Grammys

Nearly seven years out of the record biz and I'm still watching the Grammys. Really, I don't know why. They suck me in and I can't change the station. Ya hear that Nielsen?

Even before I was in the industry, I was a jaded Grammy watcher. The artists and bands I thought were worthy often didn't get nominated, let alone win anything. After a few years of pushing baby bands and ingraining my brain with knowledge of genres I never thought I'd like, my indignant attitude grew. How could Neil Young and 2Pac both never have gotten Grammys? (Okay, Neil did win for best packaging this year & was the MusiCares honoree, but still....WTF?)

Now that I don't have to be or follow the taste makers, I find myself able to delve even further into the music that I love the most. No, I didn't see the Fleet Foxes or Peter Bradly Adams on the Grammy list this year, but that in no way deters my enthusiasm for their great music. Just like their lack of inclusion by the Grammy machine doesn't stop me from watching the overblown pageantry of the yearly ceremony. Old habits do die hard.

Busy, Gone, Busy, Gone

The end of January. How the....?

There's still ornaments to put away. Seems I just rolled out of Christmas and it was off to California for a week. It's disconcerting to lose a week in the middle of the month. Especially in a different climate. I left behind a winter wonderland, then landed in a bizarre mix of spring and summer. There were blueberries ripe on bushes and poppies swaying like crepe paper on the breeze. Then the rains came and I left.

At home the January thaw had begun. Snow was a memory, everything was soggy, mornings were foggy. Where had winter gone? But like my time on the coast, there was so much to do that precious little else got done besides work. Pity. Fog is so mysterious. I hope someone captured its essence in my absence.

Now, the struggle back to normalcy. Such as it is. Is it?

Came, went

Christmas came and went. Cookies, choirs, pork loin, caroling, cocoa, parties, crab claws, presents, whiskey slush, candle light, wine, sparkling snow. It swirled in on a whirlwind and is begging to stay, not knowing that it needn't worry. Like all we love, it is gone but not forgotten. Treasured in the heart.

2009 came and went. Job, no job, new job, broken promises and pleasant surprises. There were risks that paid off, ones that didn't and cards left in a folded hand that can't be played. Until, that is, you turn them all in and reshuffle the deck. Soon it will be a new year. New cards, a second chance, a second moon. A blue moon on the turning of the year, of the decade, of our lives. Everything comes and goes.

How many ornaments fit on a Christmas Tree?

Our tree will not hold all the ornaments. Every year, we seem to acquire a couple more; either by gift or because I see something that I just can't live without. Like many who grew up with a little less, I have an innate need to collect a little more. More penguins, more guitars, more salt cellars, more books, more dishes and more Christmas decorations. Our home is modest at best with bunga"low" ceilings that barely fit a six foot tree once a star or angel sits on top. I dream of a vaulted turret, bay window or picture-pane foyer, graced by a twelve or fourteen foot tree, adorned by every ornament in our possession. Every antique mercury glass teardrop, every hand beaded satin ball, every bird, beast and music note, every crystal, every angel, every snowflake, every commemorative memento of our Christmases together. But for now, a few will have to do. It is no less Christmas, it holds no less magic. It just is.

It's a blur

Ten days until Christmas eve. Life's a blur. Work, eat, wrap, bake, sing, drink, sleep, repeat. About now I start making promises that deep down I know I'll never keep. Next year, I'll start collecting gifts in June. Next year, I'll start baking in October and freeze the cookies. Next year, I'll make the cards in September. Next year, I'll keep the house clean so frantic sprucing is unnecessary. Next year I won't get sick, or self conscience , or sad. Next year, next year, next year......

Ever notice how brilliant the Christmas tree looks when you take out your contact lenses and look at it with your own, naked, broken eyes? Perhaps Christmas is best left as a blur, a mystery not quite understood.

A few of my favorite things

Why is "The Sound Of Music" considered a Christmas movie? It makes no sense. Don't get me wrong, I know every song, but outside of talking about "snowflakes that fall of my nose & eyelashes" and "packages tied up with string", it's just not a Christmas movie. "Christmas In Connecticut", "White Christmas", "Prancer", "Toys", yes, yes, yes, and I love Barry Levinson, yes. Among so many others, yes; they are a few of my favorite (Christmas) things.

