The Difference between a Drag Show and a Bluegrass Fest

Your call: which picture is from the drag show?

Differences between a drag show and a bluegrass fest? There are a few. A drag show smells like cigarettes and glitter; a bluegrass fest smells like weed and nag champa. People at drag shows wear evening gowns and three-piece suits; people at bluegrass festivals wear tie-dye and tattoos. At drag shows, gay men show me pictures of their ex-boyfriend’s sculpted abs; at bluegrass fests, people show you bare skin that’s never seen a gym. See? Differences.

On Friday night, I was honored to attend the Elements drag show at BS West as a VIP (thanks to Ms. Tiffany Brown and dear dancer Dallas). The Elements cast of characters are known nationwide. They’re pageant winners and local celebrities, and I had a front row seat. BS West, however, is impossible to locate. The gay bar is in downtown Scottsdale, where I already get lost. Throw in a back alley entrance (no pun intended), and I was a lost lamb among Scottsdale popped-collar wolves. Anyway, I finally found the place, and I was pleased to find our seats in the very, very front row.

The Elements cast didn’t hit the stage until about 10:30 (way past my bedtime), but I was hopped up on Diet Coke and ready to roll. Opening with a trio rendition of “Stop, in the Name of Love” never hurts, followed by several amazing artists who lip-synched to icons like Whitney Houston, Britney Spears, and Christina Aguilera. More than lip-synching, these bitches could dance! I mean, we’re talking Rockette-style kick lines, side splits, back handsprings, and gyrations that would make Shakira jealous. The drag queens were spectacular, gorgeous, meant to be worshipped—and they were, openly, by the adoring crowd, who waved dollar bills like white flags of surrender.

Then, there was Dallas—the one male dancer of the night not in drag. Dallas is an Usher lookalike who, let’s face it, moves even better than Usher. Plus, I’m pretty sure Usher doesn’t have the guts to wear nothing but an American flag string thong on stage. He gave a bachelorette party one hell of a show, and I admit, by the end of the evening, my throat was coarse from screams of animal ferocity.

That night, I dragged my tired butt to bed at 2 AM, but I’ll be back to BS West, because they put on one heck of a good show. The bar features several special events (including the Prima Donna pageant tomorrow), and every Thursday, there’s an all-male dance review. How awesome is that?

Duo de Twang.

From Scottsdale to downtown Phoenix … Sunday, Jake and I attended the McDowell Mountain Music Festival. We attended last year, as well, but I was excited to discover this year’s fest would take place at the Margaret T. Hance Park downtown. The Hance Park is that mysterious span of green above the I-10 tunnel between Seventh Avenue and Seventh Street. Although I knew the space would be sweet, the lineup is what caught my eye, most notably … Les Claypool.

I first saw Les Claypool at All Good Festival years ago. I adored him then, back in those innocent days of pot-smoking and the occasional magic brownie. He is the astoundingly creative, eccentric bass player of bands like Oysterhead, Primus, and my favorite, the Frog Brigade. When I saw his name on the lineup, I had to be there to see him perform with his new project, Duo de Twang, an acoustic outfit, featuring Claypool and guitarist Marc “Mirv” Haggard.

Not only do these boys have talent, but together, they have charisma. I was blown away by finger-picking, slide guitar, and of course, Claypool’s vocal oddity. Watching the Duo de Twang, my head felt light; it might have been the kids toking up next to us, but I think my happiness was due to the deep, chest-shaking bass of the super-talented Les Claypool.

McDowell Mountain Music Festival has been around for ten years, and it continues to grow. Jake and I don’t quite fit there, because we don’t own tie-dye; Jake doesn’t have long hair; and I don’t have a flowing hippie skirt. However, none of that mattered. The music mattered. The beautiful weather mattered. The weird eight-foot-tall puppets? They mattered.

Yeah, drag shows and bluegrass festivals are different, but there’s one thing they have in common: both venues bring people together. The differences don’t really matter when the commonality is so freakin’ cool.

Hmm. Drag show or bluegrass fest? Tough call.

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My One and Only Thrill

Whenever I write a novel, certain albums sweep into my life and take my breath away. These albums become soundtracks for the novel, and I do not believe in coincidence in the world of music; I believe in fate, intention, and destiny. How else can I account for the way Melody Gardot understands the characters in my novel and brings them to life through the sultry sound of her voice?

