Did I really just type that? OhmygawdIreallydid. This all actually happened. Let's take it from the bottom up:
Last weekend I went on a little road trip. Air trip. See, Glen Hansard was playing what turned out to be an almost split-show with Sam Beam, for a benefit. In Austin. I talked myself into covering it a while back, not thinking prior to about how I'd be in Texas in July, or where I would stay, or how the logistics would work out. It was a hundred dollar difference in my plane ticket from the already quasi-ridiculous plan I had to go to Chicago for back-to-back Wrens shows. I mean, really. Glen. Hansard. And I'd never been to Austin. And what's a girl to do, anyway, after hearing about a show like that? Put a hundred (or two) bucks in the bank and be happy about how good it felt to be financially responsible? No way. So off I went.
I wrote all about it rather reservedly
here, and
posted the pictures as per usual. But if you want the whole truth -- you guys, really: it was fucking staggering. I almost threw up, a couple of times, watching the entire set wedged behind the stage-left speaker stacks out of view from the rest of the crowd. Glen was disheveled, and undeniably true, and about ten feet away from my face, and had the same guitar with the same holes I'd seen so many times, and he just screamed and yelled and laughed and sang his sad-bastard Irish heart out. Literally screaming, song-screaming, through the anguish of "Leave" all half-bent over with a red face and those achy, heartbreaker eyebrows... guh. Unreal.
And that was more than enough, but to boot he juxtaposed all that achy-breaky with some Pixes and some lighter notes, notably the blissy fun-ness of lines like
I don' like drinkin'... I fouckin' LOVE IT... laughing and yowling and bouncing his voice throughout the venue during the chorus of a children's song for the encore. To be so close for all of that, like we were back at the Paradise, and all the disdained, broken sounds his voice made at the ends of his sentences, just piling up in little batches at my feet, and the chills that it sent up my spine in the three-figure temperatures -- it's still only an arm's length away, along with the buzz of the air conditioner and the sway of the soft motel bed, all freshly embedded in my mind. Over a week later, still stunned with the sweetest show hangover, not to mention crying through several songs in Sam Beam's set, and some elbow-bumping afterwards at the local bars.
And before I forget - the rest of Austin was great, too. Per Patrick's recommendations, I stayed at the Austin Motel, grabbed coffee at Jo's, swam in Barton Springs, and drove all over the place digging on the downtown. It was beyond hot, but then I don't know if it would have felt right without all the hot, if that makes sense.
So right before all that, there was this:
I know. Right? Jesus. I'm still crushing.
Ditto for these kids: there was much
restraint of pen and
a batch of shots that came out onto the imaginary internets earlier this week -- but with the equal force and blown-away-edness as I stated for Glen Hansard's performance, let me just tell you: the two nights I spent with the Wrens were positively life-altering. Both nights ruled the school, on Friday Stephanie and I got pulled up two songs into the set to play piano; Saturday, three encores and a bunch of shit off Secaucus. Friday, hang-time with Kevin and Greg; Saturday, chit-chat and an assload of complimentary merch from Jerry.
Every minute of the sets were sweaty and loud and tremendous, the energy was positively electric, and all four of these guys were just completely adorable in a rocked-out, grown-up band-guy kind of way. It's always so funny with them, to chit-chat before the set, everyone's so nice and so happy to be playing, and then cut to full-throttle freakout for the performance. Shift back to chit-chat post show, like nothing ever happened -- they're the same guys, and we're left totally reeling, wide-eyed and giddy and all wasted with show. Like it's effortless, the full-throttle plugged-in purposeful deconstructedness, like it's tuning in and out of a radio station or something. All simple and perfect and fantastic.
Speaking of radio stations, or whatever, the rest of Chicago was rad, too:
I find it quite amusing that as I type about the Wrens, I get Pfizer spam in my gmail. Awesome.
But yeah - Chicago kicked ass. The subway system was fantastic, I felt at home, I got to spend a nice chunk of time checking out Wicker Park with Mary Jones... and I stayed in the nicest hotel I think I've ever been to in my life, ever. It was gorgeous and pristine and modern and I felt like I needed to be dressed up to go to bed or something. See also: greatest shower in America, with glass walls and lit-up mirrors and fluffy bathrobes like they have in the movies. No joke. The room even had an iPod docking station with the most excellent surround sound system known to man.
It must sound like I'm exaggerating. But really - the whole thing was tremendous, start to finish.
And then right before all
that, there was this:
Hey, look! It's 2004 and I'm at a show with my point & shoot. Ha.
