Introspective Messes

My Friends are Such Characters

2008-12-31T00:30:36Z

I've been meaning to paint a few portraits of my friends in watercolors, but I admit to anxiety over the whole thing. It has been ten years since I did watercolors and I was afraid to even start. I'd discover I suck (or that it would take me years to get back to the level I was once at.) So I stalled. I wanted them to be great and if they weren't I'd get depressed. So I didn't paint and got depressed. Art can be a vicious cycle. No wonder Van Gogh took a ear off from painting.

I wanted to make my artist buddy Kerry something special (her nick name is Kerry Berry and she loves Pooh bear.) So I made a painting of her as Kerry Beary to show her I was worthy of painting and sketching with her talented self.

Before I showed it to Kerry I ask others what they thought of my first watercolor in a decade. They all wanted me to paint them as a cartoon too. Well that was a good sign that it wasn’t crap. I was surprised at how many people got into the goofy spirit of it all. It is also amazing how much they look like the cartoon they wanted me to use. The paintings capture their spirit. But then I knew everyone I loved was Loony Toons. Maybe Rembrandt isn't the greatest portrait painter. Maybe it was Chuck Jones all along. Art took a wrong turn at Albuquerque when it became too serious. Humor is a knife that cuts to the truth -- and makes snot come out of your nose.

And if you're wondering where my other ear is -- I sent it to Minnie.

Heroes

2008-10-28T03:00:19Z

When I was a kid, I didn't read comics. I wasn't into Superman or Spiderman. I loved Shakespeare, Poe and Vincent Van Gogh. Yeah, I was a strange kid. I still am. I just haven't lost my child like enthusiasm in the presence of my heroes.

Now I write a music blog and just changed its name to "Introspective Messes". That's a joke, of sorts. I think the outside world, the normal people (who killed the child inside themselves long ago) might see my heroes as that. I know better. These are superwomen. I've been reading the blogs of an Introspective Mess (Tippy), Slowhealer (Lauren) and my artist buddy Kerry. The messages and bulletins they send me can sometimes be so heartbreaking.

Things like; "To the five people who listen to my music". Damn. That isn't right. What a tough road they've chosen. To put the saddest, most vulnerable part of themselves out to be judged by strangers -- wow, brave. Superman is a pussy by comparison. He only cries to Lois Lane. Big deal. Try doing it to the world, buddy. Na, you don't have the guts to be an artist. And sadder than ridicule is silence. The idea that no one may be listening. No one cares.

No wonder they get down sometimes. They are on the road alone and worry what it is all for. Does anyone give a shit? Well, I do. Sure that's not much of an audience when you're walking alone and the road seems so long. But I have a big mouth and have a habit of pulling people aside and demanding they see the beauty in the world. I've decided that's pretty much my job. That's why I write this blog. Hey world -- over here, look at her!

My heroes aren't knocking down buildings or arresting villains. They aren't destructive. They are creative people in a world of decay. Against all odds (and at risk of great personal danger to themselves and their emotional well being) my heroes dare to bring beauty into the world. And when they look in the mirror, I hope Tippy, Lauren, Kerry and all my heroes, can see the truth. I hope when they look in the mirror they realize that THEY are their masterpiece.

The world is so much richer for their presence.
I'd like to thank them for risking it all. Someone cares. Someone noticed. Someone thinks you're doing a great job.

From: Tippy [the Vegan]
Date: Oct 27, 2008 7:17 PM
Wow, Vincent. That is really beautiful. I hate to admit this, but I was on the brink of crying! Thank you. May I post a bulletin with your blog URL to tell me friends about you?

The Last Train

2008-09-29T03:49:14Z

I'd like to completely ruin four songs for you. May I? The next time you hear them, an image (you didn't want or ask for) will appear in your head. It will burrow into your brain like a earwig -- it may drive you crazy. Or at least make you think.

Normally, I introduce you to songwriters and songs you've never heard. Now I am going to take four very famous songs -- sweet songs you think you know inside and out. I am going to pick them up, turn them 90 degrees and set them back down. I'll turn on a light and show you what is in the shadows.

I started thinking of this when a friend of mine, Priv. now known as Curry Spice after her rocking version of the Spice Girl's "Wannabe" at work today;

"Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want. I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really really really wanna zigazig ha."

Oh, it was far better than the video! I'm sorry you missed it. Well, an out of breath Curry Spice, said that her 3 year old daughter loves "Feeling Groovy" which the child calls "Feeling Goofy". (As opposed to groping Mickey?)

"That's a song about suicide," Curry Spice announced in her typical playfulness.

"WHAT?" I asked.

"Yep."

And then I recalled its real title is "the 57th Street Bridge Song". A bridge notorious for all the people who have jumped off it;

"I've got no deeds to do, no promises to keep
I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep
Let the morning time drop all its petals on me..."

Ewww! Curry Spice might be right. Then again she might not. Too late. I will never listen to the song again with out picturing some one doing a perfect swan dive off the bridge and into oblivion. Yet somehow it is so...so much better. I mean, the song is just so sugary sweet. A tiny drop of blood on a chipper smile does make it more bearable. Okay, it kind of rocks now. Thanks, Curry Spice, for making me laugh at death again. Yo -- zigazig ha. I wanna, I wanna, I wanna...

Well, I just had to ruin her day, so I mentioned the Monkees' "Last Train to Clarksville" is an anti-Vietnam war song. (By the way -- they aren't REAL monkeys. You're thinking of Don Kirshner.) Clarksville, Tennessee is just a jumping off point. From Clarksville victims, I mean soldiers, were shipped off to kill or be killed. That is hidden under the bouncy melody and in the run of the mill daily things; "We'll have time for coffee flavored kisses -- and a bit of conversation."

It sounds like such a happy song. I have heard that song all my life and loved it so. I've always thought it was about a businessman going on a trip and saying bye to his sweetie. I never asked why he might not be coming home. I never asked, "What's the big deal about Clarksville?"

Lesser songwriters than Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart would have been flat footed. They would have started with the boy in Vietnam full of fear that he is about to die. That is obvious, and would have been hardly a feel good sixties pop hit. Besides, did the writers ever really feel what that was like? And could kids listening to the song with their Count Chocula, Saturday morning, dance along to that a guy being shot down in Nam?

No. So Boyce and Hart backed up a month or two and wrote about something they had certainly felt; the anxiety of making a phone call to a loved one when you need them so badly. Perhaps their lover has got things to do. Maybe later. The caller's worst fears are coming true. Yet they don't want to break down on the phone. The songwriters have the self control to drop the emotional bomb only at the very end, "I don't know if I'm ever coming home." Once you know what's really going on in the song, that is a chilling moment.

Instead of a disposable protest song, it is a song about everyday longing that we can all understand; someone we trust won't be their for us in our moment of greatest need. That can be a loved one -- or your country.

"I'll Be Watching You" is the favorite of many love smitten fools. Written about the collapse of Sting's marriage to Frances Tomelty; the lyrics are about her harassment -- her maniacal watching of "every breath you take, every move you make". Fatal Attraction, the musical.

People have come up to Sting, excited as kittens, to tell him how they played that song at their wedding.

"Oh, really?" he smiles, "Good luck, kids."

I've save the best for last. Randy Newman has called "I Honestly Love You" a pointless song, "boring even" he said in an interview in Playboy. (I bought that issue just for that interview. Ahh hmm.)

Well, if you stop and look at it as this little four minute play and then think about why the songwriter wrote it -- it becomes a rather deep -- and troubling movie.

It was written by Peter Allen, a gay man. Great writers write about their own emotional experiences. Imagine him falling in love with someone, unsure if he should really let his feelings be known. One day he does. He blurts it out. Or gave the right look;

"Maybe I hang around here
A little more than I should
We both know I got somewhere else to go
But I got something to tell you
That I never thought I would
But I believe you really ought to know...
I love you
I honestly love you..."

But then he sees his worst fears coming true;

"You don't have to answer
I see it in your eyes
Maybe it was better left unsaid..."

The writer retreats into his mind, in the same way any of us has when we put are heart out on our sleeve only to have it crushed -- again. He thinks that someday the way he feels won't brand him as a freak to be looked at with shock and horror just because he said three little words;

"If we both were born
In another place and time
This moment might be ending in a kiss
But there you are with yours
And here I am with mine
So I guess we'll just be leaving it at this..."

That's not trite. That is hardly Hallmark. Unless Hallmark now has a "I'm sorry you found out I'm gay, and your not -- and you will never love me," line of cards out.

Of course the writer left the reason for the rejection out of the song. Each of us fills THAT in with why we feel we are a monster that will never be loved. When a songwriter's heartbreak is honest, we fill in the blank with our own pain.

Junkie

2008-09-27T06:50:18Z

Hi, I'm Vincent Blackwood. I am a junkie.

(Hi, Vincent!)

Yep. I've got a monkey on my back. It could climb the empire state and knock a train off its track. This addiction started so simply -- so innocently.

My buddy, Jeanne, lent me a copy of a Sarah McLachlan CD, Fumbling to Ecstasy. (That's the way it starts -- someone gives you a hit for free. After you're hooked, you pay for the rest on your own. And pay. And pay. And pay.) I bought all of her CDs. Eagerly, I took hit after hit, enjoying that high of being REALLY depressed by Sarah's songs.

Women were supportive and somewhat surprised that a guy listened to "their" music. "Mmmm," one asked, "is it that time of the month for ya?" Huh?

And the guys? Oh dear, all the guys laughed at me; "You listen to chick rock?" I began to hide my problem. One guy, for the sake of this article we'll call him Mark, since that is his real name (the bastard). He called all of Sarah's songs "dirges" and made mean-spirited remarks about Mary Chapin-Carpenter sexuality. He isn't my friend anymore. He just didn't understand the joy of feeling so sad after a hit of chick rock.

