Bel C*nto

Today as I sat with my morning coffee, perusing the usual music blogs and websites, I found myself looking at the NPR music website. Lots and lots of  great stuff on this website. "1,000 essential recordings you must hear", blogs by interesting people, music reviews for every genre, and all kinds of music news. Best of all, I have actually heard of most of the artists that are discussed or described, unlike the music and bands on a certain other website even though it is my homepage. 

This post is not about music, though. No, this post is about the Beavis or Butthead-like feeling that washes over a person when they find a sublimely perfect typo. 

So as I was saying, I was browsing the NPR music website when to my surprise I saw this headline:

I thought maybe the word was cut off, you know, maybe it was supposed to say...twotone? Twotimes? Twotentwo?

So I opened up the article to find out. No...nothing was cut off. It's really just supposed to say "two":

Maybe someone had a grudge against the sopranos on the different recordings, or maybe the author just has sex on the brain in general.In any case, the seventh grader in me knew it was going to be a good day. Now if you will excuse me, I am off to the pubic library.

Bumber....well, shoot.

What with the advent of modern tech-mology, music has been easier to come by than an STD on Colfax avenue. What? Since musicians have to make a living, a direct result of all the downloadin' that the kids do these days is all these crazy festivals with all their space age names.....Bonnaroo, Coachella, Monolith, some crazy thing called Lollapalooza, and then there is Bumbershoot.

I have always said that it would be a great thing if the world map was like an Excel spreadsheet, and we could just hide states and countries the way you can columns and rows. That way we could jump around and see friends and loved ones when we wanted, go to H & M whenever we felt the need (like, three times a day), and travel around in general without having to worry about airfare, lodging, a dogsitter, and taking time off of work. I realize that this fantasy is flawed, of course, because half the world would want to be in the same place at the same time and it would cause complete chaos....but one can dream.

I am conflicted, though, because anyone that knows me knows that anything that ends in "fest" gives me the heebee jeebies, number one because of the crowds, number two (heh heh) because of the porta-potties, and number three, because of the way that you always end up a mile away from the band that you want to see with some drunk and super high frat boy douchebag next to you pumping his arm to the music and going "WOOOOOO!", WOOOOOOOH!" so loud, and for so long, that you walk away wondering why you paid for a ticket and hating all of humanity with a serious passion.

Still, Bumbershoot is coming up and I want to go. To be honest, I could see most of the bands that are playing at Bumbershoot right in my own backyard at Monolith in mid-September..and I probably will. I don't know why I am so drawn to Seattle this year to see this particular festival out of all the festivals that have happened this summer. I think it has something to do with the location, just the right amount of bands I like, and the fact that there are a crap ton of great musicians that are in Seattle right now that I would love to see. 

In any case, here are the highlights. You can click on the names to hear the artist's music:

Neko Case:

I mean, holy crap. If you don't know Neko Case, I envy you. I envy you because you are about to hear her for the first time. If you do know her, then you know the sound of honey dripping on a 1956 Ford F-100 pickup truck with a bloodhound in the passengers seat holding tiger lilies, cupcakes and a loaded gun.  

Lucinda Williams:

If my world were a Harry Potter book, Lucinda Williams would be Dumbledore. (Except she is totally hot, and she is almost sixty years old...sorry Dumbledore). Lucinda Williams is the daughter of Miller Williams, a literature professor and poet. Her voice is creaky and sad, even when she is belting out a loud song with a fast tempo; her songs are unbelievable. Someday, when I learn how to upload MP3s onto this bastard, I will share with you the magic that is "Side of the road", or "Something about what happens when we talk".  You will then see. Stay tuned.

M. Ward:

A singer-songwriter from Portland slash New Hampshire slash Portland. Most recently he recorded an album with Zoey Deschanel called She and Him. It's a great album, although I feel like I have heard every single song before, somewhere. That's not a bad thing, because they are both adorable and I love everything they do as separate artists.. I wasn't expecting my world to be turned upside down by their collaboration, but they came through with something awesome, albeit a bit predictable. 

M. Ward's solo records, on the other hand, are like something I would put in my little space pod for the future in case everything else in the world went away. There is something uniquely comforting and timeless about his voice and music that I just want to hear no matter what mood I am in. 

