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August 31, 2005
Sound Raft
It's always an interesting day when you get to listen the first few times to one of your favorite band's new records. It can be a whole day of discovery, of drama, tension, happiness, perplexion, and many other random feelings.
One of my favorite bands, like in the top five favorite, are the Super Furry Animals, from Wales. Their new record, Love Kraft
I wasn't so sure at first. Every SFA record is so different, and they always manage to create something new while keeping a distinct vibe that is all theirs, that no one else could ever have. Love Kraft is no exception, but on the first few listens the songs seemed so mellow and, well, kind of boring. At first. I was kind of scratching my head thinking, well, is it going to take the live show to turn me around? Are these guys getting old or something? Where is the GUITAR? After the almost non-stop grunts and groans and wails of Britt Daniel, this took some getting use to.
Then I realized I wasn't listening to it loud enough. I simply turned up the volume and voila, there was Love Kraft, my new second favorite record of the moment (after you know what, and if you don't know what, you haven't been reading me very closely.)
What is it about these guys? The electric piano? The Hot Chocolate-esque disco chords? The Catalonian choir? What seems like a nickle scraped on an electric guitar's strings a la Jonny Greenwood? Or is it all of those things wrapped into one perfect package on the opening song, Zoom? It's a song that cries out for you to ingest something and lay on the couch in the dark listening over, and over, and over.
Not that I'm gonna do that. Unless someone's got a hookup. Just kidding (I think.)
From that adventure, it just goes on and on. Strings and horns on Atomik Lust bring you down to a mellow zone, only to have your head blown off mid-song by a 1970's style guitar solo with a hint of piano poundage on the perimeter. Throughout, harmonica, cowbell, la la la's, more strings, and lyrics like this:
Let's get our shit together
Insane with crackbrainz
I'd love to see the ending someday
Of Citizen Kane
Those wacky Furries! The whole vibe is very lush on this record. I can't wait till they tour here again and I can groove with the select few Southern Californians who know about these guys. In the meantime you can listen to Love Kraft HERE. For the uninitiated, start with Cabin Fever and go backwards. Don't forget, volume is KEY.
Posted by Shannon at 7:45 PM | Comments (0)
August 30, 2005
Fan Mail
Dear Shannon,
This is your neighbor here. I feel I have to tell you, that you have totally gone over the line. The reason is, all you ever listen to is Spoon and I can’t take it anymore. You think I am a bad neighbor and write nasty things about me and hate me and stuff but YOU are the twisted one. I hate to break it to you but there is a lot of other really great music to listen to like Usher and Hilary Duff. Give me a break! I can’t take any more Spoon! Everytime I hear the opening of My Mathmatical Mind, like eight thousand times a day I just want to VOMIT. And when I think you are going to stop playing Gimme Fiction for a while, you just start playing Kill the Moonlight, Girls Can Tell, even A Series of Sneaks! I can’t fucking take it anymore. You’ve always handled your other obsessions well, except for that Arcade Fire thing around Thanksgiving but thankfully I went to Costa Rica and missed the worst of it. Seriously I am concerned about your mental health. What’s so great about Britt Fucking Daniel anyway? Usher at least has a killer body. The past few days I thought maybe you were getting over it but today, all day, all fucking day nothing but SPOON, SPOON, SPOON. And you don’t think I can hear, but when you play those KCRW sessions on your computer I can totally hear them. You are watching them too, aren’t you, you whack job. Get some help, seriously, an intervention is needed. Next time I come home at 2:00 A.M. and make a lot of noise remember! Remember what a bad neighbor you are, even the mailman is sick of Spoon!
Sincerely,
Elefant
Posted by Shannon at 11:14 PM | Comments (1)
August 29, 2005
Feel Good Review of the Summer
An interesting review of Chow! Venice
I am glad to know about the "hordes" of people carrying Chow! around Venice, but as we only printed 3500 copies, I am kind of wondering how many of the 3500 people who have a copy were in Venice when this guy was. Twelve? That would be AWESOME.
