is the word 'diary' better than the word 'blog'? probably not.
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cracker'd up.
acousti-cracker played at the moose lodge in doylestown, and I am now in love with said moose lodge. from its dark and quiet location and its moody facade to its grandma's-basement interior and collection of huge mooseheads, love it. it even serves good food. I had mahi mahi with mashed potatoes and broccoli, followed by bread pudding. it was the best soundcheck food I've ever had.
I took some hilarious photos of david with the center-stage moose, and he took some good ones of me with the facade of the building. then we went for a walk around the tiny quiet town. it was dark and fruhzeezing but the walk was pretty. I ascertained that DL does remember heidi and tom mangling his song. we laughed about that and other things. we discussed pan's labyrinth, and how in greek myth pan doesn't actually have a labyrinth (D pointed this out because his sons are currently way into greek mythology). we walked by a park with a sign advertising an "intimate henry tour." no further information was offered. he said, in a dark and menacing tone just under his breath: "what does henry want with us, jill?" Me: "I JUST WANT TO BE FRIENDS." etc.
back at the moose lodge, johnny was talking about how he just turned 50 and I was all, "MAN, you look about as 50 as I look 40!" it's true. johnny has drunk of the fountain of youth, and it tasted of bourbon. he said: "YOU'RE 40?!" I said, "um, johnny, I have always been 10 years younger than you." then he realized that, throughout all my changing hair lengths and colors, I had somehow remained 25 in his mind. Ha.
because the club was tiny and I kept walking around with D, the audience were all treating me like a rock-wife, something I hadn't experienced in a long time. people come up to you and make odd statements or ask you weird inappropriate questions, like "the new CD is sold out in three stores in Harrisburg. Can you believe it??!!" Or, better, in a hushed tone: "I saw you with him, are you proud? you must be so proud!" I think the woman who said that was referring to me being proud of his performance. I hope. I hope she wasn�t thinking that I should be proud to be (allegedly) a rock-wife (which, as you know, I am not anyway). Then, her husband, a bit later, leans over to me and says: "so, these songs, are they biographical?" Me (thinking to myself, man, if that were true, what a fucked up, sad, and impossibly varied life that would be): "I think they tend toward fictional." Husband was about to come in for a follow up when David asked where I was from the stage because it was time for me to be the video camera operator. Then I learned how hard it is to keep your right arm raised and steady for three songs, especially when one of those songs is led-zeppelin-long. Dr. Bernice!
but anyway, I sure do love those cracker songs. people who diss cracker but love late camper are stupid, I think, because there is such a connective thread between the two. stupid not because they disagree with me but because they must never have listened to the real cracker songs.
ok, maybe they have, and they just don't like cracker. but the cracker-hate often feels to me like indie ressentiment. it reminds me of the time I caught a friend of mine in new york going on about how much he couldn�t stand dave eggers� first book, when he had never read it. Envy looks good on no one. NO ONE.
anyway, one time jonathan segel and I were eating korean food in oakland, and talking about songwriting. j tends to write biographical songs (my favorite song of j�s is �perfect ears��it is such a good song on some many levels) and we talked about how david once said he never could have filled 7 or 10 albums with biographical songs. j disagreed and said one great love could do that.
they're both right, of course, in their own ways.
but it's interesting that listeners tend to assume autobiography is what's happening in song. I've had many friends over the years share theories with me about which songs of D's are about me. I, however, like how david writes non-biographical songs from the standpoint of losers or slightly off-kilter or neglected personality types. and he often writes songs from the standpoint of people he never has nor could have been. sure he's still in there somewhere. but he's not a british subject naively wishing he were living in one of the tropical colonies (for instance).
it's a bit like how john vanderslice writes songs from the standpoint of people no one likes and people most people wouldn't even want to understand: a serial killer, a fan obsessed with a pop star; a terrorist; a navy seal or other hardcore military type; a potential suicide, etc. Lowery's losers are lovable. Vanderslice makes it harder. either way, it's not autobiography.
autobiography can produce some lovely songs, however. we don't have to choose between the two. beware the false dilemma!
oh. also, my ode on absurdity was apparently magical, because not only did I get some truly lovely emails in response to it, but it made two of the characters I wrote about contact me. DL, of course, not only contacted me but then rocked a show just when I needed it. And then also airport-ride gentleman, who has a great way with words, wrote me an email, and it seems that he and I will approach a bar and raise some stemware sometime soon.
anyway, one more time, back at the moose lodge, once the club was full, I realized the backstage area lacked some things the boys needed. a coke for D, some bourbon and ginger ale for J, a beer for me (opening band was THIRSTY) (yes, beer for me, not bourbon. when I drive it's always a 1-beer evening, period). so, being the seasoned �rock-wife� that I am, I offered to go get some drinks, since if either david or johnny went out into the club they'd spend the whole night talking to fans. however, the bar was rather makeshift, and there was no bourbon. I went downstairs to the place where the rummies were to see if they had bourbon, but they couldn�t serve me because I was �upstairs.� but they did send some bourbon upstairs. I went back upstairs, go back in line. finally got to the front for the second time, ordered. Then they wouldn't give me a tray to help me carry my six items, so I made a disgruntled face and then slowly (holding up the line as protest) shifted all my items such that I could carry them. the line didn�t mind because they got a show worth seeing. and that is how I came to arrive backstage with a can of ginger ale in my jean pocket, a bottle of coke in my cleavage, and 2 draft beers and 2 glasses of ice in my claws. without any spillage, I might add, until I tried to get the backstage door open and sloshed a bit of beer. do not underestimate me.
posted by sidekick II on the septa R5.
8:19 p.m. - February 25, 2007
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