic, community-based events in this city of ours. This city that I love so madly that I can't tear myself away.

In other news, I seem to have some strange knack for running into Minnesota music-related people while out and about, and it just strengthens the argument that Minneapolis is an amazing place to live. Let's recap:

First I ran into P.O.S (Stef Alexander) at Kowalski's, but didn't want to bother him with the ol' "Hey you're P.O.S!" routine because he was shopping with his kid (who is adorable).

Then I saw Dave Pirner outside Trader Joe's in St. Louis Park, yelling at someone on his cell phone (reasons for not approaching him are pretty obvious, he looked/sounded irritable).

And finally, last night, while out slogging down Red Dragon Specials with my pals I got up to go to the bathroom and *gasp!* there was Slug! I proceeded to run back to my table, drink more Red Dragon Specials to get good and courageous, and then saunter over to him and introduce myself. "Hi, Slug, I'm a huge fan," I said, cheeks rosy. "Hi, I'm Sean," he replied, as I gulped down the realization that rap stars do not go by their rap names when hanging out at the bar and that I had already made a fool of myself. "I'm a writer," I blurted out, for no known reason. "I write for Pulse." (WTF? Who cares?) "Oh, that's too bad," he said, grinning. I swooned and panicked and suddenly felt the need to flee. "Well, I just wanted to say that my husband and I are huge fans," I said, shaking his hand, turning and running outside. Yes, outside. Everyone else was still at the table. Where did I think I was going? I have no idea. Thank god he didn't see me when I came in to slink back to my fellow rosy-cheeked companions. But it has been confirmed that I am a huge nerd. And my head hurts today from the confidence juice.

In conclusion, Minneapolis rules, I can't wait to make a fool of myself in front of more rock stars, and I love you all very much.

Long Haul

2006-08-15T09:15:00.000-05:00

In writing, the hardest part of the whole endeavor is knowing where to begin. While finely-crafted novels and poems would have you thinking that each story begins and ends definitely, poignantly; real life doesn’t seem to work that way. At least not for me.

So where to begin, again?

My life got all ruffled up and then I somehow landed exactly where I was before. Turns out moving to Chicago was not the best laid plan, or at least not the plan that was meant to happen at this moment. It might happen later, it might not. For now, I am a Minneapolitan, tried and true, and in Minneapolis I shall stay.

I took a break from my writing, somewhat unintentionally, and it helped me to re-gather my strength and confidence, so bear with me while I work out the cobwebs and get my fingers good and nimble again. I have a lot to say about a lot of things, and I can’t wait to tell you all the thoughts about all the CDs that have been stacking up in my house, because I have a lot of both.

More and more, it is clear to me that creating – whether it be writing, singing, painting, sculpting, whatever – is a process that requires audacity (read: balls). Right now, especially, I am getting to the point where I am so in love with this whole avocation that I just hope to god I never burn out. Even if I never making a dime working this gig, I want to do it for the rest of my life. I keep coming back to this quote I read a few years ago, which surfaced in an interview between Tom Hallett and Martin Devaney, and it’s a quote I seem to drag up time and time again when I need a little push push nudge nudge. Devaney says:

We’re just trying to last. Because you see how everything can crumble. Bands break up, people stop playing. There’s a whole lot of buzz bands and flashes in the pan. I had two really great wise men talk to me about this subject. It’s all about the long run. It’s way more rock and roll to fucking be in there for the long run, and to bring it time and time again. Both Ike Reilly and Slim Dunlap have sat me down and talked to me about that. All you’ve got to do is hang in there and stick around.

I updated the list of other crap I have written lately, on the right hand side there, so if this post doth not satisfy your craving for MinneapolitanMusic-ness, read on my dears!

I’m back, and I promise I am in it for the long haul. More soon.

