Working really hard, can't shake this cold, static in the brain, no time to blog.
Here are some things to listen to:
Ted's 480 Minutes on BAGeL Radio
It's Friday, so, duh.
ydnar's June mix: Backyard Astronomy
60 minutes of "disco and electro, remixed Ibiza house standards, hip-hop and Swedish girl pop" (approved by this Swedish-ish girl).
mixfreq's May mix via Muxtape
Someone needs to tell Steve that June's almost over.
My Brightest Diamond, a.k.a. Shara Worden, released her second album last week. I don't have A Thousand Shark's Teeth yet but I'm going to snag a copy on vinyl as soon as possible. The tracks I've heard from it, online and during a live set earlier this year at SXSW, are even more haunting, gorgeous, challenging and ambitious than those on her first album. I love to hear an artist grow, mature and stretch, filling an ever more unique shape amongst the edges of their influences. I usually despise it when people compare artists to Jeff Buckley, either because the comparison is completely unfounded, or because the comparison just highlights outright imitation. Shara comes close to copping a few of Jeff's most unique legacies in her vocals, songwriting and guitar tones, but for some reason I register her similarities as tributes and not theft.
I got to see Shara perform at SXSW earlier this year in a church with gorgeous acoustics. I sat with dear friends, eating homemade cookies we bought from the churchgoing ladies while Shara serenaded us with her opera-quality voice, theatrical garb, and comfortable command of dynamics. Watch this live performance from Other Music (a record store in NYC - I used to work right across the street from it) for a taste of Shara's talents.
Hear more of Shara's thoughts about the new record:
Shark's Teeth - Part I from My Brightest Diamond.
The copy editor in me would like to point out, due to the placement of the apostrophe in the album title, that we're talking here about one thousand teeth (which come from a shark), and not all the teeth from one thousand sharks.
I found this video on Jessica Hopper's blog, one of my all time favorite blogs which I've read regularly for a few years now. I don't know this Candy Lawrence, but in less than two minutes she's summed up a great deal of how I feel about music, dancing, and happiness.
Thank you, Candy Lawrence.
It's been a crazy week. I was out sick, work's been wild, and then last night I found myself at the Ted Nugent show at the Fillmore.
As I mentioned yesterday, my friend Chris was playing with the opening artist Alex Winston. He smuggled me into the venue before the doors opened with this impressive custom VIP pass and we caught up over a pre-show meal in the Fillmore's dining room. We killed time before their set in the backstage area, which is really on the side of the stage on two levels. Since Ted doesn't really spend time backstage (he probably lingers in his plush tour bus or nice hotel room and then shows up minutes before his set starts), Alex and her band had access to the main backstage room on the upper balcony. I was able to watch Alex's set from this vantage point.
After her set concluded, the guys had to load out their gear. I knew I had at least half an hour to kill so I left the backstage area to wander around and people watch a bit. I'd estimate Nugent's audience to be around 85% male, and I was definitely the only female wandering around by herself. The people watching was interesting for a little while, until I started to feel a little creeped out by the leers of drunk dudes. I walked back up to the side balcony and attempted to re-enter the safety of the backstage area and was promptly stopped by the bouncer at the entrance. Apparently even with my fancy VIP badge, I still needed to be escorted by a band member. Nugent's security is pretty tight.
I sent Chris a text telling him to come save me, then took a seat on the public side of the balcony where about 40 or so fans were waiting to watch the show. A few moments later, two burly dudes came in and ordered a few people to clear a walkway. Then the 'Nuge himself strode in, all hat and flowing hair, long legs and smug smile. He was surrounded by about five men, all making a quick walk of the 20 or so yards to the backstage entrance. It happened so quickly that most people just had enough time to turn their heads and smile and maybe let out a "Hey, man!" Except for one woman:
"Teeeeed! THAT'S TED!!!"
She wobbled to her feet and teetered after the entourage, sloppily grasping over the shoulders of the rear bodyguard. Though her desire to touch her idol was indisputably fervent, the fact that she was at least a few drinks into her evening softened the effects of her pursuit. She almost seemed to be grasping for him in slow motion, yelling out his name at full volume while forty other fans stood by and watched. It didn't take Ted long to disappear behind the backstage curtains and it was over as quickly as it started, but the woman's night was made. "That was TED F*$^IN' NUGENT!" she yelled as she tottered back to her friends, elated. I can only imagine how many times and to how many people she'll tell this story for years to come.
I finally made my way backstage again and before reuniting with Chris I watched a few songs of Ted's set. In addition to a fully painted backdrop, his stage set included:
I've been sick this week but managed to rally today, just in time to see my friend Chris who is in town tonight playing at The Fillmore in Alex Winston's band. He says he hates when I mention my "friends" on my blog, so this should really annoy him. Here's a video of Alex's band on this tour (Chris is the guitar player wearing glasses):
I don't know Alex's stuff very well, but I do know the headliner: Mr. Ted Nugent. Come on, come on up!
