I'd like to send yet another shout out to one of the members of the Frankfurt based phenomenon The Tiki Kings, for the title of this post. I may turn this into a bumper sticker and affix it to my new blue bicycle, or perhaps just scrawl it on the front of a t-shirt.
I've got thoughts floating all over the damn place right now, perhaps propelled by the onslaught of cherry blossoms, morning sunlight and birdsong jams that are overtaking the dryness of winter.
SXSW came and went in a flash, streets full of drunken fools and girls and guys on fixed gear bikes looking for a place to park.
I skipped much of the chaos of the crowds and headed for the sleepy town of San Marcos for a few days, where I took part in my own abridged music festival. Mix one part Lindsey, Scott, and his friend Calvin (who wore his t-shit "fuck y'all, I'm from texas", while watering his cherry tomatoes) and you get one incarnation of the Alamo Squad. We put together 2 songs and recorded them, in between copious amounts of beer/whiskey, and the shooting of the BB gun. Turns out if you take the label off the Shiner bottles they break easier.
I did manage to catch the last Moondoggies show with my roomie Caroline, we drank free beer and watched Jon Pontrello going f-ing crazy on the tambourine. We then headed to the Hole in the Wall, a well known dive bar near UT Campus, and checked out a young band named Marmalake that I loved.
The true highlight of SXSW happened after all the crowds had rioted and gone home, all of music makers, hoarse and exhausted, collapsed back into their vans for the long drive home. Last night I had the sincere pleasure and privilege of seeing Danny Schmidt, along with Carrie Elkin and Raina Rose, at the Cactus Cafe.
If you don't know of this singer-songwriter, go find him at Easy Street Records or some other fine shop, and open up your lil' heart- his music will hopefully make a nice home for itself deep in there.
A few years ago Danny Schmidt played a house concert at my parent's place in North Seattle, we cleared out the furniture, set up the amp and the mike, Mom made greek salad and a lovely toast, and his voice filled the summer the night. I had the chance to play a few songs before he began- one of the highlights of my fledgling musical journey.
As I was listening to his songs, some new, some old and familiar to me now, I felt undone by the memories that came up so suddenly, and so vividly.
This one goes out to Samm and Kyle, listening to Parables and Primes, sitting in the kitchen with french press coffee, Chris painting giant pieces of plywood out back. Kyle running down the street with a backpack full of fireworks, Maria baking cookies to put in the stolen Seattle PI dispenser outside on Wallingford Ave. Samm and I on our way to the Methow, "Riddles and Lies" playing as the mountains rose to meet the winding green road.
Another went out to Miss Alice, dear grandmother who is sorely missed, remembering how as we flew back from Charlottesville after laying her to rest, Danny was playing a show on Phinney Ridge, and at the request of my Mom, played "Company of Friends" in memory of her. I will always remember that act of kindness, and I consider it a blessing.
In each instance of feeling my eyes well up with tears (this very rarely happens to me at concerts) I was reminded that we cannot have these people or these times back once they have gone from us, but there is this quiet, intimate place, occasionally found in song, where their spirits/memories of those years are close again. A few minutes when our existence feels simple, and full of that delicate combination of longing and acceptance that we so rarely find.
Alright, someone shut me up, that's enough waxing poetic. I feel like Pa after too many birthday Martini's.
Yesterday at work a short pudgy white man introduced himself as James Brown, drank two Frappuccinos, and then asked me if I hung out at Walmart, because he thought he saw me there last night. So weird.
But, that's why we love Austin- for the weirdos, the lizards on the front porch reading the Sunday paper, the delicious veggie sandwiches at Wheatsville, the weather forecast that predicts sunny skies in the 80's for the next week straight.
That's right Seattle, I am in shorts and a tank top right now. I can't believe it either.
That said, I miss you. Send me a postcard, and I'll send you one in return. Promise.
love,
Lindsey
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Pompadours and Avocados
South by Southwest is about to descend on our fair city like a horde of drunken mice- sleeping in all the beds, taking up all the parking spots, and eating all the breakfast tacos. 6 weeks into my new life here (it feels like substantially longer then that) and I am about to be initiated into a week of grandeur and merriment I can barely imagine, though it is only days away. I shall report back.
