The Show Goes On

Bruce Hornsby

One of my very best friends occasionally says, "Two arms, two legs," when she gets up in the morning. When I finally asked her about it's significance, she explained: "I learned it from my mom. Any time my siblings or I complained about something growing up, she'd remind me us that at least we had two arms and two legs. A number of people in the world weren't granted that gift." A beautiful look at perspective and gratefulness, I've adopted the habit of using this expression. Two arms, two legs. How lucky am I?

Yesterday while driving on the freeway, Tim pointed to the car in front of us and grinned.

"I like that bumper sticker," he said. "'Hope isn't hiring'." I didn't say anything, which led him to explain further. "You know, 'I hope I pass this test,' or 'I hope I get that job.' Hope's just not enough."

"I get it. Yeah, I like it, too," I said, although I didn't really mean it. Not then, anyway. To be honest, I wasn't even entirely listening to him, but instead involved in conversation in the backseat of the Yukon, squinting in the afternoon sun and ready for the glass of champagne awaiting me at the function we were heading to.

But today, I woke up thinking about that quote. Hope isn't hiring. A little cutting or abrasive, maybe, but certainly honest. "Hope is the thing with feathers," wrote Emily Dickinson, "that perches in the soul/ And sings the tune without the words,/And never stops at all." As flowery and poetic as that might be, I also think Dickinson's logic is highly misguided. People can prophesize or write about the beauty of hope all they want to, but the truth is hope alone can't really do anything at all. Real positive change and success comes directly from action and effort and perseverance.

I've been stressed about the future lately. Largely unknown, potentially bleak in the position I'm hoping for, and financially insecure, 2012.5 and beyond is a vast canvas of bare uncertainty. It's scary and unnerving. I spend a good deal of time--too much time--wishing I had more answers. Big parts of me want my life shaped now, and patience is a virtue my psyche hasn't quite mastered. But then, I came across this post, written a few years ago during a time when I was reevaluating life decisions and contemplating change. It made me remember that one of the many privileges of being human lies in the choices we make or don't make; in the actions we take or don't take, in the words we say or don't say, and in embracing the opportunities that grace our path...or forging ahead anyway when they don't. As scary as it is, and as ridiculously cheesy as it sounds, I'm the one person in charge of my future. It's entirely mine to mold or change or prove or break. And then Tom Petty's "Learning to Fly" suddenly came on the radio, and while I'm certainly not one to believe in signs, it was hard not to listen to the words in a different light:

Some say life will beat you down

Break your heart; steal your crown

So I've started out, for God knows where

I guess I'll know when I get there

I guess I will know when I get there. Or maybe I won't, because part of growing up is accepting the fact that you never truly get there, since there is nothing more than a metaphorical and euphemistic ideal that doesn't exist. Instead, hopefully you find happiness and fulfillment where you are, and learn to embrace each new definition are encompasses throughout the years. 

There are a million things I want to do and see and be and create and learn and explore in this life. I know I'm the sole artist of the canvas of my future, and by my last day on earth, I hope that artistic creation is a chaotic and worn-out masterpiece. But right now, some of the bare and whitest spots gleam a little too blankly for my taste; desperately yearning to be strewn haphazardly with color-- too darkly or too messily and outside of the lines. That white canvas is big and daunting and unknown, especially when I know it's the only one I get...no need to wait in line for an exchange; it doesn't exist. And whether I like it or not, the wheel of the world doesn't stop turning for anything or anyone. The date changes and moves hour by hour into the rest of my life.  The show goes on. And lucky for us, every single morning is one more chance to live and breathe in this great big world. To celebrate the beauty of the not-knowing. To rise and thank whatever gods may be for our unconquerable souls. Two arms, two legs. There is a crack in everything-- (That's how the light gets in).

It matters not how straight the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll.

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

Invictus; W.E. Henley

The Future's Calling

"It's Only Life," The Shins

"Presume not that I am the thing I was."

