nonstarters

Once upon a time there was a boy and a girl. They knew each other for a very long time, because when they were seven, the girl splashed him during a game of Marco Polo at a pool party and he dunked her most unchivalrously, which made her cry. But she kind of deserved it. He doesn't remember this at all.

Ten years later they meet again, part of a group of pretty good kids who did pretty good kid stuff like parent induced social activities for their betterment as good Christian kids although the girl smuggled in a tube of hair mascara and Alice in Chains cassettes and dyed everyone's hair green, and his best friend had a stash of Slayer CDs in his closet, despite his parents views on Lavey affiliated hard rockers the Eagles. Later their group of friends would do good kid things like laser tagging or ice cream at Friendly's and getting kicked out of the Southland strip mall by security for drinking half gallons of ghetto tea in the Giant Eagle parking lot or hang out in someone's basement or bedroom drinking pop and complaining about their parents.

They liked some of the same bands and didn't like some of the same bands and he was partially responsible for her transition from fledgling metalhead to the punkier side of things by loaning her lots of CDs. He also dated her best friend, broke up with her, and they lost touch.

Five years later, they meet once more, and find out they have a lot in common, and like to do similar things, but don't have anyone else to do them with. So they start hanging out, because he has a car and she doesn't, and they go see shows together on an almost weekly basis. His dad thinks they're dating, but they're not, because besides liking most of the same bands, they really have nothing else to talk about and he likes girls who are more girly. She's cynical but he's even moreso, neither for reasons that are terribly concrete besides being mad at "The System" and when not working he maintains a constant state of entertainment immersion that kind of freaks her out because while she finds Mystery Science Theater funny too, she doesn't want to watch it all the time and needs some time to be quiet and existential.

He moves away to another state, and she realizes she doesn't miss him all that much. There was nothing besides a love of good music, which only goes so far, despite what any hipster love song about mixtapes would say. She can talk about bands and guitars as good as any record store clerk, but finds herself less and less motivated to as she has less to prove. She gets a slot on college radio, still goes and sees her favorite bands and sings along to all the songs she knows, but it doesn't mean as much as it once did.

She doesn't want a compadre for the mosh pit anymore, because she's too old to mosh. She doesn't want someone who likes some obscure scene in some random town, she wants to talk about God and books and history without always coming up with concrete answers. The love of tuneage becomes a springboard to other things deeper rather than the end of the pool that seems deep compared to the baby pool, but is only maybe three feet or so.



And she still doesn't know what this all means.

eclecticism and elitism

So at the guitar shop this weekend, I went to buy a cord for my amplifier so I can play at home again, and fell in love with a cheap mandolin but didn't have cash on me to take it home. I still want an upright bass, but due to cost and transport it's not feasible at this point in life.

Being as I look slightly more normal than I once did, and was interested in acoustic instruments (as the vintage Fenders and Gibsons on the wall are pricy and I've already got a serviceable electric guitar), it was assumed by the other people in the store that I'm into bluegrass, a genre I like to some extent (though the vocals get to be a bit much), but is only a facet of what I like. I didn't bother trying to explain to these total face-value judging strangers the extent of taste, especially when one of them started talking about the Beatles being the greatest of all time and how all punk bands were not as good as them. Whatever.

I've ended up at countless shows where I've seen someone I know and they say "oh, I didn't know you were into this kind of thing," because I didn't dress to fit the scene, maybe, my hair was the wrong length or I didn't wear enough makeup, or it was just assumed that if I was into Band A, I probably wouldn't be into Band B when I didn't know or care that such binaries existed. Given that subculture is inherently tribal, these kinds of things matter to some people, and maybe it once mattered to me more than it should have, but I'm to the point where I don't care as much, but I don't like having my enjoyment of something questioned just because I don't fit within its attendant paradigm.

I do a freeform show because I can't mentally limit myself to one strain of sound, though most things seem to be guitar-driven in one way or another, and sometimes it works to segue from one thing to another. I know I missed out on a lot of great sounds or other things because they didn't fit a preconceived idea of what was good or bad. I play a lot of stuff in languages that aren't English simply because I know they're not being played in other places, but I like to mix other things in too. Some seem to have a problem with that, but the people who call in or tell me they tuned in after the fact don't seem to mind, though others seem disoriented by my tendency to cherrypick.

