some girls wander by mistake.

rufus wainwright with special guest martha wainwright
august 25, 2010
the paramount theatre, seattle washington

i haven't written a concert review in a long time, but i don't think i've seen a performance worth documenting, recalling, and sharing as much this one in even longer. martha wainwright opened for her brother, playing an acoustic set and awkwardly charming the audience with her poise, her over-sharing, and her stunning voice. i surprised myself by knowing nearly half her set (after nearly 4 years of not listening to her). she sang several edith piaf songs, fresh from completing an album of lesser-known piaf songs. her finale was dedicated to her mother (who had just passed away earlier this way from a rare form of cancer), and she expressed the desire to perform it without any accompanyment, which meant neither her guitar nor any microphones. what followed was a gut-wrenching rendition of piafs "la vie en rose," which haunted the performance hall. unexpectedly, i cried, and i certainly wasn't the only one.

rufus' first act was billed as a complete "song cycle," performed without interruption (read: applause) until the end of the piece, after rufus had walked off stage. his entrance (and exit) recalled images of pandora's box perhaps even a wedding procession, as he slowly marched to the piano, a long black cloak trailing behind him. during the song cycle (which was his new album all days are nights: songs for lulu in it's entirety) a film was projected behind him, and with each changing screen and song, you understood the significance of every second of silence. his exit somber and deliberate--a figure walking towards the white light--and then the roar of a standing ovation.

it is so strange how applause, when taken away, feels as though the audience has lost their voice, rendered mute and unable to participate. it seemed that every clap thereafter, once they were allowed, felt all the more intense, expressive, responsive.

the second act, rufus said, was intended to be the "happy part." he came out decked to the nines in some sort of gaudy red-orange pantsuit sort of thing, accentuated by the red footlights and background lights. i remember hearing "beauty mark, "cigarettes & chocolate milk," "poses," "the art teacher," "matinee idol," "grey gardens," "memphis skyline" and "little sister." for leonard cohen's "hallelujah," he brought martha back on stage (a fantastic live version similar to the performance is here), and it was incredible. by the end of the song both rufus and martha were crying, but as the show progressed, rufus was simply unable to regain composure: rushing through songs, having to blow his nose and apologize for sounding terrible, even remarking "people say i have a nasal-y voice but this is ridiculous!" nearing the end of the set, rufus mentioned that it had been an emotional night for them both, being both the last night of the tour together, as well as realizing how the two of them singing together was their mother's "favorite thing." if he hadn't wept yet, he was certainly about to do it then, and ultimately again as he closed with his mother, kate mcgarrigle's "walking song." readers, after that night i still haven't gotten through his (or her) rendition of this song without a tear.

the show was epic and moving in ways i did not anticipate. i walked all the way from the paramount up through capitol hill and to fraxl's house feeling so heavy and sad, a feeling that perhaps hasn't entirely left me. unlike so much of my youth, these days i spend so much time listening to music that excites me, impresses me, or makes me want to dance, that i have forgotten the catharsis that can come from music that moves you out of raw emotion. this show, re-ignited that flame for me, and i am so grateful for that opportunity, that intimacy.

asheville, and her inhabitants, have treated me impressively well.


working in reverse: just got back from the ani difranco/erin mckeown show. the ani show was an expected roller coaster of nostalgia and frustration, and ani while appeared sometimes joyous, more often she seemed tired and stressed. she made several mistakes and was visibly bristled for several minutes after, regardless of her adoring (unchanging) fans. musically, she was on her game, and her supporting band was perfectly complimentary (just a drummer and an upright bass, but the drummer was capital-f fantastic).

it comes down to this: her new work is shit. i've tried for many years to keep up, but the last money i've spent on the difranco machine was in 2005, after years of mediocre releases. the last live show i saw was years before that. the light has gone out for me, a long time ago, but those songs from that era (beginning in college-onward) are Definitive for me, auto-biographical. there are ani songs and albums that are, and forever will be, soundtracks to parts of my history; those few songs which she played gave me goosebumps. but the new music is lifeless, limp, lacking power. as firthofforth said, "the poetry is gone." it is; i've yet to connect to her newer work, and some lyrics even send me rolling my eyes (e.g. "smiling underneath"). i always hope for something to reconnect me, but nothing has.

