I'm just coming down from a wonderful invigorating weekend in Champaign, where I took my little dragon buddy Sammy to a TaeKwonDo tournament on the campus of my alma mater. Champaign-Urbana will always have a special place in my heart; it's where the political fire in my belly got lit and the musical fire (that was lit when I was six watching my big brother's garage band) was stoked to a flaming burn that still rages to this day, and it's where I spent four years trying to figure out what kind of writer I was going to be (a question I still haven't answered...) It helps that I had terrific hosts, Cynthia and Ernie, who understand about remembering and celebrating your past but also live in the present. They have a pair of kids too and Sammy got along swimmingly with them.
We started the weekend arriving at the local martial arts dojo just in time for Sammy to do a workshop with Chief Master Minton, apparently a legend in the TKD world and the legend is justified. Minton is a 73-year-old rockstar of a guy -- eyes popping out of his head, quick with both the moves and the sense of humor. There wasn't a person in the house (kids, adults and spectators) who wasn't enchanted with him. Sammy was in the front row and didn't need to be told to keep his "eyes on the instructor." Who could take their eyes off this guy? Amazing fun stuff, and I love a good workshop whether it's physical or mental. It helped tucker out a rather nervous Sammy so he could rest up for the next morning's tourney.
Let me say this now: I'm so proud of Sammy! He was kind of nervous about his first major tournament, especially since it was built up by the previous night's four hour drive. As soon as we checked in, he headed to the side gym and practiced his forms. He ended up in a group where he was the lowest ranking belt (he is a Camo, the rest of the kids were green and purple) and I think he was the only kid in his group for whom this was a first tourney. He did well on his forms, but for sparring he was paired in the first round with a purple belt who had been to some 15 other tournaments and was thus much more used to the pressure. Nevertheless, Sammy came out swinging and landed the first blow -- a two point kick to his opponent's head. The kid was taken by surprise, and Sammy never let up. They spar until five points, and Sammy was leading this kid 4-2, and then the other kid made his comeback. Sammy was clearly disappointed, but after a couple of minutes he looked around to see what he was up against and he genuinely believed me when I told him, "You have nothing to feel bad about. You went the distance with a kid who's two belts above you and has lots more competitive experience and you had him scared." I think that's what I'm most proud of -- that he still felt good about the experience and learned something. We told his instructor what happened (he was judging another ring) and his instructor was also smiling and very proud of him.
We did dinner at The Esquire Lounge, a place that in my day was an great after downtown-hours watering hole and the site of many an engaging political argument. It's now three times its former size, has a full-service kitchen, and not a bad place to bring in the kids for, as Cynthia and Ernie's kids term, "Fries and Peanuts." It's one of those joints you toss your peanut shells on the floor; and the fries are indeed excellent. Problem was, it wasn't until we parked downtown that it occurred to us, "Oh, it's St Pat's day. It's Amateur Night. Great." Still, I had an excellent bar cheeseburger, Sammy enjoyed an excellent bar pizza, and we both got a kick out of dumping our peanut shells on the floor whilst Wisconsin dumped Vanderbilt to the ground as well. The whole weekend, centered around the TKD tourney, was relaxing in that I had nothing, I mean, nothing else to do except wander around the campus of my alma mater, and sit inside and outside Cynthia/Ernie's wonderful house enjoying this weirdly wonderful summer weather, drinking coffee, wine, listening to birds chirp and kids play and catch up with good friends.
Weird thing is that, as Cynthia pointed out, we weren't all that tight when we were undergrads, (we barely knew each other!) but over the years via our mutual blogs (and I also have to credit FB) we've become quite tight: we both have discovered a lot of friendships in our lives are like this. (Heck, some of my best friends are iVillage women I've never met in person, but have known since Stella was a baby and I was looking for diaper rash advice...). Over Ernie's homemade Sunday morning biscuits I wandered around their garden taking pictures of the outdoor bric-a-brac they purposefully littered all over.
With Discovery World membership in hand, one our way through Chicago we popped into the Field Museum because Sammy is one of those kids who adores dinosaurs, so it was in and out. The whole dinosaur exhibit is part of an "evolving world" thing, that starts out with primordial ooze and take us through five mass extinctions through to the modern day. We both pulled a bronx cheer as we walked into the Soldier Field parking lot just south of the museum and headed home. I'm still recovering from a oxymoron of a weekend -- busy yet relaxing. And there's a lot to be said for just going on a road trip with just one of your kids, a mom and my boy kind of weekend where we could jam out in the car, eat boy food, and just run around. I'm wonderfully spent.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Catching up with a different kind of dragon
The week before last Saturday night was another "Well, I don't know what to go see so I'll pop into the Circle A and see what Warwick's brought in" kind of night, and it did not disappoint. Paul Setser at the door extracted a couple of bucks from my wallet (it was already 9:30 and we both knew I'd only see the last half hour of the set) and it was a packed room for Drugs Dragons, a band I hadn't seen since I caught then three years ago at a garage festival headlined by the Mistreaters, which should give you an idea of what they were about. What I learned later was that they broke up for awhile and last Saturday was one of the first times they played out probably since that Mistreaters gig. Good pick. Snotty little guitarist with a constant ironic smirk on his face, a Mistreater on the other guitar,intense rhythm section all fronted by a guy who seemed to have failed a Die Monster Die audition and said, "Well, then I'll start my OWN band, dammit." Great vocal range -- from gravelly to outright pissed off hollering. As the Circle A was packed, they had no room to move around, (neither did anybody) so I pointed my 50mm lens at his face that was less than 2 feet away from me and got plenty of grainy, dark, gravelly shots that fit him despite the fact they are photographically worthless.
That turned out to be 30 minutes of tight, intense, garage rock that had elements of the aforementioned Die Monster Die, some heavy sludgy grindcore, but high energy and catchy tunesmithing enough to land on any good locally-produced tribute to the spirit of garage rock. No one influence overpowered. I sidled over to where I spotted Keith and Janet Brammer afterwards who agreed with me: "That was the best $2 I've spent in a long time!" (Brammer answered, "I've paid $20 to see much worse!") They were great. One of the band member's girlfriend overheard me and was pleased that I liked the band -- obviously I was somebody that band didn't know and it was good to hear positive feedback from a stranger, and not just one of the obvious friends of the band that squeezed into the room. And I was glad to see a band girlfriend who was actually into the music of the band. Ahhhh, young ones carrying the torch.
That's a torch that's being relit by Brammer and Tom Tiedjens, who were telling me that they they were just discussing " this pretty much high school reunion we're getting ready for," in the form of the Lest We Forget show that's coming up. Both their bands will be there (Brammer of course with Die Kreuzen, Tiedjens with the remains of Those X-Cleavers.) The lineup is packed and each band will be 20 minutes ("Gee, is this Trash Fest?"). I was just arriving in Milwaukee when most of this lineup was in its heyday, so I'll be meeting people I've only heard tell of, and listening to stories and I'll document it the best I can. It's what I do.
Friday, March 02, 2012
Blown Away on a Birthday
OK, just as I get done ranting about how nobody really wants to play on their birthday, Ted Jorin decides he not only wants to play, but play in two bands. So last Saturday night, a last minute addition to an already garage-y, psychedelic, surfing, and repeat, garage lineup resulted in one of my favorite new finds of the season. The original lineup was Dr Chow (if you're tired of reading about them, understand that I have a vested interest in their success) and the Dick Satan Trio, who have evolved into a really dangerously great surf quartet. Even House of Hamburg proprietor Timmy O'Keefe was blown away.
But let's back up a bit. The night started with a blistering high energy garage set from The Northside Creeps, which were basically the Dick Satan rhythm section (Ted and "Kip Satan") and Ted's brothers. Great, punchy guitar-driven blues pop songs that would have made it onto any Pebbles/Nuggets compilation, delivered by guys who look like the Beau Brummels and sound like the Chocolate Watch Band. I could not tear myself away from a set that included rants, ballads, and really solid sweaty songwriting. Ted later explained to me how this relatively new band sounded so tight: the songs are some 10 years old. And one of the brothers is living in Kentucky; he's just in for the weekend so they slammed together a rehearsal and came up with the freshest thing I've heard in a long time. Problem is, given the distance here, a local show from these guys is going to be a rare thing indeed, and that's a bummer. We could use some snappy new garage in this town to blow us away.
Then the younger brothers Jorin put down their axes and the older "Brothers Satan" plug in and jump into some strange, sinful garage before Ted, in his birthday exuberance, blows out his bass amp. How the hell do you blow up a bass amp? And of course, Dr Chow's Joe Polizzi, was nowhere to be found. Figures. The one night he doesn't show up early and we need to borrow his bass amp. And I say "we" because I needed to hear what was promising to be the best Dick Satan set yet. Those devils were amped up. Fortunately he arrived, giant ass bass amp literally in tow, and was really cool about it. And Dick Satan delivered on their promise -- best set I've seen yet. Very tight, messing with stops and breaks, like an unexpected wave crashing into the breakwaters and pilings before washing up on shore. Rick Satan keeps the precision going, Dick, the effective rhythm, and Artie Christ (Ted's nom d'demon) has really learned how to play the garage/surf bass.
Not to fear, Dr Chow's had to follow Voot Warnings, and they can follow this. Sometimes I don't know how Frank does it. How does he not only work up all the energy, but keep it so fresh each time? I've heard these songs a hundred times, and every time, Frank manages to make 40 year old tunes sound like they were just written. And Ted was in glee, sitting up in front, drinking it all in and getting blown away. See Ted? You don't wanna play on your birthday. You wanna just take it in. (But I'm glad you did.)
Allright, who's throwing a band birthday party for themself next?
But let's back up a bit. The night started with a blistering high energy garage set from The Northside Creeps, which were basically the Dick Satan rhythm section (Ted and "Kip Satan") and Ted's brothers. Great, punchy guitar-driven blues pop songs that would have made it onto any Pebbles/Nuggets compilation, delivered by guys who look like the Beau Brummels and sound like the Chocolate Watch Band. I could not tear myself away from a set that included rants, ballads, and really solid sweaty songwriting. Ted later explained to me how this relatively new band sounded so tight: the songs are some 10 years old. And one of the brothers is living in Kentucky; he's just in for the weekend so they slammed together a rehearsal and came up with the freshest thing I've heard in a long time. Problem is, given the distance here, a local show from these guys is going to be a rare thing indeed, and that's a bummer. We could use some snappy new garage in this town to blow us away.