Gardot was born in 1985 in New Jersey, although she is now a Philadelphia native. She began music lessons at the age of nine, and by the age of sixteen, she was playing four-hour piano sets at the local Philly bars. Her life changed drastically when, in 2003, she was hit by a car while riding her bike. The accident caused serious damage, including head and spinal injuries, as well as a broken pelvis. Gardot was confined to a hospital bed for a year, and she forgot how to perform simple tasks like brushing her teeth and walking.

Because of her head injuries, she was left hyper-sensitive to light and sound. No longer would she be able to play loud piano bars in downtown Philadelphia. A doctor suggested music therapy. Unable to sit at a piano, Gardot learned to play guitar while lying on her back in her hospital bed. She listened to Stan Getz and discovered new forms of music—quiet, peaceful music. Then, she found her voice.

She has released three albums since her accident: Worrisome Heart, My One and Only Thrill, and her most recent Grammy-nominated effort, The Absence. I received My One and Only Thrill for Christmas this year—my first experience with Gardot—and as I said, her music has joined the complicated plot web of my current novel.

I love Norah Jones, Madeleine Peyroux, and the beautiful Carla Bruni. But those girls have nothing on Gardot. She utilizes full symphony, like the jazz singers of yore. Her music is soft, gentle, and perfect with a glass of wine—usually consumed in a bubbly bathtub. Her vocals are like an eardrum massage. You just want to sit back and go, “Ahhhhh.”

The highlight of the album is its namesake, “My One and Only Thrill”—a song that sounds melancholy but is not, thanks to lyrics that transform her lover into a lifelong, living idol. Most of her songs are melancholy, though, the lyrics circling around broken love or love that just ain’t right. But that’s jazz. Jazz is twenty percent chipper, eighty percent pain—much like the life of Ms. Melody Gardot.

Learn more about her HERE. Or pour yourself a glass of thick California red and chill out to “My One and Only Thrill” HERE.

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How to Meet the Punch Brothers

1. Befriend their roadie, their merchandise guy, and club security.
2. Send the band shots of tequila and a note.
3. Basically … just show up.

I saw my favorite band of all time last night. I was nervous. So nervous. Why? I was worried I wouldn’t meet them—that they would be so close, here in Phoenix for the very first time, and I would miss them somehow. I felt the endless anxiety over dinner with my gal pals pre-show. Then, we entered the venue, and I talked up the merchandise guy, who said, “Yeah, if you buy them shots, I’ll send them to the green room.” What better than tequila? I mean, we’re in Phoenix, right? I sent them their shots, along with a note with my name. I’m sure my girlfriends thought I was just a nut, but I didn’t care. I had to meet THE PUNCH BROTHERS.

The phenomenal Chris Thile.

I’ve known their music since the band’s foundation, thanks to an amazing performance experience back in Charleston, SC, at the Cistern Yard downtown. Once I moved out here, I pre-ordered every CD, every single. I wrote a letter to their rep, begging they come to Arizona, because they never come to Arizona (something I was not aware of when I moved here, ah-hem). In response to my letter, I got an autographed poster, but still, no word of an upcoming show.

Then, months ago, while enjoying cocktails at Carly’s, I saw the flyer: the Punch Brothers were coming to Crescent Ballroom. I remember staring at the flyer, thinking, “No, it can’t be true. I’m obviously hallucinating thanks to this delicious jalapeno-infused tequila.” Some kind of Mexican agave voodoo? Nay. They really were coming to Phoenix. That night, I bought my tickets: good thing, too, since they apparently sold out.

I’ve been waiting for weeks, counting down the days to December 5th. Then, yesterday, the day arrived. I did nothing productive all day. I got a massage and laid around my house, so panicked was I at the prospect of not meeting the Punch Brothers while in my hometown.

At Crescent Ballroom, after sending my note and the round of shots, I was pretty confident I would make an impression. Then, I waited. The Milk Carton Kids opened for them—a fabulous duo from LA who were equally talented at music as well as comic repartee. Loved them. Then, my boys came on stage, and I’m pretty sure I almost passed out. It was unreal. I mean, the Punch Brothers were three feet in front of me (because I was obviously at the front of the crowd).