Anyhow he still gave us four stars while complaining at the same time, mostly about other Americans. A very odd review. It's not so much that it is a bad feeling about a bad review, but more that it was a good review with a bad feeling. Or something like that. You'll get the idea. Sorry that I've created a bunch of screaming, obnoxious American tourists and sent them to all your favorite places.
Posted by Shannon at 8:30 AM | Comments (2)
August 26, 2005
A Place Unknown
Finally, there is a heatwave here. It is hot. HOT. I went to the cliffs and it was almost too hot. I am turning into a weather pussy.
Last night, I went down to the Vine and met Annette, who reads my blog. It was kind of like a blind date. It's always interesting to meet new people who know way too much about me.
Annette is totally cool though, not a hobbit, and I was fearful that she would be for some bizarre reason. We are hanging out again on Sunday.
I got to the Vine a little early. Brian is another faithful reader of my blog, so I can always expect a comment here or there. Yesterday's was particularly funny.
Brian: I can't play Beck in here anymore, and I may have to delete him from my IPod.
Me (freaked): WHY?
Brian (shaking his head): Because he is a Scientologist.
Me: There you go! Confusing his life with his art. Don't you, uh, read, oh yeah, that must be why you are making this comment. Heh.
Anyway if you read the last entry you get the idea.
It was very nice to hang out with Annette and her friend Debra and talk about Italy and stuff, and then Brian totally blew my mind and made me very, very happy by unexpectingly playing Spoon's Gimme Fiction
In other news, Jack White continues to morph into Michael Jackson.
I really wish I could make this image bigger, but ya' all will see it on the newstand anyway. It's pretty scary. Picture the past:
Now take this:
Add a little this:
And you get this:
Shudder. Jack what the hell are you doing????
Posted by Shannon at 9:50 PM | Comments (0)
August 24, 2005
Vanilla Why
Peggy Sue: I was impressed with what you said in English class today.
Michael: Gilfond's okay, except he thinks Hemingway is great literature.
Peggy Sue: You don't?
Michael (contemptuously): He's a fisherman! The most overrated writer of the century. I mean, he's the perfect American author — fat, violent, drunk...
Peggy Sue: Maybe you're confusing his life with his work.
(From Francis Ford Coppola's Peggy Sue Got Married.)
I've been thinking about Tom Cruise today. In a different way then many people are, these days. I was thinking that Tom Cruise is a really good actor, because I watched Vanilla Sky last night, and he is pretty damned good in that movie. Vanilla Sky was only made a few years ago, and at that time Tom seemed so normal. What happened to him? What happened to society? What happened to US? Gossip and the importance or hazardousness of being in the public eye has quantiplied in the past few years. We are all of us victims, including Tom Cruise. Victims of the gossip blogger, victims of crappy, cheap magazines, victims of ourselves. Well maybe not everybody is a victim, but me and Tom are. Tom in that he whores himself to these people, and me because I read that shit.
I grew up with Tom Cruise, chronologically speaking. When I was eighteen years old, Risky Business was like, a totally revolutionary film, man. Seriously. I was in film school and everyone was talking about it. I know it is hard to believe this now, but the film, and Tom Cruise, were very important in 1983. And somehow Tom Cruise has stayed on top for over twenty years. He really is an actor that has worked very hard on his craft. Remember Born on the Fourth of July? That one turned people's heads. He wasn't Mr. Top Gun or Mr. Cocktail anymore. He turned a corner there, and he kept working, and improving. For awhile he seemed to be headed in the right direction.
I was one of those people who thought he was fantastic in Interview With a Vampire, even though this was totally uncool, because in those days Interview and the Goths were in the higher echelon of coolness and no Goth ever saw Tom Cruise playing the Vampire Lestat.
I love, love, love the film Jerry Maguire, and I think it is the only thing besides Vanilla Sky that I thought Tom Cruise really stellar in, in the last decade. Both films share Cameron Crowe as a director, and this could be the reason. Is there a cooler director on earth right now than Cameron Crowe? Uh, no. Cameron Crowe clearly loves Tom Cruise, and he clearly doesn't confuse Tom's life, and his craft. This is a win/win situation for everybody.
