Rain and Roses

After hearing Lady Gaga's "Just Dance" any number of times through overdriven nightclub speakers or on a tinny radio, I finally got around to acquiring a copy and listening to it through my super-nice headphones.  It's really something of a revelation.  I'd assumed that the mushiness in the midrange and vocals was an intentional stylistic thing to go in line with the funk beat, but no - it's actually quite crisp and cleanly mixed.  Serves me right for not being true to my audiophile roots in the first place.

'Course, now that I've heard it properly, I wonder if the overdriven-mushy-nightclub version will drive me nuts next time I go out dancing.  Of course, I can always hope that the local upscale nightclub has better-quality speakers and a DJ who understands proper mixing, but I'm not going to hold my breath...

Last night was First Friday, and our good friends Donna and Rick had a very cool show at one of the local art galleries. Brian and Andy and I had been planning to check it out, but due to various circumstances we didn't get there until the artists were about to leave. But at least we got to give them a hug and tell them how wonderful the show was (which it really is - anyone in town, I recommend stopping by The Canvas this month and checking it out).

While we were perusing their artwork, we could help but notice a band setting up in the corner for a show. I'd heard their name (One Aisle Over) but had never seen them perform, and I must say I'm happy we caught them. It was an acoustic performance, so their drummer wasn't included, and in that particular vein they reminded me quite a bit of Nickel Creek in their Why Should the Fire Die? album - soulful folk-rock harmonics that were lovely and melodic with some catchy hooks. Excellent stuff, and even more importantly, excellent musicianship - and their singer could actually sing. (I know it's elitist of me, but ever since I finally got around to taking some lessons myself, it tends to bug me when a singer can't, y'know, sing.) Additionally, I particularly liked the way they incorporated a saxophone player into their music. Usually you think of a sax as a replacement for a singer - it's a very bold, distinctive instrument - but they used theirs more for mood-setting during instrumental breaks, as well almost like a second vocalist in a few places, harmonizing with the lead vocals. It was very striking.

My favorite song was called "Carry-On Suitcase", which was inspired by the singer's experiences being trapped in Seattle with her husband over the snowstorms last December, when there were no hotel rooms anywhere and whole mountain ranges of luggage piled together at baggage claim and they ended up living out of a carry-on suitcase for five days, not knowing if they were going to make it home in time for Christmas or not. It was an oddly sweet reflection on how much of our identity we invest in our possessions and our plans, and what it feels like when all of that goes away. If I ever get around to learning the guitar and doing some performing of my own, I may have to ask their permission to do a cover version.

I went ahead and bought a copy of their (currently) lone album, a live recording of a concert they'd given at the local university, because I had $10 on me and I definitely liked the music $10 worth. It doesn't have "Carry-On Suitcase" on it, unfortunately, but they were talking about how they were on their way down to Portland to record their first real album, so I'm going to hope that it'll be on that one. But I'll buy a copy, regardless - the concert was good stuff, and it's always so fun when you discover nifty new things completely accidentally like that.

I was playing with the iTunes Signature Maker just now, and it brought up a clip from White Houses, probably because it was on my favorites list for a while some months ago.

I don't really remember it from when it first came out; I don't think I was listening to the radio much at that point, anyway. It struck me mostly in retrospect, when I put Harmonium in my listening rotation a year or so ago. I looked up the lyrics (about the singer's first experiences with the world in general), and in that rare way that happens with music on occasion, it all clicked - the bittersweet chord progression, the almost childlike piano hook, and the dizzying suddenly-overwhelming instrumentation. It's a song that encapsulates, nearly perfectly (for me), the intoxicating rush of being on your own for the first time.

