Sarah Rabdau and Self-Employed Assassins

Foolish Ida

2011-08-17T09:25:00.000-07:00

It's frustrating when you suck at doing the thing you're supposed to be good at. I usually have high to nearly impossible standards for myself (okay, and others), and tend to never feel like I'm doing enough, or being good enough. And you know what? It's okay. It's just how I am. It has taken me nearly 3 decades to realize that I don't actually like downtime. I fantasize about it, and glorify all the lazy things I'm going to embrace with relaxed vigor, but I don't really enjoy it. As I've gotten older, it gotten worse. It's like the opposite of what's supposed to happen. You're supposed to work your ass off when you're younger, and then relax.

(insert tangent on how people live longer these days, but our timelines for supposed accomplishments stays within the same parameters (or gets shorter/younger) that it has for decades.)

I write songs. Or try to. I want to be really good at it, but I'm not always. People have different goals for their songwriting. Some do it to sell hit records. Some write songs to make people dance, cry, smoke weed, think, have sex, fight, etc.
I write because I want to tell a story in a beautiful and passionate way. It can be an angry story, with dissonance and ugly sounds, but I still want it to be beautiful in it's craft and the care that went into it.

I used to only write songs about my own personal experiences. I think I felt like it was "my thing" to be really personal in songs, and cagey in my personal life. It got boring. It was really easy to sit at the piano and write sprawling songs, trying to put loneliness into different perspectives and metaphors. But my favorite songwriters are story tellers (Tom Waits, Kate Bush, Peter Gabriel, David Bowie), often turning history, fairy tales, and science fiction into everyday life. It's magic to be able to write a song about outer space and have people relate to it like they woke up and went there yesterday. In order to not write about myself, I needed a muse. I needed a direction. I needed a challenge. I turned to a book that I used to read as child called "Outside Over There".

Outside Over There was written and illustrated by Maurice Sendak and published in 1981. I was 2. My parents had just divorced and I lived with my mom at my grandmother's apartment in McLean, Va. I pretended the apartment building was a castle. A relative, or friend of the family, bought me the book. They didn't inscribe it. The synopsis of the book is essentially, the main character, Ida, has taken on the responsibilities to help care for her mom and sister while her father is away at sea. One day while she's supposed to be watching her sister, she gets distracted playing music and doesn't notice that goblins came in through the window, stole her sister, and replaced her with an ice changeling!

The rest of the book follows her journey into Outside Over There, trying to look for her sister.
For many reasons, the book resonated with me. Not only was it simultaneously beautiful, dark and scary, but it was also this imaginative story about this girl burdened with responsibility. I had it read to me every night until I memorized it, and then "read it" to myself every night.

While looking for inspiration for new songs not about me, I started to think about the book, and Ida. I started to wonder how Ida would have been as an adult after these heavy burdens were put on her as a child. As she risked her life for her sister. How would she be in relationships? How would she deal with death? What kind of job would she have? These sound like very basic questions for a book that is so colourful in story, but it sparked my interest. I wanted to see what I could create.

And so began my journey of "Foolish Ida". For the past few years I've been writing off and on for the project and am recording 2 EP's for it now. We have a good chunk of it done. The songs will be simple arrangements: piano, organs, layers of voice, an occasional string, and hopefully 2 or 3 songs with fuller orchestration. The recording process has been unexpectedly great and relaxed, and somehow went from this thing I did in my spare time to this thing I really really love.
On Wednesday August 24th, "Foolish Ida" is debuting at The Lizard Lounge in Cambridge, Ma. I've coerced Vesela Stoyanova (midi marimba) and Valerie Thompson (cello) from Goli to be my backup band. Molly Zenobia, Mary Bichner (Box Five), and Peter Moore (Count Zero) have signed on to be my backup singers. I feel very lucky.

There's only a Facebook page for Foolish Ida right now, but more will be coming soon.

tapes in the basement

2010-12-19T16:00:00.001-08:00

Awhile back I decided to record a few of the songs for my solo EP on the piano I grew up playing on. It lives at my mom's. It's a 5'6", black yamaha baby grand, with boomy bass that I can pound the shit out of and it gets SO LOUD. I really love it. The action is harder than the one we have at our house so it's like torture for my out of practice fingers. I love that too. Difficult, beautiful, sensitive. Reminders that you need to stop being distracted and practice like you love what you're doing. My wrists were cramping after a few hours of recording.

From the ages of 3-15 my family had an upright grand that didn't sound the best, but was beautiful. Black satin finish, with filigree around the legs and chipped rounded corners. It was the piano I first started to play on and held great sentimental value to both my mother and me.

When I was 15 and living in the OC, our house got broken into and the burglars stole the antique silverware that my great grandmother had given us. My mom was devastated. I remember her calling me at my friend's house to break the news. My concern: Did they steal my Tori bootlegs? They hadn't.

Sometime after we'd gotten the insurance money for the stolen goods, mom had noticed there was going to be a piano sale at UC Irvine. I can't remember why the school did this, but I'm pretty sure it had something to do with these pianos being used at the school for a year or two, and then being thrown out to pasture because someone was insane. Something like that. Anyway, my mom decided that since the silverware could never be replaced, the only way to honor my great grandmother's memory (who was an ardent music lover - specifically piano music) was to buy a baby grand piano. I loved this idea.
So, one Saturday we went down to this big warehouse-of-a-room at the university and I was instructed to pick out my favorite. There were steinways, baldwins, yahamas, bostons. Uprights, spinets, grands, baby grands. Brown, black, satin, shiny, white. I was in heaven. After trying nearly every kind, I decided on the 5'6" yamaha, with the black shiny finish and the boomy bass. For some reason that escapes me, I named her Isis. It sounded hard and soft, like her sound.

For the next few years while living at home, I played Isis nearly everyday for hours at a time. I mainly was writing my own songs, but also took lessons in and out of school; playing Chopin, Satie and Debussy.

I made recordings on friend's 4 tracks and on tape recorders. I recorded everything. I took those tapes, listened to them all the time, gave them to people, and then put them in a box when I was sick of them.

I hadn't listened to these recordings in about 11 years. That is, until I found the box in my mom's basement today after recording tracks for my solo EP on that 5'6" yamaha, now residing in NY.

All the way home I popped in different tapes and sat in wonder. Memories flooding. Songs I had completely forgotten about until that very moment the worn tape started rolling. Suddenly they were as familiar as the day I had written them.
My feelings were very mixed. I was surprised at how well I played the piano. I wasn't amazing by any means, but my fingers were much more dexterous then; as they should be when you're playing for hours a day. The other things that really shocked me were my arrangements, chords and melodies. They were really weird. Really weird.
When I think about my songs at the time I think of being really influenced by Tori Amos and Joni Mitchell. I remember a lot of people saying my songs reminded them of Tori. After awhile I began to believe it and started trying to come up with more straightforward arrangements. Trying to make my songs more universal and not so obscure. But what I realized while listening to them in the car was that they sounded nothing like Tori Amos. They didn't sound like anyone I was listening to. It was like I was creating my own language. How could I have been so off? Why didn't I have the confidence to know I was doing something different?

I don't want to give the impression that the songs were good. They weren't. They were interesting, yes. And actually, the songs could have been good if the lyrics weren't such drivel. I didn't write bad lyrics, like 'I've been so sad without you. So I bought a new pair of shoes.'I wrote things that made no fucking sense. One song made mention of a lucid dream, laundry, the sexes in touching places(?), and something about a cake? I thought I was being so clever writing such meaningful poetry. How can it be clever if you're the only one that understands it? How can it be clever if you can't even understand it? If I had put random words into a hat, pulled them out and created sentences, it probably would have made more sense. It left me dumbfounded. It left me full of regret.

But somehow, woven into these mixed emotions was this one common thread. Music has been a part of my life since I was a kid. But only after listening to these tapes today do I understand the passion that was always there. I so obviously loved what I was doing. Even when it hadn't occurred to me to pursue it seriously. Even when I thought I wanted to be an actress. Or a psychic.

In this last year or so, that passion has faded. I've been influenced by what other people are saying and not saying. I've been influenced by the times, the popularity contests, the work that must be done that involves everything but the writing of songs. I've gotten overwhelmed and cynical. Where does realism and practicality start and end? Should passion really be limited by such things? Is this growing up or is this giving up? I'm left with the same answer that I started with: I have no fucking idea.

But today, while driving home from New York the weekend before Christmas, a box of dusty maxell's between my knees, I thought, 'has the answer been in the basement?'

And then there were 3. And sometimes 4.

2010-10-04T11:57:00.000-07:00

Hi. Remember me? You used to know me as that curly-haired girl that would sometimes sing and play keyboards sensitively for that band:Self-Employed Assassins. You used to see me out and about sometimes (or not) at rock shows and social gatherings. I used to write a blog occasionally that some of you read, and some of you didn’t.
Some of you may have not even noticed I’ve been absent, and I take absolutely no offense to that. Hopefully you’ve been living your lives, spending time with your close-ones and not killing your brain watching things that start with ‘Jersey’ and end with ‘Shore’. But if you have been, I won’t judge you. Not aloud, at least.

I have been busy doing things that would interest no one, except maybe a few lone nerds interested in natural remedies and becoming a Luddite. I have somehow started to think that life’s so much better when I’m not on a computer, when I’m not updating ‘statuses’ all day, when I’m not jumping into photos to try and remember, but instead trying to remember with my memory. I know. It’s totally fucked up. It’s so ‘beginning of time – 2006’ of me.

Is this what happened when you were a kid and all the old people got older while you got hipper? I really don’t want to be that old person, especially since I’m not all that old. But I also don’t want to be all that hip and connected. Maybe I will sometime soon, but as of now, I don’t. I want to be away from the constant barrage of innovation and information, and not forget who I am without it. I want to try and live without influence for a bit. So subsequently, I’m really fucking boring for the time being and I’ve been sparing you all the gory details. You’re welcome.

What I will tell you though, is that Self-Employed Assassins has multiplied in size. We have added a wonderful and handsome bass player named Eric Donohue. I once played with him in the Fast Easy Women, but then he went to Africa for a few years. He’s back and providing Matt and I with wonderful low end and pseudo British remarks. I also have coerced Peter Moore to sometimes play keys with us too. Why did I ask him to do that? Because I was so sick of him complaining about my shitty piano parts, and frankly, I wanted to dance. Ok, he didn’t really complain about my piano parts….in public, but I did want to dance. Or at least stand up and front the band that I’ve had for 4 years now. Is that so wrong?

Although we’ve been playing in other states, we haven’t played as a band in our hometown in what feels like 9 years. We’re coming out of hiding with our new Assassins on Friday Oct 22nd at Café 939 in Boston. The show is a sort of tribute to the band ‘The Motion Sick’, and all bands on the bill will pay tribute to them in some fashion. But in addition to this, S.E.A will be playing new songs and re-imagining old songs. It will be AWESOME. We go on at 8pm SHARP. And I will dance!

Friday Oct 22nd
@ Cafe 939
939 Boylston St
Boston, Ma
Agent Bishop presents: Red Eye at the Red Room
w/ Sarah RabDAU & Self-Employed Assassins, This Blue Heaven & Dramamine: The Girls of The Motion Sick
8pm Sarah RabDAU & S.E.A
9pm This Blue Heaven
10pm Dramamine
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=544907373#!/event.php?eid=127374027315244&ref=ts

Today is our Albumversary

2010-01-23T10:11:00.000-08:00

A year ago today Self-Employed Assassins celebrated our album's release at The Lizard Lounge in Cambridge.

I woke up that morning to find my amaryllis starting to bloom:

The weather, for January 23rd in Boston, was surprisingly warm...I think close to 50.

Now it's a year later, to the day, and we are playing an anniversary show at Rosebud Bar in Davis Square tonight. The few weeks leading up to today have not been as wonderful as the days leading up to the CD Release. Based on some conversations with friends, I know I'm not alone in saying these past few weeks have been horrendous. Depression is in the water in Boston-town.

However, today feels a little different. Last night we had a spectacular rehearsal with the girls in Goli and Peter Moore. They will be joining us on several songs. This morning I woke up, stayed in bed, and finished 'The Pilgrimage' by Paulo Coelho. A book I have mostly loved, though winter cynicism has prevented me from fully experiencing. Nonetheless, I feel the book came to me at the perfect time. It got me to reach beyond the bowels of January, the world, and self-doubt and to once again be more comfortable with the path I have taken, and will continue to take. Life is a constant journey, even when you don't feel like journey-ing. Yeah, obvious, but tell it to the girl staring at the wall. She don't care.

It seemed only right that after finishing the book about a pilgrimage that I should do an hour of yoga and try to release all that's been building up inside this body o' mine. After all this zen-ness, the natural thing to do, of course, was make an Indian inspired breakfast with Bengali-style potatoes, spinach, and after years of practice, my perfectly mastered poached eggs.
I was feeling about as blissed out as I could possibly feel when I happened to check my email. There in my inbox was a note from my friend Brendan titled, 'Happy Albumversary'. I clicked on the email, and in summary, this is what I found:

http://www.brendanburns.com/2010/sarah-rabdaus-albumversary/

I have never had anyone do a cover of one of my songs before. When I heard the first few notes I felt small and shy, undeserving of the sounds made from an accomplished hand and learned musician. But as I listened further, I could feel myself grow. My shoulders straightened, my cheeks blushed, my eyes brimmed with tears and I began to really process that I had written this song. For the first time I could hear how someone else really loved it, was performing it, shaping it into their own, and sending it out into the world. I could hear the love. And, holy shit, I made something that someone loved!

It is in these small gestures by others, in their thoughtfulness and honesty, that will sometimes force you to face your truths. Sometimes seeing yourself is the very thing that can hurl you into the bowels of sadness, never wanting to come out. And sometimes when forced to look, you turn away for fear of, what? Knowing? Swallowing the idea that you may do something beautiful? Worthwhile? If you take it in, you might be proud? Egotistical?

It is so hard to see beauty in the dark depths of a New England January. But this afternoon, with a click of a mouse, it felt like falling in love.

the Times in pictures

2010-01-10T11:35:00.000-08:00

We get the New York times delivered to us on Sunday mornings. Actually, Peter gets the paper delivered. Maybe it's my affinity for the classics, but watching someone read the New York Times is, to me, the quintessential picture of a smart and sexy person. It's romantic. The person obviously gets all their clothes tailored and pressed, wears perfectly made and un-ironic circular rimmed glasses, goes to art museums on free nights, and never had to study a day in their life because their brain is a glimmering specimen of memory, natural talent, and common sense. This is what I think every time I see someone with a cup of coffee in their right hand and the Times in their left.

Oh, perfect smart and glamorous person, why can't I live in your world?

You see, I cannot read papers. I get instant ADD. Reading articles in a paper is like mapping out a trip while maneuvering a vehicle.

Every Sunday I get so excited for Peter to open the door, reach down and pick up that blue translucent bag that contains all things I love in the world. I watch as he orders it to his liking; first taking out the crossword puzzle (extra smart points), putting the sports section in the 'fire' pile (oh, adorable music nerd), makes his way through arts, world news, throws out the travel section.....wait, what? Why aren't you looking at the travel? Wait, what are you doing with the Style magazine? Actually, can I look at the Arts?
And what do I do with these sections? I look at the pictures. I'm like a child. I go through the encyclopedia of papers, and look for fucking pictures. I insult myself with this admission, but every week I think I'll be different. Every week I hope that I will one day be the one who will get tailored clothes, be naturally smart, and wear horn-rimmed glasses.

Sadly, I am not. All of my clothes have holes in them, I have never not had to study until my eyes burn, I cannot remember historical facts--though I can remember meals from years ago-and lastly, the nail in the coffin...I read magazines. With big pictures in them. Gasp. Smart person fail.

Ok, I also have a rather voracious book reading appetite, but it doesn't matter. The New York Times is my Harvard, my MIT, my Julliard. I will never be that romantic, dashing, perfectly coiffed person whose brain is a well oiled machine. I will be the sophomoric, disheveled, poor music girl reading the news on the internet. Do I know they have the Times on the internet? Yes. Do I read the articles? Sometimes. Is there a difference? The internet is not romantic and therefore doesn't count.

Romance is the only thing that counts.

Broken, but bound by blood

2009-12-29T12:39:00.000-08:00

It is likely that not every person in the world loves their family as much as I love mine. In fact, I feel pretty confident making that statement. I have close friends whose families make them feel like shit, are unsupportive, and bleed them dry. It breaks my heart that there are millions of people that don't have the connection and need to be with their sisters, brothers, mothers and fathers. I realize I'm lucky.
But luck doesn't mean perfection, and connection doesn't leave me free of issues. I have plenty.

This Christmas I spent it with my mom, my dad, Peter, and two sisters. My parents have been divorced since I was two. This was the first Christmas I've spent with my dad since their divorce. On Boxing Day, my stepdad's brother and wife came over. My mom and my stepdad have been divorced for about 10 years. My stepmom and dad (married 20+ years) are now separated, and my other two sisters were spending Christmas with her. I've been through almost three divorces and one death (someone that felt like a stepfather) in my 30 years. I have four sisters, but I am the only one made by my mom and dad. Everyone on my mom's side of the family has been divorced at least twice. My dad's brother and parents married their high school sweethearts.

What's the point of this blog?

The point is that I had an absolutely fantastic Christmas. I ran around NYC, taking in the last day of the Hockney landscapes exhibit with my mom, dad, Peter and two sisters. I was brought to tears by the color and wild abandon of Hockney's strokes, while also loving the sight of my mom and sisters sitting on the concrete floor discussing perspective. I ate with my mom and dad at either end of the dinner table. I made a chocolate bread pudding with bourbon caramel sauce that upon taking the first bite, everyone let out an 'oh my god'. We went to Sherlock Holmes on opening day (amazing). We all became addicted to Mad Men and watched the entire first season. My dad and I cried while watching 'Julie and Julia' solely because Julia Child was so passionate about what she did. This is my family. They understood why their local grocery store named 'Four Season's' is so ridiculous. We ate together. We drank together. We art-ed together. We played games at 2am and laughed our collective asses off. We listened to Neko Case while we ate oyster stew.

I have been hurt by them and have hurt them. I have laughed with them and at them. I have felt torn to pieces because of separations and relationships gone wrong. I have felt overwhelming love every moment they come into my head and heart. They are mine and I am theirs.

This is the modern family. Broken, but bound by blood.

Remembering Blogs and Top 17

2009-12-22T09:50:00.000-08:00

I was reminded recently that I used to write blogs more. Sometimes I would even suggest music, movies, art, etc, and people would look into those suggestions. Per my habit of self-promotion fail I would often forget to recommend my own music in these blogs. I haven’t always been this bad. There have been times in my life when I would promote with abandon, sometimes obnoxiously so. I would quote myself on message boards under threads titled: Awesome lyrics. I would hand out CD’s to every person I talked to. When asked what bands I liked in town, I would say ‘Mine’. Looking back on this 2-3 year period of my life, I attribute that cock-sure attitude to a few things:

#1 At the time I made music to specifically not have any associations with the genre ‘Tori Amos’. I thought I was doing a good job at not being that. I have since learned that a girl cannot play a piano at all without that association. Also, who gives a shit? I can quote you every lyric on ‘Little Earthquakes’, maybe even ‘Under the Pink’. So what? I’m a female, piano playing, early-Tori loving girl. ‘Blue’ by Joni Mitchell is also one of my favorite albums. I taught little kids to be faeries at summer camp. Sue me.

#2 I was a little bit younger. Typically with that extra bit of youth on one’s side there comes unabashed confidence and glorious naivety. After these past few days hanging out with my 22 year-old sister whom I share many qualities with, I am reminded of that.

Things I don’t understand about my confidence at the time:

#1 My music was pretty generic. I removed all passion, fire and dynamics from my songs and unknowingly made myself into the poster child for girls that listened to Tori Amos, Joni Mitchell, and taught kids how to be faeries at summer camp. This is probably a gross generalization, but I use my license as the author of this blog and writer of those sugary songs to do so.

#2 Seriously, what was I thinking? I believe I wasn’t thinking anything except ‘I’m Pretty’.

Here is a video from that time. My uncle Patrick shot and edited this together and sent it to me the other week. I was rocked to my core. It was like seeing a bad outfit you wore 10 years ago, but 1000 times worse. It was like a bad outfit on your soul. I was lost.

I Tried to Reach You by Sarah Rabdau from Little Big Pictures on Vimeo.

Something’s have not changed….. I still feel lost. I have a constant need for change. I am satisfied 5% of the time. I think too much and over-analyze too much. I am still more inspired by visual art and traveling than music. I don’t’ believe I’m fulfilling my potential. Most of the time I beat myself up over this, and only sometimes understand that it’s my process for art making. It’s not sympathy I want or crave. It’s purging. I intake until I burst. I want to burst more.

And with that, My Top 17 Moments/Art Things/Music, including mine, for the year

1. Self-Employed Assassins made a record and released it. It was exactly as it should be. I have no regrets or needs to change how those songs were done. There is only change in the future

2. Self-Employed Assassins started touring other states, finally, and liked it.

3. As cheesy as this sounds, I got married and it was pretty fucking awesome. It was, thus far, the biggest art explosion/collaboration/love fest I have ever been part of and I so wish I could have invited you all.

4. S.E.A found the most amazing taco truck in Danbury, CT outside the club (Uncle Larry’s) after the show that literally changed our lives and all future taco samplings. We still talk about it and drool.

5. I went to this amazing underground restaurant with some good friends and had the most creative and delicious meal of my life. There were 8 courses, and ingredients in each dish that I had previously never heard of. Heaven.

6. Sleep No More @ A.R.T – Wonderfully inspired. It haunts me from time to time. I can’t wait to go once more before it closes

7. St. Vincent- Actor. I fucking love this record with extreme passion

8. Andrew Bird live. He blew my socks off and hurled me over a mountain while dropping me gently on a feather mattress in the ocean.

9. Dirty Projectors live. The amount of time, commitment, inspiration, and creativity this band puts into their music is astounding.

10. Making the video for ‘Autumn Spills’

11. Having the video air on Bravo! Videos in Canada

12. The ‘Who Shot Rock N Roll’ exhibit at Brooklyn Museum

13. Reading ‘East of Eden’

14. Going to Laguna Beach for the first time since I was 19 and giving a big fuck you to the prim and proper of the O.C by stripping down to my skivvies and blasting the crowded beach with my city-white skin and jumping into the pacific.

15. Going to L.A and loving it for the first time.

16. Eating sushi at Izaka-ya and having it change my world and thusly ruin all other sushi for life

17. Lady Gaga

Happy New Year and art/food hunting

xxoo

~sarah

our new video, dark clouds, and my 19th century romance with Andrew Bird

2009-07-06T11:48:00.000-07:00

dear blog world/readers of this blog

I have not written anything on this blog for months now. My main reason for the disappearance is that I can't really figure out how to not sound like a snivelly brat that I would hate if I read my drivelly words about being insecure and insignificant and at odds with myself. In other words, I'm in a funk. I've seen happier days. It might even be another quarter-life crisis, depending on how long I go at this thing called life.
I get like this sometimes. Last night, after a wonderfully relaxing 4th of July weekend filled with ACTUAL sunshine, wonderful food, company and enjoyment, I came home and was instantly put back underneath my black cloud. As I sat in my backyard, looking at my botched landscaping skills, contemplating all the other ways and things that I am likely failing and will fail at, I exclaimed to my patient and loving companion that 'I just want to be great. Not good. Great at many things.' He reassuringly said that I was good at many things, and that equaled great. This was not reassuring. How else should someone respond to such a grandiose and self-involved statement, 'I need greatness'? Gross. I annoy myself just typing it.

First things first, this is my new video for 'Autumn Spills', directed and produced by Theodore Cormey. We are very proud of the video and want to get as many people to see it as possible. It's been featured on some blogs like melophobe, knox road, Boston Band Crush and Skope TV, but we hope for more of a takeover, if possible. Please watch it and send to those you think will love it. It needs love. Don't we all? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=09ZHt3-70Zo

I have been trying to find inspiration in music, movies, and live shows. Things that have made me so happy, but then ultimately made me feel insecure and insignificant are:

1. Seeing DeVotchka and David Byrne on the same bill at Wolf Trap in Virginia. First of all, Wolf Trap is an absolutely gorgeous venue. It's like the man-made wooden version of Red Rocks. The show was a last minute decision on a perfectly clear evening with a full moon visible from our seats. After several misses and being out of town at the wrong time, I finally got to see Devotchka and they were everything I hoped they would be. The singer's voice has this resonant, haunting lilt that is cloaked in heartbusting love, and brought me to tears. It brought 90% of our party to tears. Also tuba bass lines are pretty kickass. Who would have thought?
I wasn't sure how I would feel about David Byrne as I don't love his newest work, I love the Talking Heads, but I heard he was doing a lot of older material. The whole band came decked out in white, each song accompanied by modern dancers flowing, twisting and jerking their bodies to the beat and melodies. David's voice sounded incredible, his band was great, and everybody at Wolf Trap was sitting in their seats memorized. Halfway through the set, I could NOT sit any longer, I felt like my body would scream out in agony if it could not dance for another second. So I got up, grabbed my man, and we danced our ridiculous ways in the aisle near the stage, bouncing, posing, laughing, and sweating our asses off. Three minutes into it, I looked around us and there were now 30 people in the aisle dancing with us. It made me very happy. Until the security people were telling people to sit down. When they got to us, I think they were afraid they'd get hit by a flailing limb because they just laughed and told us to move back. Overall, an exhilarating evening.

2. Andrew Bird in concert. I have loved Andrew Bird like a 19th century romance for some time now. Much like Devotchka, I have missed him every time he has come to Boston due to shitty circumstances and being pulled out of town unexpectedly. Calexico opened (and were great), and from my seat I noticed the dapper Mr. Bird on the side of the stage near the audience watching the band. I was about to run up and humbly and inadvertently faun over him in comfortable and non-awkward ways, while also giving him a CD, when another girl in the audience went up to him and took my place. Evidently she was not well-schooled in the ways of not being awkward, over-stayed, and Andrew and company excused themselves to the backstage area. My opportunity was ruined. My 19th century romance stays in the past. This missed meeting did not fault the evening in any way shape or form, however. Andrew is one of the most fluid, and accomplished musicians I have ever seen. It is obvious that he has laboriously practiced his looping pedal system because I have never witnessed someone use those pedals so effortlessly. His voice, while smooth, tender, and thoughtful also bursts with a passion that I was not expecting. It can be quite dynamic, his body leaning and contorting until he gets that note out like it's his last will and testament. In short, I love Andrew Bird. If anyone knows him, please let him know that there's a girl in Boston that would love to sing with him. Despite my insecurities at the moment, I know deep down inside that I don't suck. That's my sales pitch.

3. Regina Spektor 'Far'- Regina's new album is fantastic. I love love love it. It's driving me mad. I am particularly fond of 'Human of the Year' (holy crap that vocal line is pretty impossibly fucking great) and 'Machine', though the whole album is a beautifully orchestrated thing.

4. St. Vincent - saw her live again and she was lovely, as always. Her album 'Actor' is a genius piece of work that I love a lot. Her first record is also great, but I think Actor has some more meat to it. She's also opening up for Andrew on his second run of the US, conveniently not coming to Boston. This sucks.

5. Marina and the Diamonds' song 'I Am Not a Robot'. I fucking love this song so much, I have listened to it about 1 billion times.

These aren't terribly new and hip recommendations, sorry. Anyone with a Rolling Stone could have given these. Again, I'm not feeling that hip lately. The reason why I like these things though is because they're not all that hip. They're timeless. That's another blog though...timelessness vs. hip music, and a source of my recent bout with the sadness.

xoxo
-SR

Open letter to the person that stole our Rumble money, you sh&t s*#k

2009-04-19T14:28:00.000-07:00

Dear Sir or Madame

I'm sorry that you have a drug problem and that times are tight. We all are struggling, I know. I also understand that these break-ins that you do are usually done at random and with no ill intentions in mind. You just need to not be sick, and the people whose houses you rummage through are the equivalent of the ground beef in your hamburger. No face, satisfies your craving, and simply delicious. I am no different from the person you hit last week, or the person you get tomorrow, nor do I expect to be.

The problem I have, sir or madame, is that you took something that meant more to me than personal property or some petty cash, you took away a reward I was given for years and years of schlepping my gear from club to club and making no money. It doesn't sound like a big deal, but let me just throw this out there....

I am a musician. I'm not trying to be Britney Spears, I don't want to be on American Idol, I don't do this with the intention of being a famous superstar that makes lots of dough. I do this because I love it, I'm good at it, and I can't ever imagine giving it up for anything. I work my ass off trying to be a better singer and songwriter, while also trying to function as a business by booking shows, recording albums, and promoting my music, all at my own expense and all while trying to maintain my regular job during the day. You may ask why I would bother to continue this nonsensical cycle if I have no intention of making money at this? The thing is, I hope to one day. I just don't think it will come easily.

In fact, very recently my band put out a record. While it hasn't sold even 1000 copies yet, some people have started to take notice of us, even if it's only in a small capacity so far. Every little bit counts, right? We love our record, and were very happy when some radio stations started to play some songs off of it. One of the radio stations was even here in the Boston area, and it's called WBCN. To our surprise, WBCN even asked us to be in the 31st annual Rumble this year. You probably don't know about this, but it's like a battle of the bands and can help you reach more fans. Some famous bands have been in it like the Lemonheads, Til Tuesday, and Morphine. We were psyched. I had never expected us to win the thing, but my personal goal was to get to the semi-finals because a) we'd get to play the Middle East Down b) I just wanted to make it past the first round and c) you actually get paid well, for once.

Well guess what?! We did make it to the semi-finals, and we did play the Mid East Down, and we did get paid $750 to do it. $750! It was more money than we'd ever been paid for a gig. Yes, that's probably sad after doing this for 7 or so years, but who cares?! We did it!

Ohhhhh, wait. You actually know we made that much money, because you busted into my house when we weren't there. You stripped off one of my pillowcases and tried to fill it with jewelry. Ooops! There wasn't any because I'm a fucking musician that doesn't make any money. So then you went into our basement and stole my housemates' Mac Book Pro 17" A1211 laptop serial # W87200R2W0G, and his Fender Jaguar Brown Bari Guitar serial # Q080350, and before you left you noticed the money that was left on the table. The money that had been taken out of my bag so that I wouldn't lose it, so I could come home and go to my business account and deposit it. So it would show I made a profit. So it would show that I'm trying to do it right. The money I will be taxed on because I legitimately won it, you cocksucker. I hadn't even paid my band mate his share. The band mate who plays his fucking ass off all the time for no money, who carries his gear, who weathers the storm, whose consolation for all this was his share of the money we won in the Rumble, you motherfucking dick suck fuckhead.
The laptop and the guitar will be covered my insurance (hopefully), but our hard-earned money, the only significant money we have ever made in our lifetimes as musicians, was taken to fuel your fucking drug habit, you piece of shit ass-cunt. You suck. Fuck off and shit on yourself.

times to not change

2009-02-27T08:45:00.000-08:00

I’m sitting here listening to Jonny Greenwood’s Soundtrack to There Will Be Blood. I love this music. It’s so terribly unnerving, yet it completely relaxes me while also igniting my brain to work and create. The last time I listened to this CD I pulled out a bunch of paints, canvas and old newspapers and started painting for the first time in years. I had taken the day off of work because my grandpa was in Kansas in his final hours and my mom and her siblings were by his side. It was the only thing I could do to be close to them. It was the last family connection to Kansas, really. I grew to really love Kansas, Wichita especially. They have a fantastic art museum there, if you’re ever in town.

I haven’t written in awhile, not sure why. I have been pretty busy, but I also just didn’t know what to say.