Then the younger brothers Jorin put down their axes and the older "Brothers Satan" plug in and jump into some strange, sinful garage before Ted, in his birthday exuberance, blows out his bass amp. How the hell do you blow up a bass amp? And of course, Dr Chow's Joe Polizzi, was nowhere to be found. Figures. The one night he doesn't show up early and we need to borrow his bass amp. And I say "we" because I needed to hear what was promising to be the best Dick Satan set yet. Those devils were amped up. Fortunately he arrived, giant ass bass amp literally in tow, and was really cool about it. And Dick Satan delivered on their promise -- best set I've seen yet. Very tight, messing with stops and breaks, like an unexpected wave crashing into the breakwaters and pilings before washing up on shore. Rick Satan keeps the precision going, Dick, the effective rhythm, and Artie Christ (Ted's nom d'demon) has really learned how to play the garage/surf bass.
Not to fear, Dr Chow's had to follow Voot Warnings, and they can follow this. Sometimes I don't know how Frank does it. How does he not only work up all the energy, but keep it so fresh each time? I've heard these songs a hundred times, and every time, Frank manages to make 40 year old tunes sound like they were just written. And Ted was in glee, sitting up in front, drinking it all in and getting blown away. See Ted? You don't wanna play on your birthday. You wanna just take it in. (But I'm glad you did.)
Allright, who's throwing a band birthday party for themself next?
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Pretty. Unapologetic. American. (Brit)Pop.
Saturday night had a variety of excellent musical offerings, not to mention the Sexy Results show that I'm really sorry I missed, if only to hear what Jim Warchol's doing lately. Normally this would be hard to choose, but lately I've been on this major Britpop jag -- I can't get enough Pulp, Oasis, crap, even the Happy Mondays are showing up on my "recently played" Ipod playlist. Oh, and since Sammy's been learning the merseybeat on the drums, yeah, my listening habits drift west from Manchester to Liverpool. So Saturday night, they drifted waaaaay west, to the Cactus Club to be precise, where it was a power pop explosion courtesy of Revolush, the Melismatics and Trolley. Where the heck else could I go?
Revolush answers the question, "Well, what if the Beatles had stayed together, hung out with Bowie more and entered a 70s Glam Phase?" Lead singer Tommy Hahn has Paul McPretty eyes that drill holes into you while flailing away on his bass. The songs stand up to this treatment -- they're pop, hard edged, almost Sweet-like, but they're built for top 40. Revolush takes the stage like they downed an extra large espresso from Alterra and jumps into it, whereas their CD is almost too perfect. In any other band, Hahn could be mistaken for a heavy metal or rock singer (think Diamond Dave, Jon BonJovi or even Ronnie James Dio -- he's got those kind of pseudo-operatic chops), but in this band he comes off as power pop, which suits the songwriting well. Even with a guitarist that looks and sound power rock, it still leans pop. And I like this live treatment. Like all the other bands on this night's bill, their recorded work -- while lovely and slick and well-produced-- is missing that element of sweat and surprise that drew me in for all three sets.
Next up, the Melismatics, a quartet from Minneapolis that have been on my "I really need to get out and see these guys" list for some time, and they did not disappoint. Ryan Smith is the frontman, but let's face it, his wife/partner Pony steals the show. First off, she's wearing a darling little party dress with her guitar, plugged into a Voxx, dangling around her neck, she doubles on keyboards and holds the whole thing together with marvelous attitude. Instant grrrl crush. As I told Brian when I got home, "She plays the guitar like me and sings like Roni Allwaise." The songs are also power pop but deep and complex enough -- in both music and lyrical themes, to keep me listening. Lots of great drama in the live presentation, too. Pony users her expressive face, sign language, guitar gymnastics, and Ryan is the rock that holds this whole thing down. Every song had its own little hook: a guitar lick here, a shouted chorus there, an onstage embrace, or a bow to the aforementioned Voxx amp. I headed straight for the merch table afterwards and picked up Acid Test and the new release Mania!!!and liked them, but like Revolush, I have to say the live environment is where this band really stands out.
Finally, local boys Trolley are onstage. And the words for them are Pretty, Unapologetic. I've written before about Paul Wall's unapologetic nods toward Merseybeat, and British janglepop. The jangle, of course, comes from the 12-string electric that half his songs call for, and the rest are on, as I tweeted, his really pretty 6 string. Actually, everything about Paul Wall is pretty, and he's pretty unapologetic about it: His guitar. His clothes. His songs. Even his wife. His band's latest CD, Things that Shine and Glow. He loves the power pop and he's pretty damn good at it. And while he won't even try to shake off comparisons to the original wave of Britpop (I have long suspected that he invites them!) this band actually shines and glows best when he lets the fact that he's an American creep in (the Nick Lowe cover hints at this). First, he's relinquished his beatleesque mop-top haircut for a Memphis-style pomp (that suits his age and the fact he's playing with an Americana band that's raking in the $$$ these days). I heard bits of Brian Wilson melodies, some alt-country, and even some sweaty Detroit Iron garage throughout the night. And that smirky stage presence and attitude puts a little salty into all this sweetness. Highlight for me was a gorgeous tune called "Ocean Song" that brought in bits of dangerous instrumental surf swaying over some lovely lyrics and an almost vulnerable vocal delivery. Driving home, I popped the Melismatics' CD into my player, and then went straight to my computer and downloaded Things the Shine and Glow from iTunes like I should have done months ago when it came out. It's been on my "Recently Played" list for the past few days -- and it holds up wonderfully on the car stereo, although again like the others, only hints at the reason you should go see them live.
This weekend? Well, it's Ted Jorin's birthday Saturday, and so the Dick Satan Trio will be bringing some surf to O'Keefe's House of Hamburg, and Dr Chow will be along to help celebrate, along with a third band I don't know a thing about, so I'll have a reason to sit up and listen closely after congregating at the Band Wives Table. Don't know how old Ted's turning and don't care. It's going to be a night of surf and psychedelic blues; a great way to send leap year February off.
Revolush answers the question, "Well, what if the Beatles had stayed together, hung out with Bowie more and entered a 70s Glam Phase?" Lead singer Tommy Hahn has Paul McPretty eyes that drill holes into you while flailing away on his bass. The songs stand up to this treatment -- they're pop, hard edged, almost Sweet-like, but they're built for top 40. Revolush takes the stage like they downed an extra large espresso from Alterra and jumps into it, whereas their CD is almost too perfect. In any other band, Hahn could be mistaken for a heavy metal or rock singer (think Diamond Dave, Jon BonJovi or even Ronnie James Dio -- he's got those kind of pseudo-operatic chops), but in this band he comes off as power pop, which suits the songwriting well. Even with a guitarist that looks and sound power rock, it still leans pop. And I like this live treatment. Like all the other bands on this night's bill, their recorded work -- while lovely and slick and well-produced-- is missing that element of sweat and surprise that drew me in for all three sets.
Next up, the Melismatics, a quartet from Minneapolis that have been on my "I really need to get out and see these guys" list for some time, and they did not disappoint. Ryan Smith is the frontman, but let's face it, his wife/partner Pony steals the show. First off, she's wearing a darling little party dress with her guitar, plugged into a Voxx, dangling around her neck, she doubles on keyboards and holds the whole thing together with marvelous attitude. Instant grrrl crush. As I told Brian when I got home, "She plays the guitar like me and sings like Roni Allwaise." The songs are also power pop but deep and complex enough -- in both music and lyrical themes, to keep me listening. Lots of great drama in the live presentation, too. Pony users her expressive face, sign language, guitar gymnastics, and Ryan is the rock that holds this whole thing down. Every song had its own little hook: a guitar lick here, a shouted chorus there, an onstage embrace, or a bow to the aforementioned Voxx amp. I headed straight for the merch table afterwards and picked up Acid Test and the new release Mania!!!and liked them, but like Revolush, I have to say the live environment is where this band really stands out.
Finally, local boys Trolley are onstage. And the words for them are Pretty, Unapologetic. I've written before about Paul Wall's unapologetic nods toward Merseybeat, and British janglepop. The jangle, of course, comes from the 12-string electric that half his songs call for, and the rest are on, as I tweeted, his really pretty 6 string. Actually, everything about Paul Wall is pretty, and he's pretty unapologetic about it: His guitar. His clothes. His songs. Even his wife. His band's latest CD, Things that Shine and Glow. He loves the power pop and he's pretty damn good at it. And while he won't even try to shake off comparisons to the original wave of Britpop (I have long suspected that he invites them!) this band actually shines and glows best when he lets the fact that he's an American creep in (the Nick Lowe cover hints at this). First, he's relinquished his beatleesque mop-top haircut for a Memphis-style pomp (that suits his age and the fact he's playing with an Americana band that's raking in the $$$ these days). I heard bits of Brian Wilson melodies, some alt-country, and even some sweaty Detroit Iron garage throughout the night. And that smirky stage presence and attitude puts a little salty into all this sweetness. Highlight for me was a gorgeous tune called "Ocean Song" that brought in bits of dangerous instrumental surf swaying over some lovely lyrics and an almost vulnerable vocal delivery. Driving home, I popped the Melismatics' CD into my player, and then went straight to my computer and downloaded Things the Shine and Glow from iTunes like I should have done months ago when it came out. It's been on my "Recently Played" list for the past few days -- and it holds up wonderfully on the car stereo, although again like the others, only hints at the reason you should go see them live.
This weekend? Well, it's Ted Jorin's birthday Saturday, and so the Dick Satan Trio will be bringing some surf to O'Keefe's House of Hamburg, and Dr Chow will be along to help celebrate, along with a third band I don't know a thing about, so I'll have a reason to sit up and listen closely after congregating at the Band Wives Table. Don't know how old Ted's turning and don't care. It's going to be a night of surf and psychedelic blues; a great way to send leap year February off.
Monday, February 06, 2012
Old reliables and new preciousness
As a citizen of Packer nation, yesterday was just a regular ol snark-fest for me on Twitter, so let's just do a Pre-Super-Bowl weekend arts roundup.