-William Shakespeare

...And I Really Meant It

"A Reminder," Radiohead

Yes I'd give my life

To lay my head tonight on a bed 

Of California stars 

I'd like to dream 

My troubles all away 

On a bed of California stars 

Jump up from my starbed 

Make another day 

Underneath my California stars 

So I'd give this world 

Just to dream a dream with you 

On our bed of California stars 

I'd like to rest my heavy head tonight 

On a bed of California stars 

I'd like to lay my weary bones tonight 

On a bed of California stars 

(Dream a dream with you)

- "California Stars," Wilco

"Starry Night Over the Rhone," Van Gogh

Your Class, Your Caste, Your Country, Sect, Your Name, or Your Tribe

"Four Winds," Bright Eyes

Dear Grandma, 

I have been thinking about you more than you know these last few weeks. Paul and I had the privilege of spending an afternoon with your brother, our great-Uncle Jim, two weeks ago, and it was one of the most humbling and powerful experiences I've had in awhile. There is virtually NOTHING in this world that can replace or compete with history and experience, and Uncle Jim is gloriously overflowing with both. While he constantly apologizes for forgetting information or confusing dates, his mind is, pardon the expression, a steel trap full of journeys and memories and adventures. It was perfectly ironic to hear him claim every few minutes, "I must be boring you two!" because truth be told? I honestly couldn't think of any better way to spend the afternoon. 

We didn't remember you weren't raised in California--we forgot you were born in Massachusetts. We learned from Uncle Jim that you moved to California, on a whim, somewhat rebelliously with him-- and then never looked back. Paul and I couldn't stop thinking about the idea that, if you hadn't done so (at 15, no less!) who knows whether or not we'd exist? What if you hadn't ever met our grandfather? Would our mother be alive? Would we? In what capacity? In what city? How different would our lives have played out? How much of our current bliss and comfort and familial pride would we know?

There’s a place in my heart that aches every so often because it's never physically known you. For my whole life, you've always been a happy idea; a beautiful memory in the eyes of my aunts and my mother. Lately, however, the idea of you—little details I simply couldn’t know; your laugh, your wrinkles, your hands—has been much more present in the forefront of my mind. In all honesty, I don’t know why. Well, that’s not entirely true—maybe I do. I've found myself reading my favorite blog with a touch of envy. The writer, a new mother for the fourth time, strategically places her children in front of her and her mother and grandmother behind, showcasing a legacy four generations deep for the staged photo. And it makes my heart hurt—selfishly, perhaps--to think that not only did I never know you, but you will never know my children. And of course, this makes me think about what this was like for my own mother, who never got to experience watching you hold her babies…

While my religious beliefs may be ever-changing and sometimes-murky, I am a spiritual person and I believe in God. I say this because I know your spirit is somewhere out there in this world or beyond it—maybe not in the form of another human, but certainly present and aware. I fervently believe this—just as I fervently believe you’ve had the privilege of watching your four daughters become self-sufficient, contributing, beautiful adults. Four women who have remained connected despite the inevitable hurdles—of distance, of pain, of stress—that often make even a simple phone call nearly impossible. Four women who have celebrated together—marriages, graduations, promotions, and pregnancies. Four women who have held each other up in the face of illness, addiction, heartbreak, and divorce. Four women who have raised their children—and each other—with a grain of salt and a hell of a lot of courage. I have to believe that whether or not you are here in physical person, you must be absolutely aware (and fantastically proud) of your tremendous living legacy.

The truth is, we're all lost and scared and learning to navigate the world, forever-- not in spite of, but in addition to the pitfalls and failures and disappointments. Our expectations change and opportunities pass. Our successes are beautifully scarred with the detours and wounds developed from the roads we took to get there. Our problems and obstacles become catalysts for a present and (hopefully inevitable) future we didn't even know was possible. And while these statements may be generally true for the vast population of Americans (of humans!), if the members of my living family tree pause to think about it, it's decisions you made and actions you took that created our current platform to live—to create and run and read and argue and stand up for ourselves and cry and laugh and be.

