I am SO going to Austin.

Ok. Imogen Heap show from November 24 2006
Dallas, McFarlin Auditorium on the SMU Campus

As you know, with my musical training/obsession - I'm something of a music fan. Many concerts in my life I expected to be the ultimate show but left feeling disappointed. Then there were the shows that hit me over the head and planted themselves as benchmark performances in my mind (Neil Young/Sonic Youth/Social Distortion in Dallas in 1991 comes to mind). This show, along with Dead Can Dance's Spirit tour in 1997 stands as a time when I had the highest expectation and the artist excelled even that. I'm so happy when I'm not disappointed.

I arrived at the venue at about 20 minutes until 8:00 - show time with 2 opening acts. I was kind of surprised because there were long lines to get in as a phalanx of police officers were screening everyone before they entered the building. They swept everyone with the metal detector wands and looked in all handbags and rucksacks.

Imogen came out and personally announced the first two performers, which was a very nice touch. She was wearing a retro new-wave skirt with bunched down white boots and stockings, a jacket and a hat - what a cool chick! This made the entire evening feel much more intimate and conversational --that she was the first and the last person on stage.

First guy came out and played guitar and sang (sorry -didn't catch his name, but I'm sure it's on her MySpace page). He's a young singer/songwriter who also played double-bass and French horn in support of her during her set. The next guy was a musician from Dallas named Levi Weaver, who lives and performs in Birmingham England. Levi was a clever guy, and the audience chuckled heartily as he made self-deprecating quips during little technical glitches. He used digital loops of tracks and in that way accompanied himself to a superb cover of Radiohead's Idioteque. Lots of people stood and applauded that one.

When Imogen came out, she came down the aisle from the back of the auditorium with a remote-miked organ on a strap like a guitar and started singing and playing. After about a minute, she stopped and said "this is the point where I have to go on stage because the loop isn't working." Everyone laughed and cheered. The thing about this type of setup involving lots of computers looping multiple tracks is that things will mess up on occasion. I think it was probably her conversational ease that made the audience so patient and comfortable with all this - in fact, my brother in law said he thought that enhanced the performance in a way - it was very spontaneous and not an over-produced eerily slick production like everything else you see these days. I liked the fact that she was re-routing the cables herself between equipment, all the while chatting about how it was funny that things can be perfect in sound check and then go haywire the minute you step on stage and that the equipment was determined to show the many ways it can malfunction. I was surprised no tech rushed on stage to fix it all while she stood there, and that was exactly how I would have done it - myself.

The stage was really neat - the percussionist had a tiny trap-set and lots of other instruments. Immi had a transparent acrylic baby grand piano holding some of her keyboards and computer. When she was offstage, I could see the screensaver on her computer reflected in the upturned piano lid, which was swagged with flowers and fairy lights.

She was wearing ballerina flats and a lovely skirt and corset made of a not-quite-red-but-more-watermelon-y matte brocade, lime green lacing on the back of the corset. The skirt was beautiful and would flare out when she danced and spun, many ruffles of lime-green petticoat peeking out from underneath. Her hair was backcombed into a nimbus festooned with a mohawk spray of red and white feathers. Something on her face sparkled. She was beautiful, almost other-worldly.

Ryan Obermeyer was in the audience - he's done lots of fantastical photos of Immi including the image of her with the rabbit and the video featured below. He was in the audience, bald, save a mohawk of black feathers. Check out his site - I LOVE his photography - dreamlike. Remarkable.

After the first song was successfully deployed, Imogen walked around her setup and played little fragments on all the keyboards to demonstrate what each was for. She said of one little keyboard "this is my parrot" and it repeated "this is my parrot" about 10 times until she hit a button. It was very cute, and it's fun to see someone so technically adept who turns computers into instruments to please the ear.

The music was superb. About half the songs, the other 3 guys accompanied her onstage. It was beautiful, sparkling, bright and warm. Her voice is a remarkable instrument in itself showing tremendous breadth in both range and motility. The improvisational passages of her music can be baffling in their magnificence - she probably is a master at music theory and understands and uses all the relationships of tonality. I can't say any one song was a bright spot, as they all were superb. However, Hide and Seek, first song of the encore, was marvelous and excelled the spine-tingling original recording. Goodnight and Go was a delight, and she danced so beautifully. The quiet songs with just her on piano were touching and lovely, and that's how she closed the show--with the final track from Speak For Yourself--a quiet and melancholy song about parting. Fitting.