after the show we had post-show drinks at the flying frog (house-infused pear vodka, Dear Lord), then a late-night snack at the portlandesque rosetta's cafe. did you know that march is punk month? neither did i.

so much has happened since i've had time to write here. i'm finding it challenging to work in reverse; striving to write less laundry-list journal posts about travels than i tend to do. i want to tell you about the piggery and phillip seymour hoffman, how i am doing in my grand bribery attempt of a certain fuzzy chihuahua, food i have eaten, laughing until i cried at jack in the woods, the firestorm cafe, my relationship with the south, my allergies. but i just realized daylight savings time just changed, though my waking-time remains. and so it is.

i've not been carving out much time for journaling these days (though i've been reading), but last night's show was amazing, and i wanted to just throw down a little mini-review before i get swept away in hair dye, paint, and wine.

in an adorably serendipitous way, my sister is the one who first introduced me to cocorosie, probably about 5 years ago when la maison de mon reve came out. i was perplexed and impressed with what i heard: two sisters, one classically trained, a host of child's instruments (speak n' say, kazoo, bike bell, whistle), beatboxing, and (relatively) whacked out lyrics. the adventures of ghosthorse and stillborn came out a few years later, which i liked better (more coherency as an album). i missed seeing them in NYC (when sara did) so there was no way i was going to pass up a portland performance, at the aladdin of all places (probably my favorite venue in town).



the show was incredible. just incredible. there were moments, especially initially, where the sensation of visuals, costume, and the raw power of their voices made me feel like i might sob uncontrollably (think opera on acid). i was completely transfixed throughout the entire show.

all percussion came from vocalists, including a mind-blowingly talented beatboxer. the show was perfect. i snapped this pretty mediocre iphone shot of the stage/costume/backdrop, though it doesn't do any of those things justice. by the end of the show i was pretty close to the stage, where i could better see the complete nonsense/brilliance of their costumes (i mean, seriously, what the hell were they wearing?), the table of "noises," etc. at the end of the show, someone in the front row handed them a paper mache unicorn. perfection.

good luck, 2009, topping that. (though if anybody might, my money's on mr. wolf.)

god there are so many more, so much more to say, but holy god.
consider this your appetizer.

last night's interpol show was good; i think i've hit a cap on seeing them (this making the 4th time), as they do very little to vary their act/performance or the music itself. paul looks like a man now. carlos looks ridiculous, as expected (though he didn't have a bolo tie on, at least!).

carlos d before:


carlos d now:


so the performance was fine, definitely nothing wrong, but it seemed somewhat on auto-pilot. the boys have been skipping my favorite songs for a few years now ("leif erikson," "the new") and even "the lighthouse" off the new album wasn't played; i'm always shocked how many people love (as in chant/bounce/dance/freakout) singles like "slow hands." i guess, you know, they only know the songs they hear at the club...

let me tell you about my sunday.

the morning started out pleasantly with a viewing of harry potter v, which was pretty good. since i don't read the books, i go into the films excited to see a new fantasy film and be entertained. the film succeeded on that end, but didn't do much to exceed my expectations. (gary oldman, however, was enough eye candy to get me through it.)

on the way to the movie, there was this house being transported via "wide load" vehicle with the help of many, many attendants. it appeared that the house was too big/tall to make it under the power-lines of colonial (for those of you not local: it's a very a major highway). so, they were actually moving the power-lines to allow for the house to pass underneath (while many many police officers redirected traffic around major intersections). after the movie (about 2.5 hours), the house had only moved about a mile down the road! it was insane. the ridiculous part of all this rigmarole is that this house was not some gorgeous old victorian estate, being rescued from sink-hole potential: we're talking a mid-1980's boring ol' beige suburban block home. even as the prospective childhood home of some orlando-born celebrity, you know this little "move" was a costly and inconvenient one.

