My god, I haven't written in so long.
Over the past few months I've started attempting to identify the notes in wines without looking at the label first.
This Coppola Malbec tastes like prunes. They would never put the word "prunes" on the label. Instead, it says "rich, juicy plums". What the hell is wrong with prunes? Sure, they aid digestion, but they're also delicious. This is wine bullshit if I've ever heard it. A wine nerd of a coworker pointed out a wine label that talked about pomegranate notes. Now, I'm certain that they haven't specifically cultivated any grapes that develop pomegranate flavors when made into wine. Either they're there or they're not. Pomegranate is trendy, so they will write it in. So sorry that I missed the acai berry notes of last year's wines. Or was that lychee?
Nevertheless I'm damn proud of myself for knowing the particular fruit in it.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
I wish I may, I wish I might...
...have the wish I wish tonight, which is for Mike Bloomberg to endorse Barack Obama. After weeks of being bitter about Clinton not getting the nomination, I think I'm finally becoming an Obama believer. Let's just hope that congress and big corporations let him do what (I think) he intends to do with his time in office.
It's not that Bloomberg's endorsement will make me any more sure that I'm voting for Obama. I'm really fucking sure, alright. I would just be INCREDIBLY disappointed if he went with McCain. I'm fairly certain that he's too smart for that.
All (two of) my NYC friends should vote to extend his term limit, by the way. I'm talking to you! Yes, you!
It's not that Bloomberg's endorsement will make me any more sure that I'm voting for Obama. I'm really fucking sure, alright. I would just be INCREDIBLY disappointed if he went with McCain. I'm fairly certain that he's too smart for that.
All (two of) my NYC friends should vote to extend his term limit, by the way. I'm talking to you! Yes, you!
Monday, October 13, 2008
jazz
Sometimes it so happens that you're going along your regular route and you turn a corner and see something completely unexpected. Something you fall in love with. It's not entirely coincidence because the thing that you fall in love with stirs something inside of you that has been brewing for sometime, you just failed to notice it before.
This happened to me in New York with a person. This also happened to me a few weeks ago with jazz. I was spending an evening with someone, and he put on Brad Mehldau whom I hadn't heard of before. Although I was attracted to the music immediately, I felt like I couldn't trust myself with the feeling yet. I had had a lot of wine and needless to say (since most of my readers know me too well) this person and I ended up in his bed. There were many thoughts, feelings and sensations swirling around in my head, and I had a hard time singling out the music. It was only later when I got a chance to download more, and when I began listening to KCSM (the local jazz station) that I settled into this feeling. I realized that I turned a corner and bumped into this friend I had had since childhood, but didn't immediately recognize the face of. The friend has not changed, but I had matured and I was able to not only recognize it, but appreciate it as I never could before. The more I listened, the more the music was separated from that evening. The events of it, though enjoyable, simply became a catalyst for this blooming obsession.
Jazz, good jazz to be exact, has always been in my life with the help of my dad. It was always in the house, in the car and sometimes at concerts that he took me to. I pretended to like and understand the music. Yes, there was something in it that intrigued me, even as a child, but I can't honestly say that I liked it. Even now after listening to more, I had this irksome feeling that my like for this music was a pretense. I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to tell good jazz from bad and that in a way I was at yet another concert imagining (but simultaneously wishing) that I understand it all. This changed tonight when I was driving from work and Myra Melford (piano) and Marty Ehrlich (alto sax) came on the radio and I was completely blown away. This is what I like. This is quality. I know it.
There is so much out there that I need to catch up on and even more to discover, I feel overwhelmed. Nevertheless, I think this is the start of a lifelong relationship.
This happened to me in New York with a person. This also happened to me a few weeks ago with jazz. I was spending an evening with someone, and he put on Brad Mehldau whom I hadn't heard of before. Although I was attracted to the music immediately, I felt like I couldn't trust myself with the feeling yet. I had had a lot of wine and needless to say (since most of my readers know me too well) this person and I ended up in his bed. There were many thoughts, feelings and sensations swirling around in my head, and I had a hard time singling out the music. It was only later when I got a chance to download more, and when I began listening to KCSM (the local jazz station) that I settled into this feeling. I realized that I turned a corner and bumped into this friend I had had since childhood, but didn't immediately recognize the face of. The friend has not changed, but I had matured and I was able to not only recognize it, but appreciate it as I never could before. The more I listened, the more the music was separated from that evening. The events of it, though enjoyable, simply became a catalyst for this blooming obsession.
Jazz, good jazz to be exact, has always been in my life with the help of my dad. It was always in the house, in the car and sometimes at concerts that he took me to. I pretended to like and understand the music. Yes, there was something in it that intrigued me, even as a child, but I can't honestly say that I liked it. Even now after listening to more, I had this irksome feeling that my like for this music was a pretense. I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to tell good jazz from bad and that in a way I was at yet another concert imagining (but simultaneously wishing) that I understand it all. This changed tonight when I was driving from work and Myra Melford (piano) and Marty Ehrlich (alto sax) came on the radio and I was completely blown away. This is what I like. This is quality. I know it.