Dale Watson:

OMG...Dale Watson. I haven't even begun to get started on The Country Music in this little blog. Dale Watson is not a bad place to start. He invokes the spirit and sound of the Outlaw Country men like Waylon and Willie. I may know what you are thinking. Willie is still alive but why does he have to keep doing things like reggae albums and collaborations with Wynton Marsalis? It just doesn't feel right. It's like if Santa Claus started wearing Crocs and a Hawaiian Shirt all the time, or sporting tassle shoes with his costume instead of boots. 

Anyways, Dale Watson has had a hard life and word has it that he did try to off himself some years back after the love of his life got in a car accident and died. Although I am loathe to know that anyone is in that kind of pain, I am glad he failed in that endeavor, because he is one of the last of the real country music singers. I am going to see him this Monday at the Laporte Swing Station in Fort Collins, so you can bet your ass I am going to write about that on this here blog.

Mark Pickerel and his Praying Hands:

Mark Pickerel was the original drummer for the Screaming Trees, which means he worked with my beloved Mark Lanegan. I recently re-discovered Mark Pickerel's music while trawling around myspace for something good. I think a friend and I had talked about him some months back but it never "took" for either of us. For some reason this time around he really got me, maybe because I have been watching a lot of film noir lately. His music is sexy and sad, a touch creepy and faraway. It feels like music that would be in modern film noir, and it is good.

Long story short, there is no way I am able to go to Bumbershoot this year, because I have other obligations. I can read all about it and remember that it will probably rain anyway, and there is nothing worse than waiting in a line for the blue toilets when it is pouring down and you are standing in muck. Dang, I wish I could go.

I got a new song for us, Ricky....

Johnny Cash : "I think I just died a little"

Rick Rubin: " Does that mean you can't play?"

Classic. Some people think it's disrespectful, but I have the feeling old Johnny would have had a laugh at it himself. 

See more funny videos at Funny or Die

I like the way you talk

Say, wouldn't it be priceless if the next Batman was Karl from Sling Blade? "I'm whatever Gotham needs me to be, and I like them French Fried Potaters, mmmm- hmmm" 

However, being that the traditional batman costume exposes the chin area, I am not sure he could get away with total anonymity. 

"Papa Jack" Weil, 1901-2008

Western wear has held a special place in my heart ever since my sister sported a blue and white checked western shirt with pearl snaps in elementary school in the seventies. When I first laid eyes on that shirt I immediately knew it had to be mine. To my vast delight, my big sis soon grew out of it and it was my most prized hand me down of all. (I can still hear myself...."yess!") Since then, pearl snaps and embroidered jumping deer always make my heart sing.

Jack Weil, founder of Rockmount Western Wear, died yesterday at the age of...carry the one....holy crap, he was one hundred and seven. Papa Jack worked up until just a few days before he died, not because he had to, but because he loved his work. A lucky man. Rockmount is located in downtown Denver, and they are famous for making the world a better place by being the first to put snap buttons on western shirts. If you have never been, you should get on in there. Here are some examples of what you might find:

Look, there's even something for the kids:

(Young kids, anyway. I would imagine you would get the snot beat out of you if you showed up at school with dancing bison on your chest and a scarf tied around your neck)

You may not realize it, but you have seen Rockmount Western Wear before:

So there you have it. Let's have a moment of silence for the founder of a beautiful thing. Sawtooth pockets and diamond snaps.... I just can't quit you.

Watch out, he bites!

Last night I went to see Nosferatu at Chautauqua, part of their summer silent film series. I read in the paper that it was playing and I bought a ticket right away, but when I got there found an extra bonus: the music was going to be played by piano, accordion, and percussion. Accordion! Anyone that knows me knows that since about February of this year, my life has somewhat revolved around the instrument. 

I got there early, positioned myself to sit directly behind the band (which meant my view of the movie was obscured by a high-hat, but whatever...). They improvised the whole score, and it was really great. I was amused several times when, during crucial parts of the movie, you would just hear two voices loudly whispering back and forth:"E MINOR"...."WHAT? A MINOR?" ..."NO, E MINOR!"..etc. All in all, it was really cool, and they did a great job of setting the scene, especially during the creepy parts.

I just kept thinking that Count Orlok reminded me of something I had seen very recently, and the best I could conjure up was this:

+= 

Or maybe it was the fact that this whole week I have had a crick in my neck and the way I get out of bed in the morning is not unlike Count Orlok's method.

In any case, it's a great movie, and still terrifying almost 90 years later. I guess it is true what they say, body language is everything.