sunday evening was spent in the presence of one of my idols. i have to admit, i had started to dread the show as much as i eagerly awaited it: morrissey's reputation of moodiness (from fraxl, and things i have read) kind of freaked me out. a small part of me even wondered if him canceling the show would be less upsetting than the let-down of a bad show and expensive ticket. i'm happy to report, morrissey didn't disappoint. ( moz-mania: setlist and show review behind the cut... )

after the show, we went west a few exits west to check out the kwik-e-mart (7-11's simpson's promotion). apparently there are only 12 in the US; i'm not even a simpsons fan but i thought it'd be worth checking out. the store's facade undertook a subtle but effective transformation, changing colors and potentially lighting, but the inside really was the same ol' thing (i was a bit surprised--it was quite sparse--that they could only transform so few and yet, really all it featured were some signs and life-size simpsons characters). the signage was actually hilarious, but overall, the store looked like a dingy 7-11 with POP displays everywhere.

jetblue roundtrip ORL to NYC: $220
subway metrocard: $21
average meal in NYC: $10



getting to see share a corona with jarvis cocker: priceless.

a few nights ago was the rasputina show. though down to only two celloists (the lead-singer/original member and a new girl, who i watched from very closely and couldn't decide if she was a) high b) really nervous c) really serious or d) all of the above) and a drummer, i was happy to see such a unique performance.

since sometimes (like tonite) words escape me, i'll try speaking through ( my images. )

i have returned from atlanta to orlando. these 48 hours feel like far less, because of how many of them i spent awake, and disoriented my sleeping was upon my return. i may be getting too old for this kind of thing, but that won't keep me from trying.

so, tuesday i woke at the tragic hour of 5am. we got on the road by about 6am, and other than the few hours between gainesville and the georgia border, i drove almost the entire way there and back (sara, though younger than me, was a sleepy little sister). we arrived in HOTlanta after noon, and our first order of business was to explore the world of coca-cola. there, i felt shame to have abandoned my addiction. i mean, after all, this brain tonic is specific for headache, relieves mental & physical exhaustion; how can i deny thee? the world of coke museum was okay, but maybe a little disappointing, seeing as it was mostly rooms full of vintage advertisements and not really a factory like i had hoped. even the sampling rooms left a little to be desired (sure all-you-can-drink coke is a blessing)--epcot had the same (if not more) of the "foreign" soda samples last time i went.

afterwards, i called micah, and we made our way to little 5 points. sara and i bumped into some orlando-friends outside of junkman's daughter. we then did a quick bit of shopping, met up with micah and his friends (members of his jazz band and coworkers, but all in all a very eclectic group who thought it was "hot" that us young ladies liked waits), got some vegetarian/mexican, and finally ended up at micah's apartment for the tom-waits-tour-caravan: 6 people crammed inside of a car, sara in my lap, bound for the tabernacle (a converted african-church-turned-fantastic-venue in downtown atlanta).

we arrived at the venue around 5pm. we had heard, through rumors that swept through atlanta, that the line was insanely long, that there was high security, that you were escorted in and never given a ticket, etc. like everyone else, we had anxiety that perhaps our tickets didn't go through on ticketmaster that fateful day; i was delighted when, after just 30 minutes of queue-waiting, we were called alphabetically and handed our tickets. sara and i made our way into the tabernacle, waiting for the other shoe to drop. we later met up with our group--and asked why everyone was looking up towards the stairs, not at the (empty) stage where sara and i had strategically placed ourselves. "because this is the cotton club, the venue is through another set of doors," micah replied. the place was huge.

we finally got in and situated very near the stage, far left. we were essentially two "rows" deep, so much so that when tom waits finally came on stage, we were close enough to hear his finger-snapping. but i'm getting ahead of myself. we continued to wait for waits (!) inside, arm-to-arm with many eccentric mustache-men and music geeks (it was said, by one of the guys we were there with, that the crowd actually contained characters from some fictitious choose your own adventure book, where you can see what type of music nerd you will become in your future). there, suddenly, i felt very ignorant about music, as though i was there as a tourist, having heard a waits song in a movie and thinking he'd be "funky" to see live: it was that kind of crowd.

another few passed. waits was still nowhere to be seen (though we were close enough to spot the youngest waits kid offstage, waiting for dad). a man came out to make an announcement, that there was still a line around the building (! at 8:30!), and they wanted to get everybody in. at this point, i was just exhausted...from the drive, from standing, from the heat. it wasn't for another hour that tom finally came out, but when he did, i forgot all about the temperature and the pain.