Of course, Mr. Cruise isn't making it too easy for us. He has really been spazzing lately, and why? He spazzes, and instead of people being worried about him, all we can do is say how he scares us, how he needs therapy, or drugs, that he is just a PR whore. All these things are true. He is a whore, and is running his mouth when he should keep it clamped shut, and he talks way too much about his religion, a big no-no. But, say your brother were acting so erratically. Wouldn't you be WORRIED? Or would you just start spouting off about how he should stuck a sock in it?
I think the guy is messed up and needs help but I also think he is a cool guy who maybe just is going through a bad patch. It can't be easy, being so pretty and getting old. Maybe in five years time he'll chill out a little and go back to making great movies with Cameron Crowe.
In the meantime though, where the hell is TomKat?
Posted by Shannon at 7:32 PM | Comments (3)
August 23, 2005
Happy Birthday Colleen!
I love, love, love my good friend Colleen. It's weird how people show up in your life and then never leave. This is what happened with Colleen, and it is because it is totally and karmically meant to be. It's so awesome and cool that I am one of the lucky ones karmically connected to Colleen. Lucky me!
Colleen is the best kind of friend. She is totally cool, supportive and fun. Plus she likes to do things like go to Sicily and drink wine on balconies when everyone else thinks it is too cold. Also, she is always, and I mean always, thinking of others. Way more than me, that is for sure.
If I ever move to Northern Spain I want Colleen to come with me, at least for part of the time. But in the meantime, we are going to celebrate her birthday here. That's right, we'll be partying with non other than Wayne Fucking Coyne. But who cares about Wayne when Colleen Alley will be on the ship?
Whateves. She probably won't even read this for awhile but Colleen, when you do, I love you, sister.
Posted by Shannon at 7:57 PM | Comments (3)
August 19, 2005
La Marangona
Yesterday at exactly 3:00 P.M. my phone rang. The caller ID had a Georgia number, so I figured it to be a work related call.
On the other end, a woman's voice said "Shannon? Listen" and then, La Marangona! The bell that rings in the Campanile in Venice at midnight. My favorite bell in the universe.
I was trying to figure out why a Georgia number would be calling me from Venice to let me hear the Marangona. It was a little perplexing. It turned out to be Nan McElroy, who lives in Venice and wrote a book called "Italy, Instructions for Use." She CALLED me just so I could hear the bells and I don't even KNOW her. Is that cool or what?
Next time I will be more prepared and less surprised, and I'll just listen. It could get addicting.
Nan writes a blog about her experiences as a resident, and you can listen to La Marangona here.
It made me homesick for Venice listening to La Marangona. But instead, I am headed for Baja this weekend for the Vendimia and a lot of wine-soaked experiences involving priests and bullfighters. Be sure to check in Monday and I'll report back what I can remember.
Posted by Shannon at 8:16 AM | Comments (1)
August 17, 2005
Everything Hits at Once
There are a few things I want to write about tonight. The first thing is the emails and comments I got from readers who have been following whats been going on this last week. Seriously, sometimes I have no idea who is reading this thing. Thank you to everyone who sent me, verbally or electronically, love and support. It is appreciated and, well, it just makes me feel good.
Now I am back in OB and the skies are clearing of fog, but it seems like Fall is here already. We've somehow skipped summer even though it is not over yet! And the noise level of the last couple of days had me thinking - is it a full moon?
Well, yes, as I saw tonight since there is no fog, it is indeed almost a full moon. During the full moon, the noise level rises, and the freaks come out. Last month was a record month for the freaks but this month the noise makers are winning.
I guess I have to vent a tiny bit here. A few months ago, a family from Texas moved in next door to me. There is a wall seperating us, but I might as well be living in their house. They have a dog that barks, a phone on the highest volume, and a daughter who, I kid you not, has the loudest voice in these United States. She is making my life hell and I am too nice to do anything about it.
Why is that? I just lay in bed at midnight suffering while she bellows "Daddy" and drones on about the most inane shit and I have to listen, listen, listen. It would be OK if it was more interesting eavesdropping. But it is eighteen year old (and the stupidest and lamest eighteen year old) complaining and whining. No good stuff in there. It just bugs.