Stella and I are looking at High Schools. A week or so ago, we checked out Ronald Reagan IB and were very impressed by the creative arts department, so much so for a school that doesn't necessarily specialize in it. We'd gone to see their production of "The Boy Friend", a musical I'm not at all familiar with. (I'm more of a veteran of West Side Story, The Music Man, and South Pacific productions....). I'm not a fan of musicals -- you can hear the dialog warming up to a production number, and it's all I can do to hum along with Herbert in Monty Python and the Holy Grail as he starts in with " ...I'd rather... just ... sing!" Still, putting on a musical requires an extreme amount of production, coordination, and guidance, and Reagan IB worked it wonderfully. Also I admit that it was joyful to see
Ruadhan Ward as Mme Dubonnet singing a genre you don't normally associate with her -- and she pulled off some very difficult oldschool musical herione solos flawlessly. Brava! Ward's mom, Christina Ward was in the front row (my mom never missed one of my performances either -- I mean she went to Every.Single.Repeat) and her dad, drummer Dan Niedjiecko and aunt, prog queen Julie Brandenburg, sat more towards the back near Stella and me. We all reminisced about our high school musical days (Julie's companion mentioned he did a production of Les Miz, which pretty much shut me and my "We'll I was one of the Pick-A-Little-Talk-A-Little ladies in The Music Man" bit right up.)
So this past weekend, after touring the Milwaukee High School of the Arts, we decided to check out their recent offering, a Soul Revue that started out with a brief nod to Don Cornelius, and then, as I tweeted, these kids proceeded to kick ass. The jazz ensemble (with both horn and string sections) started off with an instrumental of "The Horse" and suddenly it's 1978 again, and I'm playing clarinet in basketball band at Rich Central. These kids take on Etta's "At Last", Al Green's "Love and Happiness" and others, amidst an auditorium filled with their family and friends justifiably hooting and hollering for them completing this whole "Showtime at the Apollo!" vibe. The encore (they knew they'd get one) turned out to be this kid who barely looked like a freshman, who started out nervously and then pretty much transformed himself into young, still adorable Michael Jackson for an ABC/I Want You Back medley that brought down the house.
After a quick snack, Stella and I headed out to Riverwest for a giant art extravaganza hosted by Flux Design that @Raster called my attention to. In addition to seeing his Drawbot (and Stella got a chance to make her own art with it) we got to see work in progress --literally, they were making it right there -- in metal, wood, painting, ice sculpture, photography, etc. Also ran into a couple friends and gushed about their latest news:
So, Saturday night I decided to go with reliable. Reliably, the Unheard Of was at the Circle A, and I got there in time to catch about 40 minutes left of a dripping-with-acid psychedelic set. Pity there weren't more fans in the club; it was driving and tight. One younger couple of hipsters came in, tried to get out of paying cover, but seemed to enjoy it anyway. Still, the band pro'd up and payed like it was a packed house. They showed their appreciation for my attendance with some new vinyl, which I carefully put in my car to head to Frank's Power Plant for more reliability -- a non-Zappa set from the Freddie Lee band.
Opening the show was an odd, eclectic act, Jaems Murphy and the Vedic Eden. Here you go: there's this guy in a tight-fitting striped sweater with goat horns on his head and (noticed this after the show in brighter light) dark, almost black lipstick. He's playing (rather well) this steel acoustic guitar thing and he has an endearing, if not flawed, vunerability to his voice. His band includes a stand up bass, some keyboards, a traditional trapset drummer, another guitar, and two background singers who double on percussion. I should have loved it. And I did to some extent. He had a conversational yet airy tone about him, his songs are complex jazz-folk arrangements that the theory snob I can sometimes be loves. I should have loved this. But I wasn't in the mood for it and, well, it all seemed just a bit too precious. First off, really, Jaems, is that how your mom spelled your name on your birth certificate? Second, that sweater. That scoop neck sweater. You're not a girl. And third, (in the same file as You're not a girl) lose the black lipstick. Because all this does not add to your otherwise very very cool musical offering. I could put up with the billy goat horns, but stop it there. All this detracts from your otherwise compelling stage presence and songwriting. My gut reaction to this should have been, "Way cool! What a find!" and instead I was thinking/tweeting "I'm not quite sure what to make of this." And normally, I *like* art that makes me say that, but I found myself listening to Jaems Murphy from the other room, where I could enjoy the music for what it was worth -- and it was worth a lot. Oh, and one more thing (and I'm not alone in this), no offense to you in particular, but I swear to God, if I hear one more cover of Cohen's "Hallelujah" I'm going to apply for a concealed carry license.
Had a lovely chat with Freddie Lee's wife Michelle while the band set up, and we tipped our glasses to Larry Kennedy. Julie Brandenburg was on background vocals tonight, and there were some sound issues. (Freddie kept getting zapped by two different polarities between his guitar and the PA -- OUCH - I've had that happen and it hurts). Beyond that. I already knew that Freddie has a lot of Zappa influence, but this past Saturday I heard very strong nods to Robert Fripp/King Crimson. This was what I was in the mood for; too bad I was starting to run out of gas, but I caught at least a half hour of some strong, bluesy prog courtesy of some of the town's best players. All in all, an interesting night at the Power Plant and I think I'm going to come out again and take another visit to the Vedic Eden to see if that magical wonderboy can rope me in.
Stella and I are looking at High Schools. A week or so ago, we checked out Ronald Reagan IB and were very impressed by the creative arts department, so much so for a school that doesn't necessarily specialize in it. We'd gone to see their production of "The Boy Friend", a musical I'm not at all familiar with. (I'm more of a veteran of West Side Story, The Music Man, and South Pacific productions....). I'm not a fan of musicals -- you can hear the dialog warming up to a production number, and it's all I can do to hum along with Herbert in Monty Python and the Holy Grail as he starts in with " ...I'd rather... just ... sing!" Still, putting on a musical requires an extreme amount of production, coordination, and guidance, and Reagan IB worked it wonderfully. Also I admit that it was joyful to see
Ruadhan Ward as Mme Dubonnet singing a genre you don't normally associate with her -- and she pulled off some very difficult oldschool musical herione solos flawlessly. Brava! Ward's mom, Christina Ward was in the front row (my mom never missed one of my performances either -- I mean she went to Every.Single.Repeat) and her dad, drummer Dan Niedjiecko and aunt, prog queen Julie Brandenburg, sat more towards the back near Stella and me. We all reminisced about our high school musical days (Julie's companion mentioned he did a production of Les Miz, which pretty much shut me and my "We'll I was one of the Pick-A-Little-Talk-A-Little ladies in The Music Man" bit right up.)
So this past weekend, after touring the Milwaukee High School of the Arts, we decided to check out their recent offering, a Soul Revue that started out with a brief nod to Don Cornelius, and then, as I tweeted, these kids proceeded to kick ass. The jazz ensemble (with both horn and string sections) started off with an instrumental of "The Horse" and suddenly it's 1978 again, and I'm playing clarinet in basketball band at Rich Central. These kids take on Etta's "At Last", Al Green's "Love and Happiness" and others, amidst an auditorium filled with their family and friends justifiably hooting and hollering for them completing this whole "Showtime at the Apollo!" vibe. The encore (they knew they'd get one) turned out to be this kid who barely looked like a freshman, who started out nervously and then pretty much transformed himself into young, still adorable Michael Jackson for an ABC/I Want You Back medley that brought down the house.
After a quick snack, Stella and I headed out to Riverwest for a giant art extravaganza hosted by Flux Design that @Raster called my attention to. In addition to seeing his Drawbot (and Stella got a chance to make her own art with it) we got to see work in progress --literally, they were making it right there -- in metal, wood, painting, ice sculpture, photography, etc. Also ran into a couple friends and gushed about their latest news:
- Eric Griswold is jazzed about being one of the finalists for an art project for the bus shelter at the North End of Bay view where Kinnickinnic, Lincoln and Howell converge. Here's his concept, and I like it. He's always been a Riverwest boy as long as I've known him, but at least he's still living in Milwaukee, which distinguishes him from the other three finalists.
- Paul Kneevers is jazzed up about one of his (Three! Count 'em THREE) bands putting out another CD -- this one's a new offering from Lovanova, his difficult-to-describe rocking, jazzy, but lounge act. You know, the one with that gargantuan Hammond organ he lugs around.
So, Saturday night I decided to go with reliable. Reliably, the Unheard Of was at the Circle A, and I got there in time to catch about 40 minutes left of a dripping-with-acid psychedelic set. Pity there weren't more fans in the club; it was driving and tight. One younger couple of hipsters came in, tried to get out of paying cover, but seemed to enjoy it anyway. Still, the band pro'd up and payed like it was a packed house. They showed their appreciation for my attendance with some new vinyl, which I carefully put in my car to head to Frank's Power Plant for more reliability -- a non-Zappa set from the Freddie Lee band.
Opening the show was an odd, eclectic act, Jaems Murphy and the Vedic Eden. Here you go: there's this guy in a tight-fitting striped sweater with goat horns on his head and (noticed this after the show in brighter light) dark, almost black lipstick. He's playing (rather well) this steel acoustic guitar thing and he has an endearing, if not flawed, vunerability to his voice. His band includes a stand up bass, some keyboards, a traditional trapset drummer, another guitar, and two background singers who double on percussion. I should have loved it. And I did to some extent. He had a conversational yet airy tone about him, his songs are complex jazz-folk arrangements that the theory snob I can sometimes be loves. I should have loved this. But I wasn't in the mood for it and, well, it all seemed just a bit too precious. First off, really, Jaems, is that how your mom spelled your name on your birth certificate? Second, that sweater. That scoop neck sweater. You're not a girl. And third, (in the same file as You're not a girl) lose the black lipstick. Because all this does not add to your otherwise very very cool musical offering. I could put up with the billy goat horns, but stop it there. All this detracts from your otherwise compelling stage presence and songwriting. My gut reaction to this should have been, "Way cool! What a find!" and instead I was thinking/tweeting "I'm not quite sure what to make of this." And normally, I *like* art that makes me say that, but I found myself listening to Jaems Murphy from the other room, where I could enjoy the music for what it was worth -- and it was worth a lot. Oh, and one more thing (and I'm not alone in this), no offense to you in particular, but I swear to God, if I hear one more cover of Cohen's "Hallelujah" I'm going to apply for a concealed carry license.