Always moving …

The show is a blur. They played a lot of new stuff, some old stuff, mostly upbeat, although I do love their sad ones. Thankfully, they played my most recent obsession, “Another New World,” and their song list gave me a chance to do a lot of clapping, knee-slapping, and general “woohoo”-ing. They have such presence, these boys. They thrive off each other’s energy. They dance around the stage (which made it very hard to get good photos). The audience can feel that energy, and by the end of the show, we were begging for more, more, more. On several occasions, vocalist and mandolin player Chris Thile made the comment, “I can’t believe we’ve never been here before!” I agree. Punch Brothers, Phoenix has been waiting, and we expect you to come back.

After the show, I literally ran into Gabe Witcher, the phenomenally talented fiddle-player who I love. I almost fell over myself trying to make coherent conversation. Then, I turned around, and there was banjo man Noam Pikelny, who I also approached for an autograph and to give extreme kudos. I didn’t see the rest of the band, and I was all set to go home. I left the venue, dejected at not having met, okay, my favorite band member, Chris Thile. That’s when the roadie I met earlier said, “He’s standing outside the bus right now.” In high heels, I ran, damn it, and it was true: there he was.

Me and Chris.

I walked up and said, “I’m Sara. How was the tequila?” to which he replied with much hugging. We reminisced over their Charleston performance years before. He signed my Moleskin and gave me another hug before we had our picture taken together—a fan’s freakin’ dream. Then, I waved and was gone, making him promise the Punch Brothers would one day come back to the Valley of the Sun.

So meeting the Punch Brothers? Pretty easy. Probably because they’re five charming, humble, hilarious dudes, who love good bluegrass and love their fans. I’m so thankful to have discovered them years ago. I’m thankful they came to Phoenix. I’m thankful God made such talented musicians, because the Punch Brothers manage to inspire and entertain with every show. Thanks, boys, for a great night! I’ll see you next time!

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Tedeschi Trucks Band Rocks My World

Tedeschi Trucks Band, all eleven of them.

There is a short list of female vocalists that I outright worship, including (but not limited to) Fiona Apple, Brandi Carlile, and Sara Bareilles. Add to that list, near the top, the lead vocalist of the Tedeschi Trucks Band, Susan Tedeschi, who I had the immense pleasure of seeing in downtown Phoenix this past Saturday night.

This band is the age of an infant. Formed in 2010, Tedeschi Trucks Band is led by husband-and-wife musicians Derek Trucks and Susan Tedeschi. Their debut album, Revelator, won a Grammy Award for Best Blues Album. Their concerts draw tens of thousands of enthusiastic, supportive fans, including Jake and me. This is all after two years of being together. What? Who does that? Obviously, people with tons of talent.

Derek Trucks was the founder and headliner of The Derek Trucks Band (also Grammy-winners), and he was once a member of The Allman Brothers. He has twice appeared on Rolling Stone’s list of 100 Greatest Guitarists of All Time; currently 16th on the list. His wife, Susan Tedeschi, has received multiple Grammy Award nominations, and is well known for her singing voice, guitar playing, and vibrant stage presence. Add to these two a back-up band of nine instrumentalists and vocalists, and you’ve got the Tedeschi Trucks Band.

Susan Tedeschi. WAILING.

They didn’t take the stage Saturday night until about 9:30 PM (late for us old folks), but it was worth the wait. Their sound is capable of conquering any space, even the massive Comerica Theater in downtown Phoenix. Susan stood out for me, probably because I can’t believe her vocals. She is a mix of Janis Joplin, Bonnie Raitt, and Etta James. She can sing rock, country, and most importantly, some serious blues. My favorite tune is Until You Remember, a heart-wrenching blues love song, ruled by Tedeschi’s killer vocal prowess. I mean, this woman can WAIL, and she’s even better live than on the albums.

More than Susan (okay, so I have a girl crush), the rest of the band stepped up with equal ability. I loved watching the dancing brass section. It was excellent when a back-up singer got to sing his own song, and wow, the boy did an excellent job. Let’s not forget Derek Trucks, either, though; talk about a guitar player! My brother is a guitar snob, and even he can’t deny the intrinsic skill of this long-haired, soft-spoken blues dude. The songs they played ranged from old style blues, to new style rock, to gospel/soul.