But I will always forgo a Christmas movie for quality music by the tree time. There is nothing so filled with holiday spirit as caroling by the light of the Christmas tree. Ever since I could plunk out three chords, I've taken great joy in treeside serenade. A lovely cup of tea or perhaps some red wine, twinkling lights, a scatter of snow outside if you're lucky and hours of songs known by heart. It doesn't get much better. Tree, snow, lights, guitar, music, Christmas... These are a few of my favorite things.

Songs of Christmas

One of my bosses plays Christmas songs all year long. I may be the only one there who gets it. I've been playing them since October. Last year, I went as far as to attempt to write one of my own (with a little help and inspiration from Franz Gruber).

Most carols' melodies are timeless. They are usually easily transposed and best of all they beg for harmony. Some of the first songs a child learns are Christmas (or other holiday) songs; even non-musical families sing during yearly, family gathering type holidays. The songs become a part of you, ingrained into your very being. Even if you hate them, you can't forget them. They are as insidious as an infectious pop tune. So give in, indulge in the guilty pleasure. "Because you need a little Christmas, right this very minute. You need a little Christmas now."

How to enjoy the holiday season

Top 10 ways to enjoy the holiday season:
10. Skip a boring party because you "had to work late". Won't work for the annual company soirée.
9. Tell the hubs there's nary a smooch until all those presents are wrapped.
8. Bring a bottle of fancy coffee flavoring syrup to share at the office. Lace it with vodka.
7. Tell everyone Robert Earl Keen wrote "Merry Christmas From The Family" about yours.
6. Volunteer with a charity. "Sorry, I didn't have time to..... I was volunteering!"
5. Two words. Internet shopping.
4. Every cookie you bake takes food from a pastry chef's starving child's mouth. Buy them.
3. Ditch the stigma. It's not re-gifting, it's GREEN gifting!
2. Screw the budget, hire a housekeeper & a caterer. It's your Christmas present to yourself.
And the number one way to enjoy the holiday season....
1. Hop a freight, go away. Go far, far away.

Don't think about the words

Don't think about the words. That's the only way I can make it through most Christmas carols without choking up. It's like singing at a funeral or a wedding. The emotion has to be kept at a safe distance, with just enough creeping through to convey the credible, heartfelt warmth for which those situations call. Perhaps it sounds cold, but the alternative is rafts of sniffling singers with tear-stained cheeks blubbering their way through every sad or joyous occasion imaginable. But Christmas? Holiday songs did not always make me cry. Actually, I'm not quite sure when the phenomenon began. One year, I picked up my guitar, started to sing Silent Night, and before the end of the second verse, I had begun to turn into a puddle. Silver Bells, an innocuous ditty about shopping, lights and bells, same thing. O Holy Night was like a burst levee, as was It Came Upon A Midnight Clear. What changed? Why was Christmas twisting a knife into my heart? So I worked on the distance. Now I can sing and play carols for hours on end with hardly a tear. Unless I think about the words. Because sometimes, especially at Christmastime, you just have to cry.

Christmas Romance

When they coined the phrase "hopeless romantic", they may have well been describing my love affair with the Christmas season. My romantic vision of Christmas seemed to evolve over time. Elements of my childhood like cookies, music, snow, a live tree and intricate wrapping of each present with curling ribbon mingle with literature and pop culture to include caroling, mulled wine or a goodly port (thanks, Charles), decorating the house with golden ribbon, crystal and candles, parties, entertaining, watching It's A Wonderful Life, and gazing at the twinkling tree. I know I expect too much out of the holidays, and yet I'm still let down when they inevitably fall short of my lofty imaginings. Classic Christmas blues. But as a hopeless romantic, I continue to try, to believe, to still want it all. This year is the first in quite a few that we've put up a full size, 'real' tree. The living room smells like a pine forest, the LED's are twinkling away, and treasured ornaments were hung with care. It's a wonderful start. Maybe this year.......

Strange weather

Indian Summer came late. In shorts and a camisole, I contemplated the bare trees standing like skeletons on top of the ridge, silently begging for snow. Too many days of rain knocked down the last of their leaves, then swelled the river into thinking spring had returned. Flash floods covered paddocks and fields. Streams invaded parks and basements. Deer, chased from the forest by the encroaching waters, littered the highway in a bloody mess. An unseen heron left his gliding shadow on the swollen stream. What was this strange season residing between the full moon and Friday the 13th? And what did it mean?

Do you consider it an art?

