Point/Counterpoint

So I'm all about adding new features to the Westification. Here's one I like to call Point/Counterpoint. This particular Point/Counterpoint is with my friend Tracy and it concerns the true meaning of the term Brutal Honesty.

In this edition, Tracy will be making the point and I will be making the counterpoint. Start by reading her point.

Here is my counterpoint:

I think it's safe to say that most people think of themselves as honest people. Unless you're Natalie Portman in Garden State and lying is akin to a nervous tick, you will (for the most part) tell the truth about things.

Most reasons for lying (dishonesty) can be lumped into two categories: (1) you are trying to protect yourself -or- (2) you are trying to avoid hurting someone else's feelings. (I guess there's also a third reason to lie, which would be humor... but that's not pertinent to the discussion at hand.)

I think our culture generally assumes that a person will tell the truth up until the point that the truth hurts them or hurts someone else in some way. Saying that I'm an honest person carries about as much weight as saying I'm a good person: it means I lie, but only when it's socially acceptable.

This creates a problem, because calling someone who always tells the truth "honest" is no longer good enough. Hence the identifier brutally honest: someone who always tells the truth, even when the truth hurts.

If I'm a brutally honest person, that doesn't mean that everything I say is brutal or painful in some way. Sometimes the truth hurts, but sometimes it's just the truth. The brutal part is just an explanation of the lengths that I will go to out of my value for honesty. I will go all out.

It's kind of like me referring to T.J. Ford as one of the best basketball players in University of Texas history. T.J. is a basketball player in University of Texas history, and the degree to which he played makes him one of the best.

Brutal honesty is a state of being rather than an identifier of a specific situation. In that way it is an inseparable term of characterization. Need I remind you all that a house divided cannot stand? Take brutal and separate it from honesty and you have someone that is mean for no reason, and honest when they should be... nothing more.

Also, I win.

an emo thought...

after that comedy of errors, you just might find me slitting my wrists.

it was like we were playing the harlem globetrotters out there.

i hug you.

Apparently T.dang has been plotting to hug me. (You can read the sordid details on her blog, here and here.) She carried through on her plot last night after church. She claims that I just stood there awkwardly, unable in my person to return affection.

I just want to set the record straight. This is what happened: I was standing perfectly normally, engrossed in perfectly normal conversation with a friend. Suddenly, Tiffany had her arms wrapped around me, pinning my arms to my side, in some sort of hug. I could do nothing but look down at her (she comes up to my chest cavity) helplessly and wait for her to release me. I'm pretty sure the awkwardness is all on the Dang.



I'm not above being sometimes awkward with hugs, I've had my fair share of intention induced mishaps, but I feel like I've learned a lot from past mistakes. I can definitely hug. In fact, the other weekend in Dallas, I greeted Katie with the extremely difficult high-five into side-hug maneuver. That's probably the most difficult type of hug, and I'd give myself about an 8 out of 10.

I made this (about hugs) the other year for this thing called the Forerunner Project. You should read it. A certain Randy Choy was also involved in its production.

2,000-ish words.

My friend Colin claims that too much of my blog revolves around music. Colin, too much of my life revolves around music. Anyone have a 12-step program for that?

Meanwhile, if you have a penchant for things Ryan Adams (or like to hear earthworms scream), you should check out his website. Move your cursor over the bottom right portion of the picture of worms, and "Click [t]here to listen to a conversation between Ryan, Luke Lewis (Lost Highway Chairman), and Andy Nelson (Lost Highway Marketing VP)."

Best line [in reference to his "new album" Helicopter Soup] - "I put stars next to the singles."



Also, Interpol re-entered my life with pure abandon this week. I went to their show at the Austin Music Hall on Wednesday (for free); plus I'm strangely obsessed with their video for "Evil" that I happened upon yesterday. You can read my thoughts on the show here, and you can watch the video for "Evil" here. Puppets are freakishly cool.

[That's two images in one post, is that some kind of record?]

an emo thought...

The role of depressed entrepeneur should probably be avoided at all costs.

the Go.C.

I know I've mentioned the O.C. in passing a few times, which probably has you wondering, "is Brett really a the O.C. fan?" Yes, he is. I am, and I'm willing to justify myself if need be.

