Mish Mash

Knowledge From the Box

/ Deb / 2 Comments

The Showbox and the Rock Box, that is.  Here’s what I learned recently from each:

The most obvious thing I learned from the Rock Box was that I should have gone there much sooner. It is a music lover’s dream – individual, various-sized karaoke rooms, with food and beverage service while you sing.  I do not have a good singing voice except when alone in my car, and therefore do not often feel the pull of a karaoke microphone. I had done karaoke exactly one time, in college, and my inebriated trio’s rendition of Devo’s “Whip It” was so loud and awful that the karaoke guy turned our mic off.  But now I’m older and wiser, and on this October night, in the company of a small group of girlfriends and armed with a tablet device that gave us access to any song I could think of, I found my inner karaoke goddess. Our group sampled nearly every musical genre, from show tunes to rap, 1970’s to present day, and I had a blast.  Three lessons from the Rock Box night:

1.  I don’t know all the words to Naughty By Nature’s “OPP” like I thought I did;
2.  Journey is really hard to sing.  Kenny Rogers is not; and
3.  “Smells Like Teen Spirit” is just as fun to yell now as it was 20 years ago.

A few nights later, the stars aligned – both kids had sleepovers away from home, and Portland band Blind Pilot was playing a gig at the Showbox.  I surprised my husband with tickets and a night out.   Blind Pilot is a current favorite of his, and we’ve never seen them live before, so this promised to be a good time.  Blind Pilot is what I call kitchen music…music to listen to while I am making dinner. It’s melodic, unobtrusive, easily digested. Surely their live show would be the same.

We had appetizers and cocktails at a bar, while we strategized about Halloween costumes for our friends’ annual party.  We talked about the kids; we talked about college football.  It was all so easy and in synch….we moseyed over to the Showbox and staked out our spot, and watched a few opening bands before Blind Pilot came on. The show had a great vibe, and they proved to be just as enjoyable as I had predicted. I got my Concert Moment, when they closed with one of my favorite songs, “Three Rounds and a Sound”, which, especially on this night, is a life-affirming tune. Here were my takeaways from the evening:

1. I might be too old to attend shows that don’t start until 11:30pm.
2. People really need to stop groping each other and playing grab-ass at concerts. Seriously. (possibly another sign that I am getting old).

The third thing, though, and really the most important, is that the next time someone asks me, “Why are you like that?” in relation to my concert-going habits, I will now have a better answer.

I recently fielded that question across a dinner table, and the answer was so simple that it eluded me at the time. Now I know that my answer should be – because I want to have nights like this.  I am “like that” because, after I go to a show, the memory is mine.  It gets woven into my musical history.  It is burned into my soul and into my heart.  So that now, in my kitchen on a random Tuesday night, I get to hear this song and remember a great night out with my sweetie, who is still, after all these years, my favorite concert companion.

(Or, as Blind Pilot would put it:  “‘Till kingdom come, you’re the one I want”.)  Indeed.

And She Was Right

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A lesson learned the hard way this morning:  I’m no longer the Master of the iPod in my own kitchen. 

The morning was crisp and sunny, it’s “Smoothie Friday” in our house, and Seattle is all abuzz about the warm weather coming our way this weekend.  Alas, I had the Mellow Mix going, not a peppy summertime mix.  Without my realizing it, my daughter snatched the remote control, and abruptly changed the song.

Her explanation?  “That song was too sad for a Friday”.  
Man, I love that kid.

The Pixies, Chad Stokes, and Pineapple

/ Deb / 2 Comments

A strange combination, right?  Here is the backstory:  I pay a lot of attention to things that are not really worthy of my attention.  It is probably not the most efficient use of my time, but still, I am slightly obsessed with signs, and the inter-connectedness of things…..people, events, music.  I wrote a blog post recently about my son’s take on a Pixies song that seemed to be following me. (“Oh, There is My Mind”).

Although I love the idea of signs, I rarely follow them.  To wit: I once thought that the discovery of my old Joshua Tree tee shirt was a sign that I should re-consider my decision to not attend the U2 concert.  (“A 1987 Bono for the New Year”).   That stupid tee shirt might very well have been a sign, but ultimately I didn’t follow it, even when, the night before the show, I had access to a ticket.  I also was once sure that a song at a wedding was beckoning me back to France (“Book the Villa, it’s a Sign”), but that hasn’t happened yet, either.  C’est la vie.