Pictures. Photos. I could play all day between the camera and the "darkroom" that is my computer. It continually amazes me how photography has changed. When I first started getting serious about photography as a hobby, my boyfriend (now husband) was patient and encouraging. While I already had an artist's eye for composition, I had to learn how to translate that vision to the reality of film. He'd give me assignments to help me understand aperture, shutter and film speed, depth of field, light metering and even filters. He bought me a good SLR and turned me loose. Every frame, I thought to myself, is this worth the film? I missed many a shot trying to be judicious and thrifty. Now, with the miracle of digital photography, we can click wantonly. It's not always a good thing. Sometimes I think that the art is forgotten in the desire of the moment, as well as the craft. Perhaps it is time to take a step back to basics. Is this shot really worth the megabytes? Is it still an art? Or is it just a craft?

George Washington Carver Day

I always dig the whole living history thing. Part drama, part history; when it's done well it really makes the subject come alive. A few weeks back, the Missouri Botanical Garden hosted their annual George Washington Carver Day. Paxton Williams from the Carver National Monument in Diamond, MO came to the garden and did a fine job of portraying Carver. He took us on a tour of the garden, talking about "his" life, teachings and discoveries. The walk ended in the Carver Garden, a 2005 addition, complete with a fountain, statue and natural amphitheater for teaching programs or just relaxing and listening to the flowers. Oh, you don't think flowers or plants can talk? Or that you can talk with them? Then you need to stop by the library and read about George Washington Carver. He wasn't just the peanut man. He was a gardener, an artist, a musician, a spiritualist, a botanist, an inventor, an environmentalist, a humanitarian, a poet, a teacher, and yes, a scientist. And pretty decent theatre.

When did October go?

The days of autumn are all but slipping away
When did October go?
My colors are fading into a mixed muddy brown
Where did October go?
The rain hasn't stopped for almost fourteen days
When did October go?
Wet leaves are slippery like the ice will soon be
Where did October go?

Why did I let it leave?
I kept trying to say good bye.
How could I let you leave?
Without giving it one more try?

Dark skies will shatter under lightning's flash
When did October go?
The stars may be hidden but the moon peeks out
Where did October go?
You're only but a shadow in my memory
When did October go?
I try to remember so my mind can see
Your face as you turned to go.

Driving the view

"Living it down just enough time to revel
When you're driving the view
The pace looks up when the burn goes down
Time and again when you're driving the view"1

Son Volt is a great autumn band. Maybe it's Jay's often dark lyrical imagery. Or his use of minor chords that melt into momentary major glimmer. Maybe it's their music's ability to break your heart while you smile; the juxtaposition of rhythm and emotion. Try as I might, it's nearly beyond explanation. You just have to feel it. Drive down highway 44 through the brilliant death of foliage with Son Volt and the fall wind washing over you. Then you'll know.

"May the wind take your troubles away
May the wind take your troubles away
Both feet on the floor
Two hands on the wheel
May the wind take your troubles away"2

1. Driving The View - Jay Farrar
2. Windfall - Jay Farrar

Autumn has captured me

People will say, oh, my favorite season is summer. Or spring or fall. Or how they hate winter. My favorite season is...... all the above. As a season winds down, giving way to the next, I tend to mourn. There is never enough time to enjoy it. I beg for one more snowflake, one more crocus, one more firefly in the warm evening. But then I give in to the joy of the new season and it becomes my favorite. Autumn has fully captured me now.


Every day on my drive to and from work, I pass through huge hills and river valleys. The trees are ablaze with color, turning my commute into a kaleidoscope. It is a joy. Air is crisp and fresh. Frost has nipped the grass. I dream of apples, pumpkins and mulled cider. An October picnic spent warming in the sun will melt away any chill, so will a fire and some port. I want to take it all in, I know it will be gone too soon. And my favorite season will change, again.

Farm Aid 2009

"Hello... We're Wilco. And we're here for the party as well."

Farm Aid was worth every precious penny, even with the astronomical service fee charged by Live Nation. Phosphorescent played to glowing reviews. Lukas Nelson (yes, Willie's son) absolutely blew everyone away with his searing Strat work. Jason Mraz managed mass audience participation in broad daylight. Gretchen, well, she was there for the party. Then there was Wilco.