Living a flux life

2006-08-03T10:32:00.000-05:00

Why I am not blogging as much as I should, in the words of Albert Markovski from I Heart Huckabees:

"Motherfucking cocksucker motherfucking shit fucker what am I doing? What am I doing? I don't know what I'm doing. I'm doing the best that I can. I know that's all I can ask of myself. Is that good enough? Is my work doing any good? Is anybody paying attention? Is it hopeless to try and change things? The African guy is a sign, right? Because if he isn't, than nothing in this world makes any sense to me. I'm fucked! Maybe I should quit. Don't quit! Maybe I should just fucking quit. Don't fucking quit! I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to fucking do anymore! Fucker! Fuck shit!"

And Melissa Maerz, in her farewell article in City Pages:

"The truth is, you can't choose your own endings. If there's one thing I've learned from reviewing albums, it's that actual time doesn't work like a pop song. There's no intro or outro to anything, just an endless procession of minutes that segue into other minutes..."

Because, right now, my writing looks like this:

OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG.

Anybody's Only

2006-07-28T08:22:00.000-05:00

When I interviewed Tim O'Reagan for Pulse last month, I picked up on the fact that he is nervous about his new record and solo career. I went to see him at the Fetus - one of the first times he has played a solo show in Minneapolis - and saw his anxiety in action, as he appeared shy and a bit awkward on the little stage, even in front of a small and informal smattering of fans. And when I saw the ad for his show at Stasiu's in the City Pages - in the paper the day of the show, with his name in bold and the words "of the Jayhawks" so small that you needed a magnifying glass just to make them out - it sealed the deal for me. O'Reagan doesn't want anyone to know how amazing he is.

The bar was nearly empty when the husband and I arrived at the 9 p.m. show time; luckily, O'Reagan and bandmates Jim Boquist, Frankie Lee and Peter Anderson took some extra time setting up the stage and throwing back a few beers so that a small crowd had started to form by the time they began their set.

O'Reagan began confidently with a rousing cover of the Everly Brothers' "Gone, Gone, Gone," which somehow managed to combine a bit of the country twang of the Everly Brothers with dead-on early Beatles harmonies and pulled in a good portion of the people who were sitting in the next room. I was impressed with O'Reagan's newfound assuredness, and appreciative of the bigger sound coming out of the bar's PA system.

The band carried on in a similar fashion, stealing the attention of every person in the growing crowd and running through a set that included many of O'Reagan's album tracks and a few covers. I don't know if it was just the difference between playing the Fetus and playing an actual bar that is designed to accomodate live music, but I get the feeling that O'Reagan will perform exponentially better at each larger venue he encounters. With an amp system loud enough to project the music clearly, Tim's voice captivated the audience, and the soft, shuffled rhythm of his songs were nod-inducing.

The best part of the evening came as a surprise; right after Tim declared that they were finished playing and that it was time for the band to "drink some beers," the Stasiu's soundman came up to the stage and asked the audience, "Who wants to hear one more song?" As the now-full room cheered, O'Reagan and his crew picked up their instruments once again and played a show-stopping rendition of "These Things," complete with George Harrison-inspired guitar solos and whistling. When they got to the chorus, O'Reagan, Boquist and Lee joined together to create harmonies that melded together so well that it pulled me out of the moment and threw me into another world. When the song ended I actually had to look around and get my bearings again, and the others at my table - Solace, Coot and Stook (that sounds like the title to a children's story or something) were equally awestruck.

I'm excited for O'Reagan to tour the country and spread his love; with the calibur of performance Wednesday night, I have the feeling he is going to gain a lot more fans over the next few weeks.

Choices, time, etc.

2006-07-25T22:29:00.000-05:00

Teetering back...

...and forth.

To be continued.

...

2006-07-24T08:32:00.000-05:00

Apparently having one foot each in Chicago and Minneapolis makes me virtually nonexistant in both cities. I am spending the summer hanging between two worlds.

Luckily, I escaped the vertigo for a bit this weekend and caught a few local shows here in Minneapolis; one proven cure for the stress of transition, for me anyway, is to get lost in a couple of live sets amidst seas of sweat and energy.