I wish I had known you, Grandma. I wish I had memories of eating popsicles on your porch and watching you laugh with my mother your daughter. I wish you would have been there to watch—no, to dance with—your brother across his living room three weeks ago. And I want you to know that just because we never had the opportunity to meet each other, your effect on my life is never, ever lost on me—that kind of presence runs a hell of a lot deeper than time and cancer. So I guess in a way, this letter is a thank you. For the beautiful, powerful, poetic, confusing, perfect chaos that is my life and my family. I may not always show it, but I am always, always, always grateful.

With tremendous respect, faith, and love,

Chelsea

Some people are your relatives 

but others are your ancestors, 

and you choose the ones you want to have as ancestors. 

You create yourself out of those values.


-Ralph Ellison

Sing it Loud and Sing it Strong

"Silvio," Bob Dylan

Last year in my Top Ten Albums of 2010 post, I spent a little time summarizing each disc and discussing why I thought it deserved a spot on the coveted list. This year, I don't really feel like doing that...perhaps due to my lengthy previous post on fall shows, or maybe because it took too much brain power last year to honestly try using words to do justice to these incredible accomplishments. Therefore, in absolutely no  particular order, my top ten albums of 2011:

1. Red Hot Chili Peppers: I'm With You
Favorite Songs: "Brendan's Death Song" and "Even You Brutus?"

2. Bon Iver: Bon Iver
Favorite Songs: "Calgary," "Beth/Rest," "Towers"

3. Bright Eyes: The People's Key
Favorite Songs: "Ladder Song," "One For You, One For Me"

4. Cold War Kids: Mine is Yours
Favorite Songs: "Royal Blue," "Finally Begin," "Louder Than Ever"

5. Drake: Take Care
Favorite Songs: "Crew Love" and "Headlines"

6. Jay-Z and Kanye West: Watch the Throne
Favorite Songs: "Who Gon Stop Me," "N****s in Paris," "No Church in the Wild"

7. Cut Copy: Zonoscope
Favorite Songs: "Need You Now" and "Where I'm Going"

8. My Morning Jacket: Circuital
Favorite Songs: "Outta My System," "Circuital, "Wonderful (The Way I Feel)," "Movin' Away"

9. Unwritten Law: Swan
Favorite Songs: "Nevermind," "Dark Dayz," "Sing," "Love Love Love," "On My Own"

10. Wilco: The Whole Love
Favorite Songs: "Born Alone," "Whole Love," "One Sunday Morning"

Music's Got Me Feeling So Free

"One More Time," Daft Punk

I love music. And while I won't dramatically and deceitfully say I couldn't live without it, I can say my life would be irrevocably changed--irrevocably less--if music wasn't a constant. I blast tunes into my earbuds while I'm getting ready in the morning (Red Hot Chili Peppers I'm With You is my current choice pick), my phone reverberates with my favorite jams when people I love call (the ever-romantic Chemical Brothers are a staple for Tim), and for most of my teaching career,  my classroom has been full of music at least 25% of any given school day. With the holidays quickly approaching here, Pandora Christmas is currently bookmarked on my MacBook, and I spend at least an hour or so a week perusing new releases and reading album reviews.

Some of my music-fanatic friends are perfectly content listening to music in the comfort of their own homes, cars, or offices. I'm sure I could be too, but the truth is I'm just a massive sucker for live shows. The experience of watching someone so utterly talented passionately sing and perform about life experiences so raw and personal and loud is virtually impossible to put on paper, but so completely sensational. Over the past three months, I have been lucky enough to catch some of my very favorite bands in some of my very favorite venues. The highlights:

