Sunday, October 14, 2018

Being At War With Each Other

Barbra Streisand was my first punk when I was little.
Songwriter: Carole King
Being at War with Each Other lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Everyone comes from
One father one mother
So why do we complicate
Our lives so much
By being at war with each other
Maybe I'm crazy
But I don't understand it
Why do we seem to vote
To dig more holes?
It's such a waste of a planet
There must be a reason
That I can't see
Maybe somebody else knows
better than me
All I know is
Everyone else is
A sister or a brother
So we've got to look around
Again and stop
Being at war with each other

Maybe I'm crazy
But I don't
No, I don't understand it

There must be a reason
That I can't see
Somebody else must be
Better than me
All I know is
Everyone else is
A sister or brother
So we've got to look around
Again and stop
Being at war with each other

Thursday, October 11, 2018

#Throwback Thursday: 2007

On "Performing Monkey Syndrome"

Throwing back to my 2007 interview with Jonathan Spottiswoode. - md

Spottiswoode: Ah, the performing monkey syndrome. Lexi, it’s all about feeling alive. We all go through life in a numb state most of the time. Some of us more happily than others. Artists do what they do for various reasons. But mostly just to feel alive, to feel that they are expressing themselves in the moment, transcending their troubles. Of course, attention from fans can make you feel alive too. Everyone likes attention. It is incredibly rewarding to hear strangers ask you to play a song you’ve written, especially when you’re starting out. It’s a dream come true. I understand if folks in the audience feel that the artist is ungrateful if he or she doesn’t grant a request. Okay, here’s the other side of the coin…you’ve played a particular song in many places. You’ve had magical moments with that song, unforgettable even. The song is like a lover. If you play it too often, especially when you don’t feel like it, it can dilute the memory and the affection you have for it. The other thing is this: every set of music is an emotional journey for an artist, especially an artist playing their own songs. Each song you play means something significant to you (even the so-called “novelty songs”). And they mean something different to you on any particular night. This is the part about feeling alive.

SuperLowBudge: So it can be like a restaurant patron asking the chef to please pass the salt.

Spottiswoode: Perhaps you have played a few soulful songs and a few songs about past relationships. Perhaps that combined with the weather and the lighting etc. has taken you to a raw and melancholy place. At which point someone requests a funny song or an angry song. On a particular night, that song may be the perfect prescription for you to snap out of where you are and take the show to the next place. But on another night, it just feels wrong and dishonest and abrupt. Not to the audience, I understand. But to the artist as an individual with his or her own tired bag of emotions and memories. Each song in a set is an antidote to the song that came before. The wrong combination and you can poison yourself.

SuperLowBudge: That's quite deep.

Spottiswoode: Call me a low budget drama queen. ∎

[Go to full interview]

Tuesday, October 9, 2018

I will never

ever, ever forgive any person(s) who is still supporting this lunatic. Where. Is. The. Goddamn. Cavalry. For the love of all that doesn't suck, somebody do something.
Related: Dude, I Told You

I Went Away For Five Nights

This is the list that I left Joey 
when I went away for five nights. 
He did a great job.

Monday, October 8, 2018

"Open Letter For People Looking For Open Letters"

by Robin Sokoloff

I sat down at a sidewalk cafe today, popped open this laptop - ready to send some words to anyone who’s looking for perspective and support out there.

And just like clockwork, when I try to go anywhere or do anything as a woman by myself, I am interrupted.

I am just sitting here, trying to write you these words. I’m typing away. A shadow blocks out the sun above me. Someone is looming above. This is not the first time in a lifetime of men shaped looms.

“Excuse me miss. Hey miss.”

I keep typing.

“Yo ma. Ma… yo I’m trying to talk to you lady.”

I breathe. I keep doing what I’m doing.

“Yo BITCH! What the fuck! You must be some kind a bitch right? Sitting there.”

Wednesday, October 3, 2018

Right Through You

Wait a minute man
You mispronounced my name
You didn't wait for all the information
Before you turned me away
Wait a minute sir
You kind of hurt my feelings
You see me as a sweet back-loaded puppet
And you've got meal ticket taste
 You took me for a joke
You took me for a child
You took a long hard look at my ass
And then played golf for a while
Your shake is like a fish
You pat me on the head
You took me out to wine dine sixty nine me
You didn't hear a damn word I said
I see right through you
I know right through you
I feel right through you
I walk right through you
Hello Mr. Man
You didn't think I'd come back
You didn't think I'd show up with my army
And this ammunition on my back
Now that I'm Miss Thing
Now that I'm a zillionaire
You scan the credits for your name
And wonder why it's not there
I see right through
I know right through you
I feel right through
I walk right through you

Monday, October 1, 2018

Letters to Strangers and Friends

Dear Mom,

Happy Monday, and Happy October. Isn't October always so weird?