Had a lovely chat with Freddie Lee's wife Michelle while the band set up, and we tipped our glasses to Larry Kennedy. Julie Brandenburg was on background vocals tonight, and there were some sound issues. (Freddie kept getting zapped by two different polarities between his guitar and the PA -- OUCH - I've had that happen and it hurts). Beyond that. I already knew that Freddie has a lot of Zappa influence, but this past Saturday I heard very strong nods to Robert Fripp/King Crimson. This was what I was in the mood for; too bad I was starting to run out of gas, but I caught at least a half hour of some strong, bluesy prog courtesy of some of the town's best players. All in all, an interesting night at the Power Plant and I think I'm going to come out again and take another visit to the Vedic Eden to see if that magical wonderboy can rope me in.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Mortality? Family? Milwaukee Music: A Love Letter
Larry Kennedy died last week. I'm not sure what this post is about, because while it is nudged by Larry Kennedy's death, it's not about him. I met Larry Kennedy once in my life. And judging by the fact that his death spurred an entire Facebook group that is celebrating the 80s Milwaukee music scene, with everybody digging through their boxes of memorabilia, one chance encounter is all one needed in their life, but there were people who knew him well and miss him terribly. As Rob McCuen said, "Everybody has a Larry Kennedy story. Every encounter with Larry was like a film short." Mine involved a party at my apartment, a bunch of half drunk beers, waking up the next day and making breakfast and having coffee with Stoney Rivera before realizing that Larry was still in the exact same position on our couch with the half drunk beers perfectly balanced on his limbs. But that's not what this blog post is about.
Maybe it's about mortality. I went out Saturday night not to the Pablove show (which by all accounts was wonderful, uplifting, fun, inspiring, all those things an excellent fundraiser could and should be), but just to see my husband play with Dr Chow and to get a much needed Floor Model fix. Paul "The Fly" Lawson was there, of course (he was sitting in guesting with Dr Chow) and the topic of Larry Kennedy came up. Of course it did -- somebody had posted a picture of a very young Fly in that thread earlier in the day ("I wasn't even playing lead guitar in that band!" he laughed at himself) and we were all giving him a hard time about it. (something about the longer, actually curly hair might have been it...). I told Fly my Larry Kennedy story and mentioned that I didn't know him well, but that he seemed to be Milwaukee's own Keith Richards.
"Yeah, I really wasn't a part of this scene," I told Fly. "My 80's rock and roll scene was rooted in Champaign-Urbana, and I've already had my reconnection with it and we're just starting to bury our dead. What is it about Larry Kennedy that woke everybody up?"
I think Fly hit it on the head, confirming my Keith Richards analogy: "He was supposed to be invincible. All those guys -- Andy Owens, Tess, Larry Kennedy, you never thought they would really die."
But maybe it's really about family. I've often told my kids (especially around holidays) that we have two families -- the one we're born into and the one we chose. And like any family, we mourn the passing of one of us as though they were our big or little brother or sister, or in some cases our parents or distant cousins. Since these are the people in the family we chose, these are people we weren't arbitrarily supposed to love. They drew us in, they made us love them, not because we were linked by blood, but because we simply found a connection that was just as strong -- maybe even stronger -- than blood. Like a family, we had our loves, we had our fights, we had our function and our dysfunction, our saints and our black sheep. Here we are, finding our "baby pictures" and posting them. I'm seeing pictures of people who have come to be some of my dearest friends, some of the most influential people in my life, as bright-eyed twentysometings -- for all intents and purposes these are baby pictures. And like baby pictures, we see the beginnings (and in some cases, the blossoming) of the parts of these people that will always last, into their old age and even after they die, in our hearts. Oh, there were giants in those days!
I'm looking at these pictures and reading the stories, and in some cases I feel like the girl who married into this gigantic (Kennedy-esque, if you will!) family and listening to the childhood stories of my new in-laws. Kennedy was some distant third cousin twice removed to me. People I've known for years: Stoney Rivera, Andy Pagel, The Fly, Rob McCuen, Steve Schrank, Washday, Bob DuBlon and Miles, the whole Voot/Plasticland/Frankovic crowd, the hardcore crowd, the Die Kreuzen posse, the Atomic Records (formerly Ludwig Van Ear) bunch, Mark GE and the Joy Farm clan, -- the names are washing over me like a tsunami. And people I encountered just in time before they were taken from us -- I only caught a little bit of Presley Haskel's flame as he repaired/tuned/setup my Rickenbaker at the old Baldoni store (and was lucky enough to catch the Haskels/Oil Tasters reunion at Bastille Days to see what the fuss was all about) before I heard the godawful news of his death. There's an entire thread devoted to that moment when we all heard, especially horrified that he was murdered while putting up posters for his band's upcoming show. (I mourned him, at the time, by grabbing that Rickenbaker he'd just fixed, going into my band's practice space in the basement of the old ESHAC building, plugging in and playing that motherfucker as loud and long as I could.) Oh, that wasn't his real name? Or more recently, only catching a glimmer of Lane Klosier's light before he shockingly, heartbreakingly, was taken from us. Damn, doesn't anybody in this town use their birth name?
We found things in common, and in the case of this musical family, it was how happy we were to have found people who shared this obsession with the music that we have. How many times have I said on this blog that I separate the world into two camps, the ones for whom music is simply wallpaper and the ones for whom music is a visceral lifeblood? The need to go see a band. To stand in the audience and watch somebody pour out their soul -- whether in anger, love, joy, bewilderment, satire, heartbreak, beauty or truth -- and unite us all as human beings. To pick up an instrument (and voice is an instrument) and wail out your own blues. I simply do not understand people who are not moved by this. And so, like many of us, I chose a family that is moved, and isn't afraid to say it.
I could go on and on at this point, but somebody else already has and done it better than I ever could, namely Blaine Schultz in his recent memorial of Dave Raeck -- another guy I didn't know so well. But in some respect, maybe I did know him because as I wrote Blaine, he was so obviously One Of Us. I'll leave it at that because, as I write this, I'm still not quite sure what this blog post is about, or maybe I'm not just ready to admit mortality yet. Blaine has very kindly given me permission to reproduce his beautiful eulogy here. Take it away, Blaine (bold emphasis mine):
Maybe it's about mortality. I went out Saturday night not to the Pablove show (which by all accounts was wonderful, uplifting, fun, inspiring, all those things an excellent fundraiser could and should be), but just to see my husband play with Dr Chow and to get a much needed Floor Model fix. Paul "The Fly" Lawson was there, of course (he was sitting in guesting with Dr Chow) and the topic of Larry Kennedy came up. Of course it did -- somebody had posted a picture of a very young Fly in that thread earlier in the day ("I wasn't even playing lead guitar in that band!" he laughed at himself) and we were all giving him a hard time about it. (something about the longer, actually curly hair might have been it...). I told Fly my Larry Kennedy story and mentioned that I didn't know him well, but that he seemed to be Milwaukee's own Keith Richards.
"Yeah, I really wasn't a part of this scene," I told Fly. "My 80's rock and roll scene was rooted in Champaign-Urbana, and I've already had my reconnection with it and we're just starting to bury our dead. What is it about Larry Kennedy that woke everybody up?"
I think Fly hit it on the head, confirming my Keith Richards analogy: "He was supposed to be invincible. All those guys -- Andy Owens, Tess, Larry Kennedy, you never thought they would really die."
But maybe it's really about family. I've often told my kids (especially around holidays) that we have two families -- the one we're born into and the one we chose. And like any family, we mourn the passing of one of us as though they were our big or little brother or sister, or in some cases our parents or distant cousins. Since these are the people in the family we chose, these are people we weren't arbitrarily supposed to love. They drew us in, they made us love them, not because we were linked by blood, but because we simply found a connection that was just as strong -- maybe even stronger -- than blood. Like a family, we had our loves, we had our fights, we had our function and our dysfunction, our saints and our black sheep. Here we are, finding our "baby pictures" and posting them. I'm seeing pictures of people who have come to be some of my dearest friends, some of the most influential people in my life, as bright-eyed twentysometings -- for all intents and purposes these are baby pictures. And like baby pictures, we see the beginnings (and in some cases, the blossoming) of the parts of these people that will always last, into their old age and even after they die, in our hearts. Oh, there were giants in those days!
I'm looking at these pictures and reading the stories, and in some cases I feel like the girl who married into this gigantic (Kennedy-esque, if you will!) family and listening to the childhood stories of my new in-laws. Kennedy was some distant third cousin twice removed to me. People I've known for years: Stoney Rivera, Andy Pagel, The Fly, Rob McCuen, Steve Schrank, Washday, Bob DuBlon and Miles, the whole Voot/Plasticland/Frankovic crowd, the hardcore crowd, the Die Kreuzen posse, the Atomic Records (formerly Ludwig Van Ear) bunch, Mark GE and the Joy Farm clan, -- the names are washing over me like a tsunami. And people I encountered just in time before they were taken from us -- I only caught a little bit of Presley Haskel's flame as he repaired/tuned/setup my Rickenbaker at the old Baldoni store (and was lucky enough to catch the Haskels/Oil Tasters reunion at Bastille Days to see what the fuss was all about) before I heard the godawful news of his death. There's an entire thread devoted to that moment when we all heard, especially horrified that he was murdered while putting up posters for his band's upcoming show. (I mourned him, at the time, by grabbing that Rickenbaker he'd just fixed, going into my band's practice space in the basement of the old ESHAC building, plugging in and playing that motherfucker as loud and long as I could.) Oh, that wasn't his real name? Or more recently, only catching a glimmer of Lane Klosier's light before he shockingly, heartbreakingly, was taken from us. Damn, doesn't anybody in this town use their birth name?
We found things in common, and in the case of this musical family, it was how happy we were to have found people who shared this obsession with the music that we have. How many times have I said on this blog that I separate the world into two camps, the ones for whom music is simply wallpaper and the ones for whom music is a visceral lifeblood? The need to go see a band. To stand in the audience and watch somebody pour out their soul -- whether in anger, love, joy, bewilderment, satire, heartbreak, beauty or truth -- and unite us all as human beings. To pick up an instrument (and voice is an instrument) and wail out your own blues. I simply do not understand people who are not moved by this. And so, like many of us, I chose a family that is moved, and isn't afraid to say it.
I could go on and on at this point, but somebody else already has and done it better than I ever could, namely Blaine Schultz in his recent memorial of Dave Raeck -- another guy I didn't know so well. But in some respect, maybe I did know him because as I wrote Blaine, he was so obviously One Of Us. I'll leave it at that because, as I write this, I'm still not quite sure what this blog post is about, or maybe I'm not just ready to admit mortality yet. Blaine has very kindly given me permission to reproduce his beautiful eulogy here. Take it away, Blaine (bold emphasis mine):
On behalf of Tammy, Olga and Deb - thanks everyone for coming here today to remember Dave Raeck. Dave was one of the kindest people I ever met. And to be kind and generous is enough to make a mark in people’s memories. But Dave had something more.