The stormy seas of change I described upon my arrival here have reached a more even keel, as the many different pieces I was juggling fell into a new, but comfortable, rhythm. In the past 4 weeks I have found myself 2 part time jobs, acquired a bed, and met some absolutely lovely people, some of whom I've taken quite a shine too . . .
My first job, which we shall now refer to as "my stupid job," is at a chain coffee shop similar to Tully's, which originated in Southern California. To this end, we sometimes have very blond, very tan women in shiny Escalades run into the store, gushing "I'm so glad I found you! Oh my GOD! Can I please have a large ultimate extreme mocha iced blended? Oh, and no whip!" Kill me now. The people I work with are quite nice, and to be fair, many of the regulars are very sweet too. I am getting used to working early shifts, the opening shift being from 4:30 am - 10:00 am. Every time I wake up that early I remind myself that my dear father has been waking up at 4:00 am for the the past 30 years for his job at SDOT. Hats off to you, Papa.
Speaking of which, my parents have been very sweet and have sent me a box of things from home, so I now have sheets, 2 vegetarians cookbooks, a few pairs of sneakers, kleenex, a chocolate bunny, and some of my favorite sundresses hanging in the closet. I should start stocking the bar for their arrival, sometime in mid-April . . .
The short plays I am working on are going well, though a bit stress-inducing as we head straight into the last few weeks before performances. I think I have effectively managed to burn myself out within the first 2 months here (dammit Samm, you called it!) and have decided that following these shows I will take a break until the fall, so I may allow more time for reading Steinbeck novels and going swimming as the temperature begins to rise.
I also really want a dog. Is that bad? A dog and a car, I would like each of those. Maybe not for awhile, but I am putting both those thoughts on the back burner, to simmer until I find a job that pays more then $8 an hour.
Did I mention the land smells different here? Reminds me of my Nanny and Grandpa Dave's neighborhood in Charlottesville. Wide streets, trees with large beautiful branches, front porches all adorned with chairs for sitting, and the scent of dirt, acorns, and sunlight.
Rodney, if you happen to read this, I wanted to tell you that I saw a great Rockabilly set by the venerable Dale Watson, a local legend with a shock of white hair that he styles into a sweet Pompadour, who plays weekly around town. I saw him at the Highball, a bar/bowling alley with antique lanes that made me think of that final scene of There Will be Blood, where they serve pickled okra with your beer, and ladies dress up to two step dance on the shiny wooden dance floor. I went with my friend Annie, we said hello to her friend who plays bass with Dale Watson, had some wine, the headed to The Broken Spoke.
The Broken Spoke is an Austin institution- looks like it hasn't been touched in 40 years, and was home to the likes of Willie Nelson, back in the day. They serve your beer or wine in plastic cups, you drink at picnic tables covered in red checkered tablecloths, and old men show up everynight to two-step, and glide across that floor with absolute grace. After the Highball Annie and I went to see another local musician named Jesse Dayton play, he is something of an aging rockstar who was rumored to have a distinct sexual charisma onstage. He was a prodigy in his early years, and I will readily admit is a venerable force as a guitar player and performer. I wasn't really sold on the allure of him, bit of a potbelly starting to show under his faded t-shirt, until I noticed he had locked eyes with me during one of his songs, at which point Annie whispers to me. "he just purred at you." It was true, he had. Only in Texas, is my response to that- only in Texas.
Morning is upon me now, and I do believe it is time for eggs and avocado, turkey bacon and a cup of coffee. A day off, free to work on the Bike Noir play, sit on the porch, and survey the neighborhood.
I miss my folks, my sisters, my dear friends, and will especially hold you in my little heart in a few weeks, as my birthday approaches. Not a bad way to spend a year though- traveling far and wide, only to end up in a desert city that is brimming with vitamin D and rife with possibility. Not bad at all.