But Sarah and Mary were (as Jack Webb would probably warn) gate way drugs to other, more mind altering, singers: Jill Sobule, Neko Case, Marion LoGuidice, Pindrop Symphony and You know, the hard stuff: the heroin of chick rock. The stuff that makes me lie in an unmade bed with the shakes, cuddling a pillow and crying uncontrollably. And when the CD is done -- I play it again. I wait for that rush as I dry my eyes. Perhaps I should curse the day I first heard "Houdini's Box" but I don't. Is that song about a very unhealthy co-dependence? Mmmm, sure is! Replay.

True, I have gotten some bad shit, like any junkie. That whole unfortunate Jewel incident. Man, what a bad trip. The yodeling and the self importance. And hearing Jewel read her own poetry? I was soon talking to my toilet and swearing off Jewel forever. I hear she's doing country now. They deserve her.

You think such a nightmare would have cured me. No. It has gotten out of control. If I really get into someone, I do get obsessed. First, I have to have all of Jill Sobule's CDs. Then I found she had dozens of unreleased songs. I had to have them. I had to have them ALL: "Odd Girl Out", "Everybody's Queer", "Money Shot". Where can I get them? Oh, I finally found them. (And thank you Dr. F, for being the supplier I can really count on. The bots and I think you're swell.)

I was filled with the ecstasy of FINALLY hearing them! And, like any junkie knows, there is that crash after the high -- and then the need for a new buzz; something else to stimulate my dulled and jaded senses.

I was just turned on to Ani Difranco. I went down to Barnes and Noble and looked in the bin. One Cd? Maybe two? Wholly crap, Batman, she has got over 30 CDs (between studio and live ones). I was fascinated to see on her MySpace site, she is selling a pint beer mug with her latest CD cover on it. WTF! Are all her fans alcoholics? Or does Ani mean this as a serving suggestion? Have a stiff drink before you listen to my new CD? The ad ends with "Happy drinking/listening!" That doesn't sound promising, does it?

Well...I already know from bitter experience that her fans must be junkies -- junkies for her music. Junkies just like me. They don't give away the good stuff for free (on the radio) you have got to go out and pay for quality. Yeah, how can I judge them harshly? I understand. I really do. This all sounds pretty twisted and REALLY unhealthy. Clearly, Ani is my kind of girl! Cheers, bitches.

I had to have all her CDs -- I have to have them all NOW!! And that damn glass is in a limited quantity of just 300. I better order her new CD first to get that! I nearly had a nervous breakdown next to the "Sex in the City" display and a half caf, half decaf, skinny Mocha lattie. Damn, the whole world is on some kind of drug. How long before the Surgeon General starts putting warning labels on Starbucks' drinks -- and on the CDs I listen to? Which I can now also buy at Starbucks. A coincidence? I think not. Looks like I have a new pusher -- usually only a block from where ever I am. Grand.

If I get hooked on this new form of smack, called Ani -- I'm gonna find myself buying a shit load of CDs! Oh no! I need help. Like Jeff Goldblum whimpering in Geena Davis' arms I muttered, "Help me... Help me..." over and over. Yep, that day has come. That life changing day when I admit I have a problem.

Help me... HELP ME... Buzzzzzz.

Umm, got any Ani Difranco on ya? Or at least a drink.

For another round of Ani Difranco please go to;

www.righteousbabe.com

www.myspace.com/anidifranco

Cheers.

So You Want to Be A Rock and Roll Star?

2008-09-23T23:45:35Z

A Worm's Eye View on How Records Are Made Today.

You record a CD, the next day it comes out and is a massive hit. You start living large until you are impossible to take and kill yourself because no one understands you. It's the American success story we all long for. Well, that's how it goes in the movies and a very special episode of "The Partridge Family".

I know a lot of musicians who feel once they record a CD their long struggle will finally be at an end. I don't have the heart to tell them that they are only at the foot of the mountain. They are along way from becoming a self-destructive creep. And I'm not into killing people's dreams or standing in the way of shotgun kissers.

In the past record companies might help you (on your path to oblivion), but the world is changing and most of the truly talented artist want the creative control of doing it all themselves. Besides, they all have horror stories of being ripped off and ignored by the man.

Reading blogs by REAL musicians I find that recording the CD is just a TINY part of the process. I wish someone would write a book or make a movie about what really happens: meetings with prospective publicists, distributors, Internet marketers, a manager, planning a tour, rehearsing for a tour, setting up interviews. How does one distribute a CD yourself? Get it into the stores? How does one advertise it? How do you get the thing played on the radio? Where do you buy the cocaine and hookers for payola? Oh wait, they did make a movie about this. It was called "Spinal Tap" and it happens every time you release a CD. It's enough to make you leave your laptop on a New York train.

Well, one artist going through the wild ride of releasing her own record, Jill Sobule, got her laptop back. Apparently the guy didn't find the movies of her LSD fuelled orgies. Some people's home movies are just better than your aunt Missy's trip to the Grand canyon, aren't they?

And what do you call the CD? Bea Arthur's Pantsuit? My LSD orgy? LA is Killing Me? And what songs do you use and what order will they be? For that at least Jill has people who contributed to the CD.

At www.jillnextrecord.com Jill asked our opinion and forgot to push "the block user; Vincent Blackwood" button. Brave woman! Good news -- EVERYONE had an opinion. Bad news -- they were all over the map.

I saw no consensus on what the favorite songs are. A good sign -- they are all strong songs. She still doesn't know what to call the CD. Like a fan-boy hopped up on caffeine and sugar, I insisted she use one of my favorite tracks; "Nothing to Prove". I thought it was so positive.

Well, one person thought that was a good idea. Only one. Another felt it was an awful song (mostly because Jill cusses on it -- and he feels that is wrong. I guess he hasn't heard THAT many songs by Jill.) Someone else thought it was a good song but a really bad recording with poor use of studio echo.

Tony (Jill's webmaster, live recording engineer and the man who picks up her laptop from guys on New York trains) chimed in; he feels that the echo may, or may not work, but he does like live versions of the song better (Yep, Jill is just always best live) and perhaps they should use one on the CD.

Jill mentioned that she likes the song too, but doesn't want to call the CD after it. That would give it more weight than it deserves (and might lead people into thinking it is a happy record!) She wrote it while hooked up to a morphine machine in the hospital -- so doesn't actually recall writing it. To her, it seems too much an anthem -- too much "I am Woman". Ohh, I see her point. Yeah, THAT is a song that has stood the test of time REALLY well!

Jill concluded by thanking us all -- but her head was swimming with all the comments. I had no idea it was so much work. Amazing.

Below is a link to grand comments by the always funny Jill Sobule about each song and the CD itself. (I swiped the LSD fueled orgy joke from her. It isn't JUST one of my sick fantasies about what the rock world must be like. No, it is so much more.) I maintain Smoke Dreams which is a community of Jill Sobule fans at Live Journal. I didn't start that fire. I just gather logs and make sure the flame keeps burning.

http://community.livejournal.com/jillsobule/25545.htmlcutid1

Things (and People) to Do Before I Die

2008-09-21T04:46:41Z

My buddy of 28 years is crossing two items off her "Things to do before I die" list. Grand. I feel so happy for her. Bitch. Ooops. Hugs and kisses, Jeanne. You know I get so that way when I get jealous. I guess it's the mean little girl in me. Sorry. A thousand pardons, Kitten.

Jeanne, you have gone to our homeland, Ireland. And found your roots -- and they are red. Now you are going to swim with dolphins. I remember the hours we've spend over the years at the Minnesota zoo looking with such fondness at them. When no one was looking, I grabbed you by the hips so you could reach down and pet one. It was so cool. I know just what it means to you, Jeanne. This is the moment of a life time. An impossible dream come true. Honestly, all B.S. aside (which is SO hard for me) I can feel the joy in your heart right now. I am happy as hell for you. In a way, I will be with you as you grab fin and scream uncontrollably while being dragged through the icy water by a half ton wild animal with a beak full of razor sharp teeth. Oh, I wish I were there!

But I began to think. (Always trouble, that.) What do I want to do before I die? Ride a pony. Certainly. Fly to the moon on gossamer wings? Duh! But lately there has been an all consuming need taking over my life and giving me reason to get up every day. It is an impossible dream to be sure. What is my secret dream? What MUST I do before I die?

Simple, kitten. I MUST have Jill Sobule's baby! Baby, what am I saying? I must be crazy. Let's start again. I must have Jill Sobule's babies. Twins. Girls, I think. Yes, I know it is a impossible thing. What with me closing in on middle age like George W. on heartless. At my age there is real danger in carrying the babies to term but -- well, I just have this dream! And no one can tell me no. I just know I'd be a good wife and a grand mommy.

I'll just put my head down, line up on the windmills of reality with my lance and ride my horse at full speed -- even as Sancho Panza sits on his ass muttering, "Oh, you dumb bitch."

But I see the faces of our lovely daughters. Aww. What with my massive dyslexia and irrational obsessive behavior and Jill's Attention Deficit Disorder and fierce independence, well, how can our daughters not help but be so --- so special. Trish and Julie. (Oh, yes, I've named them!) Trish and Julie and our dog, Checkers, will be such a gift to the world.

Tears well up as I think about the grand family portraits we'll pose for. I, down to my last ounce of patience, tell Trish to please stop pulling Checker's ears. Jill, her beehive hairdo just a little lopsided, adjusts her respectable cloth coat and forces a smile for the camera.

Years later, I see Jill gasping in horror as she finds our, now teenage, Trish with a joint. Ripping it out of Trish's hand, Jill growls in disgust, "Who the hell taught you to roll a joint like THAT? Let mommy show you how it's done!"

But I know it is all an illusion. Such sweet mother and daughter bonding won't last. I see the sad day clearly when Trish will break both our hearts. She will walk in one day, look at us so seriously and confess the horrible secret we never even suspected; "Mom -- and mom -- I've become a Republican."

Jill hits the floor like a bag full of tasered rats. And me? I just cry -- real tears. I really thought it would turn out better.

What Kind of Girl Do YOU Think I Am?

