November 2007 Archives

Today is the anniversary of the birth of my dear friend and first-mate, Cory W.

Little Cory-Tart is celebrating her 23rd birthday, and because I am a sub-par friend, I am not there to celebrate with her, a fact that rends my soul.

However, I would like to honor this special little lady in her own way.

Things you may not know about Cory:

-she does not drink water (voluntarily)

-she must pre-approve cutlery before using it

-she dislikes many “fruits” and “vegetables”

-she would come from the ends of the earth to get a friend’s back

Cory is one of the most fantastic people I have ever met. She seems quiet and is really good at being self-effacing, but then she goes and does stuff like starting spirit|questing in her spare time. Like, what? Oh, in two weeks you taught yourself CSS and built a website, during your downtime at work? Of course.

Such a smart, cool, and lovable lady.

Cory: a woman among women. Let us all raise our glasses in salute to a dear, dear friend.

Ladyfriends,

I would like to create a space in Bellingham for women who are in our approximate age-group to gather and make music.

As in: there are not enough women making music in this town. I have been waiting for a few years for this to change on its own, but that does not seem to be happening.

Therefore, it is high time to do something about it. In order to get more ladies, women, and girls making music, I think it would be great if we had monthly all-female music sessions, where people of a variety of skill levels can get together and just make noise.

As women, we are taught silence. As women, it is not the norm for us to play instruments and/or have technical knowledge re: music.

I think it would be awesome to have a designated time & space for women to play music together in a nonthreatening and supportive atmosphere.  There was some talk of this over the summer; let’s make it happen.

I would like to start a vag-o-centric Bellingham music scene, an alternative to what it currently looks like.

Holler back if you’re down.

Who were your starter bands? For me: the Clash, for sure; Sleater-Kinney; maybe even Mirah; and, you know- the major indie rock bands. Death Cab for Cutie; Modest Mouse; even … dare I say it?

Uh, Bright Eyes.

I thought I was pretty rock ‘n roll, wearing around my Bright Eyes shirt that I bought on the Lifted tour- you might have seen it. Navy blue and brown, the one with bats flying around the kids and the record player. Oh, so emo, at a time when being emo filled my heart with pride!

Yet while Sleater-Kinney and Mirah continue to give me great joy & inspiration, and I really enjoy a London Calling listen from time to time, Bright Eyes and most of my other starter bands are relegated to the “guilty-pleasure” corner of my music collection. (Alongside the Aquabats, and- well, nevermind.) Although “guilty pleasure” may be a bit of a misnomer- really, these are the artists I have completely lost interest in, except for the occasional nostalgic replay. Which is kind of weird, when I reflect upon it. Because Death Cab & I? We were together for a LONG time. And same with Modest Mouse. And my fling with Bright Eyes, while more brief than the others, was torrid and all-consuming.

Abruptly, however, I lost interest in these bands, and did not realize until months later that my attention had shifted. My critics will point out that this loss-of-interest occurred, coincidentally, at the same time that these bands started to get a lot of attention (aka: when emo kids replaced goths in high schools across the country, and Garden State introduced the world to “New Slang”).

I am a music snob sometimes- this is true and inarguable. But I am not satisfied with the explanation that I stopped liking Death Cab just because everyone else caught on to them. Falling out of love with someone is usually due to a whole range of reasons- likewise, there is something else going on when I stop listening to one of my Top-Fiver’s. It’s not like I just I woke up one morning and was no longer attracted to them.

Thus, I would like to propose a justification for my seemingly-asshole tendencies. And, perhaps, for the actions of my fellow music snobs. Extending my cheesy metaphor, I offer the following narrative.

1. I discover a band. I begin to listen obsessively- the best ones often take weeks or months for me to fully warm up to. I wake up in the middle of the night with their lyrics stuck in my head. Once in a while, my own inability to verbally express what they mean to me might make my heart ache. They (currently: Electrelane) become one of the musical touchstones of my soul.

2. People catch on! And by “people catching on,” I don’t even mean “they are appearing on MTV at all hours of the day and night!” First of all, I’m pretty sure that MTV doesn’t air music videos anymore. What I really mean is: my secret is out! And other people also like ‘em! Which should be good- I should be excited to share something good & spread the gospel of my favorite band, right? NO. Because:

3. This makes me realize that my relationship with chosen band is not a unique soulmate monogamous relationship.

3.5. It is not just other people liking the band. If the other people appreciated them with the full depth of emotion that I bestow upon them, it would be fine. But these people are CASUAL LISTENERS. Some of whom have bad tastes.