I'm sorry I missed your call yesterday afternoon, and I'm so glad we got to talk this morning, if just for a quick minute. I hadn't been able to get to sleep Saturday night, and so Joe let me sleep until past three o'clock. That's why I missed your call. I was sleeping. He came padding in for a cuddle when he heard me stirring, and when he told me what time it was, I said "Are you fucking kidding me right now."

So this morning I was literally just at that moment looking at my phone when you called, because of course I was. For some people, that might be no big shocker, what with the way the world is ruled by phones now. But for me...let's just say that these days, I don't even know where my phone is, or if it's even charged, a great deal of the time. (I have a theory about why that is, but I'll save it until I see you this weekend, should the topic of crippling anxiety and depression due to post-traumatic stress happen to come up in the course of conversation.) All these years and that kind of coincidence still happens. Remember how Hub used to call that "the Vortex"? The way there always seem to be weird things, way past mere coincidence, that extend two, three levels deep. Did I ever tell you that Hub believed you and I were psychically connected, like at the cellular level? Apparently when we were together, the way that you and I would interact would, from time to time, freak him out. Apparently there was one time in the Davenport Road house when you and I were cooking and setting the table. Hub pointed out that I answered a question that you hadn't asked yet, and he says that you replied without comment, like that was no big deal. Hub had, and still has, a lot of theories like that. For a stubborn know-it-all driven by the pursuit of math and science, he certainly does retain a great deal of supernatural beliefs. I guess I was always drawn to paradox, wasn't I? And he may have something there. Do you remember that time we hadn't talked in months and then you called me right when I was meeting with my boss? I remember looking down at the phone trying not to let the tears fall out of my eyes and seeing your name come up on the caller ID. Hub is positive that you know when I am in distress, all these miles away. These days he doesn't even freak out or say "VORTEX!" anymore. He just goes, "Well, ya know."

Joe just shrugs. My Joey thinks everything is magical, because his brain knows how to convert math into music. I submit to you: is there anything more magical than that? Oddly enough, the Vortex is strong this week. Last night there was a real know it's hard to know where to start when telling about these things. Start anywhere, the Vortex brings it back around again. So...

...back in the 90s there was a local band called Angry Salad that Hub and I liked. I hadn't thought about Angry Salad in a long time. But here's the thing. Just last weekend they came up in conversation with Joe.

Joe and I were in the studio and he was showing me some new synth plugins, and we got on the topic of cover songs using alternate instrumentation. You know, like when you hear a rock song played on a ukulele, that sort of thing. I was trying to locate a video of Angry Salad covering Devil Went Down to Georgia so Joe could hear that Angry Salad had this guitar player who slayed the fiddle part. That guy was awesome. But it's not on any of their records and I realized I'd only seen them do it live. So I described it to Joe, and then spent some time listening to a lot of Angry Salad. And then randomly, last night Hub sent me a link to an Angry Salad video. Why though.

I told him that the guitar player went on to join a reunited Quiet Riot, and he told me that the lead singer died. That's terrible. I guess he OD'd in LA in 2007 a few days before Thanksgiving. I could never live in LA. Not that we don't kill ourselves in Boston.

Okay, back to this weekend. Update. Since my friend Chris is giving me a lift to Connecticut, that means I can bring more than just my one small bag. Maybe I should bring some of the dolls that I've been making so that you can appraise them? I have started using the jewelry bits and parts, but I realize that I don't know what I'm looking at...what if I price my doll to sell, and it turns out I've used a real pearl on the damn thing worth twice that alone? Let's talk again before Thursday, that might work out. I could also use some advice about selling in general. I'm an expert in back office operations, logistics and customer service...sales, I always relied on a whole 'nother kind of crew for that!

I should also a finish a doll that I've been thinking would be a gift for Fernando Fox from his auntie. I texted Michael that I'd always thought I'd be more like Aunt Sharon, and it turns out I'm a Carol. Living out of state and never seen. I remember always being surprised at what she looked like, because I think I only ever saw Carol a total of...maybe seven times, total? I can't believe I haven't met Fox yet. Does that baby boy even know about me?

So let's talk again. I'll keep my phone close by, so that I can get your call in the next few days. I know that you get up before God in the morning, so I'll keep it by the bed. And charged.

Love you,