The Finns and Roadhouse Relics

Just got back from an interview and photo shoot with Finnish band Husky Rescue. It was a trip watching these bemused, blond Finns interact with American culture. For the shoot we commandeered cabs and hiked out from downtown Austin to a gallery/shop called Roadhouse Relics.

As we were headed out there, drummer Anssi Sopanen took a long look at a burger joint on the corner called "Whattaburger." Then he shook his head and said: "This is the real deal."

Our photo shoot was next to a rusty old metal trailer, in a yard strewn with old road signs, bumper cars, and 25-cent shopping center "rides." Marko, the band's leader and songwriter, seemingly couldn't get enough of his surroundings, taking digital pics right and left.

Yesirree -- bringing American trash- and sprawl-culture to hip Scandinavians. That's What I Do.

Concert liveblog update!

Ok, so Marty Stuart just joined Mavis onstage. Maybe liveblogging the occasional significant concert isn't such a bad idea!

Liveblogging from Austin

Greetings citizens.

This installment finds your humble servant sitting on a floor next to a support post, enveloped in a generous cloud of high-speed wireless. Do I love my new PowerBook with AirPort? Oh yes I do.

Where is my home sweet support post? It's Austin Music Hall. On stage at the moment: Mavis Staples. Coming up: Robert Randolph and the Family Band. Just finished: Blind Boys of Alabama.

I won't liveblog the rest of the evening. But isn't it cool that I COULD?

Update from Austin

So I ended up going to Austin City Limits. Good. Interesting. Antiseptic.

I won't bore you with the details of the rock'n'schmooze shenanigans here, or the specifics of the semi-sincere half-promises being made right and left. I keep on wanting to say, "What a wacky business!" but is this business really wackier than any other? Nah. There's just a more interesting dress code.

And now for something completely different! In my walking about the fine capitol city of Austin, Texas -- I've noticed that despite the pedestrian-friendliness, there's still lots of room for improvement. Most of this can be categorized as the failure to completely follow The Three Rules of true urban design.

David Sucher's Three Rules are brilliant, simple, and completely followed quite rarely. They are:
1. Build to the street
2. Put parking in back, not in front, and;
3. Make the surface permeable -- with windows, street-level businesses, or the like

It is Rule #3 where Austin often falls short. While the gridded blocks of downtown, with their relatively wide sidewalks and wall of street frontage, are highly walkable by American standards, often the architects and site planners have completely failed in engaging the street. I have been walking by an amazing number of blank walls. While you can do what you want in a suburban, low-density setting, building an ugly blank wall on the streets where people frequently walk is inexcusable.

It is no accident that entertainment districts like East Sixth Street (where I'm currently typing) are among the most dynamic anywhere. Here, more than anywhere else in the city, the Three Rules are consistently followed.

That doesn't mean that the Three Rules automatically ensure a lively (and noisy) bar district -- not at all! But if you want dynamism of any kind, this is the place to start.

The Goddess's List of Infractions Against The Moppet's Secret List of Rules and Guidelines

We interrupt this rock'n'roll schmoozefest to deliver the following...

My Wife's List of Infractions Against The Moppet's Secret List of Rules and Guidelines

1.  Did not provide muffin after providing raisin toast and banana.

2.  Did not allow her to wear one pink boot and one white sneaker.

3.  Neglected to have "Fluffles" (her stinky stuffed lamb) on the changing table during dressing time.

4.  Did not allow her to do a proper amount of wiping her own bottom after dirty diaper.

5.  Did not put her sweater on before putting on her pants.

6.  Forced her to hold my hand on the way to the car, even though she clearly had her hands full carrying a 12 inch by 12 inch sized baby doll blanket in her other hand.

7.  Delayed in properly swaddling Fluffles in a real swaddling blanket and handing him to her after she was seated in her car seat.

NOW, after all the violations listed above: the moppet got mad at her mother this morning taking a route to work/daycare she deemed inadequate. "You don't have a friend, Mommy," she said.

Keep in mind, the child is 27 MONTHS OLD. Folks, we are in TROUBLE.  

Blargh!

Well, this complicates things just a bit... do I stick with ACL or begin the arduous task of picking among the 53 other things to do?

"We have good news and bad news here at AUSTIN CITY LIMITS.

The good news is that Spoon is going to play a longer set.

The bad news is that Ray LaMontagne has had to cancel due to illness.

Times and locations for Spoon remain the same.... Doors open at 1:30 p.m. We
recommend getting here by 2 p.m. Show starts at 3 p.m. As before....Frito
Pies and Beers await you. Admission not guaranteed. First come, first
served."

Mini-holiday over (obviously)

Greetings, citizens.

With the job transition now in my rearview mirror, I'm now set to get back on the blogging treadmill. And thanks to my* new Mac PowerBook G4 with wireless Internet capability, travel is no longer the impediment it once was.