The ever-lovely
Laura took me along for the second night of
Death Cab's double-whammy out at Marymoor the weekend before my little road trip (where I'm off to in two weeks to dig on the Flaming Lips with a couple of fellow imaginaries, yay!). It's really a terrific as far as outside venues go -- the sound is great, the views are great, the layout is thoughtful, it's spread out and intimate all at once -- and everything is sort of in the bottom of a little bowl, so you can be on the "floor" or perched up on a little incline behind it and still have a decent view of the stage. The set just completely killed, the New Pornographers (even without Neko) really brought it home. Courtesy of one Ms. Musselman and one Mr. Roderick, I even got to BFF backstage for a bit post-show. Tres magnifique.
And speaking of magnifique, look what Laura did:
Unreal. As Kristin put it - her pictures really looked like they were alive. There's just no other way to put it. Go geek on the whole batch of 'em
here (including some scans of a few awesome film shots that she managed to snag of the night).
That's the news for now -- I'll be back post-tattoo expo and post-Doe Bay with all the stuff that's fit to print. Post. Whatever. You know what I mean.
*Victoria
Um. I was mistaken. Thomas from the Raggedy Anns just Absolutely. Killed. It. For serious. I don't even have any more adjectives for how balls-out tremendous of a job he did opening up the show -- it was nothing short of complete and utter amazingness. The end.
I have the new album, and I've heard a lot of odds and ends from her
catalog since acquiring it, but I was completely unprepared for both her
epic songstress-ry and for the overall vibe of the night. It sounds ridiculous, but you could literally hear the room smiling -- from the Beatles cover she opened the show with, throughout the entirety of her set -- up to and including a sweet acapella version of "Dying Day" from the edge of the stage (which is my favorite thing performers do ever, ps). Definitely one of the top shows of the year so far.
I got to BFF with Greg Vandy for a few during his DJ set at the 'Boom, to the tune of me asking what soul music I needed to own if the world was ending and I was about to spend my last fifteen dollars ever to exist, ever. He pointed me straight to Freedom Highway by the Staples Singers, and I've been trying it on ever since... it's brilliant. Not what I gravitate to of my own accord, but historically significant, and fantastic to boot. (This bodes well as a segue for the movie playing at the NWFF this week, about the music of the civil rights movement -- it's got enough great parts to outweigh the cheesebag parts -- and besides, it never hurts to give the film forum a nine-dollar donation. You might want to stop in and see it if you find yourself on 12th with a free night sometime in the next couple of days.)
The event overall was a little lower-key than the last Song Show, but it was sweet and vibey and fun nonetheless. And anyhow, I would have practically sat through just about anything -- and I mean anything, like, a ninety-minute second grade violin recital kind of anything -- to get to see Matt doing a six-song solo set. Unplugged lead singers are my favorite-ist of favorites, and with Hey Marseilles on my top ten bands of the last ever list, getting to see Matt in this format was quite the treat.
(in real life, I mean. sayeth graham nash. in color. at the emp. where I shot him. like, from about eight feet away. seriously.)
I took some *excellent* shots of ben gibbard and john roderick at the showbox, and I also signed my life away saying I wouldn't post them anywhere. so I can't link to the private flickr set, but for some reason I really doubt that john would mind me posting this shot here in the land of avocados.
sweet nico stai (from mid-crowd, but still). sweet los angeles. sweet road trip, sweet sunshine and almost-famous-esque hotel life that I could get *way* too used to, way too fast. as it was, I spent every extra dime I had and pushed the trip an extra few days because of all the uncontrollable rad. as the song goes, I could see why you'd \ want to \ live here. really.
while we were down the coast, fences did a night with chris pureka at the hotel cafe, and a lighter opening set with nico. and killed it both times.
on top of all the sun and pure rad that is life / shows in LA, I got my first shot (literally) at seeing chris pureka live -- she's nothing short of full-force amazing. I even pulled off a few good photos. and I've got to say, she's a total pleasure in real life -- I can't wait to get more of her and nico at SXSW in a few weeks.
back in seattle, fences killed yet another full house at neumo's opening up for st. vincent -- they get better every time I see them, and I see them a lot -- they're really fusing together to make some gorgeous, gorgeous sounds. and they're doing it really consistently. I can't. wait. for the album to get released. and then cue all of you putting "girls with accents" on every mix tape you make for the rest of your ever.
sarah bettens came through for a stop at the triple door, and while the show was a bit sparse, she poured out her heart all the same -- there's more face shots in her flickr set, but something about this one made me mark it as my favorite. I'm probably the only person who thinks so, but whatever.
and last, but for certain far from least, dave rawlings machine knocked the stripes right off my kneesocks on valentine's day when they played the showbox. blissy, down-home (but not too country) twang, with a side of the kind of sweetness that only gillian welch can bring to the stage.