See, Dave knew the all about the ancient rituals and the unwritten codes. Dave knew Radio Birdman and the Velvet Underground and the Stooges and Captain Beefheart. He knew that the 45 of “Land of a Thousand Dances” was the best way to hear it and the white label promo mix of “The Red and the Black” made Blue Oyster Cult sound like the MC5. Dave knew Mott the Hoople, the Gun Club and John Coltrane and Pharoah Sanders. … and a whole lot more.
Dave’s passion was music. And he was happy to share it with anyone who asked.
A band can be as cool as a gang or as dysfunctional as a reality show. Each band has it’s own personality. There is an apocryphal story about a band meeting, asking what each member brought to the band besides their musical talent.
Tough question, but simple answer -- easy -- Dave had SOUL. It is not something you can measure or even see – It is something so important yet almost impossible to explain. But if it is there, you know it. And Dave had it.
In the 1980s I lived up north and would make trips to Madison and Milwaukee to see these bands I read about but never got to see or hear. Keep in mind -- those pre-internet days you really had to work to find records or magazines. It was a challenge. Word of mouth, mail order catalogs, used book stores, rummage sales. Certain types of knowledge was worth more. It was a challenge to make a record and sell it. Today anyone can form a crappy band and put a song on a computer.
Life has lost some of its grit.
So-- I noticed a guy at these shows, who -- not unlike myself -- resembled a lost cousin of the Ramones. Black jeans, leather jacket Converse All Stars – the rock and roll uniform. That is how I met Dave.
A few years later when I moved to Milwaukee, Dave and I formed a band. We practiced in a place called The Sausage Factory, just down the hill from Zak’s Rock and Roll Palace appropriately. I worked 10 hr shifts in a factory back then so I REALLY looked forward to any time playing music. Dave played his Thunderbird bass. I think Dwayne Flowers was drumming with us at the time.
We’d worked up a few songs in our living rooms -- and when we finally plugged in with a decent PA it --- sounded - like an airplane taking off . … And the airplane was inside our head.
(Sometimes I think we are still chasing that moment.)
The reason I tell this story is because Dave came up with most of that first set list. Making sure we were all on the same page. And while he was easily the best gtr player in the band, he knew that by moving over to bass we had a better chance of making the band work. That is the kind of guy he was.
That group never played out though we did record some songs at Dave’s folks house – We went on to form other bands that shared gigs. … some us never quit. Back in the olden days of record stores, people who never even knew Dave’s name benefitted from his generous spirit and his musical knowledge. When Dave Szolwinski moved Earwaves a few blocks north to a bigger location Dave could be found working the counter with Pat Cummings.
Like Clancy Carroll said, “when you hear your music -- you will know.”
I wonder if most people know what it is like to get in car and drive 2 hours on a Sunday night in February to see Sylvain Sylvain play at an all ages show in Green Bay? Or the Cynics in Appleton? … and then we’d lament on the way home about how great the show was but only a few dozen fans were there.
… but lamenting helps no one. And driving into the night listening to great music is something no one can put a price on.
Later I worked part time at Record Head with Dave – and I remember one Sunday, Dave’s Mom & Dad stopped in to say hi and drop off some cookies as a snack for us. When they left Dave hugged and kissed his folks. That is the kind of guy he was.
I hope you all have memories as great.I do, Blaine. And I will do my best to help document them. I think this is another one of those reminders to tell those we love just how much we do indeed love them. As such, this blog has been and will continue to be, among other things, my love letter to the music community and Milwaukee in general.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Zappafest convergence
Zappafest takes on a different flavor every year. This year it was at the Y-Not-III, a place I'll admit I haven't been to in years. In fact, I think the last time I was in there was to see Dr Chow's Love Medicine long before Brian had joined. They switched the location of the stage, and there's bars both upstairs and downstairs with an excellent selection. (I chose a very nice weissbier called 312, from Goose Island brewing). Anyway, this year there were only three bands for Zappafest, and I've seen the Dr Chow Zappa set a bunch of times now, so I admittedly heard a muffled version of "Harder than Your Husband" and "Miss Pinky" while I was downstairs, catching up with the queen of Milwaukee Prog, Julie Brandenburg, on some gossip. Nothing to print here, nothing you haven't heard already. We raised a glass to the recently departed Larry Kennedy and headed back upstairs.
Julie's playing with the Freddie Lee Band these days (among other things like composing serious musical pieces, teaching music in the schools, and still wielding a mighty sewing needle) and they were the next act up. Freddie Lee, who used to be known as "Feedback Freddie" has been around Milwaukee for ages and I concurred with Brian on the realization that, "Hey, I don't think I've ever seen him in aclub." And that was a fact. Freddie plays at so many outdoor concerts and shows, I can't believe I've never seen him in a dark club. He was a fixture at Locust Street for awhile, he's always seems to have a slot at Summerfest, and gee, I think we just take him for granted. The Riverwest legend has a lineup of younguns (well, younger than him), but they've got the chops to hold their own, and he's generous with letting them have their musical say, so you have this band that's really good, but hard to pin down. The fact that they could easily pick up their axes and crank out some Zappa classics attests to their variety. It was a nice pick-me-up on a rainy, slushy night when I normally would have just as soon stayed home. Glad I made it out to hear Freddie's smooth voice take on Frank, and it made me realize I need to check them when they're not restricted to one artist's vision. I need to check out his most recent release, "Here's Your Hat, Man." According to his Facebook page, the title came from a "scary experience on the highway retruning from a performance on a snowy/icy afternoon. The vehicle slid and eventually lost control, flipped over on its side and finally came to a stop at the freeway wall. No one seriously injured, yet very shook up." I can imagine that one silent moment when everybody looked at each other in relief that they were still alive, and the tension must have been released when a bandmember said, "Here's Your Hat, Man."
However, Saturday's set was a short one (as tribute night sets tend to be) and thus this is a short blog entry, but there's a matter of convergence I have to point out. Lee, as well as a good portion of the people in the room, is an oldschool progressive, as evidenced by the sentiment on the button he had pinned to his hat. I was -- and still am -- reveling in the wonder that was 1 million (that's six zeros, folks) signatures delivered to the the state to recall Scott Walker, further digging me out of a cynical political bent I've had hanging over my head for years. I've recently reconnected with a lot of my old politico friends, and I'm marveling at the fact that this whole movement isn't based on slick, glam talking points being force fed to an apathetic public. It's a truly grassroots movement. It kills me that the media keep on saying "Democrats presented 1 millions signatures..." when, while the DPW will benefit from this movement, this wasn't a democratic party thing at all. This just came up from the grassroots, oldschool style, people just getting off the couch and saying, "For cryin' out loud, this is ridiculous." It was accomplished oldschool, and it needs to continue oldschool. Everybody's all wondering who's going to run against Walker, but that's not really the next step in this oldschool process. No, folks, I think the big priority --- especially now that I'm living in a state where voter registration is actually going to be a big deal -- is getting people registered to vote and making sure they have their correct identification, because I'm not counting on that voter repression bill to get repealed anytime soon. So the convergence? Here's Frank Zappa reminding us to do it, and in a few cases, why (as if we all need reminding):
Julie's playing with the Freddie Lee Band these days (among other things like composing serious musical pieces, teaching music in the schools, and still wielding a mighty sewing needle) and they were the next act up. Freddie Lee, who used to be known as "Feedback Freddie" has been around Milwaukee for ages and I concurred with Brian on the realization that, "Hey, I don't think I've ever seen him in aclub." And that was a fact. Freddie plays at so many outdoor concerts and shows, I can't believe I've never seen him in a dark club. He was a fixture at Locust Street for awhile, he's always seems to have a slot at Summerfest, and gee, I think we just take him for granted. The Riverwest legend has a lineup of younguns (well, younger than him), but they've got the chops to hold their own, and he's generous with letting them have their musical say, so you have this band that's really good, but hard to pin down. The fact that they could easily pick up their axes and crank out some Zappa classics attests to their variety. It was a nice pick-me-up on a rainy, slushy night when I normally would have just as soon stayed home. Glad I made it out to hear Freddie's smooth voice take on Frank, and it made me realize I need to check them when they're not restricted to one artist's vision. I need to check out his most recent release, "Here's Your Hat, Man." According to his Facebook page, the title came from a "scary experience on the highway retruning from a performance on a snowy/icy afternoon. The vehicle slid and eventually lost control, flipped over on its side and finally came to a stop at the freeway wall. No one seriously injured, yet very shook up." I can imagine that one silent moment when everybody looked at each other in relief that they were still alive, and the tension must have been released when a bandmember said, "Here's Your Hat, Man."
However, Saturday's set was a short one (as tribute night sets tend to be) and thus this is a short blog entry, but there's a matter of convergence I have to point out. Lee, as well as a good portion of the people in the room, is an oldschool progressive, as evidenced by the sentiment on the button he had pinned to his hat. I was -- and still am -- reveling in the wonder that was 1 million (that's six zeros, folks) signatures delivered to the the state to recall Scott Walker, further digging me out of a cynical political bent I've had hanging over my head for years. I've recently reconnected with a lot of my old politico friends, and I'm marveling at the fact that this whole movement isn't based on slick, glam talking points being force fed to an apathetic public. It's a truly grassroots movement. It kills me that the media keep on saying "Democrats presented 1 millions signatures..." when, while the DPW will benefit from this movement, this wasn't a democratic party thing at all. This just came up from the grassroots, oldschool style, people just getting off the couch and saying, "For cryin' out loud, this is ridiculous." It was accomplished oldschool, and it needs to continue oldschool. Everybody's all wondering who's going to run against Walker, but that's not really the next step in this oldschool process. No, folks, I think the big priority --- especially now that I'm living in a state where voter registration is actually going to be a big deal -- is getting people registered to vote and making sure they have their correct identification, because I'm not counting on that voter repression bill to get repealed anytime soon. So the convergence? Here's Frank Zappa reminding us to do it, and in a few cases, why (as if we all need reminding):
Friday, January 20, 2012
This turning 50 thing is coming up on a lot of us
Well, among other people who turned 50 this year is Blaine Schultz. Most of my 50 year old pals have been celebrating by booking some bands and invading a favorite bar, and Blaine was no exception. Except that with Blaine, he's not the kind of guy who would call that kind of attention to himself. It's so not his style. Lucky for all of us, his darling wife Kathryn came to the rescue and pulled off a terrific surprise party that wonderfully avoided the Blaine-ish, "Oh, really, don't go through the trouble" that would have come up had he known that a bunch of his friends were going to lug gear, take over a bar, and play several sets of great music in his honor.