2008-09-08T01:15:37Z

Kerry asked me to pick a quiz on Facebook that we could both take. I looked at (and rejected) what kind of underwear should I, as a girl, be wearing. Everyone knows I'm the thong type. The "IQ Quiz" would probably be all those damn story questions. "If two monkeys were driving trains from Minneapolis and Denver, how many Junior Mints would they eat before they crashed and burn?" I suck at those quizzes and would score lower than Lilly Allen after six vodkas. Whatever!

Well, I could find out how good a girlfriend I'd be or what hair style I should go for. I'm thinking of a Dusty Springfield 60's Beehive.

I rejected them all the moment I opened the door on my "Mystery Date" game and saw my dreamy dream date!
What Kind of Teenager Are You? (Girl's Quiz!)

Hot damn! Yes. I've always wanted to know EXACTLY what kind of girly girl I am? And the description just made me drool. Listen to this, girlfriends:

Where do you fit in? What is your teenage personality. Are you destined for love and romance, or self-loathing and poetry. Are you the The Diva, The Idealist, The Undertow, The Cocktail Nymph, The Wildfire or any of the other 8 types.

DAMN! I was SOOOO going for self-loathing and poetry...or at least being the Cocktail Nymph. I took the quiz. Oh, the tension. Before I got the results, I was asked if I wanted to forward this to any of my Facebook friends. ANY? Are you joking? Like a smoking monkey jazzed up on 23,324 Junior Mints I clicked ALL my friends! Now I envision Jill Sobule in a "I Heart Sarah Palin" T-shirt, chewing ice and glaring at her Mac. I wonder how many seconds before she hits the reject button on my invitation? 2.4 seconds. But I read the coolest story by Thomas Harper, "The Red Stamp" and I take those chances now. I will no longer assume defeat.
So what kind of girly girl am I, REALLY? Drum roll, please! Drrrrrrrrrrr. Womp. Womp!

It seems I'm really hot and what guys are looking for in a girl. (Gee, and I can cook too!) Maybe I should grab a wig and head for the nearest bar!

Here is what the very short quiz decided I was;

You are: The Lovable Eyes

She is Spontaneous, Smooth, and Loving. She is what most guys want to find, date, and marry. That simple. She's adorable, cute, sexy, innocent, easy-going, friendly, and fun to be around. Pretty much the perfect companion. She's delicate and needs to be handled with loving hands, and there won't be any shortage of guys willing to handle her. In a relationship, there is only one rule with the Lovable Eyes - Don't %&#@ Up. That's it. Don't cheat on her, don't lie to her, don't mistreat or abuse her, and she will be yours for a lifetime.

Damn straight! Don't %&#@ with me! I won't run...I'll just make you suffer. I'm THAT kind of girl.

Eight Years (And I'll Still Love. And I'll Still Dream...)

2008-08-21T01:13:28Z

This is a blog about music and questions. I cover my ass that way when I get off topic -- I always get off topic. I write about music that you probably don't know but should. I write about music that moves me deeply and I can't wait to tell everyone. The world is missing something and what a shame. I may have something else planned, but screw it. I just heard this song and I'm am crazy about it and must tell the world. Or the few people that read my blog.

I was going through all my Jill Sobule MP3s to make some order out of her amazingly large output and there was a demo for "Eight Years" that I had forgotten to listen to. I listen to it. It is like Jill had rummaged through my brain and heart (again) and said exactly what I was feeling and thinking during the last few weeks.

It is about someone sitting down to write and then realizing they've done this a thousand times before -- and where has it gotten them?

"Eight Years"

Here I am
Back where I began
With my old friends
My notebook and my pen
I can't believe it's been...

Eight years
Waiting for something to happen
Nothing is happening
Eight years gone in a minute
Everything's different
But nothing has changed
No words of wisdom

The best I can say
Here I go
Falling through the page
Down the rabbit hole
Hoping I'll be saved
From all those empty days
That make...

Eight years
Waiting for something
To happen
How did it happen
That eight years gone in a blink
Every thing's different
But I'm still the same
No lessons learned

The best I can say
That I'll get up -- today
I'll try to be
A good person
And I'll still love
And I'll still dream
And hope I'll have more eight years....

http://www.jillsobule.com/Media/eightyearsdemo.mp3

In the demo, it is just Jill and her guitar. The way her voice cracks is heartbreaking as she sings; "The best I can say that I'll get up -- today. I'll try to be a good person and I'll still love and I'll still dream and hope I'll have more eight years..." Actually that says a lot. A lot about a tender spirit full of dreams and love that refuses to give up hope that someone will want the treasures that wait if they can just stop and see them. And why haven't they? If that's not the truest expression of the human condition, than feel free to set me straight. And good luck topping her. If you're very sensitive and eloquent, you might come close on one song, but not over and over and over like she does.

I called this blog "STRANGE LIGHT" in tribute to her. And I remember why every time I hear her music. This is a blog about questions. And this is a song about Jill sitting down to write and then realizing she has done this a thousand times before -- and where has it gotten her?

Well, it has made me feel better about myself. It has given me a truckload of hope. Sure not a big deal -- to anyone but me.

Thanks, Jill...

Vincent

Lover, Artist and Madman

2008-08-19T02:00:21Z

Sometimes, I am watching someone else's life. We round the corner and there I am. I'm surprised to see me there looking rather foolish and laugh in my face. Turning, I see myself again. It is like a mirror has shattered and I'm everywhere I look. And that really isn't a good thing.

This happen to me last night when I was watching Andy Warhol, a documentary film by Ric Burns. A brilliant film. A then unknown Andy Warhol became obsessed with Truman Capote after reading, Other Voices, Other Rooms. He begins sending Truman cheerful, sweet notes and trying to become his friend. Capote told someone, "Just look at the guy. You can tell he's the kind of loser who will never amount to anything."

Of course, I have heroes I dream of being buddies with and yet I imagine they might view me as -- well, so Andy. The funny part is that Warhol was a stalker. Warhol was an artist who would shake the world. And later Andy would be shot by a stalker. That kind of symmetry feels like the refrain of a great song. It is the same words over and over but it has new meaning each time it appears. One person in the same scene but taking a different part each time it is played.

A lover, an artist and a madman are really the same. Filled with an unreasonable passion. Driven to do things that are beyond words and the perfect material for a comedy or the nightly news.

I can't help but wonder if my own words will someday be read by someone who is thrilled by them. They will speak as if they came from their own heart and they will know something special has just happened. Or my words may make a grand best seller. Perhaps they will end up as exhibit A -- hopefully in a federal case. It so tough to know how it will end when your in the middle of it. But at least two of the possible outcomes involve movie rights.

Ghost Story (Houses Aren’t Haunted, People Are)

2008-08-19T01:48:23Z

I have only heard a few songs by the Pindrop Symphony (Lauren Benedum). They are raw and immediate like someone alone in the dark at 2 AM. Someone who can't sleep and just has to get it out of their system. Grabbing a piece of paper they sit in the dark writing down what is tearing them apart. I've done that, so has Lauren and here it is. I hope this isn't just a demo but the finished work. One more note would ruin this delicate, barbed wire construction. It is a perfect expression of burnt out obsession. What is left when love is gone but its shadow hasn't.

The hypnotic dulcimer sounds as sad as rain pattering on a window. Or a heart beating. And that's all you will get -- just that frightening drone and a desperate whispered voice.

"Ghost Story"

I am happy when you're gone
Though won't you tell me I've done wrong
And I am here not so alone
When you're gone
When you're gone...

Little white lies
Behind your eyes
Dressed up like a best friend in disguise
I guess it's safe wrapped up in your lies, lies, lies...

I am here
Not so alone
When you're gone
When you're gone

You call me up and say,
We could fuck each other
But it wouldn't put us under for long
We could fuck each other
But it wouldn't put us under for long

We could fuck each other
But you're already gone
Happy when you're gone.

Her echoing voice sounds so betrayed and full of longing like someone sitting in an empty cathedral. Visit her site and hear more from this quiet, honest voice.

http://www.myspace.com/thepindropsymphony

10 Other Songs by Jill Sobule That You Must Hear

2008-08-12T03:23:57Z

A lot of people are arguing the merits of the real "I Kissed A Girl" by Jill Sobule verses the other, recent version. Well let me say it, again, Jill is the best songwriter working today. I never miss an opportunity to prove that. Now seems like a grand time to celebrate a hero to nerdy girls and guys everywhere.

I see her like a friend with an honest, funny way of looking at things. I can't wait to read her blog at (http://www.Jillsobule.com). She never seems forced, arty or handing me B.S. -- unless handing me B.S. is part of the joke.

She can take the saddest, most heart breaking idea and catch me off guard with her wicked sense of humor. To me, she is amazingly playful and positive. No matter how sad the song may be, I always feel so much better after listening to it.

So here are ten other songs of Jill's that you MUST hear:

10. "Nothing to Prove" (unreleased)
A screamingly funny song written by Jill while on morphine. She probably needed it as she wrote about the decline and fall of the record empire.

9. "Super Eight" (Happy Town 1997)
This is a vivid, touching look at a child's birthday party. Watching an old film of the seemingly happy party, Jill begins to recall what really happened.

8. "Big Shoes" (I Never Learned to Swim 2001)
Jill had to wear corrective shoes and leg braces for most of her childhood. Her feet are now perfect. Her heart? Not so much. She details the damage with such wit that it's only after the song is over and you stop laughing, that you think, "That would be hell."

7. "Jet Pack" (Underdog Victorious 2004)
Jill takes a comic image and then shows an outsider dreaming. That describes most of Jill's work. The song soars in rapture (flying to her lover in the good part of town). But then the song ends very much on the ground;

I don't have a jet pack.
I don't even have a car
I just have this token
And a head full of stars...

I can't think of any lines that describe Jill's magic as well as that.

6. "Rock Me to Sleep" (Pink Pearl 2000)
Not having someone to love can be hardest late, late at night. Lonely images swirl about Jill with such a real, yet poetic touch that you want to email her and ask; "Hey, are you okay?" A devastating adult lullaby.

