Muchness and Light

Well I know you will remember, 'cause the music is forever.

It's been a really busy year for me. 

• I finished losing 115 pounds.
• I had three surgeries to removed 120+ square inches of skin.
• I went to South by Southwest for the first time.
• I got to see both my beloved The Gracious Few and LIVE with their new lead singer on the same night.  (Plus some other band.  I forget.)
• I fell in love with the Mynabirds.  (Missing Patsy Cline song – "We Made a Mountain")
• I finally got to see the Afghan Whigs live and to meet Greg Dulli in a dark alley behind the Masquerade.  (And Ric McCollum and John Curley.)
• I filed for divorce.
• I released my first novel. 

Even with all of that, there's still something missing.

Wednesday night, I will finally get to see Concrete Blonde live. 

"What's the big deal?" you ask. 

Well, let me tell you. 

Sometime during my freshman year of high school, I went one weekend afternoon to the Southside Festival, which was a great little outdoor music and arts thing that used to take place in Five Points South in my hometown of Birmingham, Alabama.  Five Points is a funky little area, artsy and eclectic—and it was much less dirty then than it is now.  (At least it seemed that way.)  My friends and I hung out there on weekends and sometimes after school, sitting around the fountain, bullshitting and getting into far less trouble than we probably deserved. 

So this specific day when I was 14, some record label promo people were passing out albums to the crowd.  Yes, vinyl, in the 12x12 sleeve, and for free.  They handed me two: Pleased To Meet Me by the Replacements—who I saw play at Sloss Furnaces a couple of years later—and Concrete Blonde's self-titled debut.  I tromped up the rickety stairs to Charlemagne Records and also bought a Billie Holiday best-of collection, as well as Metal Circus by Hüsker Dü. 

(It was a very eclectic day.  For those in the know, I ran into Broderick Brakefield and Bryan Simmons, who'd missed their ride the night before and had been running around down there, barefoot, for a couple of days.)

I went home and locked myself away in my bedroom, planting myself on the floor in front my stereo.  I might even have stacked the records on the turntable.  I loved them all, each in their own way, but I adored Concrete Blonde. 

It was the first day of a now-26-year love affair from afar with the incomparable Johnette Napolitano. 

As I've discussed before, I'm an alto.  (Really, a contralto.)  I don't have a lot of patience for wimpy soprano voices.  And Johnette's voice was the farthest from wimpy I'd ever heard.  It was deeply female with the most amazing breath control ever.  Ever.  (Those booming notes aren't higher; they're simply bigger.) 

I was blown away.

So this goes on for years, but somehow I miss them live, over and over and over.  I was too young for the clubs they played.  My ex-boyfriend was an asshole who beat me up the night before we were supposed to go to Atlanta to see them.  I lived in Huntsville where they never played anymore.  They broke up. 

I was supposed to see them two summers ago during their Bloodletting anniversary tour.  I had ruptured two discs in my back and was in so much pain that I had to give the tickets away.  (I cried.  A lot.)

So when I went to Variety Playhouse with Growler and Mandypants a few weeks ago (for the Psychedelic Furs, thank you very much), I was thrilled to see that Concrete Blonde would be playing on December 19^th.  Finally, finally!, I get to do this shit after twenty-six years. 

It's the voice and the lyrics and the fact that she plays bass.  She does the most wonderful covers of Leonard Cohen and Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix, in part because her voice lends itself to that.  But my favorites, undoubtedly, are the ones with the complicated harmonies, where Johnette seems to wrap her own voice around itself. 

And, ultimately, I owe Johnette Napolitano my life. 

There are a couple of people who know this story.  If you're one of them and you're hearing (reading) it for the dozenth time, I apologize.  This anecdote was in the first draft of what would become Persona Non Grata: A Story of Junkture.  It was cut entirely when I fictionalized the book, though Concrete Blonde still made mention.  (page 81, at the end of chapter 6—you can search inside the book on Amazon, btw) 

NOTE:  This is still incredibly difficult for me to go back to, to put myself in the place where I felt the things I write about below.  I can deal with a lot of my shit, but this is one of the most personally-shameful moments of emotion in my forty years, and I'm not callous about this. 

The horrible ex-boyfriend (Damien) and I had broken up for what would be the last time.  After four tumultuous years with him, I was a mess.  I was devastated when we broke up.  For the third or fourth time since I'd known him, I decided that ending my life was the only way I would ever be able to deal with the pain. 

I had a plan.  I had the implements.  I was crying vicious tears while driving on I-65 north in Birmingham, determined to do it as soon as possible.  My little car had a cassette deck, and my very favorite tape was a home-recorded, 90-minute thing that had Concrete Blonde on one side and Bloodletting on the other—my two favorite Concrete Blonde records.  Bawling my head off, I intended to listen to "Bloodletting" and all of the subsequent tracks from that records, all so dark and somber.  It's an amazing record, but all I wanted was to let my own heart find its reprieve in that sadness. 

Instead, what I got was "True", the first track from the other side of the tape. 

Well when I've had enough

I'll get a pick-up truck and I'll drive away,

I'll take my last ten bucks just as far as it will go.

 

Well sometimes I'm easily fooled,

Take a painful step and I get knocked back two.

I do all I can and it's all I can do to be true.

And if I had the choice I'd take the voice I got

Cause it was hard to find.

You know I've come too far to wind up right back where I started.

And they tell me who I should be,

I'll never let those monkeys make a mess of me.

I am who I am and it's all I can do,

But I'm true.

One more sunrise

Open my eyes up – true

One more sunset

Lay my head down – true

They talk you up and then they talk you down

And you begin to doubt.

Sometimes the reasons seem so very far away.

But I'd stop breathing today,

Cause if I can't walk proud, I'd rather walk away.

I do all I am and it's all I can do,

But I'm true.

I'd give all I am and I'd give it to you.

So true.

That was what I heard, instead of a song of a crack in the mirror and a bloodstain on the bed, about being turned into the walking dead. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" I screamed into the otherwise-empty car tearfully. 

I went home instead.

So every time I get really down, feel really lost and can't find my inner compass, that's where I go back, to that piece of time (still so fresh inside my mind) and remember that moment of pause that saved my life. 

Was it really Johnette Napolitano that saved my life?  Not directly.  But I don't know that I would've been listening to anything else, or that I could've heard anyone else quite so clearly that late afternoon.  But I did hear it, thankfully.

So now, twenty-six years into this love affair, her music is still so often the soundtrack of my life.  And of Tierney's.  Six Concrete Blonde songs were included in my playlists.  All of my friends know how much I love her.  Half of them love her, too, because I introduced them. 

Tickets for Concrete Blonde at Variety Playhouse are still available.  Wednesday, December 19^th, at 8:00 p.m.  I'll be the first show for me and Growler, as well as for Tierney.  Come say hi.  I'll be the glittery Amazon belting out every last song. 

