This tour has been a roller coaster unpalatable to those with weak stomachs. In other words, we have not coasted, but rather have had severe highs and lows. Musically speaking, we've had some rough luck. Some due to canceled shows, and some due to no-show shows. Non-musically speaking, we've witnessed a shooting in Cleveland, and we missed a show in Iowa due to our car breaking down in Minnesota. Good news? Our car is fixed, (it was just the glow plugs that needed to be replaced), and instead of moping around in Iowa, we sold a large handful of CDs at an open mike which not only made up for our lost show, but for the car expenses we'd acquired too.
So here we are in Salt Lake City, getting ready to embark on a 2 day journey through desert winds and heat so we can make it to the great supple earth of California (or so people like to think), in hopes of completing the remainder of our tour with high spirits and worthwhile shows.
It's hard to even try to summarize our trip so far since there's been many ups and downs, and it may be the full moon and my hormonal body speaking, but I could certainly use a moral boost. Maybe a couple of days in the desert 100 miles out from any working toilet will be a good place to cleanse my mind and clotted notion of where we are and where we're headed in life.
For those of you that actually read this blog when I actually keep up with it, I thank you for taking the time to stop and tune in to my little stories. It means a lot to know that even a couple of people are connected to me at a time when my life is transitory and friends are a distant idea. But I want to let you know that if I was at one point lucky enough to have cooked dinner with you, played scrabble with you, listened to music with you, come up with unforgivable but decidedly good puns, then you can be sure that I have a sentimental corner in my brain kept just for you.
I have been too cheeseball today. But these are my sincere thoughts. I doubt I will gain access to blog until out of the desert, so until then, stay cool and go for a swim!
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Fall Tour '09
Richmond, VA
This is our friend Alison who is 'Alison Self' who played a house show with us in her lovely Virginia home.
Old friends embracing.
Our musical traveling partner Rae, or, 'One Tough Cookie' saying hello to a house cat.
It's a stand-off.
Dave and Stu and Williamsburg on our way to get delicious Italian food.
These are all views from Dave's uncles' apartment balcony/fire escape. Beautiful, no?
"View from Brooklyn no. 1"
"View from Brooklyn no. 2"
"View from Brooklyn no. 3"
Goodbye New York.
Detroit, MI
The Trumbullplex. Just your average crumbling mansion.
And just your average across the street crumbling mansion neighbor.
Oh Detroit, I think we have a future together.
More pictures to come...
Old friends embracing.
Our musical traveling partner Rae, or, 'One Tough Cookie' saying hello to a house cat.
It's a stand-off.
Dave and Stu and Williamsburg on our way to get delicious Italian food.These are all views from Dave's uncles' apartment balcony/fire escape. Beautiful, no?
"View from Brooklyn no. 1"
"View from Brooklyn no. 2"
"View from Brooklyn no. 3"
Goodbye New York.Detroit, MI
The Trumbullplex. Just your average crumbling mansion.
And just your average across the street crumbling mansion neighbor.Oh Detroit, I think we have a future together.
More pictures to come...
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
what to say in the new year
Well, it's true. I haven't said a thing since June, and I apologize. This is awkward because I am trying to type every so softly while Dave sings earnestly in front of me to record a song we're doing on our upcoming full length. I'm tuning out a little, but there are words that keep turning up: "Cause there's nothing left to say."
"I know as little as one can know"
There are so many lines in the song that are quandaries in themselves.
That's how I've felt for the last 6 months or so. I've had trouble surmising the words to paste up here on this page. I feel like there have been so many transitions for us this year. We finally made one more to start off the new year though. We made a move to a cozy new house with some friends. We'll have Food Not Bombs here, we'll have shows in our shed, (which we've dubbed "The Outhouse"), and we're getting settled in our really comfy attic space which is our new bedroom, music studio, office space, meditation room and library, all in one.
It is indeed out with the old, in with the new this year and a new life has been birthed in this dwelling. It should be just the thing for our time here in Nashville when staying still between tours.
Let's see if we can manage to stay in one place this time for more than 6 months. And I'll try to find some place within me to spout thoughts and words and things that I don't know the meaning of, even if "there's nothing left to say."
"I know as little as one can know"
There are so many lines in the song that are quandaries in themselves.
