Cassette from My Ex

Cassette from My Ex is a blog I wish I had thought of. Stories about the ex and the special mix tape he or she created, along with actual songs uploaded to the site, so you can listen as you read. Really the only complaint I have with it is that they usually only publish established writers, so I probably couldn't get my story on there.

I started to write my story here, and then I realized I'd written it before. My first boyfriend, my first trip abroad, and my first bout of heavy drinking. And then I realized it's not just about exes. My whole life revolves around stories of music, from nights with friends, to cruising Main, to my fascination with hands.

Too late. Too loud.

I forget sometimes, how much I love live music. I don't like standing up for a long time, and I don't like crowded, smoky clubs. I think I'd rather lay on the floor of my own home, listening to the CD instead.

And then I went out to this odd little venue called Heart of Gold.

It was hard to figure out at first. The top floor of what appeared to be a business, it looked like an art gallery. The lobby was filled with a variety of stunning art. Maybe it was a performance space; there was also a door that said "recording studio." But inside this colorful room, people lounged about, smoking, and the bartender refused to take my money, pointing me instead to a fishbowl filled with cash for me to make my own change. When my friend B and I waited for the bathroom, a guy filled us in: it was a loft converted into a living space for about seven or eight people. What a living space!






Everyone there seemed to know each other. Three different bands or solo artists played, as we tried to identify the person we were there to see: Bleu, someone a friend in L.A. knew. The night dragged on, and my feet hurt. We sat down, and they still hurt. People milled around me, blowing cigarette smoke freely so my contacts started to burn.

And then Bleu started playing. It was just him with his guitar, a drum machine, and a feedback loop. As we approached midnight, the sound system got progressively louder. His voice coasted on the beautiful edge of hoarse, of cracking. He played his own stuff, and Tears for Fears' "Shout," and the crowd sang with him. I closed my eyes and sang along.

It was too late. Too loud. The vibrations of voices, soundwaves filled my body. I couldn't tell where I ended and the music began. I melted into the night.

Playing music

I've started playing the guitar again. I'm not sure why. I was talking with a new school friend who also plays, and I got the brilliant idea of playing together some time. I suppose that made me think, "I better brush up on all my music!" and suddenly I'm hooked again. I find myself longing, in quiet moments, for my guitar and songs in my throat (I'd like to say, "for its familiar touch under my fingers," but in fact, my fingers ache right now from playing. I haven't had my guitar callouses in quite a few years now, and thus my fingers are raw from the wire strings.)

What I love about it is that it's the only time I feel comfortable singing. I really do love to sing, but years of unuse have warped my pitch. I remember church choir in high school and the director commenting on my lovely high soprano, but now I'm a low, gravelly alto, and a woefully out-of-tune one to boot. But somehow, with the guitar guiding me, my voice sounds better. Maybe it's that when I'm focusing on my fingerwork, and hitting the right strings, I don't have time to be self-conscious about my voice.

This summer I heard an Emmylou Harris song for the first time that I loved, and I thought, "I could play that!" It's called "There'll Never Be Anyone Else But You," and I worked it up to play for Tim on ouranniversary. I guess playing him a song I learned special just for him is about the greatest present I could ever give him (well, second best). It was a lot of work, finding the downloadable song online, the lyrics and chords, then playing along to the recording--and adjusting the key signature when mine just didn't fit with the recording. But every minute was fun. It was exciting creating something like that.

I'm no Mozart, or rather, Jimmy Page. I'm not about to compose my own music. I don't know if I ever would have the skills to. But it's like a puzzle, figuring out the chords that already exist in a song you want to learn; say, if it includes G, and C, then it probably has a D chord in there somewhere, too. And then being able to play it . . . ! It feels like an accomplishment.

And I'm playing the piano again, against my better judgment. All Blindfaith Theatre has to do is say, "we're desperate," and I'm putty in their hands. I don't know how they rated this, but they're doing the world premiere of a Rebecca Gilman colloboration called "Lord Butterscotch and the Curse of the Blackwater Phantom." (Rebecca Gilman, for those of you who don't know--I didn't used to--is a highly acclaimed Chicago playright, and tops the list of playrights whoseplays Tim wants to perform. I would score major wife-of-the-millenium points if I somehow could wrangle an occasion for Tim to meet her.)And there's creepy, eerie music set in the background. They need a sub for a few nights, not someone for the whole run, and I couldn't say no.

Come see it! It's running at the storefront theatre until Jan. 6.
http://www.blindfaiththeatre.org/butterscotch/index.html

Regina Spektor

Having restricted (by chance) my dating pool to music nerds (or nazis) has left me feeling somewhat insecure about my own musical tastes. Therefore, I usually refer musical suggestions to Tim and defer to him on all new music.

I think it's safe to say, though, that I am not misguided in my love of Regina Spektor. Usually it takes me a few listens to fall for an album, but I was not 30 seconds into her Begin to Hope when I was utterly smitten.