According to everybody who was there when the birthday boy showed up (I was characteristically late), he was genuinely surprised when he walked in. So much so that he didn't even realize the decorations were all about him as he made a b-line to the bar to grab some refreshments. I can just see his face now, "Oh this is for me?"
Still, a great night for a terrific musician and honest rock and roll writer. He runs in a different crowd than I do/did -- his was the The Newsletter crowd (I, back in the day, hung more with the Crazy Shepherd folks) but we both agree on the greatness of the vast amount of undiscovered or overlooked music in this town and he's done more than his part to put a spotlight on it. Plus, (and this is my oft-told favorite Blaine Schultz story) he has an unabashed love for American roots rock and he helped me to truly understand the greatness of Neil Young in, of all things, a Trash Fest set at a TF some 10 or so years ago. Looking as grizzled as Young himself, he and his band used their entire allloted 20 minutes to do a 20 minute version of Hurricaine. I approached him afterwards and told him, "Wow. I'm not sure if that was satire, parody, or loving tribute." He 'fessed right up: "Probably a little of all three."
And that's kind of how his birthday was. First up, the Carolinas, who I'd just realized I'd never seen before. They get described as alt-country, but that might bring to mind gentle Wilco type stuff. Actually, I think the Carolinas answer the question, "What if the Yardbirds had grown up in the Midwest and took on a country influence?" Really. The songs begin innocently enough, but they pull an unsuspecting listener like me with a subtle rave-up that crashes gloriously within the space of 3-4 minutes. Why haven't I checked them out before? Of course, Blaine joined them for a few tunes, and then there was a short set from a pared-down incarnation of Blaine's consistent band, The Aimless Blades. Then came the jokes, of course, from the Mighty Deer Lick. I missed (again!) the annual Deek Lick Christmas show, so I was really looking forward to this, especially since once again, Dan Franke was back in town to play with 'em. They bounded onto the stage and blasted through "Bitch" and "I Wanna Be Loved" and a couple of others and it seemed like Dave Reinholdt would be in top form. But for whatever reason, it was a disappointingly short set of only four songs. Don't know why, don't want to know, but my bubble burst and I needed more snottyness. So, I bid Blaine a final happy birthday, congratulated Kathryn for pulling this whole thing off under his nose, jumped in the car, and headed north.
It was the final weekend to get Recall Walker signatures in (I'd placed my name on a petition out in Brookfield, just to be funny), so the fine folks at the Riverwest Public House were co-sponsoring "Occupy Riverwest" and Floor Model was on the bill. I needed a Floor Model set. But, between weather and such, I got there just in time to see them breaking down their gear. Danny Price was up next, and I was blown away. Haven't seen The Loose Change in months, and there's been a bit of musician shuffling. He's added a sax, but Paul Setser is still tinkling away on his run-down-saloon keyboards. Price's voice has matured as well, so I was fixated through the entire set. He's also beginning to put very cool, jazz-like arrangements on his songs, so earlier comparaisons to Tom Waits (even with a sweeter voice) should start to come in. Like I tweeted, dammit, I missed Floor Model, but Danny Price and the Loose Change were on.
According to everybody who was there when the birthday boy showed up (I was characteristically late), he was genuinely surprised when he walked in. So much so that he didn't even realize the decorations were all about him as he made a b-line to the bar to grab some refreshments. I can just see his face now, "Oh this is for me?"
Still, a great night for a terrific musician and honest rock and roll writer. He runs in a different crowd than I do/did -- his was the The Newsletter crowd (I, back in the day, hung more with the Crazy Shepherd folks) but we both agree on the greatness of the vast amount of undiscovered or overlooked music in this town and he's done more than his part to put a spotlight on it. Plus, (and this is my oft-told favorite Blaine Schultz story) he has an unabashed love for American roots rock and he helped me to truly understand the greatness of Neil Young in, of all things, a Trash Fest set at a TF some 10 or so years ago. Looking as grizzled as Young himself, he and his band used their entire allloted 20 minutes to do a 20 minute version of Hurricaine. I approached him afterwards and told him, "Wow. I'm not sure if that was satire, parody, or loving tribute." He 'fessed right up: "Probably a little of all three."
And that's kind of how his birthday was. First up, the Carolinas, who I'd just realized I'd never seen before. They get described as alt-country, but that might bring to mind gentle Wilco type stuff. Actually, I think the Carolinas answer the question, "What if the Yardbirds had grown up in the Midwest and took on a country influence?" Really. The songs begin innocently enough, but they pull an unsuspecting listener like me with a subtle rave-up that crashes gloriously within the space of 3-4 minutes. Why haven't I checked them out before? Of course, Blaine joined them for a few tunes, and then there was a short set from a pared-down incarnation of Blaine's consistent band, The Aimless Blades. Then came the jokes, of course, from the Mighty Deer Lick. I missed (again!) the annual Deek Lick Christmas show, so I was really looking forward to this, especially since once again, Dan Franke was back in town to play with 'em. They bounded onto the stage and blasted through "Bitch" and "I Wanna Be Loved" and a couple of others and it seemed like Dave Reinholdt would be in top form. But for whatever reason, it was a disappointingly short set of only four songs. Don't know why, don't want to know, but my bubble burst and I needed more snottyness. So, I bid Blaine a final happy birthday, congratulated Kathryn for pulling this whole thing off under his nose, jumped in the car, and headed north.
It was the final weekend to get Recall Walker signatures in (I'd placed my name on a petition out in Brookfield, just to be funny), so the fine folks at the Riverwest Public House were co-sponsoring "Occupy Riverwest" and Floor Model was on the bill. I needed a Floor Model set. But, between weather and such, I got there just in time to see them breaking down their gear. Danny Price was up next, and I was blown away. Haven't seen The Loose Change in months, and there's been a bit of musician shuffling. He's added a sax, but Paul Setser is still tinkling away on his run-down-saloon keyboards. Price's voice has matured as well, so I was fixated through the entire set. He's also beginning to put very cool, jazz-like arrangements on his songs, so earlier comparaisons to Tom Waits (even with a sweeter voice) should start to come in. Like I tweeted, dammit, I missed Floor Model, but Danny Price and the Loose Change were on.
Monday, January 09, 2012
Looking for Elvis and an elusive medallion in the Garage
Well, I kind of have my own airheadedness to blame -- and thank -- for a nice band night out. I originally was going to pop into Stoney Rivera's Dominium Gallery to see the opening of Patrick Glassel's show. Except, that wasn't last Friday. It's this Friday. I drove past the gallery and all the lights were out and I thought to myself, "I knew he was dark, but not literally!" But since I was in Riverwest, I figured to myself, "Well, somebody's got to be at the Circle A tonight."
Pulled up just in time to see a band called Red Stuff strike their first chords. "Loud and obnoxious," I heard somebody else say three songs in. No, that's really not a good summation. Everybody's fairly loud and usually obnoxious in the Circle A. Red Stuff was something different. Let me see if I can come up with something besides the inevitable White Stripes comparaison that anybody who's going to write about these guys is going to drop. Hmmmmm, well, the Stripes come to mind because it's a guy wailing a garage frosted-psychedelic blues, accompanied by a girl providing rhythm, except that her rhythm isn't on the drums, it's on a lap steel guitar. And Kelly Buros doesn't play it to achieve a wailing country sound, she genuinely uses it as a rhythm instrument that very seductively undermines singer/guitarist Tom Wanderer's work. That's where somebody in the audience said, "Is it me, or have these guys listened to a lot of Wire?" I answered back, "I heard a touch of the Cramps, myself." And that's why the White Stripes comparisons end. The Stripes, despite their Detroit lineage, are not trashy. On the other hand, Paul "The Fly" Lawson, in the audience as well, told me, "I've been trying to get these guys in for Trash Fest for a while." Duh. Red Stuff was wonderfully trashy, right down to the drummer's miminalist kit (and approach). And you know how much I love the trash. They even had a trash attitude, in that they delivered a blistering set inspiring calls of "More!!!!" from the audience, and yet, they forgot to bring their merch. They have merch, and I wanted the take home version of Red Stuff. This was exactly what I was looking for when I resolved this year to see more new, fresh bands.
Despite that, they were not lazy -- the songs are hypnotic in their simplicity, the chord changes, and their delivery. Red Stuff. Good stuff. They opened for an outfit from Chicago called Phantom Works. I thought the Circle A crowd was not exactly welcoming to them, and I felt bad because I needed to leave after just a couple of songs, but I did want to catch a set from the Dick Satan Trio like I said I would. Phantom Works was good, but they didn't grab me. Not quite yet. The couple of songs they did have more of that Wire sound, but they were so similar that I suspected that after three songs of this, I'd pretty much gotten their flavor. I wouldn't wanted to have to follow Red Stuff that night, but I should give Phantom Works another chance.
Listened to Elvis as I made my way back to the south side; I was sad to hear that our local best Elvis, Jon VanThiel (who's a great leather/Jailhouse Rock Elvis -- my preference as opposed to the Vegas Era) did not make it to the finals of the annual Elvis competition at Potowatomie Bingo and Casino. Didn't make it out this year, but was happy to hear it on the PA as I made my way down to the Rocco's on Kinnickinnic. "Where's Roccos?" you might ask. Duh, I'm looking at the addresses and drove past it twice before I realize, oh DUH, it's the VFW post on KK. DST put in a fine set before Ted Jorin and I had an arugment, while listening to Elvis' "Kentucky Rain" over the jukebox, on the merits of said song. Jorin argues that it's the highlight of Elvis' career -- scratch that, the highlight of music. Ach, "Kentucky Rain" is not one of my favorite Elvis moments. In fact, to me, it symbolizes the lameness of Elvis' Vegas years. But people seem to love it, which is probably why Johnny Van Thiel did not win the Elvis competition this past weekend. Oh, the DST show? Wonderful as always. Tonight's moment came from all of us discussing Rick Satan (aka Eric Knitter)'s medallion that he was wearing. Will you look at this thing? His lovely wife Julie told me she found it many years ago at a rummage sale. I couldn't take my eyes off it. I tried to snap a picture of it with my camera phone, and then my regular camera. I couldn't get the light right. It was refusing to be photographed. I will have to hook up with Julie at a later date to see if we can re-photograph this thing, unless some protective spirit doesn't shatter my lens during the attempt.