Saturday night was especially crazy, as David and I headed over to First Ave for the Plastic Constellations/Tapes 'N Tapes show and I attempted to catch bands in both the main room and the Entry all night. The music started a little after 9 p.m. with STNNNG, who proceeded to smack the audience in the face and blow through their set like a well-oiled machine. The floor was almost full during their set, and the main room was humming with anticipation and the occasional shrieks of, "Tapes 'N Tapes, wooooooo!" from the 18+ girls in the room. Though it was clear that the younger members of the audience were a little taken aback by STNNNG, by the end of their set the audience energy had skyrocketed and people were more than ready to have a good time.

Slipping over into the much cooler 7th Street Entry, I caught a few songs by brand new local act National Bird. Despite the fact that it was their second gig ever, I thought the band did well holding their own in the Entry and warming up the room for Brooklyn acts Dirty on Purpose and Say Hi To Your Mom. Their melodic bar rock was accentuated by the lead singer's distinct vocal stylings, which somehow reminded me of both Elvis Costello and a clean-cut Ozzy Osborne.

Back in the main room, Kill the Vultures took the stage to the now sold-out room, and it became increasingly difficult to maneuver through the crowd. I was captivated by DJ Anatomy's sweet jazz beats and heavy drum hits, not to mention the way he straddled above his mixing boards and non-chalantly laid down the grooves. Members of Tapes sauntered about the room casually as the openers wrapped up, and it was obvious that being invited to play on David Letterman, having a video in rotation on MTV and being raved about in national publications hasn't done anything to tarnish these guys' down-home, aww-shucks sensibilities.

I was relieved to step back into the Entry for Dirty on Purpose, since the main room was at least 20 degrees warmer and the air was sticky with sweat and excitement. Dirty on Purpose played a great set full of pretty, sprawling rock and sugary harmonies. The vocals were traded off between the sock-footed drummer and the shy guitarist; I preferred the former for his soft and soaring high range vocals (not to mention his impressive ability to both keep time and narrate the songs).

Walking back into the main room for Tapes, you would have thought the Beatles had just taken the stage and that we were thrown back to 1964 - it's been a while since I have heard so many high shrieks. Though Tapes played a solid set, I couldn't help but be preoccupied by their newfound fame. I just saw Tapes a few months ago at the Triple Rock, and they barely filled half the room with their fans; to see this kind of fanaticism was surreal. I can't help but wonder what they think of all of this, and with the energy exhibited in their tight set at First Ave I am guessing that they are either terrified or having the time of their lives. My bets are on the latter.

It was hard to come down from the rush of Tapes and pay clear attention to other bands, so the trip back to the Entry for Say Hi To Your Mom and back again to the main room for the Plastic Constellations is a little blurry. (Not to mention the great deal of time I spent outside trying to cool off and fawning over Erik Appelwick...oops did I say that out loud?) From the bits I caught of both sets, though, I was impressed with the absolutely stellar lineup put together in both rooms.

The evening ended at the Hexagon, where I took in a set by Ouija Radio, and let me just say it - I love that band. It's so refreshing and comforting to watch a girl rock out, and Christy from Ouija is the ultimate glammed-up rock star, complete with sexy shoes and killer guitar licks. For all the buzz surrounding Tapes 'N Tapes and the search for the Next Big Thing, I would just like to remind you, the masses, that this town is full to the brim of great local rock acts, many of which play free or extremely cheap shows and produce just as much - if not more - bang for the buck as any of those raved about in the New York Times.

Since I didn't get enough of the hot and sweaty First Ave main room action on Saturday night, I returned last night for Golden Smog. More on that show after this word from our sponsors.