Our CD Release was a wonderful night. I was a big stress pile all day long for absolutely no reason. I knew everything would go over without a hitch, I loved all the bands, and I loved all the musicians we were playing with, but I could not let go of the tension. Backstage before we went on (the place was sold out a few minutes after doors…yay!) I was warming up and stretching and deep breathing and nothing was working. I was starting to freak out a little more when my friend Scott (who played guitar with us that night) came into the room, took one look at me, said ‘oh honey’, and gave me the biggest bestest hug that has ever existed and sucked all the bad vibes out of me. He’s got the power to do such things, and he used it. I was suddenly me again, and we ended up playing a great show. The whole night was a love fest. I wish all shows could be that way. Speaking of love fest, check out this photo from the CD Release, courtesy of mel.opho.be

Last weekend Matty G and I started shooting a video for Autumn Spills with 10 other crew people. Two things that I learned that weekend were 1) shooting a video isn’t as glamorous as I thought it’d be. 2) Video people have unbelievable amounts of patience. Going into it we knew that the days would be long, 12 and 14-hour days, but I didn’t really put together what that felt like. I mean really, all I had to do was look pretty and sing, what could be so hard about that? Well, it turns out it is a lot of work. Matt was pretty sick and getting worse by the day, my face doesn’t love make up or being rubbed a lot, and even though we were filming inside, I was not properly insulated as I was wearing slips and dresses and not leg warmers and hoodies. Beyond that, I was in the constant state of being ‘on’. Oooh poor me, in make up and pretty clothes and ‘acting’, when the crew was there handling heavy equipment, holding lighting rigs outside in the cold, setting up dolly’s and cameras, and making art pieces out of tin cans. And you know what? They didn’t complain once and smiled the whole time, all in the name of art and getting the shot right. Seriously, so awesome. Even going into hour 15.5 on the day that was supposed to end early, there was no way I could even let on about my tiredness or hunger or crankiness because they were just amazingly cool and collected. Musicians are pussies compared to these people.
In other news, I’m turning 30 next Friday. I typically don’t divulge such age things on my own, but I recently was sent a photo of me at 17 or 18…..

And this is me now with my sis in Guatemala in December……

I think I’m ok. And you know what? I need to get over this whole aging fear/thing. People are living almost 10-20 years longer on average, yet Americans continue to lower the age on what’s beautiful, relevant, or popular. I’m over it. I didn’t know shit, even 6 years ago. I wasn’t mentally prepared or aware of anything; I thought I was, but I wasn’t. And I’m happier now than I was 5 or 6 years ago. Life goes on, with or without us, so might as well go with the flow, try not to get too cynical, and moisturize.
This year I’m playing a few songs on my birthday as part of a songwriters show at The Lizard with Rick Berlin, and millions of others. I’ve never played a show on my b-day before; it’s a good one to start with. My birthday is also 3-6-09 and I’m turning 30, in a master number year of 11. Fantastic things should happen. Hopefully these fantastic things involve champagne and oysters for lunch that’s my plan too.
And today I’m actually going off for a few days of semi-rest. It involves warm weather, desert, food, but also……Vegas. Oof. I’m going to just go with it though, like when I was in South Beach and feeling insignificant in my slender 5’9 1/2” frame, compared to the 5’11” sticks in designer clothes that were on every corner. I haven’t gone out in a very long time without having to worry about singing or performing. Plus I got this new camera for Christmas that I have to try and figure out. Valley of Fire, here I come…

CD Release. News. And Lack of Nutrition

2009-01-15T07:41:00.000-08:00

Last night we had our first rehearsal with the string trio for the CD Release party. It was fantastic. Not only do I love these women, but they’re so very talented, and so beautiful that they light up the room. I love hearing them talk about all their string-y things, bowings, and favorite keys. Ooohhhhh it’s so great. They’re amazing.
After about the 2nd or 3rd song I began to wonder if anyone would come see us again if we didn’t have the trio? Once you go extreme beauty, can you go back? I wish I could travel with them always. I wish they could be the soundtrack to my life.

So far reviews have been very kind about the CD. It didn’t start that way. People seemed to respect it, but didn’t like it. Performing Songwriter picked the disc as one of the top 12 DIY discs in their current issue. They’re also offering a download of “Man Child”
My dad asked what DIY meant. I told him Do It Yourself. He thought I was mad at him.
As I’ve begrudgingly grown up a bit I’ve learned that people connecting to the music is far more important to me than people being impressed by it. Ideally it’s one in the same, but if I had to choose, I want people to connect.

I had an awesome week last week where we got lots of compliments and reviews on the record, and people were saying great things about the album and playing it on the radio. I was feeling really secure and great, and then Matt and I had a practice that night and it totally blew. We both played like crap. That was a wake up call. Much needed.

So, back to this CD Release party. It’s at The Lizard Lounge on January 23rd. All the bands are fantastic. There’s Wakey!Wakey! from NY. He’s a one-man piano powerhouse that writes wonderful songs and also does a fucking awesome cover of Girls Just Want To Have Fun by The Lauper. It will break your heart. Then there’s Goli, who are probably my favorite band in Boston. It’s midi marimba and cello, and touching, humorous songs about love and life and kissing. Valerie Thompson, one of the cellists on our record, is in Goli, and she will also be playing in our string trio. Then there’s us, with the string trio and other special guests, like Scott Dakota on guitar. Closing the night is the rock of the party MEandJoanCollins. They have boy/girl naughty songs that you can dance to and will bring the party to this party. It will be a great evening. The Lizard is small though, so I would suggest advanced tickets. http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/52839 Especially since we kept the advance ticket price so wee at $8. You will not find better entertainment anywhere in Boston that night.

On the recommendation note, I am totally in love with the writer Haruki Murakami. I read The Wind Up Bird Chronicle last year; it became an instant favorite, and felt the need to read something else of his. I picked up Kafka on the Shore at the bookstore last week. His writing is magical. He incorporates Japanese history with everyday life, psychology, and lucid dreams. I don’t know much about Anime, but I feel like reading these books would be like watching Anime. Many of the main characters feel like outsiders though there’s nothing terribly different about them on the outside. So so great.
I also recommend watching Happy Go Lucky. I’m not sure if this is still in theatres, but this movie, more than any movie I’ve seen this year (I haven’t seen many, but still), has stayed with me and I find myself constantly revisiting it in my head. It’s like meeting someone you think is kind of pale and flighty, getting to know them, and realizing that they are an amazing creature filled with heart and depth.

I am in desperate need of making a stop at the record store but cash is tight, but who knows. I might forfeit nutrition for some music.

into the ocean

2008-12-10T11:56:00.001-08:00

For the latter half of elementary school I grew up in a quaint New England town by the ocean on the North Shore of Massachusetts. There was some wealth among the residents. Not everybody had it, but I knew several people that came from old money that had these massive mansion houses. Our family did not have any money. My mom and my step dad had just married and we had all moved up to Mass from Virginia to live with my step dad’s mom. My first sister was growing inside my mom. I was seven and a half.

I’m not sure of the exact time period, but my stepfather’s parents had bought the land and the barn that was on it when he was a kid, and all my step dad’s siblings grew up on the property. The house was absolutely nothing special, especially considering the enormous houses on our street. His dad had converted the barn into a modest house with three bedrooms, a bathroom, and the strangest staircase you have ever seen. I remember being cold a lot. It wasn’t well insulated. The land that it was on, however, was amazing. They had 8 acres of land that looked over marsh, forest, and ocean. Up until that point, I had lived in an apartment with my mom and grandmother in Northern Virginia just outside of DC. My backyard was a patio on the 5th floor that I would run my big wheel up and down constantly. I would parallel park in every corner, between every chaise lounge, behind every plant. I loved that apartment. I loved that patio.

These new digs though… I would ride my bike up and down our street for miles. Some of the houses looked like they were museums they were so big. I always imagined what it would be like to live inside one of those places. It seemed so classy and sophisticated; the ultimate dream. My neighbor owned an original Picasso. I couldn’t believe these people. They must be so happy, I thought.

Everyday after school I went home to our poorly insulated house with mice and ants, embarrassed by the drab earth-colored exterior, embarrassed by the weird cork flooring, the compost bin, just everything. I would sit in my room and look out at the amazing view over the marsh and into the ocean as a commuter train rumbled by, hoping that one I could be one of the lucky ones with the Picasso’s and huge looming houses.

I spent the next few years there until sixth grade. My mom had my first sister, and then my second. After school I would make a box of Kraft macaroni and cheese, eat the whole thing, and sit in front of the video camera and make videos of myself as different characters, as myself doing video diaries, or with my friends making soap operas or double dare courses.

I remember loving living there, but knowing that my mom wanted to move so we could have our own space. We couldn’t afford it. In fact, despite the wealth of the town, it seemed like a lot of people couldn’t afford a lot of things. Many of my friend’s parents didn’t have jobs and hadn’t in months, sometimes years. My friends and I would talk in hushed voices about their parents, their concerns, what would happen? As I grew older I learned that we had been in a recession at the time, and by the mid to late 90’s I was convinced that we would never see such scary times again.

Oh, naivety.

I have attempted to write an entry in this blog for the past few months, and I can’t. The truth is, I’m pretty terrified, and don’t know what to say. Everyday I see more and more people getting laid off, the stats on the news, the projected numbers, and it frightens me desperately.

This is coupled and tripled with the fact that I’ve been starting to get reviews in and it seems that people are impressed by what they hear, but they don’t really dig it. I knew from the get go it wasn’t for everyone, but it somehow still hurts and has deeply effected my confidence. I have had normal everyday people tell me they love it, but I still am never convinced. I feel like they’re just saying that because they don’t know what else to say. Which brings up the ever popular question with me lately ‘am I good enough? Maybe I just don’t connect with people.’ These are things that I am not really supposed to think about, but the economy, and my family coming apart makes it impossible.

I’m hoping for a turnaround that doesn’t feel like a false start. I’m hoping that someday, someone’s words will actually sink in and they’ll feel honest. The records not even technically out yet, which has been pointed out to me many times, so maybe this is self-destruction. I’m not really sure. I’m just hanging in there like the rest of us. Looking for a turn that leads to view of a marsh, into the ocean, with a train rumbling by.

But without the big looming houses. That’s entirely way too much space to clean.

hope it's enough

2008-09-19T08:58:00.000-07:00

I got the CD’s last night. I have them in a pile to the right of my computer keyboard. The day that I got my first record back, I couldn’t stop looking at them because I was so fucking excited and thought we did the most amazing job ever in the history of anything. Well, not really, but for a week or so after that I was obsessed with myself, always looking, always listening. For some reason (I was naïve) I really felt like that CD was going to launch me into a thousand successes and be the end to working at “normal-ish” jobs, and the beginning of the nomadic life of constantly being tired and broke and touring. I was up for it. Not because I was glamorizing, but because it is necessary to do those things if you are looking to do this in a certain capacity. I just wanted to get on with it.
Well, the reality of the situation was that I didn’t have a band that could tour, and I didn’t have a record that showcased who I was. It was the watered down version, the insecure version, the version that made things specifically for acceptance and with others in mind.

That person has left the building. She doesn’t live here anymore. I made no sacrifices, I never said ‘it that too weird?’….. actually I did. When we were recording ‘Riots and Revolutions’ we tried to put bass and guitar on it, and it did NOT work at all. I wanted the song to be more raw, with just Matt and I, and some backup vocals; but it did need something. We decided it might be cool to have glass crashing, and screaming, and crowd noise, and gun shots, etc. add to the atmosphere of the song. So we put it in. We thought it was cool. And then we thought ‘is this weird? I mean, I think it’s cool, but this could sound weird to others.’ So what did we do? We kept it in. Fuck it. I don’t have a label to dictate to me what’s right or wrong, it was all my money, and there was no one I had to answer to. In the end, it’s perfect, and really not all that weird. Over-analyzing can kill the studio work. Constantly playing back takes and listening to tracks for days after ideas are laid can ruin an entire song, an entire album even.

So now this pile of CD’s is sitting next to me. The artwork is beautiful. I gave my friend Reuter some photos and some basic ideas and said ‘Go to town’, pretty much the direction I gave Peter when he was producing. I didn’t WANT control anymore. I wanted to collaborate. I wanted to learn and listen and soak it all up. I knew that everything would be better if I just put down my control freak and sat back and tried to relax. I’m really not all that great on my own, it’s the people around me that bring me to life. If people didn’t write me emails, or come to shows, or give me praise, or if Matt hadn’t come into the picture, I would be playing piano in my bedroom and would probably be fine. Well, that’s not totally true. I would be fine in the sense that I would write things, but I would not be fine because I would never have the confidence and encouragement that others give me. I’m a quiet attention whore.

So this pile…I look at it sometimes to make sure that it’s there. I can’t really wrap my head around the fact that 4 years of my life has been pressed into these 5 ½ x 5-inch packages. That almost every dollar to my name lives in this cardboard and plastic digipak. And I don’t know what it means anymore. That Regina Spektor line creeps into my brain ‘be afraid of the old, it will inherit your soul’. It’s not old, but it’s cynicism, or maybe even a little fear. Which is old, really. Youth doesn’t really feel that way. Or at least they shouldn’t. Not that I’m old…but my mind is thinking old. Maybe I’m just afraid that this could once again be almost over, and not starting. And I guess I don’t want to be one of those people that live in denial or with delusions. I want to accept the possibility that no one will like this, and I will maybe sell 500 copies….. But goddamn, I really don’t want that to happen.

So, whatever, time will tell, and I’ll go on ignoring things I don’t want to face. Ignorance will be bliss.
And in the meantime, Matty G and I are trying to take this show on the road more. We will be hitting up NYC next week, and Brooklyn next month. We’re also working on some stuff further south and a CD Release show in Boston in January. Maybe even a video shoot for Autumn Spills in the fall if all goes well and money grows on trees, which in my ignorant world, it DOES. So we are IN LUCK.
There will also be a new website sometime in the future (hopefully before the CD Releases in January).
We’re also on Facebook now. Become fans of ours because I can’t add people to it because Facebook is all weird and wants bands/pages to buy Ads.

In the meantime, me and this pile o’ CD’s will sit here, and I’ll attempt to let this cardboard and plastic sink into my world. And Self-Employed Assassins will do the best we can, and hope that’s enough.

god bless vodka

2008-08-25T13:28:00.001-07:00

When I was a teenager, and even in my early 20’s, I would sometimes have dreams or visions about people and instances. I never had visions of disasters, or accidents, or even events, but I would get feelings about things. My friend Steven once said that if music didn’t work out for me, I could always be a psychic. That’s overstating these visions by a long stretch, I think. A lot of them could be classified simply as intuition.
During this period of time though, for one week out of the year, I would have these very realistic dreams that I would always remember. In the dreams I would run into people I hadn’t seen in years, things would happen to me, both good and bad. Sometimes these things were nothing special, sometimes they were. Whatever the case, the week following the week of vivid dreams, almost everything that I dreamt about would happen.
When it first started happening it felt very weird, like the world and I were moving together in sync for the first time. But then I kind of got used to the feeling. I stopped paying attention, resulting in these dreams virtually disappearing from my life, until many years later when I decided I wanted them again. But this time, I wanted to tune in more and really utilize this feeling. I started reading books on 6th senses/intuition/psychic tendencies, etc. Almost instantly these dreams and feelings came flooding back, but this time they were more intense. This time I didn’t feel in tune with the world, this time it felt like I was trying to control something that should happen naturally. I didn’t like knowing things, and I was worried where it would lead. There was also an uncanny amount of lights that would flicker off, or light bulbs that would break in my presence. In one week it could be upwards of 6 lights and bulbs. I didn’t really think anything of it until I came to this section in one of the books about how when you are tuning into these ‘powers’ or whatever, that light bulbs tend to break or go out. That pretty much did it for me. I closed up the books and decided to turn this thing that I have off.

I have to admit that I did miss the feeling of being tuned into something, and consider trying to go back. Maybe this time it wouldn’t be as bad as the last, not that anything bad happened. But it was a bad feeling. It wasn’t helpful or insightful.
However, I am still ruled by intuition. Every time I try and ignore it, or act only from my mind, the end results are shit. I should have listened to my intuition.

For the past month, a series of crap has shit all over me and everything I’ve touched. Not all of it is really really really really bad stuff, it’s just the accumulation of things. Ok, so there was a mastering problem for a long time---but that got fixed. There were artwork delays. Then there was stupid personal stuff like renovating a bathroom that I really had no interest in doing. Ok, so….shitty but can deal. But then there was the flash flood that took place in Cambridge a few weeks ago. Haven’t heard about it? That’s because it only happened on one street, the street where my car was parked. I went in to get some Indian food with a friend; we came back out to find the car under a foot of water. The best part? There was 8 inches of water INSIDE the car too. After we bailed it out, the car did start, but it was super gross and needed a serious douching. The next weekend we were shopping for fucking bathroom tile AGAIN in the other car we have when the brakes went out. Had to wait around to tow it back home.
I went to go see The Dark Knight at my favorite theatre in Davis Sq. Afterwards my friend and I stopped into the bar for a beer. This place notoriously has awesome beer. I get one. Fine, delicious. I order a 2nd and the keg kicks. I pick another, and that keg kicks too. Pick one more, and that one kicks. Picked a fourth beer, and that keg kicks. At this point the bartender gives up. Seriously?

These are just examples of the litany of things that continued to go wrong. It was unreal. I was a walking stress case unable to breathe like a normal human. But all of a sudden a thought came to me……..What if I release my record in January instead of November? I can raise more money, I can do a better job of booking, my artwork deadlines aren’t so time sensitive. ‘It sounds like such a fall record though,’ I say to myself. But then I let that go. I let a January release seep into my world a little bit more. And what should happen?
Full moon wanes, rain stops, the artwork gets done, the album is being pressed, cars get fixed, tile (the motherfucker) gets picked, I do some yoga, I start drinking vodka again instead of beer, problems get solved.

God bless vodka.

things fall apart

2008-08-01T11:06:00.000-07:00

My world fell apart last week, and there was nothing that could be done.
I’m admittedly a control freak, which can help in many situations. But with any moniker that includes ‘freak’ in its name, there is a dark side, and that side often hurts. Ideally not others, ideally not myself, but sometimes it’s unavoidable; especially in an emotionally weakened state brought on by extra female hormones otherwise known as PMS. Yes, it was the perfect storm.

How long have I talked about my album being mastered? Have I talked about this, or have I kept this to myself? Anyway, the short answer: about 2 months. A very kind soul that I know in L.A. uses this particular mastering person because he is great. And he is, I’ve heard many things he’s done, and they’re all great. The place uses a mix of modern and vintage equipment that gives the songs life without cleaning it out, and he doesn’t participate in the ever increasingly popular Loudness Wars. WHOSE RECORD CAN BE THE LOUDEST!!!????? THAT DISTORTED BASS IS SO FUCKING AWESOME!
Anyway, 90% of my album sounded awesome, but 10% didn’t. And it was the first 10%, which isn’t a good opening. Said vintage equipment that worked well on everything else, didn’t like the first two songs on the record. It was making this weird buzzy sound that was virtually indistinguishable to anyone but me. It wasn’t a big deal at first, this shit happens, but when additional tweaking wasn’t working we were all beginning to think that it was on the mix.

For those that don’t know how this stuff works, here’s a brief lesson. You record parts that you want on your song first (obviously), and then once you have everything there, you mix it to sound good. Sometimes, before you mix you’ll add different effects and processing to instruments, but usually the vocals go dry until you mix. Mixing one song can take anywhere from 1-3 days. Maybe for some it takes even longer, but usually you get a mix. Listen. Tweak. Repeat if necessary. Approve.
Peter and I loved the mixes for the songs, I had sent to others for second opinions, and we were clear. Until mastering.

Ok, so my album was now fucked, I might have to re-mix a song because we couldn’t figure out whatthafuck was happening, I didn’t really have the money or time afforded to remix a song, and to top it off, my friend and my masterer were now in the midst of other projects and were both really busy.

Then there was the topic of artwork. It took me a long time to decide on a photographer/photo shoot/album designer, etc. I finally did, but everyone has lives that don’t revolve around me, so people weren’t getting back to me, taking longer than expected, things weren’t in the right formats, shit wasn’t working.
To make matters worse, it was recently discovered that a bathroom in our house has to be renovated. We discovered this by tiles falling and taking the backing wall with it. I now shower with a plastic bag covering said hole.

OK, so to recap: Album fucked, Artwork not happening, no communication, can’t plan a CD release at all because I don’t have a CD, need to spend my “extra” time looking for sinks, tiles, toilets, plumbers, etc, and let me tell you I’m a particular person so this takes a long time (and it’s a bathroom. Who the fuck cares about this home shit? ), can’t plan tours, can’t plan promotion, can’t can’t can’t suck suck shit blow blow ergh. And to top it off I was showing my feminine side by menstruating.

Ok, so I had to fix something in me since I couldn’t control the world. 1st step: Cry my face off. So much was built up in me that I needed an immediate release. This started helping. 2nd step: spend some time alone. 3rd: Do something that has nothing to do with music. I cut up pictures and glued them together, and painted a terrible painting while blasting the Grinderman album. Heaven. 4th: Blast ‘Get It On’ by Grinderman at full volume while running around the house screaming, jumping up and down, jerking twitching, screaming flailing. Fucking awesome.5th: Read books. I’ve read so many books lately, that I can’t keep track. I just finished one the other day, and I have no idea what it….oh wait, yes I do. I finally read Catcher in the Rye for the first time.
More on that later.

Ok. So after step 5 things started getting better. Phone calls were made. I was assured the master was getting fixed by bringing in another piece of equipment, designer gets back to me and has amazing ideas for the record, I fix wrong formats, we find a sink and a family member that can help with the debacle. Things are moving again. I’m feeling safer. I stopped having my period. It’s amazing how all those things can happen and finish all at the same time.

Ok, so Catcher in the Rye. What is so great about this book? It’s obviously really well written, and puts you in the head of this goddamn troubled teenager who is very annoying, has ADD, but is also charming because a lot of us have been there. Plus, he has one of the best names ever in the history of literature. Holden Caulfield. I could never dream up a better sounding name. So, is this the point? Are you supposed to read this when you’re a teenager, just like you’re supposed to see Ferris Bueller’s Day Off when you’re a teenager? If you read it at any other time, it’s just not as good? It’s still a good book. It’s just not life changing. It’s not Unbearable Lightness of Being.

Ok. Also. Get the Grinderman record. I, once again, was late to the party. I love this record so much; I listen to it all the time. It’s so ballsy and crass and dirty and beautiful.

I went to go see Joseph Arthur finally. That was wonderful. I have something like grace, but that’s a different story altogether.

Sarah RabDAU and Self-Employed Assassins eponymous album out SOMETIME IN THE FUTURE.

Oh, I also made this little video thing from the studio.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lqmKz5n2AsI

working without thinking

2008-07-08T13:19:00.000-07:00

If you flipped me over and looked at the back of my legs you would see a red dot just above the bendy area of my left knee, and a red dot above the bendy part of my right knee. Flip me over once again and you’ll find a red dot below the bendy part of my left elbow, and a red dot below the bendy part of my right elbow.
I don’t know what’s happening to me, but apparently I’m balanced.

Have I ever talked about how totally cosmic it was to record this album? How everything flowed so easily, and all seemed in the right place at the right time? I knew I shouldn’t have spoken so soon, or thought it was that simple.

The photo shoots for the album were hard enough to arrange. Photographers were not getting back to me, ideas were dead in my mind, I was second guessing everything, asking people’s opinions about too many things, trying to get people involved when I should have been just trusting my instincts all along. I finally pulled the trigger, found a great photographer that had been there all along, and went with my initial concept for the album. Shoot came and went with much success, and in the process found other great photographers for future shoots.
Then came the mastering. I had sent the appropriate CD’s to a friend in L.A. that had very kindly offered to sit in on the mastering session. They had mastered Peter Moore’s solo record, and it sounded great. A week went by and my peeps had still not received the disk, oh reliable USPS. I didn’t have a backup; those were with Peter who was on tour in Korea. I had to have him Fed Ex them from Korea to L.A. That was a project in itself. The CD’s got there safely. A week after that, the CD’s I sent via USPS got there….two weeks late.
The mastering went well and things sounded great. But upon closer listening, I realized there were some distortion problems on the first two songs. We are hoping that it was some gear malfunction, and that everything will be ok the 2nd time through. But we’re all nervous. I don’t know what we’ll do if it’s on the recording. We’d be fucked.

Despite these setbacks, I’m starting to work on the album art with a friend. I hope there’s a full album to go with it.

When telling two people about what songs were on the record, and after one of them hearing it, I got the same bummed out reaction about one of my newer songs not being on it. It’s probably the most poppy song I’ve written, ‘Luxuries of Poverty’, and I had really wanted to put the bitch on there, but it didn’t work. It didn’t click. So, that was reassuring.
It will have to go on the next record. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about a next record, but I was always thinking about the next record when I was recording this one. I don’t want it to be another 4 years before I release something. If I release something.

This record is basically going to be my testament of faith and perseverance. I think I’ll likely start second-guessing my ambitions if people think this record sucks a lot. I’ll always write, but……. I have no idea what that means. I really can’t imagine doing anything else. I can only imagine doing this bigger and better. But how many crappy musicians say that?
A lot of them.

I’ve heard them.

The question is, am I one of them?

Who knows? I can’t worry or care about this right now. I just have to take my strangely balanced spotty body and keep working without thinking.

procrastinating, planting, and pretending

2008-06-12T11:57:00.000-07:00

Ok. I'm starting to get excited again. My love of baguettes has not subsided, but I'm ignoring it and trying to focus on the record.

I don't like to procrastinate, but I do. I sometimes do my best work at the last minute. The album is done, I still have no artwork, but I'm finally coming up with ideas. I've been playing the album a lot, trying to analyze the faults so that when people point them out, they won't hurt so much. I won't be as weak. It's really a lame and counterproductive way to deal with things, but it's something that I've always done. Also, by seeing the faults, I know what to work on, but I also can see what's good and different.
I think this comes from my mother's approval. When I was a kid I would bring home artwork and be so proud of it. I had worked really hard on it, I knew mom would dig it. However, I would show her the picture and she'd say 'hmmm, that line is distracting. Or, that color changes the focus. But really good job honey, you should be proud.' She's an artist, she expects a lot from her kids.
My sisters and I give her shit for it now, and we all laugh at her for it, but at the time we got a little pissed. All that work for nothing.

I've listened to the album so much, and analyzed it so much, then subsequently listened to other records that I liked or that just came out and were new, that I started to get a little insecure. I need approval. I have strong opinions and have a healthy level of self-awareness and confidence, but constantly critiquing and judging does begin to wear on you. Especially since only a handful of people have heard the record. There isn't a surplus of people telling me it's great, or even that it's not, all I have is me running over worst case scenarios in my mind;
which makes me want to play it for people and plead, 'is this good? am I crazy?'

But I'm waiting. At least I'm doing that right.

We have a show on the 21st. I'm really excited about it as we haven't played since January or February. At our first rehearsal we had after not playing for months, when I opened my mouth to sing I think I literally croaked. Not good.

I was just outside running around for an hour and a half and I got a sunburn on that area between my neck and my shirt. I haven't had a sunburn in a really long time. Years probably. It's really freaking me out.

On another note, I just read Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder. It's a non-fiction about Dr. Paul Farmer whose mission is to bring better health care to Haiti, and then try to cure/eliminate the spread of TB and multi drug resistant TB in Haiti, Siberia, and Peru. It's an amazing story, and he's an amazing man. To do so much, all the time, for virtually no pay, and to be so excited about it... Admittedly, I thought how I could get so much done with my record if I had worked that much and slept that little. But it's different when you're doing it for the greater good of mankind, and not just for yourself.

I'm also reading Thirteen Tales by Diane Setterfield. I never read any Harry Potter books, but I have a feeling that my addiction to this book might be the equivalent of others addictions to those. This isn't a series, but it's chunky. 400+ pages. I started reading two days ago and I'm halfway through. Love it.

I've also taken up gardening. I realized last weekend that the reason I love it is because I can be outside working, and not just sitting around drinking a beer or something. Which is great, and I wish I did it more, but I do like knowing that I'm doing something with my time. Enjoying myself while working, and sweating. You also get to take care of things. And if you take care of them well, they blossom and show their fruits. It's like children, but less time consuming. And not as much of a commitment. And if you don't like what's happening you can rip it out or cut it down. I don't recommend that with children, they need a bit more love.

My friends were talking about who their top 5 musician/actor dreamboats were. I named three actors, Daniel Day-Lewis, Robert Downey Jr., and Johnny Depp. I couldn't think of any musicians. If I could go back in time I could, but I can't now.
Speaking of Tom Waits, did you see his 'press conference' announcing his tour for places that are not near me?

Dear Tom Waits and Booking agent,

please please please please please please please play somewhere in Mass or NY. please.

xoxox

~sarah

memories of food

2008-05-27T11:36:00.000-07:00

I'm back from Franceland and trying to remember and care that I've spent the past 9 months of my life recording an album that is supposed to be very important to me. It's finished, just needs mastering and artwork. I think it sounds great, and I'm really very happy with the way it came out. So happy in fact, I can completely remove myself from the whole equation and think 'oh, this is a good record. I hope they come here and tour', conveniently letting the responsibilities and imminent workload slip from my brain. My brain, once ambitious and artistic, now craves fresh cheeses, baguettes wrapped in wax paper bags tucked under arms, produce unlike any I've ever seen or tasted, duck confit with frites, Presidente butter, and cheap(er) Sancerres. If I was allowed to do nothing but eat food from France everyday, I would be so happy. And I don't mean just French cuisine. I mean Indian from France, Vietnamese from France, street food from France, everything from France.

Food makes me so fucking happy. Why work when you can eat so deliciously? And the thing is, they know that and only work 35 hours a week.

So, yeah. Now I have to do this album. My thighs will be happy, but my heart will be thinking of things more edible.

I still have no artwork. Oh, this pains me. I'm having such blockage on the matter.

Ok, stop whining.

In other news, I recently and reluctantly purchased the MGMT album. I have had no interest in this band since the first moment I saw their picture and read reviews. Did not sound special or unique in the least. But then I heard 'Time to Pretend', and saw the video for it, and quite frankly, it was the most futuristic sound I've heard in so long. For the first time I heard the voice of the generation just behind mine, and it was so moving. I love their album. I listen to it a lot.

Also bought 'Clare and Reasons'. Very cute, smart songs, that are beautifully arranged.

I re-watched American Beauty and cried like I did the first time. Such a masterpiece. It made me play the piano for a little bit. Until I stopped to eat cookies.

ok. I'm off to find some ambition somewhere, and the rock where my artwork lives.

More blah-ging later.

What's up with the moon?

2008-04-23T12:44:00.001-07:00

Is the moon in the seventh house? Jupiter aligned with Mars?
I’ve had the strangest, most amazing, and awful few days. The only logical explanation could be the moon.

Sunday morning I awoke from a fitful sleep filled with anxiety-ridden dreams, boa constrictors, fires, family in tears, cake eating, and resuscitation. My mom and sister were in town, and turns out the whole household suffered the same sleep.

A breakfast of homemade whole what pancakes with pecans and bananas made things better, so we decided to go for a walk before dropping my sister off at the bus station.
I do live in a suburb-ish type place that is incredibly close to the city (4 mi), but it is also near a nature reserve. I have learned to love it.

The three of us go hiking in the woods, which were perfect and beautiful, but we turned on to a path that put us over a mile away from where the car was parked, and we had to leave to get my sis to her bus in 5 minutes. I called my housemate, he picked us up and drove us to the car. As we pulled up to our vehicle, everyone began to wonder if we had left a window down, because it seemed like the back window was missing. Turns out someone smashed it in. In broad 12:45pm daylight. On a major road.
Luckily, my mom and I had put our bags in the trunk. But my sister, being the poor college student that she is, left her bag in the back seat. Who would steal a bag full of knitting needles and library books?

A drunken asshole, that’s who.

My sister’s bag was gone, as was her purse, which contained 3 dollars, some change, and a credit card with $30 left on it.

We were shocked, and the realization of everything that was lost began to sink in. What was in the bag was valuable, but not to anyone else but my sister: library books that would cost hundreds of dollars to replace, a room key that would cost hundreds of dollars to replace, all her knitting needles (almost $100 worth), some clothes, and her final essay for school that was handwritten (by the suggestion of her dumb teacher).

We called the cops, Morgan (sister), got on the phone to cancel her card. The motherfucker had already started spending money at a gas station, a liquor store, and a McDonald’s. Based on the store’s location, and how long we were away, he had gotten to our car probably 10 minutes before we got there.
Police reports were filed, we were all praying to something that we would at least find her backpack. While at the Police Barracks, they get a call saying they found a pocketbook and a pair of pants at the gas station that the card was used. The wallet was at a different police station now, 20 minutes away.