I think Tedeschi and Trucks say it best: “I feel like the music that this band draws from is from that sweet spot in American music, and when you think about the late ’60s and ’70s, they were drawing from music that was 20-30 years before their time … It’s soulful, it touches people, and they relate to it. It’s honest music, even now…”

“And it doesn’t change and it doesn’t go away,” says Trucks. “Real remains real. They were reigniting a flame and then starting another one. I feel like that’s what this band is all about. TTB is straddling the past and future. We don’t get to choose when we’re put here but we do get to choose what we do when we are here.”

If you can see these guys live, do it (although I know, they just left Phoenix). You’ll have to be patient and just buy their albums until they come back. If you like blues, they’re the band for you, although I can say the same of rock fans, country fans, and gospel fans. Tedeschi Trucks Band appeals to a wide demographic, and they do it with talent, charm, and my newest girl crush, a woman who wails, Susan Tedeschi.

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Bluegrass Makes It All Okay

I didn’t think people in Arizona cared about bluegrass music—not like we cared about it in Charleston, South Carolina, at least. The McDowell Mountain Music Festival this past weekend proved me wrong. Way wrong.

According to the website, the Festival took off in April of 2004 to bring real music back to Arizona while getting the Phoenix community together for a great cause: children. All proceeds, yes ALL PROCEEDS, raised from the festival are donated to two charities: the Phoenix Children’s Hospital and Ear Candy, an organization whose mission is to provide local youth access to music education. The festival is not billed as bluegrass-specific. All sorts of performers from all over the world show up to the McDowell Mountain Music Fest, but Jake and I attended for one reason and one reason alone: the Carolina Chocolate Drops.

The venue itself is somewhat confusing if you’ve never been. It’s hosted at The Compound, which is a grassy knoll to the side of a parking lot. Wacky, huh? Especially to a Midwesterner, who’s accustomed to festivals like Bonnaroo and All Good, where there isn’t a parking lot for miles. Once inside, though, you kind of forget you’re next to a parking lot, thanks to the vendors, beer, and tunes.

Most attendees bring their own chairs or blankets, and you set up camp in the middle of the field, as close to the stage as possible—or in the shade, of which there was very little. No matter, though; it was a pleasant dry heat! Just remember to wear sunscreen. Once our camp was set, Jake and I grabbed a couple brews and hit the vendor tents, which included some excellent glass jewelry, Mojo Yogurt, and Scentsy. Everyone we came across was talkative and cheerful, and I chalk it up to bluegrass and good old country sound.

Did I mention the Carolina Chocolate Drops? Jake and I saw them play twice back in Charleston, and we love—I mean love—their music. They are well-trained masters of old-time fiddle and banjo-based music, and they won a Grammy for Best Traditional Folk Album last year. When I saw them sitting around behind the security area, I did what any star-struck fan would do. I waved them down and begged for their autographs. We shared a couple laughs over the memory of a heavily over-crowded show at The Pour House back in South Carolina, and I almost exploded with glee.

Their set was inspired, of course, filled with clogging, kick-ass vocals, and general awesomeness. But what almost (almost) excited me more was the realization that Phoenix folk love bluegrass music! As a big ole group, we danced, stomped our feet, and sang along. It was like a scene from the Deep South, and I was proud to be part of it and to call myself Phoenician. Let’s face it: you can’t frown when bluegrass is playing. You can’t be sad when someone is singing about “corn bread and butter-beans and you across the table.” I smile just thinking about it …

I will definitely take part in the McDowell Mountain Music Festival again next year. It reminded me of being back in Charleston, where the world moves slower and people spend afternoons on front porches, doing nothing but playin’ banjo and drinkin’ cold beer. The festival also made Phoenix feel even more like home, now that I know I’m not the only bluegrass fan in the county.

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The Punch Brothers Album You Need to Own

So you’ve never heard of the Punch Brothers? I’m not too surprised. I stumbled upon them, luckily, at a concert in Charleston, South Carolina, one beautiful night at the Cistern Yard. They’re referred to as “progressive bluegrass” or “newgrass.”