Unwritten Law

Velvet Jones, Santa Barbara; September 7


A celebration

(About time)
A generation out of line (yeah)
The revolution's in everyone

I can't really explain my decade-long obsession with Unwritten Law. Point blank: They really aren't that great of a band; evident in their meager-at-best record sales and willingness to tour in less-than-stellar locations. Their lyrics are relatively standard and predictable, their sound is more pop-punk than true punk, and with the exception of Scott Russo (pictured above), their members change about as often as the seasons due to ill-timed fights, addictions, and (always my personal favorite) "creative differences." Additionally, they don't seem to "explore musically," as so many artists claim to do with each record. However, I can't seem to "shake" this band, nor do I want to. About twice a year I inevitably enter an Unwritten Law phase. Akin to a bear in an isolated albeit abridged hibernation, I listen to virtually nothing else for a week or two, remembering every nuance to every song and ruining the speakers in my poor Honda CRV. I've seen Unwritten Law 4-5 times live, although this show at Velvet Jones was easily the best yet. Tim and I arrived early and ended up in the front row of the small venue. Beers in hand and inches away from Unwritten Law's 14-year frontman, we got our "kicks under the neon lights" for a solid two hours. They played a full setlist complete with old favorites and new gems off of their latest release, Swan. Slightly (heavily?) intoxicated and blissfully happy in the spotlight, the members of their latest clan positively glowed. I'll be at as many future so-Cal shows as my wallet can handle, no questions asked.

Fleet Foxes

Santa Barbara County Bowl; September 13

After all is said and done I feel the same

All that I hoped would change within me stayed

Like a huddled moonlit exile, on the shore

Warming his hands a thousand years ago

It seems like America is obsessed with Fleet Foxes. Don't get me wrong; I think they're great. This was certainly a fun show, and I have to say their live music sound is close to flawless. Live, Fleet Foxes prove they are essentially the anti-thesis of processed and manufactured music-- their talent is raw and real. That being said, this wasn't my favorite show of the fall-- by a long shot. Perhaps that's because I saw some pretty kick-ass shows. Or perhaps it's because try as I might, I won't ever be the world's biggest Foxes fan. Whatever the case, Fleet Foxes are a noteworthy band that puts on a commendable show, and if given the choice again in an alternate-universe type fashion, I would most certainly go again. 

Bon Iver

The Shrine Auditorium, Los Angeles; September 19

Only love is all maroon

Lapping lakes like leery loons

Leaving rope burns--

Reddish ruse

Justin Vernon, the lead singer (and mastermind) behind Bon Iver, is a genius. I've never heard music quite like this, and I have no idea how to categorize it. Unbeknownst to me, the Monday night setlist included my two favorite songs back-to-back. The version of "Blood Bank" was raucous and louder than the album version, and the crowd gave a standing ovation at its close. Shocked by the response, the band only played a few notes of the much slower "Beth/Rest" next, before stopping altogether and claiming, without words, that they couldn't let the momentum and rush of "Blood Bank" fade. And even though that meant they were skipping one of the songs (I thought) would be a highlight of the show, I couldn't disagree. Seemingly unaware of his talent and magnitude, Vernon casually stood in the forefront of the stage and allowed his band to help him build "sonic cathedrals," as the LA Times so accurately dubbed the performance. Perhaps LA Weekly described the final moments of this performance, which ended with "The Wolves (Act 1 & 2)", best: "The echoes of our voices bounced off the walls and shook the foundations, repeating over and over again the cryptic refrain, "What might have been lost?" It was as if to give thanks for the fact that we are alive and lucky enough to be together in one place to sing with this band." 

Bright Eyes

Santa Barbara County Bowl; September 25

We must blend into the choir
Sing as static with the whole
We must memorize nine numbers and deny we have a soul
And in this endless race for property and privilege to be won
We must run, we must run, we must run

We must hang up in the belfry
Where the bats and moonlight laugh
We must stare into a crystal ball and only see the past
And in the caverns of tomorrow
With just our flashlights and our love
We must plunge, we must plunge, we must plunge

In the hauntingly dark but craftily honest "Ladder Song," Bright Eyes' searingly genius frontman Conor Oberst laments he feels "estranged every now and then," claiming to be "tired of traitors always changing sides" and warning others they're "not alone in anything," because they aren't "unique in dying." It certainly isn't upbeat, and while perhaps intellectually and scientifically poignant, for the most part his lyrics are scathing and depressing. However, somehow Oberst manages to interpose the perfect combination of vulnerability and sensitivity into his songs, and on this particular night when he winningly whined, "I gotta get to the con-cert," I'm sure I wasn't the only audience member grinning giddily from ear-to-ear.