We finished filing the report, parked my mom’s busted car at the house, and we were off to Exxon Mobil in Lynnfield. By our private investigating expertise, we determined that the criminal would likely get rid of her bag once he realized how worthless it was (the bastard). We arrive at the gas station and scour the garbage. Nothing. We thank the employee who called the cops about the wallet. He was swell.

Next stop was the McDonald’s. All four of us split in different directions, picking through the 18 trashcans outside the place, and rummaging through bathrooms, etc. inside. We were winding up empty handed until a car pulled out of the parking lot to reveal A 19th Trashcan. I slowly walked over, peered inside, and pulled out my sister’s backpack. My mom comes screaming out of the McDonald’s ‘She found it! She found it!’ as I stood there in udder disbelief.

We were psyched. We were smiling from ear to ear. We piled into the car, drove to the police station, picked up the wallet that was indeed Morgan’s, and re-counted this most amazing journey that happened in just 2 and half hours.

We celebrated with salads and beer.

After our lunch we dropped Morgan off at the bus station, mom went in with her to buy her ticket, and my housemate and me turned off the car to wait. ‘ Fuck yeah!’ ‘We’re awesome.’ ‘Hey, you know what was weird, when I put my window down just now it went really slow.’ ‘Weird, let me turn the car on again.’

No dice. The car was dead.

My mom came back to the car all smiles and skipping. I broke the news. She thought I was kidding. I was not.

To summarize the rest of this story: 2 and a half hours later, mom and I were on the subway on our way home to my house, and my abandoned housemate was still waiting for AAA in the car. He couldn’t leave it because the window was stuck down. The car couldn’t be jumped because it was the alternator.

9 hours later after our initial venture, all members found themselves back in their respective places. Morgan got back to Amherst (2+ hours away) before we got home from the bus station (6 miles from my house).

There went a day of mixing my record.

That’s what you get when you try and have fun.

Back to the basement.

there's no shortage of volume

2008-04-21T11:37:00.000-07:00

Nothing new, of course, but I’m an emotional roller coaster.

One day I’m blissed out, nothing can get me down, ‘oh my leg fell off, no biggie.’ The next, I’m brain dead. Exhausted. Can’t put sentences together.

I haven’t seen friends in weeks, haven’t gone out to shows, barely go outside at all. I’m trapped in a basement with low lighting and a futon that I can’t seem to stay awake on. Regardless of the time of day, noon or 1 am, I sit on this fucking couch listening to mixes, and I’m horizontal in minutes. I wake up intermittenly, interjecting notes, ‘no reverb. that’s perfect. I’m hungry’, and fall back asleep for a few minutes. I’m pretty beat.

The five songs with strings are done and mixed. They’re intense. Lots of drama. Lots of emotion. I’ve listened to them too many times now. I kind of want to give myself prozac. Do people still take Prozac?

I don’t really want to take anti-depressants. I’m just amazed at my neverending need to express myself at full volume. I have no shortage of volume.

eeeek!

2008-04-01T09:08:00.000-07:00

I love my album.

I love my album.

I love my album.

I can’t wait to play it.

I don’t want to jinx the project in its final weeks, but the way this album has come together has been cosmic. The difference between my first album and this one is huge. The fact that we’ve been playing these songs live for over a year has helped lock down the foundation. The fact that Peter has been recording his own stuff for years helps in organization and efficiency.
Everyday I walk down the steps into the basement studio, and everyday I am in awe of the sounds coming together in every song. How can music come together as I’ve always heard it, but never known the exact recipe? The strings, the harmonies, the fuzzed out guitars, the gang vocals……..eeek. I’m so happy to take advantage of Peter’s genius. It makes me feel extra smart.
I had to get glasses for reading. That makes me feel extra extra smart.

Count Zero had rehearsal the other day in the basement so I took advantage of the Man Power, with reinforcements from Ad Frank, and had them sing on ‘Man Child’. Izzy asked what their choir name was going to be, I think I’m dubbing them the Man Choir. Or the Man Chorale, maybe.

Thanks to everyone that responded to my email/bulletin about photographers, etc. Matty and I are looking things over and figuring out what will work out for us. It is so very awesome to have people want to help. I am honored.

In the coming weeks, Matt and I will be looking for a third assassin to join the band. Our dream person plays bass and keys. Our dream person can sample sounds on their keyboard, and play texture stuff. Our dream person would be willing to travel. If you know of someone, let me know.

Matt and I are also figuring out scenes and setups for the photo shoots, etc. If you have any images that come to mind when you listen to our music, please let us know. If you have any images that conjure up with thinking about the name Self-Employed Assassins, please let us know.

I re-read Jitterbug Perfume (one off my favorites) by Tom Robbins. It’s amazing how much that book affected my life and I didn’t even realize it.
I read Diving Bell and the Butterfly. It was good, but not as magnificent as Julian Schnabel’s movie.
I’m painting again. I doubt it’s any good, but it’s nice to be doing it.
I’m watching my life’s savings slowly drain, and am getting nervous. But I no longer doubt if it should be done. There’s nothing I’d rather do with this money.

I came to the realization that the only way I could ever stop wanting to pursue music as my lifeblood, was if I could host a travel show.
My parents would like someone to offer me a travel show.
Actually, they probably don’t.
But check back in a year. Then they probably will.

xoxxoxxo
~sarah

demo-itis

2008-03-26T08:21:00.000-07:00

2 and a half years ago I recorded 5 songs as a demo with my friend Dan Brennan. All the takes were done live, me on piano and vocals, Rigel on violin. There are no overdubs. We played it exactly as it sounds; doing 1 or 2 takes for each song. 4 of these songs appear on my myspace page. 3 of those 4 belong to a ‘tasting’ CD that I sell at shows for $3.
This ‘tasting’ CD has been vital for the past 2 years. It was always my intention that an album would soon be recorded after the demos; but to tie people over, to give an idea of my current songs--as they sound drastically different from my full-length album--they would have these 3 songs.
I have gained fans with these songs. I’ve gotten gigs with these songs. I’ve found and loss band mates with these songs. The ‘tasting’ has done it’s job, and probably overstayed it’s welcome.

After years of delays and false starts, deaths and divorces, love and losses, and a stint with irresponsible freedom, the album is getting closer to being The Album.

I knew that I wanted to keep this one simple, a reaction to the first one being overdone, because I wanted these songs to breathe and twirl, and also because the band is simple with just 2 or 3 people in it.
That said, I didn’t want to deny myself the pleasures of hearing bass, strings, keyboards, etc on these songs simply because, as of now, it’s just Matt and I in the band. I wanted to hear all those things, because in my head, that’s how they sound. But when do you say ‘enough’, and when do you say ‘this needs something else’?

I have a string trio or quartet on 5 songs on the album. There’s bass on almost every song that doesn’t have strings, there’s layers of keys on some songs, guitar on others, organ, etc. and I think it sounds great.

Aye, but here’s the rub.

People get attached to demos because that’s how they first hear a song, it means something to them, and it’s how they connect. I remember hearing the first few songs released from Regina Spektor’s Sire-made release ‘Begin to Hope’, and being totally bummed out. I had heard them done live, and they were honest, simple, and beautiful. The production seemed to water down the songs, making it easily digestible in a bad way. But then I heard the whole album and it made sense. I ended up loving it. I ended up loving it even more when I found out that she loved it.

I worry a little that people are going to hear some of these songs that they’ve been familiar with and end up hating the newer versions. I worry because, that’s what I do, and also because we have spent a long time making it this way. For me, the versions aren’t a matter of better or worse; it’s a matter of different. I love both versions (the demo, and the album). The buzzed out guitars and keys in the album version of Autumn Spills makes me so fucking happy. It’s exactly how I’ve always heard the song. The string quartet on San Francisco is stunning, and so beautifully arranged. I feel instantly transported to the 18th century.

Ultimately, I only care if I’m happy with the way things sound. If I’m happy, I think other people will be too. It’s like loving yourself so that other people can love you, as cheesy as that sounds.

I think we are making a really good record. Peter has helped immensely by bringing my fondness for classical music, and creepy fuzzy layers into one. It is a feat that I have always viewed as impossible. I wish I could play something for someone and say ‘see! That’s good right?’

I unapologetically need positive reinforcement, and humble doses of adoration.
It’s gross, I know.

I promise to post some more youtube clips of the recording in the next few days. Of course all the funny moments go unrecorded, I should learn to just carry the camera with me everywhere. But let it be known that we are having a really good time, things are getting done, and I have learned from life experience to not get too excited until everything is done.

But if I hadn’t learned that along the way, if I wasn’t a jaded East Coaster that knows better, I would be really excited. Really really quite excited.

self-editing

2008-03-10T12:50:00.000-07:00

It was my birthday last Thursday. I tried to convince myself that I was getting younger, at least younger in spirit. I wore a new dress that was made to my dimensions, I bought new underwear to adjust to the fact that I have somehow grown ‘mild hips’ at my age, and I went to NYC to be in a city that I love. *for the record, I still do not have those curvy, childbearing hips that make women so feminine. I’m still pretty much non-child-bearing-friendly. In more ways than one.

I got a birthday card that said ‘Party like you’re 21’, from a 21 year old. I’m still in my 20’s for god’s sake, and quite frankly, can ‘party’ just fine.

I told someone that is 23-24 my age. They said ‘wow, well you don’t look it’. Really?!! This wasn’t making me feel better. I have never turned an age before and had these sorts of comments. I’m really not that much older than you, right? What is the world coming to?

My weekend in NY was great and I had an inspiring birthday. I was feeling motivated and excited; I hung out with people that were using their artistic skills in their jobs and lives, and it made me happy.
When we got back to Boston, my housemate had a friend in town that lives in L.A. and is a rather well respected producer. In fact his nickname, in jest, is F.H.P. Famous Hollywood Producer. Hanging out with more people that work in their art/medium continued the good vibes.

Having stayed up past 3 am for the three previous nights, and probably drinking a little too much (ha ha ha 21 year old), Sunday was to be a day of rest from the too much food, too much cake, and social butterflying.
I played the piano for a little while, pleased to hear my voice was sounding normal again (it had been acting weird), and happy with some songs I’ve been working on. Then I remembered that the people from the website http://mel.opho.be had posted an interview of us over the weekend. They had come to our two previous shows, took great photos, said nice things, and asked if they could come by a rehearsal and ask us some questions.

This is where things go down hill.

The guys at the site are great and generous. We like them very much. The thing that we don’t like is not self-editing ourselves knowing that we are being taped. Maybe it’s because we were in rehearsal, just hanging out, being dumb and relatively uninteresting, literally using less discretion than meeting someone random for the first time. Or maybe we really are this unintelligent when we speak and really should reflect and try to better ourselves. Matt was ok, but I somehow turned into a valley girl teenager, complete with endless ‘likes’ and ‘I’m alls’. When I lived in California and people would say ‘I’m all, no way. And then he was all, are you serious?’, I would cringe in disgust. But lo and behold, ‘I’m all’ saying it all the damn time. What happened to me? I read constantly. Some people have said they think I’m smart. Some clinically proven and tested smart people have even said that I’m smart. I fear they will take it all back after reading this interview and it becomes clear-- I have lost my mind altogether.

Chemicals start rolling over and dying in my brain. I start to sink again. I’m not motivated. I’m bordering on ‘not good at all’. I’m an amateur. Why would anyone listen to this? I’m going to become a housewife that shovels in the winter, plants in the spring, harvests in the summer, and bakes bread in the fall. I’m gonna get sup'd up on prescription pills and numb all my senses and forget my desires and hopes of ever doing anything with my life that involved art of any kind. 21 year olds think I’m old. I’m starting to believe it. I didn’t think this way 3 days ago. Shut up, Rabdau. Snap out of it. Get yourself under control. Learn from your mistakes.

Ok. Ok. Ok. I’m not dumb, I misjudged. The world is not ending. The sky isn’t falling. Would it be better if it were?

Ok. Ok. Ok. Stopping. Breathing.

I go to the bathroom to freshen up before I step out and get some groceries. I look in the mirror and realize that the lines that have started to peak out around my eyes over the past few weeks are not going away. It’s not because I’m dehydrated, it’s not because the air is dry, it’s because despite my efforts with creams and young in spirit mantras, I’m getting older and it doesn’t go away. It’s not a phase. It’s real.

That’s when I lost it.

I don’t feel old, and I’m not old, and I know it. I do feel mature for the first time in my life, and that does kind of blow for some reason. But there’s something that goes on in our culture that makes women especially, feel like shit simply for living their lives according to normal human progression cycles. Is there some sort of disease that exists for people that are hyper aware of aging? Sort of like an eating disorder but with aging? That doesn’t involve the desire for plastic surgery? I think I’m getting it. I think our country is getting it.

I’m not one of those people that created the best work of their life at 22. I didn’t. It was kind of shitty, in fact. I am getting better with age, both as a person and an artist, and I hope I continue to. What I also hope is that this feeling of imminent doom and insecurity of purpose goes away. I’m praying it will once the album is done. That I will be able to listen back to it all and hear and believe that it was all worth it and I’ve done the right thing. Even though I get older along the way.

Because, apparently, that’s not a phase.

winter sucks souls dead, but there's always Daniel Day-Lewis

2008-02-22T07:18:00.000-08:00

I've been talking to some friends and randoms and it's unanimous; winter is dumb. Or actually, we're dumb for living in a place where winter exists for 5 months out of the year. I don't ski, I haven't been sledding in years (which really should be remedied), I don't like snow except when I'm inside looking out a window, and despite my love of rain, cloudy days, and spf 30, I do actually like the sunlight. But I hear daylight savings is on March 9th this year, so there could be hope. I guess someone in the big house made a good decision for once.

A few weeks ago I had a dark week. Probably the darkest I've been since I was 16, and by god I was really dark then. It stemmed from a lot things, one of them being the feeling of neediness and having others make me happy but not being happy on my own. It's sort of like a drug, people that make you happy and laugh, once you have them around you need them all the time until they're gone and you are shaking from withdrawals and puking all over the place. Well, maybe it's not that bad, but imagine your soul and your heart doing that.
The other stem that darkened my mind came from insecurity with art and life, and the realities and truths of putting out a record. Putting out a record costs 1 billion dollars and it's really a pretty self-indulgent expense. My best friend was reassuring me, 'some people buy tv's for a billion dollars' , 'yeah best friend, but they will get years of entertainment out of that sucker. my dreams will likely fade when the press don't cover the record, no one buys it, or comes to shows. Just another melodramatic songwriter at her piano. Oh, and on top of being shattered, I will have absolutely no money in my bank account, and no skills or interests that would attain a job that has nothing to do with music and will make me miserable.'
Like I said, I was in a dark place.
I pretty much think all those things still, but the difference now is that I'm not letting it get to me. I remedied my darkness with a weekend of solitude, leaving the house only to buy groceries, and playing a bunch. I finally finished the lyrics to a song that I had been working on since August and had wanted to play at the last show. I think the title is 'Tooth and Hair'. It's about decomposing and dying, but done in a pretty raucous and upbeat way. I think it's kind of dance-y, but my mom didn't really think so when I told her what it was about.
My dad was concerned for my mood, he usually can cheer me up with a phone call, but his efforts were futile. I told him I just needed to be alone and to make myself happy. He agreed and said that if he was with me he'd totally pamper me. 'that kind of defeats the purpose of being alone, dad'. He just wanted to help.

It's snowing outside again. We're supposed to get 6-10 inches. Remember when it was 60 on Monday? Remember last year when we had, like, 4 inches of snow all year? I didn't have to shovel then. I have to shovel now. I hate shoveling. I like seeing the pavement and the brown grass, it makes me feel like something is going to happen. Like Growth. Soon. I like Spring/Summer/Fall labor, like pruning and planting. Shoveling makes me feel domestic, and I generally don't like that feeling. Planting and cutting makes me feel like I'm helping the world, providing oxygen and pretty things to look at. That's really all we need.

I saw Sweeney Todd. It was fake gory and quite pretty. The music was amazing. That Soundheim can sure write some harmonies.

I'm going to see There Will Be Blood this weekend because Daniel Day-Lewis makes me happy to be alive and lucky to be someone that creates things. I saw him on Charlie Rose the other night and he elevated me. I love passionate people, and he's about as passionate as they get. His work ethic and desire to understand, be, and experience his characters and life is inspiring. You know how sometimes you feel connected to famous people but don't know why? Daniel Day-Lewis is that person for me. I would be a much happier person if I could have dinner with him a few times, or even better, learn how to do something with him. Or have him teach me how to make shoes. Daniel Day-Lewis is one of my inspirations to keep doing.

I read Steve Martin's autobiography 'Born Standing Up'. I would recommend it highly. It's fascinating to hear how he started his act and how he grew as a performer and writer. The things that moved him and inspired him, and how he knew things worked. Also, and I know it's true for almost every artist/performer, how insecure you can get about your art even at the top of your game. I had no idea that at the height of his career he was playing to 45,000! Seriously! He's like Aerosmith or U2!

I'm finally reading Skinny Legs and All after it has sat on my bookshelf for my whole life. I don't know why out of all Tom Robbins books I haven't wanted to read this one. It's proving to be fantastic, per usual. But I'm only halfway through.

ok. Album work will resume in about 2 weeks.

Some nice people reviewed our last show at TT's w/ Nicole Atkins here:
http://mel.opho.be.com

ok.

xoxoxoxox

~sarah

string 'em up

2008-01-28T08:12:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I got out of bed at 7:45, washed my face, and got dressed. For breakfast I had a glass of carrot juice, two cups of Earl Grey with milk and a spot of sugar, veggie sausage with egg whites and feta-perfectly drizzled with Sriracha, and a slice of pumpernickel toast with butter. While I sat eating at my kitchen table a trio consisting of violin, viola, and cello set up downstairs in the studio and were warming up to play on five songs for The Album.
I made coffee for Peter and the guys-two with cream, one just black- and proceeded down the stairs that had been freshly vacuumed the day before. No dust balls in sight. While the trio tuned and waited for their instruments to shed the chill of the snowy morning outside, Peter went over their parts with them, and I snuggled up on the futon in the control room smiling.
I had heard the parts with the cheesy sampled keyboard guide and knew they were going to sound great, but to hear strings on your song live for the first time is like touching your feet in the ocean for the first time. All of your senses are alive; you marvel at the beauty, you feel like the smallest and largest creature on Earth. Like the world is all yours.
The songs began and ended, three takes each- Stop Calling, San Francisco, Boxing Helena, Man Child, and Queen of the Castle. Peter’s arrangements were breathtaking and the players were fantastic and professional.
When the trio left, Valerie Thompson (Fluttr Effect) came over to lay down some weirder parts. I hadn’t really thought about the fact that I was having her over to play the cello without notes. My directions were ‘make it squeal, make it thump, pretend like it’s a guitar and go weeeah ah ah ah ah ah ah.’ Then I asked her to play really really long notes, really really high and really really low. Afterward I felt bad that I had her come all that way to play so strangely, but I just knew she would be the perfect person for it. She can play beautifully, but a lot of people can. Not many can make the cello sound like a dirty pig. It’s quite a gift.
Mer is coming over next week to do finishing touches and flourishes, and then the rest is Peter’s bass and guitar parts, and my final vocals. Doesn’t seem like much, but it’s quite a lot. Especially since there will be a month long break as Peter goes on the road for February. Oh well. I’m writing other stuff and have a billion other things to plan and do for this album. There’s plenty to do.
Oh, and I made a youtube channel thingy and put up some quick video of yesterday, just as a teaser. http://www.youtube.com/sarahrabdau

On the tip note, if you have the opportunity to see ‘the Diving Bell and the Butterfly’ I would highly recommend it like your life depends on it. I have been of fan of Julian Schnabel’s ever since ‘Basquiat’, which is one of my favorites of all time, and this movie does not disappoint in the least. It’s exquisite. It’s beautiful. It haunts you for days, making you think about lines, images, colors, acting, life, love, and senses, just absolutely everything. Julian’s a great painter, and he directs like he’s painting. You find yourself looking at the screen, unsure of why you’re so moved; it’s nothing specific, it’s just everything. It’s the whole picture. Illiterates be warned, it’s a French film and in subtitles, but it is worth absolutely everything.

Xoxoxoxo
~sarah

it's in your blood, baby

2007-12-31T06:32:00.000-08:00

Today is the last day of 2007 and I'm feeling a bit reflective, per usual. I know as you get older things tend to fly by, but this was a year that flew faster than a condor. That's right, a condor. Do condors even fly fast or are they just big and severely endangered?
Let's think about this.......

My body got to move a lot and my body likes to move. I flew to places from Minneapolis to Wichita, Miami to Rio and the change of scenery did me good.
I moved from a wonderful apartment in a fabulous Square, convenience at my fingertips, fantastic girls that lived there, to a big house with a 781 area code, and a piano and a recording studio in the basement. I still miss that apartment, I still miss that life, I will always love and want that life, but I must say I have taken to the freedoms of being a house dweller. Being alone in a big house isn't as much fun as having an apartment to yourself. An apartment to yourself is a special treat, little things never go unnoticed and are often treasured.
No one's home, take a pee with the bathroom door open. You forgot your sock in the bathroom and are naked in your bedroom, fuck it, walk out in the nude and get it. Don't do the dishes for a few days, play late at night, play loud, hog the TV with a marathon of foreign language films and Miami Ink. Whatever.
In a house, you can pretty much do all of those things all the time. You get a little spoiled. Never spoiled enough to not show your love and appreciation at 3:00 in the morning, screaming with your roommate at the piano playing nonsense songs about Christmas trees and cumber buns. It's times like those that you sit back and go 'God, I love living here'.

So there was movement, physical movement, and that's what I'm most thankful for. Movement suits me, so I've heard, and I never want to stall again.

Speaking of not stalling, I had the pleasure of working with Peter on string arrangements for the greater part of yesterday. Having worked with string players for the past 2 or 3 years, I had an idea of the things that I wanted. Peter, however, took those ideas and made them symphonies. Well, some songs he made sound like symphonies, but other songs, even with a string trio, became these rich arrangements filled with longing and sadness, but were never depressing and always full. That's some string parts! If the actual players sound anything like the cheesy keyboard guides right now, I am pretty fucking psyched about this album.
I was sitting there on the couch, listening to these swooping string lines, the clarinet and horn flourishes, the tubular bells, the timpani hits, and I was brought to tears. 'Is this really my song? Will this song actually sound exactly the way I've always wanted it?'
I don't want to jinx it, we are only 5% of the way in, but I'm falling in love with these songs again and I'm happy to be here.

I also found some time this weekend to watch the first disc of the Scorsese directed documentary on Bob Dylan. I shamefully have never only read Dylan's lyrics, always heard them within the song, but never alone. The documentary is truly inspiring and kind of depressing. Here was this 20 year old kid playing folk clubs in Greenwich Village, before it was taken over by cupcake bakeries and expensive restaurants, and he was noticed not for his looks (though he was cute), not for his voice, but simply for his songwriting skills and magnetism. And there was something about him that you couldn't take your eyes off of. I'm not sure if it's because you have this kid, barely out of his teens, singing a song like Candle in the Wind, or if everyone around him senses that he is a legend in the making, exploding with poetry, voice and swagger. It only happens a few times in a lifetime, and he was that one in 20 million.
The whole time I'm watching the movie I'm in tears because of his genius, his artistic fortune, while also being so sad that music will never happen like this again. Unless there's some sort of revolt.
Normal people no longer flock to clubs to hear it, normal people don't go to record stores to buy it, most people don't pay money for it at all, and labels don't sign artists on merit alone. Music, and all it's magic, has been pimped out for a quick, instant gratification fuck. It truly saddens me that I will likely never be a part of a community brimming with ideas, excitement and possibility. The digital age has given us many advances, making it possible for indie bands to find success without the behemoth major label. But with that, we have seen the death of whole albums, with their impossible shrink wrap, the new paper smell, and the fresh, still stiff binding. Music has been cheapened to a single mp3, the labour of making and producing it is no longer valued like a Picasso or a Warhol. It's just plastic now, and something everyone thinks they deserve for free. And god, it would be great to give it away for free, but it's making it impossible for artists to survive.
Sure, maybe it was all too good to be true then. Maybe everyone was naive and excitable because everything always seemed to change and be new. Now that's impossible. All you can do now is 'be refreshing', which ain't so bad, but it's not something you haven't heard before. It's just something you haven't heard that way. Still, not bad....
It's pretty common knowledge that artists can be bad marketers of themselves, they can talk up their favorite bands till the cows come home, but do it for themselves and it gets a little 'ooey'. Artists that can do that are truly at an advantage now, and those who can't are being forced to learn. Not such a bad thing really, but watching this movie the other day I just thought 'Wow, people got help. People believed in you, and you didn't have to think about radio campaigns, press releases, booking shows, and all this other crap. You got to be an artist.'
I wish I had lived at a time when I could just be an artist. Where my prime interest was producing and crafting work, and then networking was my second interest. Maybe there will be some sort of revolution that happens, where audiences get sick of everything being so easy and handed to them through the internet. Maybe. But I have younger sisters that have not graduated high school yet, and I know better.
I don't really mean this to be such a downer, I just find myself reminiscing for a time that I never even lived in. Never got to be a part of. But no matter what happens now, no matter if people are able to buy 30 second clips of your latest masterpiece instead of the whole 3 minutes (I know it's asking a lot), it's not like I'm going to stop making and creating. The possibility to do it as a profession feels further and further away, but the art of it, the reason for doing it at all, will never die.

So with that said, happy new year. May your days be filled with wonderful and unexpected things, and may you never forget your reasons for creating and trying. It's in your blood, baby.

xoxox

~sarah

I'm not who I say I am

2007-12-13T10:37:00.000-08:00

It's December 13th and it's snowed, probably, 7 times so far. Some days it was a sprinkling, some days it left ice, but today it's pounding outside. White sheets are shaking themselves out in the wind, whipping their wet wisps of misery all over my mental health. It's only December 13th and I can't help but feel like this winter is going to tear me down. It's not even technically winter yet.

I feel like a shadow of a person I could have been. Wondering where I would be if I had just pulled the plug sooner, if my heart could have just been cold, if I swallowed all of my selfishness and fed off the supply for years? Why am i so attracted to the idea of not caring about anyone but myself, and being the only one that I have to count on? Probably because I'm incapable.

Production on the album was at a halt for a good two months, it was slightly maddening to say the least. I did play, and Matt and I did rehearse, but the lack of producing something that already has taken years to do made me feel lost. I did not feel like a musician, I still am not really sure if I do.

Now it's December 14th and a blanket of snow now sits on top everything in sight. This is the part that is pretty, this is the part that I can handle. I think I'm heading out of the cloudiness of stagnancy and moving into something more lucid. Maybe because my PMS is over. Fucking female hormones are retarded.
I'm not really a Led Zeppelin fan per se, I mean I like a lot of their songs, and as far as classic rock bands go they are probably up there for me. But I could not stop reading reviews of their reunion show on Monday. I had coincidentally read their Rolling Stone article on Sunday night, and on Monday night I had dreams of how the show was going, a dream filled with lights and magic and supernatural things. On Tuesday I read reviews of the show online almost all day, and I could not stop crying. Really? Yes. I was crying for how great Led Zeppelin was and I'm not even a fan. I own an album. I think.
I came home on Monday and did not hear my roommate in the house making music, as is typical. The lights were on, I knew he was home, but I could not hear him. My thoughts started to race, 'what if something happened to him? What if he's lying on the floor and can't get up? What if he's dead? Oh my god, who would I call? I'd be all alone in this house and there would be no one left. Would I still be able to hang out with his family? Would that be too hard?' Tears started to form, and sobbing started to happen, and then I heard some bass downstairs and thought, 'Thank god'.
Recalling the train of thoughts to him later that night, I started to tear up again.

Hi. I'm hormonal.

Besides working on the album (productivity has now resumed), I have been writing. Lyrics are harder to come by, the bastards, but I have three songs complete and waiting for verbal inspiration. I was hoping to play one of the songs at tomorrow's show, but having one verse and then making sounds like words for the rest of the song might not be that great. Some might say that wouldn't be that different than how I normally sing. They would be wrong. But sort of right too.

Let's see...... I just read Love in the Time of Cholera. I liked it more than 100 years of Solitude. I loved 100 years a lot, but everyone having the same name was really confusing. Even when looking at the family tree every four seconds.
I just read another fantastic book called 'The Brief and Wondrous life of Oscar Wao'. It's written by the Dominican writer Junot Diaz. I loved it. The main character sort of reminds me of Ignatius in A Confederacy of Dunces, in a very smart, awkward kind of way.

ok. anyway..... the assassins have our last show of the year tomorrow, and our first show that we've had in a few months. I hope to see some people there despite the weather and the time of year. I think I need some love and reassurance.

happy new year if I don't drop a line sooner

xoxoox

~sarah

I lied and said I’d give updates.

2007-10-23T13:26:00.001-07:00

At least I have been lying until now.

Here you go……

Well, things started off great. Matt and I went into the studio a few weeks ago to track basics for The Album, just piano and drums. We were attempting to track 14 songs in a weekend; it seemed virtually impossible when I thought about it. To prep for this, as I mentioned, Peter and I did pre-production to discuss what all the songs needed, and what they didn’t. After it was decided what would or wouldn’t be happening when and where, Matt and I started rehearsing with click tracks on songs that we were thinking of putting bass on, maybe even a dreaded guitar part or two.

*sidenote* someone once told me the only thing that my songs needed were guitar licks. I told them to go fuck themselves. I am not opposed to guitar, in fact there are shitloads of bands that I love that only have guitar, but I am typically a fan of experimental guitar. Not making a guitar sound like a guitar, and not masturbating all over the fucking instrument. It’s not a cock. Really. Stop playing it like that.

Anyway, we went in the studio and Matty G was really quite sick, and I was a little worried. But Matty G is a trooper, a professional trooper, and he played through his sniffles and tried to suppress his coughing fits until the piano stopped resonating. What a pal.

While Matty was banging away and holding it all down, my arms were falling off at this 6’ Yamaha with the toughest action known to man, and Peter was in the control room making up fake lyrics to my songs and telling Matt to play his hi-hat like ‘suck it, suck it, suck it’. Things were going surprisingly well, and we managed to track all 14 songs with time to spare. Now it’s time to edit and sing and string and slide and sing more and organ-ize, and a bunch of other bullshit. This always takes such a long time.

On another note, I was in the San Francisco area over the weekend and I absolutely lo-o-o-o-o-o-o-ve it there. I don’t know if it’s because my bestest friend lives there or what, but I was so happy to be there. I actually bought clothing items after trying to for weeks. One of the things I absolutely hate about Boston is that I can never find anything here; I have to shop in other cities. We have limited vintage stores, and boutiques are usually really expensive. It would be a lot easier if I could bring myself to buy things in chain stores, but I just have a hard time doing that. I like to make everything really difficult.

And the produce and food in SF is unreal, it makes everyday an amazing day. I miss my best friend. I miss the big skies. I miss nice people. I mean I love these nasty east coasters, and I am one…most of the time. But sometimes it’s really nice when someone says hello to you, and you look at each other in the eye, and you don’t turn away before you get close. It can change a day sometimes. Not make you feel a thousand miles from your family.

Where does my head end and my toes begin?

2007-09-25T10:42:00.000-07:00

Ah, moving. What a curse and a blessing.

I moved around a good amount as a kid and I always loved it. Claiming new territories, creating a whole new universe with new sheets, fresh paint, and a new view out the bedroom window. It always felt like a reinvention, though unless we moved to a new town, no one else saw it that way. The process of packing is the shit-suck part, but arriving, unpacking, and exploring your new digs and surrounding areas is by far and away the best. Change. It does a body good.

I have not only moved from (617) to (781), but I moved into a house instead of an apartment. I love apartments, I grew up in one till I was 8; when I would see my dad on weekends, etc. he was an apartment dweller too. Apartment=City. Sarah loves the city.

I might be among a modest few that moves into a house and first thinks ‘Jesus Christ this is a lot of space, I’m trapped’. I was thinking of all the wires and currents inside the walls. The pipes that brought water in and took it all out. The weeds in the yard, the hedges that needed to get trimmed, the heat I had to pay for, the sidewalks that needed to get shoveled, all of it felt suffocating. But the thing is, I’m actually not responsible for any of it. I don’t technically OWN the house, I only rent…. but still….. I live there with one other person, and he DOES own it. I can’t be a schlep.