Chris Thile formed the group. You might recognize his name if you remember the acoustic trio Nickel Creek. He’s a mandolin virtuoso, singer, and front man for the Punch Brothers. He’s been playing mandolin since the age of five; he was touring by the age of eight; he released his first solo album at twelve. Finally, in 2006, the Punch Brothers were born, consisting of Thile (mandolin), Gabe Witcher (fiddle/violin), Noam Pikelny (banjo), Chris Eldridge (guitar), and Paul Kowert (bass).

They first got together on the album How to Grow a Woman from the Ground. They continued with Punch in 2008, featuring Thile’s forty minute suite in four movements called “The Blind Leading the Blind” (which I saw them play live in Charleston). In 2010, they released another album, Antifogmatic. And finally, on February 14, 2012, Who’s Feeling Young Now? arrived on my front porch.

As a listener for the past couple years, I have seen the Punch Brothers transform. How to Grow a Woman from the Ground featured traditional bluegrass. Punch moved to something more classical. Antifogmatic was off the beaten path and sometimes too discordant even for me. Who’s Feeling Young Now? might be their masterpiece to date, because it’s a perfect mixture of all their previous styles with a ballsy modern twist.

The opening number, “Movement and Location,” has a fast beat and ghoulish vocals. Thile almost sounds like he’s singing in a cave, and the band intentionally goes off beat in certain segments. The album’s namesake feels angry—the chords, the vocals, and the lyrics—but it is one of the more approachable songs for a Punch Brothers newbie. “Flippen” harkens back to their first album, while “Patchwork Girlfriend” feels reminiscent of Squirrel Nut Zippers.

My favorite tune is “Soon or Never”—the quiet, sad song, featuring the dancing melody of Witcher’s violin. The bonus is a cover of Radiohead’s “Kid A” (which I also saw them play in concert), and it’s even better than the original.

A word of warning, however: the Punch Brothers are no longer a bluegrass band, so don’t expect them to be. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I love the way they’ve evolved over the years, and this album in particular shows their development as musicians and as a band. Thile’s voice has never sounded better, and guitarist Eldrige and bassist Kowert have created ingenious ways to make their instruments play percussion. I was most impressed by the violin/fiddle-playing of Witcher. True, I’m partial to violin, but honestly, anyone can admire the guy’s skill on this album, where he seems to be the featured performer.

Maybe that’s what makes this album feel slightly different than the others. In the beginning, it was the name “Chris Thile” that made me want to see the Punch Brothers in Charleston. Now, the band has become a complete entity, with no single performer running the show. They have created a cohesive, unique sound. Will they get radio play this time around? Doubtful. Their music is too interesting for the mass populace. They’ll get plenty of airtime around my house, though, since this might be my new favorite album.

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Hey, Taylor Swift: Shakespeare Want His Story Back

It started at the gym. For some reason, my hip-hop rockin’ gym music turned soft and played Taylor Swift’s Love Story the other day. If you know anything about the song Love Story, you know it stays in your head—forever—but the longer it stayed in my head, the more I thought about it. The more I thought about it, the more I realized Taylor Swift never went to high school. And if she did, she got through on looks alone.

I’m not bashing Taylor Swift, per se. She seems like a nice person, and I like her fashion style. However, the song Love Story is a sad reminder of cultural idiocy, and it irritated me to the point of actual wrath. Wanna hear some of the lyrics? Sure you do.

See you make your way through the crowd
And say, “Hello,” Little did I know…
That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles,
And my daddy said, “Stay away from Juliet”
And I was crying on the staircase
Begging you, “Please don’t go…”

Okay, so we have the basic plotline. She is Juliet; her beau is Romeo. We know how this turns out, but apparently, Taylor Swift does not. At the end of the song, the star-crossed lovers end up happily ever after. They get married, with Daddy’s blessing. The last line of the song is, “We were both young when I first saaaaaaw you,” when the last line should actually be, “Then we killed ourselves in the family toooo-ooomb …” There is furthermore an allusion to the Scarlet Letter: “cause you were Romeo—I was a scarlet letter.” Is she trying to say she was an adulterous? Because that’s cool, if that’s what she’s trying to say; however, I’m pretty sure that’s not what she’s trying to say.

