gonna trade the weather for the western coast

This past weekend, I took a trip out to California. In my head, song lyrics were rattling around, building up for my trip...

"Going out to California. Gonna let the water warm my clothes..."

"Halfway to Hollywood, I'm selling songs, you're selling your good book..."

"Are you still beautiful in Los Angeles, 'cause it's been so long I can't handle it..."

The trip was a semi-spur of the moment decision. The end of finals week somehow wound up corresponding with a Glen Phillips concert at Largo in L.A. If you're not a big Glen fan, that probably doesn't mean much, so I'll try to explain. Ever since Glen went solo, Largo has become something of his home base, and he has been known to play songs there that haven't been heard other places. And, if you know me, you know there's nothing that makes me happier musically than a Glen show. So, the timing of the show seemed somewhat serendipitous. My traveling companion was my friend Sara, who flew in from Philly for the show.

Flying into L.A., my impressions were as follows: 1) there really are palm trees all over the place. And 2) the air is brown. (In my head, I thought, "Free radicals! Free radicals! I need antioxidants, quick!") From where we stayed in Hollywood, we could have been in almost any city during the summer. The palm trees were really the only distinguishing feature. It was amusing to see people walking around in winter coats in 72 degree weather. I also accosted Dave Navarro in the airport to get his picture with James' famous Asshead shirt.



I got to meet a few people with whom I have had email correspondence. It's always interesting to finally meet someone in person to see if they match up with the person you have created in your head.

The show itself was good, but short. Glen was joined by Sean and Sara Watkins, Greg Leisz, and Pete Thomas. Also, Randy Guss made a surprise appearance on drums during "Windmills". I had actually seen him outside before the show, but didn't realize I would be seeing him onstage. I was kinda hoping for more Glen. Just Glen. But it's hard to complain when the songs sounded so good.

I had a lot of fun on the trip, but I'm coming off it feeling strangely out of sorts. You know how sometimes you build something up so big in your head that there is no way it could ever live up to your expectations? So many things about the trip were great, the show, the inimitable duo that are Cliff and Ian, my think-alike Sara, too many black & tans, Pink Berry frozen yogurt, the staff at our ultra-funky hotel... But there was something remotely toxic about L.A. for me. I don't know if it was the air, or the traffic, or the surliness of the people bustling about oblivious to the people around them. Or maybe it was the delayed plane that left me stranded in Phoenix until almost 2 a.m. Whatever it was, I'm feeling a little drained.

I did come out of the weekend with a realization about people. I've met a lot of people while traveling around and moving across the country. There are people that pass into and out of your life without affecting it much. There are incredibly positive, fun people, who enrich your life regardless of how long they are in it. And there are the negative people who drain your energy in one way or another. It always seems that the negative ones make the bigger impact. I need to work harder at appreciating the positive ones and forgetting about the negative.

" So goodnight Hollywood Blvd, goodnight,
See ya soon
Goodnight Hollywood Blvd, see you sometime
Yeah, right
Yeah, right"

best birthday ever? i think so.

This year, serendipity shined down upon me and scheduled a Toad the Wet Sprocket concert in Chicago on my birthday. What better excuse to make a trip back to Chicago. Best friends and favorite music? Can't beat it.

It was supposed to rain in Chicago, but there was no way it was going to rain on my birthday. In fact, I expressly forbade rain, and it went away as requested. First, my BFF James and I picked up Asshead from his job working the corner over in the Financial District. We headed to Stanley's for some 20-minute chicken. (Best in Chicago - if you ever visit, you must have some.)


Then we headed over to the zoo, where in theory, we were to act all cool and say "We're on the list". Yeah. Not on the list. Phone call. New list. Not on that one either. Another phone call. New list. And finally allowed into the park. So much for being cool.

I got to see all sorts of Chicago concert buddies at the show. It made me feel very loved. Glen opened for Toad, which was just brilliant, because who wouldn't love double the Glen?


I even overcame the adversity of stupid people standing in front of me, by going to the other side of the stage and standing in front of someone else. What?

Throughout the show, there was this crazy drunk girl, who kept talking during the songs, flailing her arms around and yelling how much she loved Toad. She actually accosted James and I before the show started, poking us in the arms and demanding to know how we knew Toad. Not in the carnal sense, but just in general if we knew their music. I conceded to being a casual listener to try to get her to leave us alone.