SXSW - Day 4

Day 4 in Austin came way the hell too early, as usual, but I dragged my ass toward a shower and breakfast before catching my shuttle back downtown.  I hit one panel on licensing, a Day Stage set by the Big Pink, and then decided, "Screw it!  It's St. Patrick's Day!"

By noon, 6^th Street was painted with all shades of green.  I'm a good Irish girl and made a point to find a good Kelly green tank top to brighten my day.  I wandered for a while, listening and watching, and was surprised to realize I was ravenous.  Chupacabra Cantina it was for some great Tex-Mex tacos.  And some Jack.  The hot bartender bought me a second round.  Turns out he used to play hockey for the former Atlanta Thrashers' feeder team, and his ex-wife used to babysit for Ed Kowalczyk, former LIVE frontman.  (More on that later.)

Jack and Ginger and I danced our way down 6^th, and we were immediately drawn to this voice coming from inside Friends.  It was sand-in-your-ass-crack gritty and awesome.  Turns out it belonged to Austin blues singer Rachael Crawford, and it was totally worth the chafing.  She did the best version of "Folsom Prison Blues" I've heard since the original. 

But Jack and Ginger and I had big plans for the evening.  After four good dances, we decided to shuttle our way back to the hotel for a shower and a quick nap.  Candlebox was doing a short acoustic set at the Bayou Lounge at 7 p.m.  I watched them do "Cover Me" and "Far Behind" then walked with Kevin and Sean over to Antone's for the Microsoft Big App on Campus party, hosted by the Gracious Few.

I was in the door quickly, at the front of the stage where Chad Taylor normally stomps.  The Canvas Waiting opened, their set including a fabulous cover of New Order's "Bizarre Love Triangle", which holds a very special place in my heart.  I totally approved. 

Then my groupie love, the Gracious Few, took to the stage.  I hadn't seen them since May and was thrilled that they opened with "Silly Thing".  It's my song.  I loved it long before my path intertwined with theirs, and it's one of those songs that can sweep me away to a deeply, personally happy place, every single time I hear it.  TGF holds the spot for two of my top-five favorite songs (the other being "Labor of Love"), so it made me stupidly happy to start the night with it.  (No, Kevin, I don't blame you for not singing it with me this time.  For so many reasons.)  They were good.  They were my band.  And I was overjoyed to feel that pulsing rhythm that has been the soundtrack to so many miles of the most recent part of my journey. 

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 Blahblahblahblah from Microsoft.  Then came LIVE.

 

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 So, the boys from LIVE had been on a hiatus for nearly three years, mutually cutting ties with Ed Kowalczyk.  This was their first public show with their new lead singer, Chris Shinn.  They'd played a private event in York, PA, on Monday night.  I was supposed to have been at that show but had a last-minute family emergency that prevented me from going.  I was heartbroken at having missed such a special event in the life of the band I've loved for nearly twenty years, but it was unavoidable.

Chris had previously been with Unified Theory.  He also released a self-titled solo record in January that I really love.  It's a grown-up album and wasn't at all what I expected when DH gifted it to me during surgery recovery.  But I was concerned that Chris was too first tenor for the LIVE catalog.  (Later in his career, Ed's voice settled more toward his falsetto, but there are certain songs that even my natural contralto can't quite reach, when I have to pop up an octave to maintain the melody.) 

The guys came out to the first strains of "The Dam at Otter Creek", which was the song to open the best LIVE shows I've ever seen.  The whole set list was good—though I was very surprised to see "Freaks" on it.  There was nothing from Mental Jewelry, which was a little disappointing, but there was also nothing from V or Birds of Pray or the wretched Songs from Ed's Big Head Black Mountain.  It was fantastic to see Chad Taylor stomping and playing Ruby Lou.  Chad Gracey was out from behind the Plexi panel and pounded the fuck out of his drums.  I saw Patrick Dahlheimer smiling more on stage than I can remember having seen in years.  Sean Hennesy was kind enough to play the part of Adam Kowalczyk for the evening, even though that meant he had three straight sets with three different bands.

Chris seemed visibly nervous, and who can blame him?  The LIVE fans are rabidly split about whether or not they can support "their" band without Ed.  I wondered about it two years ago, too.  But this is totally up to Chad and Chad and Patrick, and I was more than willing to give a chance to any singer with the balls to step into that groupie firestorm.  Does he sound just like Ed?  No.  But there's a similarity there that lends his voice to the old songs.  Having been to dozens of LIVE shows over the years, I couldn't help but see the shaven ghost of Ed stepping across the stage, passing through and around Chris as he did his own thing.  But he did his own thing, and it was good.  I am looking forward to seeing where these guys go now that they're really opening a new chapter of their career. 

More Microsoft blahblahblah.

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Strangely, it was my first Candlebox show.  I was never a huge Cbox fan (Kevin, you were right—I always loved LIVE more.), but it was interesting to see how different he is on stage from one band to the next.  You don't notice it as much with guitarists, who can hide behind their instruments, but there was a different onstage persona that came out of him for each band.  My heart is still with TGF, but I knew enough Cbox to sing along and have him put his mic in my face, like he always has.  Okay, yeah, so it was "Far Behind", but I have my strangely personal reasons for liking that song, just like everyone else does.  (Well, except that I didn't get laid to it.)

After the show, though, was my favorite part.  Walking past the bar, I heard, "Stephanie!"  I turned to see Chad Taylor standing there, who I hadn't seen since May.  Big hugs and laughter.  "Gracey said to me, 'I think that skinny girl is Stephanie,' and I said, 'No way!'  Oh my God!  Look at you!  You were right in front of me for the entire Gracious Few set, and it wasn't until I came out with LIVE that I realized it was you!"  He promptly took me by the hand and twirled me around to see the difference that even the last forty-five pounds (and a new belly button) had made.  I knew I must be doing something right if even the rock stars can see the difference. 

I was exhausted, having stood and danced in the same spot for five hours.  Two of my very favorite songs were played that night ("I Alone" is on that list, too.  Strangely, Chad and Chad and Patrick, you have four of my five favorites.) , and it was exhilarating to be swept up in the music and the moments I love the most. 

I bravely stomped around Austin in my Big Girl panties and my persona non grata t-shirt, on my own for five days, and I loved every second of it.  Even my nervousness and being in a strange city, on my own, served only to invigorate me, and I splashed my muchness all over that fucking town—in my own way, sparkled with purple, just like I always do.

So make your siren's call and sing all you want.

I knew the first time I heard "Little Lion Man" that I really liked Mumford & Sons.  It was a darkly catchy little tune with huge, open harmonies, and I love nothing more than a great harmony to hook my voice around.  The entire debut CD, Sigh No More, is really fantastic, with its heavily-accented British folk sound. 

When Brits use a banjo, is it bluebloodgrass music?