Needless to say, I am getting used to it. There are still buses that go by outside my front door, I can stay up late and blast my stereo and no one cares. I can bang on the piano at 1am and no one cares. I can walk downstairs naked and do my laundry and no one cares. I don’t even need quarters! I have lots of sun in my room, a first after 9 years of near-cave living on first floors. Overall, it’s good. I needed to do some adjusting, but I like it.

At the same time I have been moving I have also started doing pre-production for The Album. I think I mentioned this before, but I’m so fucking psyched about working on this. It has been such a long time coming, and the planets are finally aligning (hopefully). Peter Moore (Count Zero, Blue Man Group, Think Tree) is producing my record, and so far we have laid out a general idea of what we think the songs should sound like. I have been a fan of Peter’s for a very long time; I have even mentioned his shows and talents a few times in these blogs. When listening to his music you are very aware that under these pop songs are nuanced complexities, arrangements, and sound design that normal humans are not capable of. He is not a normal human. He is a musical machine, a robot with emotions and desires. I have never met anyone so musically talented at so many different aspects of music. My brain hurts just watching him think.

In the studio I can very easily get talked into over-the-top, but I am consciously telling myself ‘no’. This record is about the songs, and it will be delivered, at its core, by Matt and I. However, hopefully, with a little help from friends, it will have nuances of strings, and bass, voices, and organs. I really don’t know what the fuck this is going to sound like, I just know I’m so happy and so ready to do it. And I’m so happy that Matt and Peter are my partners in crime for this.

I will give updates as things roll.

I have read some books recently that were wildly entertaining.

Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates- Tom Robbins.
Finished it. It’s a great book. Great characters, wonderfully unique story and perspective…what you can usually expect from Mr. Robbins.

Water for Elephants- Sara Guer
This was a page-turner. Not necessarily an eloquently written book, but could not put it down. It follows the days of a circus worker in the 1930s, and it’s also a love story of sorts. It’s like reading a gripping movie; you can’t wait to turn the page to see what happens next.

Music:

Joan as Police Woman- Real Life.
I bought this CD a month or two ago and wasn’t super amped for it. I thought it was ok. For some reason when I moved into the house I started to play it again and give it another try. I love it. I listen to it all the time now. The production is subtle and effective, there are guest spots by Joseph Arthur and Antony, and the vocal harmonies and accents are AWESOME. I love it.

Ok folks. Will write more as things come to pass.

Xoxo
~sarah

away we go

2007-09-05T12:49:00.001-07:00

I have tried to write blogs for the past two months, but I don’t know where to begin. Mom was right, if people are happy they don’t call. At least I don’t.

In the past two months I have moved my house and belongings, saw the Richard Serra exhibit in NYC (astounding), rehearsed like a motherfucker, wrote a song that I love, ate lots of great food therefore gaining some poundage, agonized and exalted, saw Rufus Wainwright and Morrissey (both shows were life changing), and while doing all this I have tried to wrap my head around this feeling of lightness. And not an unbearable lightness, but a serene lightness where you have to remind yourself that you are in a moment and not just watching a movie. I am happy. I’m pretty sure that I am happy. No, I am happy. And I’m busy. And that’s my favorite. It’s a good time to make a record.

I’m pretty sure that it was 2003 that I recorded my first album. Up until that point, I barely performed in clubs or went out to see shows. I was a yellow dandelion, fresh and young, not ready to send my seeds around as far as they could reach. The album I recorded was sweet and aurally interesting. Lots of people donated their time and I was very humbled by their interest in the project. The album, though favored by some, lacks songwriting skills and is focused more on the overall sound. There are tons of layers in almost every track; the piano is a flourish and not a main component. If I knew how to imbed a photo, and if I had the photo, I would put up my high school picture as a visual representation of what that album sounds like to me. Imagine me with long hair and a faerie necklace.

Sad but true.

It is now 2007, and after many stops and starts my album will begin it’s recording process at the end of the month. I will be enlisting friends that I love and respect to play on it and to help record. I’m so fucking psyched. I’m so fucking psyched! I’m so fucking psyched!! I love these songs, in fact I love too many of these songs and have to somehow cut some out of the picture. That was always my plan, but now looking at the list I am sad that some of these won’t graduate to this album. But maybe they’ll make the next one. In 2015.

Ok….
The St.Vincent record ‘Marry Me’ rocks the house. She’s super supreme awesome. Every time she has come to Boston in the last year I have been out of town. Hopefully not next time.

I’m reading ‘Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates’ by Tom Robbins. It’s pretty great. You have to be in the right mood to read Tom Robbins, and luckily I was. I had wanted to read this book for along time, but I didn’t want to read a book about a triangle and a tomato. This book actually has a storyline with real people in it, and to top it off, the characters are awesome. *as a side note ‘Jitterbug Perfume’ by Tom Robbins is one of my favorite books of all time. Check it out.
Before Sunset is not as good as Before Sunrise, I don’t care what anyone says. Ethan Hawke used to be cute, naïve, and cocky. Now he’s just a bad actor 70% of the time, and a really good actor 15% of the time. The other 15% is TBD.

Oh, and if anyone has any connections as to how I could record a song INSIDE one of Serra’s pieces, I will kiss you a lot.

Until next time.

Xoxoxo

~sarah

Her name is Rio

2007-07-23T12:28:00.000-07:00

I went to Brazil. I went to Rio de Janeiro. I had never dreamed of going there, or even entertained the idea, but I was given the great opportunity to go and I will never say no to traveling. Especially a foreign country. Especially a different hemisphere.

Words often escape me when I try to convey the sheer beauty of the landscape, and culture of Rio. It’s a city situated between mountains, beaches, and sky, watched over by a 38meter tall art deco sculpture of Christ, atop one of the tallest peaks in the city. You can see Christ the Redeemer (Cristo Redentor, a.k.a Christ-y Christ: a name given to the statue by my traveling partner) from almost anywhere in the city, weather permitting. Even for those not terribly religious, the scale and presence of the sculpture is moving. I found it more moving from afar than I did up close. It’s beautiful, and impressive up close, but seeing the sculpture begin to peak through the morning cloud cover, the sun capturing the slight glint of the base, the statue glowing above the largest favela in Rio…….. it’s mesmerizing. Every morning I took in the sight for just a few moments.

I thought spending a week in the city would give me plenty of time to do everything, but I didn’t even come close. I could have stayed solely in Rio for three months, and still not have been able to experience the layers of celebration and life that Brazilians live everyday. Not even for a minute.

The dancing alone…..
One night, after my friend’s show, we went to Lapa with some local friends that were from Sao Paulo but came to Rio to hang out. A few of our night’s hosts were from Rio and knew of a concert that we would hopefully be able to go to, the group was very popular. We got into Lapa around 1:30am and the streets were FULL of people. Everywhere. Live Samba, modern and more traditional, was pouring into the streets as lines formed 20 people deep outside of almost every club in the area. The huge show we wanted to go see was sold out, so we headed to a samba club that was recommended to us called ‘Democraticus’. Turns out this place is known for its more traditional samba and it’s housed in this beautiful turn of the century hall. Walking in, I knew instantly that this was exactly what I had hoped Brazil would be. There was an 8-piece band lined up on the stage, as people of all ages and styles danced and sweat all night long. It was wintertime in Rio so none of the fans were on, but it was HOT. You were sweating before you even danced. It was 78 degrees outside, if not hotter.
The whole group took in the beauty of it. People were dancing. Like, really dancing. We don’t do that in America. We bob heads and make sure we’re cool. Beautiful women in form fitting skirts and dresses danced as if it was their job. The man to watch was a short Pablo Picasso look alike, probably in his 60’s, that danced with these 20 year old girls all night. And the girls wanted to dance with him, because it was more effortless than walking to him. He danced with each girl differently, giving slight hand gestures and body movements that determined where and what they did; and they all followed.
And it wasn’t just him. It was everyone. People wearing khaki’s that look like they just got out of work, dancing with girls that were shy and wearing t shirts. The combination of the masterful dance, mixed with the inexperienced, just the fact that everyone in that place was there to celebrate life with music and dance…. I got teary. And then I started dancing. I danced all night. I danced with Brazilians, and then I danced with the person I came with. And it didn’t matter that we were undoubtedly terrible, because we were in Rio, there was awesome music playing, and more than anything we were alive and happy, and why not celebrate? At 4:30am, our hosts were leaving, and we were going to stay, but realized we should probably head back.
I woke up in the morning bleary-eyed, though not from drinking. I barely drank the night before. It was like someone had injected me with a jolt of life, and it was a drug I had never tasted before. I try and experience as much as I can while I’m here, but this was so different, and I still can’t figure out why. I dance. Hell, I went dancing twice this past weekend, but not dancing like that.

The other thing that made me so happy, besides being in Brazil in general, was going out to eat. Or going to any sort of store. I worked in restaurants for a long time, and I lo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ve food and going out to eat, but I so frequently get bummed out because service is often so shitty. I can deal with casual and probably prefer it most of the time, and I never complain unless something is really fucked, but most people in retail and in restaurants here treat their job as temporary. Because it most of the time is. In Brazil, at least in Rio, service, even in cafes or hole-in-the-wall restaurants, is fucking spectacular. Everyone is important, everyone is a queen, and everyone gets respect, even the servers. Of course, this could be a gross generalization, but I did not have a single meal in all the 20+ meals there where my silverware wasn’t replaced between courses, where my water glass wasn’t filled without me asking, where my wine or beer wasn’t replaced instantly. Seriously, to me that was heaven. I actually enjoyed myself and didn’t have to think about anything.
Oh, and in the Choppe houses in Rio (sort of like brew pubs), keep replacing your beer until you tell them not to. And the beer is like a $1 a glass.

This is a dramatization of what my inside excitement looks like on the outside.

Moving on the floor now babe you're a bird of paradise
Cherry ice cream smile I suppose it's very nice
With a step to your left and a flick to the right you catch that mirror way out west
You know you're something special and you look like you're the best

Her name is Rio and she dances on the sand
Just like that river twisting through a dusty land
And when she shines she really shows you all she can
Oh Rio, Rio dance across the Rio Grande

I've seen you on the beach and I've seen you on TV
Two of a billion stars it means so much to me
Like a birthday or a pretty view
But then I'm sure that you know it's just for you

Her name is Rio and she dances on the sand
Just like that river twisting through a dusty land
And when she shines she really shows you all she can
Oh Rio, Rio dance across the Rio Grande

Hey now woo look at that did she nearly run you down
At the end of the drive the lawmen arrive
You make me feel alive, alive alive
I'll take my chance cause luck is on my side or something
I know what you're thinking I tell you something I know what you're thinking

Her name is Rio and she dances on the sand
Just like that river twists across a dusty land
And when she shines she really shows you all she can
Oh Rio, Rio dance across the Rio Grand
Her name is Rio she don't need to understand
And I might find her if I'm looking like I can
Oh Rio, Rio hear them shout across the land
From mountains in the north down to the Rio Grande
Do do do do do do do do do do do do do do do do do do do do do do

Home invasion that ends in a hug

2007-07-20T12:13:00.000-07:00

Ok, I just got back from a vacation to Brazil (which I will talk about later), when a friend told me they saw my family on the Today show over the weekend. He knew it was them because I told them this story last month, and no one could believe it. And why would you? It's fucking crazy.

But the 14 year old was my sister, Khyber, and my dad is Michael.

Now, they are all over the news and TV.

oh, what a world we live in.

http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2007/07/13/ap/strange/main3056707.shtml

girls just want to have fun

2007-06-20T13:50:00.000-07:00

One of my fondest memories as a child was going to my dad and stepmother’s studio apartment in DC when I was 5 or 6, blasting ‘Girls Just Want To Have Fun’ on the record player, and literally bouncing off the walls while singing into my hairbrush. I LOVED Cyndi Lauper just as much as I loved Boy George, and that’s saying A LOT. I loved their hair, and their clothes, and their attitude. They were so unique.

Last Saturday I got to see her Live for the first time and it was everything I could have hoped for and more. The woman is a vocal freak of nature. Her songs are HARD to sing, she sings at full volume much of the time, and a lot of her songs enter the head voice breaking point. I did a cover of ‘When U Were Mine’ last year at TT’s and nearly blew out my voice singing it; I had to warm up religiously before even thinking about the song.
She comes on stage prancing, practically running, and just wails. Perfectly. No faltering, amazing breath control, it’s as natural as breathing to her. There was one point when she was literally lying flat on her back and singing at the top of her lungs, right on pitch.

God, it was awesome.

I had pangs of jealousy when Amanda from the Dresden Dolls came on stage to sing ‘When U Were Mine’ with her. Fuck, really, this song out of all songs? Oh well, she gets that privilege because she’s worked her ass off for several years. I haven’t.

I’m having feelings of ‘where has all the time gone, it’s June 20th?’ I’m starting to freak out. I need to get disciplined again, I need to make time, say no to going out and to occasions, it’s just…….. it’s just………..

I really love being alone. I really love living so close to everything. I love walking out of my apartment and being 3 minutes away from a relatively major square. I love walking to the square, and then continuing to walk to the next major square, and then continuing to walk to the next and then the next, just because I feel like it. It’s a whim. I was just getting iced coffee at my favorite coffee shop and kept going.
A few weekends ago my day went like this:

-Woke up at 8am, put my hair in pigtails, washed my face and all that other morning stuff, and walked to Diesel to sit and have a sesame bagel with avocado and tomato (no cheese), and a large iced coffee.
-Sat at Diesel for an hour reading ‘Confederacy of Dunces’. Decide to go check out some bikes.
-Despite spitting rain, I walk to Porter and then to Harvard, stopping in two bike stores, and my fave mod furniture place, Abodeon. If I hadn’t had the bagel I would have gotten a Japanese doughnut filled with red bean paste at the Porter Exchange.
-Get to Harvard at 11am and decide to check out movies. The Namesake was playing at 11, I had read the book and my mom had recommended I check it out. I go. I’m the only one in the theatre and it’s awesome, I can’t stop smiling. I have a fleeting thought about how it would be so cool to have someone to make out with in this empty theatre, but then the movie starts. I watch and cry every time scenes of India come on the screen. Dear god, I hope I get to go there someday. Please, Please.
- I leave the theatre hungry and can think of only one solution – I go to Central Square and feast on a typical Saturday Indian brunch: veggie samosas, baingan bharta, shahi paneer korma, saag, kheer, all washed down with a hot milky glass of masala tea. I read my book. I am in LOVE with the day.
- I go grocery shopping at the co-op
- Go home, take a nap, eat a small dinner and go to Berklee Performance Center to see Feist by myself.

That was my day and night. Alone. It was probably one of the best weekends I have ever had.

Ok, so the point of this tangent is that I’m not living in this apartment forever. In fact, I’m moving in September. I’m moving out of the center of things to an area that is borderline suburb-ish. It is something that I Never Ever Ever thought I would do until I was at least 45 or so. Why I am losing my mind?
Basically, so the logic goes, I am going to be moving into a house that has a lot of space. I will be living with someone, but there is enough space so that it will also give me some alone time. I will have my keyboard/possible piano in a separate room rather then next to my comfy bed, and in between the mountains of clean and dirty clothes on my floor.
I love where I live, but I can get very distracted by the people around me and by the close proximity to awesome things and drinking establishments. I need some order in my life. I can’t write anything besides one verse and one chorus. I have at least 7 musical ideas in my head; they’ve been here for a while, and no lyrics to go with them. It’s maddening. It can all be justified by ‘I need to enjoy this for all it’s worth, because I might never have it again’. But you can say that with anything really, and not have it hinder your musical productivity.

The other thing is that I haven’t felt like myself in so many years. Myself, uninhibited by anything or anyone, without questioning or wondering what the person I love will say. …Me. Sarah Joelle Rabdau. It’s really exhilarating. I am slightly nervous for September, fearing that I might fall back into someone that withdraws and is chronically unhappy unless ignoring or running away. I don’t want to be that girl ever again. It saddens me to know that I was submerged in that stifling realm for a long time; through no ones fault but my own. I was too scared to admit things weren’t right and to lose so much that I loved.

But…..fuck…..I have so much work to do.

Oh, but I just got my Netflix…………..

flesh and bones with Nick Cave

2007-06-12T09:28:00.001-07:00

Last night I had a recurring dream that left off where my last dream did a few weeks ago.
I was in a hilly desert with Nick Cave and a Mexican hunter/poacher, and we were on a search for rare and exotic flowers. It was highly illegal, we were searching on sacred and preserved land, and I have no idea how I got involved with either of them.
These flowers, it would seem, grew beneath the sand and that’s why we needed this expert to help us. He had the nose, much like a pig for truffles, for finding these rare breeds.
Nick had come to Mexico on some crazy personal mission. Whether it was to escape, drink tequila, and write songs while sweltering in one room of a shanty motel room, I’m not sure. But while he had been in the country, and being Nick Cave, he had come in contact with this botanical poacher and had obviously been intrigued by him and wanted to experience his work. (Ok, yes, this sounds a little like the Orchid Thief, but this is when things go awry.)

A few weeks ago I had started this dream and I got as far as sitting at the bottom of a sandy hill in the 115-degree heat while watching Nick loom above me. Our sweaty and dirt smudged hunter was leaning over, digging for something good, when we heard some people approaching. I somehow knew it was my job to divert these people.
Nick had probably originally found me sitting outside at a café table somewhere, drinking a sweaty Presidente, dressed in white, and thought I’d be perfect for this position. I was the light to his dark. I could play the innocent.
So there I was, preparing my story for these visitors, a story that all of us had collectively made up so that it would be believable, when all of a sudden I hear the hunter get up and grunt. I look up with just enough time to see him pull out a pistol and shoot the two men approaching with two shots. Bam Bam. Done. Dead.
I was shocked speechless, my stomach turned, I looked to Nick, and he looked back to our Mexican cohort who just bent down and started digging again.
That’s where my dreamed ended before.

Last night I found myself at the bottom of the hill again, seeing the two men on horses breach the horizon and gallop closer to us. It all came flashing back to me, and I looked up as the hunter was once again holding his pistol and aiming. Two shots. Down.
This time I screamed, ‘I have a fucking story! We’re not supposed to be killing people! What kind of sick fuck are you!? I have a fucking story!’ Nick and the hunter looked at each other and started walking down the hill, straight past me but bumping into me. They went over to the bodies and started dragging them to a location more discrete.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I implored. That’s when they both told me that we would have to get rid of these bodies so that no one would find out. They were going to cut them up into tiny pieces and put them in the vases of these flowers as an organic fertilizer--bones and flesh. What remained we would burn. I felt dizzy, my mouth was dry, and I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t believe it had all come to this, I had the story,
it was all planned.
The scene cut to a few hours later where flowers were starting to filter down the hill and I was arranging them into vases. Before the flowers went in, I would cut up small pieces of flesh and ground bone matter into the bottom. I was humming to myself and had somehow, probably out of shock, convinced myself of my innocence. I had no part of this. This was all their doing.
Over the course of the next few hours more men would come by feet and horse, and our friend with the gun would shoot them down, always with two shots. It became no big deal, and I kept on arranging and cutting up flesh.

At the end of the day, things got sort of frantic, and we were all stuffing flowers into vases with no discretion. Nick kept on saying things like ‘more flesh, more flesh’, and we would cut bigger chunks to try and hide all these bodies quickly. That’s when a pickup truck came with a dashing and slightly overweight dark-haired man driving. He got out of the car and seemed fairly friendly with the hunter and Nick, but not in a way that let me believe he knew what was going on. I started to get nervous as I began to realize that I was not an innocent after all. That even though it was not my intention to kill these men, I still took part in their slaying, I covered it up, and I would someday pay for this.

I looked over at the flowers, seeped in flesh and bones and hanging out in the dessert sun almost all day. They were dying. I turned to Nick and asked ‘should we just throw out the flowers?’ He nonchalantly responded, ‘yeah, might as well’.
The dapper man that had been talking to the guys, I realized, had come to pick up the flowers. He didn’t seem to have a problem that we were throwing them away. They did look wilted.
He walked over to the table where the vases were sitting and offered to help us. ‘No, that’s ok’, I hesitated, ‘I can handle it’. He refused to listen, grabbed three vases, and we both walked over to his truck. All the while, I’m running options in my head; how am I going to get rid of these flowers without him seeing what’s inside? Panicking, I start throwing the flowers into the bed of his truck and dumping the evidence of the day-gone-wrong into a black trashcan. I have frantically taken the vases out of his hands so that he can’t see; I’m flirting and chatting him up, anything that will save our asses. I think we are done and I’m tying up the bag when out of the corner of my eye I see him looking into the bottom of one of the vases. ‘What’s this’ he asks, ‘organic material?’
‘Uhhhhhhh, yes’, I mumbled as I grabbed the last of it and shoved it into the trash.
‘Thanks for the work you did today, maybe we can resuscitate these flowers when I get them back home’, he says.
‘Ok, great.’

The dream cuts and I find myself sitting on the hood of the truck with Nick, the hunter is driving us into the dusk. The cactus and desert landscape are lit with the blue light of the moon rising. Nick’s skin is glowing, pale, sinister, and peaceful. I realize that I can never take this back, and I will never be the same.

This is my life now.

Me and Nick Cave.

oops...I did it again.

2007-05-09T07:20:00.000-07:00

I have spent all the money that I have on CD's again. Walking and listening to my ipod is my only elixir right now, so I need my fix. Got to stay up on the times.

Music I am enjoying and would love to recommend:

Frida Hyvönen- 60's style Scandinavian pop. Plays piano, kinda repetitious like, but great harmonies and very cute and quirky lyrics. Not in a novelty way. In a 'I like the way you talk' way.

Joseph Arthur- I know I said this already, but honestly I am so in love with him right now. I literally listened to the song 'Tattoo' 9 times in a row this morning as I got ready. That doesn't even include how many times I listened to it yesterday, and how much I have listened to the two records I have over and over again this past week. He is one of the first to do the looping guitar thing. That's not usually my thing, but he does it so beautifully, and the songs are so honest. So good. God, I'm so in love with him. I want to buy all of his albums and become a collector.

Feist 'The Reminder'- I listened to her first album a few times and thought it was okay. A little too mellow for me. A few months back I heard a song from this new album and had a feeling that I would really like it. I do. It's fucking awesome. I love her voice, I love Broken Social Scene, but this album rocks my world. There's a guest appearance by Jamie Lidell, instrumentation is stellar, and the whole thing is produced so well. I can't even pick a favorite song right now because it's so great.

Bright Eyes 'Cassadaga'- I haven't always been a fan of Bright Eyes. Sometimes he gets a little too sad and pathetic for me, his voice was originally too whiny. I really loved his last two albums though, and Cassadaga continues to pull me in. This album is far more positive than his previous stuff, and the whole record is more open, with new types of arrangements and his exquisite lyrics (always something you can count on).

Björk 'Volta'- I love Björk. This album is another freakishly bizarre and beautiful display of her artistry. Earth Intruders has one of the most amazing and nasty beats I have ever heard. The track with Antony is heartbreaking, I think it's 'I See Who You Are'...could be wrong. His voice tears me apart with just a whisper, and the combination of her power and sweetness with his pain, is extraordinary.

Leonard Cohen 'Songs of Love and Hate'- Famous Blue Raincoat has always been one of my favorite songs, but I never have owned it on CD before. Now I do. I almost broke down in tears yesterday on the subway just READING the lyrics to Avalanche. The words flow so beautifully before they are even 'sung'.

Red House Painters 'Rollercoaster'- One of the saddest bands EVER. I bought this record for nostalgia, as I used to have a crush on this boy that played piano at this cafe that I frequented and also played at in So. Cal called Cafe Lolo's. He became one of my good friends, though I always had and probably always will have a crush on him. That's what happens when you don't consummate feelings.
Anyway, we hadn't had contact with each other in a few years and then he found me on the interweb. My heart jumped around like a schoolgirl. Silly. Oh well. I bought this record to reminisce, and I am.

I'm seeing Arcade Fire tomorrow night. God damn am I holding on to that like it's my last breath.

Matty G and I had a good rehearsal last night. Meredith, most likely, will not be playing with us much, or at all anymore. She is doing adult things like buying houses and getting her masters. Wonder what that's like? We are looking for new assassins to fill in, though we rock a lot just the two of us.

I want to embed some videos on my myspace page that some nice people have put up on youtube. I'm slightly retarded on the matter, so if someone has ideas, let me know.

ok.

xoxoxox

sarah

LIfe happens. You change.

2007-05-07T07:39:00.000-07:00

I am in love with Joseph Arthur. I have just discovered him. I have listened to little else for 5 days now.
I was supposed to see him two weeks ago, but life happened and I had to go to NY. I'm pretty much exclusively listening to 'Come to Where I'm From', but I have also had 'Nuclear Daydream' in rotation. 'Redemption's Son' has been ordered and will arrive shortly. I adore him, I adore him, I adore him. I want to sing with him. I want to stand in front of the stage that he performs on and feel IT, that thing that some performers have, and some don't. I have a feeling he has IT.
I need some IT. I need it from someone else, and I need it for myself.

I've been going through a whirlwind of emotions. Some days I feel very much at peace and focused, other days I feel anxious and like I don't know myself at all. I want to spend sometime alone. Ideally I would love to go somewhere kind of far and just live for 3 or 4 days in a sort of silence. I would play and listen to music, but I would barely talk to anyone. Just watch.

Almost a year ago I went through a divorce of sorts. I had been with my boyfriend at the time for 11 years, he was not only my partner but also my family. When we broke up, he left and I was alone for three months in the apartment we had shared for 7 years. When I am upset or mad I clean like a motherfucker, and I did; even though I knew I would probably be moving out at the end of the summer. And I did.
Up until that point in my life, it was easily the hardest thing I had ever been through. The alone time was invaluable. I processed and played over all the things that went down, everything that I did wrong, all the memories we had together in the corners of each room. It's a hard thing to let go, we were with each other for almost half my life. You kind of have to rediscover who you are, and if all your faults are true to your makeup or if they were a result of being unhappy?

This thing with Dirk is the same sort of feeling, except that I don't have the alone time, and I'm not thinking about what I did wrong. To get alone time I have to walk for miles with my headphones in, and I do. I love walking. I walk all over the city and Cambridge.
You would think that if you had years to prepare for the death of someone that you love, it would be easier to swallow. It's not. Maybe the first day is easier, but not the weeks following.

I wrote a blog last week about how I felt so happy and hopeful. I didn't post it. Everyday changes.

People ask me why I haven't been booking shows and why I'm basically letting my talents go to waste. The answer for this past year is this: I'm letting life shape me, not me shape my life. I never do that. I always make things happen, always plan, always work and hideaway. I did not do that this year, as I couldn't. Hiding away would not allow me to experience all these changes and directions.
Things are different now. I am feeling the need to hideaway again. I am feeling the need to shape my life again. I am starting to feel ready.

I'm hoping that I record my album in September. I have a lot of work to do before that happens. It was supposed to happen last year in July, but life happened. It's been a long time coming.

I just put on Cocteau Twins. I love the music that I have learned about this year. It all has somehow become my favorite, music that I would go to a deserted island with.

I love the people in my life. I miss the people that can no longer be apart of it.

Life happens. You change.

she was loved

2007-04-23T14:50:00.000-07:00

The problem I have with saying too much about my personal life is that I feel, in some way, it might be exploiting people and situations solely for the benefit of getting noticed. Since I don’t love drawing attention to myself--except when on stage, photo, interview, at a club--I can be a little vague about my life, both in and out of the blog/rock world.
My friends know that I won’t talk about big problems until I hold on to them for a while, processing and cultivating. For that reason, if any of you feel like sharing please send me a message or comment right on the blog. Do not post a comment on my main myspace page, I will delete it, even if it's sweet.

My mother is an amazing woman; I have never met anyone that has said otherwise. She’s an art teacher at an elementary school in NY, she has raised three kids virtually on her own, she’s vivacious, funny, smart, beautiful, and she lights up every room she enters.
When I was a teenager I hated her. I yelled, I cursed, I got angry when she breathed too hard or talked too loud, I told everyone that they ‘just didn’t know her’ when they told me I was crazy for my vitriolic behaviour. I was wrong, they were right. One day, around the age of 18 or 19, I realized how great she was.

Part of my frustration with her was that I always felt my stepfather stifled her, yet she always defended him. I knew she was a better woman, stronger than she thought, and worth far more than she gave herself credit for, I couldn’t understand why she didn’t demand more for herself.
I won’t go into it totally (listen to my songs and figure it out), but my stepfather and her divorced. He is a faulted person and has done many wrongs, but I think it takes up too much time and effort to hold grudges and to not forgive. He’s the father of two of my sisters, financially supported my piano lessons, acting camps, a long list of other things, and I will always love and care for him despite of it all.

There were several tumultuous years. My mom, who has only ever wanted to love and be loved unconditionally, and to have a long history with someone, was alone. She started to teach art again, and went back to school and got her masters. She did this while also caring for her kids, two of whom were in middle school, and one was….well, that was me. I was on my own in Boston, but she still gave love and took care of me. She always sent me an Easter basket and valentines chocolates, always remembered my birthday, and always made me feel like the most beautiful and talented person on the planet. Besides my sisters, of course.

About 7 years ago she met a man named Dirk Barrett, Jr. He was tall, handsome, and fiercely intelligent, had an incredibly dry sense of humour, and loved her the way she was always meant to be loved. He loved her artwork and encouraged her, told her she was smart and she believed it. He took her to the opera and art museums, took her to Italy (though it was during that freakishly hot summer) to see the David and Botticelli’s. He treated her like the modest princess that she is, or rather modest Queen. Everyone in the family knows that I’m the princess.

Dirk taught my sister Morgan to drive, and would go to my other sister Julia’s soccer games. He and his daughter, Lauren, would come to my mom’s house on almost every holiday and he’d bring amazing wines while the rest of us all helped put the food together for us to feast on. Before every big holiday meal he’d say an inspired prayer that could move even the most skeptical (like me and my boyfriend at the time), and at the end twist it so that we’d all laugh aloud.

Five years ago Dirk was diagnosed with cancer. By the time they caught it, it had already started to spread, but everyone was confident that they could maintain it for many more years to come. There were several chemo treatments; he lost his hair a few times, only to have it grow back thicker and more beautiful than the last. Throughout it all he opened his cynical heart to my mother’s love, and she opened her apprehensive heart to him.
For the first time I could look at my mother and know that she was loved, for everything that she is. She was loved. Pictures are worth a thousand words and I could see the exuberance in her eyes. It was no longer just a smile, it was life and the confidence that comes with being loved so much.

Cancer is never fair. It has taken so many unsuspecting souls that have done no wrong and are so very innocent. I remember helping my friend in the 5th grade with a blood drive held for her cousin, Jacqueline; she had leukemia and needed a bone marrow transplant. Hundreds of people came; we were all so hopeful that she would find a match, but she never did. There was nothing more unfair than seeing this toddler walk around the house, crying from pain one day and then making peace with death the next. Children should not have to make peace with death. They should be getting mud on their faces and sand in their shoes, it's what children are born to do.

How could someone that loves so much, that wants to care for someone forever, get dealt such a bad hand? How could two people that had lost faith, find each other and bring each other back to life, only for one to get taken away?

It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved it all. Yes, thanks Shakespeare; for once again twisting these tears into a life lesson that is too bittersweet to handle.

I never got to tell Dirk how much the love he gave to my mom and my family meant to me. The last time I visited, I was so sick the hospice nurse wouldn't allow me near him for fear of what a cold might do to his non-existent immune system. But I know he knows. I know he knows.
I hope he knows.

On Wednesday, April 18th 2007, at the age of 58, Dirk Barrett, Jr. passed on. His daughter, his sister, and my mother were by his side.

You came at the right time, Dirk. You were in the right place. Thank you so much for the love you gave.

planets align

2007-04-10T14:31:00.000-07:00

I have attempted to write several blogs as of late. All were very long, didn't seem to say much, and will probably forever live in the 'draft' department.

I just read an article entitled:

Venus' Atmosphere More Chaotic Than Originally Thought

I don't think I can say it better.

