Amy, Aimee

Maybe 10 or 12 years ago, my friend Amy turned me on to Aimee Mann.  I don’t recall exactly how it happened, but it involved a show at The Egg and an extra ticket.  I don’t think I had any familiarity with Aimee Mann’s music beyond her ‘Til Tuesday stuff, but she hit me big.  There was something appealing about her soft voice and her hard to take lyrics that I found powerful and moving.  In the Egg’s lobby, immediately after the show, I bought two of her cds.  A fan was born.

Through the years, I’ve listened to Aimee Mann with an enthusiasm which bordered upon obsession.  When I was feeling positive about life, she made me appreciate my happiness. During the more emotionally challenging times, I knew that Aimee Mann understood my struggles and she kept me looking ahead.  Her music is penetrating and she has written moody music for movies (Magnolia soundtrack) and revisited childhood classics with her contributions to the I Am Sam soundtrack and her cover of How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

I caught her show a few years ago in Washington Park, a venue that didn’t necessarily suit her, in my opinion.  Thursday night, on the invitation of two dear friends, I headed down to Hudson’s Club Helsinki to check her out again.  The gorgeous space that is Helsinki, perfectly matched the intimacy of Mann’s music and she and her band put on a terrific show. Opening act and collaborator, Ted Leo, seemingly the result of some sort of merging of Elvis Costello and Joe Jackson, was a bit weak as a solo act, yet he shined when he shared the stage with Aimee.  She was funny as hell – self-deprecating and quick-witted in the same way  her lyrics tend to be.  Her observations, along with her black-framed glasses, were sharp and defining and it was a memorable show.

Although I failed at capturing a photo of she and I together, wearing our strikingly similar outfits of short shorts and nerdy eyewear, the night overall was perfect in every way.

Thank you, Amy.
Thank you, Aimee.

My youngest son is obsessed with John Lennon and related dilemmas

Image: @yokoono/Twitter

Quinn asked me to load some Beatles on his iPad recently and I finally had a moment to do it this morning.  He has been really into Here Comes the Sun and chose this song as our first tune of the day.  Not a bad way to start a Sunday, I’d say.

As the music was playing sweetly, Quinn mentioned that every day he thinks about George Harrison and John Lennon being dead and he gets angry.  Well, as he said, not really about George because it wasn’t his fault that he got sick, but the thing about John?  That made him really upset. Why did that guy have to shoot him?

Quinn asked me when John was killed – what year?  I’m sure that 1980 sounded like a million years ago to my boy, but I continued my remembrances of that time (freshman year of high school) by telling him that the man who shot Lennon was still in prison for committing that crime.  He was outraged – “Why wasn’t he executed, Mom?  How could he have done that to John Lennon?”

How do I respond to that?  How does one explain the precarious relationship between the emergence of sunshine, the death of an idol and a life spent behind bars?  Oh, Beautiful Boy, where would I begin?

A nightmare and two dreams or how I spent my February break.

image: http://img.docstoccdn.com

Our lice thing turned into a week of laundry and hair combing and ultimately a prescription lotion, Ovide, which I elected to use prophylactically on the entire family.  FYI: if you ever need to get this lice and nit killing potion, start at the pharmacy at Walmart because that was the only place that had it in stock.  Insert socioeconomic targeted population wise-ass remark here.  I am optimistic that we have eradicated the problem, but will remain vigilant.  Please keep your fingers crossed that the nightmare is over and in return I will pray that your house is never visited by this plague.

Now, for the dreams…

After my recent dropping of the hammer on my underperforming son, he has really been making strides in the right direction.  His grades and attitude have improved and I felt comfortable recognizing his efforts with a reward.  His cell phone has needed an upgrade and I was thrilled to have the opportunity to buy him one that he is equally thrilled to own.  I will hold tightly to the spontaneous (and public!) hug he gave me during the future’s more challenging moments. And that gushing text he sent me?  I’m keeping that forever!

Making a dream come true can be as simple and spontaneous as agreeing to purchase a smart phone or a more involved process requiring reservations and tickets and an overnight bag. The latter describes the realization of my oldest son’s birthday request, albeit an event we marked a week prematurpely. Shortly after his 15th birthday last year, my boy-man asked that we go to NYC’s Metropolitan Opera House to take in a performance.  You’ve got to applaud a kid who can begin to plan a NYC adventure a year in advance – that’s my boy.

Our trip began from at the Rensselaer train station where we popped our figurative MegaBus cherry – overall not a bad experience, but it would have been nice if the Wi-Fi had been more consistent.  We stayed at a classic NYC hotel, the Ramada New Yorker, which was comfortable and convenient.  But, really, it was all about Carmen.  Our box, with its ever so slightly impeded view was remarkably comfortable and I think I only dozed for a minute.  Twice.  The show was beautiful – the voices, the orchestra,  the setting.  I wouldn’t have changed a thing about the night, which concluded with a cab ride back downtown and midnight snack eaten at the hotel.

Isn’t he handsome?

So, two out three isn’t so bad.  I’ll take it.

Florence + the Machine – SPAC, 9/16/12

Last weekend may have been one of the best weekends ever.  The weather was outstanding, the Wine Bar was beautifully busy, Lark Fest was once again a joy, and I got to take my middle son to SPAC to close out the season.  Yep, pretty friggin’ awesome.

When the show was first announced, I decided a Sunday night show in September was undo-able.  Especially during the early weeks of school when my body is still craving the languidness of summer.  Nope, not happening.  But, once I realized that the following day was a holiday (Happy New Year!) and I was offered the opportunity to shoot pictures for a Times Union SEEN gallery, everything changed.  We were there!