Absolutely one of my favorite concerts ever. I'm actually tempted to go online and see if she's sold out for Zona Rosa in Austin tonight. Would love to see her again. Update: Zona Rosa show is not sold out... Hmm...

Before the show, I confirmed with the house manager that Immi would come to the merchandise table after the show. THIS was the true Josie Grossie moment for me: apparently about 150 other people had the same ideer, all of them about half my age (or less), and I decided it was a no-go, that it was simply not meant to be- too chaotic. We milled about and got back in line and I bought a second t-shirt and after that, we just left. Walking to the car, I could see another throng of humanity clustered around her tour bus, so I knew she'd have to run that gauntlet before she even made it back in the venue, so, wise choice to leave.

For one nightmarish instant after the show I said "maybe I'll just head on home." The HORROR! Never thought I'd see the day I'd like to go home early. After all, it was only 10 until midnight. Old fogeyism may be catching up with your humble narrator. One crappy comment from my 9-years-younger sister was all it took, and then I was up for it. Peer pressure. We met back over at Lee Harvey's and sat at a picnic table by a fire pit and talked about the evening, how beautiful it was. I ran into former neighbors from lofts I've lived in and it was good to not feel a complete stranger at my former local pub.

I'm going to email Imogen's myspace page and send .jpgs of the necklace and ask if she'd like it--if I could send it to her, but I dunno. I made it for her, worked every bit of glass on the torch with her in mind, and it would have been neat to give it to her, but things work out how they work out. Whatever. Nothing could dampen how great an evening it was, and maybe, just maybe, I've postponed for a moment one of my musical idols seeing what a colossal dork I am. I'm calling that a win/win.

OK, I'm home and totally wiped out. I'll add to this post when I wake up at 10 or noon, or so.

The show was glorious-- one of my best shows ever. See you in a bit...

...and a couple more pics.

Yes, I got a little sleep last night, amazingly.
No, I haven't peed myself yet, but I might at any moment. WIGGLE! Seriously, I'm wagging like a dog right now. My *giddy* mode is in overdrive.

Ok, I made loads more beads than I needed for this necklace, but I needed lots of color in the palettte because she's such a vibrant person, and of course, the Thai Hill Tribe silver butterflies were a must. I made a little dome in fine (.999) silver and stamped "why'd you have to be so cute" on it, which is a line from Goodnight & Go, the video I just posted.

Now I'm taking the doglet for walkies and then I'll get ready and then I'll go for sushi (I'll try not to sit by any disgruntled KGB) and then off to the venue.

I got the cutest scarlet velvet jacket for tonight and I'll wear black stockings with red fishnets over them and that should blend with the really LOUD pair of Fluevogs I'll wear. *bliss*

I really really rilly hope I get to meet her and have my groupie moment, practically middle-aged and fawning over a dreamy artist. Ever see Never Been Kissed with Drew Barrymore? I told my sister I feel like I'm having a Josie Grossie moment. I've never been so star struck. Silly me.

Film at eleven.

[This is a hypomanic moment. Could you tell?]

Why'd you have to be so cute?

Immi's Goodnight and Go video. YAY! 4 hours to go.

I just put a load of beads into the kiln to anneal, and then I'll have some raw stuff to work with. Yay.
Maybe I'll post a necklace photo here during the day on Friday.

To my utter delight, the day at last has arrived when Imogen Heap will perform in Dallas. Excited is not a big enough word. I'm all wiggly and giddy and about to drop my transmission. I'm going to bed now. May be up about noon. May not be able to sleep. *bliss*

I'm grateful for too many things to name them all. I hope everyone has a nice time with loved ones, good food and glorious daytime napping. Heaven!

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

8:30 AM addendum:
You know, I typed this post before I went to bed a little before 1 AM, but I want to add something.

I'm very grateful for the community we have here in blog. Of course I have my friends and work and creative imperative and family that keep my days full, but blog really is the amusement I treasure that keeps me tethered to an idea of community that knows no boundaries. I started my blog in 2002 and only posted sporadically as inspiration would strike, but more than a year ago I worried that I was languishing creatively and I committed to myself to blog daily to have something creative to show for each day. Now, though, this is not simply me tapping the old plastic in my fuzzy slippers and tossing it out into the ether never to be seen again--you wonderful people respond and when necessary commiserate and indeed make this a community. I love the conversational aspects of the comment section, and I appreciate all of you who participate in that forum.