Spotty history aside, even if you are not a “sign” kind of person, you’ve got to admit that the following signs from last Saturday are enough to make you scratch your head.  I’m not committing to follow through on anything, but it does make me wonder what The Pixies, Chad Stokes, and pineapple have in common, and what they might be trying to tell me.

SATURDAY SIGN #1
I had tickets that night to see Chad Stokes (from Dispatch and State Radio) play with his new band at a small club.  I’ve always had an imaginary friendship with Chad, because he looks like a friend of my sister’s who brought a pineapple to my wedding.  (“On Sisters and Pineapple”).  I love everything about pineapples  – their symbolism of hospitality, the fact that they hail from Hawaii, and that they remind me of my wedding day.

My sister texted me to have fun at the show and to say hi to Chad for her.   I responded that maybe I should bring him a pineapple.  A few hours later, what do I find at a thrift store — a small wooden pineapple.  Spooky, right?  I bought it, of course.  I had two other wooden pineapples at home that were screaming to become a trio.  (Sorry, Chad).

SATURDAY SIGN #2
Pineapple in place with its two other buddies, we headed out for appetizers and drinks before the show.  My husband had not yet read my Pixies-related blog post, so he sat and read it while we waited. “Good post,” he said, and we started talking about the kids (this is what all parents talk about on their nights out, yes?)   Without missing a beat, the song came on.  That’s right — the “creepy” song — “Where Is My Mind?” — again.  Third time in only a few days.  It’s not that common of a song, is it?   Why will this song not leave me alone?

We looked at each other –  “Hmph. Strange…..”, but ultimately did not reach any conclusions about the meaning of this occurrence, and we headed out to the show.  And it was a lovely show…..very small venue, a great combination of Chad’s new songs, State Radio songs, and Dispatch songs….including one of my favorites, “Elias”, as an encore.  The rest of the evening was, blissfully, pineapple and Pixies-free.

So what does it all mean?  That I really have lost my mind?  That I should go to Hawaii?  That I need a weekend away with my sisters?  I’m still mulling over the possibilities — you know, for a Sign that, ultimately, I will not follow.

Oh, There is My Mind

/ Deb / 4 Comments

It always amuses me when my kids voice an opinion on a song from the back of the minivan, or the other side of the kitchen island.  Sometimes I’m surprised at what they like, and sometimes I’m disappointed that my favorites aren’t theirs too.  Either way, I’m glad they are listening, and 20 years from now, hopefully they will have songs that will bring back vivid memories for them, the way music does for me.

My son is quite possibly the funniest kid I know, which is not surprising, considering that his dad is the funniest grown-up I know.   He comes out with zingers that make me laugh, scratch my head, and wonder how he comes up with this stuff.  And then I forget to write it all down.

This morning.  Breakfast table in an otherwise not-empty room (yes, PJ reference)…….As his sister thumbed through a catalog, he queried, deadpan-serious:  “Do they make American Girl Doll weaponry?”

His sister and I laughed, but — is this the untapped marketing angle that would make American Girl Dolls appeal to boys?  Before we had much time to discuss the details of combat gear for Kit, however, we were heading out the door.  My daughter, not to be outdone in the clever comment category:  “I’m wearing this hoodie today, it makes me feel like I live in Hollywood”.  Apparently that makes for a good day when one is in second grade.

Yesterday in the van, my son had taken aim at the Pixies, declaring, “this song is creepy” when “Where Is My Mind?” happened to come on.  (He attributed it to the “woo hoo’s” at the beginning.  Fair enough.)  He and I go out for coffee together twice a week, just the two of us.  It’s a tradition that started two years ago, when we were trying to figure out what to do with the extra half hour in the morning while his sister is at choir.  We drop her off at school, then hit a coffee house — latte for me, hot cocoa and a baked good for him.  Topics of conversation include baseball, dogs, vacations, and, most recently, lessons (for me) in the game of Magic: The Gathering.  We once sat and played a game, which earned me a ‘Way to Go, Mom’ thumbs-up from the bearded 20-something barista.

This morning we walked in to the coffee house – a different one than usual – and you can guess what song was playing…..  “Where Is My Mind?”.  Now that is creepy.  “Hey, Sweetie — it’s your song!”  I said, and he pretended to grimace.