5. "Karen By Night" (Jill Sobule 1995)
How this wasn't a hit song stuns me. It is such an infectious rocking song about a girl who follows her seemingly bland boss around to see what she REALLY does at night. And her boss isn't like the fat Marlon Brando...

4. "Strawberry Gloss" (Underdog Victorious 2004)
This song piles on images of teenage happiness. It perfectly captures a warm, innocent time. And then corrupts it with the reality of the situation. As Jill said, "Did ANYONE have a happy 7th grade?" She didn't.

3. "Mexican Wrestler" (Pink Pearl 2000)
This is a song about the person who you first fell in love with and they don't love you back. And you are screwed up to this day. It starts out very funny and quirky -- then swings around to the tragic. The effect is touching and beautiful.

2. "Houdini's Box" (Jill Sobule 1995)
The perfect song to listen to late at night. On one hand it is a dream about being trapped under water. On the other, it is about being in love. The song is hypnotic, comforting and frightening -- just like love.

1. "Somewhere in New Mexico" (Pink Pearl 2000)/"Palm Springs" (still untitled upcoming CD 2008.)
These songs will always hold a special place for me. I was feeling so lonely and awful riding a bus home from work through a black Minnesota winter. "Somewhere in New Mexico" played on my CD player. It changed me. It was the most beautiful song I'd ever heard. Perhaps only the Beach Boys' "Warmth of the Sun" comes close. It is a very holy song about not having faith. It is a very funny song about feeling so empty and alone.

I recently heard a live MP3 of "Palm Springs" and it is the next chapter in Jill's search for something more. These two songs go together like the first two chapters in a great novel. My favorite novel.

Jill's ability to weave images and complexed emotions is unsurpassed today. I really think only Dylan or Randy Newman in there prime were better at that kind of lyric writing -- although in the end, they are not as friendly -- not as endearing. You don't feel they are your BFF.

You can find Jill's CDs at

http://www.Jillsobule.com
or
http://www.amazon.com/Jill-Sobule/e/B000AQ36SC/ref=ntt_mus_dp_pel

Sorry (For Saying What I Think is True...)

2008-08-09T23:05:21Z

Today I was not depressed, not unhappy but in a reflective mood like aluminum foil or a muddy puddle. Oh gosh, E-mails are grand, aren't they? After reading mine, I remembered I really had to write two blogs I would never post -- two letters I would never send.

Well, the problem is mine -- not theirs, right? So I keep my damn mouth shut. Gee, I can be the king of keeping my mouth shut. But I must at least write those letters and then burn them. Or take them to Nevada and set them under a hydrogen bomb about to be tested. Sometimes I can be a little paranoid.

As I sat down to get all thermonuclear with my feelings, I listen to music the way they use heavy water around atomic piles before pulling out the control rods. "Sorry" by Marion LoGuidice started playing. It was the first time I'd heard it. And it was the radioactive letter I was about to type! I was on the bridge trying to get someones attention. I was running through my dreams trying to find the one who remembered me. But no, even in my dreams I'd been forgotten again. Now that feeling has a theme song.

"Sorry"

I crossed the bridge
To the highway
But I lost you there
I waved my arms
But you won't know where
And I searched the streets
I searched the woods
I searched the bottom of a well
Where all my wishes stood
And I searched the fog
And I searched the dream
But I couldn't find the one
The one who remembered me.

All the useless things
I cling to in the mists of change
And what sustains a girl
When there's nothing in her world?

Defending her rainbow
And all my honesty
And my sincerity
Became like cripples
Stumbling over me

And I started saying I'm sorry
I'm sorry all the time
I'm sorry I thought I had a the right
To demand back what was mine.

And I searched the streets...

A very dreamy George Harrison like guitar break cushions the blow of what is about to come. The honesty and sincerity have been held back. To this point it has been an emotional portrait of being forgotten. A perfect likeness, too, but the gloves come off and the letter I never meant to send is ripped opened and not read -- it explodes. And it is word for word what is in my heart and crippling my soul. This is what you've done to me -- WTF were you thinking?

And I'm sorry for saying what I think is true
And I'm sorry for asking why you do what you do
And I'm sorry for thinking you might do what you say
And I'm sorry I thought I deserve to ask anyway
And I'm sorry I take up so much room when I cry
And I'm sorry I didn't shut my mouth when you lied
And I'm sorry that here is not where I belong
And I'm sorry it took me forty years too long...

I am a woman with no more apologies
I have beaten my heart to death with these...

Damn, that is what I wanted to say. That is exactly the letter I wanted to write and never send. Damn if Marion didn't put it to heartbreaking music, too. This song will join Jill Sobule's "Somewhere in New Mexico" and the Beach Boys' "Warmth of the Sun" as songs that hold a very special place in my heart. It has the beauty of such real longing, that still sees hope somewhere and won't let that hope go -- ever. It transcends sadness to something radiant. It's just that good.

"Sorry" is on God's House
and is available at
http://www.marionsmusic.com/

My Song (Light the Room)

2008-08-09T22:21:55Z

Sometimes I hear one song and think -- oh, I just found a new friend. The first track on Marion LoGuidice CD God's House was that song. My friend, Nicole, who seems to have the same pattern of DNA when it comes to what makes us passionate about music, insisted that this may be too female for most guys -- but not for me. Ummm, she meant that as a complement and I took it as a grand one! She said I'm going to get it right away. I did -- first song.

I'm always trying to define what it is about music that just is so womb like and nourishing. I can go to it and -- particularly if it is sad -- come away renewed and alive. This song is about that.

"My Song"

And from somewhere a song
It finds you
From a place you can't trace
It finds you
So you bring it along...

And one day my city goes black as night
And we're all scrambling around for light
While others are digging for where they belong

You light the room with a song
And doors appear where there used to be walls
And open to rooms you never knew before
And you think to yourself
While you're humming along
This is where I belong
This is where I belong

God's House by Marion LoGuidice
is available at

http://www.marionsmusic.com/

http://www.myspace.com/marionloguidice

God's House not only has "My Song" but catchy, uplifting "Beautiful Things", the stunning "Sorry", the memorably tragic "Mr. Brown" and the wistful "Laurie". These aren't songs as much as a friend's experiences told to you warmly after a long absence.

Better Angels of Our Nature...

2008-07-31T06:46:36Z

I think too much. I have been thinking about what makes us more than just a thing that uses natural resources, makes waste and eventually dies. What makes us something more?

I was talking with my friend, we'll call her Olivia, and she was telling me about a bitter/sweet meeting she recently had with her hero Cyndi Lauper. Olivia (being a sensitive, caring person) noticed that Cyndi had been crying. It was the last night of Cyndi's tour and she was about to lose all the people that had become family. To Olivia, Cyndi is a friend, and how do you treat a friend? She stepped back and gave her the space she knew she needed.

Unfortunately, events conspired against her. Someone she was with treated Cyndi less sensitively and demanded an autograph. Cyndi, because of the stress, was a little snippy. Before Olivia knew it, she felt someone hugging her from behind. It was Cyndi.

Before Olivia told me, I knew that's Cyndi would do that. Having been moved by Cyndi's writing, I could tell what she was made of. She has that curse/gift of being able to feel someone else's pain.

I knew that no one felt as bad as Cyndi about what had happened. She kept telling Olivia how sorry she was. Steve, Olivia's buddy and Cyndi's piano player, later told her that Cyndi spent the rest of the night talking about how awful she felt about what had happened. I'm not surprised. Being able to feel someone else's pain is what makes us a a better person, a caring soul. It is the better angel of our nature.

Olivia had sent this to me. If I support love and caring I should do my part. I do. I will;

I am the girl kicked out of her home because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian.

I am the prostitute working the streets because nobody will hire a transsexual woman.

I am the sister who holds her gay brother tight through the painful, tear-filled nights.

We are the parents who buried our daughter long before her time.

I am the man who died alone in the hospital because they would not let my partner of twenty-seven years into the room.

I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had.

I wish they could adopt me.

I am one of the lucky ones, I guess. I survived the attack that left me in a coma for three weeks, and in another year I will probably be able to walk again.

I am not one of the lucky ones. I killed myself just weeks before graduating high school. It was simply too much to bear.

We are the couple who had the realtor hang up on us when she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men.

I am the person who never knows which bathroom I should use if I want to avoid getting the management called on me.

I am the mother who is not allowed to even visit the children I bore, nursed, and raised. The court says I am an unfit mother because I now live with another woman.

I am the domestic-violence survivor who found the support system grow suddenly cold and distant when they found out my abusive partner is also a woman.

I am the domestic-violence survivor who has no support system to turn to because I am male.

I am the father who has never hugged his son because I grew up afraid to show affection to other men.

I am the home-economics teacher who always wanted to teach gym until someone told me that only lesbians do that.

I am the man who died when the paramedics stopped treating me as soon as they realized I was transsexual.

I am the person who feels guilty because I think I could be a much better person if I did not have to always deal with society hating me.

I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don't believe, but because they closed their doors to my kind.

I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most, love. I am the person who is afraid of telling his loving Christian parents he loves another male.

Re-post this if you believe homophobia is wrong.

Please do your part to end it

You Don’t Hear Voices? Oh, Dear...

2008-07-22T05:36:11Z

I was watching a Q and A with TV's David Duchovny. Someone in the audience asked him for his best advice. "Sure," said David, "Listen to the voices in your head."

Everyone laughed since they thought David was calling the guy crazy. "No," Dave continued, "I am being absolutely sincere." He was.

David has learned to trust those voices we all have. There is a real biological reason for them. Our brain evolved from simpler animals. As we climbed the evolutionary ladder we didn't get a whole new brain, bits were just added on to the old one. It's like getting more Legos for Christmas. (Gooey, slimy, mushy gray Legos -- yuck.) Deep down in our brain is our original Lego starter set: the R-complex.

