juniper pearl's rockin' month in rock review
so, the move, as you may by now have surmised, was a success. i'm unpacked and furnished and equipped with nearly all* the necessary utilities and amenities (including internet service; thank you for your concern), and i'd like to share a little something with all of you:
living alone rocks.
it rocks hard. it rocks like your first pair of combat boots. it rocks like dethklok. it rocks like you and your air guitar/drums always knew you were rocking. it does not rock like this:
and all this rocking has pumped me full of more enthusiasm than a sublingual meth injection. i've become an honest-to-goodness doer, and while it's taken me some time to shake off the mania of it all and achieve some balance between doing and thinking (which i've been a lifelong fan of and, quite frankly, have begun to miss), i'm at a point now where i can begin to allow a little of the outside world into my four-room nest, and maybe a little more of me into your nests, if you'll still have me. while i'm taking some deep breaths, for those of you who are interested, here's a run-down of some of the things i've been so ardently immersed in the doing of over the past few weeks.
1. the somerville theatre, within walking distance of my new happy hideaway, is a stellar place to catch fairly new movies and some great, if frequently lesser-known, musical acts. every thursday in september the theater screened four eyed monsters, a charming, astonishingly honest, no-budget movie created and being self-distributed by susan brice and arin crumley, who are also the film's stars and who have financed the entire endeavor on their credit cards. the movie is largely autobiographical and chronicles the couple's meeting, subsequent disbanding, and ultimate inability to resist each other's pervasive, beautiful oddness.** they shot the movie on some sort of fancy digital camera which arin explained the workings of very succinctly during the q & a following the september 14 screening, but that was weeks ago, and i don't even own a regular camera, so if you want details you'll have to ask him yourself. (don't be shy, i think he'd be happy to tell you all about it.) there's also a lot of animation cut in, courtesy of susan. the overarching theme is communication and how the hell anyone figures out how to engage in it successfully. arin and susan chose to try not speaking, and it worked so well on their first date that they kept it up--for four months. anyone who knows me knows how much i love not speaking, and while not everyone has been willing to humor me about it, a stoic few have been incredibly indulgent. i love them best, and i'll be buying each of them a copy of this film the second it's released. the piece is apparently in constant production--the version we saw was different from the one that was first released, and the dvd version will be different from both of those--but i imagine each incarnation is a little bit better than the last.
2. the middle east is not within walking distance, but i could ride a bicycle there in practically no time, if i could ride a bicycle. instead i take the train, and that suits me just fine. more or less all of the club's shows are $12, no matter how phenomenal the bands are (and they're usually pretty spectacular). the interior is just the right size and perfectly climate controlled; there's even an elevated area off to the side where i can lean on the banister and read a book between acts, allowing me to avoid any unnecessary, nonrocking social interaction. most recently (september 16) i went to see say hi to your mom and craig wedren, who were opening for the wrens. i had never heard of the wrens, but the two openers were more than worth the $12 for me, and after say hi to your mom played "blah blah blah" and "let's talk about spaceships" and craig wedren played about two-thirds of pony express record, possibly the best album by his former band, shudder to think, and a collection of songs that i spent many, many, many dimly lit teenage evenings writing heinous poetry in my bedroom to, i would have felt fine about walking out the second the wrens hit the stage. i did no such thing, though, because THE WRENS ARE ROCK GODS. here's me as the wrens took the stage:
and here's me fifteen seconds into their first song:
my radiant expression of tufted glee didn't fade for an instant throughout the rest of the set, and it broke my heart to have to walk out during the (hopefully) last song of the encor to catch the final train back home. i will say this once and never again, but know that i am repeating it to myself day in and day out like the world's least centering mantra: boston's public transportation system is lame as a penguin with a peg leg. it shuts down far too early, and i am teeming with resentment over it. stopping the runs before 1 AM makes the city almost useless to anyone but the students who live in dorms built on top of clubs and bars and people with enough disposable income to be able to afford both a night out and the obscene cab fare and/or parking fees that accompany the drive to the chosen venue. granted, these expenses might not be so off-putting to someone who didn't travel in such persistent solitude, but still. we can't run the trains until 1:30? seriously? that's bunk.
enough of that, though. the wrens: embrace them. and as for other people and things you know nothing about, well, i'd maintain a safe distance, but also an open and inquisitive mind.
