I Was Tamed By Rock & Roll

I had this therapist once, who used to talk to me about things that were grounding. That was back when I was just starting to admit that I was kind of pissed off, simmering, beneath it all. She had a list of things, I imagine things like, say, jogging, maybe? Or, well... I don't know, actually. The only one I remember for sure is singing. That was the one that stuck with me.

I'm a lot more used to myself now. If I love you, you can still get me pissed off, but I don't simmer as much. I still get keyed up though, overwhelmed at times, and that can turn into something like simmering. Writing weeks are always one of those times. Too much good stuff, ironically. Hours and hours of talk, about things I care about in the most essential way. Lots of satisfying hard work, reading, commenting on manuscripts. This ranch is where I get the best food I get all year, it's the place I look forward to taking photos, and seeing some of my favorite people, and where I get to see the dogs I know best in the world, with their beautiful, haunting wolfhound howls. Even so, after four intense days, I get a little crabby. I had to admit that tonight, and I was sorry about it, but it's really better to get it right out there and deal with it.

Music is like cross-training for writers, is how I like to think about it, sometimes. Especially the way Jeff Tweedy does it. I think about something different every time I listen to him, every time I watch Sunken Treasure, or see Wilco in concert. Sometimes it's about how a concert can be like church, or how church should be, the way he talks about it in Sunken Treasure, the whole communal thing. Sometimes I think about the lyrics, about connection, talking to each other, things we mean to say, all that. Tonight, though, when we put Sunken Treasure on and sat around in Pam's living room, after the last workshop of the day, before our one day off (before the peach pie), when Jeff Tweedy starting singing the title song, I was thinking about singing.

Just singing. The grounding kind of singing. Singing that is breath leaving your body, your throat resonant with sound, your chest filled with it, your ears - all of you, really.

I didn't sing along with the movie. Pam turned it up loud and something about the way Jeff Tweedy's voice held those notes so imperfectly meant that I didn't have to. He was singing for me. It was more satisfying to sit there, do nothing, let myself be filled up with the sound in that other way. But it was so good it felt like that grounding kind of singing, like therapy, and I stopped simmering and was ready for some pie and more of what we came here for.

Something You Didn't Mean To Wear As a Shirt

It was altogether too hot in there. It was too crowded to make it back to where the water was, so the water jugs didn't help us play it cool. And last night, the bands were too good for it, every single one. It was really too hot to wear two flannels on stage, so the musicians could not possibly play it cool. And the beards didn't play it cool, and the ponytails may have kept a little heat off our necks, but they still swayed and felt happy and showed off our exuberance and therefore could not be said to play it cool. The new merch included the golden Zooch, so the merchandise didn't either, and the film crew never even seemed tempted to. It was their night off, after all.

The tallboys in their Tractor 15-year anniversary koozies did not play it cool for long. The dj told us about getting married on that very stage and the photographers smiled behind their cameras, and when the bands came on, they nodded their heads behind those cameras too. The guitars never play it cool, especially when there are four of them on stage at once, and this time the mandolin didn't either, and of course drums rarely do, and last night the drums in questions were Ryan's, gold and sparkly, and loud and good, messy in the best way, like Ryan's hair and Ryan's hair may try to play it cool, but the drums weren't going to. The horns didn't play it cool, neither did the girls with the flowers in their hair or the moms or the area backstage which was even more crowded all than front of stage, and the Tractor was sold out, so it was crowded everywhere, including the area next to the stage just behind the little plastic chain that served as a field sobriety test, which all the Malgals passed...

even though they were not at all, contrary to what this photo might suggest, playing it cool.

Things You Can't Keep

It isn't very often these days that I feel like writing. That's just a fact, and a sad one at that. Other things are good, it's a rewarding time at work, where I feel challenged to almost exactly the right degree, and where I know I am at times seeing the best version of myself. And reading is good, better than usual.

But still, I miss the writing, of course, so when I felt like writing tonight, it was like that day in winter when you finally wake up to light instead of darkness. Jenny Lewis did it. B and I went to see her at Meany Hall tonight, and I sat there next to him, so happy, wishing I could write everything down, remember every note. I can't tell you what I would have written, that's how these things happen, it slips away, and you know it's going to slip away, and sometimes you have to let it.

