Martín Espada - Rednecks

Friday, March 28, 2008

At Scot Gas, Darnestown Road,
the high school boys
pumping gas
would snicker at the rednecks.
Every Saturday night there was Earl,
puckering his liquor-smashed face
to announce that he was driving
across the bridge, a bridge spanning
only the whiskey river
that bubbled in his stomach.
Earl's car, one side crumpled like his nose,
would circle closely around the pumps,
turn signal winking relentlessly.

Another pickup truck morning,
and rednecks. Loitering
in our red uniforms, we watched
as a pickup rumbled through.
We expected: "Fill it with no-lead, boy,
and gimme a cash ticket."
We expected the farmer with sideburns
and a pompadour.
We, with new diplomas framed
at home, never expected the woman.
Her face was a purple rubber mask
melting off her head, scars rippling down
where the fire seared her freak face,
leaving her a carnival where high school boys
paid a quarter to look, and look away.

No one took the pump. The farmer saw us standing
in our red uniforms, a regiment of illiterate conscripts.
Still watching us, he leaned across the seat of the truck
and kissed her. He kissed her
all over her happy ruined face, kissed her
as I pumped the gas and scraped the windshield
and measured the oil, he kept kissing her.

-Martín Espada, Rednecks

Transman in Oregon is pregnant; Brains of Thousands of Idiots Explode At Once

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

A transman who chose not to remove his female sex organs decided to bear a child after his wife has a hysterectomy. There are rumors that this may be a politically motivated hoax, which I agree is possible. However, for the sake of this entry let's pretend we know for sure that it's true.

I try not to talk too much about things I have no direct experience with; I'll never fully understand what it's like to live as a trans-identified person and therefore don't think it's any of my business to pass any kind of judgment, good or bad, on their way of life- I just try to keep myself educated. However, the comments I've been reading in response to this story got me so hot and bothered that I just had to say SOMETHING.

Here are some doozies:

"This person is not and will never be a man. So-called transgendered people remain the sex they were born but through surgery, hormones, etc. are made to PHYSICALLY RESEMBLE someone of the opposite sex."

"THAT PERSON IS A WOMAN!! If it truly wanted to be a man "he" would have removed all traces of his womanhood. How were they allowed to get married? Now that it is pregnant wont that enull(sic) the marriage? I feel sorry for the baby."

"Does "she" sit when "she" pees? Does she use the girls or boys restroom? If a man was to walk in the restroom and see her in there, they would be stunned. Is she wearing maternity clothes? Maybe she should contact Ralph Lauren to come out with a maternity line for men. Why hasn't this been done before? MAYBE BECAUSE MEN CAN NOT CARRY BABIES. DUH!!!"

"The fact is she was born female and legally is a girl. She is just making excuses to be a lesbian. If the birth certificate says she is a female then that is what "SHE" is. Why can't she just admit she is a lesbian? Probably because she is ashamed."

Okay, so I DO get where ignorance comes in to play here (although I've never, ever understood the human urge to destroy things they don't understand). If you've never known a transperson or felt the need to educate yourself, it's easy to be confused since the media in general never seems to know what it's talking about either. "Transgender" itself is an umbrella term that can mean many things. Not all trans-identified people have sex changes; this is because not all trans-identified people WANT to change their bodies. I liked this definition I found: "Transgendered person: an individual who is assigned a gender, usually at birth and based on their genitals, but who feels that this is a false or incomplete description of themselves."

As far as the terms that "Transgender" covers, so far as I understand (and please correct me if I'm wrong, as I have no personal life experience with or formal education on trans issues) this is how it goes down:

Transman: Man who was born with biologically female sex organs but with the gender identify of a man. May be attracted to any sex or none at all.
Transwoman: Woman who was born with biologically male sex organs but with the gender identity of a woman. May be attracted to any sex or none at all.
Transsexual: Individual who wishes to change their body to conform it's appearance to the gender they identify with. Once this person completes their transition, they may or may not choose to refer to themselves as simply male or female. May be attracted to any sex or none at all.
Androgyne: An individual who does not identify with either gender, may consider themselves to be above gender, of no gender, part of a third gender, or between genders. May be attracted to any sex or none at all.
Genderqueer/Intergender: Similar to androgyny, an individual with gender identity concerns/issues which bypass the typical two gender spectrum of male & female only. May consider themselves to be of many genders, and attracted to any sex or none at all.