Pulled up just in time to see a band called Red Stuff strike their first chords. "Loud and obnoxious," I heard somebody else say three songs in. No, that's really not a good summation. Everybody's fairly loud and usually obnoxious in the Circle A. Red Stuff was something different. Let me see if I can come up with something besides the inevitable White Stripes comparaison that anybody who's going to write about these guys is going to drop. Hmmmmm, well, the Stripes come to mind because it's a guy wailing a garage frosted-psychedelic blues, accompanied by a girl providing rhythm, except that her rhythm isn't on the drums, it's on a lap steel guitar. And Kelly Buros doesn't play it to achieve a wailing country sound, she genuinely uses it as a rhythm instrument that very seductively undermines singer/guitarist Tom Wanderer's work. That's where somebody in the audience said, "Is it me, or have these guys listened to a lot of Wire?" I answered back, "I heard a touch of the Cramps, myself." And that's why the White Stripes comparisons end. The Stripes, despite their Detroit lineage, are not trashy. On the other hand, Paul "The Fly" Lawson, in the audience as well, told me, "I've been trying to get these guys in for Trash Fest for a while." Duh. Red Stuff was wonderfully trashy, right down to the drummer's miminalist kit (and approach). And you know how much I love the trash. They even had a trash attitude, in that they delivered a blistering set inspiring calls of "More!!!!" from the audience, and yet, they forgot to bring their merch. They have merch, and I wanted the take home version of Red Stuff. This was exactly what I was looking for when I resolved this year to see more new, fresh bands.
Despite that, they were not lazy -- the songs are hypnotic in their simplicity, the chord changes, and their delivery. Red Stuff. Good stuff. They opened for an outfit from Chicago called Phantom Works. I thought the Circle A crowd was not exactly welcoming to them, and I felt bad because I needed to leave after just a couple of songs, but I did want to catch a set from the Dick Satan Trio like I said I would. Phantom Works was good, but they didn't grab me. Not quite yet. The couple of songs they did have more of that Wire sound, but they were so similar that I suspected that after three songs of this, I'd pretty much gotten their flavor. I wouldn't wanted to have to follow Red Stuff that night, but I should give Phantom Works another chance.
Listened to Elvis as I made my way back to the south side; I was sad to hear that our local best Elvis, Jon VanThiel (who's a great leather/Jailhouse Rock Elvis -- my preference as opposed to the Vegas Era) did not make it to the finals of the annual Elvis competition at Potowatomie Bingo and Casino. Didn't make it out this year, but was happy to hear it on the PA as I made my way down to the Rocco's on Kinnickinnic. "Where's Roccos?" you might ask. Duh, I'm looking at the addresses and drove past it twice before I realize, oh DUH, it's the VFW post on KK. DST put in a fine set before Ted Jorin and I had an arugment, while listening to Elvis' "Kentucky Rain" over the jukebox, on the merits of said song. Jorin argues that it's the highlight of Elvis' career -- scratch that, the highlight of music. Ach, "Kentucky Rain" is not one of my favorite Elvis moments. In fact, to me, it symbolizes the lameness of Elvis' Vegas years. But people seem to love it, which is probably why Johnny Van Thiel did not win the Elvis competition this past weekend. Oh, the DST show? Wonderful as always. Tonight's moment came from all of us discussing Rick Satan (aka Eric Knitter)'s medallion that he was wearing. Will you look at this thing? His lovely wife Julie told me she found it many years ago at a rummage sale. I couldn't take my eyes off it. I tried to snap a picture of it with my camera phone, and then my regular camera. I couldn't get the light right. It was refusing to be photographed. I will have to hook up with Julie at a later date to see if we can re-photograph this thing, unless some protective spirit doesn't shatter my lens during the attempt.
Wednesday, January 04, 2012
A list of resolutions
Jesus. Has it really been since the Framber Wedding since I've blogged? Guess so. December is always a humongously busy time for me, not the least reason being that its the holidays and I have kids. But it *was* particularly busy. New Year's resolutions are for the birds (and that's kind of cliche to say that), so I'm going to rip off resolutions from friends, and do a quick bullet point wrap up.
I used to blog weekly. In fact, I would do a coming attractions midweek, and wrap up the weekend on Mondays. That made sense when I went to see a band or a ball game every weekend. Still, a monthly blog entry is not a blog. That's more like a status report. I write status reports in my day job for a living. Ugh.
To that end, here's some stuff that I did/saw/celebrated:
Resolution #1: Blog more like I used to.
I used to blog weekly. In fact, I would do a coming attractions midweek, and wrap up the weekend on Mondays. That made sense when I went to see a band or a ball game every weekend. Still, a monthly blog entry is not a blog. That's more like a status report. I write status reports in my day job for a living. Ugh.
To that end, here's some stuff that I did/saw/celebrated:
- The Dick Satan Trio along with Crazy Rocket Fuel. This was a nice way to spend a chilly, rainy, crappy night at the Bay View Brewhaus. I'm constantly amazed at how good the sound is there, considering that with the high ceilings, hardwood floor, and general open air it should sound all bouncy and trebly and godawful. The DST improves with every outing. That have a good, dangerous surf sound and they're not afraid to experiment (although they confessed to me that a rather atonal song I particularly liked wasn't necessarily intentionally atonal. They were followed by the always wonderful Crazy Rocket Fuel, who also get better every time I see them. They were in their element here: very comfortable on stage and with their roadhouse gals material. This whole thing was a fundraiser for some animal welfare organization, so there were tables filled with silent auction items and there were animal adoptions via computer happening. Between sets, instead of house music there was the obligatory "Hi I'm the executive director of such and such organization and I'm so happy that you could come out and support the critical work we're doing and I have a bazillion names to read off and thank so that you're not going to be able to have that between set conversation you were hoping to get in" stuff. At least they weren't all preachy about it, like some fundraisers I've been to. I remember one in particular where we were actually scolded for not shutting up and listening to her boring little speech. No, these were animal lovers. They're used to indiscriminate noise.
- Brian's 50th Birthday OK, there were rumours about that F/i was going to suit up and play at this, but, uh, Brian is a member of F/i, and it was his birthday, and the last thing he wanted to do on his birthday was suit up and work. Here's the thing. Everybody thinks that being in a band is all fun and games. Well, it is fun. And there's lots of game playing. But (often not much much, but still), you do get paid. Which means it's work. Which means you have to behave like a professional. Who the fuck wants to behave like a professional on their 50th birthday? I sure didn't, and neither did Brian. Brian wanted to sit back, socialize, drink some premium-quality microbrew beers, and enjoy some good bands. He did NOT want to stay sober, haul gear, practice, be there early for load in, tune up, hang out for awhile between load in and when people actually showed up, go up, play, watch the audience talk to each other in conversations he wanted to be in on, break down, load out his gear, and MAYBE socialize a bit after his gear was moved to a safe place. Playing on your birthday is something you do, on say, your 23rd birthday when you're all still "Golly Gee! I'm in a band! I'm gonna score!" When you're 50, married with children and working a day job, you want to sit on your ass and watch somebody else work. That's why I did last year, and that's what Brian ended up doing this year. And the bands? Wonderful. Audacious White Noise, a folkie outfit fronted by Bill White and his friends (Bill is a huge Dr Chow fan) and they were perfect. Sixthstation readers know I'm not the biggest folkie fan around, but I liked these guys. First you think they're just going to do folk versions of Beatles covers, next thing you know, they're doing a really nice blue eyed soul take on Gnarles Barkley. (Regular readers know I'm a fan of genre-bending anyway.). They were a delight to listen to, and Brian could still have a conversation with folks he hadn't seen in years who stopped in to wish him a happy half century.
They were followed by The Unheard Of, who gave a performance that everybody is still talking about. Best they've ever sounded. I was virtually transported to 1968 via fuzztone guitars, garagey songs and psychedelic arrangements, like somebody raided a rummage sale where the MC5, the Amboy Dukes and the Nuggets comp was going for a buck a piece. They were on which means we were all tuned in, turned on and torn up. They were loud, but we could still chat. That's a trick. - Basketball. Well, the NBA got their act together in time for me to pick up some half price tickets for a home game. People are whining about the NBA, but I'm glad they're back. Sammy's been playing basketball at the Y, and he's met a few of the Bucks. Back when we could afford half season tickets, we saw a lot of games. But get this. We only hit a couple last year, but a lot of the Bradley Center still remembers us. The guy at the premium beer stand waved hi. Our favorite beer vendor tipped his hat to us. We sat in seats not far from where our old season seats were. The bucks trounced the Washington Wizards that night. ("It will be interesting to see how they look against a team that isn't crappy" said a twitter friend.) As is my tradition, here's the rundown of the non-game events>
- Anthem: Will Johnson, an operatic tenor, put it out. He really shined on "Land of the Freeeeeeeeeeeeeee...." which he held out to thunderous applause, which made up for the (sorry I gotta say this) flatness earlier in the song. No stupid embellishments, either. Boy Scout Troop 309 from Whitefish Bay presented the colors.
- Opening Montage: I'm not sure I'm into this whole "Be Milwaukee" catchphrase thing. It's not grabbing me. That said, the opening montage ("Hey, my film teacher at Discovery World made this" Stella pointed out) is good, not overblown, and acknowledges that this year (like every other damn year) is a rebuilding year for the Bucks. And thank god, no exploding pots of green and red smoke. I still maintain we have the Chicago Bulls to blame for all this overblown stuff.
- Energee Girls: Less precise. But it's early in the season, so they're still becoming a team. Still, every year there's less emphasis on precision and more emphasis on Wholesome Sluttieness. Yes, I coined that phrase.
- Hoop Troop: It's early in the season, but boys, you can't count on the NBA's best mascot, Bango, to bail you out all the time. Need to hit more of those trampoline shots.
- Halftime show: Now this was a pleasant surprise on a number of levels. First I'd been tweeting with @romke about the game and asking if he was there. @romke and I have been following each other since @gretchen414 introduced us. Among other things, both @romke and @gretchen414 are badass deejays. Turns out @romke is also dad at the kids' school, and his kids are in Sammy's cub scout pack! Also turned out @romke and his turntables were the halftime show! Now, I like a good DJ, but frankly, I didn't think a guy spinning turntables was halftime show material. I was wrong. By a minute into his set, the floor was filled with choreographed dancers of all ages and styles as he mixed up music of all ages and styles. Really fun stuff to watch.