But I can tell you how beautiful her voice was. It was more beautiful than a guitar or a violin or a cello. More beautiful than her long hair or pretty face, or the lyrics to the song with the chorus that tells your best girlfriend to keep the lighthouse in sight. She and Jonathan Rice sang Love Hurts more beautifully than even Emmylou and Gram, and I know, believe me I know, what sacrilege that sounds like, but I swear, for me, tonight, it was true. There was not a wrong moment in her voice. I'd be willing to bet it will be the most beautiful singing voice I hear live all year. It was more beautiful than even the way B smiled at me when I told him I was scared, and more beautiful than the way he asked, gently, "What is there to be scared about?"

And for one evening, sitting still, listening hard in the dark, with Jenny singing about all the hard parts of love, it was all so beautiful that I almost believed there wasn't anything to be scared about at all.

Maybe This Is Why Dialogue Is Not My Strong Suit

Gourds at the Tractor Tavern 9-2-07
Happy Birthday and thanks Dan and Earl!
Photo by Pete from Kozy Shack

Here's how a lot of conversations with me go:

Bill Frisell comes on stage with Wilco at Marymoor.
Elvis: Oh, we saw him at the Tractor!
Me: Sigh. I love the Tractor.

At the coffee shop with Kevin, of Widower fame.
Kevin: My band's playing the Tractor on October 3rd*.
Me: I love the Tractor!

With Pam at the Shannon McNally show.
Pam: Oh, we played here when I toured with the Nields.
Me: Oh, I love the Tractor.

Which is just about all I want to say this morning too, after last night's Gourds show. They were fantastic as always, those boys are true professionals who deliver every time. They killed at the Mural Amphitheater at Bumbershoot, you should have seen everyone dancing on the lawn to their wacked out mix-up of Gin and Juice. You know I was in heaven! And look at Kevin Russell, how nice does he look? I love his crinkly-eyed smile and all the silliness he brings to stage. Last night, he taught us to do a dance he calls The Oyster, and now I'm going to teach it to you. Ready?

Okay, first thing you do is you stand up. Are you standing? Kevin said that all you need to do this dance is a pair of shoes, so if you aren't wearing your shoes, just go put them on real quick.

Okay, now. Put the back of your heels together, touching, and then try to put your feet in a straight line, so it's like this, 8 is your toes, the >>> is one foot, and then ) is your heel.

8>>>) (<<<8

Now just try and stand there. Pretty soon you'll find that you are waving your arms and "dancing". Isn't that good? I thought so. Other things I thought were super good include meeting Pete (who took the photo above) for the first time and getting to take Camille and Erik, who were having an anniversary that very night. Camille got Erik the new Gourds album as an anniversary present, before she even knew that we were taking them as our plus ones. How perfect is that? Now I know relationships are never quite what they look like from the outside, but I have to tell you, from what I can tell, Pete & Carrie and Camille & Erik are two fine arguments for True Love. I hope there is never cause for me to be disabused of those notions. Carrie is in Taiwan right now, and you should have seen how Pete's eyes lit up when he told me that he's going to go meet her there soon. "It's gonna' be good to see her," he said, and you just know that was the understatement of the night. So, I was sorry I didn't get to meet Carrie (or Rabbit, dogs not invited) at the show, but that gives me something to look forward to in life, right? I'm liking the new Gourds album so far, even though I am completely serious when I tell you that the first time I heard one of the songs, I actually cried. How often does that happen? But that Kevin, he just gets to me. I hope that song is fiction, cause I would hate to see such a seemingly nice man suffer like that. I'll just let you figure out for yourself which song I'm talking about. I don't think it'll be hard.

Which reminds me, those CDs are almost done, and on their way to you commenting folks. I am loving this mix, and I hope Katherine does too, because I'm sure I'll make her listen to it a time or two when we take off for Brighthound Crest on Wednesday morning. It's a pretty twangy mix, definitely inspired by Regan and Pete, and I left most of the mopey songs off it, and people, it is hard to make a non-mopey mix that is also twangy. The hardest thing to leave off was probably Laura Cantrell's outstanding The Whiskey Makes You Sweeter, and I suppose that's appropriate in more ways than we will talk about here. If you don't know what I'm talking about with all this CD making stuff, take a look here. One last chance to put your order in. Cause I love you. You know I do.