When tickets went on sale for Mumford & Sons at the Fox Theatre in Atlanta, I was in the midst of Spring Break travel.  I knew I wouldn't be available to get tickets during the regular sale time, so I opted to buy presale tickets a couple of days before.  In theory, they were shitty upper-tier, dress circle seats.  In reality, there's really not a bad seat at the Fox.  The acoustics are so good, and you really can see everything going on.  Yes, I would've preferred to be closer to the stage, but I'm glad I even got a ticket to the sold-out show.

I got to the Fox in time to see the opening acts, Matthew and the Atlas and The Low Anthem.  It was more if the same indie folk pseudo-rock.  Both acts were very talented, certainly, but it wasn't enough to blow me away.  Except for The Low Anthem doing a song called "This God Damn House".  Singer Ben Knox Miller asked the audience to use their cell phones to call the person next to them when he gave a signal toward the end of the show.  It created a beautiful multi-lights effect, but it also created this strange reverb/static/noise/feedback that was breathtaking over this hauntingly sad song. 

 

Mumford & Sons took to the stage to thunderous applause.  I don't have the set list (I never keep up with that, you know.), but I think they played the entire album during their two-hour set.  I couldn't think of a track they didn't play.  Marcus Mumford (Marcus Yumford) plays guitar and a kick drum at the front of the stage.  He took to a full kit for one of the last songs of the evening, and it was amazing.  (Beware, Kevin Martin.  I may have a new singer-drummer groupie love crush.)

They did several new songs, as well, including one during the encore that I really wish I'd been able to record.  It was a still-untitled track that Mumford said they were still in the process of writing.  He said they'd been working on it during sound check and that the crowd would become part of the writing process.  Spin me 'round/just to pin me down/on the cover of this strange bed/Spin me 'round/just to pin me down....  Everyone leaving agreed it was the best new song of the night.

The most amazing part of the show was when they managed to quiet 8,000+ people to perform two songs, "Timshel" and "Sister", totally and perfectly as acoustic songs.  No mic, no PA—just Mumford, his guitar, and four interwoven voices. 

 

The sound was great, the light show was fantastic, and they worked the crowd into an intimate frenzy.  It was truly like an 8,000-person drunken pub sing-a-long.  The energy reminded me a lot of the first time I saw Dave Matthews Band, in Birmingham in 1995 or so.  Under the Table and Dreaming had just come out, and he was playing with Dionne Farris, half of whose band was from Alabama.  They collectively did a ten-minute version of Bob Marley's "Exodus" that was mind-blowing.  I was on the front row for that show.

I've been to a lot of concerts in my life, and this Mumford & Sons show has jumped high on the list of best shows ever.  Nothing will likely ever beat Leonard Cohen at the Fox in October 2009, but what the hell could, honestly?  There's also a LIVE show, the week The Distance to Here came out, and we were on the front row.  It was the last night they were touring with Jimmie's Chicken Shack, and it was a ton of pure, raw fun in the steamy, pouring October-in-Alabama rain.  And then there's that Gracious Few show in Chicago, but it's special to me for so many other reasons that have nothing to do with the show itself, so I don't know if I even include it in my list.  (Sometimes my love for The Gracious Few has nothing to do with my fandom, you know.) 

If you get the chance to catch Mumford & Sons on this or any tour, do it.  I will be there next time they're close, and I will do whatever it takes to be in front.  I'm at a point in my life where I can afford to be elitist and spend too much money for better seats, and I fully intend to do so.  It was a spectacularly wonderful musical evening that I will remember for a very, very long time.

Nights, they sway like you do

I'm an impatient girl.  I always have been.  I like things to happen when I decide--when I make up my mind that it's time for them to happen. 

I was notoriously bad as a child and teen to tear the house apart before Christmas, looking for the stash of presents.  If my mom managed to get them wrapped and under the tree before I found them, I'd spend hours shaking and turning and pondering.  Eventually I learned how to slice the tape open at the seam of the paper and put fresh tape over it, so no one knew I'd been peeking. 

You'd think that kind of looking ahead would spoil the surprise.  Not so much.  Sometimes it made it worse, because now I had all this time to anticipate the actual opening of the gift, plus the using of it.  Of course, if it was something that sucked, then I just had more time to imagine all the ways I would hate it.  Or maybe what I would get at the store when I exchanged it. 

So here we are, in early March, and spring has totally sprung in Atlanta.  Everything's mostly blooming and shining and beautiful.  The weather is getting warmer, and now nightfall is later.  Like a kid, I'm anticipating summer.  Although "summer vacation" has taken on a whole new meaning now that I'm a mom, it's still a really great time of warmth and ease and fun.  Even when it's sticky and hot and I feel like praying for snow, it reminds me of all those summer breaks with my friends, hanging out and doing a thousand things we weren't supposed to be doing, probably in places where we weren't supposed to be. 

Part of the fun of warm weather was always concerts.  Maybe it was a huge outdoor festival, a small club show, or lawn seats on our favorite old blankets.  It didn't matter, because we were all together, in that moment, and sharing that music and that experience.  Even during the crazy electrical storm at one of many Pink Floyd laser shows, or the night some guy got struck by lightning twenty feet from us at the Steve Miller concert, it didn't matter how insane the conditions were--we stuck it out 'til the bitter end and then hung in the parking lot, waiting for traffic to die down and laughing at our inside jokes.  (Okay, so we were probably trying to sober up a bit, too, but it was still social.)

The weather's getting warm, and it makes me want the music.

I am absolutely that girl in the car next to you, who's singing at the top of her lungs, windows down 'cause she doesn't care who sees or hears her.  There's rarely ever a day that goes by that I'm not plugged in to my iPod or CD player or just my own memories of song, my voice fully embracing the vocal challenge before me. 

But the very, very best is when I'm at a show, and I'm right up front, and the music's so loud I can barely hear my own fortississimo voice over the singer's.  I thrive on the uber-bass that thumps so deep that I can't tell if it's my heart or the drums beating in my chest.  It's exciting and enticing and it drives my soul in ways that absolutely nothing else can.  Usually, if I'm that close, it's a band I love--especially if it's a general admission show where you're all-but-guaranteed a few sore ribs if you're against the rail.

When you're that close to the stage, you can see everything, just not at once.  You have to make a pointed effort to watch each musician, to look at the lights as they turn and sway above you blindingly, or to try to ignore the crew (and sometimes families) running around at the sides of the stage.  But you get to see the process.  You get to see what happens when the guitarist breaks a string (which seems to happen to Dave Matthews all the freaking time).  You get to see the close-up interactions of band mates, good or bad.  You get to see who drinks beer and who drinks water. 

You forget sometimes, from that vantage point, that the band can see everything you're doing.  The lights aren't always in their face like they're in yours when you're in the crowd, though spotlights can suck, I'm sure.  And when you're at the front like that, you get a lot of eye-to-eye contact, especially with the singers who really work their crowds.  Some are better at it than others, and some just have bad nights, certainly.  Honestly, it makes you feel special when the singer acknowledges you with a wink or a nod or a smile--it's just a heart-fluttering moment to be caught up in.

