February 22, 2010

Killing Myself to Listen

I knew I had a lot of music to get to this weekend, but something about enforced listening reminds me of my torturous first year at Manhattan School of Music.  To avoid any freak-outs,  I dragged my eight-year-old son into the process. He wants to be a rock star so it really seemed to be a no brainer.  Here’s what we checked out:

Charlotte Gainsbourg – At first I think I might like this. It’s like Grey’s Anatomy (soundtrack) meets Bjork pre swan dress.

“Is she Indie?” I ask Liam.

“Of course she’s not Indie, she’s more New Wave,” he explains.

“What’s the difference?” I ask.

“New Wave came out of punk, and glam rock.  Indie is all about clean guitars and singers who sort of whine,”

I beam with pride.  It’s nice having such an informed son.

“Besides,” he continues, “She can’t be Indie because she’s French, and Indie bands are all from India.”

Did I mention he’s only eight? Keep reading →

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February 19, 2010

The Line Up…

56 days and counting…

Here’s what I know.  David Guetta is always enjoyable.  I run to him all the time.  Maybe I can run around the tent during his set.  Jay Z seems like he’s a nice husband, he doesn’t mind when Beyonce gets all that cellulite on her thighs during her vacation months.  Also, I always loved the idea of the Black Album — or was it the Grey Album (or was that DangerMouse) but I’ve never heard either, so I suppose both are on my list.  I wonder if they are the musical equivalent of the Whites and the Grays in architecture.

John Waters is odd, and even though I try to get his humor I don’t really.  It must be a Baltimore thing, although Barry Levinson is a Baltimore thing and I get him.

Mutemath is supposed to be really cool in an important kind of way —  at least my musician friend Jeff in NYC seems to think so and he’s always right about these types of things.

Corinne Bailey Rae’s husband died fairly recently, her album will probably be depressing.  Corinne at her happiest is still fairly depressing with that Billie Holiday rasp of hers.

Thom Yorke was the lead singer of Radiohead, or maybe he still is.  I don’t think I’ve ever listened to Radiohead but like most 40-something white people who want to appear cool, I pretend to listen to them.  But what’s with the question marks.  Does this mean he may not play?  Also, when I check out the Radiohead website I have the urge to start a hydroponic garden.

There’s a Vampire Weekend CD in the car but I’ve never listened to it.  Public Image Limited? Are they from the 80s – because for the most part I only listened to The Police in the 80s?  Still, I feel like I’m confusing them with another band.  Are they related to Spandaux Ballet? I don’t think I ever listened to them either. Who were the ones in that movie The Krays and what was with the toy alligators?  I always felt they signified something even though Tubbs says they don’t.

Spoon.  I love Spoon.  I used their songs for a few trailers I did for my first book.  They’re from Texas but they sound English. Sly Stone.  I love Sly Stone but have to wonder if the Family will be joining him.  For the record, Sly Stone was the second album I ever owned (the first being Best of Bee Gees pre that Saturday Night Fever crap).

Gary Numan – I only know his one song CARS and what’s not to love with that heavy synth hook.  I also love how Vince Noir on  The Mighty Boosh is always referencing him – and if you haven’t seen The Mighty Boosh rent it, it’s genius.  In one episode,  Gary Numan lent Vince his  jet so he could get to the North Pole.  Gary is cool like that.

Next up for Monday: I start listening to my mixes.  Plus some Oliver Sacks stuff on neurology and music, and a brief rundown regarding my 80’s Police obsession.

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February 18, 2010

Perfect Moments (of the Spalding Gray variety)

57 days and counting…

Okay, so my big goal with this whole Coachella Experience is to have some sort of Perfect Moment of the Spalding Gray variety.  Of course, I’m not greedy.  If it can’t be ‘perfect’ I’ll accept transformative.  At the very least, I’ll settle for a sign.  But this means I have some homework to do.

