Tricia Lockwood, the poet--or if we are writing a trend piece--FEMALE POET, or perhaps "poette"? is really funny on her blog. I like it. I bet dollars and donuts you will as well.
Sorry I have not been making much blogging over here, I am more in love with my new blog than this old thing. ALSO, I kind of took the month off from working so much to try and get "caught up" on listening to records and finding new bands to like for the summer, which is sort of happening, but mostly not because it's summer and me and the young baby William are on the go in the greater Chicago out-of-doors. The little dude loves to go. There are swings to be swung in and many different dogs to yell "HI DADA" at.
Someone in a band that I am writing about and I were exchanging facebook messages about getting a promo of his new record by the time of my deadline and such and then he sent me this really long, aggrieved message about how hard it is to be a broke solo musician and then also in a newly popular band on the side and how he is going to be a dick to these people who suddenly care about what he is doing now after years in obscurity. Like 1000 words long on this topic. I think he was thinking out loud. I wrote him back and said "I understand frustration--I spend half my day trying to keep my son from eating toilet paper off the roll." It's true. Though I wanted to tell him what I used to tell bands I managed or did PR for when they whined like: "Then just stop." I am not about to pep talk anyone's band into soldiering on. The world is not hurting for bands. Being in a band is hard, but it's also really fucking easy as far as hard things go. Today I caught myself playing along with The Clash's "Straight to Hell" on William's wheeled Fischer Price rainbow xylophone and thought "I may never be in a band again." And I felt kind of sad until I remembered what it is to load into a practice space at 3am and then I felt deeply relieved. I will have a daytime only family banjo band, maybe, and thats all. Fuck a load out and fuck a bar, I wanna play Buck Owens songs poorly with my future children in your yard.
I bought this JUMBO art book about Los Angeles, which is kind of pricey, but a real ness. purchase if you have ever lived there or read Day of the Locust or obsessed over Didion's White Album or Los Angeles Plays Itself. I am just got through the 1880s, when houses just start to dot the area, and there is only one house--a farm/orchard--in all of Laurel Canyon. The rest is just treeless brush. It's a real boogie of the mind, this truly instant city of self-invention.Posted by jessica hopper at May 20, 2011 09:11 PM | TrackBack