It gives us the base emotions: anger, lust, hunger and protecting territory. The "R" stands for Reptile...or Republican, I forget. On top of that is the Limbic System; it has refined emotions such as love, caring, nurturing (the Democratic part of the brain.) It was evolved by mammals like dogs and angry bunnies. (Your f*cked-up brain is already making more sense, isn't it?) On top of that is the most advance part of the brain (the Neocortex). It has the right side (that uses feelings, it is artistic) and the left side (that uses logic -- it's Spock's brain)*.

Each part of the brain often has it's own agenda and fights with the other parts. The R-Complex wants to get laid. The Limbic System just wants someone to cuddle. The Neocortex wants an aspirin like a mother of two spoiled brats after a long day.

Needless to say, all these bits keep talking to each other, it is natural, don't fight it. Much of it is subconscious and you may not notice it. But as a writer I have learn to sit back and listen. It's in the job description, like working in coffee shops and being depressed.

Often when I am writing, I just let go -- I'm not even driving. I seem to write best late at night when most of my Neocortex has shut down. I don't think, I just write. (As you read my blog, you can tell, can't you? Yeah, sorry.) I guess I'm a real right-side-of-the-brain kind of guy. I write about feelings and like talking to women. Make your own joke, many do.

They say the most important part of writing is the rewrite. To me that's where I listen to the voices in my head the most. If I hear a voice in my head screaming "BULL SHIT!" I need to rewrite that part. Something deep inside me just doesn't buy it. I keep rewriting until all the voices in my head stop screaming "BULL SHIT!" That doesn't mean that what I've done is good or brilliant. It just means that I not lying to myself. And seeing I am the king of self-delusion, that's saying something.

I think it is those voices that I keep trusting. If I do something that makes them unhappy, they let me know like a three year old girl falling on the floor at the mall and having a hissy fit because she can't have Katy Perry cherry Chapstick. Welcome to Vincent's mind, wipe your feet and sit down. Sorry about the mess. I kind of live out of my head.

I can't run from my snarky voices. And seeing I don't take drugs or drink -- I can't shut them up in the traditional way that writers do. I have no choice but to listen to them. My voices right or wrong! I Heart the Neocortex.

Oh -- a song! I hear a song coming on... Just one moment while I stick my hand up this green thing and start swaying back and forth...

Do do, DA do do...
Do do, DA do do...

RAINBOW CONNECTION
Kermit de Frog

Have you been half asleep
And have you heard voices
I've heard them calling my name
Are these the sweet sounds that called
The young sailors
I think they're one and the same
I've heard it too many times to ignore it
There's something that I'm supposed to be
Someday we'll find it
The Rainbow Connection
The lovers, the dreamers and me...

Funny, but nothing in my head screams bull shit when I see Kermit. This seems to explain so much about what I'm doing in my life, "Have you heard voices? I've heard them calling my name...I've heard it too many times to ignore it. There's something that I'm supposed to be..." And I'm on a life long journey to find out what that is.

Yep, a little green amphibian nailed it so much better than Jung or Freud. Kermit's such a right brain frog.

*If you wish to know about that snappy little thing in your skull and how it works, may I suggest you read; The Dragons of Eden: Speculations on the Evolution of Human Intelligence is a Pulitzer prize winning 1977 book by Carl Sagan. I don't think Carl used the angry bunny analogy, that's so me.

Superman (The Ghost Returns)

2008-07-19T04:50:00Z

I'm a happy person by nature, yet two years ago depression entered my life and has never really left. Even when I think it is behind me, something will come along and just rip me apart. Suddenly I have no self esteem. I hate myself...I imagine no one cares about me. I am not the person I KNOW I can be. The ghost returns.

Is this a short visit -- or will the ghost unpack and stay for good? If you haven't felt that terror, than no explanation will make you understand. If you suffer from depression no explanation is necessary. You know the ghost.

I asked my friend Kerry, who has had that ghost for a room mate for about ten years, for help. Having just had a desperate, lost day, I wondered what she does when she hears the creak of a suit case opening in her mind. When she feels herself become the person she doesn't want to be.

She said; "Whenever I think about my problems too much rather than ending up in hell, like I have in the past, this is what I do; I play this song and I just feel so much better: "Superman (It's Not Easy)" by Five For Fighting."

I listen to it. It became one of my favorite songs right away. It reminded me of two of my other favorites: "Somewhere in New Mexico" by Jill Sobule and "Moon River".

"Superman" is a song of such deep longing. A song where someone falls on their knees looking for a reason to go on. It is odd, when I am lost, I turn to a song and hear someone else in as deep of pain -- as lost as me. I feel so much better.

I am not losing my mind. I've just lost my way. But my way can be a lonely one. I am not normal. I need a reason for things. Like why am I here? My mind and heart are restless that way. And sometimes I just need someone to tell me that my longing isn't silly or worthless. I wish I were stronger. But -- then I think if I were harder and things didn't bother me so much, maybe I'd be a little less caring. A bit more dead;

Superman (It's Not Easy)

Wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
About a home I'll never see...

I want to find my way back home. But home is gone. It blew up long ago. Yet I still believe that one day I will look into someone's eyes. They will be so excited every time I walk into the room. When I see their face light up I know that home is a person. That's the reason I go on. I hold that dream deep inside me.

Like any great song -- there is wit as it mocks the idea of a superhero flying above a sleeping city protecting them.

Up, up and away
...away from me
It's all right...
you can all sleep sound tonight
I'm not crazy...
or anything...

A superhero with feet of clay, just like us. Or at least me. Yeah, I'm sure I'm going to take on the world, which is sure I'm crazy or at least misguided.

I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naive...
Only a man in a funny red sheet
Looking for special things inside of me...
I'm only a man
Looking for a dream...

A super hero is the man or woman who refuses to let the world kill their dream. It may be the hardest job in the world.

I Kissed a Girl: An Appreciation

2008-07-14T20:57:17Z

And We Laughed at the World

Jill Sobule is simply my favorite songwriter. Her songs are witty, emotionally complicated and very personal. Only she could write them; they are handcrafted by someone who cares and is having a blast -- it shows. Real emotions, all natural, no fillers or additives. Can you say that of most of today's wienie whistle music? Look at the label of the cheap hot dogs before you buy them: mechanically separated chicken. OMG. R2D2 tearing a hen to bits as it screams. Nope, Give me my Jill!

With the zeal of a Sciencetologist, I am out to convert the world. I am going to show them the way. This is great music. All you have to do is hear it to know the truth. Oh, here is a brochure -- come to our meetings -- can I give you this lovely CD?

But I admit it, in the past no where on the CDs or in my talks will "I Kissed a Girl" come up. I just felt that people would form an immediate opinion of Jill and close down. They'd miss how varied and emotionally moving her work is. "Oh, that's the one hit wonder who did that cheesy novelty song. Is she still recording?" Ahhhhh! You're ignorant and missing out on an amazing, playful talent. I didn't want to go there, I left it off, always. I was wrong.

Katy Perry -- Hey, No Tongue!

Katy Perry has a song called "I Kissed a Girl" (IKAG). It isn't Jill's song but it is the 1,000th song in the rock era to go to number one. Katy's latest CD, what's it called, she's so good with original titles? Ymmmm...Sargent Pepper, Abbey Road, Gaia: One Woman's Journey? Damn, I forget. Oh yeah; One of the Hoes. It's doing well since a lot of kids are turning 13 and all need birthday gifts. They need their views of natural human sexuality retarded. The Catholic Church just doesn't have the power it used to. Luckily, Katy Perry is here to fill the void and make us feel dirty about what should be no big deal. Who says she is an EX-Christian singer? But as the real Pope, John Waters, said -- he was happy to be raised Catholic, "because sex will always be better because it will always be dirty" Thanks Katy -- your doing God's work, kid.

Yet, all the attention is good for Jill, I learned to appreciate how much her IKAG means to people. The new song is like that awful remake of Casablanca with David Soul. It made people run to see the REAL Casablanca. And isn't Jill's the REAL IKAG (in so many ways) and Katy's the FAKE IKAG?

Who's the better kisser? Who's cardboard kissing booth should you go to, plop down your fifteen bucks and pucker up? I Googled blogs (I love to say that!) and here are other voices from other rooms, Truman;

I was particularly excited because I thought it might be a remake of a 90's fav "I kissed a girl" by Jill Sobule. No... Ms. Perry's song is less about an actual desire for girls, and more about further objectifying women. The girl is just her "experimental game" and "its not what good girls do."

Lesbianism isn't a sport or hobby, nor should it be viewed as trying different flavors of ice cream. Kiss someone out of passion, lust, and desire. Don't kiss someone out of "curiosity" or an "experimental game." That's degrading to everyone involved. -Leela (Citizen Girl)

Katy Perry Irritates The Hell Out Of Me
Having a song called "I Kissed A Girl" up on your MySpace profile doesn't make it cool. OMG, Ur So Transgressive! Because you got drunk and made out with some other drunk girl! In other words, you've impressed some date-rapey fratboys. Jill Sobule wrote a song with that very title more than ten years ago and it was ten times better, because there was actual emotional content to her lyrics.

Call me back when you're actually an interesting human being with the ability to write songs. -glitteratigossip.com

Lots of bloggers are quick to point out that Jill Sobule did "I Kissed A Girl" first, and many of them think she did a better job as well. And while this is probably true...Perry's song...cheapens lesbianism and bisexuality to a spectator sport; it portrays Katy's sexuality as dumb, drunk and irresponsible. It reduces women, who have actually been curious about their attraction to women, as silly, experimental tarts. I'm tired of women allowing large marketing engines exploit them for fame. I'm tired of bisexuality being painted as a phase. -Jacalicious

And I have to say that I am much more a fan of Jill Sobule's "I Kissed a Girl" instead of this crap Katy Perry sang. Her's is the better lesbians kissing song for those of you who want to be cool like me. AND she has Fabio in the video. -yogaswir

Kiss Good Taste Goodbye
It was in this age of diversity that Jill Sobule... sang of a long-standing friendship that blossomed into something more. It was a story of discovery and personal awakening and it was catchy, bright and completely devoid of vulgarity.