My boyfriend, Tubbs is making me a daily playlist on our Sonos system.  This way I can get to know all one hundred twenty bands on the lineup.  There are going to be five stages, with bands playing simultaneously all day.  From what I’ve read, the most you can check out is eight to ten full sets a day.  I’m going for the low-ball at eight, but I need to find the right eight bands.  The plan is to listen to everything and take notes, judging the music on three criteria:

Does it make my heart pound or cause me anxiety?  If it does, I scratch that band off my list.

Does it make me happy?  I’m talking about a general feeling of joy similar to what I experience when I look at polka dots or multi-color stripes (Crate and Barrel has a line of striped table linens that brings me serious joy).  If so I put it on the list for both of us to check out.

Is it sufficiently dreary?  Tubbs was the first to name my ‘dreary’ side.  This isn’t a depressive thing, rather it relates to my secret desire to be a character from a Wes Anderson movie and/or a long lost member of the Glass Family.

These bands also go on the list, but there is the possibility that I may attend solo, in the event that Tubbs wants to go hear one of the heart palpitation bands.

So, if I do my homework, and establish a basic frame of musical reference, I will be leaving the door open for musical transformation (you can’t have a moment, if you don’t know the songs). With any luck, after three days, I’ll get my perfect moment (of the Spalding Gray variety), where I commune with the godhead and my Coachella experience ends on a joyous note of hope.

Next Up: The lineup, and what it means to me.

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February 17, 2010

Will the Mermaids Sing to Me?

58 days and counting… (to Coachella)

From a cultural standpoint, getting drunk with a few thousand people in the name of music and booze is nothing new.  People have been engaging in these types of social rituals for tens of thousands of years.

In Ancient Sumer for e.g., music and inebriation were part and parcel of ritual worship.  Their big yearly festival included a public act of coitus between the King of Uruk and the High Priestess Ishtar.  While local musicians strummed diatonic scales on lyres, drunken revelers watched the literal reenactment of the mythical union that resulted in the birth of Ninkasi, the goddess of beer!  Over in Ancient Greece, the Oracle of Delphi and her flute wielding female minions spent their off months worshipping Dionysus.  In between all night JethroTull-like jam sessions, they’d drink themselves silly and have orgies with animal bones (aka ‘divine dildos’). Keep reading →

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February 16, 2010

Coachella

It’s a Sunday night.  A bunch of our friends are over, we’ve just finished dinner, and we’re about to play a game of Rummikub with my two kids, when my twenty-four-year old boyfriend turns to me and says, “I think we should go to Coachella.”

“I’m too old to go to Coachella!”  I laugh, mostly because I think he’s joking, but from the look on his face, he’s dead serious.  It’s one of those moments between us that I dread, mostly because it is a glaring reminder of our seventeen-year age difference.

I play it cool though, and ask everyone in attendance what they think.

“You can totally go to Coachella,” is the general response.

I nod my head and smile politely but the fact remains I am way too old to go to Coachella, especially with him!

My boyfriend is a soccer specific strength and conditioning specialist from England.  We met when he was working in the States for a brief stint and he ended up becoming a family friend.   After my divorce we stayed in touch exchanging emails on a pretty regular basis.  Our epistolary friendship was something stable in a world of post-divorce confusion, and we ended up becoming very close.  Eventually, we started dating.  It was long distance and sort of nerve-wracking mostly because no one took it seriously.  I was just a number to his friends.  He was just a fling to mine.  But after a year of that, he found work in the United States, and we moved in together. It took another year for our friends and family to get used to the idea of ‘us’ but they did.

We’ve lived together for the past two and a half years now.  He helps me raise my two kids, and together we’ve acquired two Saint Bernards and two cats.  Our life is very normal.  There are regular Sunday dinners for friends and family (he cooks).  On Fridays we have date nights, either alone or with other couples.  In between there’s work, homework, laundry, dishes, school lunches and lots of driving of children to various practices.