1. I want to have a respectful, loving, and monogamous relationship with you, _ (name a band that has fallen from my favor)! But you keep sleeping with all those people who listen to Dave Matthews, and giving other signs that you reciprocate their affections (via signing to major labels, appearing on Letterman, or other signs of “selling out”).

There are few greater turn-offs than realizing that you share the object of your passion with someone you don’t respect.

1. In order to salvage my own self-respect, I have to end this relationship, and I will regard you henceforth with the mingled shame & regret I reserve for love I have outgrown.

Dear Ben Gibbard, Rocky Votolato, Isaac Brock, Conor Oberst, and all others who have not lived up to my exacting standards of love: sorry if this is not fair. I mean, it isn’t fair. But we have gone our separate ways, and are now the stronger & better for it. And through we were not meant to be together forever, you introduced me to the folks who currently float my boat. So, thanks for guiding me to my future happinesses.

A confession:

I was so sure that the Gossip could not not sell out. I started to withdraw my love a little.

And maybe they have become a little more palatable, sound-wise. Maybe just a little. And maybe the UK media tries to water-down the band’s radicalism, and give backhanded-compliments to Beth re: beauty, sexuality (see: NME cover article).

But I shouldn’t have doubted them. Le Tigre may have signed to Universal; Sleater-Kinney may have gone with Sub Pop (and yes, GSSP has signed with a Sony subsidiary)- but I think I have discovered the difference. Any way you cut it, the Gossip is visually confrontational, in ways that can’t be watered down- Beth is fat, Nathan persists in being weird & difficult, and Hannah is obviously queer.

Furthermore, I shouldn’t have doubted Brace Paine. For the past five years (or so), I have let Brace Paine (nee Nathan Howdeschell) take me down circuitous musical paths to genres and levels of music snobbery I could never have achieved on my own. Via his Fast Weaponsss’ “NIGHTTAPES mixx tape club,” I spent my senior year of high school learning about girl UK artpunk bands from ‘79-‘81 and NY no-wave, a handful of years before things were reissued (and dance-punk replaced electroclash).

More specifically, the Gossip taught me punk. While the Clash may have have provided by introductory course, and Sleater-Kinney showed me a cerebral and adult variety … it was the Gossip who made punk real and practicable. They are the messy, sweaty, human version of punk & its “ethos.”

It can (and should) be made by kids from shitty small towns. sometimes weird & difficult. make you dance. open up yr definitions of “music.”

You wanna learn how to play guitar? “Put 2 strings on yr guitar and make noise FOREVER!”

If you’re not gonna dance? “just stay at home and listen to the oldies station.”

They are “THE PERIOD STAINS ON THE RED CARPET.”

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GOXXIP YOUTH

B-HAM SKILL SHARE, aka “The Big Idea,” started as a way of sharing knowledge, building community, and creating grassroots social change in our immediate community.

It will be occurring on Saturday, Dec. 1st at the Hedge House (email bhamskillshare@gmail.com if you need the address, because I hesitate to post my address on the internetz). Starting at 10 am, it is a FREE day of workshops, art, and inspiration. The last workshop ends at 5 pm, but feel free to come and go throughout the day.

Workshops include:

Zine-making, stenciling, basic sewing, vegan cooking & baking, your rights & the police, alternative sex ed, drum lessons, guitar lessons, and finding yr creative voice.

Also: DANCE PARTY, MUSICAL MERRIMENT & CLOTHING/BOOK SWAP.

Everyone is welcome! If you are able to come, we ask that you bring a few things: -scissors/X-acto knives -a snack to share -a nonperishable food

And if you are able to bring these things, that would be great: -instruments (including drumsticks) -paper for crafts, old magazines, and zine-making materials -clothing to stencil, sew, or swap -books to swap For more info, contact bhamskillshare@gmail.com, and SPREAD THE WORD!

For a long, long time, I’ve been trying to justify my age group’s lack of action re: the war(s). When older people would draw comparisons to protests during Vietnam, I tried to have some excuses to legitimize our inaction. Because it can’t be apathy.

I’ve said things like, “It’s just because we know that, whatever we do, the folks in charge won’t listen anyway.” Or, in a slight variation of that theme, “The media doesn’t report on protests, no matter how big they are.” And I wanted to believe what I said, because I don’t like to think that I (or the people who are around me) are somehow shirking our responsibility.

