Archives for posts with tag: Music

Growing up, I was one of those Midwestern kids who said I liked all kinds of music, except country of course. Anything but gross, stereotypical, tractor-lovin country. Then I grew up, apparently used my sense of hearing for the first time, and realized how naïve I had been. Country is awesome. Well, some country is awesome. Patsy Cline, Dolly Parton, Johnny-Fucking-Cash.

Recently I came across this slowed down version of Dolly Parton’s song, Jolene:

It’s haunting. It’s heartbreaking. It’s lovely. Then again, so is the original:

Jolene tells a better story than half the books I’ve read recently. Our dear narrator, Dolly, doesn’t have the bravado one would expect of this genre. She’s been bested. She’s humbled.  “Please don’t take him, even though you can.” She’s fighting for her man by begging the green-eyed, auburn locked, adulterer to have pity on her. She isn’t condemning the other woman. She isn’t threatening her. She begs. That narrative kills me every time!

That is all.

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Although I don’t really do live music, I saw Ingrid Michaelson in Des Moines some years ago. I shouldn’t be allowed at concerts. That many people in such a small space makes me anxious. I end up drinking too much and taking pictures I’ll regret.

Like this:

ingrid1

And this:

ingrid2

Oh the coping skills of youth..

Anyways, her new video for the song Girls Chase Boys is amazing. It’s visually (and beautifully) an homage to Robert Palmer’s Simply Irresistible. If you haven’t seen it, go do that now. I’ll wait:

Amazing right?

Ingrid’s interpretation/remake says as much about music’s double standards as it does about the public’s expectations of fame. While the dancers wear heavy stage makeup and form fitting tank tops, Ingrid’s looks is subtler (other than that cleavage). She has the power here. Above all that, it’s a damn catchy song.

Atta girl.

Every summer a certain song or two sticks to my psyche. This summer one of those wonderfully sticky songs is Lorde’s Royals.

That beat. That voice. Swoon.

Sabrina Chap, my girlfriend’s  friend and amazing burlesque singer, came to Minneapolis this weekend and played a low-key backyard concert. We arrived just as the acoustic trio Hummingbirds were finishing. The whole setup was so goddamn sweet I’m bummed we didn’t arrive earlier.

Some of Sabrina’s stuff can be a little bawdy, a little political but that girl can work a crowd. People hooted. Couples cuddled. Even the baby in attendance loved it, dancing atop his father’s shoulders. As the end of her set neared, Sabrina wanted to play a Liz Phair song for my dear girl but didn’t remember all the lyrics. Fear not! Minnesota nice came through. Lynn O’Brien of the Hummingbirds held the lyrics of Fuck and Run AND harmonized a bit.

The sweetness grows.

I don’t go to many shows – social anxiety, party-pooperness, whatever – but this might make me change my tune. This crowd of people didn’t exude the usual selfishness of concert goers. I felt only love. So much love I would have thought someone slipped something into my beer if I wasn’t clutching the six-pack of Oberon under my knees for easy access.

Oh Minneapolis, I love you when you’re not steeling my stuff.

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