And then!  There are the most spectacular of evenings, when the singer (or the guitarist or the bassist, if that's where your groove is) comes to you as part of the show.  They'll stop right in front of you, singing or playing while they have your undivided attention.  It's this amazing little moment where you've connected with a virtual stranger.  You both get it, and--the crazy thing about it--everyone who sees you gets it. 

I'm a singer groupie chick (though I used to be a drummer groupie chick, but they don't move around the stage much), so I'm usually watching the singer and (gasp!) singing along, word for word and note for note to the very, very best of my abilities.  You never know when they might be watching you, you know? 

It's an especially intense moment if the singer gets someone from the crowd to sing with them.  Usually it's a mic held down to the fan for a few seconds.  But sometimes you'll see a singer who gets right in the fan's face with the microphone, singing to them and with them at the same time. 

To be that person... is MAGNIFICENT.  There's an incredible flow of energy that happens between the two of you.  No matter how many times you've heard him sing the song, no matter how many times you've sung along in your car or your shower, he's creating that version of that music in that moment with his voice.  He's putting it out there for the audience as a whole, but for you specifically, and you're taking it in and letting it wash over and through you and feeding it right back to him with your own voice.  There are a million thoughts in your head at once, and you're trying hard to remember the lyrics and to remember to breathe.  It's intensely intimate and fun and scary as hell, because you don't want to fuck it up in front of this person whose music obviously means something to you.

And if you're at one of those shows where the singer picks someone out of the crowd to entertain personally, it's always crazy to watch.  Sometimes you feel like you're intruding on their moment.  The truth is, you're not.  The singing fan probably has very little realization that you're even still there, that there's anything but them and the singer and the song, which is almost guaranteed to become their new favorite. 

So now it's almost time for summer and concerts and the music that I so adore.  I start next week with Adam Taylor at Smith's Olde Bar.  I have tickets for The Twilight Singers at Masquerade in May.  Cage the Elephant is about to go on sale, and I'm hoping to get news soon of Mumford & Sons, Taddy Porter, and I know They Might Be Giants will be on tour again later this year.  And, of course, my year won't be complete without a couple (dozen) of shows from The Gracious Few.  (There'd better be some singing involved, Kevin....)

The problem is, I'm impatient.  I want all of those shows now.  I don't like waiting for booking agents and bands and promoters to coordinate their schedules and fill their calendars.  I know how it works, I know what it takes to book tour dates, but it's worse than waiting for Christmas, really.  I always know when to expect the tree and the wrapping.  I don't know when I'll see the flashing par cans and lightly-scented fog, or when I'll hear the roar of the crowd as the house lights go down and the first strains of the opening song blast from the huge speakers, dragging my beating heart into the band's rhythm. 

I'm biding my time, plugged into the iPod, going on about my day as pleasantly as possible.  Smiling but impatient, breath abated.  And every time there's a new update via email or Twitter or Facebook, it's like sneaking a peek at the presents and just hoping it's the special surprise I want the most.

 

The Big Five Oh!

Something really spectacular (to me anyway) has happened.

As of this morning, I've lost 50 pounds.  Yes, that's 5-0. 

That's since the first of October, though not necessarily October 1st.  And, really, I prefer to say that I have abandoned the weight, 'cause I don't intend to go find it again.

So if you haven't seen me in a while, there's a lot less of me to see:

If you saw me around Christmas, I've abandoned the equivalent of about three gallons of milk since you've seen me. 

If you saw me in November, there's a five-gallon bucket of water less of me.

If you saw me in October, I abandoned a kindergartener worth of ass.

I've talked before about my body image issues and my lengthy battles with back injuries and metabolic disorders.  In a nutshell, I spent last summer enduring two ruptured lumbar discs, and I've spent the last twenty+ years battling PCOS, though I didn't know it for a long time.  Hashimoto's Thyroiditis started after my last pregnancy, and it took almost six years to get it under control. 

I'm also 5'11 and of true Amazonian build.  I will never, ever be rail thin, and I don't want to be.  I still have more weight to abandon and more toning to accomplish, but even I was surprised at how great I looked in a new pair of jeans.  And there's nothing quite so satisfying as having to buy new panties because your old ones are swallowing you whole. 

So I cut out added sugar, except in my coffee.  I eat carbs, mostly fruit and whole grains.  I'm careful about what I eat and what I do.  I've eaten sweets a grand total of seven times since the first of October; two times it triggered crazy binges, once it made me sick, and once just tasted bad.  I don't crave it, and it doesn't interest me 99% of the time. 

I exercise all the time, though not obsessively.  I love my morning walks at the park with my amazingly supportive friends.  Five or six miles will fly by before I know it.  And my time at the gym with my incredibly motivating trainer, Evan, is like gold to me.  It's a couple of hours a week when I can completely unplug every rational thought and just be a physical being.  If I miss a day of doing at least thirty minutes of some kind of cardio, I feel... icky. 

And, because I can't not include a bit about my music, I need to give a very special thank you to The Gracious Few for making an album that's so damn perfect for working out.  It has been my constant companion through miles and miles and miles of walking and riding (and buckets of sweat).  It has kept me in an unbelievable headspace when I really couldn't stand the thought of working out again.  (Honorable mentions go to Windy City Gentleman and Taddy Porter.) 

This is not a blog about weight loss or my struggles with my health; it's a blog about me.  My giant (though shrinking) ass is undeniably a part of my muchness.  I had some real misgivings about blogging about this again, though.  It's one thing to talk publicly about how I dislike my body; it's quite another to start giving specifics about it.  It lays bare a lot of old wounds and scars and makes me feel really vulnerable, like I'm thirteen years old again. 

But it's something I need to be open about.  It's something I'm going through, and I know I'm not alone.  Part of this journey of reclaiming my muchness includes facing down some long-standing fears and misconceptions about myself, including what defines me as being "worthwhile". 

I'm not thirteen, or twenty-three, or even thirty-three.  I'm a very grown-up (kind of) thirty-eight year old woman.  I have the strength and fortitude to take all of those things that scared me and hurt me and made me afraid to work at being my true, inner self, and throw them away.  They may have led me to this place and time in my life, but they aren't who I am.  I won't let those fears control me, or determine the size of my ass. 

And that little girl in me who's still afraid of what people will think?  I don't need her to tell me who and how to be.  She can go stuff a cookie in her face and shut the fuck up.

I really, really, really love you

A few days ago, I posted a little story about Vain Edmund and his band of minstrels, the Singing Heds.  It was a silly little story, rife with sarcasm.  A couple of people commented that they didn't know what the hell it was about, which is fine.  A lot of readers did know the back story, though, and I've gotten several comments about it.  With one exception, the commenters have been in agreement with me. 