But I've always liked what I've liked, for whatever reason. It has to move me somehow, make me hit repeat, evoke some kind of feeling or catharsis. Where that comes from I can't say, and I've learned it's better not to try.



I've said it before, but if this doesn't define what I do, nothing else does...

Ragga, Bhangra, two-step Tanga
Mini-cab radio, music on the go
Um, surfbeat, backbeat, frontbeat, backseat
There's a bunch of players and they're really letting go
We got, Brit pop, hip hop, rockabilly, Lindy hop
Gaelic heavy metal fans fighting in the road
Ah, Sunday boozers for chewing gum users
They got a crazy D.J. and she's really letting go

four strings

As a perpetual wallflower and shy person, it felt good on Sunday morning to not be in front of a microphone thrashing away with an electric guitar like Billy Bragg's born again niece, but to hang out in the back with a very gifted drummer with a love of similar tunes and with the mingling of good voices harmonizing together, I could hold down the low end, letting the calluses harden again on my right hand as my left worked its way up and down the fretboard. I could sing and not be heard

I once resented being relegated to "chick bass player" status playing in terrible teenage bands, but now that I'm not there anymore, it feels good to be there, because I love working root notes into runs, providing something between rhythm and melody. By the end of the second set of songs, his drumsticks were disintegrating, I had to transpose for an unexpected capo, but we finished sweaty and euphoric, because the sensual and the spiritual aren't always so far removed from each other, and there is an incredible feeling when instruments and voice come together in ways that are hard to understand.

To begin the day with that, and driving through the beautiful grey to feast with the Ethiopians resplendent in embroidered white, to hang out with the family before heading back through empty streets to the almost-hood, wondering what kind of drama went down a couple blocks south with all the cop cars, wondering when the seeds I planted will start to come up and what else I have room for, especially if the new tenant downstairs is the lady with three dogs that looked at the place this weekend...

Meanwhile, in more pointlessness, the Rock Hall is doing some lame exhibit highlighting the tired trope of "women in rock" which will naturally feature Lilith Fair acoustic chicks, and boomer approved canonites, and Rolling Stone cover girls.

As a musician with ovaries who digs power chords and loudness, I have to remember that this is the Rock Hall and therefore nothing better is to be expected, but damn I'm sick of hearing about Carole King and Yoko Ono and Kathleen Hanna and pop stars known more for their trainwreck lives, cover girl looks, and wacky outfits (Hello Britney, Gaga) than for producing quality music.

None of this was inspiring to me when I started playing music, as I was neither a burgeoning lesbian or much to look at and until I delved into the underground, my role models were all dudes because I liked their songs better because it wasn't until later that I found out that there were talented females who got by on talent rather than image, that there were even chick bassists that were an integral part of the sound rather than just eye candy. Kim Coletta, four string fiend and fellow worker in the field of knowledge, you rock my world.

playlist 2/22/11

cinematic orchestra - lilac wine
Corin Tucker - handed love
Djeli Moussa - almany
Bassekou Kouyate - turin turin
(Ethiopiques vol 10) - teredtchewalehu
ahmad adaweay - el sah el sah emtou
keur moussa - nicono creed
dwelling - fujo de mi
pharaoh's daughter - by way of haran
niyaz - hejran
matelo ferret - pouro Rom
rokia traore - souba
BLK JKS - lakeside
Cafe Tacuba - Encantamiento Inutil
Jeff Buckley - mojo pin
petch phin tong - soul lam phearn
dead meadow - at her open door
the black angels - black grease
coloracao desbotada - extenso ambiente
firefriend - free form future
the soft boys - I wanna destroy you
the Dirtbombs - Ode to a Black Man (request)
Tinariwen - ere tasfa adounia
the strangers - onye ije
apastar - gilgamis
adja pelkan - kaderimin ouyan
nahid akhtar - dil dil dil sambhala
dengue fever - 1000 tears of a tarantula