Through this I've conversed with people who share my passions for music and glass bead making and fiber arts and books and popular culture, and I've discovered much life-enriching stuff through many of you, so thanks for the recommended publications and music and creative references. Thanks for the encouragement. Thanks for the information. Thanks for being here. Thank you for your blogs - they amuse me and I often tell you so.

Not so terribly long ago, people in my family would travel from Arkansas at harvest time out to California to fruit tramp. They would pick fruit all summer, following the harvest up or down the coast, and then head back home. Sort of Grapes-of-Wrath-ish, only maybe not so classy. As a result, flotsam-esque bits of the family branched off and stayed in California and Washington, and I now have some relatives out there. So the trips to California morphed over time from an economic imperative into a familial custom.

There was an old joke that said if you see a car heading toward California with a mattress strapped to the roof, it's an Okie (Oklahoman). However, if there's a mattress on the roof and bare feet sticking out one or more of the windows, it's an Arkie. Yeah, that's how we roll.

Anyway, a great-aunt of mine was named Inez, and she was a bit of a fruit-bat, and would ride back and forth on the California trip with whomever was heading out that way. Nezzie, as she was called, had a strange compulsion. When the group would stop to eat along the way, she would ignore the people at her own table and sit, raptly focusing on the conversation in the booth or table behind hers. She was so obsessive that she would neglect to eat her own food. When they'd get back out on the road, Nezzie would proceed to regale the family with the gossip she'd heard about these random strangers. Invariably she'd cry because she was famished and no one felt sorry for her.

Anyway, for all of you who come here daily and don't comment, I think of you as my Nezzies. Whether you're enjoying the onlooker slow-down aspects of my crash-in-slow-motion life, or if you chuckle wryly, nod appreciatively and think you simply don't have anything to add to the discourse, thanks for stopping by and thanks for reading my blog, and remember to eat something or you'll be hungry later on, and we're not stopping again!

Once upon a time in Dallas... [bad taste alert]

The mining ship Red Dwarf has run out of curry powder and so they time travel back to 20th century earth to get some, and blunder into a Dallas scene on a certain occasion. The episode is Tikka To Ride, and one of my all-time favorites of this sublimely silly, well-written series.

Sunday I went to Waxahachie [pronounced woks-uh-hatch-ee] and I took some photos of the old red sandstone Ellis County courthouse which dates from 1895. Click here for a virtual tour of this structure.

Here is a history of the carving as I remember it:

This masonry was commissioned of a noted Italian carver by a local enormously wealthy businessman. When the Italian arrived in town, Cupid smote him with an overwhelming desire for the comely daughter of the businessman. In tribute to her, he rendered her likeness in sandstone on one corner of the building. Over time, however, she spurned his advances and the now embittered Italian vented his spleen in the remaining curlicued embellishments of the courthouse. As you view the other 3 corners of the courthouse, her face morphs into a bloated cavalcade of grotesques, each more hideous than the last.

Also, legend has it that one particular carving on the structure is the spitting image of the place where babies come from. Uncharacteristically for me-- I've never tried to ferret out the outrage, and I probably never will. I'm content to live with the mystery.

By the way, I misspelled that last "and" as "nad." Coincidence, or psychic phenomenon?

Brave Little Toaster

This video is hilarious, as much for the guffaws of the announcer as for the sheer delight of seeing someone drive a vehicle that sports a bit too much engine. That's a Chevy 350 in this VW Microbus. Fair dinkum!

Ruth Brown
Mama, He Treats Your Daughter Mean

Bit by bit I've been making the blog rounds, but still haven't caught up because I continue to be busier than a whore in church. (yeah, it took me 41 years on earth to come up with that one - I'm a little disappointed in myself - not so quick these days.)

In February 1994, I was in London and happened into Ronnie Scott's Jazz Club on a momentous occasion: Ruth Brown, venerated high priestess of American R&B was making her London debut. Considering she was about 66 at the time, well, it was about time.