Complicated, right? Wouldn't it be nice if "gender" existed fluidly or not at all, and everyone could just be who they want to be, and fuck whoever they want to fuck, without so much struggle? How truly important is gender classification to human life anyway?

A TRANSGENDERED PERSON IS NOT AN "ASHAMED" HOMOSEXUAL, for crying out loud. People are so wrapped up in the details (mainly penises and vaginas, which are as much of a crap shoot at birth as hair and eye color) that they're missing the big pictures of what it means to be a transman: HE IS A MAN WITH FEMALE ORGANS; NOT A LESBIAN. It would be impossible for him to be a lesbian, since he isn't a woman. Another example: I identify as a woman and have found myself on more than one occasion attracted to transmen. Although I don't consider myself "straight," my interest in transmen would not make me a lesbian if I did, you dig?

Secondly, no one should legally be disallowed to marry. This shouldn't even be a gay/trans issue; it's a simple legal one. Religion did NOT invent marriage. You can be married outside of a church as easily as you can inside of one. You can be married by putting your signature on a piece of paper at the courthouse on a Tuesday afternoon after work on your way to get the dry cleaning. I'm sorry if that ruins anyone's idealized view of marriage, but that's just the way it is. Marriage is, for all intents and purposes, a legal contract. Not "allowing" an individual to enter into a legal contract with another for ANY reason outlined in the The Civil Rights Act (race, color, religion, sex, sexual orientation, national origin, marital status, political affiliation, age, or physical or mental handicap) is illegal, period.

Is it honestly so difficult for human beings to just put themselves in each other's shoes? Yes, the general public might think it's strange to see a man having a baby, but why do we *need* everything in our scope to be so rigidly defined and enforced? Isn't it possible that we could all live perfectly fulfilling lives side by side if we could just LET GO of that need to control everything, and stop trying to force every person we see into some rigid, man-made classification of "normal" and "abnormal?" Nothing in life is black and white, just being alive every day is proof of that. Trying to pretend that it is has historically only brought humanity violence, strife, set backs, and pain.

A child raised by loving, caring individuals, regardless of their personal identities, will be a well balanced child. If your concern for the child's well being is based on how they'll be treated OUTSIDE of their home, how about doing your part by teaching yourself and your OWN children tolerance and acceptance? That would be a good first step, don't you think? Personally, I'll be doing everything in my power to make SURE that my child is exposed to as many different, varied expressions of humanity as possible, if for no other reason but to ensure him that there's no such thing as "abnormal." The only thing that matters about who he chooses to be someday is that he both loves and feels loved.

TTFT - HIGH SCHOOL

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Portrait of the Authoress As A High School Freshman

I was looking at old pictures from high school the other day (which seems like it happened to a different person, honestly) and decided the best way to express my feelings about that time in my life would be with a playlist. I had to go over ten tracks, even over twenty; I wanted it to be all songs that REMINDED me, not necessarily tracks that I personally liked, during my first two years of HS (before I started listening to the kind of music I do now). The reason this playlist is so varied is because my friends were all so different. My high school boyfriend was obsessed with nu-metal and played old school rap every morning in his car on the way to school. Of my two best friends, one was a burgeoning street punk with bleached blonde porcupine spikes and the other was a zinester who loved Radiohead and brit pop. A majority of the rest of my friends were into pop punk and ska, and all my sad poetess internet friends loved Tori and Ani. In addition, I played a LOT of Nirvana and similarly Seattle-y/riot grrlish bands when I was home. Strangely, they don't sound odd to me thrown all together here- is that weird?

I really wish Project Playlist had "Let's Go Bowling" by the band Let's Go Bowling, since I'm not sure there's any song that reminds me more of my freshman year of high school than that one.