There are oh, so many reasons to declare this a summer of vinyl:
The summer of vinyl has begun. Who's with me?
Related post: Why I love my Vestax Handy Trax.
I've just added two new entries in the Don't Forget Cassettes photo album! Check out the photos that djchall and Eve sent me. Eve submitted her photo along with a two paragraph story that kicked me in the gut.
Please send me your photos! You can email them to kteeger AT yahoo, or leave a link in the comments.
The offer for a handwritten thank-you note still stands.
I'm taking a break from art and music for a moment to tell you about a sitcom I really like. It's not going to change your life or go down in history as giving you one of the best half hours you've ever spent, but it's unpredictable, fairly well-written and has some genuinely interesting characters. The show I'm talking about is "My Boys" and Season 2 premieres Thursday night on TBS.
I first heard about the show last year when I used to watch "Sex and the City" reruns on TBS. The network was running a ton of ads for the premiere of "My Boys", and I started to get annoyed at this new show about a tight group of friends (five males and one female who works as a sports writer) who do a lot of drinking and talking about dating. I kept imagining a group of TV execs sitting around a table saying "let's market this as a 'Sex and the City' that men will actually watch!"
I was annoyed to the point of obsessive curiosity, so I tuned in on premiere night with the masochistic expectation of writhing and eye-rolling my way through the first episode of a series that would no doubt get canceled quickly due to being derivative and uninteresting.
Of course, I ended up really enjoying it and faithfully tuning in to every episode of the first season.
The plot centers around PJ, the cute, female, blond sports reporter with a group of five close male friends and one close female friend. The dudes are like her brothers, especially since one of them is her brother, except for the one or two with whom she has sexual tension (of course). They drink a lot and have a weekly poker night and talk about all their dating exploits. What makes them interesting is that they never spend too much time fitting the stereotypes you'd expect them to, they have a genuine rapport together, and they all do a great job of portraying the humor and familiarity that's written in their scripts. The actress who plays PJ does an especially good job of being beautiful, nice, funny and likeable. She's a girl's girl who is also believable as 'just one of the guys'.
This series also has one of the most hilarious peripheral characters I've seen in a long time. Johnny Galecki, perhaps best known as Darlene's boyfriend from "Roseanne", plays Trouty, a deliciously obnoxious and clueless hanger-on who lights up the small screen during each of his rare appearances. He plays his part perfectly, keeping you wondering how they could possibly keep him around, yet being just endearing enough to charm you. Here's a bit of Trouty in action:
Check out some other clips from the show:
Tune in tomorrow night for the season premiere!
A few weeks ago, I devoted a week of posts to the art that I'll be hanging on the walls of my new apartment. In my post titled tree stump phonographs, I told you about meeting Annie, a.k.a. Wexford Girl, at an art festival in my neighborhood and commissioning two pieces of art from her. Last week, she came by my office to drop off the pieces, much to my delight since they were exactly what I wanted! (Annie also uses TypePad for her blog, so I think she didn't mind the quick tour I was able to give her of TP HQ.)
Here are the finished paintings. They're displayed next to the mirror in my bathroom, where I can look at them often:
** I took these photos with my cameraphone, which did not do justice to the colors and quality of work.
Part of what captured me about these paintings is the quote. Annie couldn't remember exactly where it was from, so a quick Google search revealed the source. I love poetry. To me, a good poem can be as touching and transformative as a good song. Just from the two lines in these paintings, I could have guessed I would love where they came from:
"Poem About Morning"
by William Meredith
Whether it's sunny or not, it's sure
To be enormously complex—
Trees or streets outdoors, indoors whoever you share,
And yourself, thirsty, hungry, washing,
An attitude towards sex.
No wonder half of you wants to stay
With your head dark and wishing
Rather than take it all on again:
Weren't you duped yesterday?
Things are not orderly here, no matter what they say.
But the clock goes off, if you have a dog
It wags, if you get up now you'll be less
Late. Life is some kind of loathsome hag
Who is forever threatening to turn beautiful.
Now she gives you a quick toothpaste kiss
And puts a glass of cold cranberry juice,
Like a big fake garnet, in your hand.
Cranberry juice! You're lucky, on the whole,
But there is a great deal about it you don't understand.
Last week a few of my coworkers inspired me with this blog post: Alex took a quick snapshot of Mark holding up one of the cassette tapes in his car, saying he hadn't seen a tape in ages.
Who still has cassette tapes anymore? I have a shoebox full of them but no way to play them. But as you can see from the design of this blog (courtesy of the brilliant Marc Johns), cassettes still hold a place in my heart.
So, I'm putting together a gallery of people holding one (or more) of their cassette tapes. Send me a recent photo of you holding one of your own cassette tapes and I'll add it to the Don't Forget Cassettes photo gallery. Look, over there to the right, in the sidebar of my blog and you'll see the link to the gallery. So far I've got photos from Ginevra and Mark, but I want more!
Limited time offer: If you send me your photo AND your mailing address, I will mail you a nice thank you note via the USPS.