It isn’t all Taylor’s fault. Like I said, maybe she didn’t go to high school, so maybe she’s not aware that Romeo and Juliet represent one of the most tragic love stories in the history of literature. Maybe she doesn’t know that being Hester Prynne isn’t a good thing. But what about the adults who said, “Yeah, that song has some strong lyrics. Let’s record it and put it on the radio.” Then, there were the award nominations and through-the-roof album sales. Who’s to blame for all that? Well, I guess we are. Not me personally, since I can’t stand Taylor Swift’s music, but in a way I feel responsible, because it took me this long to write a blog post about it.

Ms. Swift is not the only guilty party. Cultural confusion apparently afflicts many modern musicians. Recently, Maroon 5 came out with a catchy tune called “Moves like Jagger.” The chorus goes (barf):

I don’t need to try to control you
Look into my eyes and I’ll own you
With them moves like Jagger
I’ve got the moves like Jagger

I don’t dislike lead singer Adam Levine. He seems like an okay dude, but I wonder, Mr. Levine, have you ever seen the moves of Mick Jagger? Personally, when he’s on stage, I worry he’s on the cusp of seizure. That’s just my opinion, but formulate your own by watching this video.

The Mick Jagger confusion continues with Ke$ha (yes, the idiot uses a dollar sign in her name). It’s bad enough that the woman can’t actually sing; she has to bastardize the American language in the process. In her song “Tik Tok,” not only does she make asinine allusions to P. Diddy and Jack Daniel’s, but she says:

And now, the dudes are lining up cause they hear we got swagger
But we kick em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger.

Honey. Sweetheart. I know you’re young, but if you saw a guy who looked like Mick Jagger (even young Mick Jagger), you’d probably be running for the door.

What happened to good song lyrics? What happened to sensible artists? It wouldn’t be such a big deal; I can turn off the radio and listen to my own CDs. But these people—the ones I’ve mentioned above—are the ones selling albums. They’re the ones nominated for awards. They’re the ones “kids” listen to, and “kids” are losing brain cells in the process. And KIDS are supposed to be OUR FUTURE! <Scream of terror!>

I’m sick of having Taylor Swift in my head. I’m sick of listening to the radio. I didn’t want to be mean today, but I couldn’t help it. Being mean is sometimes the only way to make people wake up and stop listening to the crap they’re being fed. For your own sake, go buy a CD by an artist you would never hear on the radio. Give a newbie a chance. You might strike gold.

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Wedding Music: Good, Bad, Ugly

There is bad wedding music out there. “Celebration.” “We Are Family.” Anything by Nickelback. I could go on, but I won’t. Because we’ve all been there. We all recognize bad wedding music, and yet, it happens again and again. So the question remains: how do you avoid bad wedding music at your reception?

There is only one Freddie.

This is a question I’ve mulled over a lot lately as Jake and I build our music list. You heard right: Jake and I are building our own list. We’re not having a DJ. I can’t stand them. They’re too exuberant—yes, even for a wedding. We’re not having a band, because let’s face it: no matter how good you are, you can’t cover “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Jake and I opted for an iPod and a best pal to run the show. It remains to be seen if this is a good idea or not, but I feel good knowing a stranger in a cheap suit with a microphone will not be announcing our first dance as man and wife.

Music is important to me. I’m not a music snob (eh hem … Matt Dobie), but hey, I like what I like. I’m wildly eclectic in my taste. Favorite bands range from the alternative-bluegrass Punch Brothers to now defunct heavy bass masterminds Audioslave. I adore Fiona Apple, Cuban and French music, as well as jazz (Billie Holiday), funk (Matt’s band Gangrene Machine), and timeless classics (Tom Petty, James Taylor, and Sinatra). There are the weirdoes like Bjork, Tom Waits, and Ryan Adams; there are classical artists like Puccini, Debussy, and Chopin. So what the hell kind of music are we going to play at our wedding?!  

It remains to be seen.
What, you didn’t think we already had the list together, did you?

Christina. Gettin' dirrrrrrty.

