xtcian

9/19/03 I really do like

9/19/03

I really do like the culture surrounding film festivals, in the same way that I actually enjoyed summer school: there's nothing quite like Total Immersion in a particular subject. Film festivals have mediocre movies, great parties and fantastic food, and we talked our way into one this evening at Woodstock.

We originally came up to watch Jamie Block play a small comeback gig at Legends ("gateway to Woodstock," we were told), and it was a great reminder of how little Block has lost since his anti-folk days. On the last song "Rhinoceros" he attempted to rip the strings off the acoustic guitar, but stopped just shy of creating a scene. Needless to say, we whooped and hollered.

Jamie was recently signed by Gill Holland to sonaBlast! records, a marriage of old friends that was so obvious I can't believe we didn't think of it sooner. I was honored to play on a bunch of tracks for the new album, so I have a vested interest in it making a splash, other than the desire for Jamie to get his due in the fickle music world.

And I'll say this about Gill: he may have his detractors (like I do), but nobody has shown such grace, fortitude, good humor and energy in the face of frustration as he. After making a big splash in the indie world with Hurricane Streets, he made a spate of well-reviewed and important independent films that ultimately made him no money. He constantly gave his time and lent his name to many projects that wouldn't have had a shot otherwise. And though he may have spread himself too thin at times, he never lied about what he could do for you. Now he has crossed from the 2nd most cynical business in the world (movies) to the most cynical business in the world (music) and retains his childlike passion for it all.

me and Gill on fall break in 1989; us again last year at the 24-hour plays

At the after-party we saw Natane with Liev Schreiber and his brother Pablo (who was also an early Pink House favorite - now he stars on HBO's "The Wire" and rocks), so Jamie and I schmoozed and drank cosmopolitans out of cheap plastic cups. One good thing about marrying well is that people like talking to your wife better than they like talking to you, so both Tessa and Susan went off to make their myriad friends while Jamie, Gill and I talked shit. Since we're not allowed to have a separate cigar and scotch room after dinner, that's going to have to suffice, yo.

9/18/03 I think I remember

9/18/03

I think I remember some old Paramount Pictures promotional photograph showing a bunch of studio execs turning around, cigars in mouth, in their special screening room - so I recreated it today. That's our art director Rick Gradone, post-production supervisor Kim Ludlow, effervescent Tessa, editor Jessie Weiner, soundtrack contributor Jamie Block, and yours fucking truly.

We had an "industry screening" of The Pink House today, which basically means we cleaned up a really good edit of the film, found a kick-ass screening room with surround sound, and played it for some influential folks in the business who could really help us. How did it go? Well, I began thinking this movie was funny about 6-7 weeks ago, and the new edit is even better, so actually, I like sitting through it. Tessa has to get up and wander off or else she turns into a fidgety, hyper-worried monster. Much laughter was had by all, and I can truly say we put our best foot forward. As for the opinions of important people, we'll know more in the days ahead.

But for the first time, I have seen this movie as being "worth it" no matter what happens. We created this complicated beast, full of plot, animation, laugh lines, melancholy, surreality, 1930s garb and pink flour - and now it is on the screen, makes sense, and it's, you know, humorous! It evokes humor! When you watch it, you are overcome with distinct feelings of mirth. Them's the truth. I feel, along with Tessa and the other brilliant minds in the above picture, that nothing could happen with this child we created and we would still feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment.

A $3 million distribution deal would be cool too.

I just thought I'd throw that in there.

9/17/03 In a bizarre confluence

9/17/03

In a bizarre confluence of events, we've been able to see - playing live - half the bands featured on the Pink House soundtrack this weekend. None of this was planned, but with Erin last night, Opti-Grab and Hobex tonight and Block tomorrow, that's half the songwriters we've spent two years massaging into the movie.

Opti-Grab, partially helmed by our beloved Rick Gradone, opened for the Tom Tom Club at Southpaw, and it was the usual high-energy, high-spirited, hijinks-filled evening of their ironic hipster-hop. The sound guy was sub-par, which meant the audience missed half of the great lyrics, but with those three exploding on stage, it hardly mattered.

Paul Marcarelli (better known to America as the Verizon Wireless "can you hear me now?" guy) stood with us and chatted about his unbelievable work schedule, and a desire to someday, anyway, get back on stage. We'd seen him and Chapel Hill's own vivacious Jen Davis in a play called "Jitterbugging" a few years ago, and they were terrific.

Thank god we went to that performance; it allowed us to ensnare Rick for the Pink House shoot, and I can't imagine my life without him fluttering around it.

Rick dolled up as a Nazi on Acid in the Pink House movie

Tessa went to bed, but I trekked into midtown Manhattan, after midnight on a Wednesday (the horror!) to catch my old roomie Greg Humphreys and his soul/dance band Hobex rip through a loud and deeply satisfying show at a place called "Tobacco Road." Having spent all my formative years living on the actual Tobacco Road, I asked the bartender if there was some sort of Southern theme pervading the place. She was Israeli, and pointed up to the snacks. "We have potato chips," she said. I dropped the subject.

Hobex (with Greg at bottom) on the movie set

Greg has learned the lap steel guitar since we last saw him, and when I say "learned," I mean he tore through that thing like he'd played it in the crib. Ex-fratboys and Phish-lookin' fellas left their dates to wander up to the stage and watch him fly. Playing this gig at that time of night in Hell's Kitchen made me really proud of Greg, and the tenacity with which he has stuck to his music. He could have quit at any time, but that was never an option for him. Looking deeply at his face while playing, I began to see that Greg was actually turning into one of the old bluesmen that he had emulated since high school. And with good health care, the occasional massage and modern cough suppressants, hopefully he'll live a lot longer than they did.