14 y/o me w/ ultra hip dark brown lipstick, friend

Cait & David, one year later

David and I have a lot in common, but in general I'd say we're pretty different people who eventually came to a similar point after starting from opposite places. Whenever I traveled, I ran away to bigger and bigger cities- Amherst, Boston, Rochester, Portland. David, on the other hand, slept on the ground in the woods with hippies, living off the land in Colorado before going to work on a farm in California with other migrant farm workers. It took a lot of shit and shock to finally convince me that I was a country mouse as opposed to a city one; David always knew.

When we finally rotated into each other's atmospheres, it was by sheer chance that we both happened to be in Massachusetts at the same time- neither of us ever stayed too still for long. We were both saving up our money to leave again as soon as possible, disgruntled and generally on the war path. I had a list of places I wanted to go next where I wouldn't know anyone- Austin, TX, Athens, GA, Seattle, WA- anywhere where I could start over new and be whoever I wanted to be. David was recovering emotionally from a situation very similar to mine at the time, working an IT job until he felt like he was ready to get back to the woods and stay there. It was our similar pasts that brought us together after Renee introduced us last March, since I'm not sure I could have opened myself up to him (or anyone else) otherwise. Getting involved in another relationship was beyond being the farthest thing from my mind; I was actively AVOIDING it in every way I knew how, rabidly. But I remember feeling like the fact that he'd been through something so clearly identical to what I'd just been through meant he would understand my frame of mind moreso than anyone else could at the time, and I was right.

In typical Cait fashion, I fought it for a long time before I was willing to admit that it was something real. David would make the 45 minute drive from Worcester to Springfield every night, late, just to sit in parking lots with me and talk. Nothing happened for months, he was just there for me. We chain smoked cigarettes and ate a lot of Taco Bell. We took long drives in the dark with the music on. We took naps in cemeteries, sometimes driving back to his apartment just to sleep beside each other but never touching. The whole debacle made me feel 18 again, which was good and bad but mostly good. It takes a pretty strong individual to be patient with my methods sometimes, but he let me take all the time I needed.

When we finally did kiss, I was immediately regretful and terrified. I thought I'd ruined everything; right away I started bracing myself for yet another train wreck. Even though I had less faith in the heterosexual male at that time than ever before in my life prior, David still stuck by me. As I pushed and pulled at him, never knowing exactly what I wanted or what I was going to do, he just hung out and waited. I couldn't even tell you how long he waited to know for sure that I wouldn't just flip and take off in the middle of the night- sometimes I think a part of him still wonders if I will. I know, of course, that there's no way I'm going anywhere. David Morrow is the light of my life and I can honestly say that he's my partner, my sexier and much more highly motivated other half.

And now, a year after our first meeting, we're living together in a gorgeous old house and preparing to raise a son together. It's been a whirlwind, that's an understatement, but I'm more sure about my love for and feel safer with him than I ever have in the past. It's not a heated compulsion or a butterfly feeling in my gut, it's more than that; it's real. I don't even bother asking how it is I got so lucky, I'm just thankful every day.

Friday, March 21, 2008

So maybe it's a little bit unfair for me to be poking fun at "music" that quite obviously was not meant for me, but every time I see/hear a new, terrible video/song all I can think of is my 12 year old niece watching (and loving) it, and how badly I wish I was ALWAYS there next to her so I could counteract every female-negative message MTV throws at her.

This is the worst I've seen in a while:



You'll notice that although Ms. Swift talks about "her" guitar a lot (mainly crying on it), drapes herself across a bed with it clutched in her arms while clad in an elaborate prom dress, and even CARESSES it every once in a while forlornly, you never actually see her PLAY it. Because what else would a girl do with a guitar aside from use it as an expensive varnished tissue as she cries over a boy, right? Who is this "Drew" anyway? He looks like he's 30 years old. And why is she faking smiles to keep him happy when she obviously doesn't want to? If some inattentive high school boy is the only reason she has any goals or dreams, she needs to sign up for some serious extracurriculars, and fast. What SHOULD be going on in this video is some straight up 3 chord, 4/4 timing, electric distortion shouting and kicking. The problem is that he can't HEAR you, Taylor. None of us can! Use your voice! Speak up! Speak *UP!*

Jack White, World Famous Asshole, Tries A New Way

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Before I even begin to talk about the following musical news item, I feel like I have to clarify a few points so that you understand my largely unbiased point of view.