Then, near the end of the show, Glen and Dean wished me a Happy Birthday, and in the middle of Glen talking about me, drunk girl decides she is going to steal my thunder and yells out that she is the biggest Toad fan ever. Who am I to argue? We took pictures with her afterwards, because it was important to document her idiocy. Oh, and Asshead ate her brain.


After getting James and Asshead's photos with Dean, Todd, and a very smarmy Glen,

we hustled to my favorite spot, Dublins for some food and merriment. Oh yeah, and my favorite hot waiter, Mattycakes.

The next day brought a Transformers movie, The Misbehavers from Four Rooms ("Police? Come right away! There's a dead whore in the room!"), and a drive up to Milwaukee. We even drove by a Cheese Castle, presumably occupied by a Cheese King. At Milwaukee, we met up with some more wonderful friends for a Glen Phillips solo show. It was a great show, filled with rarities, a discussion about the legalities of necrophilia in Wisconsin, and even a song by the ever-wonderful Dick Prall. We tried to get pictures with Glen and Dick, but we couldn't seem to get in synch with each other. Blink. Blink.


Awesomeness abounded.

glen @ the black orchid

I've been staring at the screen for about an hour now, trying to write this. I start to write. I erase it. I write a couple emails. Leave some comments. Come back to my blog. For some reason I have a difficult time articulating my experience of seeing Glen Phillips in concert. I think it is because Glen's music is so important to me. I know not everyone likes the same music, that's normal. But if you don't get Glen, then in some way, you really don't get me. Plus, so much of my experience is personal, something that I have to keep for myself, or else it's no longer mine. If you happen to be around me at a Glen show, you might catch a glimpse of it.

I'm not making any sense. It's probably the combined effects of too much beer and four hours sleep.

Here's what I do know. I saw Glen Phillips last night at the Black Orchid. It's a beautiful venue, decorated in art-deco stylings to resemble a 1930's swing club. Very swank. I was accompanied by some of my Chicago concert buddy all-stars: the inimitable James, Lynn and Maureen, and by my ever-patient husband. Craig Cardiff opened. He used a lot of looping in his songs.

Glen was fantastic, as always. He was incredibly chatty and seemed in a really great mood. My face hurt a little from smiling so much. It seemed like the set was really short, but I guess it was just because I didn't want him to stop playing. He played a few new songs, including one that was so brutally honest that it almost felt uncomfortable listening to it. I'm still not making any sense. Here. Pictures. Pictures don't require me to be articulate.













I do have to share one funny thing. I was talking to Glen after the show and I told him that I was helping Teitur with his Myspace page (you should check it out myspace.com/Teitur I actually did html coding and made a masthead. And I know nothing about html code!) Anyways, I asked Glen if Teitur had asked him about me, and he said that indeed he had. Apparently Teitur sent Glen an email saying something along the lines of: "Dianne - Psycho-fan or just a really cool person?" Apparently, I got the non-Psycho designation. I come with references, baby.

Oh, and because Assy Asserton said I never mention my concert buddies, here's my concert buddy All-Stars at our favorite apres-concert drinking hole:



And if you were ever wondering how tall Glen is... James is 6'3". I'm probably 5'2" in the shoes I was wearing (I'm not kidding. The shoes add almost 2 inches). Glen is somewhere in between.



I'll miss you Chicago.

there is healing in your hands

I'm not sure how music affects most people. I think the majority of people go through life with music as a background noise. Something they hear on the radio; maybe they have a favorite song by an artist because it reminds them of a loved one or it reminds them of a party or a summer.

Other people, myself included, have a more intrinsic need for the music. When a song comes on, it triggers sense memories: the smell of someone's hair, the first taste of wine, the feel of the sun as it dries water to salt onto your skin. A song can leave you refreshed or energized, aching with loneliness, angry.

Recently I'm finding out that the reason some music is my favorite is because it heals my soul. Leading up to a concert, I generally overdose on the artists music, filling up with it so I am primed for the show. For this last Ryan Adams concert though, I found that I was just listening to Glen Phillips. I couldn't listen to Ryan at all. Talking to a friend, I realized that it is because listening to Glen sometimes heals up the tiny little cracks in my soul, like a salve upon my loneliness.

Seeing Ryan live, I was full of the energy created onstage, and I started to binge. I put all my Ryan Adams cds in and listened to them in order. I listened to dozens of live recordings. And I've been drowning in sorrow for two days straight. Where Glen's music calmed and soothed me, Ryan's music scoured my nerve endings, leaving them raw and defenseless. I can't say that one is better than the other. We need all our emotions for balance. Maybe I just need to learn not to overdo it.