* I'm going, you should too.

Last of Lillydale

Holly on the left, Josie on the right. Last Lillydale show, Bumbershoot.
Kate and I decided that the background at the Sky Church looks like a Windows screen saver. Coincidence? I think not.

A while ago, I promised to tell you all what Josie told me about the secret to love, and then I forgot exactly what it was. He had a neat little sentence for it, and it went something like this:

It's when a person sees the things you hate about yourself and loves those things about you.

I think he said it more elegantly, he really has a way with a phrase, but that's as close as I can get. I'm not going to weigh in on the truth of that sentence, I'm just going to tell you that I really like it as something Josie said. Josie is always saying something good.

Like when he handed me my latte the other day, and it had two of those pretty feathery designs poured into the milk, he said "Your latte is a sycamore tree dreaming of a hazelnut."

For the longest time, I didn't even realize that Josie was in a band, but every time I saw him he was doing some entertaining. He's just one of those people who, every day, puts things together in an interesting way, phrases, thoughts, pieces of clothing, even the way he arranges his features in an expression of confusion, delight or inquiry is entertaining.

And that's what I thought as I stood there watching him sing in EMP's Sky Church at Bumbershoot today. The Josie onstage was the same Josie we see in everyday life, though I wonder if there is such a thing as everyday life for Josie. I like to imagine that his version of everyday life is an adventure, the kind of adventure that you pack treats for, get lost on, go all starry-eyed over. What I'm really trying to say about Josie on stage is, It Worked. This was Lillydale's last show, but this performing thing he's got going, I'm pretty damn sure that's going to go on. Anyway, that's what I'll be hoping for it, the way I hope for good stuff from that new Wes Anderson flick, or Pam's new novel, or anything else that I think will make the world a little more beautiful and charmed.

I Have So Much To Tell You, And This Is Only The Beginning

I spent the Marymoor Wilco show behind my camera. I'm not really sure what got into me, but I seem to have ended up with nearly every variation on a blurry night-time concert photo that you could possibly want. Watching a show that way is a different kind of experience than the one I had the next night at the Edgefield, where we were right up front in the crowd, close enough that I felt like Jeff Tweedy could have reached out and grabbed me.

In retrospect, it makes sense that the last five days started with that - me a little removed, framing it all. Or trying to.

I fell in love with the latest Wilco album, Sky Blue Sky, on the road to the ranch this summer. I fell deeper as I read my way through Don DeLillo's Falling Man, and Michael Ondaatje's Divisadero, sitting outside in the Colorado sunshine. What these three men had me thinking about was the word "aftermath", and about the way we try to make sense of the things that are hard for us, about all the figuring and calculations that go into coping with being a human, with making our human way through time, by making a piece of music, or rearranging words on a page, or cataloging facts, or counting cards in a game of poker.

Recovery was another word that came to mind as well, which linked up with the new Ryan Adams, Easy Tiger, and that fantastic show we saw him give recently. Of course, we're talking about recovery in the sense of rehab, but not just that. All the time, there are a million little things to recover from, migraines and break-ups and sleepless nights, hairline fractures, arguments and disappointments. The process of recovery is complicated, sometimes labor-intensive, sometimes tedious and frustrating, often draining, a million things, but we all do it. We do the work or the waiting and then if we're fortunate, we arrive at a moment where something seems recovered, in the most simple way. We sleep well, or get our appetites back, or we realize that we have suddenly, for a moment, managed to be happy.


Which is why I love Sky Blue Sky. Jeff Tweedy knows something about recovery, and he knows we know that. In the Wilco documentary, I Am Trying to Break Your Heart, we see him suffering from a migraine, which is the affliction that I find myself recovering from today and too often, and a while back he famously went to rehab. In one of the recent documentaries, maybe Sunken Treasure, he tells us that they actually ran it on the CNN ticker when he checked in. There are some Wilco songs, arguably, one Wilco album, that could be described as difficult, either because the struggle is apparent, or because it's as though we are listening to a person sunk so deep inside himself that he forgot he was making a piece of art that he needed to bring his audience along for. You could say that. But I wouldn't. Because after a listen or two, I feel like I'm there with him for all of it, with the singing spiders and the dissonance and electronic surgical words. It all just gets to me. Maybe he doesn't take me wherever he's going, but I can sure hear it from here, no matter how far away he has been in past albums.