1.) Although I consider myself to be a general appreciator of Jack White as a human being, I've never been a White Stripes fan. I've heard their singles, but was never interested enough to buy an album or see them live. There are a lot of reasons for this, none of which have to do with their mainstream popularity. Don't mistake me for a hater- I'm pumped that the White Stripes get played on the radio, if for no other reason than I get a little thrill from the kinds of the stuff they manage to get on the airwaves next to all the mediocre and uninspired bullshit that radio has the balls to call music. Does anyone else remember the shrewish, drawn out synth parts in Icky Thump? Who else could possibly get something that amazing played on contemporary radio if not everyone's favorite control freak/total douchebag Jack White?

2.) I've never heard (or even heard of) this alleged "supergroup," the Raconteurs. I discover and consume music in my own, stubborn personal way (aka: I refuse to read Pitchfork) and because of that I sometimes completely miss new music that I therefore don't end up hearing about for months or years after the rest of the world, if at all. I think this is a totally fair price to pay in exchange for thinking for myself, since my disdain for Pitchfork and it's most rabid fans could be a whole other entry unto itself.

So the record "industry" is changing, that much anyone can tell. The (still somewhat) free nature of the internet, the unstoppable juggernaut of peer to peer downloading, and an increasing dissatisfaction among artists is leading to a (much anticipated and welcomed) disintegration of the old school label model. New artists are finding it's easier to find fans globally by simply putting their music out on the internet themselves (I first discovered Beirut after Sam Dolnick messaged me about his music on Myspace; I just paid a self set price online for the MP3 version of the new Lickets album), and already well established bands like Radiohead and NIN are dropping their labels like hot potatoes to release their albums online themselves. Not too many artists seem to give too much thought or concern to radio airplay anymore either, and for good reason- no one who truly loves music wants anything to do with modern radio anyway. You don't need to be signed to a major label to "make it" anymore, rendering major labels in general completely obsolete, thank Deity.

But there's one thing that's lost in all of this awesome technological overhauling, and that's the physicality of actually *owning* a record. Does anyone else remember, like I do, the thrill they used to get bringing home a new cd and laying on the floor listening to it, reading through the lyrics and the liner notes? An album used to be an event. Now, for better or worse, you download an album, load it to itunes and listen to it, but there's something missing from the experience. Or you download so many albums at one time that you don't devote the time and attention to each record as a singular entity the way that you used to. Maybe most people don't mind losing that physicality of record ownership, but I do- and apparently so does Jack White, who (along with the rest of the Raconteurs) somehow found a way to release their album everywhere, in every format, at exactly the same time.

"The Raconteurs are happy to announce that in one week's time their second album, entitled Consolers Of The Lonely, will be available EVERYWHERE Tuesday, March 25th.

"Album" meaning: full length vinyl, CD and digital formats; and "everywhere" meaning: local mom and pop Indie retailers, corporate superstores, supermarkets, iTunes, Amazon, the band's own website and any other location that could get the record up and going this quickly (some places couldn't move this fast, so they will join in as soon as they can).

The album was mastered and completed in the first week of March. It was then taken immediately to a vinyl pressing plant. Then to a CD pressing plant. Then preparations to sell it digitally began. March 25th became the soonest date to have it available in EVERY FORMAT AT ONCE. The band have done no interviews or advertisements for this record before this announcement.

The purpose: to get the album to the fans as soon as possible and as we promised. We wanted to get this record to fans, the press, radio, etc., all at the EXACT SAME TIME so that no one has an upper hand on anyone else regarding it's availability, reception or perception."

Pushy Meanies Get Things Done!

You could easily say (and this is why I felt the need to mention the reasons for my unbiased opinion) that this move was a way to get people to buy the album before critics could warn them not to, or a way to prevent leaks and consequently make more money, but I see a different motivation behind this. Why SHOULD people be basing how they spend their money on a Pitchfork review that was probably written by a silver spoon-fed grad student who's bitter about the lukewarm reception his own mediocre band receives? Why SHOULD superfans be forced to download an album in order to hear it ASAP, therefore eliminating any motivation or desire they might have had to buy the album once it's finally released on their favorite format? I don't see any reason why this shouldn't be common practice. I whole heartedly believe that if you give people options, they'll exercise them; and that's something the old school label model doesn't seem to understand about people who truly love music.