3. mcintyre and moore is a killer used book store whose inventory covers almost every imaginable topic. they're open until 11 PM every night and have lots of quiet corners for you to hide in while you read one of the dozen books you decided you couldn't let yourself buy that day, like a less austere library. they also host a monthly philosophy cafe, which i've yet to attend. a thing like that could be wonderful or brutal, but i'll never know unless i try, i guess. i'll probably check it out this month, and odds are you'll get a vivid report either way. this bookstore is now second in my heart only to the shire, the musty, floor-to-ceiling-shelved eden of my youth, whose proprietor still remembers both my face and my name. she's a special, special woman, whose business i would not at all mind inheriting one day.*** sadly, i haven't been able to find an unwritten-in copy of the katherine woods translation of the little prince at either place. a former roommate had a copy that i loved near unto death, and when i asked recently if i could maybe borrow it for a little while, he said he had "gotten rid of it." in my shiny imaginary world no one ever throws books away, especially not this one, but, well, i think he probably threw it away. needless to say, no one i know will be leaving their magical book palace to him any time soon.
4. the paradise, ever so aptly named, is far and away my favorite venue on the planet. not only does it have a second-floor balcony that wraps around the entire club, it has seats and sofas right up against portions of said balcony, so when i'm reading my book in between bands i can relax without ceding my vantage point. there's always a free place to park, even, so i never have to walk away with those "i know the second i hit the sidewalk they started playing the one song i've been dying to hear them play for the past ten years" blues. the paradise lounge, in the front of the building, is teensy-tiny and generally filled with a lot of people who aren't necessarily interested in the musical performance, and sometimes the security guards will try to hit on you, but the coziness of the room is unbeatable when it comes to acoustic acts, like evan dando when he's sans band or jay clifford, (former?) swoon-inducing vocalist of jump, little children (newly beloved of zach braff and oldly beloved of me) and rosebud and lovely, lovely, lovely man who once held a bathroom door for me at the iron horse in northampton, ma, and who played the lounge on september 24. he walked on stage and immediately asked the audience members what they wanted to hear, which was so precious and chill, and then he played every song we'd asked for, which was just fucking shocking. he was quite impressed with our knowledge of his back catalog, and he played us some new things, and the early sunday show ended in time for me to get home and watch metalocalypse, and i fell asleep thoroughly rocked and immensely contented.
5. september 27 was john hodgman at the b. b., and i'm sure you've had just about enough of that, so i won't say any more. i have decided, though, to lob a third pitch at the booksmith and see if it can at least foul its way onto a plate--tonight i'm going to do everything i can to both see and hear david rakoff, author of don't get too comfortable and fraud. my bar is now painfully low, so maybe i won't leave in tears. we'll see.
6. the last september event was yo la tengo at avalon, but i think i'm going to give that a room of its own. you'll have it in your trembling, sweaty hands before i get around to summarizing the jon stewart experience i'm looking forward to this friday, but that may not mean much in terms of expedience. i am doing all i can, kids, and even when what i'm doing has zero to do with this blog, you are never far from my thoughts. much love, people, much love.
over and out.
* there are still no curtains in the front room. please don't peep.
** i've succumbed to it as well and would beg them to take me in as their pet--if i didn't know how hard living alone rocks.
*** HINT
living alone rocks.
it rocks hard. it rocks like your first pair of combat boots. it rocks like dethklok. it rocks like you and your air guitar/drums always knew you were rocking. it does not rock like this:
and all this rocking has pumped me full of more enthusiasm than a sublingual meth injection. i've become an honest-to-goodness doer, and while it's taken me some time to shake off the mania of it all and achieve some balance between doing and thinking (which i've been a lifelong fan of and, quite frankly, have begun to miss), i'm at a point now where i can begin to allow a little of the outside world into my four-room nest, and maybe a little more of me into your nests, if you'll still have me. while i'm taking some deep breaths, for those of you who are interested, here's a run-down of some of the things i've been so ardently immersed in the doing of over the past few weeks.