I don't know how well I can explain the feeling, especially since it seems to be one of those marvelously subjective things - depending on one's experiences, it may be stronger or weaker or never really happen at all. But I can't be the only one who's felt that delirious joy of having left the relative safety of home and plunged headfirst into this strange new world of heady freedom, where all sorts of new experiences await and all kinds of pitfalls make themselves known in short succession, but it's all okay because you're not waiting to live your life anymore, you're not wondering what your life will be like anymore, you're out there living it for yourself - who cares if you just got caught in a downpour in a white shirt and no bra, what does it matter if you just overdrew your checking account by $100, why bother worrying about the messy relationship tangles you're creating? You're creating them - you have the power to create your own life as you see fit, and when you inevitably fuck it up, it's still amazing because you created the fuckups, and you can get yourself out of them as well.

It's giddy, and overwhelming, and dizzying, and mad, and sweet and nostalgic all at once because you know that it can't last, and really you don't want it to. But while it's happening, it's an amazing ride, and when it's all over and you're (slightly) older and wiser, when you have a better idea of who this "you" person is...you know that it's a time you'll always look back on with fondness, for your massive failures even more than your successes. In retrospect, I wonder if that process of self-identification isn't the time in our lives when we're most free - without (most) parental restrictions, without many solid notions of who we are, without much in the way of better sense to guide us, and if we're lucky, with a family with enough forbearance to help cushion the worst of the blows when we inevitably get ourselves into trouble, and enough love to refuse to fix our problems for us entirely.

Does anyone else have the slightest clue what I'm talking about? And if so, is there a song that encapsulates your experience?

Dexter was having health issues over the weekend, which led to my being rather upset and depressed for much of Sunday. It wasn't anything serious, just a urinary tract infection, but I think I was having a hard time because of how quickly Mr. Jerry Brown had gone from "a bit out of it" to "seriously ill", and I was afraid the same thing would happen again. (Plus the inevitable large vet bill hovering over the horizon doesn't help one's state of mind any, especially when one has just paid for a wedding and is already on the uncomfortable side of "in debt".)

Anyway, getting the kitty diagnosed and treated did wonders to lighten my state of mind as well as my wallet, and somewhere in the intervening time I heard a clip from "Because I Got High". And the rest sort of...happened.

( Here there be bad song parodies. )

T minus 6 hours until the Great Karaoke Showdown, and I'm still not certain what to sing for the sad/dramatic round. Pondering "Total Eclipse of the Heart", but I'm not certain if I'm a good enough performer to overcome the audience's collective "oh my god I've heard this so many times" aversion.

Suggestions?

I really need to remember to post these a day ahead of time. But!

If you're stuck at work and bored on a lovely day-before-holiday weekend, check out the KRNN feed from 10:00 AM to noon (Alaska Standard Time, one hour behind Pacific) - Brian and I are doing a jazz show. With a Special Guest Star, even! (Requests in the comments are encouraged as always.)

Okay, I'm honestly stumped here, and Google isn't being much help. I know I've heard this song before, and I think it was either a movie, YouTube clip, or game soundtrack. But I can't for the life of me figure out where. So, help me out here - does anyone else recognize it, or am I just going nuts?

I'd heard this song on the radio a bunch of times before, but I found this icon today and had to nab it - which inspired me to look up the video for the song. I'm happy to say that the video makes as much sense as the song (which is to say, none), but it's probably one of the most inspired descents into nonsense that I've ever seen. (And with a helluva catchy horn riff, too.) Also, one of the few songs I've seen composed entirely of clips that actually works musically.

I know it's a bit late, but I thought I'd mention - Brian and I are going to be doing a blues show from 5 to 7 PM on KRNN.  Feel free to listen in via the web feed if you like.  I honestly don't know what we'll be playing, but I'm open to suggestions as always.

I've spent a fair amount of time listening to this album over the past couple of days. Like most of the The Decemberists' offerings, it's fairly multilayered and rewards close listening. That said, my reactions to it are somewhat mixed.