- @vron and the Style Factor: My twitter handle, @vron, spent the evening commenting on things I used to bitch about in this blog: @andrewbogut's hair, which is finally benefiting from the services of a competent stylist. Really. Bogut always used to have the worst hair. Apparently he's taken a tip from a winner and he now has Aaron Rodgers hair. I'm waiting for somebody to get Clay Matthews hair myself but I suspect that might violate NBA dress code. Even Rahne Taylor has good hair. And Andrea Williams is back! She always had good hair. And no tights, or black socks, or weird pencil thin headbands, or stupid facial hair experiments on anybody. Maybe, as I tweeted, this whole NBA lockout did some good by giving the whole Bucks organization a little downtime to get this style thing right.
- George's Birthday Party at Linneman's. Truth be told, I don't know George all that well. I've seen him around and needed to be introduced to him. But a public birthday party was being thrown for him, that party included Dr Chow and the Danglers, I haven't seen the Danglers in a while, so I paid the cover charge and went. Got rear ended at Locust and Holton on the way in (car's in the shop now as I type this, the other driver's insurance is taking care of it) and nobody was hurt, but I was quickly soothed by the opening band. I think they were called Midnight Reruns and right when I was trying to put my finger on their sound, they go and cover the Replacements' "Here Comes a Regular" and Brian and I thought to ourselves, "OK, duh! They're obviously fans of the Replacements." Melodic punk, good guitar playing, and a built in fanbase of Riverwest punks. We liked them. Dr Chow was smashing as usual (Brian wasn't with them that night; we weren't sure if he'd have to work or not.) The Danglers didn't get on until midnight or so. I was still crabby from being rear ended: I know it's cliche, but my neck and back were sore. Still, this was the Danglers. I stuck around at least through Aphrodite's Thighs, and I also caught a minor key, almost atonal version of "Spoonful." That's the thing about the Danglers, you know they'll play certain songs, you know the'll throw in covers, you just never know where they'll take them. My goal is to be like that with my writing and photography this year. Let's see how that goes.
Resolution #2: Get more new music back into my life
I was going to say, " See more and different bands" but what am I doing this weekend? Probably going to see Dick Satan again. Or Andy Pagel has a new band he's playing around in, another Western Swing troupe that is sure to be fun. I've been hearing a lot of garagey bands on WMSE's Local Lunchbox, so perhaps I'll investigate that further.
Resolution #3: Rediscover my camera
I MUST take more photographs. Last year I was kind of lame with the camera. My computer died the other day, so I upgraded (my old iMac was five years old) so maybe a new machine to process my photographs will inspire me to actually take more photographs. This isn't a new computer I wanted to buy -- when your machine dies, it dies -- but in retrospect it was a blessing in disguise. I only have to eat Ramen Noodles for a week or two before I'm back on my feet.
Resolution #4: Eat less ramen noodles
But it's fast, cheap and easy. You can get a 12 pack of Maruchan Chicken Flavor Ramen noodles at Woodman's for something like two bucks. I can't imagine that it's even cost effective for Woodman's to devote the shelf space to it.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Life Events
Practically everywhere in the working world, it's "Open Enrollment" time. You know what Open Enrollment is. And if so, If you have ever dealt with HR at your company, you know about the term "Life Event." It's usually something that warrants a change in your health insurance coverage that has to go through paperwork, especially if it's not "Open Enrollment."
It's a business term for what used to be called rites of passage (although one wouldn't necessarily call a birth a "rite"), it's still a time when a profound change in life occurrs and is somehow acknowledged. It's just that the term "Life Event," like other bureaucratic terms, seems to reduce things down to just some ink and paper.
I will openly admit that like Framber (Frank Chandek and Amber Chandek nee Lawson), our wedding was originally intended simply to satisfy legal and business paperwork that would make things like health insurance, custody of our (eventual) children (not a Framber issue, but still), ownership of our real estate and other property a lot easier to manage on an administrative level, not to mention an economy of scale. Heck, our invitations even quoted John Lennon: "Intellectually, we didn't believe in getting married. But you don't love somebody intellectually."
And so when Amber told us about a year ago she and Frank were going to make it legal and use it as an excuse to throw the best party they could, I believed that sentiment. Except that, like these Life Events tend to be and often catch us by surprise in doing, it was much more than signing some paperwork here, here, here, and here.
It was downright beautiful.
That Amber was ravishing in her deep blood red Edwardian/Gothic gown, and that Frank was spiffy and handsome in his Get-Me-To-the-Church-On-Time top hat and tails, goes without saying. That the decorations which transformed the Miramar Theatre from a rock and roll showcase into an elegantly glittering ballroom, with subtle (and sometimes not-so-subtle) elements of the sci-fi geekdom that Framber (and a lot of their guests) revel in were magical in their detail and scope also goes without saying. But this is also a fun couple. This is a bride whose processional was "Imperial March (Darth Vader/Anakin's Theme) From Star Wars." This is a groom who entered the ceremony to the 20th Century Fox Fanfare theme, and, when asked, "Do you take Amber to be your wife" answered, "Yes!" as if to say, "DUH!" These are people whose musical taste was reflected in the three (count em, THREE) bands they chose for their reception: a big band swing orchestra from Tosa, the wonderfully eclectic Cooler By The Lake from Chicago, and the straight up snotty punk of Floor Model. Oh, and the food rocked too, topped off by a delicious Eat Cake cake.
But this is also a couple whose ceremony readings would include a (potentially stuffy) legal brief, In this case, the Majority opinion of the Massachusetts Supreme Court decision affirming same-sex marriage:
Yes, these are people who can make a legalese justification of a life event bring me to tears -- on a number of levels and for a number of reasons. Life event, indeed. This is a couple who are indeed not only committed to each other, but to the concept of fairness and justice. Without going into detail and getting more political, let's just say they're pretty high up on Maslow's Hierarchy and leave it at that.
I was too exhausted the next day to make it out to "celebrate" another Life Event, in this case, Matt "The Ratt" Davis' "retirement" party-- his last show with the Uptown Savages. The word is not that he's moving back to England, he's just, in a very Detective "I'm getting too old for this shit" Murtaugh way, decided he's done. Except I'm not convinced he, or anybody else who slams the rockabilly, can ever really be too old for this. Still, it's a life event. Retiring from a successful band you helped found after what, eight years, can't have been an easy call.
I was also too nervous about shooting this life event to make it the night before over to Potowatomi to see yet another of life's events -- this one being Chief opening for their heroes, Thin Lizzy. Chief chiefster Chris Tishler posted on Facebook the next day, "I guess pretty much all that's left now is climbing Everest."
In the meantime, Life Events go on. I bridged a handful of Brownies to Girl Scouts today in a ceremony that includes candles and cake. Sunday my kid will complete his Tiger Cub Scout year and become a Wolf. My good online friend's sister is going into labor any day now. Karmic HR might be getting a bit overwhelmed.
It's a business term for what used to be called rites of passage (although one wouldn't necessarily call a birth a "rite"), it's still a time when a profound change in life occurrs and is somehow acknowledged. It's just that the term "Life Event," like other bureaucratic terms, seems to reduce things down to just some ink and paper.
I will openly admit that like Framber (Frank Chandek and Amber Chandek nee Lawson), our wedding was originally intended simply to satisfy legal and business paperwork that would make things like health insurance, custody of our (eventual) children (not a Framber issue, but still), ownership of our real estate and other property a lot easier to manage on an administrative level, not to mention an economy of scale. Heck, our invitations even quoted John Lennon: "Intellectually, we didn't believe in getting married. But you don't love somebody intellectually."
And so when Amber told us about a year ago she and Frank were going to make it legal and use it as an excuse to throw the best party they could, I believed that sentiment. Except that, like these Life Events tend to be and often catch us by surprise in doing, it was much more than signing some paperwork here, here, here, and here.
It was downright beautiful.
That Amber was ravishing in her deep blood red Edwardian/Gothic gown, and that Frank was spiffy and handsome in his Get-Me-To-the-Church-On-Time top hat and tails, goes without saying. That the decorations which transformed the Miramar Theatre from a rock and roll showcase into an elegantly glittering ballroom, with subtle (and sometimes not-so-subtle) elements of the sci-fi geekdom that Framber (and a lot of their guests) revel in were magical in their detail and scope also goes without saying. But this is also a fun couple. This is a bride whose processional was "Imperial March (Darth Vader/Anakin's Theme) From Star Wars." This is a groom who entered the ceremony to the 20th Century Fox Fanfare theme, and, when asked, "Do you take Amber to be your wife" answered, "Yes!" as if to say, "DUH!" These are people whose musical taste was reflected in the three (count em, THREE) bands they chose for their reception: a big band swing orchestra from Tosa, the wonderfully eclectic Cooler By The Lake from Chicago, and the straight up snotty punk of Floor Model. Oh, and the food rocked too, topped off by a delicious Eat Cake cake.
But this is also a couple whose ceremony readings would include a (potentially stuffy) legal brief, In this case, the Majority opinion of the Massachusetts Supreme Court decision affirming same-sex marriage:
"Civil marriage is at once a deeply personal commitment to another human being and a highly public celebration of the ideals of mutuality, companionship, intimacy, fidelity, and family....It is an association that promotes a way of life, not causes; a harmony in living, not political faiths; a bilateral loyalty, not commercial or social projects..... Because it fulfils yearnings for security, safe haven, and connection that express our common humanity, civil marriage is an esteemed institution, and the decision whether and whom to marry is among life's momentous acts of self-definition."
Yes, these are people who can make a legalese justification of a life event bring me to tears -- on a number of levels and for a number of reasons. Life event, indeed. This is a couple who are indeed not only committed to each other, but to the concept of fairness and justice. Without going into detail and getting more political, let's just say they're pretty high up on Maslow's Hierarchy and leave it at that.
I was too exhausted the next day to make it out to "celebrate" another Life Event, in this case, Matt "The Ratt" Davis' "retirement" party-- his last show with the Uptown Savages. The word is not that he's moving back to England, he's just, in a very Detective "I'm getting too old for this shit" Murtaugh way, decided he's done. Except I'm not convinced he, or anybody else who slams the rockabilly, can ever really be too old for this. Still, it's a life event. Retiring from a successful band you helped found after what, eight years, can't have been an easy call.
I was also too nervous about shooting this life event to make it the night before over to Potowatomi to see yet another of life's events -- this one being Chief opening for their heroes, Thin Lizzy. Chief chiefster Chris Tishler posted on Facebook the next day, "I guess pretty much all that's left now is climbing Everest."
In the meantime, Life Events go on. I bridged a handful of Brownies to Girl Scouts today in a ceremony that includes candles and cake. Sunday my kid will complete his Tiger Cub Scout year and become a Wolf. My good online friend's sister is going into labor any day now. Karmic HR might be getting a bit overwhelmed.
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