I’ve been having a harder time making excuses lately, in light of the things that have been going on in Olympia (if you haven’t been following the news, you can learn more about it here, here, and here). These are SDS kids, other college students, maybe even some folks I know.

As Tobi Vail said in this week’s Kill Rock Stars Update:

“And remember to start your own resistance movement in your town where you live according to what you think needs to happen. This could be a band, a political organization, a zine, a student walk out, a demonstration. Not knowing how to end the war doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”

Dances get stuck in my head as much as melodies- usually when my introduction to a song is through a music video. (This mostly- though not entirely- accounts for my ongoing fascination with Missy Elliott.)

Sometimes, all it takes is the rhythm of the drummer’s arms as she moves between cymbal and snare.

Case in point:

When I saw Mirah play at the Capitol Hill Block Party this past summer, she covered a Kate Bush song. At the part in the chorus where the drums kick in, the keyboard player started a sort of loose-limbed marching and neck-thrusting to the beat- the sort of dance favored by 55-year-old male bass players and bedroom dancers of all stripes.

He danced in the best kind of way- un-self-consciously, with infectious joy and full-body participation. And although I tried to watch Mirah, too, he ended up stealing the show for the duration of “Cloudbusting.”

I wish I could find the Mirah version online; for the dancing, but also because when she sang “Just saying it could even make it happen!,” she smiled so much at the hope in those words, and I couldn’t help believing her.

And although the Kate Bush original does not feature any sweet dance moves, it does include her dressed as the prepubescent son of Donald Sutherland’s character.

[youtube IRHA9W-zExQ]

It is furiously blustery in Fairhaven tonight.  An hour ago, the transformer across the street blew up (at least, I think that’s what happened)- there was a tremendous flash, and then all of the lights in the neighborhood went out.

Variations in lighting have characterized my weekend in general:

On Friday, 10 Killing Hands @ Boundary Bay.  The show was shaping up to be mostly forgettable- the crowd wasn’t dancing, the band hadn’t hit their stride yet, etc.  A few underage kids were listening from outside, and someone produced sparklers.

After midnight, on Railroad: the kids were dancing with sparklers, sword-fighting with sparklers, laying-on-the-ground-and-playing-dead with sparklers. 

It was fantastic.

And yesterday: I talked music with so many people, and someone told me about a Halloween costume they saw online- in a brilliant Smiths reference, a girl dressed as Joan of Arc with a melting walkman.

The dance party didn’t get started until one am, at which point someone hit the chandelier in the living room, and someone else turned off the lights; and then the whole living room was hip-shaking.

So.  I’m listening to John Prine, the Smiths, and Sister Rosetta Tharpe at the record store, and obsessively checking Facebook to see if anyone has played a move in one of my many Scrabble games.

I think, after years of trying, I am finally starting to like the Smiths.

Am I the only one who thinks that the Pipettes are fucking creepy? In their producer-manufactured naivete, wearing matching dresses, and backed by a bunch of dudes who do the actual playing of instruments?

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Pop music is appealing, yes; but I really feel like we’re in the midst of a serious feminist backlash. Specifically, there is a real lack of confrontational and/or challenging women in music right now.

As Ann Wilson said,

“In 1975 and ‘76, there was basically a line down the center: you were either a woman doing disco- you were a disco queen- or you were a singer-songwriter, like Carly Simon, Joni Mitchell … so most women were either all gussied up, doing the disco-diva thing, or they were very organic. There was no mold for women rockers at all.”

And I really don’t know what to make of the lyrics for the Pipettes song “Feminist Complaints”- I’m pretty sure that there’s an anti-woman vibe in this song, but I won’t rule out the fact that they might be using “cunt” in a reclamation sort of way.

In other weird men-behind-the-scenes info: Cory directed me to this recent blurb from the LA Times’ Pop Culture Smart List:

“We don’t know what to say about: “Teeth.” Here’s what we know about this movie: It’s about a girl whose private area is lined with teeth. We’ve been told it’s a girl-power movie, but for some reason we feel uncomfortable that it was written and directed by a man. Not that the ancient myth of vagina dentata isn’t fascinating, but to us, the end result here seems to be one more depiction of women as monsters.”

Thoughts?

It is lame when the only content of your blog is links to other people’s blogs.  This, I know.  However!  My always-awesome boss just sent me a link to some sort of new NPR music website (yes, the NPR-ization of indie rock continues). 