Today I was working here, and I hear screaming over there. It went on for TWO HOURS. Homegirl got her car taken away, and she was SCREAMING at her mother about it. It went on and on. At one point, I screamed out my front door, into their house six feet away, "GIVE HER THE FUCKING CAR SO SHE WILL SHUT UP." But they didn't hear me! It's useless dealing with the Clueless. But I am thinking of moving to Galicia in Northern Spain, and these people are helping me to make up my mind.
So what else? There's that bad heroin that is killing youngsters in New York City. There are numerous plane crashes. And then there is the bling.
In the current issue of Rolling Stone, there is an article about bling with interviews with a bunch of hip hop guys. The amount of money spent on diamonds and gold (and cubic zirconia) is pretty astounding. What is up with these diamond teeth and shit? And these five pound diamond bracelets? I'd like to think everyone thinks it just looks ridiculous, but there is a whole group of people that think that shit is cool.
I'm not trying to diss on this whole bling phenomenon. I'm just thinking, and expressing. And here is what I think: that in a couple of years, the whole bling in hip hop thing will be over, the movement/fad/setback turned to dust by that new revolution - the hip hop folksters. I can see it now - the new talent of hip hop, pissed off and horrified by the excess and obnoxiousness of the current hip hop stars, getting back to the grass roots of music and forgetting the bling. I foresee a hip hop Ani DiFranco. Hippie Hop. The pendulum will swing, and Tiffany's will be pissed. Well maybe not pissed but their stock will certainly go down. And then, real tits will be back in style. Watch. It's right there, just waiting...
Posted by Shannon at 9:26 PM | Comments (0)
August 12, 2005
Avalon
How do I even start to explain the last 36 hours?
Funny, and kind of harsh, that the show/religious experience of the year would be on the day following a good friends death. I was still in shock when I left for L.A. in the morning yesterday. Slowly, it all started to hit me. Slowly, then rapidly.
The slow part was all day, while I zigzagged from downtown L.A. to Beverly Hills, back downtown, then to Westwood. I'd feel it in my stomach, then try to put it away and focus on the road. Finally my sales calls were done and made my way to Hollywood and checked into the Motel 6 off Hollywood Boulevard, where I stay when I can't justify the Best Western Hollywood Hills, which is pretty much all summer. The Motel 6 off Hollywood Boulevard is like staying in jail, but it is only $59.95 a night. This way I can justify going out to a $40 dinner. See, I have the whole financial thing down. Yeah.
Not wanting to hang out in the room, and needing to eat, I walked up to a French bistro place on the Boulevard. This was a sketchy choice, but it turned out well. I sat outside, drank some Merlot, and watched a pregnant spider weave a web between a lamp post and a tree. That was some seriously trippy shit. I have never seen a spider weave a web before. The spider would lower itself way down, spinning the piece of web, then climb back up and fasten it to the pole and then the tree. My waiter was really cute and when he came out I showed him the spider. He told me some fascinating tidbits about spiders and webs. I ate some roast chicken and pommes frites. It was really good and I will never be skinny because I like French fries too much.
When I got the bill the waiter said, hey, you don't have to go you know. You can hang out. And I was like, I have to go to a show. And he was like, Oh. Was this really young, cute waiter HITTING on me? Must have been because I noticed the spider.
By the time I got back to my room to change for the show it was already 8:00 and the doors were opening at the Avalon. When I got there, 20 minutes later, I was shocked to see the opening act, Anima, was on and the club was already packed. Normally, I would have barreled right up to the front, but somehow I knew (and I am still functioning on a sort of auto-pilot) that I could not go out into that mass of bodies. I was unsure of myself and what I might do. Auto-Shannon directed me up the stairs to the balcony, and Auto-Shannon made me sit up high, looking down, with a wrought iron railing in front of me. I had a clear view of the stage. I kept my hands on the railing. Hot room, cold iron. Rapid was rapidly coming. Pretty soon, Sigur Ros would come on. Two nerdy guys below me looked up at me from the floor just below. One of them said, "on Labor day weekend, you have to come to the PLAYA." I was like, what the heck are you talking about? He's all "go to Burning Man dot com. It's like a totally interactive FESTIVAL." I said, well, I already have plans for that weekend... "NEXT year," both guys say. Already I am getting more attention than is normal for me. Is grief an aphrodisiac?
