also...

...because if you haven't seen this yet, you're missing out.

life lately: spring & st. patrick

1,2: tea at dobra

3: white whiskey punch

4: spring cider/camel's hump

5: my first summer dress

6: dreaming of cape cod

7: solipsist (@ art club)

8: sap season

9, 10: st patrick's day @ white rock

11: mud season

in which this is the foggy dew

The past couple of days have been foggy, rain hovering (unfallen, luckily) overhead--a lot like Ireland, really, which is appropriate considering that St. Patrick's Day is this weekend. I guess you can call this my pastel tribute to St. Paddy. It's kind of funny, I really don't own any green clothes. Or purple, for that matter. They just don't really look that good on me (I'm so pale, they usually just make me look sickly and/or tired). Anyway, this is never really a problem until St. Patrick's Day rolls around and I need a green outfit to wear onstage. Last year I cheated and just wore green tights, but I may have to pull a similar stunt this Saturday...

(sweater/belt/blouse: goodwill; socks: uo; shoes: lulu*s)

Tonight is Art Club, and then I'm off into the woods for the weekend! Here's hoping my car survives the drive (you haven't experienced mud season until you've been to rural Vermont in early spring). And I'll leave you with a traditional Irish song (more for my benefit--I'll be singing it for the first time on Saturday and I need to try my best to remember the words!):

The Foggy Dew

'Twas down by the glen one Easter morn, to a city far road I

When Ireland's lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by

No pipe did hum and no battle drum did sound its dread tattoo

But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey swell rang out in the foggy dew

Right proudly high over Dublin town they hung out a flag of war

'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than in Sulva or Sud El Bar

Then from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through

While Brittania's sons with their long range guns sailed in from the foggy dew

'Twas England bade our wild geese go that small nations might be free

Their lonely graves by Sulva's waves on the fringe of the gray North Sea

But had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Valera true

Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep on the hills of the foggy dew

The bravest fell and the solemn bell rang mournfully and clear

For those that died that Eastertide in the springing of the year

And the world did gaze in deep amaze at those fearless men and true

Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew

in which the weekend is over

This is a very typical Monday outfit, and a very typical Monday blog post (quick and late).

(dress/scarf: thrifted; hat: tjmaxx; shoes: minnetonka)

I had a very relaxing weekend, for the most part. Saturday I went back to my hometown to play a few songs at a fundraiser with my dad and brother... but first we all got dinner at Claire's in Hardwick (I got the polenta). Here's a glimpse into my afternoon:

(Only in Vermont would two children in a pony carriage be allowed to take to the main road like that, sans parental supervision...)

On Sunday I literally read the entire day. I did get up a bit later than I would have liked, skipped over to the market for the week's shopping, and then huddled into the couch for the remainder of the day. There wasn't much else to do this weekend--it was unbelievably cold!

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day! Any fun plans? :)

last night: charles bradley and his extraordinaires

(Apologies for the terrible phone pics--I don't even have an iPhone, but I had to capture it somehow!)

After last night, I really believe that Charles Bradley is the most important thing to happen to music in years. His album is great, but his live performance is the stuff of legend. I had a revelation, while watching him, that the reason so much of music today falls flat and feels like so much yawning sameness is because it doesn't really have soul. Not really. And yes, Charles is a "soul singer," but the definition does not make the man. So many bands today are formed by YouTube-happy teenagers who haven't the slightest idea what life is really about, and even if those bands grow and change they do so in a sort of musician's unreality. They stick with simple, angsty themes--songs about first love or heartbreak or the pressures of youth--songs that seemingly apply to everyone and yet, in their generality, to no one (like horoscopes, or dream analysis), as as they grow up they predictably go on to lament still more lost loves and the pressures of minor fame (the usual afflictions of the upper class). So often it seems like they don't really feel those things--they're living their lives merely for material, to write still more songs about the same things.

The great thing about Charles Bradley is that he has really lived. He suffered, and struggled, and was been forced to settle for less and grind away in the dull aching agony of dreams unfulfilled. And then, miraculously, he started making it. His isn't the story of a man who grew up in a suburban home in New Jersey and played the small clubs of New York for decades for a pittance and a pathetic crowd. He was born in Florida, grew up on the streets of Brooklyn, and spent the better part of his adult life working as a chef in Maine, Alaska, and California before finally returning to New York to pursue his passion for music. Even without knowing his background, the genuine feeling that comes across when he is onstage is remarkably, unmistakably real. He carries a great sadness with him, but is also filled with tremendous joy and gratitude--how many men can say their dreams came true at 65?