playlist 2/15/11 planet rock edition

Mulatu Astatke - shagu (Ethiopia)
Lee Scratch Perry - the zeal of the lord (Jamaica)
Chaweewan Dumnern - sab lam plearn (Thailand)
Alemayehu Eshete - timarkyakesh (Ethiopia)
Nahid Akhtar- aesi chalo na (Pakistan)
Pan Ron - I love mean girl (Cambodia)
Selda - ince ince bir kar yagar (Turkey)
the Fore Thoughts - sharbaz qalander (Pakistan)
Artur Nunes - zinha (Angola)
Gilberto Gil - (can't remember) (Brazil)
Umm Kolthoum - qal el ya hulif (Egypt)
Rasha - leali (Sudan)
Rachid Taha - Qalantiqa (Algeria/France)
Bharat Kherk - Calcutta Calcutta (India)
Jarabe de Menta - con el sol en el bosillo (Argentina)
Banda de los Hijos - dejala corre (Colombia)
Rodrigo y Gabriela - Ixtapa (Mexico)
Amadou & Mariam - lailalallah (Mali)
Rikki Ilionga - musamuseka (Zambia)
Anansa Professionals - enwan (Nigeria)
Bellemou & Banfissa - lah lah ya shaibi (Algeria)
Ray C - nimezama kwa mapenzi (Tanzania)
Hayvanlar Alemi - hayalauca kulubu (Turkey)
Los Destellos - Para Elisa (Peru)
Kouroush - Hajme kali (Iran)
Los Abandoned - conquistarte bien (Chile/US)
Femi Kuti - Truth don't die (Nigeria)

third world lovers

Considering that I live in a town far removed from cosmopolitan taste, where 1970's rock and last year's Top 40 still rule the airwaves, my tastes are similarly outdated. The sounds I always come back to are what I heard as a kid, what I loved in my teens, when I first started playing guitar and realized there was this whole undiscovered world of music.

If the New York Times is to be believed, the hipsters have discovered Africa and while said hipsters tend to get a little pretentious about archaic musical forms, I'm honestly glad to see recognition of the amazing sounds coming out of other parts of the world.

The "world music" tag usually denotes some kind of Western sonic colonization and general cheesiness, usually with lots of synthesizers and terrible production, or something that inevitably involves Peter Gabriel or some other western dude who goes over and "discovers" some crazy new sound that inevitably gets overproduced and unbearable. The only world-ish stuff I could really get into was Dead Can Dance because it sounded ancient most of the time rather than something out of "The Lion King."

There's a part of me that's jealous of said boomer crackers because I'd love to be running around the desert with a tape recorder hanging out with electric guitar-wielding griots and Tuareg freedom fighters or going to the Festival in the Desert. This will probably never happen as I'm poor and vulnerable as a single white female.

Instead, I've spent a good deal of time downtown at Cleveland Public Library delving into their insanely huge international music section out of curiosity and playing this stuff at 5am on Tuesday mornings to those who may or may not be listening.

I'm glad that there's labels out there reissuing some amazing stuff from the 60's and 70's and also the more current musicians out there who will never get serious airtime over here because most lyrics aren't sung in English.

When I moved home from Kent, I was deeply depressed and feeling like my life was over (no friends, no car, dead end job, etc) and I listened to Amadou & Mariam's "Dimanche en Bamako" and painted nightly in the basement, seeking solace in the intricate guitars and mingling voices of a blind couple from Mali old enough to be my parents . I still play them almost every week on my show because it always does it for me and I hope it does it for other people too.



One of my college roommates was big into this stuff, and put this trip-hop remix of an Oumou Sangare track on a mix CD for me.



Rokia Traore has an incredible voice and shares a love for Gretsch electric guitars.


I'm still kicking myself for not seeing Tinariwen in Columbus last year. Most of these groups don't tour much, and if they do, they play festivals I'd never go to and major cities that aren't Cleveland.



This older stuff reminds me of my dad's garage rock 45's in all their fuzzed-out guitar-driven glory.