I also dig the little statement about the album having been created to be listened to as a singular entity, not in bits and pieces, which is something I've been noticing more and more is lost in the downloading of albums digitally. Singles are singles for a reason- they're meant to draw you in to the rest of the album. The temptation is HUGE for people to attach themselves steadfastly to singles without exploring the rest of an artist's creation. Roll your eyes and call me corny if you want, and maybe I am a bloodthirsty purist, but I truly feel that music should be heard the way the musicians who create it mean it to be. If a band or artist doesn't mind having their album broken up and sold in pieces, fine, but let them decide. One of my favorite records of all time, Parenthetical Girls' flawlessly produced Safe as Houses (which I own in three different formats), is probably 1000% less magical taken in bits and pieces. The songs not only flow into each other musically, but tell a story as well. The same can be said for Neutral Milk Hotel's "Areoplane Over the Sea"- that album is one singular, epic, musical EVENT. If you consider music to be art, which I think a lot of people do, how can you take it in any other way but completely? How pointless would a painting be if you only looked at certain parts of it, never knowing what it's true, complete point is?

Regardless of suspicion over the Raconteurs' motivations for doing this, I think this is a great step toward adapting the release & consumption of music to the digital age. As much as I'm almost positive I won't like it, a part of me wants to buy the album as an act of solidarity and thanks. A growing majority of consumers (heh) are eager for and enthusiastic about change in this industry, and that in and of itself is just another glaringly obvious reason why the complete elimination of the RIAA (and even- a girl can dream- the itunes-esque option to purchase tracks singularly) could someday hand music back to artists and fans.

Thanks to my old friend Matt at Collar City Records for the link!

Raconteurs Release Surprise Album
Is Jack White Trying to Kill Music Journalism?
RIAA Radar

fuck

Monday, March 17, 2008

I don't want to start every single blog post with an apology, but I feel like I should. Things have been SO crazy here. I've been trying my best not to talk about family related things in too much detail just because I don't think my family would appreciate it, but honestly I need to get some of this OUT. Just when I think things are going to start getting better, they somehow seem to get worse. Everyone (other members of my family, the various medical professionals who are in and out) keeps telling me that they're aware of my grandmother's dementia and that they don't take anything she says about me to heart, but it's still crippling to hear her telling people I'm trying to poison her food or that I'm abusing her when all I do is bend over backwards to give her everything that she needs.

Last Thursday morning she woke up with crippling stomach pains, and was moaning and yelling so loudly that David could hear her in the basement. She couldn't sit up in bed and was clutching her abdomen. She'd been having some mysterious bleeding in her underwear and I was afraid the two might be connected. I called my mother (at 6am) and she told me to call 911, which I did. At that point my grandmother completely lost her mind and targeted all of her fear and anger at me by telling me she was going to "kill me" and I was "going to pay" for all the "terrible things" I've "done to her." She said I was pathetic and should be ashamed of myself for taking everything so seriously. She accused me of trying to put her back into a nursing home so that I could take her house away from her. The EMT's strapped her to a gurney chair and she was scratching at the walls and pulling at her straps as they wheeled her away to the ambulance. It was horrifying and I felt terrible.

Needless to say, for various bullshit reasons that actually caused me to have a pretty serious panic attack later that day, she came back instead of being admitted (which she should have been, I have no doubt in my mind) and is now living with me again. It was terribly traumatic for everyone involved, and because of that incident (and my grandmother's disposition toward me afterwards) my family is now paying for 24 hour/7 day a week care by home health aides until we can find an assisted living facility for her.

At first it seemed like this was going to work out, for a lot of reasons. The women who were coming in to care for my grandmother day and night were wonderful, compassionate people who truly knew their work. They were kind to my grandmother and I was thankful for that. I would go upstairs to cook food or use the bathroom and pop in for 15 or so minutes at a time just to say hi. But now it looks like my grandmother won't be able to get into assisted living for months, and we can't afford to do the 24 hour care any longer after this coming Thursday.