However, one reader said, "I didn't like the blog post about the Princess and Vain Edmund, and not because I am blindly loyal to Ed K., but because I found the mean-spiritedness of the piece to be in direct contradiction to the expectation of "muchness and light," I was led to believe I might find here. I felt diminished myself after having read it."

In all fairness, she left me that comment publicly on yesterday's post, in which I requested that readers de-lurk for a day and tell me who you are.  (Please!  Feel free to do that any time.  Really.)  I'm not at all upset by the feedback.  It's her opinion, and she's definitely entitled to it.  But she did inspire me to step from behind the guise of the blog and explain the story and why I wrote it.

 

I have mentioned many times that I have been a die-hard Live fan since I first saw the video for "I Alone", roughly 1994.  I know I was working at the indie record store, and we had received promotional material for Throwing Copper.  I did a huge wall display, including a poster of the Screaming Ed Head.  I loved that poster so much (Why don't you marry it?) that I kept one back for myself.  It was never stapled or taped or tacked up to a wall.  It sat in a tube in a closet for about fifteen years, until July 2009.  (More about that it a bit.) 

My first Live show was a general admission show at Vanderbilt, again around 1994.  DH and I went to see them in Nashville.  Sponge and Love Spit Love opened.  I was fucking blown away by the live Live experience, and that show is one of the reasons why "t.b.d." and "I Alone" constantly waffle between numbers 1 and 2 in my list of favorite songs of all time.  ("The Soft Parade" by the Doors, and "Silly Thing" and "Labor of Love" by the Gracious Few round out the top five, not necessarily in that order.)

We tried to see them a few weeks later in Knoxville.  Pete Droge opened and was just fantastic.  I remember all these girls thinking Matt Gracey was Ed Kowalczyk, when he was running around on stage before the show.  Unfortunately, it turned into a nasty crowd, and DH had to drag my ass out before I got into a serious fist fight.  It was bad. 

Over the next fifteen years, I would see Live dozens of times, in large venues and small.  Several times I was front row.  I remember buying my first front row tickets over the phone from Ticketlink, for a show in Birmingham, AL.  It was the morning of Princess Diana's funeral, and I'd been up all night watching the procession.  I can still hear how surprised the guy on the phone was when he pulled the front row. 

My favorite opening acts were, without question, Pete Droge, Luscious Jackson, and Jimmie's Chicken Shack. 

I was able to sit in on two separate private acoustic sets Live did for radio station winners.  At one of them, I was very pregnant, and it was the first time I felt the baby move to music.  (It was "Dance With You", which will still make me cry.  I used to sing it to the boys when they were babies.)  I couldn't listen to "Lightning Crashes" at all during either of my pregnancies, because I would cry for hours afterward.

 

 

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My last Live show was at Chastain in Atlanta.  It was August 17, 2008.  I had no idea it would be my last, or I would have better pictures, not taken from on my phone.  They played with Collective Soul.  It was a good show, certainly, but not one of my favorites.

 

Then July 8, 2009, I went to see Ed Kowalczyk do a solo acoustic set at Eddie's Attic in Atlanta.  It's a really small venue, and everybody has played there.  It was a fantastic show, really, and I finally had the chance to have him sign my poster from 1994. 

At the time, the official break-up hadn't quite happened, though there had been rumblings for a while.  He had launched his EddieKLive.com site and was referring to himself as Eddie K, because that was what his friends called him, or so he said.  I remember commenting to DH that it smacked of Prince when he tried to break out of his contract with Warner Bros.  Ed signed my freaking LIVE poster as "EK Live '09".  Asshat. 

So the "hiatus" is announced.  Chad Taylor publicly vents about the break-up, though we'd seen tweets from both Chads for weeks and months prior to this.  The Gracious Few is born.  Both Ed and the Gracious Few release their debut CD's in September 2010.  Both of them sat on my desk for weeks until I was finally able to listen.

I fell instantly in love with The Gracious Few.  Really, I was blown the fuck away, and rightly so.  I've discussed my groupie love of them many, many times and will probably continue to do so for a while. 

Not so much with Ed's CD's, Alive.  The title's mildly (and irritatingly) ironic, but the music was everything I didn't like about the last couple of Live albums.  I've listened to it twice and have no intention of hearing it ever again. 

I've read and heard a lot of interviews with both Chad Taylor (the most vocal of the Live/TGF members) and Ed Kowalczyk about the break-up.  Chad and DH and I had a lengthy conversation about it at the Masquerade in Atlanta in October, after my first Gracious Few show.  Let me be clear: I have never once heard Chad Taylor, Chad Gracey, or Patrick Dahlheimer make a malicious or disparaging remark about Ed Kowalczyk as a person.  They have always been very, very careful when talking to me to never, ever attack him--as I have experienced those multiple conversations. 

There were serious allegations made by Chad, Chad, and Pat about Ed having screwed them financially and professionally.  I had no reason not to believe their story, but I didn't really have a reason to blindly buy into it, either.  So I went online and pulled the public court documents.  They're lengthy and detailed and filled with legalese, as I expected.  There were no substantial surprises in the complaint--I'd already been told all of the accusations against Ed. 

Ed's response, albeit through his attorney, though, was awful.  It smacked of ingratitude and self-aggrandizement.  Based on how I interpreted it, he basically said his friends and former band mates could passably be called musicians, and that he had carried them for years, that their contributions to Live were minimal at best.  He plainly believed that he was the driving force behind the band and that it would not have succeeded were it not for him.

Again, Ed Kowalczyk was my groupie love crush for fifteen years.  I'm also well aware that sometimes legal posturings are just that.  But this was just ugly.  It made me ashamed to have ever been so enamored of him.  I gave it a couple of days and let it sit.  Then I removed myself from his fan club, mailing list, and Facebook page. 

A few days ago, someone posted a link to a recent interview with Ed, who is currently on tour again in support of his record.  There were two specific quotes that irritated the shit out of me:

"I was responsible for all the lyrics and music for Live, so the writing process didn’t change much at all for me."

Um, no.  No, you weren't.  There's always been some inkling of doubt as to whether or not Ed really wrote some of Live's biggest hits, at least by himself.  Regardless of anecdotal information, there are numerous of tracks that were credited to more than just Ed, even on something as basic as the album liner notes.  Lyrically, perhaps it is all Ed.  But to completely dismiss twenty years of contributions by your friends and band mates makes you a megalomaniac.

"I love to rock; that’s where my passion lies and my album is heavy."

If Alive is heavy, I'm a short, skinny little thing.  Oh, wait....

So was I perhaps a bit mean-spirited in my Vain Edmund story?  Okay, maybe.  But that interview was incensing, as were so many of his comments over the last year-and-a-half.  I had something to say, and I stopped short of calling him a lying, back-stabbing asshole.  That would just be mean. 