This one reminds of Cream.


Mulatu Astatke gets a lot of love for good reason. In all honesty, I don't know much about jazz, but I know I like trippy guitars, vibraphones, and things that sound like this.



Not to mention the sounds that came out of places we only know here in the western world as places where there's civil war and general craziness.



And I still really want a kora. These sound so beautiful, and I know it'd be hard to find one in these parts.

songs for cold weather

I keep hearing about these epic snow storms but haven't seen much. Supposedly the big one is coming in tonight, and while I drove down due to being at the station, I'll probably be taking public transit and/or walking home.

We peons always seem to make it in, while the Powers That Be claim they can't get out of their driveways and it's just too much! to get downtown.

Despite the lack of playlist posting, I am still on the air, but decided this morning to theme it with sundry wintry songs. The sweet sounds of Africa/Thailand/the Middle East/Latin America just wouldn't cut it on a morning where my car is rolling over piles of snow and I'm crawling through the dark downtown streets.

I left my playlist in the car, but here's what can be recalled....

Mogwai - 2 rights make 1 wrong
Agalloch - the Hawthorne Passage: Song for a Gray City
Siouxsie & the Banshees - the Sweetest Chill
The Clash - London Calling
John Frusciante - This Cold
Curve - Frozen
My Bloody Valentine - Soft as Snow
Radiohead - Morning Bell
Gil Scott-Heron - Winter In America
Morphine - Let's Take a Trip Together
The Chills - Pink Frost
The Pixies - Winterlong
The Cure - Winter
The White Stripes - In the Cold Cold Night
Cave In - Seafrost
Massive Attack - Weather Storm
Team Sleep - Ever Since WWI
Kristin Hersh - Winter
Dead Can Dance - American Dreams
Husker Du - Back From Somewhere / Ice Cold Ice
the XX - Crystalised
Mazzy Star - Still Cold
Queens of the Stone Age - Long Slow Goodbye

Next time, there will be more planning...

he's like a detuned radio...

In half an hour, I'll be running across the parking deck down the stairs to catch the bus to the train to the car to make art and commiserate with good friends over an as-yet-undecided dinner, pondering and doubtless pots of tea and perhaps a bottle of wine or ludicrously fruity beer.

I caught the earlier Rapid today, which had no teens on it, and mostly people older than me including a guy and a lady who were talking about having an affair with each other and he thought he was way deep for saying that he bases his entire life philosophy off of Led Zeppelin's "Good Times Bad Times" but I don't know how that works, though in all honesty I was listening to Jimmy Page's guitar and that amazing John Bonham drum sound than the lyrical content so maybe I'm missing some kind of esoteric deeper truth other than not caring about what the neighbors say and the rhyming of "heart" and "part."

RTA seems to be experimenting with their background noise... it was straight up Smooth Jazz for awhile which is supposed to make the masses soothed and complacent but reminds me of working in Retail Hell, and then it was some kind of lame talk radio, and then it's something like one of those 80's, 90's and Today stations, but with really terrible smooth jazz covers of "With or Without You" and "Have You Ever Seen the Rain?" U2 & CCR are just fine, you know.

So now I'm waiting for the Rapid to come and it's Neil Young's "Southern Man" and "Time of the Season" which is probably one of my favorite songs of all time just because of that awesome keyboard solo in the middle and the general pop spookiness. But it leaves me a bit confused at the same time because I just don't know what's going on and wish they could save money by not having any music and at least keep the fares where they're at instead of raising them all the time.

Meanwhile, the BBC is entering austerity mode and cutting most of its World Service broadcasting, and while I don't listen to it much, not having an Internet connection at home, it makes me sad, especially being at a radio station where there is an incredible diversity of music and culture and my life has been so enriched by hearing current events from other perspectives, and music from all over the world.

