Loving this new track from Rupa & the April Fishes

when life hands you big mysteries---i have found it's best if i don't complain and don't explain. just open another door in my mind, roll with it, blame it on the moon and carry on.

And I may or may not have a wicked crush on her drummer

We played with Palmyra Delran (also of The Friggs) @ Trash Bar this weekend...

(In all seriousness, they put on a supah fun and awesome show. Check 'em out.)

This blue thankfulness (and linkiness)

Hooray for:

Rachael the nomad, who bought me a shot.

Bandmates that help me straighten my hair.

MAZ, manager extraordinaire, who grooved up front.

James, who turned 31 (I got proof).

Joe, who held so tenaciously to his claim that our show beat Paul McCartney's, all the way to the hilarious, logic-defying end.

Anngelle, who put the show in her FB picks of the week.

David Starbuckle and Dr. Rock for spinning Bliss on Bunkradio's The Universe and putting our video out there along with all kinds of awesome unsigned rock.

Aloud, The Lights Out & The Divorced, great musicians getting their great music into the world one show at a time. It was a blast sharing the stage.

New York. For being New York. And for being the place I'm headed this weekend (Trash Bar in Brooklyn Friday night & Arlene's on the lower east side on Saturday).

My band. For being This Blue Heaven.

And finally, John Hughes, who made me crack up and cry, both - and who originally made sure Duckie got the girl, but Molly Ringwald just had to have her Cinderella ending, even though it meant Andrew McCarthy had to come back from shooting another film, for which he'd shaved his head, and wear that truly horrible wig.

Fre-ee Bli-iss!

Ladies and gentlemen, we made a video. Or, rather, my favorite director Chris Gaines made a video of Bliss! Anyways, it made us so happy, we've decided to give it away -- ALONG WITH the mp3... just for you!

As my good friends back in Kentucky would say: clicky clicky! (Download should start automatically when you click on the link above. If not, right-click on it and choose Save As (Windows) or Download Linked File (Mac).)

P.S. Bonass features: Find Waldo, and count how many times GP appears to bop KP on the head with the guitar neck!

P.P.S. Thank GOD I cut my bangs short. Just sayin'.

I was backwards in the rain

It's late. Not as late in Washington state as it is in Boston, but still. Late enough that all the stars and in fact the broad stripe of the Milky Way itself is just visible. The moon is almost full, which is always -- call me superstitious -- a sign of something. Something is going to happen. Something is going to change.

Ahhh Friday

1. My mind is roaming other worlds while I enter data and count women and minorities for a grant report today. Imagining better ways to spend my days, with a little help from:

The Hermitage

(that you sell your one given life to someone else so that the very life force that keens in you, that makes these daisies turn to the sun, is put on pause until some other time in the future, that never quite arrives)

& Fed By Birds

(whose work would you rather read, Colette - swimming, sex and regular blood transfusions from an attractive young donor - or film critic Roger Ebert - rise at 7, oatmeal, treadmill, cold shower).

2. DUDE. Check this out. Yes, those are

Other people's wisdom

Dudes, I stink at keeping up this blog lately.

Sor-ry.

And just now I gotta run out and meet Doc and his beautiful girls.

But at least let me tell you a couple of lines other people have said that have been bouncing around a lot in my head today and making me just wonder at this crazy human life we're trying to survive.

1. Reality is frequently inaccurate. (A wise and good friend shared this one with me. I'm just gonna let it sink in and maybe unpack it a little another day.)

2. We persist in acts because we feel we should not persist in them. (This is from Edgar Allan Poe's The Imp of the Perverse, which you should read and which reminded me of Bjork's gorgeous song, Hyperballad.)

Magic brewing in the silences between

Do you know what is the most awesome thing EVER?

After Fenway Franks.  OBviously.

The best thing ever is writing lyrics that spring from the heart of your life and yourself and your work in this world... and then sending them off to some of your dearest friends to turn into songs... and getting back this musical representation of something so close to you...  and it's surprising and beautiful and crafted with such understanding and artistry and care that it aims right back at your heart... and when you get to sing that, you cannot help but really embody the expression and feel that the thing in you or in your life that you wrote about is being transformed further with each performance in this ongoing alchemy... and that as you perform it with and surrounded by these dear friends, that they are in it with you and won't let you flail in the abyss with your lonely fight to be who you are, to make your world, well... blue.  