In what will probably come as no surprise to anyone remotely familiar with The Decemberists, The Hazards of Love tells a story - this one of a medieval maiden who, while traipsing through the taiga (Dictionary.com tells me this is "the coniferous evergreen forests of subarctic lands, covering vast areas of northern North America and Eurasia"; I guess "forest" was too pedestrian.  Oddly, I've seen a number of places transcribe the word as "tiger", which makes for an amusing if nonsensical image), stops to help a wounded faun. As this is a fantasy, I'm sure no one will be surprised to hear that he transforms into a young man who bears her away to be ravished (level of consent unclear, although given the romanticized tone it doesn't seem likely there was much protestation) and impregnated. When she discovers her state, she returns to the forest to seek her lover and they are reunited but (surprise, surprise) various forces conspire to keep them from finding lasting happiness together.

A large part of the cognitive dissonance I have with this album stems from the storytelling. As I'm sure you've all gathered from my previous entries on the subject, stories are important to me, and a well-told story will excuse a lot of other deficiencies in my mind. The Hazards of Love, unfortunately, is anything but that - the lyrics are opaque and often overwrought and pretentious, the characters are paper-thin, etc. Supposedly Colin Meloy originally conceived of the story as a musical or rock opera but decided later that it would work better as a concept album; as Brian pointed out, however,  "musical-turned-concept-album" seems to often be artist-speak for "narrative laziness".  And the decision to employ two very distinct guest vocalists for the female roles while Meloy does both male parts adds significantly to the confusion; Meloy's reedy vocals don't bother me the way they apparently do some folk, but he just plain doesn't have the range to convincingly portray two separate roles.

Musically, however, the album fares much better. It holds its influences high for all to see, and the combination of Led Zeppelin-esque medieval folk motifs and The Who-inspired power chords works surprisingly well. I especially love the bluesy riffs given to the Forest Queen; Shara Worden's throaty, full-bodied voice lends itself well to the style, and Meloy seems to have written the music to show off her voice (even if it does borrow rather heavily from the "Acid Queen" number in Tommy). Also oddly sweet is the use of accordion in "Isn't It A Lovely Night?", which seems like it would be jarring but actually fits quite well with the track's firefly-ephemeral romantic quality. And the children's chorus on "The Hazards of Love 3 (Revenge!)", when the infanticidal Rake's ghostly offspring confront him with his crimes, sounds like nothing so much as a musical sequel to The Gashlycrumb Tinies, which is great fun if you're an Addams Family-loving black humor connoisseur like me. It's not that the album never missteps - the use of twangy country-pop slide guitar on the last track especially irks me - but the disparate styles hold together remarkably well, and the music fills in the emotional connection that the narrative lacks.

In the end, I think, it's that last point that makes me really enjoy the album as much as I have.  The narrative might be obtuse and the characters undeveloped, but on a pure archetypal level the music resonates with me.  Even though my adult cynicism scoffs at its unbridled romanticism (anyone who's spent any time in the woods can tell you a "bed of boughs and thistledown" isn't anywhere near as comfortable as poetic lyrics make it sound), the bit of me that's still thirteen years old and thinks fauns and forest queens and ghosts and doomed romance are the greatest things in the world absolutely adores it.  And when it comes to music, enjoyment stems most from emotional response; I guess that underneath my prickly cynicism I really am a hopeless romantic.  B+

Of late, the Viking's been eschewing karaoke and pool in favor of having various local bands play downstairs and up on Saturday evenings. This tends to throw a kink in Monica's and my usual ritual, since the pool tables are all shoved off to one side to make room, and the karaoke area is filled with some band or other doing their cover of "Comfortably Numb". I like live music and all, but I miss singing, and without the relative quietude of the pool area upstairs to chat the whole "bar experience" becomes a bit of a drag after a while - nowhere to hide when the loud music gets to be too much.