My grandmother has "profound" dementia that has been slowly escalating for years. Every doctor, nurse and family member I've talked to assures me that she doesn't mean the things she says. That's all well and good for them to say, except that after these "episodes" pass her opinion of me stays changed. It's not as though when she's in a better mood she changes her mind or forgets that she ever called me names or threatened my life. Her moods go back to normal and her mental state becomes clear, but even then I'm still a thief and liar who's plotting to kill her. She denies her outburst to her doctors, my mother and my aunt, but remembers them and brings them up when she gets me alone. She has literally turned me into a demon scapegoat and that opinion doesn't change even as all of her other symptoms subside and cease. The doctors/nurses/family also aren't here with her as much as I am, and don't know what it's like to be at the brunt of all of these attacks. Her agitation isn't constant, so that not too many people (especially doctors who only see her for a half hour to an hour at a time) see how bad it can be.

I can hear her upstairs right now telling her afternoon health aide about how evil I am and about all of my "plots," and that women doesn't know me at all. She just met my grandmother and I today for the first time. Documented dementia or not, who would you tend to believe? A helpless, frail old lady or her 25 year old granddaughter living in the basement rent free? The fact that the suspicion is there at all completely unnerves me, and makes me feel like I have to hide in the basement all day long. I also have to face the fact that (again, dementia or no dementia) my grandmother's opinion of me will be negative and volatile until her death, regardless of how much I love her or try to help her, and that completely breaks my heart.


So now it looks like it's going to be more of the same for me, for months and months into the future, just when I was really starting to think things would change. I wish to God that my posts here could be about the baby, or interesting music, or things I'm happy or excited about. I have three months left before the baby is born and am facing the possibility that I might need to care for both the baby and my grandmother at the same time, depending on how long the waiting list is for the facility we want to put her in. I don't know what I'm going to do. I've been doing my very best to put a brave face forward and roll with every punch as it comes, but I don't know how much more of this I can take.

Rio En Medio

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

I haven't felt up to devoting too much time to this thing lately, in spite of the ridiculous amount of "free" time I have by not having a 9-5 job. An older version of myself is so ANGRY right now that I'm not using all of this time to write or read; I can remember times where I'd resent having to go to work because I'd always inevitably seem to leave in the middle of an idea, or at the beginnings of a poem. I wish I could tap into that former inspiration at will! I wonder what sort of poetry I'd be writing now if I was feeling inspired?

I can say one thing about right now, though: I've been discovering great new music left and right. I'm discovering bands that I'm mystified I didn't know about sooner. I'm discovering music that is renewing my faith that I live in a creative, thinking world. But my hands down favorite of every new artist or band I've stumbled across over the past two weeks is Rio En Medio, a relatively new artist on Devendra Banhart's Gnomonsong label.

Rio En Medio is also known as Danielle Stech-Homsy, a New Mexico born poet, singer & ukulelist. She sometimes lifts her lyrics entirely from poets like John Ashbery and French surrealist Paul Eluard, which you might pick up on if so inclined, but somehow it doesn't take away from the personal feeling of the album, particularly if you keep in mind that most of these songs were recorded with no intention of ever releasing them. Every hand clap, whisper and deconstructed sample was done by Stech-Homsy herself. To me it sounds like ghost's music, that sort of ambient, other worldly, quasi-electronic liquid sound that seems to be catching on with more and more independent female musicians lately. I suppose it would be easy to pass her over considering that it seems like she's being marketed as the "new" Joanna Newsom (ANOTHER beautiful elf woman wearing old prairie dresses in the woods with her ears sticking slightly out of her long, flowing hair?), but musically that's pretty far from the truth. I love me some Joanna Newsom, but Rio En Medio stands entirely alone here. If you dive into her music image blind and take it for exactly what it is, it's sheer, crystallized beauty might just win you over.