The joy of having a working pair of ears

2006-07-07T10:31:00.000-05:00

I got into a strange bar conversation the other night - you know, the kind where you argue passionately about your stance and then forget the whole debate a few minutes later - about whether it would be worse to be blind or deaf. We decided, after some slurred banter, that even though we both loved music more than life itself most days, we would rather give it up for the opportunity to see the world.

But I think I'm still on the fence about it.

The conversation got me thinking about the value of all of my senses, and, in particular, how much I take my hearing for granted. And not only the fact that I have two good ears, but also that I have been born with the patience and/or quirkiness to find the simple act of LISTENING to be one of the most riveting, enjoyable experiences of my existence. It's the reason I prefer small, intimate, sit-down concerts to loud and boisterous bar bashes; the reason I stay poised with my eyes locked on the singer and my nose pointed ridiculously at the stage like some kind of rabbit-sniffing hound; the reason I can sit at home alone for an entire evening playing song after song with the TV off and every ounce of my attention focused on the vibration of the sound against my eardrums.

I am so damn lucky.

The other night, during one of my more intense aural seances, I worked my way through a stack of CDs that have been begging for attention for a few weeks now like little doe-eyed, shrink-wrapped orphans whispering, "Play me! Play me!" and trying to jump off the coffee table. Some of the CDs were good, a few are headed back to the orphanage as we speak, and two were especially great; but every second was pure bliss.

I heard Kill Hannah, a Chicagoan grunge-era throwback band that conjured up some mid-90s angsty middle schooler memories. Though their music wasn't particularly revolutionary, it was definitely enjoyable, and I just might make my way over to First Ave on Monday night to hear them open for Mindless Self Indulgance.

I heard The Mad Ripple's record Sink and/or Swim, a disc that I will have many more words to write about later (it was one of the especially great ones) by musician-turned-critic-turned-musician again Jim Walsh. Turns out Jim can convey his compassion for suffering and deep understanding of the essence of humanity through songwriting just as well as through music columns, and the little bits and pieces of wisdom and pain come through so sweetly. Lovely stuff.

I heard Patty Griffin's album Living With Ghosts for the first time, a disc that was burned for me by a friend. Despite the fact that the record is 10 years old and I am terribly embarrassed to have never heard it, I must say that she is absolutely amazing. She transcends space and time. Her voice is still haunting me. Where have I been the last 10 years? Jeez. Anyway, she's spectacular.

I heard Twin Town High: Music Yearbook, Volume 8, an aptly-titled disc that is remarkably representative of this city and this scene, and made me a little sad about my upcoming move. The feeling of cameraderie and team spirit in this city is something I already sense is unique, and I am hoping for the strength to persevere in a city that lacks this feeling of community. Like the last few days of high school, I will clutch this music yearbook, chock full of friends and memories, close to my chest as I make the final arrangements to leave. Will you sign my yearbook, please? I promise never to forget you, Minneapolis. See you soon. Stay the same. Blah blah blah.

Ok, enough sap. Your turn. Whatcha listening to, eh?

Radiohead on the radio

2006-06-30T12:05:00.000-05:00

Say what you will about Thom Yorke's interactions with the public, but I happen to fancy the band and man quite a bit and really appreciated Jim DeRogatis and Greg Kot's recent interview with the lead singer of Radiohead and his bandmate, Jonny Greenwood. Even though this isn't local, I couldn't resist sharing it with as many people as possible. DeRogatis and Kot host a weekly radio show, Sound Opinions, on Chicago Public Radio, and the show has recently been picked up by the Current for rebroadcast at 9am on Saturdays. Thankfully, for late weekend sleepers like myself, the show is also available on their website for download.

Check out last week's show, which has the interview with Radiohead. It's one of the only times I have heard Thom Yorke sit down and honestly discuss his music and feelings on a number of current issues, quite the treat.

Hexagon Bar 2Nite

2006-06-26T16:22:00.000-05:00

Come watch me spin my favorite local albums! It's free and I may or may not require that guests break out into an impromptu dance party. You know you like me, you like local music, and you like free stuff, so you really have no reason to miss it.