Sky Blue Sky is different. With Sky Blue Sky, he hints that he might also know a little something about being happy. I love that title, because we are all there now with this album, under the Sky Blue Sky together, listening to songs that you get the first time you ever hear them, like Hate It Here, or Please Be Patient With Me. Simple songs, hard-won, convincing tunes in his familiar, imperfect, intimate voice. Not all of them are so simple, but there is an air of simplicity throughout the whole album, and even the more complicated songs, like Impossible Germany, parts of which I'm still not sure how to read, have moments of absolute clarity. He tells us:

Nothing more important than to know
Someone’s listening
Now I know
You’ll be listening


And in concert, you do feel like he's really thinking about the listening. Or at least, I did. He does things with the audience, things that demand a different kind of listening from us, like in Sunken Treasure where he has the whole audience go silent in Portland, or the part where he has the Audience sing The Thanks I Get with him. At the Marymoor show, he did that thing, the thing that demands that active listening, late in the show, in the form of clapping - he started it for us, then told us they were going to fade out and asked us to keep it going. And we did, which is how we all ended up together in the midst of what I consider one of the most difficult Wilco songs, Spiders (Kidsmoke) - he led us into it, and then let us go, gently, like a dad taking his hand off the back of a bike without training wheels, and we glided along for a moment, wobbly but holding it together. It was just clapping, but it was pure feeling, simple, and the kind of thing that happens with your whole body if you let it.

And that was one of those moments when I realized how perfectly happy I was. For a moment, recovering from nothing, just all the way there, all the way happy.

Why Do I Keep Doing This?

At the park reading my Barista Book Club book, another way of sharing the things I love in the world

... going to fantastic things without telling you all first, and then wishing I had invited more people, that is? Last night, as I listened to the Starlings and then Shannon McNally (god, she was good, just her and her guitar... I need to write up a little thing on her some time) at the Tractor, I looked around the almost empty room and started to have this fantasy about how we should all, all the time, be telling each other about things we love, bringing each other along for those things. I do some of that already, but I want more, and I think you, Allison , and you, dear blog reader, should tell me about something you loved recently, or take me somewhere, comment or call or email, show me something, love the world and share it!

Evan did this the other night, and I told him how much I appreciated it, but I'm not sure he really got how seriously happy I was that he called me just to tell me about something he loved. In this case, it was the movie "Stardust". He sounded so excited, all laughing and happy. He said "Seriously, it was so good, promise me you will just grab someone and go. It's right up there with Labyrinth and The Princess Bride!" and I think that right there tells you a lot about why I think that boy is just so adorable.

Elvis does this a lot too, I saw him yesterday and he had a bunch of articles for me, one about the Traveling Poetry Librarian who was at Richard Hugo House last week (I am now a member, thank you very much, and read some nice poems as a result), and then one for Brian about Rudy Guiliani, from Harpers, because we were talking about it at the Hugo House Life During Wartime event. He also had the Weeds Season 2 soundtrack that he had cobbled together for me. Again, see why I love him?

And Susan, too, she called to say she had just bought a book by Jennifer S. Davis, which Pam had a blurb on, and then today she told me how good the new Queen Anne Tribunali is. Not to mention she turned me on to Scott Baio is 45 and Single. Just kidding!

Anyway, so, yeah, my contributions, things I love and want to tell you about... Shannon McNally, who's next album was done with the guys from North Mississippi All-Stars, can't wait to hear that when it comes out, and the Starlings, and Weeds, and ohmygod I can't believe how good my dinner was at Volterra on Saturday night! Wow, if they have that bing cherry chocolate dessert thing, make sure you order it with your dinner, that's right, have them set a piece aside for you because it was that good.