That's how I've felt for the last 6 months or so. I've had trouble surmising the words to paste up here on this page. I feel like there have been so many transitions for us this year. We finally made one more to start off the new year though. We made a move to a cozy new house with some friends. We'll have Food Not Bombs here, we'll have shows in our shed, (which we've dubbed "The Outhouse"), and we're getting settled in our really comfy attic space which is our new bedroom, music studio, office space, meditation room and library, all in one.
It is indeed out with the old, in with the new this year and a new life has been birthed in this dwelling. It should be just the thing for our time here in Nashville when staying still between tours.
Let's see if we can manage to stay in one place this time for more than 6 months. And I'll try to find some place within me to spout thoughts and words and things that I don't know the meaning of, even if "there's nothing left to say."
Friday, June 12, 2009
'Everywhere it goes it rains on me'
I only say this because two of my best memories so far on tour are the cooling rains that have come after a very hot day. One was in New Orleans and one was in Austin. So the title is not a complaint, but rather a suggestion that the universe is taking care of us.
For the first time, I understood the meaning of summer. Growing up in the mountains of North Carolina, I don't think I quite comprehended it. But somehow, traveling for only a week, I've gotten used to small doses of the thick omnipresent heat. New Orleans, that was like walking through a swamp at all times. But oh how lush, beautiful and vibrant a place that was. We were mainly hanging out at the local infoshop, Iron Rail, all day, and on our way back to the car, we were walking down a street as it started to drizzle a nice warm rain, and before us was a beautiful, large majenta tinted Crepe Myrtle tree. It's flowers were glowing amid the greying, cloud-absorbing sky. Standing below them was an older man, maybe in his 60s, wearing a mirror image of the tree's color. He stood barefoot in the damp warm street with his red-pink shirt barely buttoned to stay on, and his bald smiling face waited expectantly for the rain to cool down his city. I commented on the trees flowers and how they perfectly matched his blouse, and he proudly agreed saying I was the second person to stop and notice this. He then explained the history of the Crepe Myrtle and how he adored it, which is the only reason I am able to write about these trees in a mentionable way. For instance, I did not know it was called a Crepe Myrtle until he told me (and even spelled it out for me).
The next day, Dave and I walked to the Mississippi and sat in the shade, and while he sat through meditation, I read and took pictures.
So there's New Orleans for you. But just a tiny piece of it.
Last night we were in Austin, and we had an amazing show at Monkey Wrench Books with our friend Jordan Moser, and That Damned Band, who are AMAZING people and musicians. You MUST listen to their music. They have humbled me until I die and I have the deepest respect for them. The second rain on our tour came in Austin, and started right as the show began with a gigantic black cloud that filled the sky until the rain poured and didn't recede until the show ended. It was very fitting especially because That Damned Band had a song about hurricane Katrina.
We all went to the damn band's house and played music all night until the wee hours and when Dave and I went back to our friend Jordan's house, we both passed out happily and drunk on their couch. I wish I had a picture to show us in such a state, but sadly I do not.
Okay friends, I will have more to tell soon. So far, this trip is so good, I might just have to think twice about going back to work when I return.
For the first time, I understood the meaning of summer. Growing up in the mountains of North Carolina, I don't think I quite comprehended it. But somehow, traveling for only a week, I've gotten used to small doses of the thick omnipresent heat. New Orleans, that was like walking through a swamp at all times. But oh how lush, beautiful and vibrant a place that was. We were mainly hanging out at the local infoshop, Iron Rail, all day, and on our way back to the car, we were walking down a street as it started to drizzle a nice warm rain, and before us was a beautiful, large majenta tinted Crepe Myrtle tree. It's flowers were glowing amid the greying, cloud-absorbing sky. Standing below them was an older man, maybe in his 60s, wearing a mirror image of the tree's color. He stood barefoot in the damp warm street with his red-pink shirt barely buttoned to stay on, and his bald smiling face waited expectantly for the rain to cool down his city. I commented on the trees flowers and how they perfectly matched his blouse, and he proudly agreed saying I was the second person to stop and notice this. He then explained the history of the Crepe Myrtle and how he adored it, which is the only reason I am able to write about these trees in a mentionable way. For instance, I did not know it was called a Crepe Myrtle until he told me (and even spelled it out for me).
The next day, Dave and I walked to the Mississippi and sat in the shade, and while he sat through meditation, I read and took pictures.
So there's New Orleans for you. But just a tiny piece of it.