The dance floor, however, is still more or less unchanged. So last night, when Monica and I brought along Philip and Justin for the evening, we planned to stick mostly with the dancing, and that was rather a success. And midway through the night, we retreated to the lone all-night diner in town for some truly mediocre food and a refuge from the noise, before going back to dance a while longer. I stayed out later than I have probably since high school, and thanks to the Red Bull and diner coffee I consumed, I was up until about 4 AM. So most of today's been spent recuperating. Fortunately, it's been a quiet kind of day.

Interestingly, I discovered today that my dancing had not gone unnoticed. I stopped at a coffee stand earlier to order a London Fog and was recognized by the girl at the stand, who said that she and her friends had been debating whether I'd done ballet or stripping or some such. It threw me for a bit of a loop; I know people watch me dance (appreciatively, I hope) but I tend to be off in my own world most of the time so I don't really think about it.

One of the things I've noticed quite a bit since I started practicing yoga regularly is how much it helps with dancing - I never would have guessed, but the Warrior series of poses strengthen all the same thigh muscles that you use, and of course the focus on balance can only help. Justin expressed his surprise at the range of motion I was able to exert in three-inch heels, which made all that time spent practicing Tree pose more than worthwhile.

Although, an amusing story from a couple of months ago that I never got around to putting down here: During one of our outings, Monica and I had been playing pool and I'd been drinking a glass of Alaskan Amber (hooray for excellent local beer). We went down to the dance floor, and while I didn't feel tipsy, I'm sure my balance was affected somewhat - and the fact that I was wearing the aforementioned three-inch heels, and that the floor was freshly painted, all factored in as well. Whatever the cause, I stepped on my heel wrong and found myself hurtling towards the floor. Oddly enough, I distinctly remember realizing I was falling and vaguely thinking "Hm, this is going to hurt" on the way down - 5'8" plus 3" is a long way to fall. But when I hit the (fortunately uncrowded) floor, I lay there a moment taking stock, and realized nothing hurt, and I had no bruises the next day. I guess the relaxing effects of the alcohol had kept me from panicking and cushioned the blow. So I got up and kept dancing (albeit slightly more carefully this time).

Next Saturday, I'm planning an In Bruges night before dancing. Brian will be making fish and chips, and then we can all watch some incredibly dark British comedy. I think it'll be fun.

Some people would probably make the argument that the Pussycat Dolls' remix of "Jai Ho" from Slumdog Millionaire is a needless Americanization of a song that was just fine on its own, and didn't need to be made more palatable for mainstream Western culture. A few might go so far as to say that it's disrespectful to the original culture, stealing their work the same way white people sold uncredited versions of Motown and other African-American hits in the fifties and sixties.

Personally? I think it's a fantastic example of the amazing and beautiful things that can come of cross-cultural blending.

Also, I don't know what it is, but I especially love the cuts to the original artist singing the "Jai Ho" in the background - something about his face just looks so amazingly joyous, and something in me responds to that. I just want to jump up and hug him and dance around the room.

The weekend was nice and relaxing. Friday I went climbing with Monica, and afterward she and Brian and I caught a local band called Cayenne Blue that played a really nifty mix of folk/blues/rock. Lots of travel-oriented songs with good rolling beats; if I lived in a place where one could take a road trip, I would totally listen to them while driving. As is, however, road trips aren't an option and they don't have any recordings anyway (apparently this was their first time performing). I may have to see if I can catch them at Folk Fest, though.

Saturday was mostly spent in preparation for my Tropic Thunder party, which turned out to be a modest success. Given my somewhat shaky track record in the arena of previous party attendance, I was more than a little miffed when the time came and went and nobody showed up, and even more miffed when an hour passed with still no sign of anyone (and only one person calling to say they'd be late). Fortunately people did start arriving an hour and a half later, and everyone seemed to have a good time.