While all this is going on, I am sedate. Normally I would be peeing my pants in anticipation. There is colored smoke slowly filling the theater.
Sigur Ros began their show behind a white screen. Three orange lights glowed, and the music began. The shadows of the band looked huge on the screen, and 10 seconds into that first song, I totally lost it. All I had held in all day was dust. The floodgates opened, and it was all I could do to keep my shoulders from shaking too much, but probably everyone around me, if they noticed, thought I sure was happy to be seeing Sigur Ros.
The bottom line is, if I wasn't crying for Nancy, and for myself, I still would have been crying. Because the music of Sigur Ros is so transcendant, so beautiful, so lush, and so magical that it demands emotion. It defies classification. It is, basically, love and the end of the world blown into your brain. I was prepared to be blown away, and I was. Totally. And I was shocked by the total devotion of the entire crowd. I have NEVER seen an L.A. crowd so quiet, so intent and so respectful as at this show.
A few songs into the show, Anima, a quartet of young women, joined Sigur Ros, a quartet of young men, on stage with their violins. The singer of Sigur Ros plays an electric guitar with a violin bow. I can't even begin to describe this sound. It is an other-worldly Arctic scream. My tears stopped eventually and I began to get itchy to get closer. At one point, the band stopped playing - froze- during a song. They literally froze, holding their instruments in whatever position they'd been in. The entire club was completely silent for at least thirty seconds. A thousand people seemed to be holding their breath. It was remarkable.
Finally some asshole (and there is always at least one in a crowd of a thousand) shouts OW! Five hundred people shush him. The band starts up again. Wow.
Towards the end of the show, I decided I had to get down on the floor. By the time I got down there the set was done, and it was time for the encore. This is when the second trippy thing of the evening happened.
The Avalon bartenders make a very weak drink. A vodka soda there is like an eight dollar cup of water. I don't even know why I even bother. But I do. So I stopped at the bar for a drink before I headed on to the floor. The guy behind the bar was distracted, and barely even looked at me. But he proceeded to pour me an entire glass of Absolute Mandarin vodka, then sprayed maybe a half ounce of soda in it. It was like, he poured me all the Vodka I've paid for at the Avalon but never got, into one eight ounce plastic cup. "Nancy?" I thought, and looked up. It was the weirdest thing.
I took my giant vodka and shimmied my way through the crowd to the second row just in time for the encore. Now I was close, and it was pretty incredible, let me tell you. One thing that struck me was how young they all were, or seemed to be. And how talented and in control they were. It was the most amazing, and beautiful experience. Four violins, a keyboardist, a bassist, a drummer beating the shit out of his drums, slowly, and a Jesus-like singer playing a guitar with a violin bow. Out of control sublime. I know today, and I will know forever, that this night and Nancy's death were meant to be together, for me. I was passionate about Sigur Ros before. Now the music goes even deeper. Way, way, way down. Up, too.
Sigur Ros and Anima came out and did two curtain calls, bowing like they were in a revival of "Hair." It was so sweet and they totally glowed. It's enough to make a girl up and move to Iceland. I was stunned and touched by the whole experience, and shockingly, left a half glass of straight vodka on a table on my way out.
It was on the way out that the final thing of weirdness occured. Leaving the theater, I could have sworn I saw none-other than Britt fucking Daniel. He was like, right NEXT to me. But it couldn't have been, right? If it was he has a lot of acne scars, and he was with a chick. (Bastard.) But maybe it was really him? If I find out he was at that show, I am going to freak.
Tomorrow I am going to New Mexico for the memorial. Onward.