I have to admit, I don’t really know a lot of the band’s music, but there are a couple of tunes that almost have an anthemic quality that I really like.  I think Greg Haymes gave a really fair and accurate review of the show here.  It was an absolutely gorgeous night and I think I won some “cool mom” points with my boy – winning!  I had hoped to slip a photo of he and I together into the SEEN gallery, an idea which was nixed by my teen.  Oddly enough, he acquiesced to having a photo taken with three beautiful college coeds…See if you can find that picture.  If you can’t locate it on the TU site, you might want to check inside his middle school locker.

Mayhem? Yes. Music? I’m not sure.

You’ve been warned

Tuesday afternoon I headed back up to Saratoga for another musical experience.  Unlike the Allman Brothers or Santana, the bands on the bill were completely new to me.  The event, Mayhem Fest, was essentially a Heavy Metal extravaganza, a genre I have very little no experience with, truth be told.  But there I was, me and 8000 + metal heads.

I arrived a bit late due to a fest of my own, that is little love fest between me and a fantastic sandwich from Cardona’s – the Augusto with the addition of hot peppers.  Sadly enough, we missed Anthrax who were touring with a local guy on drums.  Bummer.  The preliminary acts apparently alternated between the main stage and a secondary stage set up behind the brick concessions building.  By the time we got there, though, the action was limited to the amphitheater stage.  And the audience, of course.

The crowd was very different from the folks I had felt so very comfortable with just a couple of days prior.  There were more younger people, lots of piercings and a tendency for devil’s horns as an integral part of each picture that I observed being taken.  Happily enough for me, males outnumbered females by at least a ratio of 4 to 1 guaranteeing speedy bathroom breaks for the ladies, while the guys were left standing in line for a change.

A view of the moshing from the amphitheater ramp.

The bands were good – those in the know really seemed to enjoy Motörhead and Slayer and they definitely put on a great show which was well-received by the audience.  I enjoyed the energy and, despite my ignorance, felt completely comfortable head banging bobbing along with the crowd.  The mosh pit freaked me out.  Maybe it is my cautious nature, but I don’t really understand the thrill of

 

 

throwing my body into another’s, at least not publicly.  I’m just not reckless and it seems like an exceedingly reckless thing to do.  Moshers – can you explain the impulse?

The headliner of the event was Slipknot, a band with which I was completely unfamiliar.  I mean, other than as a soundtrack to my worst nightmare, that is.  I absolutely do not get the appeal of a bunch a guys in horrific masks and orange prison jumpsuits screaming vile, angry words while stomping around the stage.  If you haven’t been assaulted by exposed to them before click here to get a sense of what I’m talking about.  I don’t know what makes them so different to me from the dramatic, theatrical bands of my youth (Kiss, for instance) but they just seemed to be vomiting rage  and I was incredibly disturbed by them.  Please forgive me for lacking an iota of appreciation for what they do, but it just ain’t for me.  I can only assume they wear those masks so they can’t be identified as the producers of such an angry excuse for music.  Yuck.

Am I missing something?  I certainly don’t require convincing or persuading, but if you’re inclined to share any appreciation you might have for this act, please feel free to share.  I know I have no interest in ever seeing them again, even with good company and an excellent sandwich to sweeten the deal.

Allman Brothers and Santana at SPAC – 7/27/12

I had a chance to finally get to a show last night at SPAC – first of the season.  Despite all the rain we’ve had recently the lawn was in good shape and the crowd was definitely there to have a good time.  The Allman Brothers sounded fantastic.  Greg’s voice was in tip-top shape and if Willie Nelson ever needs a doppelgänger I’d say Greg Allman is his guy.  It’s really nice to see Derek playing with more soul as he ages.  Watching Carlos playing the blues was awesome and it is very difficult to believe that a man with his youthful spirit could have possibly been on stage at Woodstock.  Wow.

I’ve seen both of the acts before, but there was definitely something special in the air last night – and I’m not talking about the pervasive smell of weed, either.  I won’t forget last night for a long time.  More pictures here at my Seen gallery at the Times Union.  See if you can spot me in a group photo with my new best girlfriends!

Derek and Warren

Greg

Carlos working the stage

The unmistakable Carlos

Notes on film and music

That title sounds pretentious, doesn’t it? Apologies. I’ve consumed a movie and a cd recently and, while I had distinctly different opinions of the two experiences  there were similarities in the strength of my response to each of them, And the fact that the two primary artists involved, Johnny Depp and John Mayer, are beginning to morph into the same shaggy sexy looking guy.   Purely beyond the film, in Mr. Depp’s case.

The best thing about the movie I saw a couple of weeks ago, was the popcorn.  And I broke a filling on a kernel.  It is probably more a statement about me than the film, but I just don’t get this Johnny Depp, Tim Burton, Helena Bonham Carter love affair.  It’s over and they need to take a five-year time out from each other before I’ll pay to see another of their collaborations.  ”Dark Shadows” was ridiculous, camp without humor, horror without suspense.  It was so bad it made me uncomfortable.  But, that’s just me.

Now, I don’t know what you know about John Mayer’s new album, Born and Raised, but I’m kind of embarrassed about how much I love it.  Not like Jessica Simpson was when he described her as “sexual napalm,” (And can you explain what made that such a criticism?  I think I would have been flattered) but still kind of sheepishly blushing.  I think the lyrics (call me Word Girl) are earnest and meaningful, the message is optimistically positive and the music is thoughtfully sincere. Despite his having obviously stolen an idea from me in the song “Love is a Verb,” I can’t help but be head over heels in love with the record.  I feel like it’s one of those albums which will come to define a time period in my life.  Which is way better than wishing I had the 113 minutes back that I wasted watching that wretched movie.

So – there you have it, some topical, not necessarily sage, cultural advice.  You got something to share, too?  What movies have you seen?  Maybe some new music recommendations?