9/16/03 It's not often that

9/16/03

It's not often that you bear witness to the turning point of someone's career, but something tells me that Erin McKeown is not going to be the same after tonight. After the New York Times put a big picture of her in the Sunday Arts section, the Bowery Ballroom was packed this evening with die-hards who had been fans of her amazing Distillation album, and new recruits who have heard WFUV play her new CD Grand endlessly.

I was an early trumpeter of Erin's talent; on a whim I picked up her album in 2000 because someone had told me she studied ethnomusicology at Brown. Yes, I am that much of a snob. I didn't give it a proper listen until 10 months later, when the World Trade Center attacks liquefied our psyches and we went on the road trip to Tessa's dad's funeral. I slipped the CD in, and Tessa was transfixed. We cranked it all over the Eastern seaboard, as sort of a "recovery soundtrack" to 9/11.

That winter, up in Great Barrington, we happened to notice that Erin was playing along with a group called Voices on the Verge at Helsinki's, so watched them do their thing in front of about 25 people. It wasn't necessarily my cuppa tea (occasionally slow and meaningful) but when Erin played, it electrified the audience. I decided to ask her if she had any interest in being part of the Pink House soundtrack. Actually, I asked Tessa to ask her. And we have been great friends with Erin and her manager Emily ever since.

"Queen of Quiet," one of my favorite songs, ended up in a key place in the movie, and in 2002, she opened up for Norah Jones (just before Norah won the Grammy) in a kick-ass set at the Public that upstaged Jones' soporific style. After that, Tessa directed some of the promotional film for Erin's new album. Strangely, Erin and Emily were the first to find out we were engaged; on our visit to Northampton, I had just proposed.

at the reception

Thus it meant everything in the world to me that she played my favorite song of hers, "The Little Cowboy," at our wedding. She is barely five feet tall, but her tiny fingers take command of the neck of a guitar with a fluid power that can reduce you to tears. She is jazzy, tin-pan-alley and cock rock all at once. Her lyrics range from delightful ("I am a clever lady, just like a satin doll / A little wanton maybe, but I keep my wanting small") to strangely evocative ("could have bought a ticket but what would I have done / with no lines in my pocket and a nose for the setting sun").

People with something to say and a stunning talent rarely get what they deserve in the world of rock, so tonight's concert at the Bowery Ballroom went down as a redemptive stunner. The crowd was insane, packed, and cheered wildly, requesting two encores by stamping their feet long after closing time. When we went backstage to congratulate her on what could only be described as a "Here I Am, World" event, we found the band a little bummed out - they didn't know the show had been a hit. I felt like the lead tenor at the premiere of Beethoven's 9th Symphony who had to turn deaf Beethoven around so he could see the gleeful hysteria he'd created.

But we've all been there, right? Half of the people reading this blog have been on stage at some point, and probably thought they had done a bad job, only to hear later that they had rocked the free world. I hope we proved it to Erin and her band, telling them that they had the best night we could imagine. "The only way it could have been better," I said, "was if Jesus himself appeared and offered his benediction on the crowd." This seemed to satisfy them, and they walked out, faith renewed, to the throng of adorers.

Erin and me - I told you, she's tiny!

9/15/03 This blog goes out

9/15/03

This blog goes out to my old friend Julianna Hofeld, wherever the hell you are! J was was one of my closest confidantes at Carolina, and getting to know her was not only one of the best things about school, but pretty much the hardest. She came equipped with an impenetrably hard exterior that scared off most redneck would-be suitors with a casual glance, and it took me about two months of pounding on her dorm room door before she agreed to go with me to my frat formal. There would have been a time when her shy, steely, green-eyed intensity would have flummoxed me from the start, but by my sophomore year, I appreciated the challenge.

There are pictures of us everywhere in my collection - at Valley Forge National Park, in her father's palatial grounds in Chicago, and at countless black-tie-ish functions around Chapel Thrill (of course, the dopiest one is the pic I have scanned above). Once we bonded, we hung out all four years at school (y'know, cuz I stayed five) and then many years afterward.

Until, bien sr, I moved to Los Angeles, promptly went mad, lost contact with zillions of lovely people, and submerged myself in viscous despair. In the meantime, shy, shy J became a fabulous TV news reporter, which would have been my last guess - besides poop-based performance art - for her career. She was the local anchor at a station in Minnesota, and the last time we talked, she was thinking of taking a job somewhere in Virginia. Maybe Richmond. Maybe not. And yes, I know about the Alumni Directory.

Either way, I've been bemoaning my loss of her from my life when I suddenly realized that this blog is something of a bullhorn, a digital sonic beam that can be tossed into the heavens with the potential to glance the nerve endings of somebody who is one degree of separation from both of us. Or, if by some chance you Google yourself, and find your way here, I miss you, doofus!

9/14/03 Okay, so the blog

9/14/03

Okay, so the blog entry that used to be here was all about how I thought lesbians used to hate me, and then they didn't anymore because I was with Tessa, and then I took a trip to Northampton, Mass that proved to me that no, they actually still did think I was a big heteroschlub.

Then I re-read it this morning and was like, "this is the stupidest thing I've ever written" and erased it. Even if it was kind of funny.

There are those folks who thing that erasing a blog, or going back and altering text is one of the big historical no-nos that somehow gets in the way of honesty, even inserting little notes in their own blogs about how they would have changed it but left it pure, like one set of tracks in virgin snow. I say screw it. If I'm going to be eminently searchable for the rest of man's digital history, I'm going to make sure I only sound like a partial moron rather than a full-fledged one.