When I took Ed out of the equation, and I gave the Gracious Few a fighting chance, I realized how much my love for Live had nothing to do with Ed Kowalczyk, especially on the last couple of albums.  The driving force of the music that I love rests squarely on the shoulders of Chad Taylor, Chad Gracey, and Patrick Dahlheimer.  No one was more surprised to learn this than I was.

And the truth is, it still makes me sad.  I found a box recently that contains all of my Live memorabilia.  There are dozens of signed CD's and t-shirts and passes and ticket stubs.  The Frisbee I got for doing some street team stuff.  I drank my coffee this morning out of my Live mug, but I was too sad to hang my Live ornament on my Christmas tree this past year.  It still feels like a bad break-up, and I can't listen to their music right now without drinking a little bit.  It's bittersweet to sing along to "Heaven Wore a Shirt" and "Iris" and "Feel the Quiet River Rage".

So I've moved on, yes, to the Gracious Few, but not because they're Live and Candlebox.  Even with the three remaining members of Live, the addition of Kevin Martin and Sean Hennesy created an entirely new beast.  There are hints of each of the parent bands, of course, but they've really created something new and astonishingly good.  And I love the new guys as much as I love the old (!) ones. 

Live and their music is intimately tied to my own history--including the beginnings of my marriage, the births of my children, and the salvation from a couple of nervous breakdowns.  "t.b.d." was the first song I ever played in my car when I got a car with a built-in CD player.  "Beauty of Gray" is still the best song for me to test how warmed up my vocal chords are, because I can hit the actual notes or take them up an octave to try my upper register. 

If I'm critical of Ed Kowalczyk and how I perceive all of this to have played out, that's my right as a long-time, financially-supportive fan.  And to express my disdain about anything is one of the things I do best.  The truth is, if I didn't care so much, it wouldn't still be bothersome. 

Chad Taylor was right when he said they all got what they wanted--Ed got a solo career, and the rest of them got a rock band.  I just hope Ed realizes exactly the debt he owes to the rock band. 

 

 

I returned a gilded man.

I talk a lot about my love of The Gracious Few.  I tell everyone, all the time, or so I'm sure it seems.  I won't go into all of the reasons I love them--you can check the archives for previous posts--but suffice it to say that I adore them.

I've been looping the debut CD again for the last several days, with the occasional non-TGF track thrown in for good measure.  Listening for what must be the thousandth time, seriously, I was struck by something about this album: it's very masculine.  That sounds kind of silly considering it's a band of five manly men.  (Well, four manly men and Kevin Martin....)  It's heavy on guitars (thank you, Chad Taylor and Sean Hennesy), and the drums and bass are ever-present (Chad Gracey and Patrick Dahlheimer, respectively).  Everything about it is in a guy's tone, though, even on the most melodic, ballady tracks, like "Crying Time" and "Sing".  Even on "Guilty Fever", when Kevin's voice approaches his full falsetto, there's never any doubt that this music comes from the deeply personal places of a man.

Amongst the many, many theories of psychology developed by Carl Jung, there are the archetypes of anima and animus, which are basically the female and male sides of men and women, respectively.  In other words, anima is the female psychic energy of the man, and animus is the male psychic energy of the female.  They represent the unconscious psychological qualities of the opposite gender that each person possesses. 

The idea (in a Stephanie-sized nutshell) is that we all originate from a zygotic state and therefore possess the traits of each gender in some capacity, the two parts equaling the whole.  For various reasons ranging from societal to genetic, we suppress one side more than the other, but the psyche has to find a way to let the other side speak.  Anything that taps into and expresses the subconscious can be an outlet for this psychic energy.  Dreams are commonly used by the psyche to work out its issues.  So are the arts, including music. 

And as I listen to The Gracious Few (2010) yet again, it hits me: there's no anima. 

Not once do I hear the music or the lyrics trying to tap into the female anything.  I remember Chad Taylor tweeting during the writing and recording process that they were writing a slow song so "your girl can cum too".  (Several female fans all said to Hell with that--the rock is what gets them off.  Very animus.)  I can only imagine that he was referring to "The Rest of You" or "What's Wrong", both of which are beautiful and powerful odes to the difficulties of love.  But those songs are decidedly male, and it's from the man's perspective that we hear the questioning of the viability of those song-specific relationships. 

 

"Appetite" and "Honest Man" are screaming rock tracks, definitely, but "Tredecim" (that's a free download link, btw) is the one that really oozes testosterone for me. According to an interview with Kevin Martin, the lyrics originated from a comment by Chad Taylor that he felt like he was in the Harvest Moon of his life, with the fullness and strength he was feeding on with the new material with the new band:

"It made me think of the calendars life that we follow each and every year in regards to how it would celebrate its life through story or song.  Beginning with the Harvest Moon and ending with the rebirth of life as in the birth of the Harvest, a year's cycle actually being thirteen in regards to the birth month not ending at twelve with death.  The lyrics represent that full heart, the tired Autumn, the sleep of Winter awakening with Spring and the birth of life. Ending with the statement 'my life has made me flatland" as in unending, no obstacles just plains running as far as the eyes can see, our 'calendar'."

 

FYI, the word tredecim is Latin for thirteen.  So it's about the thirteen-month life cycle, a year in life from beginning to end and beginning again, though it starts with the adult male, not the newborn. 

Tredecim is also the name of a fictional beast described by Hugh Chandler in Indeterminate People (1985).  It's the physical form of a symbiotic cluster of thirteen different species.  Chandler's creature is more than the sum of its parts; it is capable of language and thought in ways far superior to any single species of its make-up, and its intellectual abilities exceed the expected composite of the thirteen entities.  When the tredecim is broken back down into its parts, each species seems to remember what it did, though none has any understanding of why it performed or how its own actions contributed to the whole. 

As I ponder these greater things, it strikes me that this is much like the months-in-a-year comparison.  To take one month out of a full year doesn't really show much about the year itself.  Its impact and import may not be fully known until the annal as a whole can be seen in reflection.  The Harvest Moon may be stunning, but it's still only a beautiful full moon until you see its impact on growth and harvest cycles, whether literal or figurative, and understand how it originally came to be so big and bright. 

All of this to say, what a manly way of looking at it. 

Women would never compartmentalize a piece of something as separate from its whole.  To separate a bit from the original makes an entirely different thing.  To take the snakes from Medusa would just make her a crazy, evil bitch, not a mythological villain, even if her gaze can still turn men to stone.  (What woman doesn't possess that Evil Eye?)  Her true, menacing beauty comes from the slithering hatred and the story that led her to that form.

I started to think of some very feminine records.  Sarah MacLachlan's Fumbling Towards Ecstasy (1994) was the first one that came to mind.  Even with driving guitars and bass, it's still a total chick album.  Which is why, of course, Lilith Fair was started in 1997.  Poe's Haunted (2000) is another girl record. 