Snap back to 2008. Katy Perry descends upon us with her identically titled but vastly different "I Kissed a Girl" and the souls of music lovers everywhere weep. -Darek

Dear Katy Perry, I Have Something For You To Kiss [My Ass]

Jill Sobule beat you to the punch 13 years ago with her hit song "I Kissed A Girl". Now, I know...they're different songs. In fact, they're very different. To start with, Sobule's song is, you know...good. It's a sly, subversive song about two women who start a lesbian relationship because the men in their lives aren't paying them any attention. Even though it's satirical, it's sincere, and that goes a long way. Your song is pretty much the opposite of Sobule's, in a very negative sense...

So, in conclusion Katy, you suck, your song sucks, your philosophy is questionable and your music is the product of a careful balancing of marketing factors rather than any real artistic process. GO AWAY. -THE GEEK PROSPECTUS

Now the next blog by Brad Laidman is so clear, it nails stupidity to the wall with such brilliance that I have to reproduce the whole scathing rant...and then bow down before it.

Girls Kissing Girls 13 Years Later
(http://bradlaidman.com/uncategorized/girls-kissing-girls-13-years-later/)
Thirteen years after Jill Sobule's hit I Kissed a Girl, Katy Perry is also dipping into forbidden waters with huge success, and yet amazingly despite the fact that Sobule's video features that pure essence of manhood that is Fabio, the original is still about 100 times more dangerous and subversive.

The Sobule song and video takes place in a pre-Paris Hilton world where women are doomed to cohabit and reproduce with a man no matter how dumb and insensitive he may be. The song openly thinks about the possibility that lesbian cohabitation might be a better more loving way to live, and if you check out Sobule's climactic explosion on her guitar's whammy bar - you know that more went on then kissing and for no better way to put it a happy ending was had by all. The song was written about a woman for women and it revels in the possibility of freedom.

The Katy Perry update? I'm not sure but it could very well have been written and produced by Larry Flynt or Bob Guccione. It's a fantasy, but clearly a male one straight out of the mindset of a guy jacking off to an adult feature set in a wild and crazy sorority house slumber party. Hot lingerie, pillow fights, and not a normal looking everyday woman allowed anywhere in the room. The only thing missing is Catholic High School outfits and long twisted candles.

The girl is drunk, she has a boyfriend, who she doesn't want to offend, but definitely hopes to titillate. There is no freedom at all. Although it's seen as an experimental right of passage, and perhaps somewhat enjoyable, it's all for the guys at home with their pants down around their ankles, and continues the ages old stereotype that although two guys kissing would be beyond gross, while two buxom girls going at is an added bonus at Christmas time.

Perry isn't kissing a girl, because she's curious, she's kissing one because her boyfriend has been aching to turn her out and turn himself on. She enjoys it a bit because - well, after all girls are gods hottest creation, but the chances of it continuing long term or going any further are almost non-existent outside of the possibility that Perry's boyfriend talks her into a three-way, with him as the focal point of both girls affection.

For a song that wants to seem subversive, it actually feeds into the historical chaining of woman as nothing but sex objects and slaves to their provider men. Yes, despite the fact that two girls are sort of getting it on it's all about the guy's hard on!

So I guess that since I'm a guy and the chicks are pretty hot, I don't really have much to complain about, but 13 years later it's hardly progress. -bradlaidman.com

Madonna-approved Katy Perry still can't figure out metro from homo - even with good gay-dar. -Chris Azzopardi

[That's a ringing endorsement from a woman who has made a career out of being insincere and shallow. And Madonna didn't tip Jill when Jill was her waitress. Bitch. Now that Madonna's latest CD has tanked she's doing a duet with Britney Spears (what Amy Winehouse out of breath, Kitten?) And Michael Jackson is hoping the Backstreet Boys will help his career. Backstreet Boys? DAMN! Pop has long ago eaten itself. All that's left is belching.]

There are literally hundreds of blogs on the subject. I'm glad to see people are thinking about Jill's song and writing thoughtfully about what it means to them. But I think Jill should have the last word. She mention that one day she will write a song about two girls in love...and no one will give a shit.

Jill Today.

Well, tomorrow is another day, Jill.

Big Kiss,

Vincent

My First Orgy

2008-07-07T22:39:26Z

Some people you meet and think; Wow, isn't she the smartest person in the room. The way they listen, their knowing smirk as they don't take themselves or anything too seriously. You feel they are way ahead of you -- and it can be fascinating.

Gyrlray is that person, she reminds me of a pixieish version of Winona Ryder, if Winona came from India; half the emotional baggage, all the same great sarcasm.

She was bragging about her daughter and how they'd make up songs together. I gave her a copy of "Camp Lisa" and she and her daughter loved it. She said she was on MySpace too. I was proud of my review of the CD, so I gave her MySpace address and asked her to be my buddy.

We started going off on funny tangents. Oh, these Kevlar gloves are great for petting sharks or emotionally troubled dolphins. I'd mention that I'm like an ostrich; bright, shiny things fascinate me.

"Yeah", she smiled, bringing up one leg to yoga position like a graceful flamingo. "Sorry, my chakras are out of wack. I get transfixed on bright shiny things too. That's why I'm a single mother today. Oh, I didn't say that. Moving right along," she said, batting her huge brown eyes.

She had the kind of mind that is always thinking. Always racing. Someone who is fun to talk to, if you can keep up.

Soooo -- this is what I'm thinking. Aw, she's such a good mother and a smart cookie. I'd love to read her blog and she could read mine. Grand. I've just made another friend.

I saw she had posted a new blog and checked it out. Her screen name was "Gyrl in the Boat" and it seemed to me like it was a sign up list for an orgy! Huh? There was her excitement over this girl whom she was bi-curious about.

Then the woman posted back that she was really interested in Gyrlray's attention. And then there was this guy who reminded me of "Right Said Fred" who sang "I'm Too Sexy" who wanted in -- as it were.

Was I supposed to be seeing this?! Was it just a joke? Was I being put on? Or were they just B.S.ing and I was taking the joke seriously. Like that doesn't happen a lot to me! Something is happening, Vincent, and you don't know what it is...do you, Mr. Jones? Nope, haven't a clue.

I felt like such a hick. It was my first day in 1920s Berlin and I stumbled into the Kit Kat club. I just looked around with my mouth opened.

God, I'd like to think I'm sooo hip. I'm such a liberal and nothing phases me -- I watch the cool movies and listen to left wing music. Nope. Kid, you are just a rube from Minnesota who doesn't know the ways of the world. You're not at all free of your Catholic views of normal human sexuality. You still blush when someone tells you a dirty joke. You still look away when a girl bends over so you won't embarrass her. Her? Ha, so I won't embarrass myself. Sure -- movies and music don't phase you -- but reality is a different world, isn't it? You need to spend a little more time there, you troubled dreamer, you.

I'm not Mister Cool -- I'd be square in the fifties, boy. This is soooo embarrassing, Be it joke or real, I find myself backing out like someone who opened a bedroom door without knocking. Didn't I hear the squeaking of the bed springs? Oh, I'm blushing and feel so stupid that I am blushing. I feel like I am in fifth grade and all the kids are pointing at me and laughing in Sex Ed class -- again.

Clearly, this was not meant for me. I could not post a damn thing that wouldn't show me off as the silly, thirteen year old boy, I felt like. How unsophisticated. I won't mention it to her at work. She'd probably never connected her blog and me. It never happened.

She's not sitting at home thinking of me -- obviously. Others are on her mind right now. And on her. Hmmm, she is cute -- I wonder how her party is going?

I look through the pictures on her site -- there is a nice one of her in a bathtub. Another of her kissing a girl. Another of her fondling a woman. She's way hipper than me. I felt so envious. She was only 30, she had a child she loved and had seen the world. And clearly kissed more girls than I had! Damn, this girl had a life! Gee, how was I talking so easily with her yesterday? She was a superhero, experience wise. Wow, what a woman.

Then I got an email. Crap. It was from her. She wanted to know if I worked tomorrow.

All that was going through my mind was; she was going to be cuddling a cute girl and I'd be sitting in her dimly lit, very humid apartment sweating like a dog with "Right Said Fred" smiling at me. And he was too sexy for me. I turned off the computer and went to bed. Vincent -- you're a loser.

The next morning I finished "Pick up, God -- It's Ellen" and wanted feed back. I decided to message Gyrlray. She was now "Sister Gyrlray". Huh? "Sister"? Where the hell was "Gyrl in the Boat"? Well, I asked her to look at my blog -- she'd love it. I'm no lover -- I'm a writer. And writers by nature are such voyeurs. We don't live lives -- we watch and write -- like that chick, Cristina Raines, in the movie "the Sentinel" (1977). She sits at the gates of hell guarding it, motionless and watching the world go by. It seems that the gates of hell are in an apartment building in New York. Of course they are.

Showing up at work, Gyrlray looked like she hadn't slept in three days. All her chakras were at her feet like untied shoelaces. She was about to trip over them and fall on her face with a muffled "splat". She was a Karmic mess.

Looking at me, she smirked, "Sorry, haven't read your blog yet -- I will."

I joked, "The boat sank, eh -- Sister?"

It didn't register. She shuffled away. Stopping as a 40 watter went on above her head, she turned and try to focus on me.

"Ohhh..." she groaned, "My site? Yeah, I used to run a brothel -- now it's a convent."

She walked away shaking her head. Talk about being under entirely new management.

Vincent
Umm -- Brother, Vincent.

Pick up, God -- It's Ellen!

2008-07-03T05:38:25Z

Jeanne,

One Sunday, when I was spending the weekend with you, you asked if I wanted to go to church with you. I declined and you playfully said you'd pray for me. A wise idea, of course.

I know your faith is strong. You told me how you prayed for your sister when she had cancer and vowed to wear a cross, and never take it off if she got well. She did and you kept your word. So I understand.