When it comes to Charles Bradley, I almost have no words. You have to experience his genius to believe it. He is a modern James Brown (sequins and all), with a splash of Marvin Gaye, and a whole lot of raw, honest soul (and wild dance moves). His story is one that inspires--it's never too late to be great.

last night: natalie macmaster

Last night my parents took my brother and me to see Natalie MacMaster in St. Johnsbury. The photo is terrible, but the show was amazing! Natalie is a fiddler from Cape Breton, an island off Nova Scotia with a pretty incredible fiddling tradition, and a culture strongly influenced by the Highland Scots and Irish who settled there centuries ago. Not only is Natalie an unbelievably talented fiddler, but she is just bubbling over with joy and passion for her art, and the energy she has on stage is infectious. At one point, she "invited" us to a typical Christmas Party at her parents' house, and as she described the scene I truly felt like I was there--tapping my feet beside the piano in the cozy Cape living room, or step-dancing on the aged wooden floors while fiddlers of all ages played rollicking folk jigs.

This is the life that I want. I want to have and attend parties where people play music in living rooms and everyone dances and drinks and is merry, always. The concert made me appreciate more than ever my family, and the folk songs we play together, and all of the dancing and merriment that goes along with it. It made me realize how important it will be to keep that tradition alive in future generations--to play music simply for the pure joy of it, and to keep it raw, and real, and honest. It also made me wish I had never put down my fiddle. And maybe I'll try to pick it up again in the New Year :)

It made me appreciate more than ever where I grew up, in the middle of nowhere in rural Vermont, where the winters are harsh but the community is close (probably to counteract the effects of the cold), where friends are for life and family is for longer and you have to make your own music if you want to dance.

(It was quite a show.)

last night: gogol bordello

Last night K and I went to see Gogol Bordello perform at Higher Ground, and it was awesome. This band has to be the most genuinely cool group of musicians out there. Eugene is like a giant, pulsing slab of heart on stage, encouraging the audience to truly live on the dance floor--to revel in the pure "joy of existence". Of course, he was stirring up the mosh pit when he spoke those words, but in his exuberance he captured everything that I love so much about dancing. And boy, did I dance.

Dancing to me has always been a purely personal experience, and I totally go for it every time--no matter who is there or what the music is like, I will probably be the wildest dancer in the room. There is just something about it that is so freeing. I initially became interested in Sufi Mysticism for this very reason--the whirling dance of dervishes is their form of prayer, and the Sema represents a man's mystical journey beyond ego, through love and truth, and finally to perfection. I've always felt that way about dancing, and while I prefer a wide berth to the bruising, top-stomping of the mosh pit, Gogol Bordello is one of those bands that really makes you feel like you're whirling a little closer toward whatever version of Nirvana you aspire to.

The encore was at least an hour long--they just kept playing and playing and playing and we kept dancing and dancing and dancing. Eugene has roots here in Vermont (this is where he was resettled as a political refugee when he first came to the States), and it was obvious that he has great love and appreciation for the "fucking amazing" energy of his fans here. I'd never seen the band perform live before, but it was quite the show. And I basically want to be Elizabeth Chi-Wei Sun. I could totally rock those cymbals, no?

More Eugene:

The Pied Piper of Hutzovina

(An excellent and human documentary by a woman who was infatuated with the man and accompanied him on an adventure through Eastern Europe)

Everything is Illuminated

(I didn't even realize that Mr. Hutz played Alex in this movie, since I only watched it because I loved the book so much, but nobody else could have played the part. He totally made the movie--one of the best book-to-film adaptations I've ever seen)

in which it is all hallows' eve

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

(dress: diy; turtleneck dress: american apparel; hat: vintage; glasses: f21; shoes: lulu*s; tights: hue)

I definitely failed on the costume front this year, but I wanted to do something sartorial to acknowledge the All Hallows holiday. Orange and black it is!

I had quite a weekend! Friday was my birthday (as you know), and K planned out a great evening for us. We went to dinner at our favorite Indian place in town and had a leisurely meal over Darjeeling tea and yummy curries before walking across town and descending into FlynnSpace for the Trio Gusto "Paris Hot Club" show. The space was arranged to evoke the ambience of a Parisian nightclub in the 1930s, and the music was fantastic. It was the perfect night--my fellow knows me so well! :)

On Saturday we drove to my parent's house in Woodbury and played music for a few hours in preparation for our show that night. Around 7 we headed over to the White Rock for pizza and drinks, and the Fresh Greenes kicked off the show while we ate and tapped our toes. We played an hour-long set and then hung out while the Fresh Greenes wrapped it up. After the show we headed over to a friend's house (in the snow!) for a little after-gathering, which involved a light-up drink fountain filled with spiked cider, pie and pumpkin bread pudding, and playing of the organ. By the time we were ready to leave the snow was really coming down, so we had a long drive home and didn't end up getting back to the apartment until around 3 AM.

The next morning we got up bright and early for brunch across the street at Toscano with my fabulous family, where I ate Florentine Benedict and sipped a mimosa and we had a lively conversation that got especially fiery when we started discussing the education system in this country (as usual). I spent the rest of the day curled up on the couch watching indie movies and winding down.

Tonight K and I are carving our pumpkin (finally!) and watching scary movies! Can't wait :)