So then I started to think about my long and varied love of music.  The first song I remember singing was Elton John's "Bennie and the Jets".  The first band I really loved was Duran Duran, and Seven and the Ragged Tiger was my favorite album.  Later would come the Babys, the Kinks, INXS, David Bowie, the Doors, and Live, among many, many others.  I'm also really partial to glam and glitter, androgeny and cross-dressing, hence my love of Hedwig and the Angry Inch, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Liquid Sky, Velvet Goldmine (but only the Ewan MacGregor parts and the soundtrack), Scissor Sisters, T. Rex, and Eddie Izzard. 

I've always had a fascination for the heteroflexible, I guess.  What I know of almost all of the singers of the bands I mentioned--whether rumored or confirmed-- just feeds my fetish for manscara.  Even the most masculine of those singers, arguably Jim Morrison, was deeply in touch with his girly side in his writing and music.  Personally, I don't care if he was bisexual or not, though I'm not inclined to think so.  But songs like "Love Street" and "The Spy" and even "My Eyes Have Seen You" have a certain anima about them.

Then here's The Gracious Few without a female bone in its body.  I have openly admitted that my long-time love of Live is what led me to listen to TGF originally, but the quality of the music is what made me listen again.  And again.  And again.  No glitz, no glam: just honest-to-badness Rock and fuckin' Roll. 

Would I pay good money to see Kevin Martin in manscara and red glitter lipstick?  Probably.  Will he like that I said that?  Probably not.  But I feel confident that he, and the rest of the Gracious Few, are secure enough in their individual and collective manhood to take the compliment at the heart of this: it's a guy record. 

For me, the biggest surprise wasn't the realization of the masculinity of the album.  It was that I found I liked it even more. 

And I think that's the truest hallmark of a great album, that you can listen to it over and over (and over and over and over) and still find something new in it every single time. 

On a side note, I want to wish the Gracious Few and their cast and crew a wonderful, fantastic European mini-tour.  They just spent a few days in Pennsylvania for rehearsals before heading to Europe for their first dates there as TGF.  (They'd all been there before, certainly, as Live or Candlebox, but this is the first time the Gracious men went together as a band.)  We're all breathlessly awaiting updates and footage.  And U.S. tour dates.  Don't forget the U.S. tour dates! 

Enjoy your man time while you're on the road, gentlemen! 

[DISCLAIMER: I, Stephanie Quinn Jackson, am fully and completely aware that Kevin Martin of the Gracious Few is, completely and totally, a manly man with a fantastic sense of humor.  Really.  No need to fill my comments with admonishments otherwise.  Unless you're Kevin and feel the need to defend your personal masculinity.  In which case, put your manscara on first, then we'll talk.]

And everyone’s singing like everything’s fine.

I had this really strange experience today, and I wanted to share. 

I left for a while to clear my head and get in some cardio on this gorgeous day in the South.  I went to the park, plugged in my iPod and hit shuffle.  I did my time, was a little more together, and headed for  home.  

I turned onto a suburban street very close to mine, just a couple of blocks from my house.  Beautiful, warm day.  Brilliant blue sky and bright sun.  My windows were down, and I was listening to the Gracious Few.  (For those of you who would care to know, "All I Hear" had just come on as I turned the corner.)

A house on the left side of the street, just a few houses down the two-tenths-of-a-mile-long street, had lots of cars parked outside.  Hanging from the eaves of the small front porch was a blue and white banner, proclaiming that someone was having a boy.  "Baby shower," I thought.  "How sweet!"

Four or five more houses down the street, same side, there was a house with multi-colored balloons on the mailbox.  I could see decorations at the back of the house.  It looked like someone was having a birthday party.

Almost to the end of that street lives a family whose youngest daughter likes to play with my youngest son.  They're a funny little duo when they're together, and they haven't had a play date in a while.  Her father, unfortunately, is battling yet another recurrence of pancreatic cancer.  He's in his mid-40's.  It's a crazy roughness in that house right now, that I can't really imagine.

Three houses down from their house, sits the next to the last house on the street.  It's at the end of the cul-de-sac.  There were several cars parked outside it, as well.  At that house, there have been lots of visitors all week.  In fact, on Wednesday, I noticed a bunch of cars parked in the street near that house.  The next day, I was behind a hearse driving through our suburban neighborhood, straight to that family's driveway.  There's been a constant stream of traffic, relatively speaking, on the end of that street for the last few days.  Today was no exception.

As I drove the last block-and-a-half toward home, I was struck by how there was a strange lifecycle being represented by those four homes, on their porches and mailboxes and at their curbs.  These things all happen every single day, good or bad, but I was blown away by how they were all happening at the same time in such open proximity to each other.

I don't have to delve into the Cycle of Lifeness of it all.  My readers are smart enough to read between those thick black lines.  It was the snapshot of that moment that took my breath away.  Each of these families, in incredibly close nearness, were each a different facet of the same, shining gem.  It was stunning and heartbreaking and beautiful, and it was a glimpse at life that was gone as soon as I turned the corner to go in my own direction. 

So I went home and got the family, and we celebrated my oldest son's birthday.  We were surrounded by hundreds of others this afternoon, who may or may not have been marking their own milestones.  I'll never know.  But the anonymity of their moments, or mine, doesn't make them any less poignant.  We're all shining facets sometime.

 

Danielle Barbe is one hot Freshman!

When I was getting ready to go to Chicago in November 2010 to see the Gracious Few (perfectly timed with a visit to my best friend and her family), I was pleased to see there was a female opening act, Danielle Barbe.  I didn't know who the hell she was, but it was good to see a chick on the bill.  So I went to look her up.  (Young.  Pretty.  Soprano.  From Pittsburgh.  Got it.)

At the time, there were a couple of free downloads available, including "Ghost Town", the first track on her self-titled debut album.  (I think the other track was "No Excuses", but I can't quite be sure any more, having now listened to the entire CD so many times.)  I liked them both but honestly didn't give them more than a couple of listens.  I was still totally immersed in the Gracious Few's debut album--to the complete and utter annoyance of pretty much everyone around me.  But I liked what I heard, so I was actually looking forward to the opening act.

Of course, I was there very early, drinking my vodka drink (I can tub-thump with the best of 'em!) after my chat with Kevin Martin and some quick tapas.  The BFF and I were right in front, almost dead center of the stage.  So here comes Ms. Barbe and her band, and I'm immediately struck by how gorgeous she is.  Just adorable.  Hair everywhere. 

And when she opens her mouth to sing, she has a huge, big voice.  She reminded me in a lot of ways of Fleming McWilliams of Fleming and John.  Drunk but not oblivious, I immediately recognized "Ghost Town".  I spent a lot of time dancing along and double-fisting the horrible screwdrivers.  THEN she launched into a really pretty song.  It sounded so familiar.  "In the Meantime".  Spacehog!