What: Me being totally awesome!
Where: Hexagon Bar, Mpls (South Mpls off 26th and 26th)
When: 10pm TONIGHT

Please come. Thank you.

Tim O'Reagan In-Store

2006-06-23T15:58:00.000-05:00

This is still a week away but it is Friday afternoon and I am using any excuse I can to procrastinate all real work...

First, you must go here and read my Tim O'Reagan article that just came out in the Pulse. Do it! Now! Seriously.

Second, Tim O'Reagan will be playing at the Electric Fetus next Friday at 6pm. His new album, "Tim O'Reagan," comes out Tuesday. Hooray!

ADDICT

2006-06-23T10:31:00.000-05:00

Last night I got home from work, kicked off my shoes, and contemplated staying in for the evening despite my plans for heading out to the Fine Line for Leroy Smokes. There is something about coming home from work and sitting down on the couch that makes me want to stay in forever. Nonetheless, I eventually talked myself into going and rounded up a few friends to come with.

When we got to the club, the doorman stamped my hand with the word ADDICT spelled out in tall, bright blue letters. I rubbed my hand a bit, wondering if I'd be able to wash it off before work in the morning, since it so clearly hinted at my alternate life that I try desperately to hide from "the office." Before I had too much time to mull it over, though, I was swept into the crowd and handed a cocktail and pushed up toward the dancefloor, and all of a sudden I was so relieved to be back in the swell of it all. It had been almost two weeks since I had seen a show, and it was about damn time for a fix.

The concert was great. There was an entertaining mix of people, hollaback girls and hoodrats and posers and cool cats, some hip-hop stars and some just wannabes, all with at least one drink in their hand. I really dug a guy called Golden who rapped about being a rapper in Minneapolis, and about taking the power away from the "radio rappers" and making songs real again. He rapped about saving music "like Nirvana wiped out the hair bands." He rapped about his idols, and how he hoped to be better than all of them someday. Most importantly, he rapped about things that were relevant and real, and he made people listen.

I Self Divine was not as interesting as I expected them to be. I thought that their raps and beats were a little repetitive and not very danceable, but it did make a great contrast against the vibe of the room when Leroy Smokes hit the stage. I'm going to write up a review of the show, so I don't want to blow it all here, but those guys know how to make a party erupt in the middle of the dancefloor. Plus I'm just a sucker for hip-hop groups with live backing bands.

So now I'm at work, and, as I figured, the stamp won't wash off my hand. I wore long sleeves today, pulled down past my palms, so my boss won't see my other life and realize that the bags under my eyes are from staying out until the wee hours on a school night.

I've gotta find a place where it's ok to be an ADDICT.

HWTS TV OMG

2006-06-21T11:00:00.000-05:00

Here's hoping that all of you have time this week to tune into local cable access Channel 6 to catch this week's episode of SearchMode TV!

Sandra and O Valle were kind enough to come out to the HowWasTheShow.com 4th Anniversary Party last month, armed with their video camera, and they had so much fun that they stayed for the entire night of festivities. This week's episode is all about HowWasTheShow and the party, including a small appearance/interview of me and "bossman" David de Young. I also just zipped over to their website, and they posted great video footage of all of the acts at the party: The Debut, Stook, the Alarmists, David de Young, White Light Riot, and Alva Star. The online videos are great quality, too, so if you missed the party you can get an idea for how the show was. (Oh man, I just punned my own website.)

When: Thursdays & Saturdays @ 9 PM: June 22, 24, 29 & July 1st.
Where: Metro Cable Network's Channel 6.

I am looking forward to a great weekend full of live music, cold glasses and more. Some shows I strongly recommend:

Thursday: Leroy Smokes CD Release Show w/ Rhymefest, I Self Devine, Truth Maze, Kanser and more at the Fine Line. A night of hip-hop and sunshine, for sure.