As an aside - I realize that folk my age are fairly prone to looking at an event start time as more of a guideline than an actual concrete arrival time, but am I completely alone in the under-40 set in being just a tad bit anal about punctuality? Half an hour late I can see, but an hour and a half without calling or letting the host know in advance? That just seems rude - if you've told someone you're coming, and then don't show up, it leaves them wondering if they've done something wrong or if you don't respect them. I'm not meaning to be personally judgmental (for once); I know it's sort of a generally accepted thing among younger people. But how did the idea of "tell someone you're coming and then show up whenever you feel like it, if you feel like it" being OK become so thoroughly ingrained in our culture? Is it really that hard to grab your cell phone, or send a text message, or just say in advance "Hey, I'll be there but I'll probably be a bit late?"

Okay, done complaining now.

We (minus Brian) went out dancing after the movie, which was very fun, but unfortunately something from the party (I suspect the buffalo wings) didn't quite agree with me and all my energy went kersplat. Justin ended up taking me home like the sweetheart that he is, and he and Brian and I hung out and watched silly internet videos before calling it a night.

Sunday was mostly a quiet day. Brian and I cleaned up the mess from the party, we hung around the Internet, we spent an inordinate amount of time in bed napping, we caught up on House, we read our respective books. I finally filed my taxes and paid the $540 that I owed (ouch), so to celebrate I took us out to dinner at the Hangar, and discovered that they make a fantastic Eggplant Parmesan. I also had a cocktail there that I hadn't heard of before - they called it a "Golden Painkiller" and according to the menu it involved "Oronoco rum, tropical fruit juices, coconut, and a sprinkling of nutmeg on top". (Judging from the flavor, I'd guess the "tropical fruit juices" were pineapple and orange or perhaps orange/mango juice.) What struck me the most was the nutmeg; the type they were using was extremely finely ground, which helped avoid the grittiness that often is a factor with nutmeg garnish. Plus, the flavor went remarkably well and really added to the drink rather than just being there for show. I can't find a mention of the drink online, but I enjoyed it immensely; I may have to experiment a bit and see if I can replicate or improve upon it and add it to my repertoire. (Is there some kind of etiquette involved when stealing other folks' drink recipes? Do I need to give credit in the comments? Or write "inspired by" on the recipe card?)

And now it's back to work for me. How was everyone else's weekend?

Brian and I will be covering World Beat on KRNN tomorrow night from 7 to 9 PM AKST (one hour behind Pacific). As always, you can listen online via their website, and if world music is your thing, post your request! I'm also open to more general suggestions - my world music collection right now consists mostly of Mediaevael Baebes, Lorenna McKennitt, Dead Can Dance, and a couple of Cafe Del Mar compilations. So there'll probably be a good amount of digging through the KTOO library as well.

The first time I heard Birthday by The Crüxshadows, it hit me like a sucker punch in the gut. It was sometime around February of this year (never a good month for me), my twenty-fifth birthday was coming up far faster than I wanted to admit and I was starting to despair of ever making it out of Juneau or having the opportunity to pursue my dreams. And, as occasionally happens, there were all of my fears and insecurities and worries about mortality and loss of youth and opportunity, set to an appropriately moody (but somehow insanely catchy) techno hook.

Hearing it again nearly a year later, it's less depressing but no less challenging. The path to getting where I want to be in life is still hard to see, but the first few steps have at least become clearer, and I no longer feel so trapped and desperate.

I'm also in a better position to appreciate the merits of the song itself; to be honest, if more goth music was like this I would listen to a lot more of it. I'd actually go so far as to say this song is everything goth music should be - intelligently written, introspective, melodic, dark and moody but not without hope. And featuring adorable girls in hot outfits playing electric violin.

Interestingly, the Wikipedia entry for The Crüxshadows doesn't even classify them as goth music. I'm not sure how they classify themselves, or if "goth" is just one of those classifications that's become so broad as to be meaningless, but their outfits (and the emotional timbre of this song, at least) certainly qualify them in my book.

C'mon, dudes. What's the point of my putting up a poll if no one contributes? Go ahead and vote. It's all for fun anyway. :)

Incidentally, Brian and I are going to be doing Segue on KRNN tonight from 9 to 11 PM AST. Webstream here, if you want to tune in, and I'm willing to take requests as always. The category is "rock", so there's a pretty broad spectrum of musical choices...