Last night we were in Austin, and we had an amazing show at Monkey Wrench Books with our friend Jordan Moser, and That Damned Band, who are AMAZING people and musicians. You MUST listen to their music. They have humbled me until I die and I have the deepest respect for them. The second rain on our tour came in Austin, and started right as the show began with a gigantic black cloud that filled the sky until the rain poured and didn't recede until the show ended. It was very fitting especially because That Damned Band had a song about hurricane Katrina.
We all went to the damn band's house and played music all night until the wee hours and when Dave and I went back to our friend Jordan's house, we both passed out happily and drunk on their couch. I wish I had a picture to show us in such a state, but sadly I do not.
Okay friends, I will have more to tell soon. So far, this trip is so good, I might just have to think twice about going back to work when I return.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Springtime = Sneezetime and more...
May has been a crazy time for me. Aside from the sneezy springtime blues, life has been full of some promising moments and new direction. Dave and I have started to work on a farm about once a week as a part of a working share for a local CSA. It's our friends Stephanie and Brett's farm called Bramble Hill Farm. They're wonderful people and are so devoted to what they do on their land. If you visit them, prepare to be inspired by their hard work, beautiful land, and tasty vegetables. You can read about all their recent accomplishments as young farmers in the magazine Table, which talks about local and sustainable food in and around Nashville.
It's slowly been getting hotter and hotter during the day, but luckily has been cooling down at night somewhat, which won't be the case later this summer. Especially not when we'll be in places in the heat of the summer such as Alabama, Texas, and Arizona. Fun hot times. We're only here in Nashville for a week more before we hit the road, and that leaves very little time to get ready, pack and move. I always forget how much I detest moving out of an apartment, and then I remember as soon as I have to empty shelves and drawers, clean scuffed walls, and take down art. This time around, it's also been an omen, telling me to appreciate our last days before we have no home of our own for at least a month.
So the traveling musicians flee once again, only hoping to return with some tales.
It's slowly been getting hotter and hotter during the day, but luckily has been cooling down at night somewhat, which won't be the case later this summer. Especially not when we'll be in places in the heat of the summer such as Alabama, Texas, and Arizona. Fun hot times. We're only here in Nashville for a week more before we hit the road, and that leaves very little time to get ready, pack and move. I always forget how much I detest moving out of an apartment, and then I remember as soon as I have to empty shelves and drawers, clean scuffed walls, and take down art. This time around, it's also been an omen, telling me to appreciate our last days before we have no home of our own for at least a month.
So the traveling musicians flee once again, only hoping to return with some tales.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
a lot to say, a little late
I have to say...I haven't felt the creative spark to write a blog entry lately...ok not just lately but for a long time. But here I am, trying to be prolific again!
Things with the band are going really well. We've been booking our summer tour for June and it's been going pretty smoothly so far. We're driving through the southwest to sunny California and then driving north to less sunny California and back through Colorado and then back home. And we have our first Nashville show on Tuesday at the Basement as a part of what they call "New Faces Night." And of course, we have an up an running website and new EP. It seems like with all this work we've been doing, we haven't been able to even play our music that much in our spare time. But I guess that's what tour is mainly for, right?
So that's the boring news. Or at least some shameless plugs. In other news? I've been feeling farther and farther apart from the land of Manhattan lately. Which is probably a bittersweet feeling. It's that time in a break-up where you don't actually miss your ex anymore but you want to miss them because you know how you used to feel about them and all of the sudden, you're in love with the love you had but it's distant and blurry.
I'm reading One City by Ethan Nichtern, who leads the Interdependence project and weekly meditation groups in Manhattan, some of which I've attended and highly recommend. But I digress. In the book, he talks about how a city functions like a giant organism. In New York, it's easy to see this. I sometimes picture the subway system as a giant cardiovascular system pumping people up and down, going back and forth to keep the heartbeat of the city pumping. Though there are often blocked arteries along the way, especially during weekends.
In other words, there are so many people in a city like New York that it kind of reminds me of the dragon puppets they use for the Chinese New Year. One mass of people creates a whole new monster. But in places like Nashville, or even smaller towns, it's a little more difficult to see this kind of unity. Especially when everyone is isolated and sequestered off in their own houses, cars, etc. How do you form the dragon when we're all so out of contact with each other?
