Riding Bareback Beside a Train: I love music

I like a lot of bands. I like a lot of songs.

I dance in the kitchen when Shakira says her hips don’t lie. Because MINE DON'T EITHER.

And frankly, no, the club can’t handle me right now.

I play records because the sound is rich and has dimension.

I like the soundtrack to Ken Burns The Civil War.

I like Dean Martin. And jazz. And throwback music that makes me think of Golden Skateworld birthday party glory days.

and, I love Frank Turner

I started listening to his voice when I heard his cover of You Are My Sunshine.

Then I found out he sings about parades. astronauts. poetry.

And

Passion. Politics. Living. Reasons not to be an idiot.

Cut to last weekend:

Frank Turner played in town.

it was cold. And it was late. And I had to be at the office the next day.

But it was very worth it. Very.

And what always happens when I am in close proximity to an artist I think is fantastic…

the inevitable conversation.

The one where I try to not be a “fan” but try to express all of my feelings in two sentences.

But when he was at his merchandise table and no one was around, my feet would not move. THEY WOULDN’T MOVE.

I get really mad because most of me tells the dumb part of me to CHILL OUT in these situations. Calm. Down. but when you get nervous it is never by choice.

There are times that you know with one hundred percent of your mind that you should be fine with the situation. But battling the feeling is absolutely futile.

This was one of them. The best description I can think of was that my knees were warm.

Of all my body sensations, that is what I remember most. That and the visible shaking of my chest

because I don’t know a heart that can beat as fast as mine in certain times of panic. Or excitement.

I've never had another heart. So I don’t know.

And it makes me mad. Being a “fan,” because what I really want is to be friends with him.

And tell him how ridiculous his music is. How genius it is and how brilliant it sounds. and how perfect it is that he is the one at his own merchandise table. In the back. Listening to all the other sets that played ahead of him. That is for real.

And then I finally went over to him. (Because I hate nothing more than wishing I had done something I didn’t.)

I did the inevitable.

I said something dumb.

I was positive I would.

I cant be trusted when my emotions take over completely.

I started out well. with - “I think your music is brilliant.”

But

Somewhere in there. Sandwiched between decent comments, I heard myself say “you do really great”

you do really great?! what?!

I have noooo idea what the context was. Im sure it was hidden in there nicely. Right? ew.

But

Here’s the thing: all beginnings are clumsy.

And I know my only point was to tell him how much I think of his music.

And I did that. So it’s all good.

__________________________________________________________________________

I mention this (A) - because in a time when I am drowning in deadlines and artistic labor, I had to go to his show. It’s research. it's Homework. Sketchbook.

To be in company of artists who are great. Who are clever.
And who dance in the same gym you dance in <--wack metaphor.

And

(B)- because I think good music should be mentioned.

And

(C)- because awkward is cool once you reflect on it from a comfortable place. And aren’t out there all exposed… spitting a jumbled mess at someone you adore.

Speaking of Exposed.

Let’s rock out to this photo shoot.

My latest finished work

A Sweet Lamb for

Piper McKenzie's production,

Bethlehem or Bust

Click those links above for theater company details and show details.

This lamb went to New York. to rehearse for a show in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

She is so sweet.

OK someone walked by and saw us. AGGhhhh ahhaha

There is no way to put this in context. The only thing to do is make yourself smaller by getting low to the ground and pretending you don't see the neighbors walking by.