Although I love "The Bride of Dynamite" as a single entity, album closer "Liberte" (a haunting eight minute long musical version of the Eluard poem of the same name) is probably my favorite. The slight static of the various samples in the background (like crowd rumbling and a telephone being dialed) thrown together with the bells and Stech-Homsy's dirgy, dead-pan vocal is a perfectly complete package for the poem itself (one english translation can be read here), which is absolutely gorgeous. The idea of musical interpretation of poetry as recorded by other poets is incredibly interesting to me- I wish there was more of it out there.

"Tiger's Ear" is probably the most accessible song on the album and also the one that reminds me most of aforementioned Newsom. But when even the album's most accessible song has background whistling as a major musical component you know you've got something truly unique on your hands.

My second favorite song on the album, "Everyone's Someone's," is as creepy as it is strangely warming. The lyrics are amazing, a mother urging her grown child not to go to war. She tells him the story of how she and the child's father ran away together in a boat, surviving only because their love was blessed. The narrator then cautions her grown son not to be influenced by other people telling him that war is justified. She reminds him that "everyone is someone's sweet little baby" and adds "you were not meant for that, you were meant for love." The only percussion is hand clapping throughout, with samples of babies laughing at the end. Perfect.

Mostly I love her choice of sounds, and specifically where she chooses to put them. It's not flashy and doesn't seem like it's done mainly to be "experimental" or "weird" - everything seems to be exactly in it's place, regardless of how odd or unconventional the instrument or sample she uses might seem. If you like artists like CocoRosie, Joanna Newsom, Marissa Nadler, etc.- PLEASE pick up this album. Rio En Medio is honestly a rare light at the end of a long tunnel of mediocre "new folk" artists.

Rio En Medio @ Myspace
Interview w/ Danielle at Identity Theory

TTFT - Wonderland Edition

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

I tried to pick tracks this week that sort of reflect how I've been feeling this past week. Things are just getting worse and worse with my grandmother, and I'm trying so hard to balance all that stress, responsibility and worry with also being a !!!! future mom. I have good days and I have bad days, just like my grandmother does. Today is quickly shaping up to be not so great a day, so as usual I gave myself some self therapy through mixing. What I ended up getting was ridiculously personal, and I hope that you like it.

"My Teacher Died" by Diane Cluck is one of my favorite songs, probably because it reminds me of my grandfather. I feel like so much changed for me after he died; mentally I felt lost for a long time. I try to remind myself that if *I* felt lost after his death, my grandmother must be in a completely different orbit now. I followed that up with "The New Sane Scramble" (if you can find the album version of this song, you should- it's much better) because I feel like that song (the tone, the lyrics) is where my grandmother is right now in her mind. Her dementia has taken her over so completely ; every day for her is a scramble of sadness and paranoia. The rest of the songs all follow that same theme- strange, strained, looking for a way home. There's a trippy overall feel to the entire playlist because I feel like living in this house with her is a little like living in Wonderland- there is no solid reality.

Leave it to me, as always, to over think the feelings behind everything- at the very least my predictability must be comforting to some of you, yes?

Tenderness - Stephen Dunn

Friday, March 7, 2008

Back then when so much was clear
    and I hadn't learned
young men learn from women

what it feels like to feel just right,
    I was twenty-three,
she thirty-four, two children, and husband

in prison for breaking someone's head.
    Yelled at, slapped
around, all she knew of tenderness

was how much she wanted it, and all
    I knew
were backseats and a night or two

in a sleeping bag in the furtive dark.
    We worked
in the same office, banter and loneliness

leading to the shared secret
    that to help
National Biscuit sell biscuits

was wildly comic, which lead to my body
    existing with hers
like rain that's found its way underground

to water it naturally joins.
    I can't remember
ever saying the word, tenderness,

though she did.  It's a word I see now
    you must be older to use,
you must have experienced the absence of it

often enough to know what silk and deep balm
    it is
when at last it comes. I think it was terror

at first that drove me to touch her
    so softly,
then selfishness, the clear benefit

of doing something that would come back
    to me twofold,
and finally, sometime later, it became

reflective and motiveless in the high
    ignorance of love.
Oh abstractions are just abstract

until they have an ache in them. I met
    a woman never touched
gently, and when it ended between us

I had new hands and new sorrow,
    everything it meant
to be a man changed, unheroic, floating.