Posted by Shannon at 10:07 PM | Comments (1)
August 10, 2005
A Farewell to a Friend
I lost a friend today. Really lost a friend - not through misuse, abuse, or long-term seperation. I lost this friend because she died today.
I've not much experience with this kind of thing. Family members and acquaintances, yes. But a friend - someone who wants to come to your party, even if it is in Sicily, someone who covers your back when it is needed, someone who will have an 11:00 A.M. prosecco with you - this I have not lost before.
So I am having a bit of a hard time even knowing what I am feeling, or feeling what I am knowing. For sure, there is a section of my gut that feels kicked in, deflated. And there is an emptiness where my friend once was, but not totally, because I have this crazy feeling she's hovering, waiting to make sure there are plenty of cocktails at her memorial. Cocktails and maybe some serrano ham or good gorgonzola. She'll want people to eat, to drink, and to raise their glass to the New Mexico sunset while a fire burns and her kids smile through their tears.
I'd like to write a bit about my friend Nancy. We meet lots of people in our lives. Some stay a couple of years, some split right away. Some are lifers. Some ease in softly, and ease just as softly out. Not Nancy. She barrelled her way into my life fueled by Italian cigarettes and Spanish brandy and a deep and primal love of life. She was a giant with a huge heart and a deep love of the space around her. I knew her in Florence, when she was a part of Florence and the life there, when she knew all the guys down at the San Ambrogio Market, like the guy with the best gorgonzola, or the guy who could maybe get her a big turkey for Thanksgiving, or the old man with the tastiest sausages. After, she'd head on down to the bar San Ambrogio, or one of the cafes in Piazza Santa Croce, for a glass of white wine or a Mojito. I bet they are still wondering where the hell she went, in the Florence neighborhood she loved.
Yeah. She blew into my life in Venice, blown by Botticelli's winds and unseen forces, and immediately asked me to come down to Florence to stay with her cats while she went off to Sorrento, something I was more than happy to do. It was the beginning. When I met Nancy it was like I'd known her forever. Longer than forever. Even though she is not here now, that hasn't changed. She was part of the fabric of my life - a friend of my best friends, a friend of my mothers. She was part of their fabric, and we were part of hers.
Just as she blew her way in, she blew out. In a heartbeat, she was gone. No real goodbye, just a wha-the-fa. Somehow, it's how I knew it would happen, though that doesn't change the shock of it all.
I'll be there, come Saturday, with the biggest Mojito of all, raising my glass to that New Mexico sunset, raising my glass to Nancy. Crazy, fierce and totally unique Nancy. Smiling, through my tears.
Posted by Shannon at 9:16 PM | Comments (2)
August 7, 2005
Google THIS.
Thought ya'all might like to check out some of the search engine requests that drive people to my blog (besides super sexy and sexy blog - those are the heavies.)
willie aames mullet (So I am not the only one who searched!)
women love when i grope them in crowded trains (DUDE!)
whitney houston strung out (OK, this we all know.)
britt daniel sexy. (Again, I am not the only one. Sigh.)
And that was just yesterday. Happy Sunday everyone.
Posted by Shannon at 12:54 PM | Comments (0)
August 5, 2005
My Dead Muse
There have been many people and events that have shaped me and made me into the person I am. My parents, obviously, and my brothers; my 10th grade English teacher, Mrs. Elder shaped me in a good way by encouraging me to write, and my newspaper teacher Mrs. Radcliffe in a bad way by chopping my very first newspaper article cleanly in half, making it look totally weird and stupid. That was in 1981 and the article was about Punk Rock. My school just wasn't ready yet I guess, even though Punk Rock was practically over at that moment in time, for a while, anyway.
The question is, what made me write about Punk Rock? What got me to that point where I have remained ever since? People never really advance past the age of fifteen. Of this I am convinced. Fifteen or even younger.
I had an uncle, his name was Mark, he was nine years older than me, and he was a lot like me. He wore purple pants and wrote crazy stories. He was wild, reckless, bisexual, and creative. He liked to party. And more than anything, he loved music. He had a tattoo that said "Janis Joplin Lives in Me." She was his dead muse.