We went on the Boeing tour on Sunday, and that was a trip, in every sense. Look at all the rules! I felt so naked while we were there. I am now full of facts and figures, like did you know that the building they have there, the largest building in the world by volume, could hold 75 NFL football fields, and still have 12 acres left over? I was hoping that the tour would be so mind-blowingly weird and fun that I could recommend that all of you drive up to Everett, slap $15 on the counter, shove your stuff in a locker and check out what those wacky Boeing people are up to, but... well, it's just that the tour is a little short, and you're really far away from the planes, so it's hard for me to feel that I'm justified in trying to strong-arm you that way. Just don't get stoned in the parking lot because I think that guy in the black van with the antennas on top is like an FBI surveillance guy or something. Not that you would, anyway, but maybe you have, like, a rebellious cousin who might try to get himself in that kind of trouble.

Anyway. Now I'm off to the beach for three days, and I'm taking the computer so I can work on some writing, but I'm kind-of doubting there's going to be internet, so Allison, you are going to have to do your best to keep these people entertained. I know you can do it! Any weird food cravings? Funny nicknames for the twins? Weird superpowers that have come about as a result of pregnancy?

Have a good couple days. I can't wait to come back and hear about what you all love these days. That's your homework.

I'd Like to Introduce... The Cardinals!!!

No, it's not a good photo. It was taken at a concert with a cell phone, people! But you get the idea.

... because last night, Ryan didn't bother. And while I tend to avoid complaining about things on this blog, I'm gonna' make an exception on this one. I'm a little pissed that the Cardinals never got the applause they deserved.

Elvis and I went to see Ryan Adams at the Moore on Friday. Right off the bat, I need to tell you that this was a gorgeous show. I don't want there to be any mistake about that. Maybe I'm a little crabby at R.A. for not giving his boys their due, but still. Gorgeous.

Near as I can tell, the Cardinals are: Neal Casal, Jon Graboff, Brad Pemberton, Chris Feinstein and... one other guy who I don't see listed anywhere. There were six, weren't there? Including Ryan, of course.

The truth is, first time I listened to the new album, Easy Tiger, I didn't love it. There were some lyrics that I was, uh, less than super excited about, since I fear I will need an epi pen if I have to hear any guy tell me how fucked up he is ever again in life, ever. I really got enough of that in college. And listening to Ryan's delivery on the CD made it all sound a little whiny, "Halloweenhead, it's all the same old shit again", right. Okay, dude. The vocals on the CD sound like, I don't know, Ryan Adams is doing his "little girl voice" almost, or, what is it, nasal? I don't know. I lack the vocabulary with all this musical stuff. Still, after a few listens, it was starting to grow on me.

Then the show happened. The show was another story, it didn't have to grow on me at all. It was good right from the outset. You could hear Neal Casal's beautiful vocals so much better in person, and the Cardinals live just seem to bring out the best in Mr. Adams, the deepest tones of his voice, and his ability to make you feel that he is really doing some kind of heartfelt, earnest, important questioning. It was tender rather than glib, lacking the irritating irony or snide flavor you might expect out of a man who has a song titled "Oh My God, Whatever, Etc." When he sang that song in the concert, it was simply beautiful - I thought he miraculously managed to put all the meaning back into Oh My God - you heard "My God", you heard "Oh", you heard those words as they might have sounded before we all started using them in a rush of breath, like a three-word exclamation point.

The other song that blew me away was "The Sun Also Sets". Again, sounded a little whiny to me on the CD, but on stage, brave, gorgeous. I believed that our friend Ryan was up there singing from the very bottom to the very top of his soul, and it brought tears to my eyes, much like Dana did in her recent post about poetry, life, death and everything else worth talking about.

Elvis said it was one of his two favorite shows of the year, the other being My Morning Jacket. I suspect it might have won first place from him if the poster had not been a big take-off on a Charbucks cup, or if Ryan hadn't come out 52 minutes late, or if he had played a little longer than an hour and 34 minutes, or if the lighting had been a little stronger, so that we could see the musicians playing.*

I actually thought the lighting was gorgeous, big paper lanterns hanging over the stage, and this loungey, atmospheric haze of light flooding the stage. I loved that all six musicians were lined up next to each other on stage - was that why the all the instruments blended together so beautifully? Was that why I sat there in the hot, sickly sweet of the fog machined air in my uncomfortable seat, and thought "this is another one of those moments in my life where I am completely content to be just exactly where I am"? Maybe. And that's why I felt I had to introduce you to the Cardinals.