This Just In:

Thursday, March 6, 2008

Pop Candy thinks Sarah K might be the coolest girl in Brooklyn, but I loved her first; back when she wore giant hoodies to school every day and didn't pluck.

"Are the stars out tonight?"

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Seriously guys, I'm sorry my entries lately have been so short or otherwise non-existent. Living here with my grandmother has been so much more draining to me than I thought it would be. She needs so much care and attention, but because of her own notoriously strong-willed personality it's virtually impossible to give it to her. We've had a lot of really bad, scary nights because of her dementia, and I was starting to think that I'd gotten myself in over my head. But I've been opening up to a lot of her visiting nurses and therapists about my own feelings and thankfully they're working toward getting BOTH of us the help we need, and soon. I won't get too into it, but the possibility of her ever being able to live alone again is slim to none. I've been trying my best not to dwell too much on death and being elderly, since I SHOULD be focusing on babies and new beginnings, but it's hard sometimes. I'll just say that I hope when it's my time to go that I just get hit by a bus the day after my 70th birthday- anything quick, painless, and dignified.

I also need to say how in awe I am of people who can devote their lives to taking care of older people. Every single person who's been here to see my grandmother, whether it's her home health aide, her physical therapist, her dementia nurse, etc, has been absolutely amazing with her. I don't know how they do the work they do every day and still have hearts un-broken enough to love their own families with at the end of the day. One of her nurses (my favorite) even takes care of her own elderly mother with Alzheimer's in her home when she's done taking care of everyone else's! Thank god for them, thank god.

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Aside from that, not too much has been going on that's terribly report-worthy. My baby belly is finally significant enough that I don't just feel like a giant trucker/blob anymore, and the idea of going out in public is starting to seem more appealing to me than it has in months. My mother is taking me out this weekend to buy some spring weather maternity clothes and I'm actually excited about it. It's hard to find maternity clothes I like, though, especially since it's hard for me to find clothes I really like in stores anyway. But my mind is open! Hopefully in the sea of shapeless black sacks I'll be able to find something colorful and flowing.

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I've been working on a mix for the lovely Miss Erica, a mix I've been tweaking and perfecting for nearly a year now. It's a story mix, or a mix that acts as sort of a stand alone soundtrack to a very specific time in my life, with the story told in the lyrics of the songs I choose. I'm notorious for getting caught up in story mixes for months and sometimes years at a time, "perfecting" them beyond perfection like some kind of mad scientist. I spent a good deal of time on it yesterday and I think it actually might be finished, or, you know, as finished as it will ever be. I should just burn and mail it before I have the chance to change anything else; finally getting all of that painful negativity out of me and into someone else's objective hands will do me nothing but good, I'm sure.

One of the songs on the mix is "I Only Have Eyes But You" by the Flamingos, and every time I listen to that song I'm overcome with the urge to write about how much I fucking love it. One of the main reasons for my obsession with doowop in general is my preoccupation with how every doowop recording itself is a record of a musical event. Back then every instrument (including vocals) was recorded all at once, in one room, so when you listen to an old soul or doowop record you're hearing a true musical moment caught on tape. "I Only Have Eyes For You," when you listen to it thinking about that, is an absolutely mind blowing song. I'd love to cover it, but I know I would never be able to do it's original naive dreaminess any justice.

Another reason to give doowop a shot: there's literally nothing better to put on in the background on summer nights, when everyone's just hanging around having beers and talking. Doowop IS the sound of summer nights. Try it and you'll see exactly what I mean.

TT4T - Total Mush addition

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

My ten tracks today are all entirely for Davey. <3

I love you, baby daddy!

fetal tastes

Monday, March 3, 2008

I know it's possible that it might have more to do with her theremin's affect on me personally, but it seems like whenever I play Clara Rockmore the baby swims around more obviously and I feel an increased warm heat coming from my belly. Believe it or not, I even feel tingles sometimes that seem to start in my stomach and flow out! "The Swan" in particular seems to be his favorite; maybe I'll send him for theremin lessons someday!

this is the best thing I've ever seen

Sunday, March 2, 2008

Nom, Nom, Nom


Honestly, I was laughing so hard that I stopped breathing entirely.