the forces of whatever decided to collide, and I suddenly found myself with a recurring gig for city arts magazine as of january '10. (I know!) so there'll be a little bit of a posting delay as I have to wait for each month's ish to go to print before I can post, but I promise, they'll be well worth it. case in point, the song show at the triple door -- love love love. so much fun. such great artist, such great performances, and more hometown whole-heartedness than you could shake a stick at.
earlier that night, they sent me out to the croc to cover the school of rock's recital -- kids doing covers of northwest bands after completing a semester of music school. we heard a few cuts from built to spill, death cab, and most notably a tremendous rendition of "more than shapes" by the long winters, featuring a real live long winter -- total cute overload.
next up was the mayor's inaugural party at showbox sodo, where I got to spend my night shooting on an all-access pass (read: our mayor is rad, and he likes to chill out in the green room, ps) with the kids from fences and hey marseilles.
and this is my desk.
and this is my 'hood. 
and I rode a train with a bunch of people, and they all took their pants off. 
Oh, PS: San Francisco is really pretty. I hear it's also really expensive, but still.
The week prior to Bimbo's, I had the pleasure of seeing Monsters of Folk (Thursday) and Grizzly Bear (Friday) in two of Seattle's awesome, quasi-posh sit-down theaters. MoF was wonderful, although the crowd left a bit to be desired -- I do loves me some M. Ward though, and subsequently will put up with a lot to listen to him fill up a room with sound. Grizzly Bear was sans photo pass, but with so much... everything. It felt like I was inside a dream with however many other people fit into the Moore, getting annihilated with amazingness song after song after song. Not exaggerating / kidding.
Whoopsie. Almost forgot to mention Austin City Limits. I can't write a single word more about it, but you can catch up on my meanderings here. I'm particularly enamored with day two, by far the favorite of the weekend (plus the Girl Talk mud festival on Sunday night).
And last, but by no means least, I did a series of shots of this new display hanging-system thing we have in the lobby of our building at work. I'm not quite sure if my boss ever even saw these, or what's going to happen with the pictures, but I'm pretty happy about how they came out.
First off, 
Then, I got to kick it imaginary-style at Marymoor for the Flaming Lips -- holy crap. The show these guys put on can only be described as what church would be like if people like me went to church. All love and music and leafblowers rigged up to shoot an endless supply of confetti. And a million balloons. And just all-around goodness. And Wayne. And then more music. And maybe some people in furry animal costumes. And more confetti. Which is my new favorite word, PS.
"Confetti."
Then some lovely people I work with got married, and we all drove out to the middle of nowhere to celebrate. Apparently Becky makes one hell of a cake(s). Amazing, edible sugar-flower laden, magical, kitchen-diva-esque cakes. The cake toppper kind of freaked me out, but whatever. Drop me a line if you want Becky to make you a cake of unicorn-like proportions for your next party. 
Heartless Bastards and the Avett Brothers blew my mind a few weeks ago. You can read all about it here.
Harvey Danger had their last show ever (ever) (for real ever) (not having another one next year -ever) at the Croc, and the place was so jam-packed full of semi-rabid fans that I couldn't get more than halfway through the room. Thus the shots from mid-floor. But Laura rocked the hell out of the earlier set and graciously posted her shots for our gawking pleasure.
And two weekends ago, ISB shut down and we all bus-tripped it to Fort Worden for my company retreat. The room pretty much looked like a jail cell that had been warmed up a bit, in reality we were staying in some revamped Army barracks. Except they didn't revamp the original One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest-style metal hospital beds. You could have shot a whole depressed -rexo/heroin addict American Apparel ad in our room, or maybe an album cover. It kind of sucked. But the rest of the place was magically pretty. 
Last weekend I went on a little road trip. Air trip. See, Glen Hansard was playing what turned out to be an almost split-show with Sam Beam, for a benefit. In Austin. I talked myself into covering it a while back, not thinking prior to about how I'd be in Texas in July, or where I would stay, or how the logistics would work out. It was a hundred dollar difference in my plane ticket from the already quasi-ridiculous plan I had to go to Chicago for back-to-back Wrens shows. I mean, really. Glen. Hansard. And I'd never been to Austin. And what's a girl to do, anyway, after hearing about a show like that? Put a hundred (or two) bucks in the bank and be happy about how good it felt to be financially responsible? No way. So off I went.
I know. Right? Jesus. I'm still crushing.
I find it quite amusing that as I type about the Wrens, I get Pfizer spam in my gmail. Awesome. 
Unreal. As Kristin put it - her pictures really looked like they were alive. There's just no other way to put it. Go geek on the whole batch of 'em here (including some scans of a few awesome film shots that she managed to snag of the night).