It requires HEAPS of trust, this band thing, particularly the part where we are creating together.  It can be so hard to let go of your own ego and defenses and really open up to the process and to each other.  But collaborating in this way on art that really matters to you and with people who really matter to you is such an opportunity to experience support in a truly unique and aweing way.  

I feel totally blessed by it.  This next album (imaginary as it is at this point) is going to be special.  That will be audible, I am certain of it.

So fingers crossed to debut one of these new tunes next Thursday @ Great Scott!!!  (I know I know, ONLY if it's ready, GP...don't worry.)

On Making Something From Nothing Or How Nothing Is Always Already Something: Sleep Deprived Ramblings For People Who Like To Laugh At Whiplash

I have half a mind to post a blank page here today.

Half a mind to ask you to contemplate the awesomeness 

of emptiness, the way it sparks with potential.

No one has found a way for beginnings to come without 

endings, that's the bad news.

The good news is that every end means a new beginning, 

which means the time is ripe to create.

And that's just what we're doing 

in This Blue Heaven right now. 

It's a germination period.

An underground growth period.

The ground only looks barren.

The page only looks blank.

It's about to bust out some rhymes,  yo.

Cuz that's how we ro'.  

I'm writing lyrics.

I'm learning to write lyrics 

that might could torpedo 

a heart or two.

I didn't make that line up.

A number of years ago someone said that to me 

about music -- it was like a torpedo to her heart -- 

and it changed the way I thought about 

a lot of things, forever.

I hope these songs will torpedo a heart.  

Or two.  

I stole a line from someone's great-grandmother 

and used it in a chorus.

But man was it a good line.  

I could have said it.

I even might have said it if given enough time.  

GP and KP are writing music for these lyrics.

Music with thrust.  

Torpedos are no good sitting inert in a warehouse.

They need someone to sit down with them.

Some people need to sit down with things.

I hope there aren't so many metaphors mixing and

bumping into each other in the new lyrics 

as in this blog entry.

I'll have to check.

Blank pages have no mistakes in them yet.

So there's that, too.

But we must weigh the risk, however 

high, against how hard we may rock.

Okay I stole that line, too.

I love everyone I ever really loved 

when I sit down to write.

I love you is always a quotation.

You did not say it first and neither did I.

That line is rightfully Jeanette Winterson's.

But man is it a good line.

There is nothing new under the sun.

Case in point.

But the juxtapositions, the juxtapositions can be new!

And so can the moon if we give it a little shade.

A little chance to go underground.

Leave the sky to the sly, mysterious stars.

Poe's phrase, man, doesn't it turn good?

I heard it first last night.

Night ends where dawn begins.

Or is it the other way around?

It's all the same f*cking day, man.

Janis Joplin.

It's all good news.

Let the metaphors be bumper cars.

Just buckle up and let 'em.

And valleys and fields and it crowns kings in every movement

My grandfather was a butcher in a small Iowa town with a big train station. This was long before he started working for the Gummy Bear factory and started bringing us 5lb bags of gummy stuff at holidays. Anyway, back in the days when hobos rode the rails, sometimes one would come around the butcher shop to see if my grandpa had any scraps of meat. My grandpa is one of the most accepting and friendly people I know, and would of course give them what he had and chat a little. He told me that there was a celebration every year to crown a Hobo King, and the time it was held in this small Iowa town, he gave them meat for their hobo stew. I can just imagine my grandpa taking a break behind the meat locker, smoking a cigarette in the humid Iowa heat and passing a bottle back and forth with a man who smelled like railroad and all of America at once. I can hear their voices, the crickets, and the liquor sloshing in the bottle. Maybe they stepped into the locker to cool off among the monolith-like hunks of meat that hung from the ceiling. I remember them from when I was very little. 

I don't know how to justify or explain writing a blog entry about this, it was just on my mind. I feel sad I missed out on this time. Rail riders and barnstormers.... Slow dancing.... I'm nostalgic for an older generation's past.

Hell, I feel sad that soon the phrase "mixed tape" will be obsolete.