* Elvis says "No way. Still would have paled in comparison to My Morning Jacket."

You Know More Earth Wind and Fire Songs Than You Think

This is pretty much what we were looking at all weekend here. Grey skies. The nice thing about that was that I didn't have to feel at all bad about staying in bed writing all day, or about going to see the Edith Piaf biopic before the sun went down.

In the end, I had some questions about "La Vie En Rose". I found myself wondering, if you didn't already love Edith Piaf, would you get what the big deal was after seeing the movie? Steven and I went to see it together, and he couldn't tell me, since she reminds him of Paris, and Paris reminds him of cheese and he loves cheese. And Paris. And Edith Piaf.

What we agreed on for sure, though, was that Marion Cotillard's performance was astonishingly good. After the movie, we spent about an hour googling stuff about the Little Sparrow and when we saw the photos of what Marion looks like ordinarily, and how completely she was transformed in the movie, we were astounded. Definitely worth seeing for her performance, and the knitwear. Oh, the knitwear. Sigh!

Are you wondering what all this had to do with Earth, Wind and Fire? Nothing. Except the rain, that was the thing every event had in common this weekend. Rain, or the threat of. Tonight I went to immerse myself in the Boogie Wonderland of EWF in spite of that, with Kirsten and her best girlfriends from college. Someone we used to work with recently said of Kirsten, "yeah, she was like a sorority girl, but a sorority girl who could kick your ass".

These ladies are blackbelts. Consider yourself warned.

Which makes sense, because my girlfriends do kick ass. Are you getting tired of hearing about this yet? I'm getting famous for the high quality of my girlfriends. After Friday night at Sambar, Jay sent me a text message that said simply "Some trio." No doubt.

We look nice, but we are naughty. Regan, me and Kirstin.

In fact, last week, this endless raving I do about my girlfriends even resulted in a bullet point on the Capitol Hill Seattle blog. Girl crushes, indeed.

Anyway, all the girl time this weekend got me thinking... after my little poker adventure a few weeks ago, I've been wanting to play again. See, I have this cute little pinstripe vest, and... no, really, anyway,the point is, my latest fantasy project is now.... Ladies Poker Night! How good would that be?

I think it's going to involve hats and fake mustaches. And polaroids.

What do you think, ladies, who's in?

Sky Blue Sky

So, I bought the new Wilco album, along with a bunch of other CDs (I justified it by reminding myself that I have a road trip coming up in mid-June, more on that later), but I haven't listened to the Wilco yet. I'm saving it. Not totally sure why, but that is the definite feel of it, a feeling of saving.

One CD I would not save if I had it now would be Cat Power. I had the life-altering experience of watching Cat Power on Austin City Limits last night, damn, that girl is something else! I wanted to be a teenager again so that I could chop long bangs into my hair and buy some leotards at American Apparel to wear under my beat-up old school jeans just like Chan Marshall. Alas, I'm old enough to know that none of those things are a very good idea.

Elvis and I had a good field trip yesterday, wandered around downtown Seattle, catching the crumbs of the cheese festival at Pike Place Market, eating crepes and missing the ferry to Bainbridge, where we intended to go and eat fancy ice cream. Instead we went to Elliott Bay Books, then Panama Hotel tea room, which I think is one of those great semi-secret Seattle things.

Dirty Hair and Chuck T's: an East Village tradition since the 1970's

Hey, some people DO know how to make lattes in NYC!

So, I had this whole post in mind. It was about what to do your first day in New York. This is an excellent thing to write a blog post about, in my opinion. Everyone should go to NYC at some point, and everyone should know what to do in their first hours there, in order to make it a good visit.