Yeah, I'm a rabid Wilco fan, so my views are tainted. It was far from the best performance ever; it's hard to get a vibe goin' when you only have time for a few songs. But they definitely played to the St. Louis fans. Jeff actually claimed his local Belleville heritage, even though a bit tongue-in-cheek. (Not much difference than the rest of us.) "Heavy Metal Drummer" is like a polaroid from my, and many in the crowd's, past. And even though he's not a redneck as a gambling song might imply, Tweedy and friends rocked local fave "Casino Queen". "Hoodoo Voodoo" was a fitting ending, considering Woody Guthrie's lifelong crusade for the common man, and who is the backbone of these, if not the family farmer? Perfect choice.

Dave (does he even need a last name any more?) and Tim did their duet thing. Tim always mesmerizing on his D-35, Dave always.... the head of the cult-of-Dave. No one likes Dave Matthews a little. You either don't get him, or you're a follower. Plenty of followers in the house. Many left after his set. Their loss.

John Mellencamp probably had the best set of the evening. It had been years since I'd seen him and he doesn't seem to have changed all that much. High energy, belting it out, Miriam Sturm's amazing fiddle, and that weird song ending air punch thing. The audience sang on all the old songs, especially closer "The Authority Song". It was a crowd that's been with him since this Cougar days, and they love him still.

Uncle Neil was our conscience. He ripped off his Stop Factory Farms shirt (a wardrobe malfunction) to reveal a Go Family Farms one. "We need our farms back!" He shouted. Willie joined him for "Homegrown" and the haze began to rise from the crowd. But as much as Neil Young was the conscience, he was also the beauty. The man has written some of the most simple and gorgeous melodies and heartfelt lyrics in rock history as evidenced by his set ending number, "Comes A Time." More than one tear did fall.

It wouldn't be Farm Aid without the Willie Nelson wrap up. 76 and gliding through those wacky jazz runs and inverted chords like a monster. I stood loose-jawed, staring at the jumbo screen. His face may be craggy, but his eyes are always a-sparkle, his hands move like flowing water, and the hits just keep on coming. It's a patchwork crazy quilt kind of thing, one song begets another and another, bumping into the next in disjointed yet oddly coherent fashion. Not quite a medley, more of a stream of consciousness set, but it's Willie and so it works. By the end of it all, the stage was full of any and everyone "still left" on site for the feel-good gospel & Hank Williams sing-a-long. Sadly, Neil and Hank's D-28 couldn't make the finale. Even so, all in all, and all day long, it was one hell of a show.

Bon Iver Sunrise Graveyard Concert

I love Bon Iver. I love graveyards. I love sunrise.
I hate that I could not be there to experience all three.
Haunting melodies creeping on the fog through headstones
just as the sky blushed.
Amazing. Surreal. Inspiring. Perfect.

Bloody Angry

This work of art says it all for me. It was not called Bloody Angry, but it should have been. When the mood strikes, this is a perfect depiction of anger emerging from the darkness of my troubled mind. Or maybe just a portrait of pissed off.

Sometimes you just want the conspiracy to be done with. Stop with the demands, stop with the needs, stop with the wants, stop with the being nice. Stop with the have to, stop with the should do, stop with the could you. Just stop.

Let me hurt, let me be angry, let me find a way to take care of myself and heal.

Dan Fogelberg - Love In Time

Imagine my surprise to find how many people out there "get" Dan Fogelberg. The internet is an amazing thing. True, there are the rabid fans, the women for whom he is/was an "idol". But then there are the people who found something more in his music, his art and his actions. A preacher in Dallas, a NY Times Sports writer, a sound engineer, an IT professional, other musicians, a best friend. I have run into countless of these folks in the last few years, chatted with many and forged friendships with quite a few. It's amazing, really, how this man brought so many together.

Now, by the grace of his widow, Jean, he brings us together again. I won't retell the heart wrenching story of how this posthumous release came to be, but I will say that he put it together himself as a completed musical project before his death. This is not the cutting room floor stuff that many record labels scramble to scrape together and release as a post-mortem money maker. This is Dan. Hopeful and reflective, full of imagery and emotion and in love. So in love.

I remember an interview I heard or read once where Dan was asked why he rarely spoke publicly about his life. He replied something to the effect of how he didn't need to, if you listened to the songs, it's pretty much there. And it is. Couched in artistic license and the poetry of great lyric, but the story of Dan is still there. The girl who's heart he never won, championed causes, nature and spirit, family, divorce and finally, true love. "Love In Time" is for all of us, but it was really for Jean. Hers was his love in time.