Arcade Fire saved my birthday

2007-03-06T14:20:00.000-08:00

It has become an annual tradition to totally freak out about my birthday; the wrinkles that deepen ever so slightly, the unfulfilled aspirations, dissatisfactions, missed connections and opportunities, reflecting on my failings and misgivings, etc.

This year I didn't do it.

Why not?

The answers, I'm not entirely sure of. I think it has to do with change instead of stagnancy, the company I keep, a sense of peace with gaining wisdom, and the fact that some people said I get hotter as I get older. Definitely, probably that.

That is to say, I didn't freak out until this morning. I didn't really freak out like I normally do, about the things I always do, but I just got incredibly sad. I woke up feeling lonely. Not alone. Lonely.
I missed my mom, wearing her big smile while greeting me with a vivacious 'Happy Birthday, Sweetie', as I sleepily stepped out of my bedroom. I missed a lover putting his arms around me at the first signs of my waking and whispering, 'Happy Birthday, honey', or various other terms of endearment. There was no phone ringing, no text message waiting, no anticipation of a new year, and no sign of it being a different day at all.
They say you're getting older, get used to it. But I don't, and I won't. We should not celebrate because we get older? That doesn’t make any sense to me, it seems counter-intuitive.

So, I tried to change my mood by throwing on some Satie and opening my curtains to the –15 degree day. I tried to ignore the incredible mess that has been accumulating on my floor for over a week, and to not think about how another night had passed without me cleaning it. I threw on something cute, put on some eyeliner, and tried to get excited about the day, about going out later to celebrate. I read my book on the T, which is packed 18 times the amount of a standard sardine can. Whatever, my amazing ability to shut people out comes in handy. I get to work to work, I get some birthday wishes, and I want to go hide. Suddenly, some flowers come through the door addressed to me, and instead of turning my mood around it reminds how this person will not be with me on my birthday. I’m lonely. Not alone. Lonely.
I try to keep it together, but it’s my birthday and I’ll cry if I want to. So I do. I go into the bathroom, twice, and sob. I sob, not because I’m getting older, not because I feel I am doing nothing with my life, I sob because I want affection. Not the platonic hug from your friend or even your best friend, but one from someone that loves you like no one else. That will smile into your eyes and you will know, without them saying, how much they care and how they will love you forever and no matter what.

I spend hours like this, trying to get over myself and trying to not feel so needy. I’m fine, I’m solid, I do this all the time. But I can’t, and I don’t. I cancel my get together and tell everyone that I’m going to an incredibly cheesy movie involving Hugh Grant, by myself, and if you want to come over for cake (so thoughtfully and challengingly made by my roommate) then come over after.
I think I start to feel better, not sure, but I think so.

I had intended to go out and buy 10 CD’s at Newbury Comics, but the weather outside was frightful and I was kind of feeling sick…not just in the head. So I mope, it makes me feel better.

Later in the afternoon a crowd of three friends gathers round my working space and they hand me a bag. Inside are some odds and ends, makeup bag, yellow peeps, and the new Arcade Fire CD released today, on the day of my birth. Suddenly, I know the answer, I know what I’m missing, and I put that CD into my computer, import and play. Out pours love and devotion, pain and exaltation, strange emotional contrasts that remind me of why I love this band and why I love music so much. I knew this would change my life, I didn’t know why or how but I knew it would happen.

Arcade Fire saved my birthday. I don’t know if I’ll love the CD tomorrow as much as I do today, but I know I love it today and I am so very thankful.

Tonight I will go to my movie, I will come home to my friends, and I will be ok. I’m a year older, and I’m ok.

no more $16 mojitos

2007-03-01T13:28:00.000-08:00

I escaped winter again. I don’t think I’ve ever gone away to a warm climate during these bleak months (except when living in California), and now I’ve gone and done it twice in one season. My trip can be explained in three words:

Miami. Ummmmmmmm. Wow.

The location - South Beach at a super swanky hotel on Collins Ave, steps away from the even more uber swanky Delano hotel. The sky was overcast but the temperature was hot, most of the time in the 80’s. I hadn’t been to Florida in ten-ish years and found it hadn’t changed much when I briefly visited Tampa before setting up camp in South Beach.

Tampa- flat, palm trees, big roads, strip malls, fried foods (we went on a search for alligator meat that we had no intention of eating…just wanting to look at it), basically kind of middle America but down at the tips of the U.S. of A, and with lizards running around the streets. We were by the University of Tampa and were surprised at the extreme lack of hip shops and cute college town café’s. We ate outside at an Irish bar with a thatched roof, the menu noted salmon as a specialty. They were out of salmon. We watched the sunset over the bay(?) as stucco’d restaurants blasted top 40 hits covered by local bands. Matchbox 20 never really sounded so bad, and that’s saying a lot. Late one night my friend and I got a recommend from the hotel about a dive bar that was close, cheap, had a great jukebox, and open late. We went, were later joined by members of my friend’s band, and closed the place. The drinks were strong and cheap, the jukebox was probably good but none of our comrade’s songs got played, and we went back to our hotel bleary-eyed and smelling of cigarettes. (You can smoke in Florida bars)
We intended to go to the Dali museum, but didn’t make it. That was very bad of us. Very very bad.

We end up making it to our hotel in South Beach late/early in the night/morning. My friend tours in a band with this big-ish performance group and I was just tagging along to hang out and be warm. The hotel is ridiculous. Super modern, all white lobby, with sheer white curtains that hang down in bunches, covering nothing and signifying nothing. There are two pools and two outdoor bars, all of which are surrounded by huge beds that you can lounge on, drink, and be fabulous. Directly outside the hotel fence is the white sand beach and the pristine blue, warm ocean water. I had never stayed in a hotel this nice and probably never will again. No one that was in the band could ever afford to do this, but luckily they work for good people that were taking care of them, and I got to reap the rewards too. Yay.

South Beach and Miami are unlike any other part of the state, and I had been prepared for it. There are elements that remind me of Southern California, the nice cars, the beautiful people, the girls wearing small dresses and walking for blocks in 4 inch heels….in California they wouldn’t be walking, but you know what I mean. The weather, the outdoor cafes, the extreme air conditioning. Beyond that…. it’s like nowhere else I’ve ever been.
First off, the art deco architecture is both interesting and beautiful. I much preferred walking through the older neighborhoods and seeing the not so perfect, and not so bright buildings, but both were interesting. There is a huge vacation industry, and there are more beautiful Europeans in South Beach than any other place I’ve been to--besides Europe. It’s incredibly diverse, the vegetables and fruits—even in cheap cafes—are crisp, juicy and delicious, and the overall variety of bold flavors that are not weighed down by butters and batters is delightful.
But as I looked around at the Armani, the Gucci, the Manolo’s, the $400 haircuts, I couldn’t help but be incredibly exhausted. It must be pure torture caring that much about what other people think, constantly needing to look so put together to attract the attention of that hot guy and that gorgeous woman. It really makes you only feel more insecure having to go through the painstaking ordeals of primping and prodding, stuffing and applying.
At night, after we got back from one of their shows, we walked into the hotel bar that was overflowing with people at 11:30 on a Tuesday. The hotel had a Nobu, so we went for novelty sake. I put on a new dress, my 2 inch heels, and painted my eyes with lavender shadow, just to try it and play the game. I ate $29 sashimi, 7 pieces, that were delicious but not $29 worth. We went to the bar where businessmen in tailored suits goggled and awed over the girls in their dresses, their heels, their boots, their straight hair, and their perfect makeup—they all looked the same to me. Beautiful, if you like that perfect non-descript creature with a gorgeous body. I know most men do. I never understood why. Maybe it’s because I was never that girl, never wanted to be that girl, but would have liked to have a boy’s attention when I was growing up. Though, honestly, these guys were perfectly trim, expensively dressed, had lots of money, and were totally unattractive to me. If they weren’t so loud and spilling their bottles of $300 Grey Goose into each others mouths, and forcing shots of strange liquids into the hands of these ‘goddesses’, I wouldn’t have noticed except to laugh at the excess. Which I did anyway.

Bar:

5 shots, 3 Budweisers- $143
2 vodka sodas, 1 gin on the rocks- $43
2 mojitos, mint not muddled, limes squeezed- $32
Tips are included in the drinks, but still.

For breakfast:

English Muffin- $6
1 Belgium waffle with caramelized bananas- $17
Organic oatmeal- $13
A side of your favorite breakfast meat- $8

I can’t live like that. Under normal circumstances everyone we were with couldn’t live like that if it weren’t mostly free. But even if I had all the money in the world, there is no way I could ever want to live that way. Gluttonous and false, hustling for things of no importance just to get some status of having that hot ass on your arm.

It’s a vacuous existence that so many crave, and for a night can be fun. As long as someone else is paying and you are surrounded by actual people with interesting things to say that don’t involve their big cars and their big dicks. But those things never really go together anyway.

70/30

2007-02-16T11:13:00.000-08:00

I had a show last night. It was three years ago to the day that Ad Frank and I met. I did a cover of 'True Blue' and dedicated it to him. He had never heard the song before, he listened to far better music than I did in the 80's. Ad Frank+Me+three year anniversary=drunken late night. So, on four hours sleep and a hangover slowly creeping in, I will try and update from where my computer shit on me and erased my thoughtful prose.

Crap. Let's see.

I have not written any good lyrics in over a month. I have written sentences that won’t marry each other and then float around like phone numbers on scrap paper. I have chords, melodies, and rhythms that want so desperately to have words bring them to life, but nothing comes. I have decided that I need to paint or do something else with my hands besides worry about music. I recently painted some t-shirts for a valentines present, and that was nice. I neglected practicing to do it, but it was worth it to think differently. I haven’t painted anything besides walls in over a year. Ah yes, my familiar friends the walls.

At 6:30 last night I still had no idea what I was wearing to my show. This is very unlike me as I enjoy finding inexpensive pieces of tea-stained colored clothing and cutting it to look the way I want it to. Adorning it with my red sash, throwing on a petticoat or pantaloons and calling it a night. However, I didn’t feel like doing that this time. I don’t know if it was the weather, the fact that it was the day after Valentines, or general malaise. I wanted to wear black, which is weird because I never wear black onstage. I barely wear black in real life.
Earlier in the week I had purchased three black t-shirts with a haphazard idea that I was going to cut and paint them. It was 6:30pm, and I still had nothing to wear. I had a shitty day. I woke up incredibly sad for no reason. I was anxious all day. Taking scissors to a shirt sounded like the best idea ever, so very cathartic. So I pulled out my blue handled friend and began to cut. I took out my freshly purchased fabric paint and began to write ‘love will tear us apart’ around the newly formed ‘collar’. I was having fun so I decided the whole band needed shirts. An hour later all three shirts were done, ironed, sealed and ready to get sweat in. It made me feel infinitely better. It was small, but it did the trick.

I was talking to some friends at the show about Boston and moving to other places. I haven’t thought about it in a long time, I have had so much change—and things continue to change—but people were making valid points that I had been ignoring, or at least not letting it bother me, for awhile now.
This winter is killing me. We had it so good for months, abnormally good, really very wrong good, but it made it so tolerable. It has been 20 or below and wind-chills below 0 for two weeks now. I don’t want to leave my house, I don’t want to walk, I don’t want to do anything but be warm. And watch Six Feet Under. God, I love that show. I’m on season 4, only one more to go. Watching this show is heaven for me right now, every character and episode is like a good book I can’t put down. So I watch another episode, hours pass, and I escape from everything that is wrong for a little while more.
Lyrics continue to go unwritten.

In my personal life, that I won’t really talk about, I am dealing with a lot of different things; who to close off, to open up to, what to risk, real vs. the excitement of the first fresh stages, saying good-bye, aging, loss, and the ways that you saw your life and how that can change when someone throws a wrench in your plans, and not knowing if it’s a good wrench or a bad wrench.

I love my fans and friends. I love their emails and comments letting me know that they are thinking of me. I love having this thing that makes people feel connected to someone they don’t really know. It’s narcissistic, probably, but it keeps me going. It makes me feel special. Not more special than anyone else, just special.

A boy that came to my show a few months ago noted that the audience was 70% male to 30% female. That’s the way it’s always been, I don’t get it. I know I’ve talked about this before, but this has been happening both in my friendships and audience attendance since I was a child. Girls don’t like me and most boys are intimidated or something. Maybe it’s the problem I have where I can’t hide how I feel about someone….at all. If I like you or don’t, I can’t fake it. Never been good at it. I can tell from the second I meet someone if I like them or not. I mean I can fake it to a point, but not for a friendship or a potential date. I’d rather be alone than be with someone temporary or stupid. My friend Sue said something like ‘you’re not a girl to date, you’re a girl to fall in love with’. But she likes me.

errrrrrrrr

2007-02-01T12:17:00.000-08:00

I wrote this blog at the beginning of the month:

I think I feel my brain leaking out of my ears. Everyday synapses slowly flicker out, interests dull to a putty grey, appetites are non-existent, and my body proves incapable of movement beyond the conveyor belt that takes me from one pre-determined destination to the next.
I've been told to just let this happen, I need to let life control me right now, I need to be a passenger, I will come back from the dead at some point. I agreed, but I'm fighting it with the vigor of a sedated sufferer of Tourette's. I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE!

I spent my summer living my life, figuring shit out and opening myself to new people, thoughts and experiences. I drank a lot. I went out a lot. I just did. Because I wanted to, I needed to. I let it all come to me.
But it's happening again, things are throwing me for a tailspin, I thought I had me all figured out and my path was set--but it's not. I'm not good at just hanging out all the time; watching movies, living in my dirty laundry, ignoring obligations and chores and becoming, as my friend Kristen says, an amoeba face. I'm not good at that. I need to work and learn, I need to make art, I need to produce, I need to organize, I need to not just EXIST. Fuck.

The whole point is to always question and learn, I get it. I know that. But seriously, when can I stop watching Six Feet Under back to back? Or rather, can I make it my job to watch Six Feet Under back to back? You were all right, I love the show. It's my lifeblood right now, it's my mission to watch all 6 (or however many seasons) by next month. Or maybe April. Whatever. It's my mission to get this done because I'm really good at it.
I have cried all my tears out and am now an apathetic walking zombie, with music playing in my head, and an incredible desire to smoke a cigarette

Now:

I just typed a really long update to this post but my computer shit the bed and I lost everything.

I'll write something later.

Dreamgirls vs. Idlewild

2007-01-25T09:57:00.000-08:00

On a completely different front, void of self-pity and conflict.....

I went to go see Dreamgirls the other night because I really, really, really needed to see someone 100 times larger than me (meaning on the screen), with an amazing voice, belt their hearts out and cry in my face. There was nothing that sounded better.
I went. I was distracted. I cried. It served its purpose.

Jennifer Hudson has an amazing voice, she does a great job as Effie, and I got that feeling of pride as she was just your average pedestrian a few years ago and now she's up there and nominated. Beyonce was great though a little sweet. Eddie Murphy- good, but I have seen him play that style of person a billion times. Jamie Fox was excellent as always.
However, the music was nauseatingly bad. The lyrics were vapid and insulting, often times ruining any emotion that was in the scene. Also, there was one song where it could have just been Jennifer and the piano player, but a full on band comes in though no other musicians were in sight. Annoying.
So in the end I would give the movie a C+.

I saw Idlewild last night, and where the music ruined Dreamgirls, the music helped bring Idlewild to a creative and interesting new light. The storyline was kind of weak, the acting nothing exceptional, but the creativity in the direction, colors, animation, and music were fantastic.
It's true, I may be slightly biased because I have had an incredible crush on Andre Benjamin for years now. He is one of the sexiest men I have ever seen; sharp dresser, incredibly talented, funny...you really can't get better than that.
If I could sing with any two people in the music biz today, it would be Andre 3000 and Peter Gabriel. There are tons of people that I love and live for (Tom Waits, Bowie, singing in the choir of Arcade Fire), but based on vocal texture and production I feel I would be best suited for them. I love them.
Anyway, the point, beyond my love for Andre, is that Idlewild was unexpectedly creative and incredibly enjoyable. If anyone could take a hint when making future musicals, please take one from this movie.

the history of walls and other thing I won't talk about

2007-01-24T11:25:00.000-08:00

I think it's interesting what people will tell and what they keep for themselves. I have friends that talk about their sex life like they talk about what they ate for dinner, ain't no big deal until it's great and then they tell the world. I have friends that will tell you about their courtships but won't tell you when they are in love. Friends that relate absolutely everything that happens to other people, back to themselves to serve as some sort of 'comfort to you'. People that will talk shit about everyone they know, but never say when they like anything.

I will talk about food. I will tell you everything that I eat in one day, especially when I have engorged myself to an unbelievable level.

Today:

Oatmeal and flax seed (intending to be good)
Brown Rice, tofu, broccoli with green curry (still doin' ok)
Nachos with cheese, pinto beans, jalapenos, sour cream, guacamole, and more cheese (a glimmer of a sad girl that needs comforting)
a few jalapeno poppers (gross, didn't want them, must fill void)
a package of Kit Kat and a coffee (not hungry, need chocolate, want to do anything but think)
That's all so far, it's only 2:30pm.

Anyway---

I will talk about most things that people talk about- art, books, music, movies, current events, etc. Sometimes I'll go deeper. I really enjoy listening more than talking, so I often listen to other people's problems and help work things out.

However, when things get personal for me, I shut down. Part of me used to think that I liked to keep all the conflict and sadness to myself because a)I didn't want to sound pathetic and b) if I talked about it, I might figure it out, and then what the fuck would I write about?

These points, along with several others, fit nicely under the blanket excuse for all my deficiencies; I call it My Wall. Whatever the relationship, friendship, or new beginning, I come armored with an open-mind, a heart willing to love, and a 50 lb. bag of cement ready to go at any minute.
You will say you love me, and I'll love you too, but the second it's said I'll start mixing and laying down the first layers. No one can get too close, I'll only let myself love you to a point.

I've never seen anything wrong with this method of protection before, you get to love and be loved while also maintaining your distinct qualities and interests. I win!
Ok, so what I'm finding is that I don't win. My wall, meant to protect and keep intruders out, keeps out the goodness too. My wall, meant to protect and keep out imminent hurt, ends up hurting me.
I have often looked into the future and envisioned myself alone, furiously productive in some urban setting, going out with friends to openings and shows, and coming home to my small one bedroom. Everything is mine, I don't need anyone's permission, and the world is open to me. That sounds pretty fucking awesome until it occurred to me the other day that when envisioning this, I always had this incredible feeling of sadness that would come over me. I've always ignored that because I felt like the only way you can be productive, effective, truly yourself, and artistic is if you shut people out and experience that internal sadness.

I don't think I believe in this anymore. All this wall building gets tiring and lonely. But what I haven't mastered yet, and the question that still plagues me is, how do you keep from falling apart if you don't have a wall to hold you up.

Weekly Dig article

2007-01-10T08:14:00.000-08:00

Hey everyone

Me and the assassins are feature in this weeks Weekly Dig. Check it

new Arcade Fire song

2007-01-09T13:40:00.000-08:00

I was just in a store trying to find final touches for my outfit on Thursday when I hear the familiar voice and music of those crazy kids from Arcade Fire come on the radio.

I stopped dead in my tracks for four minutes as my eyes started to brim with tears, didn't move, staring into space, completely in awe of the sound, the melodies, the lyrics, the passion bursting through the speakers. I think the song was called intervention.

I think their new CD will change my life.

cutting out snowflakes

2007-01-04T08:35:00.000-08:00

It actually snowed. December 30th I woke up to a cloudy, cold morning and could hear the wind starting to whisper hints of snowflakes later in the day. My friend and I trekked down to Diesel Cafe where I got a Cafe au lait and a poppy seed bagel with cream cheese, lox, and tomatoes. I was in love with the morning.

When I lived in California I craved cold, damp, cloudy, rainy, snowy, anything but sunny-all-the-time weather, all the time. I was also sensitive coffee shop girl, so the blaring sun heating me to my core could not have been more offensive to my dark and dismal state. I never wore black, though. I still rarely do.

So, when I moved back to Boston 8 years ago I loved the freakish and fierce changes in weather; it was like being born into a new person everyday. *Wow, I have a knack for glorifying stupid shit.* However, after about year 6 I started to get really annoyed with the slushy, dirty streets that would seep into the unseen holes in my boots and waterproof gear. I got tired of 14 layers, of dry skin, constant application of my Burt's Bees honey lip balm, of my hair freezing when I went outside because I can't blow dry it cuz it loses curl or frizzes and I actually like my curls, of butter, bread, cheese, and pasta, which I inevitably crave because my body loves more meat on my bones in the winter though I try and fight it as much as possible. Basically, I started to hate winter and I started to love summer...which I never really have.

Last winter was mild, and wonderful. We got about a billion feet of snow, but it melted quick and I never felt like my fingers were going to freeze off. This winter has been global warmingly warm and I have loved it until about two weeks ago, at which point I felt like it was contributing to my feeling of being in The Interim. Nothing was definite, extreme, or set. It all seemed like it was in between stages.
But then it snowed, and I felt like a new person again.

It snowed all day. I sat on my bed and played with my new camera while periodically looking out the window at the snow collecting on the ground and church steeple across the street. I was so happy.
Later in the day I went and picked up supplies for our 007 themed New Years Bash, ate Indian food, and went to bed happy.

I have been happy ever since. I'm doing work that I have been procrastinating, and I have practiced a lot to get my fingers and voice back in shape after a month of being dormant.

I'm finishing up my book, which has been so amazing, 'In the Time of Butterflies' by Julia Alvarez. I've been listening to 'Orphans: Bralwers, Bawlers, and Bastards', Neko Case 'Fox Confessor Brings the Flood', My Brightest Diamond 'Bring Me The Workhorse', and the This Mortal Coil box set that my friend let me borrow which has been discontinued and now costs a million dollars to buy.

For Chirstmas presents I made everyone date cookies that were an old family recipe, and dukkah (see previous post). I also cut out snowflakes from tissue paper and sang Christmas Carols on the floor of my bedroom with a friend. I voted us to be the cutest people that existed at that moment. It only last a moment.

a few moments left

2006-12-28T12:33:00.000-08:00

The end of 2006 soon approaches. It was a year that had been looming in my head for over two years now, though I had no idea why. Ever since 2004 I had kept thinking it was 2006; I would write it on checks, letters, whatever required a date. I misinterpreted the meaning, thinking that maybe musically I would find some moderate success, and in a way I have--meeting my band and all--but not in the ways I had originally thought.
I had bursts of change in my life, people and things that had been in my life for years, now aren't. I had been in desperate need of some sort of variance, and put all my energy and thoughts into what I thought would cure the static, but it turns out that I was looking at it all wrong. The realization came with incredible heartache and loneliness, people I thought I was close with weren't there, and those that I never would have expected anything from came out of the woodwork. With the changes came new places, experiences, music, and people that filled the holes and helped create new growth and appendages. I have three arms now, piano playing is going to new heights!

I miss all that I have lost, but I am changed and the world is carving me (ahem) in ways I never expected.

*********

My highlights from this year:

*Going to San Francisco and seeing dear friends
*Meeting my band, Self-Employed Assassins
*My five days in NYC
*Having both my parents around me for three days to help me move. Haven't had them both together, just them and me, since I was two.
Being in the F.E.W.
*My trip to the Dominican Republic, which I just got back from. I am actually tan, it's amazing....so was the trip.
*Having the Cocteau Twins, and This Mortal Coil brought into my life.
*Introduced to this stuff called dukkah, which is this pistachio/coriander/cumin/smoked paprika dry rub-ish kind of thing that you dip bread into. I must have some on hand at all times.
*Finally seeing TV on the Radio live.
*My drunken summer where I was showered with love and devotion despite being in the midst of turmoil and sadness.
*My heart breaking and bursting with love all at the same time.
*Finally watching the Three Colors trilogy
*Reading The Red Tent
*Seeing Wings of Desire
*My trip to Colorado, through blizzard and obstacles, restoring a faith in humanity that I was never really willing to give up on.

And so it ends, and a new year begins.

much love,

sarah

p.s. I just bought My Brightest Diamond's CD 'Bring me the workhorse', and I am instantly in love. Such fire and passion in her sultry voice. Also am reading the book 'In the Time of the Butterflies' by Julia Alvarez, it's historical fiction based on the revolution of the 60's in the Dominican Republic. Can't put it down, just like I didn't want to leave the country. Such a lush and vibrant country.

Happy New Year everyone.

xoxoxoxox

wings of desire

2006-12-11T08:05:00.000-08:00

I had tried to see the movie before last weekend, but due to a Netflix mishap, that didn't happen.
A.R.T is putting on an adaptation of the movie, and I had the good fortune to go on Saturday. I was a little concerned because I had read some less than favorable reviews of the production, but I was also excited because I love going to the theatre and several people that I think highly of have all praised the story.

The play was fantastic. It started out disconnected and slow, I wasn't really sure that I would be able to sit through an hour and forty minutes of it. The dialogue, mixed with the music--often droning, slightly dissonant, I really liked most of it, actually--set a tone of dreaminess and overall sense of being lost. And at first, the sense of being lost was overwhelming and I found myself listening to the music more than the dialogue. But then, like looming cloud cover, not sure what direction it will go or what it will bring, the play opened up to reveal a beautiful story of love and about how living in real time and experiencing life as it comes is the most magical thing. One of the characters in the play is an aerialist, and the grace and beauty in which her body moves through the air is stunning. The last scene of the play is so moving I had to stop myself from sobbing, a feeling only comparable to the first time I saw Sex and Lucia. When the movie ended I burst, projectile tears, from the beauty and intense love, the feeling of being one with someone and knowing that you fit with them in a way that no one else can. Wings of Desire has the same sentiment, and seeing it before your eyes, in dead silence, among hundreds of people, these two people wrapped around each other in mid air, truly one in their love for another; not one person, but two people moving fluidly, individually, around each other, in each other, was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.

If you can go, you should. It is only around for another week.

clear the clutter

2006-12-06T07:34:00.000-08:00

Looking back on old blogs and journals can not only be embarrassing, but they can also be annoying and fuel the fire of insecurity (which I am fighting a bout of).
I practiced with Matt and Meredith earlier this week and I could barely remember my own songs. I picked up my copy of In Cold Blood to finally start reading, and after a few days of page turning I realized that I had not retained any information. I would start reading a sentence and 2 or 3 pages later I would snap out of whatever space case I was in to find a paragraph about a character that I had no idea about, doing something that I didn't understand, and think 'wait, aren't they supposed to be dead?'
I am having a mental block. I'm saving the book for a different time when I can pay attention again. All I feel like doing right now is listening, watching, cleaning, and cooking. I guess I'm nurturing my bruised ego and frustrated creativity, but I don't really feel like anything is helping except complete and total distraction; and that's not actually helping, but it's quite lovely.

I watched Sketches of Frank Gehry over the weekend, and that was great. It was inspiring. I teared up a little (as I tend to do) when he talks about finding his voice , or whatever that's called when you're an architect. Finding your blueprint? Lame. Anyway, his fearlessness and willingness to step away from everything and do his art was exhilarating for that hour and 15 minutes that I was watching it. I was envious of his vision and risk taking. I feel that way sometimes, don't I? I am passionate about things, aren't I? I am moderately talented, right?

Thus far, we've had a mild winter....or so I think until I remember that winter officially starts on Dec 22nd and lasts for a billion years. That's not helping.

I have started a new book that seems to suit me better right now, 'The Red Tent'. I've been meaning to read it for many many years but was always put off by the blurb on the back that talked about Jesus and the Bible. Organized religion, especially those involving Jesus, tends to creep me out. My mom used to go to church every week, and often still does, mainly for the community and social aspects. I never liked going to church though I always liked the music, but my mom always wanted me to go with her as kid. She soon figured out that if she bought me brunch at my favorite restaurant after church on Sundays, I would go with her. *Note to anyone that wants me to do something....bribe me with food. I will very rarely turn you down*

I've been eating amazing food lately, which is both good and bad. I'm trying to moderate. My Thanksgiving was wonderful and small, just a friend and I. It was the first year I didn't travel, and since it was a rainy, cold, and miserable day, it was the perfect day to stay home in my cozy apartment and cook, eat, and lay around.

I'm supposed to go on a vacation in a warm place at the end of the month, but things are getting in the way again. I need to clear the clutter before the new year.

first signs of winter

2006-11-20T07:08:00.000-08:00

The show on Friday was great, the Assassins and I were in good spirits and the audience was wonderful. New songs were well received, debuted a brand brand new one called 'Stop Calling'. For the band members it's an incredibly fun song to play because it's the first song that I specifically heard Meredith and Matt's skills and strengths on. Lots of classical things for Mer, and lots of dynamics for Matt. The song Self-Employed Assassin (2nd from last) went over amazingly well too, Meredith does this beautiful, minute long, arabian influenced solo to start it. I love playing it. I love my band. They are great.
HUMANWINE and Reverend Glasseye put on fantastic sets, it was such a pleasure to play with them both. Two of my favorites.

Ok. So I had this tape when I was a kid, but recently bought the CD, Liz Phair's 'Exile in Guyville'. Does anyone else remember how absolutely awesome this CD is? It's 18 songs of catchy, sexy, stripped down and rockin', honest, beautiful songs. I have listened to it all weekend. I can't believe I forgot how good it was.

I finished Unbearable Lightness of Being, again. Yesterday morning I got up early and trekked down to my local cafe where I bought a cafe au lait, fresh squeezed orange juice, and a cherry ginger scone. It was cloudy and 45 degrees out, I had to put on my scarf and mittens. I ordered my breakfast and took over a couch in the back, it felt like Holland; the weather mixed with the cafe au lait. I sat there for over an hour getting incredibly emotional by the sheer beauty of the book, and how I had forgotten how much I loved and connected with it from the first time I read it at 16.

I watched the Graduate for the first time. Amazing film. Mike Nichols is a genius, the shots were incredible.

I cleaned my room from top to bottom.

I played a prostitute in Ad's short film, I think I will be in it for about 2 seconds.

It was a great weekend.

memory of a cardboard box

2006-11-13T07:43:00.000-08:00

Probably two months ago I went to go see a show with some friends in NH. All of us were friends with one of the guys in the band, so afterwards we all hung out on the tour bus talking and drinking wine. We were only able to hang out for an hour and a half or so before the band had to take off for their next show Somewhere Else. However, we were able, or at least I was....I wasn't driving, to take in quite a few drinks in that hour and a half. It's strange how atmosphere denotes how much I am willing and can drink.

When I am at a show, I can go either way; I can be having a great time and listening to music and not notice that I just put down 5 vodka sodas, or I can be hanging out and not realize that I have been nursing the same drink for two and a half hours.
This was a night of not noticing as many beverages went down the gullet, so when we got back in the car I was feeling a little warm and giggly. On the way up we listened to Ace of Base, but on the way home we listened to 'The Eraser' and it completely put me in this thoughtful trance. Not a sleepy trance, but one in which I was totally wired and couldn't turn my brain off, I was really excited to get home and write something. I could feel it buzzing.

I walk into my house at about 1am, it seems like no one is home but it also seems like one of my roommates may be sleeping, so I quietly go into my room, turn on the lights, put my bag down, and decide I want to have one of our community cigarettes to try and calm down. I put my jacket back on, it was chilly but not too bad, and go out on the back porch consciously deciding to not bring my keys because my kitchen door does not lock unless done from the inside, and my door to the porch will get propped open. I open the kitchen back door, I open the back door to the porch, prop open porch door and shut the kitchen door behind me at which point I hear a "click".
"Wha?" I ask myself. I try the handle, it is indeed locked.

Fuck.

Well, there is nothing I can for the time being so I smoke my Export-A and think about this. One of my roommates may be home, I can try buzzing the door and see what happens, sure it's after 1am but....maybe.
I got to the front door. I buzz several times. I wait. Nothing.

Fuck.