Liquiteria is often my first stop after I come in on the red-eye

Basically, what I was going to say was, look... everyone loves something. So, what you need to do for your first hours here is figure out what you love, and find it. That's the thing about NY. Anything you love is here. You love Ferraris? Rent one for the weekend! Tia Maria? No problem! Adidas sweat jackets, Japanese cartoon characters, shirts with little alligators on them, the latest Chanel nail polish, a room full of dirt, paella, yarn, anything! Find that thing, and in your first day, pursue it.

Here's what I love, and maybe you don't care, but hey, it's my blog.

Yarn at Purl SoHo

I love:
- yarn (yes, you knew)
- the Grasshopper from Liquiteria
- beautiful people
- H & M
- Sigerson Morrison shoes
- seeing celebrities walking down the street talking on their cell phones (you know who you are, Liev Schreiber! Veronica Webb!)
- KidRobot
- a good latte
- walking around with my ipod
- my sister
- Willie Nelson

All of which I saw or experienced today. But, okay, here's where the blog post derails, because I start to get all distracted by that last item, by how much I love Willie Nelson.

Willie. Ah! We saw him tonight. With Merle Haggard and Ray Price. At Radio City Music Hall. Now, Merle and Ray are good, really good. But the man I love is Willie. Love him. Like some people love Jesus. I hear his voice and I just go all happy inside. Crazy happy, like, "there is nowhere else in the world I would rather be" happy.

Recently I watched "Sunken Treasure", the DVD of the little PNW tour that Jeff Tweedy did about a year ago. It's a great DVD. I was at the Seattle show, and it was a great show. Moving, you know? Jeff was funny, and raw, and touching. And the banter that they filmed at each of the shows, when strung together, makes this great little meditation on what it means to go to a show, what kind of experience we are having when we all turn up at the Moore, or Crystal Ballroom, or wherever, and stand there in the audience, listening to music together. Tweedy talks about how it's something communal, an experience we are all having, about how it's something like what church would be like, if church was... and then he hesitates, and says something like... "if church were what it should be." Anyway, that's how I have felt the four (yes, four) times I've seen Willie Nelson. That it's a little like church. For me, at least.

Willie was here!

There's an interview where John Cougar talks about how Willie plays "On The Road Again" at nearly every show, and how he just can't believe that he can do that, and have it still be fresh, and seem to LIKE playing that song, so many times. Willie played it tonight, and Whiskey River too, and the crowd jumped out of their seats, and everyone seemed happy, the crowd, Willie, everyone. Because the thing about a song so popular is that we all own it. We all know that song, recognize it, we are all there IN that song, together. Like church. Like a hymn we all know.

Like a hymn we all love.

And that's the kind of thing you should make sure to find your first day in NY. Something you love, because whatever it is, there are people in NY who are going to love it with you.

"This Ain't Honky Tonk!"

... but oh it was good! Saw Merle and Neko at the Paramount last night. What a study in contrasts that crowd was. In the ladies' room I kept wanting to take photos of the shoes. I had my black boots on, then there were all the Chucks (when did everyone start wearing Chucks again anyway? It's like an epidemic here in Seattle), some cowboy boots, and best of all, the gold lame sandals on the feet of the woman who was wearing the buckskin suede jacket with the fringe. That would have been a GFY entry for sure.

Neko was amazing, she's such a pro, and when she sang the start of I Wish I Was the Moon, I felt like she was wringing out my insides like a wet washcloth. Where we were sitting, three rows from the front, we were definitely outnumbered by Merle fans, one of whom supplied the quote for my title today. I'm not going to hold the fact that this guy was wearing a greasy leather jacket against him, nor will I pass judgement on the dyed black comb-over-ish hairdo, but I do hold it against him that he didn't appreciate Tacoma's own Neko. How can you not love that voice? When she sings a capella it sounds like there's a whole string section coming from inside her. She's incredible.

Merle is a legend, and we were thrilled to see him too. I loved hearing that deep smokey voice sing "so-called so-cial security" (don't know why but I love that line) in person, and I ate it up when he brought his wife up front to sing Jackson with him, even if I didn't quite get the way they petered out at the end. Truth be told though, at the end of it all, I was missing my all-time favorite legend, Willie and started to scheme about how I might get a chance to see him again...

Hey, March at Radio City Music Hall? Hmm...