Since the American populace is often too busy getting worked up about culture wars and such, we really don't have any clue what's going on in the rest of the world half the time, and especially now there's a whole lot going on, in Israel/Palestine, Yemen, Albania, Tunisia, Lebanon, Egypt and such. While I like to giggle about bunga bunga and chicks with guns and Pooty-Poot, this stuff really is important...

music, soul, emotion

Tuesdays are long days, getting up at 4-ish to get down to the station, working, and then usually coming home to crash early, but I'd heard from a reliable source about some good medieval-ish music on Case's campus last night, and drove out that way to pick up some printing ink and crazy expensive yet beautifully luminous paint at the art supply store, met up with a friend for dinner at the usual place, and walked over to the beautiful chapel over there to sit in the darkness and listen to 12th century French choral music.

I almost fell asleep at certain points because soothing voices in a dark church are good for that kind of thing, but it was beautiful and interesting and it's intriguing to realize that our ancestors 800 years ago were just as snarky as we are and that political and clerical corruption are nothing new and that satirizing religious culture is probably almost as old as religion itself.

While I play several instruments a little better than decently, I'm still no good at attempting to write songs, and admire those who can put something together that's amazing.

I'm on a rotation of people who are in charge of doing music at church, and in all honesty I don't listen to much in the way of modern Christian music. I honestly just don't have the patience for it, as either the style is so strictly codified in its own way or it's trying to hard to sound like one of its usually superior secular counterparts. And half the time, it's just too damn perky and I'm not really a perky music person. I always assume there's some kind of dark secret hiding underneath that perfect smile.

When I read the translations of the writings of Hildegard of Bingen, when I listen to Bach or Arvo Part, there's a reverence, depth and a beauty there both lyrically and musically, with such detail paid to the composition of both, that is so far removed from that of my culture, where being happy and positive is often more important than dealing with real love and truth lived out.



When I listen to old gospel recordings by Blind Willie Johnson, or read the words of old spirituals in a hymnal one of my friends picked up for me at a place in East Cleveland that sells both gospel music and insecticide, there's a realism that says not everything in life is easy and fun but God is good and there's something more than what we see in front of us.



In Pakistan, believers have taken the entire book of Psalms (which is gorgeous writing in its own right) and sing them in traditional forms like qawwali, a style with Sufi roots made famous here in the west by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan.



Having been a lifelong literature geek, I love words that are strung together beautifully, and I can't bring myself to sing things that don't mean much or are repeated mindlessly. I know not everyone can write like Julian of Norwich, T.S. Eliot, or Gerard Manley Hopkins or necessarily have the skills to compose something amazing. I know I can't like I'd like to. Having played music in one form or another for about half my life, I love the way it moves me, but I also know that it's manipulative.

While I never liked mumbling through the songs at Mass when I was still Catholic, I was just as squeamish in more charismatic congregations that some of my friends went to where the same song would go on for fifteen minutes and I'd look up and people would be passed out on the floor or just kind of dancing around and would start praying for me because obviously I wasn't letting the Holy Spirit move me like I should.

I try to take the whole loving God with one's heart, soul, mind, and strength, and when I feel like it's suggested that I check my mind in at the door and just let the emotion carry me along, I don't see where that's a good place to be, because how truthful are emotions half the time? Just because I feel something, doesn't always mean it's the truth.

artistry and amateurism

The seasonal depression came hard the last few days, dealing with possible dreams deferred, allays by some wonderful nights with good people involving dinner, absurdist Scrabble, tea and terrible kung-fu movies. Come Sunday night, I was over most of my existential angst, buzzed on caffeine, cooking curry, mixing paints and doodling with Prismacolor pencils (not a product placement so much as they're the best colored pencils ever made), while listening to the beautifully cathartic sounds of Seattle.





My somewhat-in-laws gave me a room divider screen that belonged to their youngest and therefore has lots of indie-kid collaging and her friends' autographs all over it. It's got some generic floral design on the glass part that I'm attempting to rework into something more art nouveau than 80's suburbia, though painting on glass presents its own challenges.



Despite my own modernistic tendencies, I love intricate pattern, organic and geometric forms, inventive typography and things that are both beautiful, functional, and have some meaning to them... Islamic calligraphy and architecture, illuminated manuscripts, African fabric patterns, art nouveau ornamentation, Eastern Orthodox iconography, Byzantine motifs, Tibetan cave paintings, graffiti on the Red Line, old churches, rusty bridges, handpainted signage, Indian miniatures and textiles, Japanese woodcuts, Durer's engravings.