1. the somerville theatre, within walking distance of my new happy hideaway, is a stellar place to catch fairly new movies and some great, if frequently lesser-known, musical acts. every thursday in september the theater screened four eyed monsters, a charming, astonishingly honest, no-budget movie created and being self-distributed by susan brice and arin crumley, who are also the film's stars and who have financed the entire endeavor on their credit cards. the movie is largely autobiographical and chronicles the couple's meeting, subsequent disbanding, and ultimate inability to resist each other's pervasive, beautiful oddness.** they shot the movie on some sort of fancy digital camera which arin explained the workings of very succinctly during the q & a following the september 14 screening, but that was weeks ago, and i don't even own a regular camera, so if you want details you'll have to ask him yourself. (don't be shy, i think he'd be happy to tell you all about it.) there's also a lot of animation cut in, courtesy of susan. the overarching theme is communication and how the hell anyone figures out how to engage in it successfully. arin and susan chose to try not speaking, and it worked so well on their first date that they kept it up--for four months. anyone who knows me knows how much i love not speaking, and while not everyone has been willing to humor me about it, a stoic few have been incredibly indulgent. i love them best, and i'll be buying each of them a copy of this film the second it's released. the piece is apparently in constant production--the version we saw was different from the one that was first released, and the dvd version will be different from both of those--but i imagine each incarnation is a little bit better than the last.
2. the middle east is not within walking distance, but i could ride a bicycle there in practically no time, if i could ride a bicycle. instead i take the train, and that suits me just fine. more or less all of the club's shows are $12, no matter how phenomenal the bands are (and they're usually pretty spectacular). the interior is just the right size and perfectly climate controlled; there's even an elevated area off to the side where i can lean on the banister and read a book between acts, allowing me to avoid any unnecessary, nonrocking social interaction. most recently (september 16) i went to see say hi to your mom and craig wedren, who were opening for the wrens. i had never heard of the wrens, but the two openers were more than worth the $12 for me, and after say hi to your mom played "blah blah blah" and "let's talk about spaceships" and craig wedren played about two-thirds of pony express record, possibly the best album by his former band, shudder to think, and a collection of songs that i spent many, many, many dimly lit teenage evenings writing heinous poetry in my bedroom to, i would have felt fine about walking out the second the wrens hit the stage. i did no such thing, though, because THE WRENS ARE ROCK GODS. here's me as the wrens took the stage:
and here's me fifteen seconds into their first song:
 |
my radiant expression of tufted glee didn't fade for an instant throughout the rest of the set, and it broke my heart to have to walk out during the (hopefully) last song of the encor to catch the final train back home. i will say this once and never again, but know that i am repeating it to myself day in and day out like the world's least centering mantra: boston's public transportation system is lame as a penguin with a peg leg. it shuts down far too early, and i am teeming with resentment over it. stopping the runs before 1 AM makes the city almost useless to anyone but the students who live in dorms built on top of clubs and bars and people with enough disposable income to be able to afford both a night out and the obscene cab fare and/or parking fees that accompany the drive to the chosen venue. granted, these expenses might not be so off-putting to someone who didn't travel in such persistent solitude, but still. we can't run the trains until 1:30? seriously? that's bunk.
enough of that, though. the wrens: embrace them. and as for other people and things you know nothing about, well, i'd maintain a safe distance, but also an open and inquisitive mind.
3. mcintyre and moore is a killer used book store whose inventory covers almost every imaginable topic. they're open until 11 PM every night and have lots of quiet corners for you to hide in while you read one of the dozen books you decided you couldn't let yourself buy that day, like a less austere library. they also host a monthly philosophy cafe, which i've yet to attend. a thing like that could be wonderful or brutal, but i'll never know unless i try, i guess. i'll probably check it out this month, and odds are you'll get a vivid report either way. this bookstore is now second in my heart only to the shire, the musty, floor-to-ceiling-shelved eden of my youth, whose proprietor still remembers both my face and my name. she's a special, special woman, whose business i would not at all mind inheriting one day.*** sadly, i haven't been able to find an unwritten-in copy of the katherine woods translation of the little prince at either place. a former roommate had a copy that i loved near unto death, and when i asked recently if i could maybe borrow it for a little while, he said he had "gotten rid of it." in my shiny imaginary world no one ever throws books away, especially not this one, but, well, i think he probably threw it away. needless to say, no one i know will be leaving their magical book palace to him any time soon.