I’m heading back home tomorrow morning for my bachelorette party. My Maid of Honor (Aunt Susie) wanted to know what kind of music to play. This list is easier. For instance, “Dirty” by Christina Aguilera is an obvious first choice. “Your Love” by The Outfield, because we used to scream every word at The Junction in Athens. “Honky Tonk Woman,” because Janine and I used to play it on the jukebox at Fat Jack’s and dance when no one else was dancing.

The songs that really matter, that mean something to me now and will mean something to me on the day of my wedding, are songs that carry a memory.

I already told Jake we will be playing “Sweet Transvestite” from Rocky Horror Picture Show at the reception. No, not because I think Tim Curry looks good in tights (he does), but because I’ve been singing this song with different groups of friends since eighth grade. “In Tha Club” by 50 Cent will probably show up because 50 Cent sang it at the MTV Movie Awards on my twenty-first birthday, and at the beginning when he says, “Go shorty, it’s your birthday,” everyone at my house started singing along.

Dr. Frank-N-Furter. RHPS forever.

This is what music is about. It’s about making memories and sharing new ones. This weekend will be epic. Friends from elementary school, high school, college, and beyond will meet for the first time. We will sing songs together and make new memories. Then, on November 12th, songs will play, and for the rest of our lives, Jake and I will attach new meaning to old tunes, because those old tunes were the songs we heard on the night we became man and wife.

Go listen to your favorite song and sing as loud as you can. Unless you’re my neighbor. Then, sing quietly. And have a nice two weeks. I’m on vacation.

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Deftones: My First Hard Rock Show

Jake loves the Deftones. He heard they were playing at the Mesa Amphitheatre June 9th, so he bought tickets. I didn’t get nervous until yesterday, when I realized I would be attending my first hard rock show that very night. Nervous might not be the word. Curious is better, because as a girl who went to Lilith Fair every year, hard rock isn’t exactly the norm.

What do I like about the Deftones? I adore the lead singer’s voice. I jive with the heavy bass and pounding drums. Their songs make me want to run on a treadmill—fast. I first heard one of their songs on The Matrix soundtrack: “My Own Summer (Shove It).” I first fell in love with one of their songs when I heard “Change (In the House of Flies).” Whenever this song plays, I feel like head-banging in a dark, dark room.

Deftones are described as “one of the first groups to alternate heavy riffs and screamed vocals with more ethereal music and hushed singing.” The guys hail from Sacramento, California: Chino Moreno (lead vocals and guitar), Stephen Carpenter (guitar), Chi Cheng (bass), Frank Delgado (keyboards and turntables), and Abe Cunningham (drums and percussion). Bassist Chi Cheng was in a car accident in 2008; he’s been in a “minimally conscious state” ever since. Fan out-pouring of funding and support has been astronomical. Read more about Chi at http://oneloveforchi.com/. For the time being, his place is being filled by Sergio Vega.

First of all, I love the Mesa Amphitheatre. I love any outdoor amphitheater where I can drink warm beer and scream without making a scene. The crowd was as you’d expect, adorned mostly in black. The guys had piercings and tattoos. The girls wore ill-advised skanky dresses and smoked cigarettes. I did my best to fit in; I wore black eyeliner and tried not to stare.

When the music started, I regretted not bringing earplugs. As the music continued, I really didn’t care. I was too busy pumping my fists in the air. I was amazed at the constant velocity of front man Chino Moreno. The guy never missed a beat and yet never stopped moving. And I loved the bassist. It’s always a good sign when you can actually feel the music in your chest.

For me, the show had three high points:

1. The Mosh Pit. I’m too old to actually be in a mosh pit, but I love watching the mosh pit. I don’t understand it—why a bunch of sweaty dudes would want to ram into each other and pogo-stick through the grass. There’s something tribal about it. I half expected them to chew on mutton chops and wipe blood from the hunt down their bare chests. Unfortunately, they did neither.

Chino=hero.

2. Chino, Knight in Shining Armor. In the middle of another heavy-bass, screaming anthem, Chino got close to the crowd. (That’s not saying much. He actually jumped into the crowd a couple times last night, too.) The crowd went crazy, and all of a sudden, Chino said, “Stop the music! Stop the music!” The band stopped the music, and looking down into the crowd, Chino said, “Somebody help her up. Are you okay?” This heavy-metal head-man stopped the entire show because some girl fell over in the crowd, and he wanted to make sure she was okay. Now, that is rock star.