I try every window, I knock on her window, I try picking my lock, there's good news....you can't break into my apartment! At this point it's about 1:40am, I'm tired now, my bed is taunting me because the lights are on in my bedroom, I can see it's outline through my curtains, I have no money in my pocket, no phone to call anyone, it's getting colder and I need to sleep, sometimes my roommate comes home in the morning. So, I go into the back area in between the kitchen door and back porch door and cuddle up, leaning my head against my barrier and try to sleep. It's not very comfortable, and there's an emergency light in the hallway. That's when I look down the stairs to the basement and think 'wow, it's a lot darker down there. Oh, yeah, and I just moved in so there are all those cardboard boxes I could lay out and sleep on! Yes!' So, I do. I go down the steps, throw some cardboard boxes on the floor, wrap my jacket around me and think 'I'm never going to forget this one.' Surprisingly, I fall immediately asleep, probably the combination of alcohol and tiredness.
Time passes, not sure how long, and in my sleep I think I hear someone that sounds like my roommate say something about a Gin and Tonic. I wake up and realize, no, that's actually my roommate. I run up the stairs where I hear a bunch of people laughing and knock on the door, they all fall immediately silent. I say '(Insert roommates name here), it's me Sarah.' She opens the door, "Wha?" spurts out of her mouth. I give her a rundown of the story as I fumble out of my clothes and into bedroom attire, everyone is in disbelief. 'You were sleeping in a cardboard box', 'well, ON one really. God, I've never been so happy to see you. Thank god you were out drinking on a Thursday night.' They keep questioning me, asking if I'm ok, assuming I have just gone through trauma by sleeping with cardboard. I go to bed. Warm. Soft. MMmmmmmm.

The next day I wake up and proceed to tell everyone that I meet about my night. Why I want to advertise this, I have no idea? The story seemed pretty ridiculous and embarrassing, and often time those are the best stories. If you can't laugh at yourself, then by god what can you laugh at?

Last night I was practicing with Meredith, she hadn't heard the story, she thought it would be a good blog.

What the fuck, I already told everyone else?

Little Blue World

2006-11-08T07:54:00.000-08:00

So, it has been brought to my attention that I might be getting a mention in the winter edition of the Tori Amos fanzine 'Little Blue World'. Apparently, Tori's archivist was interviewed and said that I am an 'artist to watch'. Not sure if this will definitely happen, but I was sent a copy of the current edition and it seems to allude to that.
I just wanted to say thanks...even if it doesn't print. It is an incredibly thoughtful acknowledgement, and I so very much appreciate it.

In other news:
The new Decemberists album is fantastic.

If someone can find me a copy of Lavender Diamond's 'Artifacts of the Winged' I will love and cherish you forever. I mean it.

I am in the process of watching Kieslowski's "three colors" trilogy. I have been wanting to watch them for over ten years and I am finally doing it. So far I have watched Blue, and White, this weekend will be Red. I love love loved Blue, and White was fantastic, but I liked Blue better. It made me want to pull out my copy of Unbearable Lightness of Being and read it again. It's one of my favorite books and I haven't read it since I was 17, I'm looking forward to digging into it again.

'Something Beautiful' by Tracy Bonham is on repeat on my ipod.

I just finished the song that was sucking the life out of me last night, it's called 'Pillar of Tears'. I also wrote another something last night, I think I really like it, but will have to play it again later on to be sure. It came out of me in 30 minutes, I was feeling a bit inspired last night.

Oh, and I just got word about the Senate. To all you fellow peoples that voted....congrats. You done good.

the journey that almost ended in disaster

2006-10-30T11:32:00.000-08:00

The day was Thursday Oct. 26th and I had a scheduled flight heading towards Colorado Springs at 6:36am with a lay over in Phoenix. I had to get up at 4:00am to catch a cab at 4:45am. I had been watching the weather reports all week long and on Monday it was scheduled to be beautiful all weekend, better than Boston. Tuesday, still beautiful with a chance of light snow on Thursday, maybe rain. Wednesday, there was a blizzard warning going from that night till Thursday afternoon. Great. There was beautiful weather everywhere else in the country, crystal clear skies, big puffy clouds, warm winds, etc., except for the one town I was supposed to go to.
I get to Phoenix without a hitch, slept on the plane almost the entire way there except for the hour leading up to landing where I watched the red rocks and canyons pass underneath us. It's such a beautiful state that I have never been to. Outside the windows of the airport are scattered red rock formations, and hills to look and marvel at. It was 80 degrees. I was watching the weather channel at my gate with a pit in my stomach, Colorado Springs was getting pummelled by snow and winds. My friend that I was going to be seeing there let me know that the conditions were getting worse, and it was pretty bad outside. I waited, my flight said it was going to take off. It kept saying that. And stayed strong until 2 minutes before boarding was supposed to start and the flight got cancelled. An announcement---all flights to Colorado Springs were cancelled or booked until Saturday, you can go to Denver today, or try again tomorrow.
I was temporarily distraught. I got up at fucking 4am to catch this flight, had been so looking forward to the visit, and now I might just have to turn around and go back to fucking Boston. I called my friend, told my story, I decided I was going to try and get trapped in Denver instead of trapped in Phoenix. Amazingly, there is a flight that is going to Denver an hour after my cancelled flight, I book myself on it and try to calmly believe that my luck will turn, the snow will stop, and I will be in Colorado Springs by morning. Typically Denver and C.S. are only an hour and a half apart from each other, but apparently, as of that time, the roads were totally closed. Fuck Yeah! My flight is delayed by half an hour, but it is still scheduled to go. I am bizarrely optimistic while reading the Gnarls Barkley article in SPIN. There is an announcement over the loud speaker that if I'm interested in getting a shuttle from Denver to CS that day I should talk to this guy, so I do. He tells me there is a man willing to drive people, it won't be that expensive, so I say I'm interested.

I get on the flight, I couldn't believe it was happening. I am in Denver an hour and a half later. The guy putting the shuttle together is still there, he is not an apparition. He says our driver is waiting outside for us. I am in a daze of disbelief and amazement. At that point I had been traveling for 16 hours, and I had never felt more awake.

Our shuttle bus was a big suburban and inside were #1 a military guy who had just gotten out of bootcamp and the next day was his first day. He was from California. He had never seen snow. #2 a musician who also owned a few businesses and was recording in C.S. #3+4 a power couple, man and wife, who were in business together and had two children. #5 a woman that was being financially taken care of by her boyfriend and who happened to live in the exact same town that I used to live in California. A friend of hers lived on my old street. #6 Our amazing driver, Mo, who has Afghani and had been living in the states for over 30 years, and had been an American citizen for 27 years. He was a cowboy.
The next three hours were spent on 1-25 trying to maneuver our way through clear roads, black ice, unplowed stretches, and numerous accidents. We told stories about our lives, we listened to Mo tell his stories about how the world had changed so much from when he first arrived till now. People that he had been buying coffee from for 15 years now thought that he was Al Qaeda, but he still had such an amazing sense of humor. He was a fantastic driver. He made us laugh so much. During the drive, I remember thinking 'wow, this is a journey. I will never forget this.' We arrive at the C.S. airport where the woman from my town in CA has her boyfriend pick us up and they both take me to the hotel I'm supposed to meet my friend at. Jennifer (the woman), and her boyfriend (John) were adorable, lovely, and funny. I hope I get to go back one day and check out their house. I arrived at the hotel just after 9pm...over 20 hours after I got up that morning.

I should have felt like shit, I should have been exhausted; but the trip, despite it's length, was awesome and unforgettable.

Things I learned on my trip:
People in Colorado are incredibly friendly. In two restaurants I ate in, upon asking how our server was doing, we got the response 'I'm doing fantastic, thanks'. Wow. Fantastic.
Colorado is beautiful, which I had already known, but it was more beautiful than I remembered.
Sunrises are better than Sunsets. Also something I already knew, but I so infrequently see sunrises, and I saw two.
Denver is an adorable city, with great architecture, and an absolutely awesome newly renovated art museum. It's acronym.....DAM. Which makes it 25% better.
Tracy Bonham has an amazing voice and I love her songs.
That many cities use the phrase 'if you don't like the weather, just wait five minutes', though we were pretty sure Mark Twain said that about New England. But after looking it up on the internerd I have found it was said about at least 4 different states, 2 different countries, and two different writers. So who knows?

Lastly, all the snow melted the next day and it was 70 for the rest of the weekend. Wait five minutes indeed.

Addendum

2006-10-25T11:12:00.000-07:00

To anyone that reads this and was getting a little worried....I am doing much better. I spent several days under the covers reading a book that was sucking the life out of me, 'The Last Time We Met' by Anita Shreve. It was a little oprah-ish but the writing was beautiful, as was the story, most of the time. Sometimes good books are almost a problem because I can't do anything but read them. I have gone from one book to the next. I just finished 'The Spider's House' by Paul Bowles, a book I had started before I was supposed to go to Morocco and then upon finding I wasn't going, took a break from it. It was terribly good though, especially if you are interested in Morocco and it's history..and even if you're not you should read it because it's quite informative.

I watched Dave Chapelle Block Party. I cried almost the whole way through. Having all of those musicians come together like that and celebrate, and in that location, was just about one of the most moving things I have ever seen.

I saw Breakfast on Pluto. The verdict is still out on that, though it did reiterate my desire and need to flee the country for a short bit. Or a long bit.

I am writing a song that is also sucking the life out of me. I haven't been this drained since playing Ophelia in the 11th grade. She invaded my body for weeks until, finally, the last performance was over and I was free. 'Oranges for Alcohol' was also really draining, but this one takes the cake. I'm hoping to maybe get some help with it this weekend...maybe.

Anyway, I'm in recovery, though I'm dealing with a sprained something in between my right ring and middle fingers. It hurts a lot. Matt and I have been practicing quite a bit and it's showing, I think. I can't wait to play more. I can't wait to write more. I can't wait to be rid of this funk completely.

the annual

2006-10-23T10:03:00.000-07:00

Somehow, I thought that this would pass, that this year would be different. It is not, I am the same. I wonder and truly hope that one year I will not freak out about this, I just hope that I won't look back and think 'Wow, I was so young, what the fuck was my problem?' It's inevitable though, because I am young, and there is no reason to feel this way. Maybe it's not this, maybe it's something else. Hmmmmm.

Every year, for the past three years, I have started to freak out about getting older 5-6 months before my birthday. It is absolutely insane, I know. I have blamed my father for it in the past since he has never been that great with aging and has adamantly stated that he will never grow old. I have called this the Peter Pan syndrome. However, this year my father turned 50 and he has embraced his age with gusto, probably because he has never looked or felt better. He seriously seems like he is getting visibly younger, while maturing--though maintaining his teenage like qualities--with grace and elegance. Last time he was here helping me move we went to a show and I was standing around all my friends in their 40's with my dad next to them all. He looked younger than every single one. Fingers crossed for me. My mom also looks amazing. Please, beauty products, don't fail me now.
These freak outs are all in the name of vanity and pretentiousness, I feel the narcissism. It is slightly embarrassing but I still can't manage to shut up and stop whining about it. Shit.
Ok, it's actually not about looks either. It's ambition, it dreams mixed with realism, it's action, it's traveling, it's love, and it's misery. It's never knowing where life will take you and if the things you are striving for are the things that you should be spending your time doing. But that's life, isn't it? Apparently, I am too much of a control freak to just let it happen. I've been studying planetary alignments and horoscope compatibilities recently to try and get a better handle. I love surprises, but I am also a closet competitive perfectionist, and right now I need to know that I am doing good. Is it over, or has it just begun?

I am envious of a simplicity that I can't see myself ever wanting. A life in the suburbs with two children, a husband that loves me and provides me the luxury of working part time at the local art gallery while I take care of the kids and plant dinner plate dahlias with my gardening club. I could bake whole grain breads, and make paper mache ponies for Sabine and Cole's birthdays. I could be really good at it, though I kind of hate baking and I don't think I've ever paper mache'd anything that didn't fall apart. I also get a little woozy when I'm in the suburbs too long. Shit.

I spent yesterday on my couch and in my bed suffering from an incredible bout of bitchiness and 'nothing's right'. I holed myself up reading my book and wanting so badly to play the piano but knowing I would only get more frustrated. I wanted to clean my room but I couldn't find the energy. I wanted to snuggle up next to someone in my bed under my amazingly soft sheets and stare out the window. None of these things were possible and so I shunned myself from society and wallowed in my own misery, until about 7:30pm when I went to go see The Departed. Good Flick. I love Jack Nicholson.

Ad Frank Tribute Tonight

2006-10-13T08:43:00.000-07:00

Tonight at the Middle East a whole slew of us are paying tribute to one of my favorite people, songwriters, and friends, Ad Frank. He is turning a year older at midnight.

Ad Frank and I met about 3 years ago at a Valentines Day show and exchanged CD's. He played a solo set, I could tell his songs were good but couldn't tell why. A few months later he got picked to play in the WBCN Rumble with his full band 'The Fast Easy Women', and I went to go check it out. To this day, it is one of the most engaging and magnetic shows I have ever seen...and Ad doesn't even think it was that good. Ad didn't win the Rumble, he didn't even make it to the next round, but it doesn't matter because that night opened so many things for me and everyone knows he was totally robbed...as usual.
Over the next year I had the privilege of being asked to sing on his soon to be released record 'Ad Frank is the World's Best Ex-Boyfriend'. I sang. The song was fucking beautiful. They asked me to sing at their CD Release party, and then somehow coerced me into being a full time Fast Easy Woman. Being in this band has been one of the best things I have ever done, and has brought me so much happiness and love. It is ever evolving, sometimes time consuming, and my liver has probably suffered irreparable damage...but I wouldn't give it up for the world.

So, if you are around tonight please come by the Middle East and listen to Ad Frank's fucking awesome songs sung by a million different people. I'm going on last tonight, Ad Frank is doing a solo set first, so there will be plenty of things to enjoy all night long.

eating my cd's as food

2006-10-03T13:54:00.000-07:00

I bought CD's, and I haven't bought this many wonderful CD's at once in so long. It's fucking great.

Cocteau Twins- Heaven or Las Vegas. I am continuing on with my obsession, this and Blue Bell Knoll rock my world. I am in love with this band, and I'm so bummed that I didn't check out Massive Attack at the Orpheum because Liz was their guest vocalist. I should have known.

TV on the Radio- Return to Cookie Mountain. This band continues to be my favorite band, they've got everything that I love; beats, atmosphere, poignant lyrics, horns, great vocals, and attitude.

Super Furry Animals- Rings Around the World. Just was introduced to this band, they have great songs, sound, and vibe. Really diverse album. Two discs of luxury.

Cat Power- Moon Pix. Obviously, a really young record, but I really like a lot of the tracks on here. Really dark, dismal, and funny.

Thom Yorke- The Eraser. I love this album, it has really grown on me. The track 'The Eraser' is fucking phenomenal.

Siouxsie and the Banshees- Best of. Great band that I didn't pay enough attention to.

Ad Frank let me borrow his Klaus Nomi and New Order CD's. He's a good man for it. I listened to Nomi all rainy, dazed, lying in bed looking out the window weekend.

p.s.- The new Christina Aguilera has a lot of really great tracks on it. Didn't buy, but have listened to many times. There is a song on the 2nd disc where she sings in this really light head voice all the way through and it is beautiful, in every single way.

people care a lot and not enough

2006-09-25T14:41:00.000-07:00

I was in New York for nearly a week. I didn't mean to, it just happened. My original plan was to hang with a friend before they ventured off into the great unknown, but in the process I landed this gig in the Williamsburg Live Songwriting Competition in Brooklyn. I had to play one song, I got to drink with some friends, made new ones, and hung out in a city that I love with people I love. Great. Awesome. That's all I expected or wanted and that's all I was planning on as I made my way to The Lucky Cat in Williamsburg on Friday. Well, somewhere in the process of hanging, talking, playing, smiling, flirting, drinking, and smoking (not something I normally do but that night I was), I ended up making it into the Semi-Finals of the competition. Awesome! Totally unexpected and wonderful for a girl like me that #1 never gets into competitions/festivals no matter how many I enter and #2 hardly ever wins anything. So everything was great except for the fact that I had only planned on being in NYC till Tuesday, and the Semi's were Thursday. Oh well. In the great words of Tim Gunn, 'Make it work'.
The next days in NYC were glorious and the weather was perfect. I went to the Neue and saw Klimt's in person for the first time....I was moved to tears. I went to the MOMA (holy shit should it be illegal for one museum to have that many great works of art, my god!) and saw Monet's Lillypads. I had seen them before 15 years ago, but this time....I was moved to tears. Every room I walked in I got a headache from how many amazing pieces of art were before me. How could one possibly see it all in a few hours? in a day? in a year? It was overwhelming, I couldn't take it all in, I wanted to lay in the middle of the museum and have all the paint and bronze from every painting and sculpture drizzled all over me so I could somehow feel it all.
Where are the Basquiat's though? What floor? I missed them, and I'm sure at least one lives there.

Tuesday rolls around and it sends me on my way back to Boston the way I came in to NYC....in the rain. I had a grey trip back, I listened to Debussy, Satie, Cocteau Twins, and Diane Cluck. I contemplated my visit, and felt the sensation of something missing start to creep inside me.
I got back to my apartment and I felt like only a piece of myself. There are still boxes around, my life is incomplete, and I had just spent the past few days in an ecstatic whirlwind of music, museums, and amazing food, how could I possibly ever be the same?
36 hours later I was back on the bus to New York, psyching myself up (and failing), to play my one song again for the Semi's, but I couldn't shake the feeling of this looming sense of missing.
I love Brooklyn. After 5 days in Manhattan it was so wonderful to be there in a community vibrant with art, boutiques, and music. The weather was beautiful, perfectly sunny and slightly crisp, Williamsburg is right on the water, and the venue (Galapagos) was RIGHT next to the river. The day went off without a hitch, and I grabbed some lunch at a local Thai place, dropped my bag off at the Uncle Monsterface house, and spent the rest of the afternoon waiting around and doing various video interviews. It was lovely and fun. I love that shit. As the night loomed on the missing feeling was creeping all up in me and I tried to get rid of it with a cocktail...didn't work. With a walk....didn't work. With some hugs...didn't work. With a 'Tell me I'm awesome and I can totally do this' from a friend...didn't work. And then I found out that I was performing my song last. It was an antidote that I wasn't supposed to know, they were supposed to announce who went next a few people before you went on. I honestly wish I could have waited in suspense the whole night, I think that would have given me my edge back, but I didn't, and I sat there trying to shake the missing.
Some amazingly talented people played, it was an honor to be in their presence, I was truly impressed and was enjoying myself...too bad I had to play. Anyway, my turn comes and the missing disappears as the lights shine in my face and I start to feel normal. My uncle said I looked nervous. Maybe nervous is normal for me because I didn't feel it. I play my song, not the best, but pretty darn good. I wait. As they call the names of the finalists I start to think 'I really might be able to make this, I am worthy', plus everyone I really liked was getting called up. And then someone I wasn't so excited got called up, and I turned to my friend Dan and shook my head, and he shook his head, and at that point we knew that if this person got up there, there was no way I would be in the Finals. It was settled, I didn't make it.
Well, shit and fuck and damn and whatever. I had a really great time, but I did want to make it. I went outside to call my father that was stalking me like a jilted lover, when a bunch of people started coming up to me and saying wonderful things, thinking I should have been up there, saying I was their favorite, and it truly meant the world. I don't give a shit about competitions if someone at the end of the night comes up to me and says stuff like that, it validates me in this secret 'I want to be popular' way that lives deep inside. I gave them all samplers because I loved them.
Thank you whoevers you ares.
The night ended with me and the Monsterface boys drinking vodka at Sputnik and bitching and moping and trying not to take anything to heart. It's hard, your subconscious can be a motherfucker.
I said good-bye to New York at 12:30 the next afternoon. I spent the evening by myself watching a movie, and cable TV. I haven't had a night like that in over 4 months, I think I really needed it. I talked to my mom, I talked to my dad, I talked to a friend or two. They love me and I love them. No matter who lets me pass go, or go on to the next round, I know, somewhere deep inside me, that I am good at what I do and I just need to keep doing it. The accolades and the praise are a great ego stroking that I unfortunately need for reassurance, but the reason why I do this at all is because I love it. And the reason why I can make it through the day is because of the people that love me. And love is a crazy thing. So crazy that when it's gone or even away for a little bit, it can make you feel like something's missing. But love is there even if it can't be held, and can't give you attention. And until you can see it or hold it again, I recommend red wine, a pen and paper, a piano, a door that locks, and a friend that will come knock on your door from time to time.

WLSC review from Friday the 15th

2006-09-20T09:14:00.000-07:00

As if the rain gods were offering up a gesture of good will, the clouds cleared up early yesterday evening and allowed a stream of people to fill up the Lucky Cat for the first night of the Williamsburg Live Songwriting Competition. Sure, the guitar cases helped me identify some of the songwriter contestants in attendance, but I could have picked them out from the anxiously excited expressions on their faces. With Tom Rhodes taking the reigns as the slightly dangerous MC, the competition took off and when the drone of the air conditioner was all that remained, 3 winners were cheered on to the semi-finals: Lizzie Grant, Dan Torres and Sarah Rabdau.

Grant’s sound is shy, damaged and sympathetic. Her “Pawn Shop Blues” was filled with touching metaphors and the sad, wavering delivery won over the room. You aren’t awed by music like this so much as you fall in love with it. The other two winners performed with go-for-the-throat grandiosity. Easily possessing the most powerful voice of the evening, Torres wailed off a room-filling song called “Where I Stand.” Indeed, by the time he had finished, it was clear from the enthusiastic audience response where he stood: the ghost of Jeff Buckley has raised a new prophet for the hopeful who own a tear-stained copy of “Grace.” These two writers dueled with guitars, while Rabdau choose piano to deliver “Autumn Spills.” She falls into the Tori Amos school of showmanship and during a musical breakdown she grasped the microphone in true rock star fashion. There was more than a little Rufus Wainwright in her style as well, and as Rabdau sang “autumn spills into my window / I think I’ll go back to him,” many of us knew exactly what she was talking about.

Blue Bell Knoll

2006-09-07T09:07:00.001-07:00

I have fallen in love with the Cocteau Twins record 'Blue Bell Knoll'. I didn't think I liked the Cocteau Twins until a friend recently introduced me to them again; he had a similar experience with them, not really a fan until he heard a track off that record. I can't stop listening to it. Over and over again. I haven't played a record like this since I was 16 years old.
Last night I was walking home looking at the voluminous moon against the evening sky listening to Liz Fraser's voice pull and swirl notes around effortlessly, drenched in reverb, the breeze lightly seeping in through the hole in my hoodie, and it was ecstasy. I was happy.
I came home and cooked dinner, put up my curtains, took out my CD's, sat in my room smelling the fresh paint, and listened to Blue Bell Knoll again. And again. And one more time. I put on some other CD's but the whole time I just wanted Liz to be singing to me, I missed her when she wasn't there. So this morning I put it on again while I was on the T.

I love my new room. I can't stand white walls so I had to paint immediately when I got there. I have new sheets that are the softest things ever made, a new bed perfectly firm and soft, new curtains, everything is really warm, I can feel me wanting to be productive. I set up my keys the other night and they taunt me, 'please play me, please play me', and I want to. So badly. But I'm holding off until the need is so great that I explode. There's so much to do, so many things to set up and unpack, so many places to go, errands to run, friends to see. I can feel the needing buzzing in my ear, and in my heart, and in my soul, and everyday I ignore it the sadder I get. The less I feel like myself. But I have to organize, I have to get all this other stuff done, I have to be ok on the outside before I can venture within.

Until then, I'll hide in the Blue Bell Knoll and pretend Liz's voice is my own. The sweeping soundscapes the siren songs that bring me through the storm and crash me on to my piano bench.

In Transition

2006-08-28T07:20:00.000-07:00

I hadn't played my keyboard in at least 2 weeks. I'm in the process of moving and have neglected my art in lieu of packing my life up. I have lived in my apartment for 7 years, I have never lived anywhere as long as I have lived there, and I have been in denial about what it means to move from there. It will be good; I need change, my apartment isn't great but I have made it my own by painting and decorating, and I have grown to love it. Or maybe I just love it now because these are my last days there and I have had a lot of memories between those walls. Come Thursday, it will be but a square in a quilt that slowly grows as the years pass.

I visited my mom in NY over the weekend, I hadn't been to the house since April (which is actually a long time for me). On the way there I realized that I had only left the city for 6 hours this whole summer. I was supposed to be vacationing in Morocco last week but a family emergency cut the trip off, which was a bummer, but in the end the emergency would have been really bad had we all been in Morocco. It's a blessing in disguise. I would like a blessing in full evening gown.

Anyway, I went into NYC to visit some friends and hang out in more urban life (can't get enough of it apparently) for a few days. I do love New York. It does not overwhelm me, I actually feely quite comfortable there, it's the only place where I have a sense of direction. This trip, I was not as in the 'NY nostalgia' that I tend to get into. I think that is partly due to the fact that I spent most of the time bar hopping rather than seeing music or going to museums, which is really why I love the city. I love it for the art. For it's vibrancy. For it's diversity. I hope I can go back soon and actually do those things.
I went back to my mom's and played the piano for several hours. My sister requested that I play some of my new songs (which she seemed very fond of) for some of her friends. I did. They went over well.... I think. Everyone loves 'Oranges for Alcohol' and 'Cellophane', I do too.

The trip left me cold and lonely as I came back to torrential rain, brisk winds, and an empty apartment. Not even a whiskey with Ad Frank could warm me. I sat in the middle of my bare living room covered in blankets, thinking about a time when my apartment had once been a home and now it is my den of transition. I went to bed listening to a friend's demos, the window open and blowing damp air through the screen, my head and body covered and hidden beneath a pile of blankets and pillows.

I want a piano.

I want a lot of things.

Tonight--August 11th

2006-08-11T06:55:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone,

As you may or may not know, I play in another band 'Ad Frank and the Fast Easy Women'. Playing with them is a wonderful treat and a completely joyous experience; I love them all to bits. Tonight, August 11th, will be our last show in this lineup we have now. Our bassist, Eric Donohue, and our keyboardist, Stephanie LaMassa, are leaving Massachusetts for my home state of Virginia and my close to home state of Maryland.
They will be so sorely missed I fear tears and long drawn out hugs. We are playing an extra long set tonight with songs picked specifically by them....plus three all new songs. Ad's new songs are fucking fantastic and some of my now favorites, I think.
Come on down to the Abbey tonight and share the moment with us. Say hi to my parents, too.

xoxoxo

sarah

Make a girl blush

2006-07-31T07:09:00.000-07:00

Saturday night me and the assassins played a show @ The Lizard Lounge with HUMANWINE, and Bad Saints. I was in an intense mood going on stage, I don't know if I felt rushed or what, but I couldn't shake the intensity....Meredith and Matt were, of course, ready and excited to play and were smiling and having a great time. I loosened up eventually. Actually, I remember the exact moment I opened up....it was this part in 'Man Child' where Meredith holds this one note for an awfully long time and it's like heaven vibrating throughout my whole body.
We played three new songs 'Cellophane', 'Only a Year', and 'Oranges for Alcohol'. They went over pretty well, I thought, and after the show I felt pretty good. Not super great, but I thought the crowd was full, and attentive, and responsive. That's more than I can ask for.
However, I was given a lot more than I could ask for afterwards. Not only was the rest of the bill great, HUMANWINE were awesome as always, and Bad Saints rocked the socks off everyone, but I had people come up to me all night and say wonderful things. Maybe I should be immune to that by now, maybe I am silly and foolish, but it really means the world to me when people take the time out to say they liked the show and that they got what we were doing. The three shows I have played with my assassins have been such a pleasure, and I have a feeling that it's only going to get better. This is the band that I have been wanting for a long time, and I am so thankful they are hanging out with me. I need them like water right now.

So thanks to all that came to the show, keep coming to the shows, and take the time out to come over and say hi, or write me afterwards. It sounds lame, and silly, maybe even sophomoric, but it really makes doing this so rewarding. I would do it anyway, and have done it anyway, but that love and support is unparalleled.

What would you change?

2006-07-21T06:58:00.000-07:00

Last night I was having drinks with the other Fast Easy Women after practice and our keyboardist brought up an interesting question that made me think more than I expected. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? Not physically, but personally.
As you could imagine, we all could come up with a huge laundry list of our faults and things that needed changing...procrastination, and giving more of yourself were big ones. I think I would change all of those things, but in addition not be so scared of opportunities, and not think so much. I notoriously think too much, analyze, and question things. These are good qualities to have to a point, but I overuse them and it becomes detrimental to my mental health, and sometimes physical health.
I feel like I have missed out on a lot of things in my life because I was too cautious and thought to much about all the things wrong with it instead of just going out and doing it. I think I need to take things day by day instead of looking so far ahead into the bigger picture.

just relax.

When Life Gives You Lemons

2006-07-10T13:40:00.000-07:00

When Life Gives You Lemons Suck Them Down Till You Find Some Water.

So there I was, sucking on lemons in the middle of a desert, that was on top of a plateau, surrounded by an ocean that was bigger than the solar system. I'm not sure how I landed in the middle of this desert, I don't remember traveling in search for the ends of the earth, but apparently I had been looking hard for it and I had, at last, found it. Unfortunately, the journey to get that removed from everyone and everything was not one that could be celebrated; it wasn't a lifelong dream, it wasn't something I trained for, it wasn't even something that I walked millions of miles to get. I had just been plopped there while I was sleeping and awoke to find myself in my bed, with all of my belongings around me. The frames of my apartment were breaking from the force of landing, and above me the sky was so blindingly hot and bright that not even after hiding under all the blankets I had, could I be shaded from it's scorching need to sun bleach all life and color to a pale shade of what it once was. I was naked to the elements, and I was terrified.

In preparation for something this disastrous, or rather in hopes of one day finding the time to finish a project, I had been collecting stone in a chest in my living room. This, I thought, would be the ideal time to make that suit of rocks that I have always been dreaming of. Impenetrable, Hard, Strong. So I took out my hammer, that bag of cement I'd been keeping in my closet, and without thinking used all the water left in my fridge to mix it with. I got to work, things were coming along beautifully. The stone and cement were cold on my slowly-burning-skin, and I could already start to feel how solid I was going to be when it was all said and done. What I didn't anticipate, however, was the weight of the stone. I always thought that when being a stone...you were a stone, you didn't feel how heavy you were, you just were. Solid, impenetrable, Cold. Like, somehow the suit would sit on top of me, sort of around me, and I could move freely underneath but with the protection of this solid mass. But it was so tiring trying to carry it around, and I began to crumble underneath the weight-y covering.
I was left feeling helpless. I was incapable of being a stone, even under creative and false pretenses; there was no real way I was going to survive this.

The days went on and the loneliness began to envelop me. I would pick through old photo albums looking for memories that were now so faraway, the smiling faces, the places that used to bring so much comfort to me but were now untouchable; but everything made me feel more separated from the world I once knew.
To top it all off, I had completely ignored the fact that I was ravished and dehydrated, and probably needed to address that more than reminiscing over pictures. I went to the fridge, nothing was salvageable. What had not perished from the heat and lack of electricity, was smashed into a million rancid pieces from the fall. Beyond discouraged, I started to cry tears I couldn't afford to lose, I couldn't even believe I had enough water left in me to shed them, but they fell, and fell, and fell.
That's when I heard a thud. It came as quite a shock since the only sound I had heard for days was the slowing of my breath. I looked up in terror, wondering what other awful thing I was going to have to deal with, and there it was....a fucking box of lemons. 'Are you serious', I thought, 'Do I really need to be reminded that life, has indeed, handed me fucking lemons?' I tried to shoot darts with my eyes to kill this cruel, symbolic image of my misfortunes, but I could only shoot tears..and that made me more thirsty. But it was because of the desert around me, and the desert in my mouth, that I looked back up at those lemons and thought it could actually be nourishment. So I mustered up all of my energy to walk over to this vindictive-piece- of-shit-box full of lemons, and took a huge bite out of one..skin and all. The citric acid seeped into the cuts in my lips, and I screamed in pain. But the physical pain somehow comforted the internal pain, and I took another bite, and another. Then I picked up another whole lemon, and began sucking on it for all it was worth. Slowly, my tear stained cheeks began to grin and I felt mildly ok and self-sufficient for the first time in days.