4. the paradise, ever so aptly named, is far and away my favorite venue on the planet. not only does it have a second-floor balcony that wraps around the entire club, it has seats and sofas right up against portions of said balcony, so when i'm reading my book in between bands i can relax without ceding my vantage point. there's always a free place to park, even, so i never have to walk away with those "i know the second i hit the sidewalk they started playing the one song i've been dying to hear them play for the past ten years" blues. the paradise lounge, in the front of the building, is teensy-tiny and generally filled with a lot of people who aren't necessarily interested in the musical performance, and sometimes the security guards will try to hit on you, but the coziness of the room is unbeatable when it comes to acoustic acts, like evan dando when he's sans band or jay clifford, (former?) swoon-inducing vocalist of jump, little children (newly beloved of zach braff and oldly beloved of me) and rosebud and lovely, lovely, lovely man who once held a bathroom door for me at the iron horse in northampton, ma, and who played the lounge on september 24. he walked on stage and immediately asked the audience members what they wanted to hear, which was so precious and chill, and then he played every song we'd asked for, which was just fucking shocking. he was quite impressed with our knowledge of his back catalog, and he played us some new things, and the early sunday show ended in time for me to get home and watch metalocalypse, and i fell asleep thoroughly rocked and immensely contented.
5. september 27 was john hodgman at the b. b., and i'm sure you've had just about enough of that, so i won't say any more. i have decided, though, to lob a third pitch at the booksmith and see if it can at least foul its way onto a plate--tonight i'm going to do everything i can to both see and hear david rakoff, author of don't get too comfortable and fraud. my bar is now painfully low, so maybe i won't leave in tears. we'll see.
6. the last september event was yo la tengo at avalon, but i think i'm going to give that a room of its own. you'll have it in your trembling, sweaty hands before i get around to summarizing the jon stewart experience i'm looking forward to this friday, but that may not mean much in terms of expedience. i am doing all i can, kids, and even when what i'm doing has zero to do with this blog, you are never far from my thoughts. much love, people, much love.
over and out.
* there are still no curtains in the front room. please don't peep.
** i've succumbed to it as well and would beg them to take me in as their pet--if i didn't know how hard living alone rocks.
*** HINT
Labels: books, cinema, confessional, music
posted by juniper pearl @ 12:01 PM
5 Comments:
At 5:11 PM,
Reel Fanatic said…
I have nothing more profound to say than Dethklok just kicks royal ass
At 11:40 AM,
juniper pearl said…
supposedly they're putting out an album of all of the songs featured on the show, which is, like, so sweet. it's hard to believe that this is coming from the same brendon small who made the cute-as-otters home movies.
At 11:47 AM,
zoe p. said…
Living alone does rock. I also like eating alone, drinking alone, jogging alone and going to movies alone.
As for curtains in the front room, who needs 'em?
Best of luck in the new place.
At 12:48 PM,
juniper pearl said…
it's not need so much as want regarding the curtains; the room is very beige, and i've no love of beige. i just can't seem to haul my lazy ass down to the fabric store.
we self-sufficient women will slowly conquer the planet, i'm sure, until it's just you and me battling highlander-style on a cliff somewhere. know that when i relieve you of your head it will be with the most sincere professional respect.
why do so many people hate/fear solitude? i find it to be both soothing and liberating. i am, i think, overly influenced by my passion for bohr's theory of complementarity, which, in a brutally constrained nutshell, purports that no thing is truly itself unless it's in a vacuum. but i do think more people would learn to enjoy the experience if they gave it a decent chance.
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