Q: How many glasses of wine does it take to get me to dance?

A: When it involves a perfect, chilly summer evening celebrating a friend's birthday at a free concert under the skyline at Millenium Park, to the irresistable booty-shaking sounds of Seun Kuti, son of the fabled Fela Kuti, with whose band Egypt 80 he performed--no, went totally berserk on stage--in what could have been his first appearance in the United States, well, the answer is: not very many at all.

Quiet Riot

Sometimes the only music to clean to has to be heavy metal. Since I haven't had a tape player in about 5 years, that's about as long as it's been since I've been able to listen to my favorite: Quiet Riot's Metal Health album. So I downloaded it from online today, and now I'm jamming out to "Love's a Bitch" as I straighten the living room. Perfect!

That reminds me how I found Quiet Riot, anyway. When I was taking guitar lessons from Old Town School of Folk Music, one of the jam sessions included "Cum on Feel the Noize," and I loved it. Of course, learning it in that context made me think it was a folky song. So I was pretty surprised to request it at kareoke some time later and discover it rocked harder than I ever imagined.

Stress

Maybe stress is so embedded in my life now that I fail to notice it affecting me. But Tim does, which led to a big meltdown and discussion last night. From what I was saying, he mentioned that a lot of the feelings I have towards school right now are ones I've told him I struggled with in the past, in school. It's horrifying to realize that, at thirty, I'm still working on the same insecurity issues I had at thirteen, sixteen, eighteen . . . Humiliating, too, for I thought I had grown up and become stronger.

The one social place I feel safe and comfortable in right now is the theatre, doing Gorey. Tim thinks it's because a lot of people escape to the arts to get external validation for their insecurity, but I don't want to be reduced to a simple (and slightly insulting) explanation. I think it's because I know the role through and through. It's not new to me, and I feel comfortable and confident that I can successfully do it. (That everyone likes me and appreciates me there is almost secondary to feeling confident about it.)

But as I say that, I realize that the shelter is also a safe haven for me, too. I know what I'm doing, and I can tell that I'm good at it. (This will be the sixth year that I've worked there.)

Which makes me fully realize how off balance I have been for the past three months. Thrust into so many new situations, which, no matter how much I think I enjoy them, still make me feel inexperienced, insecure, and just generally bad at what I do, since I don't swoop in and become immediately successful.

Not just job-wise, but also making friends.

It feels like almost everyone in my class is outgoing and gregarious. (Perhaps that's the typical nature of social worker, and I'm just an oddity.) And they naturally gravitate towards each other. I feel that my quiet nature works against me, and I'm losing the opportunity to make good friends.

That's not true, of course. I know a few classmates who value me quite a bit. But the stupid insecurity in me still thinks that's not enough. I guess I think that I am a pretty cool person, who does have a lot of interesting things to say, if given the chance. And that strikes me as confidence. Right?

Gorey

It might have been folly to agree to do this, since I'm winding up for finals, but I'm playing piano again for Gorey Stories. At least this time around, I didn't have to do the grueling daily rehearsals for several weeks before it opened. It was more stressful this way--opening and wondering if we're going to make it through the show--but after we did, it's all cake from now on.

AND, we were picked for Critic's Choice this week! I wish the picture that was in the paper was also online, but it's just the review. And despite the fact that it does not have a string quartet but a string trio and a piano (one of its integral parts, in my opinion!), the review is pretty awesome.

Two scenes are online at YouTube, recorded in 2003. The visual quality isn't great, but the audio is. The Insect God and The Gilded Bat. (Which made me discover that the Mystery! opening credits is also online in several incarnations!)

I Shall Not Walk Alone

I don't know what made me think of it, but I decided to surprise Tim by learning Ben Harper's "I Shall Not Walk Alone," the song his mom sang at our wedding. The first step (for me, anyway) in that endeavor is to find the sheet music. I need to go to a music store, because I couldn't find it anywhere online. Tablature and chords, yes, but no access to piano music, even though it sounds tailor-made for piano.

Tonight, mellow after a few glasses of wine, I decided to experiment. I put the song in a walkman, and sat down at the keyboard. I played the first second or two of the song, then tried to locate it on the keyboard. It wasn't working to a frustrating degree. Then I closed my eyes, started the song again, and listened. After a few bars, my fingers hit the right key. I played the song over and over, and I had it. But only with my eyes closed; when I opened them to see what key I was playing in (several sharps!), I lost it.

It was the coolest thing. I've never been in tune with music like that before. I'm usually strictly a sight-reader.

Wine. Herbal cigarettes. French hiphop. Good night.

I think my favorite drinking takes place by myself on our porch on a beautiful spring night, a glass of wine in one hand, a (legal) herbal cigarette in the other hand, and MC Solaar's "Prose Combat" album on the stereo.

It's a great way to center the moment and brush aside the earlier stress of the week, let everything blur, and melt into the music.