You know how, as a parent, you experience fleeting moments that make you feel like you are doing something right?  (The ones that balance out all of the times when you are sure you are screwing your kids up for life?)  This morning was one of those moments.   My sweet fourth grade boy was stressing out over a school project.  We talked through it and came up with a plan.  Then he took a sip of cocoa, cocked his head to one side, looked at me and said, “Mom, I always feel better when I talk to you about stuff.”   True to form, I welled up with tears, but managed to tell him – hey, that’s what Moms are for.   I’ve often joked with him that he and I share the same brain, and it’s true.  We are wired the same.  I like to think that this will give me an edge in helping him navigate the teenage years…..we’ve agreed to keep our morning coffee dates going, and I really hope we do.

He wanted to stay home with me today.  The real reason is that he is in the middle of a big baseball card sorting project, and he is, in his words — “making great progress”.  He wanted to hunker down in his room and keep going, with a Harry Potter book on tape in the background.  I know this because we share the same brain, and days like that appeal to me too.   He tried to tell me, however, that if I let him stay home, he would  help me with stuff around the house:

“Mom!  If you let me stay home today, I’ll be your house elf”.

I kissed him and ushered him out of the van.  But if I really thought that he would do chores for me all day, I’d probably let him stay home.

Express Yourself, 2012 Style

/ Deb / 1 Comment

One thing irritates me like no other:  the Music Snob.  You know the type – they only like the coolest bands that no one else has heard of, or claim to only like music done by “true artists” or “good musicians” (read:  no pop, no Top 40).  I am not a Music Snob.  I like a lot of different music, and I won’t disparage you for what you like. 

Behold:  today’s post is about Salt ‘n Pepa.  You Music Snobs know who they are, so don’t pretend otherwise.

In 1990, Salt ‘n Pepa’s “Expression” was a mainstay on my Walkman.  I was in college and worked part-time at the prosecutor’s office, and rode the Metro bus to and from campus and work, every day.  A Walkman was essential in order to avoid having to talk to any weird older men who might sit next to you on the bus.  I really loved that song; I must have listened to it a million times.  (Favorite line?  “Yes I’m blessed and I know/who I am/I express myself on every jam/I’m not a man but I’m in command/hot damn, I got an all-girl band”).                                 

Soon thereafter, with the onslaught of Nirvana, Pearl Jam, et. al., my flirtation with rap and hip-hop ended.  My DJ/rapper nickname was cast aside (email me and I’ll tell you what it was), and my Salt n’ Pepa cassette was relegated to a box.  I decided I wanted to become a lawyer….went to law school,  got married, had kids, blah blah blah……20 years passed.  Cut to present day Seattle, on a path around Greenlake:

I honestly forgot that I ever loaded the song onto iTunes or put it on my workout mix.  I don’t think I’ve heard it in years.  But today, on my run, for the first time ever – the Shuffle Gods went to work, and there it was – Salt ‘n Pepa, speaking to me in scratches and beats:

“Hey, you used to be that girl on the bus…..you carried a leather bookbag and had big dreams and a five year plan.  How’d that all work out for you?  Are you where you want to be?  Have you done what you set out to do?  How realistic were the plans of a 20 year-old anyway?   You can laugh at the 20 year-old You and how she didn’t know anything, but she’s still out there on a bus somewhere, and you need to settle up with her”.

Enough already, Salt! (and Pepa.  And Spinderella)  As if I wasn’t already introspective enough, as a result of the new year and an unexpected event in my family, now here you go, poking me with your catchy grooves.  OK, I will play along.  January is always a time for cleaning out and purging.  Why else would all the stores have organizational items on sale, and all the diet centers run specials?   More importantly, though, it’s also a time for mental housecleaning – to satisfy that list-maker in all of us.  

Much like a Metro bus route, our lives will always be filled with delays, detours, and some dead ends.  But the end result is that I don’t need any do-overs.  I’m ecstatically happy with the past 20 years, potholes and all.  I am looking forward to 2012 in a way that I haven’t done in a long time.  It is full of promise, full of new beginnings, and chock-full of big plans, both personally and professionally.

It might have taken me 20 years to realize that, in the end, you really are only accountable to yourself.  Or, as it were, to your 20-year old self on a bus.  I’d still like to buy that girl a cup of coffee and talk to her, but otherwise, I think we’ve settled up.

Alive….Encore Break

/ Deb / 2 Comments

Twenty years, holy cow.  Pearl Jam’s “Alive” was released as a single on August 2, 1991.  In honor, it feels like maybe it’s time to release this one from the vault.

Originally written in 2003, it was, in a lot of ways, the precursor to what would later become Corduroy Notes (figured out the origin of the name yet?  Let me know if you have a guess).