Friday: Jose Gonzalez at the Cedar, Fiery Furnaces and We Are Scientists at First Ave, The Beatifics at the Hexagon. All good bets, I'm going to try to make two of the three.

Saturday: Mason Jennings, Mason Jennings, Mason Jennings. Orpheum. Yes.

To Chicago and back, I went

2006-06-19T20:14:00.000-05:00

First off, thanks, Greg, for that kick in the ass I oh-so-needed to get back on the blog again. Why does summer make me so flaky?

I have just returned from a long, long weekend (i.e. we left last Tuesday evening) in Chicago, and it was glorious. Well, except for the part where the boys tried to do some home improvements and my brother-in-law dropped a cast iron sink on his finger. That wasn't so glorious. But we did get to wander around downtown (actually, everyone else knew where we were going, but I staggered aimlessly behind them with my eyes to the sky and my jaw half open like the innocent little farm girl that I am), we visited a few beautiful landmarks, and then we had an extremely hung over day at the Zoo and a less toxic day at the Botanic Gardens.

This whole last week has really got me thinking about the future (yes, I know, everyone is shocked that I am burrowed deep in contemplation instead of clacking out my reviews like a good girl) and what is going to happen when we finally up and relocate. I already knew I didn't deal well with grandiose topics, but there is something terrifying about going out into the real world, and being smack dab in the middle of downtown Chicago was about as real a world as I have ever felt. Please don't laugh, because this is sort of embarassing, but I actually gasped when I saw a chic looking woman step out in front of me on the curb, casually hail a cab, open the door and get whisked away. There was something about the tumultuous power of the buildings and the swells of crowds and business of traffic lights and trains that made me want to lay down in the street just to take it all in. I know, I'm sorta sheltered and weird about things such as these, but it was somehow magnificent.

So here I am, back in Minneapolis, and I am totally and completely on the fence about it all. I know that we will move no matter what, but there are things about this city that are so friendly and safe and familiar, I worry that I am going to get lost in the swooshing of the bigger city.

And more importantly, I am now required to conduct a poll: what on earth should this blog be called? "MinneapolitanMusic: Now with 100% more Chicago"? "ChicagoanMusic...well, at least for a while anyway till she changes it back"? Help!

Oh, and also, it has been over a week since I have seen/heard live music. The shakes have subsided a bit but I am definitely ready to meet someone somewhere where there is a band on a stage, hold a cold glass in my hand, take notes, put in my earplugs and find myself all over again. Wanna come?

I kicked that tumbleweed's ass right outta here

2006-06-12T14:40:00.000-05:00

For some reason I always have the temptation of starting out blog entries with, "Hello, how are you?" like a child writing a note to a friend. But I am older now, and responsible for crafting more captivating introductions. Let's try again...

I am coming back from a weekend (or two or three of them, actually) full of excitement and the freedom that comes with being able to drive around with the windows down and wake to sunlit rooms in the morning. My mind is active, yet hard to focus at times, and I am trying to convince myself to keep attending shows even though I'd rather be outside frolicking in the breezy dusk of summer, grilling with friends, and playing ridiculous drinking games like one we tried last weekend called "Slap the Sack" (don't ask). Apparently, summer makes me especially poetic, although I don't much care for the actual task of writing poetry and sometimes I even make myself sick with my unintentional overuse of fluffy, flowery words in my writing.

Friday night was full of rock stars. I went to Big V's to wish Mei Young well as she leaves Drive 105 and the beloved Radio Homegrown behind to pursue a career in voice-overs. After many, many years in local radio I know that she will be missed, and even though I have only met her in person a handful of times, she has always radiated such kindness and warmth that I am sure her colleagues are going through Mei withdrawal this week. Mark Mallman was there, along with a myriad of other local music noteables, to read dramatic interpretations of Foreigner lyrics at Mei's request. Mallman did an especially hilarious dramatic reading of a fan story (Mallman read the one by Nick K.), with Dan Israel backing him up on acoustic guitar.