So I'm going to try to give this blog some love while I'm also feeding the paid outlets. And since I'm neck-deep in pretty much every band I ever wanted to see, there should be enough to write about to feed even the most insatiable appetite.

My plans for the evening:
+ Meet my fellow ink-stained wretches as well as the breed of folks who can either make our jobs incredibly easy or incredibly trying... also known as publicists. (I have sympathy for these folks since I was one until last Friday, but I'm told that will pass.) Free food, free beer -- I'm told this is par for the course.
+ Take in the odd, wry songcraft of the ubiquitous Robyn Hitchcock (he's playing about 20 more shows here this week)
+ Scratch my head at the psychedlic freakouts of Jennifer Gentle
+ Either get my twang fix with the Damnations, listen to the preteens of Smoosh demonstrate how indie pop is done, or hike out to hear the irrestible hooks of Jason Falkner
+ Have my mind expanded by Midlake and get introduced to Abra Moore (a co-worker recommends her highly)
+ Experience what some call Seattle's best pop band: Delour
+ Shake my booty to United State of Electronica
+ Sleep, blessed sleep

To do all this, I will need to skip shows by Elvis Costello, Roy Lamontagne and Tift Merritt. Wow.

Those of you in the know have probably already guessed where I am. Wouldn't you like to be me this week? Unfortunately, most weeks in the new job are nothing like this one. Unfortunately.


* Not really "my" computer. It belongs to my employer. But I can't tell the difference.

I Am Not Cool

OK, so Godric now is at a superhip, Big Deal music convention/festival somewhere in the middle of the U.S. You know what Lester Bangs said to William Miller in "Almost Famous?" You got it -- I am NOT cool, and I'm feelin' it.

Imagine your humble servant with black shirt, jeans, conservative haircut (after all, until last Friday I worked for a gigantic corporation), receding hairline, and definite deer-in-the-headlights expression. Now, imagine that amidst a sea of musician-types and all of the slicksters who follow in their wake (label guys, promoters, bookers, etc.). There's more spiky hair, size-too-small hipster T-shirts, ponytails, old-guys-dressing-young and black clothing than I even thought could exist at once in one place.

Here is Mr. Fresh-From-The-Corporation, trying to figure out where he fits into all this, and wondering if he has what it takes to engage in roughly a few thousand semi-sincere handshakes, pay attention to a few hundred bands and deftly ease out of conversations with those who want something and are trained not to hear the word "no."

One thing I know for sure -- I love publishing and am certainly relishing that end of my job. It is what God put me on this earth to do, I am convinced. Writing, editing and brainstorming new ways to catch the readers' eyes -- it gladdens my heart in some mystical way. As Olympic runner Eric Liddell said: "When I run fast, I feel His pleasure."

The Moppet, she does not approve

My darling moppet is now in month number two of a serious “mommy thing,” and it has her daddy feeling down.

It started in January, when we went out west for a family vacation. After five days of mountain fun (feeding my snow-crack habit) I came home whilst the moppet and the curvaceous goddess I call my wife flew to Western Colorado to spend another week with relatives.

Ever since then, the exclamations: “I want MOMMY!” or “No… MOMMY!” have been like little shivs puncturing my skin. OK, yes, I KNOW not to take this personally… but two MONTHS?!?

Silly me, a big man caught up in winning the affection of a two-year-old. But that’s what I’ve done. Or, rather, what I’ve tried to do. We spent every Saturday in February taking swimming lessons together at the Y and exploring the playgrounds of greater southeast Atlanta. Most weeknights have been spent reading countless books.

But when it’s time for baths, dressing, mid-night comforting or even diaper changing, daddy is still persona non grata. Child, this woman may have given birth to you, but I was holding her hand (and, um, her leg) at the time. I ain’t chopped liver. Well, maybe I am, but I’m YOUR chopped liver.

This is not cool, because for us to function well, mommy and daddy need to be interchangeable on the child maintenance front. You see, occasionally mommy needs to do other things, like make dinner or visit her scrapbooking pals… or maybe, possibly, sleep or pee!

And then there are the tantrums.

Just a few days ago, as valiant daddy attempted to get the moppet ready to bed (the Goddess was making dinner) the moppet began pitching a fit as daddy got her ready for a bath – mommy had to come in and place her in the tub for her to go along.

Then the PJs-and-milk routine? Not pretty. The moppet shrieked, screamed and cried (all words except “mommy” being unintelligible) and was flopping around like a caught fish by the time we got to the couch for milk. The Goddess had to put dinner on hold to rescue me and calm down the child.

The good news is that the worst of this seems to have subsided, and she seems to be liking daddy a lot more over the few days since The Tantrum (as I’ve come to think of it).

Naturally, I’m writing this on an airplane, set to spent another five days away. So when I get back, I’m going to have to start over.

The nice thing is that by the time I get through this, I will be ALL SET for her sullen teenage years.