in five years, i hope the songs feel like covers
[this is a post from the archives - originally sent december 17th, 2017]
"I'm not really a fan of The Boss," is a risky way to kick off an encore - we've been with you up 'til now, why try to toss of the crowd at the very end - but that's what Lindsey of Little Mazarn said as she retook the stage Friday night before launching into a hauntingly beautiful interpretation of one of Bruce's biggest songs. I am a sucker for Springsteen covers but if you had told me that one of the best things I'd hear all week would be a three piece band's cover version of "Dancing in the Dark" where the main instruments at play were the banjo and the saw, only sparingly fleshed out by electric guitar, I'd have pointed you in the direction of all the other things I'd listened to and ask you how much money you wanted to put on it. Wager high and you would have cleared me out though because I am now a person who wishes there was a little more saw playing in a little more things.
I went to the show to see Twain hopefully play The Sorcerer (he didn't - I was bummed, the girl in the row in front of me was pissed and they left before the end - but everything he did play was worth it) and to see if I still think the church the show was held in has some of the best venue acoustics in town (it does and getting to see Benjamin Clementine play there in a couple months is probably going to make me weep.) I'm decidedly out of practice with sitting in pews and have enough Sunday School to haunt me into trying to remember the last time I'd prayed but the vaulted ceilings and the crucifix weren't even close to the most holy things about the evening. Last week was a weird one in a long series of strange ones, and I've been feeling unmoored. Going to spend three hours alone in a pew on a Friday night felt like a questionable plan even before the parking guy looked at me with what was definitely pity. Going to spend three hours alone in a pew on a Friday night was the best thing I've done in a long time, even if my backside doesn't agree (why on earth haven't they figured out how to make pews comfortable yet?).
I've been to a lot of shows alone. I was introduced to the joy of it when I was on the volunteer photo crew for SXSW in high school, and got really good at it through years of practice due to broke friends / obscure taste / long relationships that made me good at being alone in general. I still haven't quite learned what to do with myself between sets but I do know where the best places to stand are and once the music starts I'm home. I gave up on going solo to shows for most of this year (turns out talking to people between sets can be more fun than staring at your shoes or making a trip to the bar) but it's December which means now I'm one of those broke friends, too, and I'm back on the one-ticket-only train for a while.
There's a particular soul-centering joy that comes from going to a show alone and I was happy to sit in silence between sets on Friday night but as I was walking back to my car, I realized it was also the kind of show that makes me wish I was a smoker so I'd have a reason to linger and talk to someone, anyone, who was there too. The man in the pew behind me said "Damn," under his breath (but he'd brought in a bottle of the blood of Christ shed for you, so he wasn't really all that quiet) every time Twain's fingerpicking made things feel right in the universe. He and his pew-mates were outside the church as I was leaving, but instead of bumming a cigarette and talking about how I felt all of those "Damn"s too, I went and wandered around a parking garage for fifteen minutes trying to remember where I'd parked my car.
This got long and rambly and weird but it's been a long and rambly and weird week. Here's some of the other stuff I listened to:
This was a week of musical homework for me - one in which I've been doing mine and accidentally giving some to others (shout out to my coworker Mike who made me a whole DAMNesque playlist when I asked for more stuff like Kendrick to make spreadsheets to. Hi, Mike. You're a champ.) If the cookie gods are kind, I'll be seeing (read: sobbing to) Julien Baker tomorrow night - Adam Torres opens and I've been listening to the hell out of his most recent EP. I'm fairly certain that the cover art for that EP was shot at what I thought was my private mope-with-peacocks park, so I'm low-key peeved but mostly obsessed with this small collection of songs. Other homework involved revisiting the Twain album Rare Feeling to prep for Friday, but I didn't pre-listen to Little Mazarn because I like some surprises and I'm so happy I did.
Had a Wilco and Wilco-adjacent theme day where I worked through most of Uncle Tupelo's discography before heading down a Son Volt path and circling back to Jeff Tweedy and A.M. I hope someday someone turns the drama filled wikipedia pages of Uncle Tupelo's demise into the best soundtracked movie ever, but in the meantime I can't believe I forgot how good this song is.
The new Lucy Dacus song "Night Shift" is so damn good. Her first album came out in 2016 but it was on heavy rotation for me this year and I'm so excited for her next one.
I'm no longer reading Cortazar, but my attempts at understanding jazz still persist and took a very weird turn this week in that I'm now obsessed with jazz vibraphones. All of my carefully crafted insomnia playlists were tossed aside this week in favor of Milt Jackson. I'm not saying I suggest having vibes be the last thing you hear before you fall asleep and the first thing you hear in the morning but I'm not not suggesting it. And I'm definitely suggesting you watch this video because it. is. mesmerizing.