Since I look younger (or so I am told), and he looks older the age thing doesn’t really come up all that often when we are with people.  In fact, people will make fun of the Dec./May thing without realizing that we are in fact one of those couples.  When they learn of our age difference they’ll usually backpedal, they’ll say things like ‘It’s different with you guys’,  ‘You look so young’ or ‘He’s an old soul’.  I always imagine they are really thinking, “Jesus, she’s so old!”  or worse, “Who knew Kristen was a cougar?” Keep reading →

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October 6, 2009

Water Towers

CRI_74167

 

One of my favorite figures from fiction is Klara Sax, and I often think about her in the desert painting her airplanes… I’d love to do something similar only my thing would be to paint all the water towers in Manhattan… Imagine how lovely that would look…

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September 25, 2009

Sleepwalkers

city

 

When I was a teenager I used to drive into Manhattan by myself and walk around at night.  My mother once told me this was known as a ‘cheap date’…   Once the city emptied out, another city would emerge and I’d spend hours walking while the tired buildings watched over me…  I’m still hard pressed to think of a better way to spend an evening.

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September 23, 2009

And We Wonder…

Fast Food Nation

…why we are a nation of blimps.

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September 19, 2009

A Day in the Life (September 19, 2009)

 I’ve decided to start keeping more lists of things that I’ve done because I find that I spend a lot of time telling myself that I’ve managed to really do nothing…  I’d like to eventually figure out how to turn this into some sort of cool graph but until then a simple list will have to suffice.

Georgia O'Keeffe

Georgia O'Keeffe

 

1. Got up 

2. Got my period

3. Made coffee

4. Spilled coffee

5.  Made more coffee

6. Got dressed, put on makeup

7. Picked up my son Liam from his dad’s house.

8. Dropped off Liam at school

9. Returned  home.  Spoke to head of club soccer team about a few things (just took over team manager job)

10. Sent out a few emails for club soccer

11. Turned phone off

12. Worked on re-write for Chapter 16 of new book

13. Wondered if it was any good

14. Picked up dogs from groomer.  Lily had horrible heat rash.

15. Made appointment with the vet

16. Continued to work on Chapter 16

17. Took phone call from my daughter’s soccer coach

18. Had lunch.  PB&J on crackers.

19. Vacuumed

20. Did dishes

21. Did 2 loads of laundry washer/dryer

22. Moved my daughter Peyton to an earlier art class (phone call) 

23. Got fingerprinted so I could be Team Manager for Peyton’s soccer team.

24. Picked up dog food (PetCo)

25. Picked up goal keeper gloves for Peyton’s team (Big 5)

26. Drove to Peyton’s school.  Called my mom from parking lot before bell rang.

27. Chatted with mom

28. Took Peyton to art class

29.  Ran and got her bagel and water.  Split bagel with her

30. Drove home.  Got Lily (sick dog)

30a.  Phoned Agent Huddle about Paramount job while in car

31.  Went to Vet

32. Held down Lily while they gave her shot.  Got slammed in face when she jumped back.

33. Back home.  Fed dogs gave meds to Lily.

34. Emailed Peyton’s soccer team.  Emailed producer on potential job at Fox to set up meeting with Director.

35. Did more laundry.

36. Brief rest (passed out) on Pilates reformer in garage while laundry tumbled (surprisingly comfortable)

37.  Ordered Chinese

38. Picked up Chinese

38a. Ate Chinese

39. Got last minute emails from team regarding player who would be late to game.  Flurry of emails and texts followed

40. Began to question ultimate meaning of life.

41. Read about Georgia O’Keeffe and was disappointed to learn she was something of an opportunist, or at least more calculating about her work than I would have liked to believe.

42. Fretted about writing and life. 

43. Considered checking out the Georgia O’Keeffe online exhibit at the Whitney but decided not to.

44. Went to bed.  Tried not to think.  Hoped it was all just hormonal.

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