I've noticed that southerners are very polite on the outside and do not hesitate to nod their head and say good morning to you as you pass them on the sidewalk, but what happens if we actually need each other here in a moment of crisis? We all head for the hills and go back to our hobbit holes. The opposite seems to occur in NYC. Although people go about their day without even acknowledging others around them in such a hectic environment, the moment something happens that disturbs the waters, weather it's a blackout, a storm, or something invigorating like an election victory, the whole city suddenly comes alive and connects like electric wiring.
So to wrap this up, do I think I could live in Nashville for the rest of my life? Maybe not, but I'm also convinced this is where I need to be right now. And not to harp on the dragon motif, but I like to think I'm part of a very small but beautiful luck dragon dancing in the streets weaving in between honking SUVs. Sometimes we get hit, but dragon's are pretty good at refueling. And if you think I'm being poetic or metaphorical, ask Dave about his morning yesterday. To all you current or former New Yorkers out there reading this, I miss your shiny scales.
Things with the band are going really well. We've been booking our summer tour for June and it's been going pretty smoothly so far. We're driving through the southwest to sunny California and then driving north to less sunny California and back through Colorado and then back home. And we have our first Nashville show on Tuesday at the Basement as a part of what they call "New Faces Night." And of course, we have an up an running website and new EP. It seems like with all this work we've been doing, we haven't been able to even play our music that much in our spare time. But I guess that's what tour is mainly for, right?
So that's the boring news. Or at least some shameless plugs. In other news? I've been feeling farther and farther apart from the land of Manhattan lately. Which is probably a bittersweet feeling. It's that time in a break-up where you don't actually miss your ex anymore but you want to miss them because you know how you used to feel about them and all of the sudden, you're in love with the love you had but it's distant and blurry.
I'm reading One City by Ethan Nichtern, who leads the Interdependence project and weekly meditation groups in Manhattan, some of which I've attended and highly recommend. But I digress. In the book, he talks about how a city functions like a giant organism. In New York, it's easy to see this. I sometimes picture the subway system as a giant cardiovascular system pumping people up and down, going back and forth to keep the heartbeat of the city pumping. Though there are often blocked arteries along the way, especially during weekends.
In other words, there are so many people in a city like New York that it kind of reminds me of the dragon puppets they use for the Chinese New Year. One mass of people creates a whole new monster. But in places like Nashville, or even smaller towns, it's a little more difficult to see this kind of unity. Especially when everyone is isolated and sequestered off in their own houses, cars, etc. How do you form the dragon when we're all so out of contact with each other?
I've noticed that southerners are very polite on the outside and do not hesitate to nod their head and say good morning to you as you pass them on the sidewalk, but what happens if we actually need each other here in a moment of crisis? We all head for the hills and go back to our hobbit holes. The opposite seems to occur in NYC. Although people go about their day without even acknowledging others around them in such a hectic environment, the moment something happens that disturbs the waters, weather it's a blackout, a storm, or something invigorating like an election victory, the whole city suddenly comes alive and connects like electric wiring.
So to wrap this up, do I think I could live in Nashville for the rest of my life? Maybe not, but I'm also convinced this is where I need to be right now. And not to harp on the dragon motif, but I like to think I'm part of a very small but beautiful luck dragon dancing in the streets weaving in between honking SUVs. Sometimes we get hit, but dragon's are pretty good at refueling. And if you think I'm being poetic or metaphorical, ask Dave about his morning yesterday. To all you current or former New Yorkers out there reading this, I miss your shiny scales.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Thoughts on my old backyard
It's funny how the places we used to live in become immediately romanticized in our heads and we create nostalgia over the big picture of it all. We never remember the menial things...for instance, I refuse to remember how it felt to have bed bugs and to wake up on plastic sheets only to retrieve my clothes from plastic bags. No, I put those memories in the pile labeled "shitty things" so I can remember only the pure, the beautiful, the earth-shaking moments of being in New York. And don't get me wrong...I don't think they could have existed without the bad.
Our neighbor's laundry
Skyline at dusk
View from rooftop
Our neighbor's laundry
Skyline at dusk
View from rooftopI don't have much to say about this. I just thought I'd share these images and hope that would help relieve my feelings of homesickness and "other"ness in my new residence. But despite all this, I am happy to be here. I really am. Maybe I just need to take some pictures of Nashville with a wistful eye, and then I'll feel at home.
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