I have less faith -- I wish I had more but I don't and just pretending isn't right. Like Fox Mulder lost in a Canadian forest, "I want to believe". But faith can't be given, it must be found. I haven't found it yet. I left the church long ago and recently found I am not alone in being an ex-Catholic. Damn, the woods are full of them these days!

Joan Vennochi of the Boston Globe wrote, "Liberals raised as Catholics refuse to accept reality. We think we can be pro-choice, pro-gay marriage, pro-gay adoption, and in favor of married and female priests and still call ourselves Catholic. The people who make the rules say we don't meet the criteria.

“I know a lot of Catholics, gay and straight," said O'Connell, a lesbian mother of a 5-year-old daughter. “Everyone continues to go to church and act like their parish is not part of all of this -- the sexual scandal, the association to the Vatican and its stand on gay adoption. Everyone who believes that is in a state of denial."
Is a liberal Catholic an oxymoron? Is it like being in love with someone who hates your guts? "I'm staying with him because I know he'll come around." The church just pardon Galileo. It might be a bit of a wait.

Last year Jill Sobule sent me and her other fans a message to get over to her Yahoo Music blog and help her. She had just posted a positive story about how many religions were becoming more tolerant of gay marriage. Right away, I saw why she wanted help. It was a war zone. Where did they all come from? And all at once, like a bus load of thugs had pulled up at Jill's place and were beating her with lead pipes stuffed with Bible verses.
My friend, Nicole, said it was like witnessing another kind of violation as monsters took turns assaulting Jill. We couldn't stand by. We jumped in and tried to talk sense to these “people” who treated Jill like Satan himself.

Someone claimed that, "God, doesn't hate her. But she has to reject that whole girl kissing thing before God will allow her into his kingdom." (Hmm, does God like Jill's version or Katy's version best?) Could Jill just wipe her mouth -- or would she have to gargle too before they would crack the pearly gates. And would minty "Scope" be okay to get the girlie girl taste out of her mouth or would it have to be holy water?

Jill is Jewish, so does she have to use a different entrance? Maybe not, she did go to a Catholic school for a couple years. (Her parents thought it would make her settle down. Is this a threat a lot of Jewish parents use on their wild kids? "If you don't stop screwing around, we're sending you to Catholic School, bitch!" It didn't work, the biggest monsters -- the nuns -- thought the pixie-like Jill was cute, they'd never had a pet Jew before.)

JIll couldn't take the abuse on her blog anymore and wrote something to the effect, "how can you discuss with people like this?" before she turned off her computer and played ping pong or screamed at the wall for two minutes until blood ran out of her ears. It is sad, she just had a simple question and longed for a thoughtful answer; "If you live a good life, do good works and kiss a girl now and then, why are you not allowed in heaven?" So says the Pope. I mean, who has ever heard of a gay priest? Okay, put your damn hands down -- we are so moving along.

Jill isn't being a smart ass or trying to make fun of anyone's faith anymore than I am. It is something she really, deeply wonders about. She has written two heart breaking songs "Somewhere in New Mexico" and "Palm Springs" about her lonely quest to find something to believe in. But it is such a hot button issue. I don't think she has gotten a sensitive answer yet, just bible passages tossed in her face. You know, if you want to convert someone to your faith, that really seems like a piss poor way of doing it.

And the there's Ellen. She's about to get married. I guess she is going to hell too. Funny, I remember a routine she used to do where she called up God to ask him why do fleas exist but yet her friend, who she loved so dearly, had to die in a car crash? It was funny and deeply moving at the same time. Any one who can do that is my hero.

I hope Ellen still has God's number.

And, I'm sorry, Jeanne, but I do get this odd image of you switching on your favorite show, Ellen, and poof! Your cross suddenly melts and runs down your chest -- kind of like one of those old Dracula films. The next time you're in church, go in wearing your Indigo Girls shirt, lean over to the most conservative old woman you can find, I'm thinking she will look like Margaret Dumont, and say, "I heard the funniest joke on Ellen yesterday." Hilarity will ensue.

I just sent you and e-mail about how Olivia Newton-John's fans are eager to get her on the cover of "Curve" magazine (she is headlining a gay pride day too). Twenty years ago, I don't think they'd have done that. Today, they don't give it a second thought. To most people, it is no big deal...and it shouldn't be. You judge people by how kind they are. Do they think pretty or do they think ugly?

To some Jill, Ellen and Olivia, just aren't getting into heaven. I can't believe that. Maybe some people don't know anyone who is gay, lesbian or bi-sexual. They just watch old "Benny Hill" shows and laugh at the funny fairies.

Some days I go through hell. I turn around and there are some women who always have my back. I know when the chips are down, there is someone who cares and encourages me. Oh -- and will send me the most inappropriate E-mails -- that I better not forward! How sick -- how funny! Thank you, I needed that. It's rather amazing to have the same taste in women as a woman!

To me being Liberal is about caring. It is not survival of the fittest. I got mine -- pity about you. Honestly, Jill, Ellen and Olivia are my heroes. If they are going to hell, I’ll carry their bags. Because they care --- they are evil? Am I the only one who does the math on that one?

When I'm told that the kindest, gentlest women I know are going to hell. I know that is a lie. I see through it right away. And their only proof is an ambiguous translation into English of a very old text. Got anything more recent, sport? I don't have faith in that. Today, I only have faith in friendship and love.

Jeanne, you are a very liberal, loving person who is also a member of the Catholic church. You have the faith I have long ago lost. I don't expect you to find it for me. Only I can find faith in something -- somewhere. But I know you aren't expecting Jill, Ellen and Olivia to go to hell. You go to a Catholic church -- even though it is against so much of what you stand for -- love and tolerance.

Tell me more about what it does for you. I'm not trying to shake your faith. I am honestly trying to understand. I really am on a quest and do feel hollow some days without it. But I'll never start hating other people, just to make myself feel better. Someone said something like that 2,000 years ago and they nailed him to a tree. And just when did Christ become a Republican?

I know you'll be kind and understanding, won't tell me to go to hell or read me a passage from Matthew. Just open your heart -- and speak from it. If I'm writing my blog and I can't come up with a good lie -- I just do that and it seems to work. It would mean a lot to hear from that place.

Vincent -- a bit lost.

I guess what I’m hoping for is an open dialogue that didn’t happen on Jill’s blog. We tend to hear about God from the far rights point of view. You may post -- and I won’t mock you. I won’t mock anyone. This is where you tie up your dogma, come in and be thoughtful. Comment as if you want someone to finally understand your point of view after years of no one listening. I’m listening. Will I hear more than crickets? Will I hear God in your words?

Our Ms. Jeanne

Jeanne's Comments

A hoot. As to my religious beliefs, let's just say I'm a recovering Catholic. Unless you talk to my parents, wink, wink. My dad will be 80 this year and my mom 77, so out of respect of their ages, I still go to mass with them when I'm down in Roch. These days, I consider nature my "church"! I'm so sorry I was so righteous when you visited me and I said I would pray for you, that was complete rubbish!

Hey, Justin!

2008-07-01T02:45:36Z

Pop star Justin Timberlake says he suffers from OCD and ADD, a disorder which makes his life 'complicated'.

I'm sure it took a lot of courage to say that. People can be cruel, insensitive and don't understand. I've suffered from depression and tried to hide it. I felt so guilty and sure that it was all my fault. I was just broken -- and no one would ever understand. No one would ever be able to love me. I was wrong and wasted a good chuck of my life feeling so isolated. I'm happy for you, Justin. I think you will be feeling a little less alone. The healing will begin.

I probably wouldn't have written about you if you were a bulletproof fantasy. I write about real people with complicated, messy feelings. I probably also wouldn't have written about you if my buddy Kerry didn't have a grand idea.

In one day I'd gotten warm emails from Michelle Lewis (the producer of Lisa Loeb's great new CD), Jill Sobule, Uni and Tippy the Vegan. Yep, Tippy V. herself. I know -- I'm the man. And Kerry thought this whole music blog could be a good thing. "Hey Vincent," she said, "you need to blog on Justin Timberlake -- and oh yeah, mention that I'm hot and single!"

Hot and single!

Okay -- let's get to work. Hey, Justin -- buddy, over here. I need you to meet Kerry. She's swell. She is so chatty and sweet. Yes, being Irish, she has the gift of gab. Don't worry if you can't think of what to say. (I know you are really shy -- me too. It is our cross to bear, buddy. Us being so hunky and sensitive.) Don't worry, she'll do the talking! You'll love how she ends her quirky ideas with a cute sigh or "...ah...moving right along."

Carbon scoring? You boys have seen some action.

There's a child like gleam in her eyes and such enthusiasm. She's an artist: creative, smart, an emotionally rich painter who cares deeply. Her heart? Well, be gentle. It has been broken a few times -- some assembly required. But in any relationship that really matters -- that is the best part; finding where the pieces are and gently putting them back together. You'll be working on a mystery that may never have a solution. It is a mystery where even the victim doesn't know how it all happened. And if some of the pieces are missing (and they always are) you will have to make the ultimate sacrifice; give her part of your own heart to make her whole again.

Camp Lisa (Part II)

2008-06-27T23:53:07Z

Michelle Lewis (the co-writer and producer) of Camp Lisa was kind enough leave an amazing comment on MySpace site about my last post. I thought I'd share it here because it is so informative about how the CD was made -- and really made my day!

Aaaw! Thanks Vincent! You are truly the best! I have to say, although I know it will sound completely corny, but... you get me! I love that you busted the cookie stealer... did you see the picture on Lisa's website of Jill and Bea the Dog having a fabulous cuddle on the couch? We had such a great time making that record. I was between 6 and 8 months pregnant at the time! And it was the last thing I did before having Jackson (until starting the blog with Jill) so it has this kind of dreamy, past life feel to me.