And, by way of update, I still can’t believe that I almost broke up with Pearl Jam.  The career drama is a now a mere footnote, and I am thankful to be back in contact with my friend — we still talk PJ, and scratch our heads at the fact that 20 years have passed since our first show.

I’m Still Alive

 Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about music. It’s funny how, while a recording preserves a musical performance, a song also serves to record the events that occur in our lives.

“Dust in the Wind” will forever be a darkened Stevens Junior High cafeteria, and a dance with an older 9th grade boy whom I had a major crush on.  Bobby Brown’s “My Prerogative” = a McMahon Hall lounge, new friends, and the first time I ever saw a beer bong. Likewise, though, other artists have been entirely ruined for me just by their association with bad memories: The Steve Miller Band, Jimmy Buffet, and Hootie & the Blowfish all have found their way into this category (no great losses there).

Which brings up an interesting part of the ending of a relationship: the question of who gets custody of the music. Not the physical CD’s and albums, but the memories associated with them, the ownership of those times. For awhile, I thought that Pearl Jam would find its way into the Steve Miller-Jimmy Buffet-Hootie camp. When a long-term friendship ended a few years ago, I didn’t listen to Eddie and the boys for a long, long time. It was too painful; nearly every song represented some memory of the “us” that was no longer – all the Pearl Jam shows we had attended together, and the Seattle music mania that had gripped us both so many years earlier.

Ultimately, I realized that I could take ownership of those memories and experiences for myself, with or without him in my life. Of course, maybe it was the music that made me do it — giving up The Steve Miller Band is one thing. Giving up Pearl Jam is quite another.

Like many others, I own the entire Pearl Jam catalog, and I love it all. But one song still endures as my favorite. “Alive” was their first song to hit the airwaves, and I was a senior in college at UW — that time in the early 90’s when, as Seattle-centric twenty-somethings, we believed that Seattle had become the center of the music universe (and maybe it was, for awhile).

I remember the first few times that I heard “Alive” – this song, this band – I was hooked right away. I talked to my L.A.-based boyfriend, and asked him if he had heard this new song – from some band named Pearl Jam, and they were from…. Seattle!  Where I lived! I tried to sing the song to him to see if he recognized it. He didn’t. At least not yet.

Since then, I have always had a special relationship with “Alive”. It seems to show up when I need it most — little blips on the radar screen of my life. I vividly remember getting off the bus, opening my mailbox and finding my law school acceptance letter – while listening to it on my Walkman. Three years later, driving home on the day my Bar Exam results were to arrive, there it was again. And again, after a particularly bad job interview, while lost in downtown Seattle in my half-broken-down car in the rain, there was Eddie on the radio, singing my song.

These days, the Seattle music craze has long passed, and you really don’t hear old Pearl Jam on the radio very much anymore, even here in Seattle.

Recently, my husband and I were having lunch and discussing my latest career drama: whether I should leave my law firm, do something else, or quit working entirely and stay home with our 8 month-old son. I was stressed out, and questioning whether I wanted to practice law anymore. I realized that I was at a crossroads — with not just my needs to consider, but that of my son and our little family.

On my way back from lunch, my husband called me. “Turn on 107.7”, he said.

There it was: Eddie Vedder, belting out the anthem of my youth, all at once giving me a glimpse of the girl I was ten years ago, how far I had come, and reminding me that, as always, things will work out as they should.

I turned up the stereo, rolled down my window, and sang along.

Quiet 13

/ Deb / 1 Comment

Sometimes you have to to do things just to prove to yourself that you can do it.  No, I am not talking about the half marathon that I ran recently.  I knew I could run the 13.1 miles.  What I didn’t know is that I could run them without listening to music.   I’m usually plugged in, and I take my playlist seriously (“The Sweatiest Music”).

I boarded the race shuttle early that morning with all necessary gear — bib number, timing chip, iPod….but no headphones.  If you had supersonic hearing, you would have heard a thunderous “F**K!!!” emanating from my head when I discovered it.  I’ve done short runs without music, and it’s fine, but a two hour run?  When the momentary sense of panic wore off, I resigned myself to a quiet run and figured that it could be worse.

This being the “Rock n Roll” marathon, bands were stationed along the route, and that was nice, but not the same.  It got me thinking though — if I were the event organizer, I would station a big-name band somewhere along the route.  How funny would it be to see people really surprised?  Maybe the serious runners would not notice, and run on by.  Me, though — I love running, but not enough to avoid stopping and watching one of my favorite bands.