...first off, the set was full of musical instruments of all kinds: drum-set far left (by us; waits' other son played them for the show) with a wooden marching drum connected, keyboards, a baby grand piano, several guitars, upright bass, some strange percussion instruments, etc. the center-piece was a collection of old phonograph horns (only cloth), which never were used but looked pretty fantastic. waits came out, entering through the tall back-curtain of the stage, where the footlights projected his mammoth shadow against the fabric--perfectly suited as the "backdrop" for the many strange positions he held while he sang. the band came out (larry taylor was noteworthy to the crowd but i don't know who he is), and so it began.

( complete setlist beneath... )

suffice it to say there was a pretty good mix from all his LPs. two encores, lots off real gone (hoist that rag, make it rain, day after tomorrow, don't go into that barn, etc.), some new stuff (or stuff i wasn't familiar with), "house where nobody lived" solo on the piano, "get behind the mule," "blue valentine," and "november," to mention a few. we were really close, too--i could see his laugh lines, the way his bottom-row of teeth jutted out as his sang in total discoordination with the rest of his face, the sweat and spit that flew off of him as he moved. regretfully, tom didn't play anything i was hoping for, but it was worth the experience of seeing him nonetheless.

after the show micah was pretty trashed (not sure how literally to take his offer of my sister, him and i "getting a room"), but we had already planned to drive home that night instead of blowing $100 on a hotel so close to FL. we stopped at a grocery store for some caffeine and snacks, and got on the road near midnight. i promised to do the driving that involved navigation (or changing roads), and sara was supposed to do the "straight-shot" of i-75. by 2:00am, i knew i was too tired to continue, so sara started...and i quickly realized she, too, was not ok to drive. we pulled over at a rest stop, dozed for 30 minutes, then tried again; ended up pulling over one last time for about an hour, and after that i was good to drive for the rest of the trip while sara slept the whole way home. this should serve as my reminder to never rely on a second driver, and never bite off more more than i can drive myself, because people are, by and large, not the determined insomniac i am when it comes to road-trippin' (this used to happen with sasha, too, which was the worst when she had a manual/stick i couldn't drive). we arrived in orlando around 10am: 31 hours on 1 hour of sleep. after a shower and a bite to eat, i slept away the day yesterday (it's never enough), and am paying for it today.

weekend-in-clip:

friday i saw the sisters of mercy--i was extremely dissatisfied with the show. first off, there were major sound problems, which prevented me from recognizing songs for at least a full minute in. the vocals were at like 20% and the rest was just a muddled bass/guitar sound that i couldn't quite distinguish. secondly, they apparently played a ton of either really old, or really new SOM stuff: even once at the point of recognition i realized i just didn't know about half of the songs (i've been listening to them for over 10 years, but realize i definitely have my "favorite albums" and have neglected some of the others). andrew eldrich was strangely riff-raff-esque in appearance--not what i really expected at all. i realized towards the end that perhaps my disappointment had more to do with the fact perhaps i've never been to a REAL "industrial" show, but that said, something was seriously lacking. eldrich seemed to be going through the motions, and only on the rare belted-out occasion did he use his voice and make it matter. they also didn't play my favorite songs, but whatever.

saturday james and i did some yardwork, which was a pretty gratifying experience. the backyard and patio are both beautiful now--i'm really proud. we made a little stone pathway to our big oak tree out back so that i could climb it--really beautiful view if i can just get a little higher (i feel like you need to build a relationship with a tree, you can't just harass it and go all the way up. i made it about 2 branches "up" but no further, for now.). after cleaning up, we went to see transamerica, which i really enjoyed overall, just had a few cliched-plot-gripes. came home, had dinner, did some cleaning, went out to room 3nine. yuppies scare me.

sunday went by fast. i did my taxes (yay i'm paying $2K.), some more cleaning. i pampered myself for a whole hour (!) prepping for coffeefortwo's oscar party, while james made a casserole: i even wore fake eyelashes, folks. we had a great time. i was more-than-a-little disappointed with the winners of several of the awards (specifically best picture, best actress) but overall it was a really fun night. ( more oscar talk behind the cut... )