Parents, this is what happens when you take your girls to art museums instead of Radio Disney concerts at a young age, read them Tolkien instead of Twilight, and drive through the hood instead of taking the freeway, and find your rusty eggplant-colored station wagon stalling out every time Led Zeppelin comes on the radio as you cross the Lorain-Carnegie Bridge. Be forewarned. This might also render them undateable as well, since shopping for new Prismacolor pencils and liquid acrylic paints will become infinitely more exciting than new clothes and makeup.

The combination of depressingly beautiful music and art supplies has served me well through good times and bad, and in a way it's probably good I don't have roommates anymore, so I don't have to worry about them being bothered by prints drying on the dining room table, the smell of spraypaint, or their boyfriends and parents being weirded out by the "artsy" roomie with the red-paint-stained hands and strange music who never seems to have anything else to do on Saturday night besides scrawl on giant pieces of paper and listen to Soundgarden.



People I used to know would have parties where they'd drink wine and paint or do crafty things in groups, but I've always worked best alone on late weekend nights, where there's large unpunctuated blocks of time and solitude, an ample supply of Cafe Caribe espresso, and a stack of CDs. It's not so much for ambition as much as personal enjoyment.

Living in an economically depressed and depopulated city with the legacy of robber barons has been its own strange blessing, because the cost of living is low, the art museum is free, and culture of all kinds easy to come by.

de-jaded.

Since I only have internet access due to housesitting, I'm glad I at least have the presence of mind as I age to not post late-night ramblings that are akin to the mis-sent and misspelled drunk text messages I sometimes get at 2am with Cincinnati and Detroit area codes alluding to some kind of drama or other.

Despite my antisocialness this weekend, it looks like there's some interesting things ahead in 2011. I don't even think I'll describe because being a cynical one, I think it's best to keep my expectations low, but some things that are happening may end up leaving me pleasantly surprised.

being in and around...

It took the city extra time to wake up this morning. I drove down east 93rd and then through Shaker this morning and the sun was out but the world was still asleep and those who were awake were frantic in less economically depressed environs. I loved the way the November sun looks, the shadows, the signs of corner stores and storefront churches. I had my camera but I was alone in strange parts and there were enough stragglers that I didn't want to explain anything.

I took the sick kitty to the vet and it's been a long time since I've sat in an animal hospital waiting room. I wished I could take photos of the people and the pets without being creepy because it was just the best people-watching ever.

it really does seem to be true that the pet's looks reflect those of the owners... the crazy couple with the giant St Bernards on huge chains, yuppies with obscure purebreds, the hardcore punk looking guy across from me with the bulldog, high maintenance women with terriers, and elderly cat ladies with elderly cats. It was loud in there with the barking and meowing and I couldn't read the book I brought and don't know how the guy across from me was getting through "Pedagogy of the Oppressed" with all this noise.

I never go shopping on Black Friday but me & a friend of mine ended up at Pat Catan's in search of art supplies and I ended up getting some absurd and random Christmas gifts for my cousins, things that made us giggle like roaring dinosaur keychains, multicolored disco ball ornaments, and a giant inflatable Shamu. We drank coffee at Gypsy and pondered all the ideas and changes that have hit both me and her this year and then I met up with my sister, her mother-in-law and husband for dinner at a pub in Rocky River that was jammed with people who looked like they went to high school together.

They treated me for my birthday and we finished up at Half Price Books amused by puzzles with unicorns on them and I ended up scoring big in the dollar section of the CDs, came home with Astrud Gilberto, Quicksand's "Manic Compression," and Godspeed You! Black Emperor's "F#A#infinity" which is the perfect soundtrack for dark cold nights like these. The Youtube comments are ridiculous but I guess I have a thing sometimes for apocalyptic Canadian anarchists playing epic chamber rock, though seeing them live way back when was emotionally overwhelming to the point that I was dazed and thankful that my friend was able to drive me home.