Anyway, it's a really lovely review. So nice to know that the subtleties we were going for weren't lost. I think we meant for it to be more of a sentimental look at childhood summers, 70's AM radio and camp food than a "kid's record" so to speak. I hoped it would be the kind of thing that fans of Lisa's could listen to for themselves and then share with their kids, so the Princess Bride reference is SO appreciated!

Thank you so much! I'll pass this along to Lisa too. It will make her feel really good. :)

Who stole the cookies from the cookie jar?

Lisa Loeb, Jill Sobule or Michelle Lewis?

Jill, always empathetic, comforts Bea, It wasn't really Bea's fault.

Lisa Loeb needs to admit something to herself -- and to the world; baking "Hello Kitty" cookies and putting them in front of a dog -- that's just nasty. Lisa, give Bea a huge hug and say you're sorry!

Okay -- now let's work on Jill and smiling -- Jill.

Camp Lisa (Dance on the Muddy Lawn)

2008-06-24T01:13:57Z

I'll be honest, although I own most of Lisa Loeb's CDs, the main reason I bought this was because of the extra special guest stars: Michelle Lewis, Kay Hanley and Jill Sobule. Besides, Lisa's one of MySpace buddies and she shot us a bulletin saying that this CD really meant a lot to her and would help send children to camp that wouldn't otherwise have the chance.

Lisa Loeb

"Going Away" is a song I can't get out of my head - but I mean that in a good way! It charmed me right away and set the tone for the whole CD. Sure the kids may love this, but there are a lot of winks to the adults listening too, making this the "Princess Bride" of children's records;

But before I leave
There are some things I'm gonna need:
Got my soap and towel and toothpaste
My sunscreen, my shoes,
My name sewn in my underwear
So no one gets confused...

I can't think of better advice for any over-nighter. This is a sly list song worthy of Cole Porter. It also shows producer Michelle Lewis' (and co-writer of the original songs with Lisa) sense of playfulness. At the end are Chipmunk backup singers (or a tribute to the Bee Gees) and a snatch of whistling as the song fades out. I'm sure Michelle did it for no other reason than, "God, I've always wanted to do that!" And is there any better reason to do anything? The quirky sense of fun is infectious.

Michelle Lewis

"Best Friends" has the vividness and honesty that doesn't feel written but recalled;

I am from the city
Your from the middle of nowhere
And you don't talk to strangers
I'll talk to anyone who's there
But I like dogs and you like cats
I wear lots of colors
And you wear only black
But we don't take things too seriously
So you and me, we're the perfect pair.

"When it Rains" has such an airy, under produced quality. It trusts in the awesome beauty of Lisa and Michelle's voices and the power of its simple imagery -- the joy that comes from just having a friend;

We could mope around together
Or grab our boots and your red umbrella
And dance on the muddy lawn.

"The Cookie Jar Song" has a dreamy, hypnotic feel to it. In a time when so many CDs are recorded on 64 tracks with parts being recorded weeks apart and in different cities, it is great to hear what happens when three people get together in one room and just sing. The playful interplay between Michelle Lewis, Jill Sobule and Lisa Loeb is warm and unforced. I smirk thinking at how many takes were blown as one of them broke up laughing part way through the song. It's the kind of real moment that gives the CD it's tenderness and charm. This really is art. But art to be hung on the fridge, not handled with white gloves.

This is also a concept album. Oh, remember those? Yeah, yeah...I know, but don't worry. You don't have to sit through that dorkie poetry before you hear "Nights in White Satin". It, at it's honest heart, is about the comfort of just having a friend. Somehow, this might mean more to the parents than to the kids listening. They don't know yet what a struggle that can be -- or how important it is.

About a month ago Lisa shot me and her buddies on MySpace another message. She wanted to know which of her CDs was my favorite. I didn't answer then, but I will now. This one, Lisa.

Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar? Hmmmm...

To buy Camp Lisa go to Barnes and Noble's site:

http://music.barnesandnoble.com/Camp-Lisa/Lisa-Loeb/e/634457199927

Fan Dance (I Use My Blindfold to Dry the Tears)

2008-06-15T23:45:14Z

At the Creators at Carnegie (a live show on NPR) Sam Phillips said before singing “Fan Dance”;

“That term torch as in tortured, torch as in carrying a torch for someone; you love them but they don’t love you. But you still have hope. And ummm -- we’ve come here tonight to tell you that hope will kill you -- so stop that.”

"Fan Dance” is an amazingly atmospheric song that reeks of decadence -- the Weill/Brecht type. It is full of longing and world weariness. Eric Gorfain’s stroh violin gives just the right oriental feel to the live version of the song.

The violinist puts his violin away
Forbidden city broken into tonight
I use my blindfold to dry the tears
The stage is empty and tired of light

“I love the rye humor of “I use my blindfold to dry the tears,” but like any good joke it stings with truth -- of being in a relationship that just stops us from thinking straight. Hell, I have a drawer full of blindfolds. I was going to comment on the rest of the lyrics. But really. Why? Either you read them and know exactly what is happening deep, deep down or you don’t and probably never will.

But when I do the fan dance
I'm firecracker lightning
I burn with no trace up in the cold sky
I am broken open
Waiting for inventions Of light
that see through to love

When I do the fan dance
I'm all the red in China
You write your questions on my skin
I'll be in your dark streets
To keep the lantern burning
Until your new world begins.

You write your questions on my skin,” that image of complete vulnerability is amazing to me. Only in dreams can we usually meet someone that hands us a brush, some red ink and supplies themselves as a canvas. Finally, you can say what you really think -- without them running away screaming...as they always seem to, in the end. And then the lights go out; “I'll be in your dark streets to keep the lantern burning until your new world begins.”

We sit in the dark waiting for them and a new beginning that will make all the pain worthwhile. But for how long? An hour? Forever?

Sam has a new CD out called “Don’t Do Anything” that paints a heartbreaking world of longing. I will write more about that soon -- but the trouble is picking a song. They are all masterpieces.
Follow the link to the concert, Creators at Carnegie; Sam Phillips, Unplugged. Yep -- it is free;

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4485527

You may buy her CDs Fan Dance and Don’t Do Anything at Sam Phillip’s site www.samphillipsmusic.com/

October in Paris (My Self-worth is Absent)

2008-06-14T01:22:52Z

Oh, October in Paris. The title promises so much; love, wine and lights. Yes, the city of lights. This has to be a romantic, happy song. No. Not so much. Someone was SUPPOSED to be there but he or she has bailed, leaving the songwriter grappling with the tragedy of being in the most romantic city in the world -- alone.

This is a single moment from a great movie or novel. We aren't told what happened before or what will happen next. A world exists on either side; we simply enter at a critical moment in this wonderful Jill Sobule song;

October in Paris
It's not a great night
Everyone's pissy
The trains are on strike.

And then comes the most vivid lyric of the song;

It's raining in Paris
The red traffic lights
Stream like mascara
defusing the sky.

It's impressionistic like a great painting...but also shows her emotional state unraveling.

It just reminds me
How much I dislike
Monet's Water Lilies.

Suddenly the song itself falls apart in crippling self-doubt as she starts attacking her own lyrics. It's a laugh out loud moment for me -- that hides a scream.

And it's so pathetic
When someone name drops
Puts famous dead artists
And Paris in song.
Please forgive me for
All I've done wrong.
Today my self-worth is absent.

This song was on her Valentine CD called "Be Mine... Please" (2000). Clearly, this is a CD you don't give to someone else. It's for you -- when you're in desperate need of solace. It reminds me of buying the fanciest box of chocolate for someone special. And they leave you before you can give it to them. So you sit alone in the dark eating the damn things.

You're absent --
You're gone --
You left me
In the storm...

Be Mine... Please was an independent EP by Jill Sobule, released in 2000. Sub-titled "Melancholy Valentine and one happy song", my buddy, Nicole, who kindly supplied me with the song asked, "What was the 'happy one' on the CD?" Certainly not this one.

Super 8 (Before She Sliced Her Wrists)

2008-06-13T05:55:49Z

Kids are so lucky, not a care in the world. Just thinking about it causes nostalgia for a less complicated time to rush over us like a Norman Rockwell painted drug. I guess you have it with your turkey and kindly, grinning Grandma. It's a hallucinogen.

Watching an old home movie of a birthday party can bring it on. Memories flicker by on two screens; the one in the room and the one in your head. These two worlds are captured so well in Jill Sobule's song "Super 8";

Cones and Roman candles in the sky,
Fourth of July
The dog's crouched in the basement,
Dad was still alive
The fading grain of Super 8
makes everything seem really great
And I look as happy as a clam...

The camera never lies. It records reality. You can bring the film into court and gets someone's ass thrown in jail. But it can't get inside a child's world. With braces on her legs and big shoes, to correct a deformity, the other kids called Jill "Frankenstein". What is on the screen, isn't really what happened. More than the clown was rented for the day.

Another birthday party
With the braces on my legs
The rented clown made cotton candy
And animal balloons
It looks like I had lots of friends,
they laugh with me into the lens.

Hey, there's Carol Fango
before she sliced her wrists
Take me back,
Take me home,
To the world that never,
The world that never,

To the world that never...[was]

Jill actually used her childhood friend's real full name in the song. And Carol didn't really slash her wrists -- she just died to Jill and vanished. They stopped being friends and Jill never knew why. I'm sure it was one of those, "why don't you love me anymore" moments that can crush an ego and can bring on self hate. A "will anyone ever love me again" tragedy that can seem so trivial -- if you aren't going through it.

Just as this CD was released Jill ran into Carol -- and Carol's daughter. Her daughter LOVED Jill's previous CD and couldn't wait to hear the new one. Crap. They hugged and Jill said she'd send them a very special version of her new CD. It would be one song short.

The song somehow manages to be both tender yet very acid. It has a wistful sadness that doesn't feel bitter -- just honest. Looking back, she can't help but see it all too clearly. The songwriter is blessed, and cursed, by not being able to bullshit herself.

'Super 8" is from Jill Sobule's Happy Town CD (1997)