Another highlight was when I convinced Dan to play "Angel From Montgomery" by John Prine, which brought back all kinds of memories of seeing him many years ago (well, five years ago anyway) at Ginkgo and other coffee shops. Hearing him sing that song, as well as his own song, "Overloaded," was enough to make me go all soft inside and I knew it was about time to move on to the next event.

David and I headed over to the Varsity for the Alarmists CD release party, which was packed with people by about 9:30. It was business as usual, with a quick trip backstage to visit the skeletons and a lap around the room to say hi to friends. Openers Low Lustre sounded great, and brought a throng of screaming girls to the front of the stage to shriek at their every move, which was amusing. And then it was time for White Light Riot.

WLR started into an amazing set, which caused a few of us to look at each other in awe as the boys relished the power of playing a big stage with great lighting and sound. But then something startling happened. It wasn't obvious at first, since the band was backlighted for the most of one song, but as soon as the stage lights cut out and the house lights shone on the front of the band, you could hear the whole crowd gasp in horror - the entire right side of lead singer Mike Schwandt's face was covered in blood. Turns out he cut himself with the end of his own guitar in some sort of move that probably defied physics, and the cut required stitches - but Schwandt refused to stop playing. He picked up a towel, dabbed the side of his face calmly and continued into the next song, insisting that the show go on. It was a total rock star move and I was impressed, if not a little horrified.

Saturday night I had a quiet night out at the theater with my Dad; we went to Park Square Theatre to see "Steel Magnolias" and it was fantastic. It made me wish that I went to the theater more often, as I really love the feeling of an entire audience laughing and crying their way through a well written storyline. The play was put on by a cast of six women, which I found particularly intriguing, as the story includes other characters but they are only described by the women rather than acted out in person. It was an enjoyable play that passed quickly, and I would highly recommend it to anyone looking for a good show.

That's all for now.

Hugs and Kisses,
MinneapolitanMusic

2006-06-09T10:29:00.000-05:00

***Tumbleweed blows lazily across floor of MinneapolitanMusic***

Tumbleweed: Where did she go?
One remaining blog reader: Who the hell knows. I am so out of here.

***Tumbleweed saunters on down dusty trail***

Flute rock

2006-05-31T11:38:00.000-05:00

Photo by Dan Schultz of Mordac.org (full set here)

Party like a rock star

2006-05-30T14:38:00.000-05:00

There is a part of me that is still fairly certain that the world at large is going to shit, but I just had one of the best weekends of my adult life and I am thinking that there might be enough good around me to make it tolerable for the time being.

For anyone who doesn't read my blog or HowWasTheShow.com or any of the local papers or SPIN magazine (seriously!), Saturday was the official HowWasTheShow.com 4th Anniversary Party and my god, it ruled. Seriously. I haven't rocked that hard in a long, long time. In case you missed it (or even if you were there and just feel like reminiscing) you can read about it here in a guest review written for us by Steve McPherson of the Pulse, who happened to begin his music journalism career by writing for the website. There is also some coverage here by my new pal Rock 'n Roll Star, and some pictures here and here, and my own pictures here, with more super pretty professional pictures to appear soon from our guest photographers Dan Schultz and maybe even Steve Cohen, who I spied lurking around with his camera.

Which just goes to show, that in a city like Minneapolis where everyone is extremely supportive of each other, you don't even need a PR person to get love from all around. I adore this city. Remind me why I'm leaving again?

Oh, and thank you to everyone who took part in my five minutes of rock stardom, that was pretty freakin' fun.

What the world needs now are protest songs

2006-05-23T11:37:00.000-05:00

There is something brewing around here - something that should have started long ago (beside the point) - that is getting me excited lately. After years of gazing around to my numbly nodding comrades, asking why no one gives a shit that the country is at war and the world is evolving into a self-destructive, self-absorbed, flaming ball of blah blah blah, I think people are starting to care again.