I've been in a place where there's so much going on inside, it's really hard to explain, and that's when the music fills the gaps.

thursday night fill-in playlist

Most of this would have been a mixtape I would have made you my third year of college, but it works darn good on a Thursday night. It's weird being in the studio and being awake and actually getting phone calls, mostly from people ten years older than me who haven't heard Jawbox since back in the day who wonder if I'll be a regular fixture and if I'll play "Jesus is Way Cool." I like this time slot even though I'm wedged in between two metal shows and while it's not Air Supply, it's not nearly as heavy either.

sonic youth - dirty boots
jawbox - breathe
sleater-kinney - all hands on the bad one
fugazi - do you like me
throwing muses - pandora's box
swervedriver - a change is gonna come
mission of burma - trem two
the buzzcocks - harmony in my head
high back chairs - afterlife
REM - crush with eyeliner
love - 7 and 7 is
X - poor girl
the clash - city of the dead
elastica - in the city
the pixies - mr grieves
jesus and mary chain - far gone and out
blur - there's no other way
echo and the bunnymen - crocodiles
ride - drive blind
love battery - foot
the cure - cut
jane's addiction - summertime rolls
pavement - cream of gold
autolux - here comes everybody
the dirtbombs - brand new game
afghan whigs - cito soleil
morphine - buena
soul coughing - is chicago
queens of the stone age - white wedding
the verve - life's an ocean

girls go to mars

I went up to church early for music practice and played the drums for awhile. I got a very basic crash course from a friend of mine awhile back about the whole snare and hi-hat bit so I just tried playing around with beats and time signatures and the sheer pleasure of hitting something and hearing something good come out of it.

I started my journey of musicianship with piano lessons as a kid, had an unsuccessful couple years of flute because my mom thought I might make friends in marching band, and started playing guitar at 14 because I was bored and a boy I liked played guitar, and picked up my uncle's bass when I was 16 to play in bands that thankfully never left the living room or basement.

And now, the drums. Now that I've learned to keep time, and actually have a kit (that I wish I played more but that's another story), I'm starting to learn the rudiments of keeping a rhythm, of being consistent and not showing off too much. The djembe's been a good start for that too, but someday, I hope to play as slick as this.

playlist 9/21/10

trying to get back into posting playlists

cut chemist - the garden

bonobo - kong

radiohead - 15 step

twilight singers - twilight

thievery corporation - la femme parallel

diplo - summer's gonna hurt you

shlomo and the vocal orchestra - teardrop

novalima - zamba lanco

bad brains - leaving babylon

tenor saw - ring the alarm

the charmels - as long as I've got you

stan getz and luiz bonfa - insensatez

blind boys of alabama - way down in the hole

the bellrays- have a little faith

erykah badu - bag lady

mos def - umi says

afghan whigs - lost in the supermarket / stand by me/ train in vain

stiffed - hold tight

soul coughing - lazybones

linton kwesi johnson - black petty booshwah enforcer (request)

althea & donna - no more fighting

dennis brown - man next door

parliament - goose that laid the golden egg

devo - gut feeling

the dirtbombs - trainwreck

playlist 5/18/10

autolux - capital kind of strain
morphine - let's take a trip together
mulatu astatke - munaye
madlib - slim's return
the roots - upper egypt
portishead - it could be sweet
coldcut - man in a garage
soul coughing - true dreams of wichita
lamb - gold
joy jones - nomad
savath & savalas - ultimo tren
janelle monae - 57821
erykah badu - love
novalima - yo voy
sidestepper - que sera
manu chao - primavera/me gustas tu
razia - babonao
angelique kidjo - zelie
toots and the maytals - pressure drop
galactic & irma thomas - heart of steel
kings go forth - paradise lost
don isaac ezekiel - the lord's prayer
tinariwen - tamatant tillay
samba toure - foda diakaina
ramata diakite - nana

when i get older, i will be stronger...

Thankful that tax time comes only once a year because it's no fun and I still don't know who actually contributes money along with what you already owe to entities like "The Political Party Fund." As if they're not already getting enough from us as it is.