[If you're not already familiar with her impressive blues career, you may remember her from the John Waters film Hairspray in which she played DJ/record store proprietress Motormouth Maybelle.]

Anyway, Miss Brown sang the stuffing out of the blues that night, and it was a sparkling evening. I'm so glad I happened to catch it, because it was a rich musical experience from the git-go. Arriving just before she took the stage, we took the last two available seats at the very back of the house. I remember being a little surprised because we had to check all bags/purses at the door-- security, I suppose.

She sang lots of the standards from the R&B catalog, including some killer Bessie Smith (Ain't Nobody's Business) and lots of great cry-in-your-beer kind of music. It was golden.

Now, one thing I've always admired and greatly respected is the way people in the UK recognize the traditions of blues/jazz and how they are part of the DNA of modern popular music. It seems the mainstream American audience forget good music as quickly as it passes through town, and there is no regard for tradition. In England, on lots of stations you'll hear the latest pop tune, then something from the 80s, then Motown - good music has real staying power there.

Where an American audience has it all over the Brits --at least an American audience that's schooled -- may be observed in the call-and-response tradition of channeling feedback to a blues performer. There has to be a natural ease and flow to this exchange, there has to be a sense that the audience is saying "yeah, we know you're driving, and we're coming with you." I see this as intrinsically related to the dynamic of any performer who is setting a musical mood and reliant on the pliability of an audience.

From the audience came occasional rather polite utterances of approval, but it seemed to me something a little less vague was in order. (Caveat: this was before every body and their dog was saying it, including Oprah guests) As the band played some low-profile intro to her next piece - Lover Man by Billie Holiday, Miss Brown started talking, and I could tell it was going to be good, so I waited for my moment. She said, "you know, love can be hard," followed by a lengthy pause as the music played on. I hollered out "YOU GO, GIRL!" in that idiotic way we Americans have of acting too at home in the world. (I promise, I'm not normally obnoxious abroad. I'm just an obnoxious broad.) To my everlasting delight, Miss Brown responded into the microphone: "That's my relative."

Miss Brown died Friday, aged 78. I feel badly that I never took time to write her and tell her what a power-house performance that was and how privileged I felt to hear her at her London debut. She wrote in her 1999 autobiography of how edifying it was to be recognized and so well received in London after so many years in the business. I'm glad she had that, and I'm glad I was a tiny part of it. Even though I was embarking on my training as a classical vocalist, I'll always feel a teeny whit of kinship with her and her abiding love for music.

Miss Brown was a songwriter and song stylist of note in her younger years, but was paid almost no royalties for all her great efforts and acclaim. In spite of this vile exploitation, she never let that steal the joy she found in making music. This speaks volumes of her character and her true motivation in performing, and if it's not about the music, why bother?

So in 1994, Miss Ruth Brown stood there in her spangly sparkly dress, with the wig and the fake eyelashes, and sang about the themes of love and loss that are as ancient and newfound and timeless as any other concept we pitiful humans have ever come up with, and she made it fresh. Not bad for a life's work.

So wherever you are Miss Brown, long may you wave, and you go, girl.

Now that we live in Andy Warhol's fabled future where everyone has their own tv show, one starts to see familiar tv personalities more routinely and in unexpected places. You might run into the first chick voted off the island as she's at the store buying tampons, or you might run into Kayne from Project Runway at the Gypsy Tea Room as a friend of mine did recently.

But here's the eerie, peculiar encounter I had today, and this is one Emily Post never covered: what if the person you see out & about was the feature on a Discovery Channel surgical gender reassignment special? This happened to me today, and I really tried not to be obvious that I was having an emotional conflict. Is it rude to observe "I saw you on television" if the nature of the sighting was so intensely personal?

I realize I don't know this person at all and having seen them on television in no way connects us. However, I have seen his/her manly/womanly bits through a filmy haze of blurred dots, and it sort of seems that if someone has put themselves on such display, well, I'm guessing modesty is not a factor.

Anyway, the bizarre part is that although I'm pretty much opposed to plastic surgery, I found myself thinking that if they were going to bother with the rhinoplasty (which they did in order to render the specimen more feminine in appearance), they should have thinned the bridge of his/her nose a bit more dramatically.

Strange times, these. What's the old proverb? May you be blessed not to live in interesting times. Quite.