Spacehog is one of those bands that I love but often forget about when I go to grab a CD for the car.  (Orbit is another one.  And Garbage.)  I don't know a lot of people, personally, who listen to Spacehog, so I'm always excited when I meet someone else who knows anything by them.  I know, "In the Meantime" was their big single, but it still makes me happy, like it's a great shared secret.

So Danielle Barbe and her band finish their set.  Yay!  Time for more vodka!  After the craziness of the Gracious Few show, the BFF and I end up chatting with Danielle and her own BFF while I'm buying my copy of her CD.  (Hear that, American Bang?  I didn't buy your CD!)  She was even more gorgeous in person, and she was also very sweet and funny. 

Back at home in Atlanta, it took me a couple of weeks to get back around to her CD, though, because I was still so engrossed in the Gracious Few.  (It's a powerful addiction, that one!)  But then! I popped her into the CD player in the car one afternoon, and I was immediately hooked.  She has this great, un-annoying soprano voice.  And she's not a whiney girl who only sings about getting a man or keeping a man or losing a man.  There are songs about love in all of its varied stages, certainly, but even at her most tenderly melodic, she doesn't simper about it. 

I'm planning to do more with the lovely Ms. Barbe in the near future, so I'm not going into a ton of detail about her music right now.  I will say that my favorite tracks on this CD are "Wango Tango" and "Nothing Stays the Same".  Both kick my girly ass and take me to a great place.  (When the dream is breaking down/when the scream don't make a sound/pick up all the pieces on the ground/Don't wanna be the lonely one/I know I'm not the only one tryin' to understand)

Now, this brings me to my point.  Today is the first day that the video for her single "Ghost Town" is up as a contender in this week's Freshman poll on mtvU.  Five videos go head-to-head each week for a coveted spot in video rotation.  But I know you're asking yourself, Do music videos still matter? 

You bet they do. 

Even though MTV, as a lot of us remember it, ceased to exist long ago as cheaply-produced reality TV became the mainstay of their line-up, music videos cater to the frenetic, visually-dependent society we thrive in, especially across social media.  I know that when I'm listening to a song and think I'd like to share it on my Facebook, I prefer to find a video for the song.  Plus, the generation these Freshmen are trying to attract don't know life without MTV. 

"I used to rush home from school just to watch TRL and see the latest music videos on TV," says the early-twenty-something Barbe.  "Even though that show is now long gone, I'm happy to see that MTV is still supporting music videos.  I think every artist still dreams of being on MTV.  It's still such a huge part of our culture, and it's thrilling to be a part of this."

I also talked recently of supporting up-and-coming artists.  They're working their asses off and really deserve the chance to share their art and talents with the public.  Most of them are aware they aren't likely to go on and make a gazillion dollars a year doing what they love--though they'd all certainly take it if it happened.  But they're working, constantly, to hone their craft and support themselves as productive members of society. 

Danielle Barbe has no qualms about reminding you of this: "Go vote and support music videos.  Support the people who worked hard to make them and the artists who still think it's important to make them. It's a lot of work!"

Because it's back on the air, and I'm always thinking about my own answer to the question, I asked Barbe what her song of choice would be, if she had to be on American Idol.  One song, one shot.  What would it be?

"I'm not sure," she said.  "I just started to tune into Idol again because Steven Tyler is just so great on there.  I think I'd do something by Carole King or Stevie Nicks.  I grew up singing their songs.  I think it's important to do a song that's meaningful to you and suits your voice."

So I'm asking you to go to the mtvU website and give this girly a shot to sing her own songs.  Somewhere there's a little girl who's going to grow up singing "Ghost Town" into her hairbrush in front of her dresser mirror.  (My own boys sing "Explosive Minute" all the time.  Seriously.)  You can bond with her when you tell her about the first time you saw the video and helped get it on MTV.

Whether it's the music lover in you, or the lingering kid with your own hopes and dreams, or the edgy patron of the arts, isn't there some reason you can find to go click and vote a few (dozen) times?  Maybe the feminist in you needs a little push from Danielle:  "I just happened to notice I'm the only woman in this poll - go support a young female rock artist!"

Danielle Barbe - New Music - More Music Videos

Adam Taylor is a genius! Give him $1!

My friend Adam Taylor has launched a Kickstarter campaign for the forthcoming CD for his band, also called Adam Taylor, ironically enough.  I kind of went back and forth about whether or not I should do a blog post about this.  I mean, it's not really Alice-y, and it's not really about me.  But I've written about him before, and some others, and this is a project that's really close to my heart.

So I'm going to take a moment to ask you to consider helping Adam Taylor.

I first learned about Adam through his older brother, Chad Taylor, on his Facebook last fall.  Chad is a founding member of both Live and the Gracious Few, my previous and current favorite bands, respectively.  Chad is also an accomplished music and film producer, and an all-around nice guy.  Chad and I had met and chatted many times before he asked his Facebook fans to give his brother a listen, so I thought, "Why not?"

Turns out, Adam's a genius.  Seriously.  His music is smart and funny and really damn good. 

And guess what?  He's not Chad. 

Musically, he's nothing like his older brother.  They didn't really grow up together; Chad was already a young musician with a burgeoning rock band, Live, by the time Adam dropped into the world.  There are similarities in their personalities and their work ethics.  They're both cute brunets with facial hair who love their friends and family.  Oh, and they both play guitar.  That's about it. 

Seriously, I'm sure there's something more, but don't expect Adam to play like a younger version of Chad.  It's just not happening. 

But when I gave Adam a shot, I realized I adored his music.  He did an interview with me about my fiction project, much like Kevin Martin (Candlebox, the Hiwatts, the Gracious Few) did, and it turned out that I really liked the guy.  He's just nice.  He's also an amazing performer, as I discovered for myself at Smith's Olde Bar in December 2010.

So now he's almost finished recording his new album but needs help raising the $6,000 to make the CD and go on tour.  I can't imagine that anyone wouldn't hear Adam Taylor and go, "My God!  This kid's a genius!"  (Okay, so maybe not everyone would say it.  But even if you're a die-hard metal freak who doesn't like anything but four guitars speed battling for screech, you have to admit the guy is unbelievably talented.) 

The music business is a nightmare right now, and the economy sucks.  But budding musicians need the opportunity to have their talents heard and judged.  Please consider supporting him, or some other musician, by donating $1, $5, $10, or whatever you think their music is worth to you.  Think of yourself as a neo-Renaissance Patron of the Arts.  Great classics of art and music would never have been created were it not for the original patrons and groupies who paid to support their favored aesthetics. 

You can go to his Kickstarter page and watch his video.  You can also check out his debut EP, Play the Piano Drunk, though my Amazon aStore links at the right of this page.  If for some (insane) reason you decide that he's not worth your $1, take a look at some of the other projects being featured on Kickstarter.  I guarantee you'll find something that tickles your fancy and could use your help, and you can say you were there when.