Bit by tiny little bit, people are assembling and preparing for what comes next. Sound ominous? Probably. But I have this strange sinking feeling in my chest lately that we are on the brink of something huge. Trouble is, I can't tell if it's going to be good or bad or both. But it's coming.

Neil Young put out an album, which he has streaming for free over at his website, that asks the kinds of questions that people my age are taught to ask in college and forget to ask by the time they are pushed out into the real world and told to fend for themselves. While the music isn't necessarily the best Young music around, it is absolutely necessary that the young hear this music. Yeah, we are living with war, yeah, we should be mad at the President, my question is - why are we still relying on the aging hipsters (no offense to you all, I love aging hipsters, but still) and fading flower children to rattle the cages for us? Why are we the most apathetic generation of youth yet?

What we need now are protest songs, sweet protest songs. It seems that now, more than ever, we are in dire need of songs that not only have meaning (and "You're beautiful, you're beautiful, you're beautiful" doesn't count) but songs that get us talking and songs that take the listener more seriously than recent pop music has allowed. We aren't as dumb as we look, people, let's stop acting like it.

(Steps down off soapbox and pushes it gently aside.)

Anyway, the reason I got all riled up is because I went to this Ani DiFranco concert a few weeks ago, and I heard her perform this incredible, political song that haunted me in the weeks following the show. Ani introduced the song by commending fellow folk singer Hamell on Trial for writing politically satirical material and commented that, “It's not getting any easier to write political songs, but man does the world need 'em.”

I found the lyrics for the song today. It's called "Decree." I know I could probably just link to the page with the lyrics, but what the hell, here they are. The best damn political protest song I have heard in a long time:

decree
ani difranco

step up and forfeit your frontal lobe
to the sexed up stroll of celebrity
never mind that the nanoseconds in between
are some of the darkest darkness that you've ever seen
keep your eye on my finger
and listen to the sound of my voice

get your subliminal decree
and your false security
be all that you can be
be all that you can be

in hospitals and schools
airports and banks and bars
big ones on street corners
little ones driving by in cars
and glowing through countless
bedroom curtains at night
that 30k tone
and that pale blue light saying

daddy knows best
yes, this is the news
in 90 second segments officially produced
and aired again and again and again
by the little black and white pawns
of the network yes men
while the stars are going out
and the stripes are getting bent

and cancer, the great teacher
has been opening schools
downstream from every factory
still, everywhere fools are
squinting into microscopes
researching cells
trying to figure out a way
that we can all live in hell

well, step back, look up
you'll see i'm dimming the sun
but you won't, will you?
oh, that's a good little one

'cause daddy knows best
yes, this is the news
in 90 second segments officially produced
and aired again and again and again
by the little black and white pawns
of the network yes men
while the stars are going out
and the stripes are getting bent

the stars are going out
and the stripes are getting bent

Sigh. So good.

In celebration of my comments being turned back on, I ask you: what's your favorite protest song?

I am dumb

2006-05-22T15:58:00.000-05:00

Over the weekend I had the pleasure of meeting fellow local music blogger Steve from Rock 'n Roll Star, which occurred in a series of confusing events that went something like this:

David: Andrea, this is Steve. Steve, this is Andrea.
Andrea: Hi.
Steve: Hi.
David: Isn't it cool that Rock 'n Roll Star is here?
Andrea: Rock 'n Roll Star is here?!? Where?!?
Steve: Uh...(points to self and makes confused face)

Yeah, that's how cool I am when I am out in public. Anyway, to add to my already dwindling confidence in my hipness, Steve pointed out that I have somehow had my ability to receive comments on my blog turned off for about two months. So while I have been sitting here wallowing in the idea that nobody likes me or visits my blog anymore, it turns out that I am just dumb.

That's all for now, next time I promise intelligence and charm and all that witty crap that you love about me. Oh, and please leave me a comment, I turned them back on! (Slaps forehead.)