I sucked on these lemons for a week or so, my taste buds shocked and completely pissed at me until they swelled up to prickly canker sores in my mouth. My feeling of hopelessness began to overwhelm me again, I felt like the box of lemons had actually been a trick to see if I could make the right survival decision...and I hadn't. I was only going to die quicker now. And so I waited underneath the sizzling sun, waited for it to completely dry me up, waited for it to take every last bit of hope I had left in me, and do it slowly because that would be oh-so-goddamn-dramatic. But instead, I heard a phone ring. What? A phone? I get signal out here? It hasn't completely run out of batteries?
I answered, it was my mom. She had been worried sick and had heard the news in the papers that I had been dropped in the middle of nowhere. She had been trying to find out where I was, calling astronomers, NASA, geologists, seismologists...anyone that could tell her where the middle of nowhere was and if there had been any extra activity. She finally got word from a grocer off the coast of Madagascar that said he had recently gotten a shipment of lemons from his purveyor that was one case short. The pilot had to let the case go, trying to conserve gas, and he threw it off and thought that he saw it land on an island that he had never seen before...maybe she should try there.
So she got the co-ordinants, called my cell phone company and asked them to adjust a satellite so that there might be a chance of her getting through. And there she was, she was through, I was talking to her! She had called my dad before she got me, and of course, he was highly impatient and had already chartered a boat. He, and some of my closest friends were coming to get me, and had with them 42 cases of water. I was saved! I just had to hold on a little bit longer.

But I was saved.

And I was far from alone.

I literally had a boatload of people coming to my aid, with 42 cases of water. How the hell did I get to be so lucky?

the archives

2006-06-14T07:30:00.000-07:00

The other day I was cleaning out my music room thing when I happened upon an old journal from when I was 14-15, I have kept all my journals from when I first started writing. I started flipping though it, as I do sometimes; they are kind of like old photographs, and tell a story of a lonely, sad girl. I was the sad girl that worked behind the counter at a coffee shop, drank too much espresso so I could stay up all night and write, and draw....every town has one of these girls. My hair would be blow-pop-tongue colors, I would eat lunch alone and write, I did theatre but couldn't hang out with the other kids because they were such extroverts and were very loud...I was not. I would study my lines, human nature, and the cloud cover over the hills of Southern California. I was alone, but I wasn't lonely really. Maybe sometimes I was, I definitely felt an emptiness in me, but I remember being strangely satisfied by the independence. I loved getting in my white Toyota Carolla SR5 with burgandy interior, no ac, and a boom box (no working internal stereo) and blasting the FUCK out of my music and singing at the top of my lungs. I loved it. It's one of my fondest memories. I have always liked being alone, and need alone time, but I also have always suffered from it. It's that selfish part of me, and I don't know if it helps or hurts, but I know that when I don't have it I feel lost, and when I have it too much....I start thinking.....too much.

So, these journals are filled with sad thoughts and sad drawings, but there is a strength in them that I had never, ever noticed before. So I started pulling out every single one of these journals and started flipping through all of them. I started to notice a few things....a) I was strangely eloquent for a girl that hung out by herself a lot and didn't keep many friends b) I really couldn't read most of the poems and thoughts because a lot of it was incredibly repetitive and I got annoyed when I wasn't very eloquent....which was most of the time, but when I had something good, I gave myself more points c) I used to mark the date on everything. Why don't I do that anymore? and d) I liked my drawings the best. They weren't very good, but I'm a visual person and I get drawn in by images first, and then I dig deeper. Why don't I draw very much anymore? The drawing stopped when I moved out of my mom's house at 19. That sucks. I paint sometimes...furniture, and canvas rarely..but that's it. And my skills on canvas, and pencil drawings have gone waaaaaaaaaay downhill. I'm out of practice. I should get back in practice.

These old journals and drawings are far more tolerable than my old demos...though even then I am sometimes impressed. But I don't give myself as many points when there is a good old demo as I would with a good poem or thought from 1996. I don't know why. Probably because I'm more of a perfectionist when it comes to stuff like music than I am with pencil drawings. I should be a perfectionist with all of these things. Yeah, that sounds like a blast.

My bestest friend in the world recently sent me this CD of this local San Francisco musician, his name is Sean Hayes. The album she got me is 'Big Black Hole and the Little Baby Star'. I have listened to it at least 8 times in the past two days. I love it like my life depends on it. Thank you, my dear friend.

New music is my favorite, especially when it's a gift from someone you love, and especially when it knocks your socks off unexpectedly.

Self-Employed Assassin

2006-06-05T09:49:00.000-07:00

I'm toying with the idea of naming my band Self-Employed Assassin, and then when I play solo...Sarah RabDAU. Or maybe Sarah RabDAU with Self-Employed Assassin, because that's even HARDER to say and will really get people's tongues tied.
Yesterday, I played a show for the Uncle Monsterface CD Release Party. I played with my new band, hopefully permanent band. I would like to hang out with these people for a lot longer for many reasons... they are both lovely, they are both really talented, and I am getting so tired of having to re-teach these songs to drummers and whoever every new show. It's hard to progress or do anything new and different. These people seem to like what I do, and I feel like working together continuously would really benefit the music.
On drums- Matt Graber (Caged Heat, and Mascara). On violin and bass- Meredith Cooper (Shelley Winters Project). In a perfect world, I would also like to have a bassist that can also play guitar and synth stuff where needed. But this is a good core, and a beginning. Fucking Finally.

Anyway, for those that came to the show yesterday, THANK YOU! It was such a great audience, the show itself was so amazing, and fun, and energetic, and everything you would want a CD extravaganzarama (or whatever it was) to be. I love me some Uncle Monsterface, I will be so sad when they leave me for the Big Apple. I wish I was going with them.

In other news, I might be recording my album (another finally) in July. More details to follow, but that is a goal that we are working on. Which reminds me that I have a lot of shit I should be doing and probably should not be typing random thoughts on this here blog. So I bid you adieu.

Before I go, things I have read and listened to lately that I am digging.

1. I re-read 'the Great Gatsby'. I remember loving it when I first read it, and the 2nd time I read it I was having a hard time getting into it, but in the end it knocked my socks off again. Such amazing imagery, and symbolism.
2. I thought I didn't like Wilco, or Paul Westerberg. But I do. They are both really great writers, and lyricists. It's not the most unique music I have ever heard, but it is so well done, and it's classic.
3. Also saw the David Hackney exhibit at the MFA last month and was totally blown away; I bought the book and can't wait to just sit there an immerse myself in his work again. I went with a friend of mine and we were in the gallery for 3 hours, I was really lucky to go with someone that loved it as much as I did because I ran into someone yesterday that thought it was mundane. To each their own, I guess.

androgynous men

2006-05-04T10:46:00.000-07:00

I watched Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars last night on DVD, I had never seen it before. Ever since playing with Ad, as I think I have mentioned, I have started listening to David Bowie. Ad covered (I think) 'Wild Eyed Boy from Freecloud' solo as an encore to one of his sets, and I was floored. The song, the lyrics....just fucking awesome. So afterwards I asked him if he had written the song, and he said "No, it's on Space Oddity". I asked "What's that?" (I know, this is an embarrassing story), and Ad responded with "It's this album by this guy named David Bowie, he made a lot of great record in the 70's. You should check him out." So, lesson learned....I'm an idiot, and go and buy Space Oddity. Which I did, and ever since then I have become just enamored with everything Bowie. It's another one of those artists that I just wouldn't have liked in my teens. I always loved his hits, but I never would have loved the full albums. Too many guitars, not enough sing songy stuff, and without the sing songy stuff I wouldn't have listened to the lyrics. But now, I love it and Ziggy Stardust is by far what every rock star hopeful or rock star, star should totally want to be.
It's amazing to see this power. This bizarre, alien, androgynous, sex symbol with 6 outfit changes and performance art antics and the Spiders From Mars that follow his every lead; they know, this is a moment that could never and will never be replicated. It's Bowie at one of his most creative and amazing times, a legend in the making. I would have killed and done anything to be one of those screaming girls in the crowd, not to fawn over him and scream "me me me", but to watch it all happen in front of me. In shear and utter amazement.

I also watched 'Nomi's song', a documentary about Klaus Nomi (I needed inspiration in my life...I've been feeling lackluster). I had first heard about Klaus three or four years ago when I saw the Pat Keck exhibit at DeCordova. Pat is an artist from New England that makes these AMAZING marionette like sculptures. They are all made of wood, she makes all of their clothes, they are all handpainted, and they usually have a mechanism/motor (which she also installs) that makes them move on their own or with the assistance of a coin or button. Klaus Nomi is both visually and musically her biggest inspiration. Some of her sculptures are lying down and upon pushing the button, they rise slowly and open their eyes, some tell you your fortune, some turn a light on. They are all amazing and meticulously executed, slightly unsettling, and have an undercurrent of loneliness. This is something that I get. This is something that feels like home to me. In fact, one of Pat Keck's pieces are in 'Nomi's Song', and it is so apropos.

Nomi was this performance artist/musician from Germany, relocated to New York, that was around during the pinnacle of NYC's art scene in the late 70's, early 80's. He was like a walking, living, breathing sculpture. So sure of his image, his ideas. Just completely inspired. He, much like Bowie, had this desire to be something from out of this world, and he would perform in these crazy costumes and makeup singing operatic vocals over new wave music. It's completely captivating to me to see someone so strong and sure of their art, and so willing to risk it all at anytime.
Of course, the story ends tragically (as with most great artists) and if the song had been written at the time, 'Hope there's someone' by Antony and the Johnsons would have been playing at the end of this movie. In fact, that song should be at the end of every fucking movie/documentary about great artist because it's always true. Will anyone be there for you when you go? And in this case, no. He died of AIDS right when it was first spreading in America and no one knew what it meant, or how you caught it, and what it did except take every bit of your existence slowly but surely. Because of this, Nomi, this beloved and incredible artist virtually died alone in the hospital. It was so heartbreaking to hear every person that had been interviewed throughout the documentary say, 'I didn't go see him, I was scared.' And I just wanted to yell "WHY? HOW COULD YOU?!" It's every persons nightmare, art is already so lonely, how could you have left him alone to die? But, then you think about the disease, and the time. It could have been the Plague for all anyone knew, it could spread by air, by touch, who the fuck knew? And then I wondered if I would have done the same. I would have liked to think that I wouldn't, but you can't be so sure. Don't we all do things that might not be good for us, because we love someone else so much? Put ourselves on the line because your heart just screams and hopes to help someone so much, for that moment, it's out of our control. You run out in front of the bus, you try and stop the bleeding without any gloves on, you walk into the line of fire to pull someone out.

Don't we all have those moments? I would like to think we do.....

Or maybe we are all selfish bastards. That's kind of comforting too, as long as we are completely self-sufficient.

Anyway, I'm reading another glorified Elizabethan romance novel. I'm such a sucker for this time period I can't stand it. It's mindless, but tells a great story, with lots of twists and turns, and I get to imagine everyone in petticoats and bosoms bursting out. There can't be anything wrong with that.

I also love the new Secret Machines album, and am always in constant comfort and awe of everything Rufus Wainwright. I just want to sit beside him on a chaise and feed him grapes, and have him sing arias to me. We could wear costumes, and just lounge and sing and drink wine for days on end. Belting out our pains and tortured souls. And it will be so innocent and perfect.

Ahhh, maybe one day we can be friends

Jamie Lidell

2006-04-25T07:04:00.000-07:00

I just wanted to post something really quickly about this man. I saw him last night at Great Scott, which is this tiny club with capacity of 225+ in Allston. I think that the only person that I have seen that is this diverse in his talents would be Peter Moore of Count Zero. But Jamie's show was one of the best I have ever seen. Basically, it's him and a bunch of toys that include a laptop, two mic's and god knows what else. He's this British, skinny, nerdy kid that can sing soul like his life depended on it. And he loops his voice, and beat boxes, and harmonizes layer upon layer upon layer....all him. He does a few songs with backing tracks, but you don't care. It fits, it's neccessary. It's typically only the really sing songy soul songs he does with backing tracks, where he needs to get out every word because his songs are so good and should not be infiltrated by any other sounds. Other than that, it's all him being incredible. It's a spectacle, it's amazing, and I would recommend everyone check him out at some point. I don't see how it would be humanly possible to not be completley in awe, even if you don't like soul or r&b at all. He is absolutely amazing.
Jimmy Edgar opened, and was really good....but then Jamie came on and I completely forgot everything I ever knew.
jamielidell.com

golf claps and getting ready

2006-04-05T13:37:00.000-07:00

Sorry for my lack of writings these past few weeks, I’ve been pre-occupied with life and living it. I apologize for my selfishness.
First let’s talk about a fairly terrible show I had recently. I did a solo show at Mt. Holyoke, which I was looking forward to because not only was it a college, but it was also out of Boston, and I love playing outside of Boston. Now, I’m not sure how most girls are but I know for a fact that I am not really a girl that most girls like. I have little patience for petty competition, for incessant talking about nothing, and for saying nasty things about people because you are insecure. As I get older, there are fewer and fewer women that I meet that are like this, and where there was once a time when I would hunch in the corner and become the dullest wall flower you could be if I was in a room full of girls, now I am looking for the good ones. I love hanging out with women, though my list of girlfriends is still lacking compared to my list of boy friends. Girls: 5 Boys: 15+. But those 5 girls fucking rock.
So on the drive to Mt. Holyoke the reality that I am going to be playing at an all girl school starts to sink in, and I get a little insecure. It’s like high school all over again. They are going to yell at me, and make fun of my hair, and my clothes, and they are going to be putting on makeup while I’m trying to sing for them, and spread rumors that my best friend made out with the entire football team. But I try not to let this overwhelm me. I get ready, put on some makeup, put on my outfit—freshly altered in Sarah Scissor fashion—and hope for the best. There were a lot of them, they were coming in fresh from the dining hall, they didn’t look particularly excited or dressed to go out and see a show. So I started with Riots and Revolutions, and they clapped really politely and than fell silent, and than I moved on to Weekend assuming that things will warm after this because I came out swinging and am settling now…and Weekend usually is a crowd favorite. Polite claps, dead silence. I tell a story about my recent vacation to San Francisco, and there is some giggling until I get to the point of the story….dead silence. OK. GREAT. Play San Francisco. Goes over well, but still there are no ‘woo hoo’s’, just polite claps and silence. The rest of the set proceeds on like this, and I get that they like it better when I’m sweet and lovely and not so much when I get kinda angry and loud. I don’t understand this. I have played sets in front of teenagers before, and early twenty-something’s, and at exactly none of these times did the girls (or the boys) come up to me and tell me that they liked the sweeter lovelier songs more than some of the more rambunctious, passionate tunes. I feel like I’m drowning, and start to think while playing ‘Maybe this has something to do with the fact that there are so many of them. I bet you get a lot of work done at this school without all that other nonsense to worry about. Would I have liked to go to a school like this one? Would I have been a dull wallflower, or would I now have Girls: 15 + and Boys: 5’. I don’t know. But all I knew was that I couldn’t wait to get off stage. And of course, I get off stage and there is a table of lovely girls telling me how great it was, and the audience is always like this. Not to Worry. And then I watch Winterpills (headliner and very good), and the crowd acts the same way. Fine. But what the fuck?!
It still puzzles me. They buy t-shirts, but no albums; they barely sign the mailing list. Why must girls get so weird about showing if they actually like something. Even if they didn’t like me, they were there to see Winterpills. Give them some love, they asked you a question. Vocalize, be silly, woo-hoo, sway, head bob, something. It’s my great mystery right now.
And in other news, I did go to San Francisco on a much-needed vacation. It was great. I saw my best friend (girl) that I hadn’t seen in three years, and it was so fantastic. I saw my cousin (girl) that I grew up with and love to bits. I also saw my other best friend (boy) that moved out there recently. I laughed a lot, ate a lot, drank a lot, and stayed up late a lot. I also, after 8 years of dreaming and waiting, ate an In N Out burger animal style with fries, and a vanilla milk shake. I almost cried in anticipation, waiting for them to call my number. And I ate my feast, in addition to half my man’s fries and decided that I HAD to have another burger. So I got one, and I ate it all. And even though there was a part of me that wanted to die a little bit from eating all of that food, I couldn’t have been more satisfied and happy. It will always be one of the best meals I have ever had. 8 years of waiting is a long ass time.
And lastly, I am looking for a producer to produce my album. I have some ideas, but I am not full on set. My insecurity comes up, ‘do you actually like me, will you get this song, will you make me sound like Sarah McLachlan, I don’t want to sound like Sarah McLachlan, will you make me sound like Tori Amos, I don’t want to sound like Tori Amos’, because it’s important for me that my producer does not dislike my work, and gets what I want to do. Call me crazy. And it’s just one of those things, embarking on this relationship with someone, that is a big decision. I want someone that will fight with me, but that will back down when they know I’m adamant. That will help me with song selection, someone that’s going to help yank this beast out of me. Because it’s ready now, even though I’m still writing, it’s ready to begin again.
I’m ready to begin again.

Things I have been listening to: A lot of Mozart, Satie, and Chopin. Various opera Arias. The new Yeah Yeah Yeahs (which has grown on me and I really like), the new Victory at Sea, old Bowie (Hunky Dory, Station to Station, Space Oddity), DeVotchKa, and Cyndi Lauper

Things I am trying to read: Anna Karenina…..and I’m not having very much success

jumping out of my chest

2006-02-19T09:12:00.000-08:00

My heart is jumping out of my chest for the following:

Andrew Bird's 'Weather Systems' and 'The Mysterious Production of Eggs'.
I love him and want to collect all things related to him. I can't wait till he comes to Boston again, I'm going to stand in the front of the stage and smile and sway and close my eyes and weep. I'll be a puddle of love and devotion by the end. He can splash in me, evaporate me, I don't care. I'm his.

Magnetic Fields' 'i'. This is another band that I'm beginning to realize that I would have not liked when they first came out, but now I'm smarter and have better taste in music, and I love them. I'm such a sucker for pop music mixed with classical, you know? And his voice kinda reminds me of Ad's, and I love Ad. And his lyrics are fucking fantastic.

7 grain english muffins with ricotta cheese, honey, and strawberries for breakfast. This is not a band, but it is an unbelievable way to start your day. A little slice of heaven while remaining on earth.

'Capote' the movie. Phillip Seymour Hoffman is a god, and if he doesn't win every award in the world for his depiction, I will press 'that' button that blows everything up. I'm serious. He's a master in this roll, really absolutely inspiring.

My new delay pedal. It's weird and exciting and I am completely overusing it right now. I will learn to stop, but I can't bring myself to quite yet. But I promise, I'll keep the overusage to my practice room.

Oh, one more thing that is really great that everyone should pick up if you like that sort of thing is "Final Fantasy". It's a band, from the violin player (I think his name is Owen) from Arcade Fire. The violin parts are amazing, and you think all the songs are really sweet but then you listen to the lyrics closer and it's funny, sarcastic, and heartbreaking. I forget the name of the album. Has something to do 'home' I think.

Lastly, my heart is not jumping out of my chest for the Jennifer Trynin book 'Everything I'm Cracked Up To Be'. I have never read anything so depressing in all my life, mostly because it is my worst fear to be 35 and decide to give up everything because you will never have a career in music. Regardless of what level you are at. Granted, I don't write pop rock songs, and frankly don't really like that many pop rock songs, nor do I plan on being the next Alanis Morisette. But I still want a career of some kind, however small medium or large, and I am terrified to wake up one day and say 'this isn't worth it'. Chewed up and spit out. That's it. The next big thing that never was. oof. so depressing. Where does your art go, how can you replace that nagging feeling to create? How can you let it die? It's the most terrifying thought.

only the good die young

2006-01-16T11:55:00.000-08:00

My dad is a Sarah Rabdau archivist. He has songs on his computer that I have completely forgotten about, and at times, would have much rather let die after they were recorded. In the old days I would record songs, put them "out" (like make 50 CD's and give them to people) in three or four song clusters, have a bunch of people say "you are so talented, I can't believe you haven't been scooped up by a major yet", and that was my idea of "trying". Their friends would play it for their friends, and I would get random emails from random people that said 'hi, just wanted to tell you how much I like your music'. That was me, "trying". Look at me go!
Obviously, this is not the way to be successful, unless it's 1995 and you are Fiona Apple and you happen to know one guy that plays your tape for one guy at a party and lo and behold you are the luckiest girl in the world (on the surface). Ta Daa, here's a record contract! It is no longer 1995, in fact it's nowhere near the nineties, and despite what I thought at the time, I was nowhere near as good as Fiona Apple.
You need to be a marketing machine, which I have been hopelessly bad at. I get insecure. I can talk up any band that I think is so fucking fantastic and why can't I be that good, but when it comes to giving someone a CD and talking myself up....I'm terrible. Unless I have a partner in crime. It becomes not just about me, but about us, about WE ARE FUCKING AWESOME, not-- i rock. That's why Rigel was so fantastic, because not only did we have a musical connection, I had someone else that I thought was awesome and was so willing to talk up about. And together, we were a force to be reckoned with. And we only played together for 3 months! Ridiculous! And now I have 3 songs, soon to be 5 songs, that we recorded before she left that are awesome, that I love, and willingly give out to people...and no one to play them with. And that's my current excuse. I want my violin and drums back. I can play solo shows, I am fine playing solo shows, but deep down inside I know that I can't get to where I want artistically or professionally without people getting my back.
I need support. I can't do it alone.
So,yeah...old songs. I have had that section 'archives and whatever' on my site, with nothing in it, for a long ass time. I'm thinking of actually putting some shit up there. Because, what the hell am I going to do with it? Nothing. They are now part of the Sarah Rabdau memory book, dead in the water songs, that never really wanted a life raft. But I'm thinking about putting them up for.... I don't know. For all the people that tell me they REALLY love 'Down to Frisco' and 'Lone Star' from when I was 17 and 19. I thought these songs were like children for so long, but they are not. They are framed pictures that I keep on my CD rack. Cracked and dusty.

And speaking of the past, I have recently been visited and been visiting, via the interweb, people from my past. My first visit was by my sworn rival in 6th grade (obviously there are no hard feelings now). She's well, married, and everything is grand, but mentioned that I got out of the town just at the right point because a lot of people got into drugs, committed suicide, divorces, etc. When she said suicide, there was an instant lump in my throat, I was really worried to find out who it was. And when she told me who, my fears were realized. I hadn't kept in contact with anyone from my elementary school days (3rd-6th grade), but there were times when I would think about people from that little town. And one in particular. I would think about him more then anyone else, even my best friend at the time. He had the most beautiful penmanship of anyone I have ever met, it slanted to the left in these curvaceous waves, he was so smart, hysterical, kind, and adorable. He was wise beyond his years, and I would think about him often because he was one of those people that had so much going for him. That still made me smile whenever his face popped up in my head. And all these years I have been thinking about him, he's been dead. And I didn't know. Because I like to runaway from my past. And how self-absorbed can I be to be so hurt by this now? When I didn't bother before. But it was 6th grade. But I still thought about him. And his brother looked so much like him. It's terrible, and made me think about other people in my past. Wondering if they were ok and if they were happy.
So, I got on the interweb again and started emailing people to say hi. People in California from my high school, that I haven't seen since the day I graduated. And everyday I was there I complained about just wanting to go back to Massachusetts. And I was super depressed, and I was misunderstood. And when I left, I had every intention to leave and never go back or talk to anyone there ever again. But people grow up a bit, and get not so depressed, and begin to dream of California and not Boston. Funny how that is? Anyway, everyone I have briefly chatted with seems ok. So that's good.

But I still feel a loss, and I was reminded of losing a friend when I was 15. And how, to this day, it was the worst feeling that I have ever felt. How I never wish that on anyone. But life can be cruel, and the world can feel so wrong, and last night I was told that one of my younger sister's good friends died in a car accident. Instantly, the hole in my chest opened and was flooded with that pressure of pain and heartbreak. Knowing that my sister would feel this pain, that his family would feel this pain, that there were hundreds of kids-- some that I know, most that I don't-- that feel their heart physically breaking. That feel everything breaking. The world changes in an instant, and you are never the same person you once were. And you never get to say what you really felt, or kiss their lips, or smile, hear their voice, or hold them ever again. It's permanent. And it never goes away.
But somehow, somewhere, you have to forgive yourself for never saying those words, or taking that kiss, or calling them at the exact minute that they died, thinking that the call would have somehow saved them. Because nothing can bring them back.
The only thing that would make me feel better was knowing that my friend was up there looking out for everyone, and I would feel his presence, and I would talk to him, and I would ask "for signs", and sometimes he would give them to me and sometimes he wouldn't.
And one day, I knew, that I had to let him go. That he wouldn't disappear from me, that he still knew I loved him, that I would still hold him tight to me, but that I had to let him go.
And it took a long time, and the floodgates can still open.
And there is nothing anyone can say, and not one way to heal.
But in the beginning, it all hurts

it all hurts.

when bands break me

2005-12-27T13:28:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, when I feel like a bee looking for the juiciest, most luscious flower to suck on, I actually find nectar that is so rich, so delicious, that I have to tell all my other friends where I got it from. In this case, there are two bands right now that have filled me to the point of spillage.

1. Neutral Milk Hotel. I don't know where I was when this band came out, and I don't know if I would have liked them at the time they did, but I can say that I am in complete love and adoration of this band now. The two full lengths they put out are some of the best, most-expressive, joyous, heart-wrenching, delectable displays of songwriting I have ever heard. I am having a hard time listening to anything else. Guitars, bowed saws, distortion, drums, bagpipes, organs...I fucking love them. I love them.

2. Jaggery. I saw them on Friday night opening for HUMANWINE. I haven't been that captivated by a female songwriter in ages. And to top it off she has one of the top five most amazing voices I have ever heard. She can sing these soaring ethereal dark-angel-wisp-of-a-line melodies, screeching-high-perfect-pitch yells, and deep throaty grunts/whispers with mind boggling ease. Her songs are complicated, odd time signatures, outbursts of emotions, great piano playing. Mali Sastri is her name and she was joined by her brother Raky on drums. He was equally fantastic, and amazing, but I really couldn't take my eyes off her. I hope I can do a show with them sometime. I adore them.

amazing.

the nectar..

seeping out all over the place.

Steve Morse

2005-12-07T08:53:00.000-08:00

Boston's dear music writer, Steve Morse, has left the Globe after decades of writing about legends, albums, live shows, and newcomers (myself included). He has been one of the few writers in town that continually promote my shows, and drops my name to other bands/out of towners/clubs/etc. I can't even count how many people have come up to me or to one of my shows after Steve recommended them. I'm sad to see him go, but I hope that he finds his way to many relaxing retreats and also continues to come out and see shows around town.

Thank you for all your support, Steve. You will be missed.

tori amos cover band

2005-12-01T08:42:00.000-08:00

The paradise show went well, I was pleased. I couldn't have picked two better musicians to work with than Nate and Scott...I thank them a gazillion times over. There is a clip from the show on this guy Bernie's site (he put the show together) http://www.melodymatters.com, it's blurry and faraway...but you can get the idea.
I pulled out my sewing kit for the show (a pair of scissors) and completely destroyed this high school play looking dress I got at The Garment District. I tore it to pieces, threw on a red sash, and sewed on a window screen....it came out exactly as I had hoped it would! Hopefully there will be pictures on the site soon....my site really needs to be updated, I know.

Throughout all of 2005 I have been writing 2006. I don't know why, I'm hoping that '06 will be better then '05. This year sucked so hard in so many ways, and for so many people, I think I have yet to meet someone that had a great year- emotionally speaking. There was a dark disgusting haze that dropped tar and grime on all things lovely this year. I'm tired of the shit covered sky. Fuck the shit. But as my friend and art warrior pointed out, I have grown a lot. And that's probably true, as a writer and performer I feel I have budded and bloomed a bit. I love my songs now, and I haven't for years, and the ideas I have been getting are inspiring to me. Each idea fuels a new idea, and I grow stronger and more aware of what it is I want from my music and life as it is before me right now. I think the most important thing is that I am inspired and productive. I am poorer then ever before, but I'm inspired to do better now...I haven't felt like that in a long time. I could have given a shit about productivity before, I wanted to wallow in my pool of misery and self-doubt, maybe knowing that in the end I would come out and understand myself and my ambitions better. ahh man, thinking is such a pain in the ass.

Last week was Thanksgiving and I went to my mom's where the wine and food were both endless. Two things happened while I was there. #1 I saw Pride and Prejudice. Not a movie that I would have chosen to see on my own (I was the lone soul requesting Capote), but myself, my mom, and my sister Julia went together. I used to love period pieces like this (I've never read the book), and gushy love stories...but over the past few years I haven't. I think a part of me decided that I was a modern woman, wanting more complicated things that involved stainless steal and bizarre story lines. But truth be told, I really feel a connection with the flowing skirts, the bustiers, the pretty language, and the palaces. This movie in particular was such a beautifully told love story, directed so well, acted so handsomely, that it could have turned any modern woman (well, almost anyone), especially if you have leanings to the strong-willed women capturing the hearts and minds of all the single men around her. Another one I have re-visited is 'Elizabeth', and in turn, started reading 'The Virgin's Lover' (a borderline historical romance novel). Both are essentially the story of Queen Elizabeth's rise to power, and her affair with close friend/member of the court/married man, Robert Dudley. I have to say WOW is this book hot. If you are looking to be swept away in a gluttonous period piece, with power, betrayal, and sexual tension that gets taken to the next level.....I recommend this book.
#2 I played a very mini concert for some of my sister's friends. It was by far not my best performance as it really wasn't a 'performance performance'. Anyway, some of the teenagers had heard my latest demo with Rigel...in particular this one dude, and liked it. However, after I played my solo set this one dude basically says that he could tell my only influence was Tori Amos. This can be a touchy subject for me, and for several other women I know that sing and play piano.
Truth be told, Tori is absolutely one of my influences. Beyond Culture Club, and Madonna I don't remember loving music as much as when I first heard her. But this was different, because unlike Boy George, she seemed to wake something up inside me. You have to remember, I was just leaving 6th grade, I was alone in a new town and awkward (as I always was), and was beginning to swear off the piano. And than this read haired women on MTV turns to me and says 'Excuse me but can I be you for awhile'. I was hooked. I was 12. I formed a somewhat healthy obsession, collecting CD's finding anything I could find about this women that seemed to connect so strongly with so many people. I was in love with others to- Tom Waits, Joni Mitchell, John Coletrane, Billie Holiday, Nina Simone, George Winston, and Neil Young. If it was sad, I loved it. A lot. It had to be kinda sweet too. Tom was kinda an exception to this, but I loved Closing Time more then Swordfishtrombone at the time. That's still a toss up. The thing that I loved most about her was that she was so overtly sexual while playing the piano. I had never seen a women play a piano that way, and to be so out there and open..I admired that.
Anyway, I loved Tori a lot till about 18. After that, my tastes started to change as I moved from Southern Californa to Boston. All of a sudden I was in a house of boys that listened to dub reggae and hip hop, and I started to want to put beats in my music. Not just because I liked them, but because I also wanted to get away from Tori comparisons. So for years we experimented, and then in turn put out 'Benevolent Apollo'.
But I felt like a cover model for something that I was supposed to be, and realized that I had a lot of passions, frustrations, and emotions that I hadn't been honest about for years. In order to deal with them, I had to just go back to the piano and deal with the shit. Fuck the shit. I had to play like I did when I was a kid, which meant doing fucking hours of Hanon exercises to get my fingers back in shape. I had to do different vocal exercises to get my voice louder instead of the comfortable soaring sounds. I had to play for the art of it, knowing that without the beats and all the other electronic stuff, the comparisons would be inevitable.
And so there I was, playing my new songs solo -- songs I love -- and lo and behold I am accused of only being like Tori. It bothered me for a few days, but then I decided
#1 He only said that when I was solo because he couldn't think out of his box.
#2 He's a Tori head, so in a way it's kinda good that he loves Tori but doesn't like me.
#3 My voice isn't deep like PJ's, not as explosive as Bjork's, not as smooth as Billie's...the timbre is similar to Tori. And I play the piano. And I have curly hair. And that's why I connected with her in the first place.

But I can't fucking change that. And I'm not going to pretend anymore just so I won't get a comparison, and just to satiate haters. Fuck the shit.
And also, just because a female/singer/songwriter plays with emotion do they have to be put in the 'Lillith fair' category? I swear to god I'm going to puke all over the place if I hear that one more time. No disrespect to those ladies, they did a wonderful thing, but if I were the lead songwriter in a band it would never happen.