Well, I wasn't TOTALLY like Mark, but there are many similarities there. At a younger age I listened to my mom's Beatles and Elton John records. But the defining moment of my teenage years - maybe even the defining moment of my life up till now - was sitting in a room at my Grandma's house with Mark. I was thirteen years old and he put a record on the turntable. It was David Bowie's Space Oddity. I will never forget how that first line, Ground Control to Major Tom, sounded to my pop radio listening ears. After a steady diet of the Bee Gees and the Grease soundtrack, it was like a whole new world to me. All the while Mark is telling me about David Bowie, about the New York Dolls, about Iggy Pop. He played me Cheap Trick and Blondie and we looked at the album covers together. We always had a bond, but we were bonded that night in a way beyond uncle and niece. It was musical, it was spiritual, and it was religious. That was my entry into the church of rock 'n' roll. He was my brother, my mentor, and my friend.
Then, exactly 25 years ago today, we lost him. And I just happened to be visiting at the time.
Every summer I would visit my grandparents at their townhouse in San Juan Capistrano for a couple of weeks. Mark was living in Laguna Beach that summer, renting a room from a famous rock star in a three story house on the cliffs. We had plans to go to the Sawdust Festival together, but Mark had an accident and couldn't go. Someone was lowering a phone from the top balcony of the house to the bottom, and he dropped it on my uncle's head. Mark was OK but had to get stitches, so he postponed us hanging out for a couple of days.
The next hours and days were a painful experience that even today is hard for me to think about. The following day, after going to the Del Mar racetrack with my grandparents, I called Mark to make our new plan. There was no new plan, because he was dead.
The rock star was on the phone, asking to talk to my grandparents. I knew something was wrong when my grandma started wailing. I ran to my room, then back down, where my grandparents were walking out the door. They had, understandably, forgotten about me. They looked at me, and at each other, and then my grandfather said, "Mark is dead."
I went with them to Laguna Beach. It was the hardest drive I have ever taken. My grandma was rocking back and forth in the front seat, moaning and crying. My grandfather was silent. When we got to the house, they told me to wait in the car. I sat in the back seat wondering why I could not cry. I tried to cry, but nothing came out. Two guys pulled up at the cliff in a Blazer, listening to Van Halen. All I wanted was to be in that Blazer and not in the back of my grandparents car trying to cry.
The next few days revolved around the funeral, my grandma's tears, and alot of casseroles. I remember telling my mom "please don't cry" and her saying "I have to cry." Finally, at the funeral, I cried, in the arms of the guy who dropped the phone on Mark's head. Even though in the end it wasn't his fault, he felt responsible. For some bizarre reason, I reached out for him in the end.
So what killed Mark in the end? The pain medication. It wasn't much, but after years of abuse combined with a soul not-of-this-earth, it was enough.
Mark dreamed of his death. He wrote it down several times, and I know because I have read it. In the dream he is laying in his bed listening to his stereo. A dark figure enters the room, and Mark is scared of it. While the figure walks toward him Mark looks at a red light on the turntable. If the light stays on, he will live. If the music keeps playing, he will live. But if figure touches him, he will die.
The turntable was still playing when they found him the next day.
It took a long time for me to cry. But Mark is with me, and will always be with me, because our connection was so strong. Every time I buy a new record, get a crush on a musician, or fall in love with a song, Mark is there. Twenty-five years later, he is totally there. He is my dead muse.
Posted by Shannon at 5:13 PM | Comments (0)
August 3, 2005
The Mississippi Mudsharks, Revisited
Back in the 1990's my brother Tom was in a killer blues band called the Mississippi Mudsharks. They won all kinds of awards, toured Germany a few times, and were a very popular local band. I have all their CDs and whenever I play them, people always ask who they are.
They totally rocked. Then they broke up something like six years ago.
On the first Tuesday of every month, bartendress extrordinaire Sooty Hendricks hosts "Talk Dirty Tuesday" at a bar in the middle of nowhere called Desi & Friends. Last night, the Mississippi Mudsharks reunited for Sooty and Talk Dirty Tuesday.