The last few months have been ones of struggle, but thankfully I was able to get out and have a really good time last night. I had a free ticket for a show last night at the House of Blues and almost considered not going because I've just been kind of stressed out and wanting small gatherings rather than large crowds, but I was so glad I went.

Loved John Forte's low-key set that reminded me of his affiliates the Fugees, realized I've heard a lot about Wale but not much of his own material, which I also enjoyed, and then K'naan, who I was really looking forward to seeing. He had a full band with him and like the Roots, it felt more like a rock show than I was expecting initially, especially hearing his live record.

They didn't play some of my favorites but his band was tight and he was fantastic. One of the girls we were with wanted to get his autograph and we waited with her and hung out with his band, who were mostly from Columbus and just good people to hang with.



It's a little weird to watch a crowd of suburban white kids (everyone else cleared out after Wale) making out during and singing along to songs about hardship in Mogadishu but hey, if the kids seeing him open up for Jason Mraz gets him a bigger fanbase, more power to him.

I'm glad my companion for shows like these appreciates the music but doesn't do all the crowd participation stuff and we can just be chill. And I'm functioning on maybe 8 hours of sleep for the past two days, but there's something that's been restored in a way that I can't totally explain.

playlist 3/16/10

red hot chili peppers - c'mon girl
ben harper - whipping boy
jimi hendrix - love or confusion / may this be love / I don't live today
amadou & mariam - coulibaly
bassekou kouyate - bassekou
tinariwen - tamatant
suprema kosa - suprema kosa
blind boys of alabama - you & your folks / 23rd psalm
the noisettes - never forget you
the police - bring on the night
sublime - work that we do
christy azuma - din ya sugri
sebulon gunachib - uri piri
samba toure - yawoye
mulatu astatke - green africa
rokia traore - kanan neni
manu chao - desaparecido
mariam makeba - pole mze
k'naan - fire in freetown / in the beginning
fela kuti - shakara (request)

playlist 3/10/10

radiohead - i might be wrong
dj shadow - midnight in a perfect world
twilight singers - twilight
beck - hot wax
otis redding - ole man trouble
tinariwen - tamatant tillay
super eagles - love's a real thing (world psych classics vol. 3)
dengue fever - seeing hands / uku (live)
mahmoud ahmed - ene mela mela
death cab for cutie - movie script ending (request)
daby balde - kaye waxma
angelique kidjo - aruana
rjd2 - smoke and mirrors
neneh cherry - woman
the plastic wave - lost waves (iran)
gorillaz - rhinestones / plastic beach (w/ paul simonon & mick jones)
janelle monae - cold war
rjd2 - silver fox
badawi - suspicions
massive attack - girl I love you
nneka - walking
amadou & mariam - politic amagni / africa
k'naan - fatima
electra - israelites (desmond dekker cover)

west to east and east to west.

Took some vacation time today. Me and roommate had grand road trip plans for Columbus or Kent and ended up exploring more of our city with much success, making the jump from the old familiar parts of Parma to the heart of the east side.

We stopped at Timeless Guitars and while I'd still love an upright bass, I played a beautiful vintage short-scale bass with great sound and style that would make more sense right now and she found some banjos down in the basement that she liked. Hung out in Parma for a little bit to visit my sister and get some groceries and then drove out to Euclid to pick up free moving boxes we saw on Craigslist.

By this time we were hungry and craving something spicy so we called Muk to see where he likes getting Jamaican so he sent us to DK & A down on 120th & St Clair. It's easy to miss but the food is amazing and there's a lot of it. And despite the catcalls from the passing drivers, I'd go back there again if I'm out that way. The spices were comforting and made me think of warmer sunny days.

We met up with him at the food co-op parking lot and ate curry chicken and drank fruity organic stuff in the car as the windows fogged up, and then went out to some party in Mayfield. While I'm so intimidated by groups of new people, I ended up having a nice time and I'm thankful that the frustrations of past experiences don't always need to repeat in the present.

And even though it's started snowing, we're back home and it's warm.