There is so much out there that I need to catch up on and even more to discover, I feel overwhelmed. Nevertheless, I think this is the start of a lifelong relationship.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
a 20 minute walk from my house
I want to apologize to my friends from far away places for not spending time with them. But look at these photographs!
I know, I'm horrible.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Sigur Ros
On Saturday I went to see Sigur Ros at the Greek Theatre in Berkeley, and they literally brought the rain. While the sky has been threatening with a couple of occasional droplets, just as they started the encore the first real rain of the season began pouring down on the already elated audience. A roar of applause that could rival any thunder rose up and again reenergized the auditorium.
I'm glad to have seen Sigur Ros after the release of the last album. Without it it might have been a bit too melancholy, a bit depressive. Instead, the more upbeat songs (names of which I won't even dare to reproduce here... except maybe Gobbledigook) had 10 times the energy they already possessed on the album. There was confetti, there were bright lights, there were wet, smiling faces and a general jois de vivre that is often missing from serious performances.
Monday, September 29, 2008
O'Bama
I managed to make it back to the Starry Plough last night for their Sunday night trad session and heard this amazing number. I guess it has become fairly popular while I've been away and Joe Biden even has it on his website. I remember those "O'Bama" shirts for St.Patrick's day a few months ago, but I never could have imagined that someone would write a whole Irish drinking song on the subject.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Tilly and the Wall
Last Saturday night at the Mezzanine belonged to die-hard indie pop fans and absurdly wasted Treasure Island Music Festival goers. The former bouncing up and down and the latter attempting to mosh, they battled it out to the impeccable timing of Jamie Pressnall's tap dancing.
"You guys are wild!" exclaimed Neely Jenkins as she finished a song during which 3 or 4 grown men toppled over one another front and center of the stage.
Aside from being told by a friend to RSVP for the show and listening to a few songs while crossing the Bay Bridge, Tilly and the Wall was unknown to me. I expected to bop my head. I expected to jerk my knees around a bit. I even expected myself to let out a few excited yelps. I certainly didn't expect to get completely swept away into the sweetly simple magic that is Tilly's indie pop sound.
I first knew I was a goner when I saw Pressnall, Jenkins and Kianna Alarid do a few synchronized Supremes-style arm movements. A team dancer for years, I can't resist the appeal of a rehearsed, extravagantly costumed performance. Add to that a rhythm section that relies heavily on a tap dancer and I'm sold.
Although Pressnall's dancing stole the show for me, the drum kit and tap shoes battle was over-planned and lacked a real chemistry. In a similar way, the contrast between the casual shorts and t-shirt ensembles of Derek Pressnall and Nick White, and the sparkling fluorescent colors of the female half of Tilly appeared inept rather than ingenious.
After poking around blogs for a bit I've learned that Tilly and the Wall has generated a fair amount of buzz around indie music lovers. Whether it was the late timing of the show or the clumsy drunkards in the crowd, Tilly still seemed like they are still literally getting used to the limelight, standing up on stage and the task of performing. Elton John owned his outrageous get-ups, as did Freddie Mercury and Bowie. There is a great deal of charm in amateur bands, but Tilly is past that. They certainly don't sound like first-timers and they shouldn't behave like them either.
Of course I have had two days to examine the teeth of this gift horse (the show was indeed free). While chanting, "One more song!" along with the rest of the crowd all I wanted was one last fix of that beat.
I don't know how much I will listen to Tilly at home, but next time they're in town I'll seriously consider seeing them again.
"You guys are wild!" exclaimed Neely Jenkins as she finished a song during which 3 or 4 grown men toppled over one another front and center of the stage.
Aside from being told by a friend to RSVP for the show and listening to a few songs while crossing the Bay Bridge, Tilly and the Wall was unknown to me. I expected to bop my head. I expected to jerk my knees around a bit. I even expected myself to let out a few excited yelps. I certainly didn't expect to get completely swept away into the sweetly simple magic that is Tilly's indie pop sound.
I first knew I was a goner when I saw Pressnall, Jenkins and Kianna Alarid do a few synchronized Supremes-style arm movements. A team dancer for years, I can't resist the appeal of a rehearsed, extravagantly costumed performance. Add to that a rhythm section that relies heavily on a tap dancer and I'm sold.
Although Pressnall's dancing stole the show for me, the drum kit and tap shoes battle was over-planned and lacked a real chemistry. In a similar way, the contrast between the casual shorts and t-shirt ensembles of Derek Pressnall and Nick White, and the sparkling fluorescent colors of the female half of Tilly appeared inept rather than ingenious.
After poking around blogs for a bit I've learned that Tilly and the Wall has generated a fair amount of buzz around indie music lovers. Whether it was the late timing of the show or the clumsy drunkards in the crowd, Tilly still seemed like they are still literally getting used to the limelight, standing up on stage and the task of performing. Elton John owned his outrageous get-ups, as did Freddie Mercury and Bowie. There is a great deal of charm in amateur bands, but Tilly is past that. They certainly don't sound like first-timers and they shouldn't behave like them either.
Of course I have had two days to examine the teeth of this gift horse (the show was indeed free). While chanting, "One more song!" along with the rest of the crowd all I wanted was one last fix of that beat.
I don't know how much I will listen to Tilly at home, but next time they're in town I'll seriously consider seeing them again.
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