Styx

Santa Barbara County Bowl; October 4

I look to the sea
Reflections in the waves spark my memory
Some happy, some sad
I think of childhood friends and the dreams we had

We lived happily forever
So the story goes
But somehow we missed out on the pot of gold
But we'll try best that we can to carry on

Disclaimer: I was (formerly) not a Styx fan. One of my best friends in college used to blast Come Sail Away on repeat occasionally in the dorms, and I vaguely remember humming along non-commitedly. Additionally, I know my mom was a big Styx fan years ago, and so I've coincidentally heard her mention their name in passing. However, going into this show, I honestly viewed Styx as a washed-up opener for a much "greater" band. I couldn't have been more wrong. Styx was a tour de force of noise and lights and energy. They tore up the stage like young twenty-somethings, belting out every single note eerily on key and with an impressive-to-say-the-least vibrancy not usually lost on brand-new artist--but these guys have been around for decades. They went out with a bang, revving the audience up for the main event. 

Journey

Santa Barbara County Bowl; October 4

In the shadows of a golden age

A generation waits for dawn

Brave carry on

Bold and the strong

Ever since I was a thirteen-year-old with a copy of Journey's Greatest Hits in my hand, I've considered myself SOCOOL to like this band. I remember blasting "Wheel in the Sky" on repeat for about SIX MONTHS as a teenager, attempting to become a part of the "older, cooler" music crowd of a previous generation. Seeing Journey live was just as fun as you would expect, even with the added fact that Steve Perry has been replaced by Arnel Pineda-- (whose voice sounds like a carbon copy of the former lead singer's). Their 80's power-pop music is catchy, their phrases well-known, and their audience genuinely loves having a good time singing along with the band. The final song of the night was "Any Way You Want It," and every single person in the crowd (ushers included!) was dancing and singing along to every word. 

ALO (Animal Liberation Orchestra)

SoHo, Santa Barbara; October 31

The road is long and windy 

like a good mystery unfolding
It twists and turns in colorful subplots and sunburns and fake out endings
And sometimes my patience in the whole process starts bending

As I attempt to unravel the web 

by traversing and rehearsing and perversing 

along the doubt-laden extension chord thread of my life

The biggest bummer about this show was that the band didn't take the stage until really late. As a result, we didn't end up staying through the entire set-- a long day coupled with work the next day. Which was unfortunate-- this is a band who genuinely loves performing, and that attitude and energy is not lost on the audience. While I didn't know a ton of ALO songs, it was impossible not to enjoy their silliness and creativity. Sounding a little like a mix between Jack Johnson, G. Love, and the Dirty Heads, ALO impressed with their clean sound and light mood. 

My Morning Jacket

Gibson Amphitheatre, Los Angeles; December 5

I'm going where there ain't no fear
I'm going where the spirit is near
I'm going where the living is easy
And the people are kind
A new state of mind

I'm going where there ain't no police
I'm going where there ain't no disease
I'm going where there ain't no need
To escape from what is
Only spirits at ease

One of my best friends bought tickets to this show mere hours before they took the stage, and we sped down to Los Angeles on a Monday night with hardly a moment's notice. This was his sixth or seventh time seeing MMJ live, however it was my first, and they certainly didn't disappoint. MMJ performs with this unparalleled and almost ghostly ability to channel the likes of Led Zeppelin and Neil Young, but do so in a way that's uniquely their own-- the viewer never gets the impression the band is simply trying to re-create rock music of someone else's. Instead, it seems like MMJ wants to remold rock music in a way that fits them, and they genuinely-- but not desperately-- want their audience members to join them. This show was magnificent, and I'm rather ashamed that it was my first time seeing them live. I'm crossing my fingers in the hopes of seeing their name as a co-headliner at Coachella 2012. 

