I always think I should keep a tally of stories I write for other publications, especially since I don’t have a full-time reporting job anymore. Here’s an abridged list of everything I did this year (I only posted stories I liked, actually.) I sort of stopped doing so much over the summer because I was getting burnt out, but now I’m ready again!
Due to a series of serendipitous events, I lucked out and saw Ryan Adams in San Diego tonight with Amateur Chemist. When we got there, we were told the worldwide tour policy is no photos (“he looks the same except the venues are darker”), so I drew pics instead. Here’s the OCW review.
It just gets bigger. (I took this photo three years ago, and Justin Vernon and his two other bandmates were three feet away. When I saw them at the Shrine tonight there were nine people in the band, and I would’ve literally been blown away if I stood too close to them.)
Could be the chillest festival I’ve ever been to. Stalked Adrian Grenier. Rode a gondola with the drummer from Spoon. Almost got thrown on stage at Girl Talk. Flew with acroyogas. Watched Amanda Palmer sing “Creep” on ukelele in her underwear beside a snow-making pond. GAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! Pictures to follow.
To check out the Wanderlust Festival next weekend. Yoga + indie bands — how exciting! Here’s a short story I wrote for Variety; I actually talked to Kula Yoga Project owner Schuyler Grant (one of the organizers), and I was amazed at how simple she made putting up a festival seem. For some reason, I still want to be a yoga teacher. I wonder if I still can do it.
I used to be neck-deep in music. I’d go to two to three shows a week, had a neverending pile of CDs by my desk, download a bunch of albums in one go. When the magazine I worked for died, there was no reason for me to keep current on music for work, which meant I had more time to absorb everything I was listening to.
And I started traveling a lot, which meant that my iPod truly became my best friend. I was in Eastern Europe in March, Seattle, Alaska and Los Angeles in July, Chico, Nevada and Sebastopol in August, drove through six states in November, and ended up in Southern California, then Manila, Siargao and Batangas this month. With so many unfamiliar beds, rooms, and landscapes surrounding me, the only way I truly felt at home and comfortable was by listening to music that I knew and was familiar.
And that became the best of my 2008.
Bon Iver, “For Emma, Forever Ago” – Justin Vernon wrote this album in the Wisconsin woods, two winters ago, broken hearted and alone. I wrote about him last January, when I lived in Milwaukee. I saw him play a show in a smoky club when it was zero degrees out, and then for the rest of that cold, snowy season, would put myself to sleep with this album. During winter my toes were always cold, but at least Vernon’s falsetto soothed me, made me feel like the cold didn’t matter, that, lying in my bed, I would always be okay.
Vampire Weekend, “Vampire Weekend” – It was catchy, it was fun, it was happy. It was different, you know? It wasn’t all that hipster electronica drudgery. Its songs’ untrendy elements made it oh-so-geeky and lovable. So even though I was done with the album by May, I still would say it was one of 2008’s best.
Mates of State, “Re-Arrange Us” – This was definitely a grower. I loved it the first time I heard it in May, then promptly forgot about it. In November I drove 2500 miles from Milwaukee to California, and during the most tiring periods of the trip, listened to this album on repeat. It always made me feel better. (How unsubliminal can I get? The single “Get Better” is definitely one of the most uplifting songs I know, though.) I felt like it was the most accessible of all the Mates of State albums — not so many crazy song breaks or confusing chord progressions, still saccharinely pop but not commercially so.
Lykke Li, “Youth Novel”
Hype! Hype! Hype! This list is full of ultra-hyped artists, but so what? A ‘best of’ list isn’t just about what lasted more than 3 plays on your iPod; it’s also about songs that define the best moments of the year. All summer, “Little Bit” was ringing in my ears. The rest of Lykke Li’s album — bubbling to the brim with her perfect pop tone and bouncing beats — did not disappoint. I love dancey songs on pseudo-relationships as much as I love dancing around my pseudo-relationships.
Michael Franti, “All Rebel Rockers”
Mommy Su loves Michael Franti. As in, laglag panty love. When I went up to northern California to visit her, she brought me to his annual rally/concert, “Power to the Peaceful” at Golden Gate Park. I was an instant convert. Dreadlocks and tiedye and stinky hippies aside, this album has everything you want for a party. Plus a conscience. So it’s the musical equivalent to getting stoned all night and making sure people don’t drive home while under the influence.
TV on the Radio, “Dear Science”
There are albums that you love because the bands’ previous album was so perfect you have residual emotion for their newer work, even though it’s not so great. Think Ryan Adams, or Stars, or YYYs. I think “Dear Science” is one of these albums. On the other hand, it took me more than a year to get into “Return to Cookie Mountain.” So this TVOTR album might even grow on me some more.
Robyn, “Robyn”
It was instant: I heard “Cobrastyle,” I downloaded the album, and have been in love with this Swedish popstar ever since. My usual problem with pop albums is that they have no staying power; but every song in Robyn’s re-debut has been a constant in every dance playlist of the year I’ve made.
Fleet Foxes, “Fleet Foxes”
This Seattle-based band was borne out of a kind of obscure band I loved from a few years ago, Crystal Skulls. But while Crystal Skulls was proggy and electronic, Fleet Foxes incorporates every catchy folk music -device to keep the listeners’ attention. From three part harmonies and simple guitar chords, to allusions to meadowlarks and fields, the band brings you back to the Beach Boys and Crosby Stills Nash and Young without being total copycats. It’s old school, but refreshingly so. Foals, “Antidotes”
How I like Foals’ “Antidotes” is the same way I have residual love for succeeding albums of bands whose work I really enjoy. I love Foals because I loved Bloc Party and Battles. While they’re not of that caliber, I wanted something similar sounding but new. Foals incorporates melodic prog elements to their music, and there’s enough punk energy in it to make the album worthwhile.
I’m not going to lie: Martha Wainwright and not headliner KT Tunstall was the reason I went to the Pabst for the second night in a row. I’ve been in love with her voice, her impassioned delivery and her obscenity-laced confessional songs since her self-titled album was first played on my iPod three years ago. I always dreamt of seeing her live, wondering how she would compare to her melodramatic brother Rufus, her funny actor-dad Loudon III and her mother Kate McGarrigle, both folksingers. I would watch videos of her on YouTube on repeat constantly.
I haven’t had a chance to digest songs from Wainwright’s latest release, “I Know You’re Married But I’ve Got Feelings Too.” All I knew was that there was more instrumentation on those songs than the eponymous record. But I knew she wouldn’t disappoint on Friday night.
Armed with just a guitar, and dressed in simple blouse and short skirt, Wainwright literally kicked up a storm with her raspy voice –alone.
“I inherited it from my father,” she said, of the rhythmic, syncopated stomping she would use to accompany her songs. Apparently, amazing live performances are genetic — and Wainwright does her family proud. She played oldies like “Factory” and closed with a rushed version of “Bloody Motherfucking Asshole” (I think maybe because the show was all-ages, and it seemed she was slightly uncomfortable singing it.) But there were also renditions of “Bleeding All Over You” and “Jesus and Mary” — stripped down, unproduced and beautiful.
I was fully prepared to leave the theater by 9 p.m., but tiny KT Tunstall, ultra-charming in a ponytail, a silver, glittery tank top and a Scottish accent, knocked the wind out of me. I didn’t know any of her songs except for “Suddenly I See,” made famous in the movie The Devil Wears Prada. I figured it was all going to be poppy schmaltz. Instead, Tunstall hit the crowd over and over again with ballsy rock and roll, never once losing the crowd, and getting everyone to their feet dancing more than once.
Martha Wainwright’s Web site
KT Tunstall’s Web site