Oh Ryan.
Oh Newport.
The set is incredible. And so much fun to listen to. The presence. The awareness. Alert. Alive. Hilarious. And the Stringdusters, of course, do a great job backing him up..
He'll be at the Lincoln tomorrow, though tickets are currently running north of $150 on Stubhub, alas.. But if it's anything like this, or fall of 2014, well -- it'd be well worth it.
UPDATE - Tickets fell to $85 in the late afternoon. But I couldn't pull the trigger. Seeing this, though, I wish I had:
Just back from a few magical days in the mountains. The walk-in sites at Big Meadow. The hikes..
J's stamina is ever-improving. We made it down to the waterslide at Cedar Run and back in good time and good spirits - the return improved by promises of ice cream at the wayside..
And oh that waterslide:
Off to Dulles shortly for Montrose, CO. Hopefully I can squeeze in some time at the Black Canyon of the Gunnison..
HipCityVeg for lunch. I love the "chicken" sandwich. Walking back down sun-baked 7th, the band on the corner of F Street was slow-jamming Hey Joe. And I smiled. It was loose and ragged and just right..
That, for now, is all...
I'd rather be a sparrow than a snail.. If I could. - El Condor Pasa
Relivin' the past? Your loss. - Beenie Man in Send It Up
Wait? Has it really been a month? Do I need to do this in bullets again? So much to capture... I'll work backwards...
And Irwin. What to say. His conceptual LA cool is a bit much at times - but when it works, it's transfixing. The wall-text alone shows art theory writing at it's finest - the surgical deployment of adjectives.
As it got dark and the moon came up and Chris broke into Traveller, well.. all was right with the world. His voice is incredible, the songs speak so simply - but powerfully. And the great world spins.
Made some pie from key limes I smuggled back in my suitcase - delicious. Reminding me of the time Beth made key lime pie and brought it to me by Penn Station - wrapped in tinfoil - and we ate it in a doorstep during a downpour. Captured here. These words do have some value, I suppose - preserved experience over time.
Then Sunday in the Met Breuer with Beth and Kei at the incredible "Unfinished" show. We were there for almost five hours. Looking. Thinking. Talking lightly and loosely - about the work, mostly. Such a deep, rich show. Then wandering down 5th before ducking over and taking the train down to Union Square to buy t-shirts for Beth's trip to Italy. Incredibly easy, relaxed, alive. Present. The kind of day I've been craving for years.
Then Monday out in the Rockaways in a wetsuit - "learning" to surf - or at least how to fall off a board. But, somehow, I rode a few waves and that feeling was simply extraordinary. Grey cold misty day. Like a Catherine Opie photo..
Speaking of diaries... in NYC I fell into conversation with the proprietress of 192 Books (just about a _perfect_ bookstore) about Oberlin and Rivka Galchen's new book (Little Labors) and Nin and Karl Ove Knausgaard - and memoir as form. Which is fine as far as it goes. But I'm craving something a bit more.. structured. So will likely turn to Fates & Furies next.
Summer. Sweet sweaty sultry summer. Late nights and stars. Back-porch bourbons in the night air. Tiki parties and a sense of possibility. Stirrings. Fresh shoots. And memories. Sometimes visceral ones.
[B]reeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing / Memory and desire, stirring / Dull roots with spring rain.
Lost time is not found again
A lot to catch up on. Let's do it in bullets:
But overall, the album is vast and true, and when Dylan describes the sound of it as “that thin, that wild mercury sound” we nod. Yes. I read or heard it described once as an album that sounds like three o’clock in the morning feels. Yes. How it feels boozy, on fine liquor, with the promise of sublime sex just as the coal of night fades into aching blue wonder of early morning. That’s the sound. And I remain mesmerized by Johanna. I’ll be listening to that song until I die.
That, for now, is all..
Came in as the opener, Mega Bog, were winding down. Third row. Not crowded, not yet. Good conversation, good people, good times.
The lights went down and they walked out. Cate in black pants and platform shoes and black makeup lines under her eyes.
One foot well in front of the other, wielding the guitar like a bayonet. She had a restless, lithe presence. Bouncing slightly from foot to foot. Playing with sound, texture, tempo.
The band was incredibly tight, trading instruments while the songs were in progress. This beautiful fine line between noise and melody. And that voice. Like Nico. Like Neko. Like.. Cate.
There was a moment during this song -- when the descending bass lines were set off against her voice and those chords on the chorus -- and it all came together, and I smiled, deeply. Felt it. Felt lifted by it. Those moments are what make shows worth going to:
We just come from such different sets of circumstances
I'm up all night in the studio
And you're up early on your ranch
You'll be brushing out a brood mare's tale
while the sun is ascending
And I'll just be getting home with my reel to reel.
There's no comprehending
Just how close to the bone and skin and eyes and lips you can get
And still feel so alone
And still feel related.
Singing this, loudly, on the bike ride in this morning. Dodging puddles.