But more importantly: this new NPR website hosts the blog of none other than Carrie Brownstein herself.

 

Yes, yes, I know- I’ve already devoted numerous word-space to this singular individual.  But few of my rock and roll idols (and believe me, I have an abundance of such) inspire me as much (or over such a long period of time) as the women of Sleater-Kinney, and Carrie Brownstein in particular.

Which is why I am so intrigued.  Her blog is called “Monitor Mix,” and I’m a little nervous- such close proximity to my idol might reveal clay feet.

But, you know- it kind of goes with the territory.

Speaking of female drummers … I’ve really been digging Grand Ole Party, and I just found out their singer, who has a knock-out voice, also doubles as their drummer.

Her beats (and their tunes in general) aren’t the sort I usually gravitate towards … but that doesn’t matter.  This band is FIERCE.  They’re the sort of songs that get desperately stuck in my head, without relief- my humble singing-while-cleaning-the-kitchen abilities cannot begin to approximate Kristin Gundred’s vocal gymnastics.

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There is a large green bruise on my leg, and I do not know from whence it came.

START YR OWN BAND:

• PLAY BROKEN GUITARS. DO NOT WORRY ABOUT TUNING. RHYTYHM + DETONATION.

• HOLD ON TO YR FRIENDS.

• SING YR LIFE! THINK OF THE PEOPLE YOU HATE & OPEN YR MOUTH.

• BEAT THE DRUMS + EAT TO THE BEAT.

• REMEMBER MAUREEN TUCKER. REMEMBER YOKO. REMEMBER NICO. REMEMBER THE SHAGGS. REMEMBER NOISE + SOUL.

• SWEAT + BLEED

WE ARE THE PERIOD STAINS ON THE RED CARPET!

Is it weird that I get an almost visceral reaction to the sight of frosh-age het. couples, girl leaning into guy adoringly, guy expounding on something grown-up-sounding?

I am really turned off by heterosexual power dynamics right now.

In case you have not gotten the memo: the next wave of feminism = FEMINIST HUMOR.**

That’s right. In case you need convincing- check out Jenny Hoyston’s latest project. She plays with Erase Errata, she has just released a killer solo album on Southern (Isle Of), and she also has a project called LESBIANS (not to be confused with the metal band that is the singular version of that noun).

The genius of this band: creating a total send-up of the much-maligned genre “women’s music” while also totally giving shout-outs and respect to said genre.

Case in point:

“We are lesbian feminists, inspired by the divine goddess that lives in every woman. Working runways all over the world, sometimes in Prada and sometimes in nothing but a sports bra, a fanny pack and a tube of Chapstick. Right now we are at work on a series of songs called “The Seven Sisters”, in reference to the Pleiades. Riff on it. While our body of work thus far has fallen in the category Punk Rock, The Seven Sisters are decidedly folk. You may guess by “I Bleed (But Not Because I’ve Been Shot)” that we have written a few songs by light of the full moon. While the content may seem a little silly, the call for a new feminist world order is not.”

Women aren’t funny, feminists don’t have a sense of humor, and so on and so on. Whatever. I know so many hilarious ladies who create an unstoppable combination of wit & a desire for radical change. This is the future of feminist punk politic.

(Also: LESBIANS are planning a West Coast tour, apparently- is anyone else interested in possibly bringing them to town?)

For further evidence (and one of the funniest media I’ve seen all fall), please observe the following:

[vimeo 328221]

(Note: if none of that made any sense and/or was totally unfunny, and you have lots of time to while away on the internet, please check out any video from Ultimate Blogger 3 for more context.)

In other news:

I am so inspired by female drummers lately. Even more so that usual, to the point where it’s not enough for me to admire; I have to start doing it, too. When I walk home at 10pm on these clear cold nights, I kick through the maple leaves on the sidewalk and make up drum beats for the rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement. As soon as I get a house where I can store/play a drumset, this will be happening.

P.S. Sorry for the occasional incoherence of these posts; I’ve been reading a lot of Jessica Hopper lately, in addition to a lack of intellectual challenge in my coursework. So it goes.

 

**Clarification: By feminist humor, I do NOT mean Thunderant’s “feminist bookstore” skit. I am talking about actual feminist creativity; that can mean poking fun at our forebears, but it also does not mean simply pulling out ridiculous stereotypes about second-wave feminists in order to make an easy (and not funny) joke at their expense.