Watch the Throne: Jay-Z & Kanye West

Staples Center; December 12

I made "Jesus Walks" so I'm never going to hellCouture level flow, it's never going on saleLuxury rap, the Hermes of versesSophisticated ignorance, write my curses in cursiveI get it custom, you a customerYou ain't 'customed to going through CustomsYou ain't been nowhere, huh?
Not unlike most of the shows listed above, words just can't do justice to this masterpiece. Seeing Jay-Z and Kanye live, together, was a dream come true for me. Loud, abrasive, haunting, polished, and pure perfection, these Kings did nothing but throw diamonds and proudly display their well-deserved throne for over forty songs and three-plus hours. As the stage went dark after the final notes of the encore, Kanye's voice could be heard high above the soaring cheers. In true KW-arrogance-fashion, he laughed: "Sorry if this was your first concert. It's all downhill from here." As irritating as his love for himself and his music might be, I can't argue with that. I'll just let the setlist do the talking:
H.A.M., Who Gon' Stop Me, Otis, Welcome to the Jungle, Gotta Have It, Where I'm From, Jigga What, Jigga Who, Can't Tell Me Nothing, All Falls Down, Flashing Lights, Jesus Walks, Diamonds from Sierra Leone, Public Service Announcement, U Don't Know, Run This Town, Monster, Power, Made in America, New Day, Hard Knock Life, Izzo (HOVA), Empire State of Mind, Runaway, Heartless, Stronger, On to the Next One, Dirt Off Your Shoulder, I Just Wanna Love U, That's My Bitch, Good Life, Touch the Sky, All of the Lights, Big Pimpin', Gold Digger, 99 Problems, No Church in the Wild, Lift Off, N****s in Paris (times NINE!) Sidenote: This was quite honestly the quintessential prototype concert of my life. And if Yeezy and Hove had replaced "Public Service Announcement" with "Why I Love You" and "That's My Bitch" with "See Me Now"? Well, there's a chance I may have just dropped dead in the orchestra seating of Los Angeles's most famous stadium, because I was thisclose to doing so anyway...

"After silence, that which comes nearest to
expressing the inexpressible is music."
-Aldous Huxley

Our Love is A Star

(Sure, Some Hazardry)
"Beth/Rest," Bon Iver


Fitting that this entry is two months late...

Here's to the past two years. Of love, friendship, laughter, and Pete Townsend. Of bare feet, shell necklaces,  Enzo, and Lotus Thai. Of moves and heartache and acceptance and reunion.

Here's to following our hearts, always.
To never, ever settling. 
To dangerous treks down rocky terrain to get WAY too close to the elephant seals.
To silliness and creativity and invincibility. 
To fresh fish tacos and sweet tea vodka.
To too much wine and 2:00 AM conversations.
To belting out "Walking in Memphis" on road trips, beautifully off-key.
To never carrying a burden alone, no matter how painful or isolating. 
To birds of paradise and extra Splenda and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
To understanding a dream is never too distant or too unrealistic or too big or too anything.

Maybe you'd be kidnapped by pirates
And they would take you to their hideout
As pirates often do
But I'd find the secret map
And I would vigilante-bushwhack
Through the jungles of Peru

Just to save you and I'd take you north to Mexico
Where you would tell me your life story on the steps of a Mayan temple
Where we'd camp singing nonsense songs in 12 bars to the jaguars, until you'd sense me
Your eyes convincing, and I would kiss you like a hero in the half-light
Dryer sheets and peach shampoo, the smell of palm leaves, I'd sleep against you
Until the natives found us, but they would crown us king and queen
And we could stay there, spend our days there, eating guava by the sea
And I could understand your views and you could fall in love with me

And while the silly human race talks to droids in outer-space
We grow old and laugh about this song
And between the jungle and the stars, you sing nonsense songs in 12 bars to me
And in my sleep I hum along
-Ludo-

    I hope your heart will (always) beat where my home is...

"Movin' Away," My Morning Jacket