The upside of the quiet run was that I got to hear the conversations of the people running near me.  There were a lot of exchanges that I started calling “No Man Left Behind”, all going something like this:

“You go on without me; this is ridiculous, I can’t keep up”
“No.  No!!  We agreed to do this together, I’m not leaving you!”

The other common theme – spousal bickering: “Well!  If you don’t want to listen to me talk, then don’t run by me!  Whatever!!”   (I could relate to that poor guy.  I didn’t want to run by his wife, either.)

After the finish, there was a little post-race concert with NW mid-90’s darling, Everclear.   Bar Exam memories aside,  (“Heroin Girl, or Heroine Girl?”), it was fun to reflect on how much had changed since the last time I saw them, that summer so long ago (especially the fact that this time, I had two kids with me).   They didn’t sound great, and lead singer Art Alexakis is the only original member, but it was entertaining all the same.

I swear to you on Eddie Vedder that I am not exaggerating this next part.  It is hilarious yet troubling, and if it’s any indication of what’s to come during her teenage years, her dad and I are in for quite a ride.

My daughter decided that she wanted the lead singer to see her rocking out.  My husband held her up and she fist-pumped during the songs, waving at Art Alexakis and trying to get him to point to her.  “Closer!” she said, so she and I crept closer to the stage, leaving the men behind (familiar territory…. although normally my partners in crime are my sisters).   When the show ended, Art knelt down at the edge of the stage and shook hands with those who could reach him.

We were a few rows back, so he waved to my daughter and said “Hi sweetie, how are you?”   She waved back, answered “Good!”, and announced to me that she was ready to leave.  The lead singer had now been informed that she was there, and her work was done.

And Aloha Means Goodbye

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If you want to know how long your post-vacation vibe will last, take the length of your vacation and divide by three.  Coming home from my recent 10-day vacation, it took me exactly 3 days to lose my Aloha spirit.  3 days to admit it was over, and turn my attention to chores.  And exactly 3 days to switch from listening to reggae island music, and trade it in for moody Northwest music.

I tried to keep it going.  Really, I did.  I found a reggae station on XM Radio and played it in the car.  Even the kids noticed:  “hey, it’s like Island Radio!”

But there’s a reason why sunny locales generate happy, carefree music like reggae.  Likewise, there’s a reason why the Northwest produces moody, brooding music.   The weather sets the mood, and the mood inspires the music. Or you could say that the weather sets the clothes, which then set the mood, which then inspires the music.  (which was a funny by-product of the Grunge era…..no one was trying to make a fashion statement by wearing flannel…..it’s just that flannel shirts are comfy, and you could get them for $4.00 at Chubby & Tubby.)  

Or maybe it’s all the other way around.  Anyway, you see where I am going with this.

Sometimes during a grey Seattle winter, I’ll try to mix it up and listen to one of my summertime mixes.  But it never lasts for long.  It just doesn’t match.  Summertime music goes best with summer weather.  And besides, the cloudy, unpredictable nature of Seattle weather suits my personality better.  I am not sunny enough to live anywhere else.    But I will gladly vacation in a spot where the weather is constantly nice.

Vacations are vital in getting us out of  a rut, both personally and musically.  Hanging out on an island in the middle of the ocean with some of my favorite people….for ten days, life became as simple as the decision of beach vs. pool, and what to grill for dinner. 

And, of course, there was the music of Island Radio 98.9, where you could hear old songs re-fashioned to a reggae beat (love Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight”?  You are in luck.).   Destined to be a classic (at least in my memory), a ridiculous but catchy song dominated the airwaves while we were there:  set to a reggae beat, “Let’s Drink Beer” by Ikena Dupont (best line:  “beer is not an obstacle, it’s an avenue”). 

It’s available on iTunes!   The best $1.29 vacation souvenir I’ve ever purchased.   Aloha.

A Week of Irony and Self Awareness

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I find myself somewhat scattered and unable to focus this morning, but need to get two things out:

1.  It dawned on me today that it’s ironic that I write a blog about music, and yet I can’t listen to music while I write. 

2.  I realized this week that I am still not mature enough for yoga. (“Namaste, Eddie“)   On my way to hot yoga, every single week, I sing this Foreigner-inspired tune in my head:  Hot yoga, check it and see/Heat the room up to a hundred and three/Come on baby can you Downward Dog/it’s hot yoga, it’s hot yoga…

(Self awareness and publication of one’s dorkiness is important, don’t you think?)