So speaking of music that can't be put in pretty boxes let me ask 'Why didn't anyone tell me to buy Neutral Milk Hotel before?' I only have the 'Aeroplane' one, I think there is one or two others, but my god what a masterpiece. Also, I am totally in love with Andrew Bird's new album 'The Mysterious Production of Eggs'. His violin lines are orgasmic, and his lyrics are witty, touching, and very funny. I love love love both those CD's very much right now.

Anyway, that's all. Go to my myspace page to hear new tracks by myself and Rigel
http://www.myspace.com/sarahrabdau

favorite things

2005-11-02T13:31:00.000-08:00

All this shit about me, I wanna talk about things that I like talking about. OTHER people and things that are awesome. I'm way better at that. Here are a list of things that I love right now

1. TV on the Radio - the best band in the world right now. I love them so much, I wish they would come to Boston soon. It's like a ghostly barbershop quartet, with political, poignant but not preachy lyrics, awesome beats, and simple, dissonant instrumentation. so so so so so good

2. Arcade Fire- believe the hype, this band is superb. please come to Boston, I was sleeping when you were here last. sleeping on Arcade Fire.

3. Million Little Pieces by James Frey- it's an Oprah book, but it is great. It's about a severely addicted young man in rehab. A first person account. non-fiction. Excellent, excellent. Especially if you have ever known an addict.

4. Make your own Bloody Mary's. This will make any Sunday brunch brighter.

5. 'Into my Arms' by Nick Cave- easily one of the best songs ever written. It hasn't left my head for weeks

6. Me, You, and Everyone one we know. )) < > (( I have never laughed so hard in a movie, ever. I remember. The poop.

7. Cutting all your hair off. If not all, a lot.

8. Antony and the Johnsons- another great band. Antony has the voice of an old, castrato that didn't lose his balls, and dresses up in wigs and dresses. So, I guess that would be like a tenor. His album, right down to the packaging, is exquisite

9. Basquiat (the movie)- I love his actual art, too. He's one of my favorites...but the movie has a special place in my heart. I can watch it 872 times and still relish in every moment of it. It's the only movie I can do that with. I think it's because I am so fascinated with the art/music scene in NY at that time. It's probably the time period that I wish I could have been a part of the most.

10. Green tea at 3pm.

avocados are out of season, and I can't think of any other foods that I love right now. Winter has not yet offered all it's comfort foods for me to enjoy. I predict more sweet potatoes, currant vodka and sodas, and Pho in my future though.

tour jaunt

2005-10-24T06:49:00.000-07:00

Touring with the Fast Easy Women is like touring with gay men. Everyone has shaving gel, moisturizer, hair products, shoes with heels are not uncommon, and some have multiple outfits. One difference is that they don't take very long to get ready, and the big difference is that they all like women. Love women, in fact. I couldn't have toured with more gentlemanly men. All so gracious and hilarious, very understanding of my needs to change and do make up, everyone was so encouraging and excited. We could talk about music, performance, and the importance of eye cream all in the same conversation.
All the shows were great, and we met some unbelievably nice and generous people.

Day one was Buffalo. I had never been to any of the places that we stopped on this tour..so Buffalo. Well, the drive there was gorgeous. Western Mass and Western NY are incredibly beautiful. The streams rolling under bridges, foliage in full bloom, farm houses and cows. It was all pristine and fantastic. Then we get to Buffalo which is a very odd place. We got there at about 6ish on Thursday and the streets were empty. They were empty at 7pm too. There were a lot of buildings boarded up, and for being a college town it was really.....well, empty. I mean there were some people on the streets. And they all seemed to tell that we weren't from around those parts. I don't know how? We walked around to find some food..we ended up getting some kickass slices at this pizza joint, where we also witnessed some guy giving himself insulin in his stomach at his table. That was appetizing.
We played well that night, and there was a bigger crowd there then we expected. Everyone was very vocal about the music, lots of cheers and claps which is always nice, and the drinks were wonderfully cheap so we made sure to take advantage. Before we arrived, Ad had gotten word about this couple (Susan and Marty) that were known around town for putting bands up while they were in town. We stayed with them that night in their beautiful house, all of us with a proper bed. In the morning they went out and bought us bagels, made tea and coffee, grabbed tomatoes and fresh herbs from their garden and basically are the nicest people in the world.
Thank you so much, guys.

Day two was Detroit, we had to leave Buffalo at 7:30am because Ad had gotten a radio interview at 2ish. The drive there was long. We were tired. I could barely put a sentence together and pretty much couldn't stop laughing. When we were almost to Detroit, Ad called the DJ to get proper directions and to find out what their frequency was so we could tune in and listen on the way there. That's when we got word that there was no frequency. The show was only broadcast via streaming audio on the internet. There was a moment of silence in the van, and we could have been bummed out but instead we all just started laughing. Oh well. Streaming audio....I guess I know a few people that listen. Glad we all got three hours of sleep.
We get to the radio station around 2:30 after literally passing 15 strip clubs on one street. My favorite was a club that said 'enter in rear' on their front door. We do the interview, and the DJ plays almost every cut off the album. After he plays the first song, a student comes up to the booth and asks who that last song was by because he loved it? He was pretty darn excited to find out that the band that played the song was there and doing the interview. And in the end, it was all worth the lack of sleep and the long drive.
We stayed with another friend of the bands that night and played in a club called Small's. The venue was awesome. Huge stage, huge system. Another really appreciative crowd. That night was probably the best one. I was exhausted but still managed to stay up till 3. Rock [n' Roll] is a powerful drug.

Day 3 was Chicago, and this was the night I was most excited about. I have always wanted to go to Chicago and it did not disappoint. What a great city. The architecture, the boutiques, the diversity, Kanye West. We stopped by at another friend of the bands place, grabbed some food in the Wicker Park area and waited to go to the venue (also in Wicker Park). The show turns into a bit of a disaster; it's behind a taco stand, the night is over booked with 6 bands...most of them veer to the punk rock genre, and our set is now 20-30 minutes. But whatever, we suit up to play. There is a big crowd, they know a lot of Ad's songs, things are going well and then the PA cuts out in the middle of the third song. No vocals. Deflated, we wait and wait and wait for about 10 minutes until someone fixes the PA. We play two more songs with vigor and excitement. We will make up for these set backs! And then the PA goes out again. He have now probably been on the stage for 45-50 minutes, and really feel like we need to get off the stage, but we really need to play one more song. The PA goes up again, we play it, it was awesome. Crowd goes wild, we managed to not get beat up, and the show finally is over. I go to my keyboard case and put my keyboard in and it won't close. I try 160 times, and it won't close. I'm about to cry because it's new and I want to get the fuck out of there, and with my last breath of hope I try again and it closes.
I roll it out to the van, I open my other bag to get my shoes out and reach in and my shampoo has exploded. Fuck! I'm stressed out, but I decided....fuck it. We are in Chicago, the jaunt is over, let's have a good time. So we all go to another bar, hang out till 2 Central time, and then leave half the band in Chicago while Ad, Eric and I jump in the van and proceed to drive 16 hours to Boston.

It was so much fun. Thanks to everyone that came out, bought CD's, gave us compliments, and for putting us up. Special thanks to Susan and Marty, Abid (sp?), Neal, and Oz. You all rock my world.

Now, I just need to finish some recordings, find some people to play with, and tour for my own stuff. All hail the ROCK! or gay pop...

forward motion

2005-10-11T06:18:00.000-07:00

I'm sick of sinking. Of feeling broken. Of being lost. I've decided to completely pre-occupy my thoughts by making myself as busy as possible. Which I should have been doing all along, but for some reason I sat around waiting for disaster. This summer there was bad energy in the air, I felt it everywhere I went. The sun would shine, the birds would sing, the trees would bend in the wind, beads of sweat would glisten after the bubble tea would quench my thirst....yet still I couldn't shake the feeling of imminent doom. And lo and behold, imminent doom struck, but I didn't feel like that was it. There was more in store.

But the winds are changing, it's getting colder, leaves are turning, and though I had been dreading autumn for fear of it's wintry successor..I'm kind of happy about it now. It's been raining for four days or so, and I have been loving it. I just pretend like I'm living in London and everything seems better. The empty bottles of red wine in my kitchen have also helped out some.

Rigel and I recorded some live demos over the weekend. I don't know how I feel about them yet as I haven't heard them. I've been getting over being sick so I don't think my voice was where it should have been. It's also kind of weird recording live with someone because you try and be in the same place emotionally and physically at all the right moments...and sometimes it doesn't happen. I hope it works out so that I have something to show for the work we have done together. We recorded some heavy stuff, all the songs I love to play with her are emotionally fucking draining. My arms were exhausted playing the beast of an instrument...the 6 foot matted black beauty. She's got tough aciton, and dull strings. But I wish I could have her or something like her at my gigs. I love the feeling of pounding, playing, and controlling something that massive. It's such a trial. Such a struggle.

I have a show coming up in November that will hopefully help me out of these doldrums. I'm going to be playing with Nate, the drummer from HUMANWINE (who I also saw at The Lizard on Friday and they are still really good) http://www.humanwine.org, and hopefully my psychic pal and art crusader, Scott Dakota. It's at the Paradise Lounge and we are trying to do something special. More details to come.
Also, next week I am going on a road trip with Ad Frank and the Fast Easy Women. We are going to play some shows in Buffalo, Detroit, and Chicago...so if you live in any of those places check out http://www.adfrank.com for our tour dates and venues. I'm super excited about it, and I love them all so much...but I've already talked them up so much...but we rock. Check it out.

I would also like to say that I just read one of the best books ever. It has helped me get out of this gross slump, it's called 'the Life of Pi'. It's one of those things that come at the right time, fills you up with goodness, and leaves you alone with your thoughts to contemplate life and all that it brings....at least it did that for me. I love good books just as much as good albums. Especially when they bring psychic dreams and dreams of Nepalese princesses.

that's all for now...

the good the bad and the lost

2005-09-16T08:51:00.000-07:00

So, Rigel is still leaving. I want to recover from this ASAP but I'm lost to where I need to go. My first reaction is to say....fuck it. I'll be solo forever. But the fact is that I want a band. I like doing solo performances, a lot. But there is nothing better then playing with someone that you really connect with. That feeling of power on stage is the best thing in the world, better then sex or chocolate or drugs (though I'm not really a drug fan) or alcohol or avocados. And maybe I just want a person or two to play with for my own stuff....and then I want to be in a band band on the side. A band where I sing and don't sit behind my keyboard. I could jump around, walk into the audience, I could clap my hands, I could walk over and sing into someone else's microphone..simple luxuries that are not allowed when you are behind a beast with 88 keys to play. There's only so much a woman can do.

When I was little we had this wall of closets that had mirrored fronts, and I would spend hours entertaining the imaginary masses that looked back at me. I rocked. They all told me so. My mom was encouraging but a little perturbed at my narcissism, but she was partly to blame because she was the one that took me to drama class, and paid for my piano lessons. My parents are artists but they weren't the self absorbed kind. Maybe my dad a little, but not really.

To be solo you have to kickass. At everything. I can kick ass on my vocals and my songwriting (though I'm sure there are many that would disagree), but my piano skills are very hard to kickass at. It's not for lack of trying. I can play my way through, but not the way I want to. Not like Tori, or Regina, or Ms. Palmer, or Rufus, or my favorite musician on the planet right now..Peter Moore. Peter Moore sings for a band called Count Zero, he used to front a band called Think Tree, and lately he has been doing these solo shows that are tentatively called 'Love Cycle'. Peter Moore is my idol. This solo show he does consists of him doing these skits in between songs, he does all the voices of four different characters and each skit hints at what the next song will be. It's him. Two mics. A Keyboard. And a kick drum. His piano playing is astounding, he can go from these sort of groove based songs that are reminiscent of Prince, and then do these crazy- ass 20th century classical sounding pieces with all this fast finger work and chromatic runs and crazy chords...ah man it makes me so jealous. And he's a lovely and handsome man to top it all off. Jealous. so very jealous.

I wrote some new songs that I really like. I am hopefully recording some stuff with Rigel before she leaves. I need to have this for posterity, and to also see who or what and if anyone else could ever do what she does. I am hopeful, I know everything happens for a reason, even when it hurts and makes you feel lost. I just hope it happens soon, I'm sick of floating around in the middle of the ocean. so to speak.

that's a metaphor.

heartbreak

2005-09-06T08:15:00.000-07:00

My friend Ad Frank asked me to come into the studio when he was recording his last album. (several months ago...it's out now, everyone go buy it). Anyway, while in the studio he requested that I sing a certain part as if my heart were breaking. Then made a snide Ad Frank comment about how I don't know anything about heart break because I have been in the same relationship for so long. So then I nailed the vocal....being challenged in that way....and he screamed, I smiled, and I felt very satisfied.
Because for some of us, heartbreak doesn't have to come in failed relationships. Sometimes it comes in other losses and disappointments...and for those I have a surplus. I am a pro at loss and disappointmet. I am such a pro that I sometimes build up such a wall to protect myself against it, that I feel like a stone cold bitch (which is kinda cool). Stoic, solid, unmovable. But life is only worth living if you chose to experience it for all it's worth, and that means becoming tender and open to situations where total devastation may be unavoidable.

Rigel told me on Friday that she plans on moving to San Fransisco at the end of October. of 2005. in like, two months. I really didn't know what to say, I want to support her decision...but I also want to yell out "don't leave! we are just starting!" And that's part of her problem with the decision.
Being in a band with someone, even as a duo, is like a relationship. And some work and some don't...and this is one that did. This is like being in a great relationship with someone at the peak of it's awesomeness and them saying "I gotta go." You feel lost and rejected and ultimately, for me anyway, incredibly sad. I've never been so happy playing with anyone. I don't know how anyone else can come close to what we do. How the fuck do I play Air Raid with anyone else? She's the only person I have played with that I have ever felt like a "band". Not just the people I play with, even though I have had a great time playing with other people. And it seemed like there were so many possibilties, and ideas that were just beginning to flow. I have shed too many tears over this, and don't think there are any left. And then more come.
And, of course, I start to think about moving too. Because it is really something that I have been considering for 4 years or so, but I always imagine moving to New York. Because I love New York. But everyone I know lives in San Fran. Literally all my best friends live there, and my super fan (hi Rachel..I miss you)..but still. Moving to San Fran is kinda like living in Boston. I don't know if San Fran has a booming music scene, and I would really like to be in more of an epi-center instead of a very similar situation but 3000 miles away from my beloved bitter coast, and my amazing family. But with way better weather AND In N'Out burger.
If anyone sees Rigel walking around the city or at a show, please let her know how much you love seeing her play with me.
I always hated parental guilt trips when I was a kid....but I think this calls for one.

New Orleans. I am not nearly eloquent enough to comment on this. It's like a death of someone you are close to, everyday you get up and wonder if it's ok to smile, or eat, or drink, or flush the fucking toilet, because 1500 miles away there are tens of thousands of American citizens that can't do those things. And I feel like I have to watch absolutely everything, everyday about this disaster. I have to because I'm not there, and I thankfully don't know anyone is New Orleans; but this is my country. These are our people. American citizens abandoned by their government. All week, I watched in horror. I don't want to say much more about it, because I do feel so removed and this is certainly not about my tears or my pain. This is the heartbreak, the loss, the disappointment that lives in the veins of this country. And this is bigger then anything I have personally witnessed in my time as an American.
to all the families, you are in my thoughts. And to all those that neglected you, may the images and guilt burn in their souls forever.

haze laze daze

2005-07-28T11:43:00.000-07:00

It is amazing at how absolutely lazy I have been. Usually I only get this way when my body is telling me to cut it out-- if I have been working too hard or something--but I am in no condition to be taking any breaks. Part of my problem is that I have been feeling incredibly uninspired, music comes into my head and I will start to play, but there are no words. No words at all. I got a new sustain pedal, plugged it in, played for 15 minutes, and then stopped. 'Yep, that works. Back to Hell's Kitchen', or some other meaningless piece of drivel that I have been fixated on. Poisoning my brain cells with mind numbingly stupid entertainment. I have thought about throwing out the TV and turning the cable off...but then how will I know who fronts INXS, whose script gets picked up by the networks, will Jonathan and that other egomaniac resolve their differences and be able to put out the most beautiful hair product in the world? These are not things that encourage productivity. I want to poke my eyes out. Right after this repeat of The OC.

buying CD's I can't afford

2005-06-16T09:58:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I was in NY visiting my family and singing backups for Ad @ Pianos. I love New York. I love everything about it. So many people there it seems like the city is a person breathing on its own. The movement elevates me..I'm very effected by my surroundings. I think that's why I am going crazy here. I've been here too long and I have wanted to leave for so many years now I feel like I'm super glued to a metaphysical dumpster. There's always the same old crap around me and the stench of it all becomes overwhelming; and I can't think of anything except trash, and don't see anything new unless it's the latest old magazine that's already been read. Used up and thrown out. And it's horrible because I've never felt like this before. It makes for great songs but I need some movement for reflection, something outside of myself.
Playing in NY is also kinda funny. Crowds come for specific bands and then leave right afterwards. Luckily Ad had a pretty good crowd, among them Amy Poehler from SNL. She dug his stuff (even bought a CD) and was ridiculously nice and laid back. Super adorable too.
Playing that show reminded me how much I love playing out of state. Now that I have someone that I love playing with and is willing to travel, and songs I love performing, I want to get back to booking out of state. Afterall that is the whole point of doing this, I am only happiest when I am playing out and performing. And Travelling. Applause please.

Today, I went to the record store to buy CD's I can't afford. I also ordered some more that will visit me in the mail next week. They are predominantly all singer/songwriters...but all good ones. I was so anti singer/songwriter-y stuff for such a long time, but these folks are different. I am visiting the places that I used to inhabit, and finding out how I belong. If I do at all.
I used to crave beautiful clothes and rich foods and would spend my extra cash on them, but now I just look longingly in the window and think of the time when that would satisfy me. When I was simpler...but evidently more materialistic.

Thursday Friday Saturday Rock Star

2005-06-06T06:56:00.000-07:00

If all shows could be like the show at Harpers on the 2nd then the world would be a better place. This was my first show playing with Rigel on the violin and she kicked ass. This is the closest I have come to what I want my music to sound like.
We opened the set with this new "song" I wrote called 'Airraid'. Rigel went onstage first and slowly started with this crazy fucked up sound that has a lot of feedback, it basically sounds like a plane crashing. Lots of planes crashing. Then I came out and started this rolling piano line that climaxes and fades to nothing, and then I start singing. It's a very experimental song, and I knew it was going to sound cool but I didn't realize how much people would like it. The rest of the set went really well but my favorite song to play, which might be a staple in all my sets now, is 'Man Child'. It's very cathardic, intimate, creepy, and I love the piano part. Rigel's addition to the song was perfect, the only thing I miss are the drums. I want drums back in my life.

After the show I got to talking to the folks from Humanwine, and Count Zero. For the first time since I started performing in Boston I felt like I actually might belong. To play with bands like the aforementioned and Fluttr Effect is so refreshing because they are all different and talented and can't be stuffed into pretty little boxes. I love that. It makes me feel less lonely. I hope their fans liked our set, it felt really good but I didn't have as many people come up to me and chat afterwards. Vessela (from Fluttr Effect) said that Kara (their lead singer) usually only has the guys come up to her telling her she's hot and the rest of the band gets the other comments. Something to do with intimidation. Rigel told me that a lot of people were gushing to her, which is great, and I'm glad. But I need it too. I can be a big ball of confidence while playing, and directly afterwards, but like any artist if I don't get praise I question everything. I'm just as narcissitc as the next performer, and I need it. I love it. I'm nothing without fans and their opinons.

Friday night I got to hit the stage again but this time with Ad Frank and the Fast East Women. It was an incredible show. Ad was so ON that night. Sean (guitar player) had an idea to bring out a catwalk for Ad to strut down and make the girls go crazy. Wow, did it work. The combination of Owen doing sound, Dec doing lights, and the extra stage appendage made for a spectacular show. People were screaming and singing along, throwing up their hands in adoration. It was fucking rock star! Ad was a fucking rock star. We played an awesome show, did an amazing cover of 'Karma Killer', and came back out for an encore. I love playing with this band.

Saturday I went to go see Regina Spektor open for Keane. Regina is one of me new favorites because she is herself and there is no one else remotely like her. When we got to the venue the place was sparsely attended and the people there were talking about beer and their hair. Regina came on and people would not shut up. I can listen to the woman sing anytime, anywhere, at any place and it annoyed the fuck out of me how people were NOT reacting to her. She still sang her heart out, but I would imagine that it would be slightly disheartening to play to fuckers like that. Afterwards, we ended running into some lovelies from Fluttr Effect, Count Zero, and The Dresdon Dolls. Amanda and Brian are friends with Regina and were chatting with her mostly, but they had both heard about the show at Harpers and were very kind and supportive as they tend to be. I spoke with Regina a bit, I could tell she wasn't happy with her performance and I could sense something was bothering her. I later found out that she was having some music issues with the balance between art/job/label/independent. I didn't want to intrude as I'm just a girl she met and she had actual friends around. But what I wanted to say to her was 'You are one of a kind and there are million people like them. Don't let them get to you, don't let them take away what makes you one of a kind. You are fucking unique, you are special, and licking your shoes would be the best fucking thing they ever tasted. Fuck them and show 'em who's boss. SHOW THEM WHO IS BOSS!"

I still haven't found what I'm looking for

2005-05-23T08:52:00.000-07:00

But I am closer. I'm playing with a violin player right now. Her name is Rigel. She makes fucked up sounds on the violin that make my insides squeel with glee. It's awesome. It's like having two voices at the same time and I am so excited to play the show at Harpers.
We're rehearsing a lot, and it sounds fantastic. Besides it being an amazing bill that everyone should attend, I feel like this will be a performance that I have been waiting to give. I don't want to hype it up beyond what it will be, but I am looking forward to it.

self censoring

2005-05-06T08:28:00.000-07:00

I don't offer up what's happening in my life very easily. (Can't you tell?) I will notoriously respond with "ah, not much", when people ask me what's going on. Even when there is a lot going on, I always say "not much, what about you?", and then ask a gazillion questions about their lives. I don't do it consciously, it's just a habit that I have formed.
I have a friend that is great about responding when I say, "what about you?" He talks about all the things he's been working on, who he has talked to, what shows he's been to, and then it makes me feel like an ass for not actually saying what has been going on. Especially right now, I am getting busier. I have a few shows that are coming up this month/and next that I am really excited about, I am writing some songs I am really excited about, and generally speaking I am feeling more open.
Playing with Ad is also really special. I have grown accustomed to my shows being more stripped down and having the fire come from me. But Ad's whole band is on fire, as is Ad, and to be part of a group that throws their own kindling and lavish furniture on to a pile to make a huge bonfire is something spectacular. People have given me generous compliments about my additions to the group (I hope they are letting Ad know too), and strangely enough is seems that I all of a sudden have some credibility in the eyes of the Rabdau skeptical. As I mentioned before, Ad won't allow me to do this if it takes up a lot of my time. But, so far, it seems like it is benefitting me in more ways then one.

Anyway, back to the point. When I first started writing at 14ish I was listening to Tori Amos and Joni Mitchell, I was writing hyper personal songs that were HEAVILY influenced by those two ladies. In my early twenties I wanted to desperately not be assocoiated with Tori, not because I didn't respect her, but because it's such a tired comparison. If you have curly hair, and play the piano, it's like you are one in the same. TIRED! And so I started listening to more R&B and soul music, more electronic stuff, and was really liking the hard edge of electronic beats and the vocal gymnastics of soul. I was also becoming obsessed with being perfect. I wanted my hair to be perfect, my voice to be perfect, outfits perfect. Everything was to be pretty and perfect. So in this completely fucked up new attitude I had developed, I started writing less about my surroundings and more about what I thought people wanted to hear from me. This was the conception and birth of Benevolent Apollo.
I know a lot of you really like Apollo, lots of press said lovely things about it, and I am very proud of the work that everyone involved put in. Very proud, and very lucky.
But, I am far from perfect and I am far from being close to perfect. Right now I like to embrace the things that are not pretty about myself. The things I hide, the things that I don't let people know about, the things people don't expect. This is who I am, and I will fight to the death for it now. Before, I didn't have it in me because I wasn't really sure who this Monster Perfect Creature was and how the fuck she got hold of me. But she is dead now, so all heil disorder!
Veering, straying,.....wow! the point.
The point! I refuse to censor myself now. I can't do it, it's like slowly suffocating, each day taking way one of my last breaths. Though it is understandable that close friends, family, and my other half now question my lyrics and wonder if something is about them, and though I sing these songs in front of people and sometimes they are indeed about them, I can't be afraid of writing something for fear that I will be questioned about it. Songs are what you make of them. If I write something about my step father, best friend, or boyfriend it is meant to be interpretted in different ways. Where the origin comes from means nothing, it's what people get out of it. I know where it comes from, and in many ways my songs are my outlet to dramatize situations and make something out of nothing. I am a creative type. This is what I do.
And I get satisfaction when people come up to me after a show talking about how much a song means to them because "that happened to me." And that's not what the song is even about, but if that's what they get out of it then that is what it's about.
So, I apologize in advance to all of you who I have or undoubtedly will write songs about. Even if it's not the happiest song, even if I am screaming and yelling "fuck you!", it's only because I love you or you have made an impact on me. Which is hard to do on both counts, so you are somethinig fine indeed. Consider yourself special. But please don't ask me about specific lines. I will lie to you everytime.
That will always be my private world. Even when I sing about it in front of the world.

the demon that almost ate me

2005-04-19T11:37:00.000-07:00

So, I was almost eaten by a demon. He/She slipped inside my body sometime before my birthday. Maybe three weeks before. While living inside me it started planting ideas that involved me becoming a hairstylist, or an interior designer. It was convincing me that it's voice was my intuition and that I was really a different person. And then it gave me laryngitis to prove that my voice wasn't necessary for where I was going. And then it started to give me a rash (my skin cancer) that could not be explained by Dr.'s nor cured by any medication. This was a full force attack that I was too weak for, and slowly I started to succumb to my inevitable doom. But sometimes in life, things work out and people enter at perfect times, and such was the case for me.

First off, I have started to sing backups for my friend Ad Frank. He will only let me do it if it doesn't interfere with my own stuff. I hope it doesn't because he is an incredible talent, and sharing the stage with him and his band is such a wonderful experience. Ad is a fantastic writer and I'm hoping (for my own selfish reasons) that it will inspire and rub off on me. We are completely different songwriters, but I am always looking to grow and change and I think the experience will be beneficial.

Secondly, a friend and I were able to get together and shoot the shit over fig infused bourbon manhattans. It was during this coversation that we became aware of the fact that I was indeed posessed and needed to do some fierce fighting or I would fall off the earth in a most undwewhelming fashion. If you gotta go, go big, and I will not let myself just disappear. This girl is up for the fight and I just needed a good ass kicking to get with it.

Now my only problem is that I have all this music in my head and no lyrics. Which is a first, it's usually the opposite. But I would rather have this problem instead of deciding what haircut looks best on certain face types, or wondering how I can devote myself to fabric covered walls, and pricey rugs.

silence

2005-03-19T07:01:00.000-08:00

So, first off, the show with Fluttr Effect went really well. I wasn't sure that it went that well at first because the audience was so polite. In a golf clap kinda way. But afterwards I had a lot of people come up to me and tell me that they really enjoyed the set. Fluttr Effect does a lot theatrically as well, so it was lovely to be a part of a show that was a production. I miss that about my stage days.

But then, what I didn't know, was that deep inside me there lived a sickness that was desperate to come out and attempt to kill me. Maybe not kill me, but show me who's boss. So days of coughing and fever ensue, and I wind up getting larangitis. And I couldn't speak for two days...which was kind of awesome....except for the fact that my throat was a desert of burning daggers.

My sickness lives still.

but i don't have skin cancer.

which is good because I thought i did.

Now, I sit at home listening to all the music that makes me go 'shit, there's a lot of good stuff out there.'' And that makes me antsy and hopefully makes my need to sing fight all the bad shit that is living in my lungs and nose. Got to fight that shit. Got to fight that shit.

The 18-25 box is all over for me

2005-03-07T07:43:00.000-08:00

I am officially 26. I have been having a quarter life crisis for the past few weeks....I actually think it is deeper then age, but I am determined to make it stop here. After a weekend of moping, eating, and my mother's kind words I think, and hope, I can pull through.
I have been getting ready for my show opening for Fluttr EFFECT on Thursday. I'm really excited about it, and I'm hoping to leave a good impression with some folks that have never heard me before. I am also going to dedicate a song to Brian Denehy. Why? Because he came into my work a few days ago and was a total jerk to me. I was nothing but helpful and lovely and he would not acknowledge that at all. I don't like to be made to feel small; even if you have made over 100 movies. So fuck that Brian Denehy..look what this lowly girl can do. I'm going to scream my head off just for you.

With every year there is more power, and wider hips. I guess I will have to adjust to both.

lucky

2005-03-01T10:33:00.000-08:00

I just got back from a weekend visiting family and friends in Virginia and Maryland. Seeing family always puts things in perspective. Although I am a product of two divorces, and have issues that often come with these unfortunate circumstances, I have a loving and supportive family that I am thankful to have. We all have our problems, our traits that annoy each other, but when it comes down to it I love seeing and being with them.
Which brings me to luck. My mom has recently told me that if "you didn't have bad luck you'd have no luck at all". Which is true...or rather I don't necessarily have bad luck, I have no luck. I never seem to catch a break and that often wears me thin. We all need a hand once in awhile, it helps make the journey worthwhile and not like you are just going around in circles.
But I realize I am lucky. Very lucky. I have a beautiful family that loves and supports me, who are also healthy (as am I), I am talented, inspired, and I have aspirations and the drive to back it up. All these are things are so basic to me that I fail to remember that so many people don't have them. And I really need to stop bitching about how much it sucks that I can't get a break or how fucking internally tormented I feel right now. Because who doesn't feel internally tormented? And what kind of bullshit songs would I write if I wasn't? Probably the kind that gets played on the radio every second, but oh well. That's not, ultimately, what is important.
Sure, I need reinforcement. Yes, I have desires that are selfish and materialistic. But the facts are simple: I am lucky.
And no matter how much I bitch and give myself ultimatums, this is my life. These are the paths I have chosen and there is no need for regrets.
Life is far too short.

fucking art

2005-02-21T08:55:00.000-08:00

So, I have been performing on stages since I was about 8 years old. Starting as an actress doing theatre, and then at 16 changing 'career paths' to music. I have never been an extrovert or someone that likes to call attention to myself; the exception to this, however, is that I love being on stage. When I'm onstage I all of a sudden can say, move, and be whatever I want to be. It's almost as if before an audience I can be more honest with myself then I can be on an everyday basis.
Lately, I have been questioning my 'career path'. Not because I don't love it and breathe it every waking minute, not because I'm not good at it, but because the chances of me getting to where I want to be are very slim. Typically, these percentages mean absolutely nothing to me. I hardly think about them and could care less about peoples suggestions of backup plans and reality checks. But for some reason, these thoughts are sinking in lately. In fact they are weighing so heavy it's like a fucking sink hole in my drive and ambition. Is it the impending birthday? Is it the view of the mountain of work I have to do and will always have to do? The possiblity that these labours will never be rewarded?

But the thing is, right now I am writing stuff that I really like. For the first time in a long time. I'm not worrrying about it's commercial appeal, I am just thinking about honesty and impact. And it seems like more people are responding to it, which I am very excited about. So why am I freaking out about my music? Is it because it's not as obvious anymore? Am I setting myself up for a life of misery? Wouldn't it be so much easier if I wrote super poppy obvious songs that everyone hated but listened to in their cars because that was the only thing that was on? Wouldn't it be so much simpler to be like everyone else.

Fucking integrity. Fucking art. Fucking mountain.

music and life crisis go hand in hand

2005-02-18T12:12:00.000-08:00

I have always found blog's to be a little creepy. Why do I have so much interest in other people's lives? It's like reality television for the literate, we cannot get enough. So it's a little bizarre to start one of these after I have had so much trepidation reading them.
Oh well, people change.

just the beginning

2005-02-16T14:21:00.000-08:00

testing post