3. Change (In the House of Flies). Yes, they played my favorite song. Yes, I went crazy. I went even crazier because they played Fantasia’s “Night on Bald Mountain” on the big screen behind the band during the song. What a PERFECT image for this sexy rock epic.

So was my hard-rock-show curiosity subdued? Yes. I have been to my first hard rock concert. My ears are still ringing, and I woke up with Mussorgsky’s “Night on Bald Mountain” in my head. I may never look like the skinny girls with black hair and tattoos, but dang it, when the Deftones played last night, I lifted my fists in the air and growled like a wild beast. Consider my face melted.

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Music Will Move You

Every congregant at Christ Presbyterian Church in Goodyear is blessed to have a piano player like Paul Tipei. Jake and I knew this our first Sunday there, directly following the doxology. Paul was born in 1987; he’s from Romania, but he currently attends Arizona State. I’ve asked him to play in our wedding, and this past Sunday, he played a concert at our church, featuring Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 21.

Have you ever heard Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 21? If you haven’t, you should hear it—right now, by heading to YouTube. Go on, head over. You can play it in the background while you read. Granted, these things are always better live, and Paul did a stellar job on Sunday (even better than the YouTube version). But the concert Sunday did so much more than make me pray for Paul’s availability on November 12. It made me remember classical music.

How could I ever forget? ME! I used to listen to Chopin constantly in high school. Some nerds in the science community said it made studying more effective. That’s how it started—I wanted to be better at school. Soon, the random Chopin CD (I think it was his etudes) served as a distraction. I stopped studying, closed my eyes, and listened to the music. Switch gears, right now, and stop listening to Beethoven. Listen to Chopin and my personal favorite, Etude Op. 10, No. 3. I tried taking piano lessons as a child, and I hated them. Yet, I loved the sound of someone else playing piano. I still do—always will—but I’ll get back to that in a moment …

The Rent classic song, "La Vie Boheme."

Also when I was in high school, my crazy Uncle Barney used to take me estate sale shopping all over Toledo. We discovered some wonderful finds, but more importantly, we connected. Barney and I were very much alike, artistically and musically. He introduced me to Giacomo Puccini—Italian composer of Madame Butterfly, La Boheme, and Tosca. Think you’ve never heard his music? When you’re done sobbing over Chopin, listen to O Soave Fanciulla! Not only was this the song obsessed over in 1987’s Moonstruck, but Jonathan Larson used Puccini’s chords in his late-nineties iconic musical, Rent. I literally rock out to this whenever I’m upset. I crank it up, because you can’t be sad when music is so lovely.

Back to piano … I didn’t fall in love with jazz piano until I lived in Charleston, SC. At Charleston Grill, I used to go see this drummer, Quentin Baxter. Quentin was an impeccable jazz drummer. You couldn’t help but stare at the guy, and he often had an entourage of equally talented musicians to surround him—namely, several jazz piano players. (You can hear a sample of the music when you click on the Charleston Grill website.)

Quentin Baxter on drums at Charleston Grill.

I spent many a late evening sipping cocktails and ignoring friends at the Grill. It’s what really good live music does; I go away to my own little place, where only the music can touch me. This is why I still sing the blues. When I sing Billie Holiday, I go to that quiet place, too, and nothing reaches me there—no worry, no stress, and no anxiety. It’s just me and the music.

Have you heard enough music for one day? Do you feel highbrow, with all this classical music, opera, and jazz? Well beautiful music ain’t always classy. An epic song (that I’ve written about before) comes from Band of Horses. It’s called “The Funeral,” and most recently, you saw it in the trailer for Oscar-nominated film, 127 Hours.

My little bro’s music kills me every time, too. He’s writing a song for the wedding, and I know it’s going to break me. Seriously, I can barely hear his music without getting teary. Here he is singing his song “Desert Breeze.” (See, I’m almost crying again. DAMN IT.)

Music doesn’t have to be classical to be respectable. It doesn’t have to be Italian opera to lift you up and carry you away. It doesn’t even have to be live (although it helps). It just has to reach you, where you are, right now, and make you move—inside or out. What have you been listening to lately? What should I know about?

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