What can I say? After all these years, the Mudsharks still TOTALLY ROCK. It was so awesome. Is there anything better than watching your little brother totally SHRED on the drums? I could not wipe the grin off my face the whole night. These guys could have been famous had they stayed together.
All kinds of people came out for the event, and everyone was way into it.
Ace goes anywhere there is dancing and dances with all the women. He has danced with thousands of women. He is a cool guy and here he is with my brother.
I need a better digital camera. The bar was too dark and none of the pictures of the Mudsharks shredding came out very well.
That's Scottie Blinn on guitar, Tom Essa on drums and Tim Butler on bass. Tim did not play in the original Mudsharks, but he is definitely one in spirit.
It was a super fun night, and almost felt like 1996 all over again. Plus it took my mind off Britt Daniel for a couple of hours. Today though, I was back on my current obsession. It is so easy these days with the internet. I can watch the man live, at any time, HERE.
My god. It's just a bit too much sometimes.
Anyhow here's one more for the road - Little D and Joe Peters after they won the wifebeater shirt contest last night. Way to go, Danielle and Joe!
Tonight I am taking it easy, if you can call it that.
Posted by Shannon at 7:51 PM | Comments (3)
August 1, 2005
The Delicate Place
Yesterday I wrote about a dream I had about Britt Daniel. That dream has messed me up bad. I can't stop thinking about Britt Daniel now. I was listening to Spoon constantly as it was - now I am totally obsessed. All because of a dream.
Though I love music I have never been one to fantasize about musicians. Well that's not exactly true - I do fantasize about Radiohead just happening to be staying at the same hotel as me, stuff like that. But I don't have SEXUAL fantasies about musicians. I love Jeff Tweedy but the last thing I think about is sleeping with him (Glenn Kotche is so much hotter, anyway.) Then along comes this dream, which was not really about sex. It was more about love and comfort. Who knows what it all means.
I am kind of in love now. I wish I had known this in June, I would have had a whole different thing going on at that Spoon show at the Avalon. All because of a dream! If I had control over my dreams, I think I would dream about Britt Daniel every night for a while. He does all these crazy moans on the records. It's driving me totally insane.
Oh well. A dream in sleep, a dream while awake.
Last night I was hanging out at the Vine and my brother called there (guess he knows how to find me these days.) There was a B52s show at Humphries and the bass player, Sara Lee, gave my brother passes. We met Sara Lee a couple of years ago, my brother fell in love with her, and she wanted to go out on a boat so he found a boat and took her out. (It was totally platonic - he loves her way too much to do anything stupid.) We partied with the band back then, so I was pretty excited to hear about the show and the after-party. I got in a cab and got down there pretty fast but only managed to see the last few songs. The place was full of drunk, aging yuppifieds dancing like maniacs. It's always nice to go to a show where you are one of the youngest people there at the age of forty.
The B52s are so fun. It's pretty hard not to get into "Rock Lobster" or "Love Shack." These are American classics, and the band really gets into performing them, after all these years.
The after party was kind of boring. The last time, my friend Kim Martin was doing lights for the band so we went dancing with them after the after-stuff. But it was fun to talk, even briefly, to Kate Pierson and Keith Strickland. They are really, really nice, down to earth people. Some dude asked Keith Strickland "how long have you been with the band?" and I was like "DUDE. Since the beginning." What a dork! But it is easy to make that mistake because Keith Strickland looks really young... he looks like my age, but he is twelve years older. If I was a gay man I'd be so in love with that guy.
So this whole time I am thinking about Britt Daniel. I am trying to figure out a way to talk to Kate Pierson or Sara Lee about my little dream problem. But of course I didn't - there wasn't time and I didn't want my brother hearing what I had to say. Oh well.
One more thing and then I'll shut up. Spoon has this song called "10:20 A.M." I am pretty sure this is when I dreamed about Britt Daniel. Isn't that weird?
10:20 A.M., 10:20 A.M.
When will I ever see you again.
Tonight, in my sleep. PLEASE?
Posted by Shannon at 7:58 PM | Comments (1)