Stayed tuned, for more tales from ATX . . .
yours very truly,
Red
The stormy seas of change I described upon my arrival here have reached a more even keel, as the many different pieces I was juggling fell into a new, but comfortable, rhythm. In the past 4 weeks I have found myself 2 part time jobs, acquired a bed, and met some absolutely lovely people, some of whom I've taken quite a shine too . . .
My first job, which we shall now refer to as "my stupid job," is at a chain coffee shop similar to Tully's, which originated in Southern California. To this end, we sometimes have very blond, very tan women in shiny Escalades run into the store, gushing "I'm so glad I found you! Oh my GOD! Can I please have a large ultimate extreme mocha iced blended? Oh, and no whip!" Kill me now. The people I work with are quite nice, and to be fair, many of the regulars are very sweet too. I am getting used to working early shifts, the opening shift being from 4:30 am - 10:00 am. Every time I wake up that early I remind myself that my dear father has been waking up at 4:00 am for the the past 30 years for his job at SDOT. Hats off to you, Papa.
Speaking of which, my parents have been very sweet and have sent me a box of things from home, so I now have sheets, 2 vegetarians cookbooks, a few pairs of sneakers, kleenex, a chocolate bunny, and some of my favorite sundresses hanging in the closet. I should start stocking the bar for their arrival, sometime in mid-April . . .
The short plays I am working on are going well, though a bit stress-inducing as we head straight into the last few weeks before performances. I think I have effectively managed to burn myself out within the first 2 months here (dammit Samm, you called it!) and have decided that following these shows I will take a break until the fall, so I may allow more time for reading Steinbeck novels and going swimming as the temperature begins to rise.
I also really want a dog. Is that bad? A dog and a car, I would like each of those. Maybe not for awhile, but I am putting both those thoughts on the back burner, to simmer until I find a job that pays more then $8 an hour.
Did I mention the land smells different here? Reminds me of my Nanny and Grandpa Dave's neighborhood in Charlottesville. Wide streets, trees with large beautiful branches, front porches all adorned with chairs for sitting, and the scent of dirt, acorns, and sunlight.
Rodney, if you happen to read this, I wanted to tell you that I saw a great Rockabilly set by the venerable Dale Watson, a local legend with a shock of white hair that he styles into a sweet Pompadour, who plays weekly around town. I saw him at the Highball, a bar/bowling alley with antique lanes that made me think of that final scene of There Will be Blood, where they serve pickled okra with your beer, and ladies dress up to two step dance on the shiny wooden dance floor. I went with my friend Annie, we said hello to her friend who plays bass with Dale Watson, had some wine, the headed to The Broken Spoke.
The Broken Spoke is an Austin institution- looks like it hasn't been touched in 40 years, and was home to the likes of Willie Nelson, back in the day. They serve your beer or wine in plastic cups, you drink at picnic tables covered in red checkered tablecloths, and old men show up everynight to two-step, and glide across that floor with absolute grace. After the Highball Annie and I went to see another local musician named Jesse Dayton play, he is something of an aging rockstar who was rumored to have a distinct sexual charisma onstage. He was a prodigy in his early years, and I will readily admit is a venerable force as a guitar player and performer. I wasn't really sold on the allure of him, bit of a potbelly starting to show under his faded t-shirt, until I noticed he had locked eyes with me during one of his songs, at which point Annie whispers to me. "he just purred at you." It was true, he had. Only in Texas, is my response to that- only in Texas.
Morning is upon me now, and I do believe it is time for eggs and avocado, turkey bacon and a cup of coffee. A day off, free to work on the Bike Noir play, sit on the porch, and survey the neighborhood.
I miss my folks, my sisters, my dear friends, and will especially hold you in my little heart in a few weeks, as my birthday approaches. Not a bad way to spend a year though- traveling far and wide, only to end up in a desert city that is brimming with vitamin D and rife with possibility. Not bad at all.
Stayed tuned, for more tales from ATX . . .
yours very truly,
Red
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