Two of my friends are having potentially-serious medical issues today. This is not shaping up to be a worry-free weekend.

So I'm going to focus on a somewhat pleasanter problem: Money! Or more specifically, whether/where to spend it.

A local opera company is doing a Bacchanalia fundraiser. It looks like great fun - theatrical and operatic sketches, audience participation events, good food, togas, and of course lots of alcohol, hopefully including some good wine. (Several local hotels "within stumbling distance" are offering discounted rates, but Brian's not a big drinker so he'd probably be our driver.) I'd love to go and potentially bring Lydia, but tickets are $35 apiece, booze not included. It's for a good cause, of course, and I can afford it, but that's $100-$150 I could be saving.

And then, of course, there's an article in the paper this morning about how the local food bank and homeless shelters are running extremely short on donations this year - especially for their annual Thanksgiving dinner baskets they give out to needy families. Being 70 turkeys short (not to mention stuffing and yams and cranberry sauce) when you start giving them out on Monday is definitely pretty serious. And $100-$150 would buy an awful lot of cranberry sauce. Opera is great, true, but if it's between folks in Juneau not having opera and folks in Juneau not having Thanksgiving dinner, well...

So here are the options I'm looking at. And since I finally got around to upgrading my account and want to get my money's worth, I'm going to make it a poll.

Poll #1301659 Balancing Rose's wishes for security, entertainment and altruism...
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 10

What should she do?

Additional comments or other answers are, as always, welcome.

A new version of Nas' "Black President", with the "Yes we can" refrain changed to "Yes we did...change the world..."
...followed by The Cars' "Let the Good Times Roll". Possibly coincidental, although I doubt it.

For all that I'm cautious about expecting Obama to live up to his promise, it's hard not to get swept up in the excitement. Especially when I'm driving to work on approximately the fifth sunny day we've had since January, and it's a gorgeous sunrise.

--Listening to KXLL this morning, I've counted two pro-Obama songs (three if you count "Baby Got Back"). I'm guessing the DJs have a Message to Impart. Not that I mind, they're pretty good songs. (It also amuses me that they've tossed the Dead Kennedys' "California Uber Alles" into the mix as well.)

--I've now had two mochas, each containing two shots of espresso. It would probably be a bad idea to drink the Bawls I have socked away in the fridge, no matter how strong my curiousity becomes.

--Going swimming in the morning appears to be doing good things for my energy levels and range of motion, although I've been slacking off on the Wii Fit idea. But I've got myself a pass for this month, and am marking the mornings I go with little blue waves on my calendar.

--Finally got to see Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist last night, and was most pleased with it. The only part that grated on me was how the main characters were both such total wusses - more than once I wanted to reach through the screen, take them by the shoulders, and give them a good shake. Fortunately, they both had friend-characters whose sole purpose appeared to be doing just that, so it was pretty satisfying altogether. Not great on the level of Juno, but I wasn't expecting that, and it had enough sweet moments and good music to be perfectly worth my $15. I especially liked how it managed to capture the sweetness of being 18 and completely insecure, and yet being able to get to know someone who digs you without those adult defenses and preconceptions getting in the way.

--Sub-thought to the above: During the scene where Nick's gay friends clean Norah up a bit, I made a comment to Brian about "Because of course every queercore band has a box of lingerie in the back of their van." His reply: "I dunno. I'd probably trust their lingerie over that found in the back of a straight band's van." A good point, I think.

--Made some three-bean stew that turned out quite excellent, especially considering that I had misread the recipe and was sort of winging it in an attempt to get it ready before we went to bed. Fortunately, it was a success - enough of one that I ended up overeating a bit. Ah well, at least it was healthy food. Hopefully it made up for the $15 worth of nachoz and popcorn and soda we'd eaten at the theater.