I've been withholding comment while Season 2 has unfolded, because frankly I didn't know what to think. [this is unlike my roommate Paul, who has commented aplenty: here and here]

Last week I almost posted something, tentatively entitled "the Faux.C.", but then I went to the Dallas and it didn't happen. This is what I was thinking last week, and I quote (myself):

"I'm a fan of the O.C., and it's no secret. Well, it's sort of a secret. It's not something I hide from my inner circle, and it's not something I share with any and all passerby. I'm not ashamed, I'm just concerned with perception not within the control of my ability to explain myself.

There are things I like about the O.C. which include the music, the witty banter (primarily involving Seth), the story of redemption and some grace (Ryan, under the watchful eyes of Kirsten and Sandy Cohen), the close-knit group of friends living out the doldrums and excitements found in high-school/college life (not my life, mind you, but probably someone's)... what I'm saying is I like Season 1 of the O.C.

Season 2 has had its moments, if you look hard enough. Some of the music is interesting, bits and pieces of the banter are witty, but for the most part the O.C. Season 2 has been playing the role of movie sequel to the O.C. Season 1. Think about all of the really bad movie sequels out there: the Matrix 2 (& 3), Free Willy 2, Rocky V... they exist on shear marketing potential. Once you start watching, you know you've made a mistake, but your money is already far far away.

That's what I feel like Season 2 of the O.C. is... The good stories are gone, Josh Schwartz's iPod is spent (and major label cash has begun to flow)... I am watching a bad sequel. I just haven't quite gotten to the part where I walk out yet."

That was last week. Then this week happened. It was a rainy day in sunny the O.C. [cue Blind Melon - "No Rain"] Seth and Ryan each try to get the other to walk through the rain to the kitchen and pool house, respectively, so that they can talk about their girl problems. Witty dialogue with funny gesturing to boot.

Sandy Cohen finally comes to his senses and returns to true love-his-wife/protect-his-family form. This happens conveniently as he's blocked from returning home by a washed out road (the rain), and forced to spend the night with his long-lost-fugitive-former fiance. Typical soap opera fodder, I realize; until Kirsten turns the table on the whole situation by making fun of how very predictably lame the washed out road really is.

All this is simply background to the Seth/Summer/Zach plot arch. Summer and Zach are about to leave for Italy, for his sister's wedding, and a life of happiness together forever. As hard as he tries, Seth can't muster the words to win Summer back (even as she, unbeknownst to him, is waiting to be won back). This storyline had it all: the conversations where no one says what they really want to, the two heads simultaneously slamming against opposite sides of a door out of sheer frustration, the flight that's about to leave but gets delayed with more time for fate to intervene... all leading up to a comic book ending (Spiderman in this case).

The cracks in the marketing-ploy Marissa/Alex lesbian fling are beginning to show, and Marissa finds herself consoling a downcast Ryan, who is standing in the rain mourning the departure of Lindsay... who no one else will miss in the least.

And to what soundtrack does all of this occur? A cover of "Champagne Supernova" (Oasis) by Matt Pond PA... cleverly brilliant. All topped off by a rerun next week, which means a week to let it all sink in.

That's the O.C. I know and love. Semi-predictable storylines fueled by a hopeless romantic, wrapped up in great writing and well-placed music. Welcome back.

Sickly

So the under the weather man has moved into my life, completely uninvited. He brings with him sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever... and I have to buy all of my own medicine.



My friend Melody refers to being sick as being sickly, which I like. Sickly kind of takes the edge off.

I've developed what I feel to be a fail-proof getting better plan. It's a four-pronged approach sure to cure any and all ills.

[1] Do not admit to being sick. Sickness is fought not just on a physical level, it's also a mental battle. Remember that weakly train attempting to make it up that huge hill? The odds were set firmly against that little engine that could, and yet a reverberating "I think I can" got her over the top. It's the same with being sick. "I think I'm not sick," can be a health maker. [The only exception to this is when you're looking for a little well placed sympathy. Sympathy can be extremely valuable in the getting better game, and so it's ok to temporarily admit sickness to garner it.]

[2] Vitamin C. Apparently this makes you better. Not sure why... but it's one of those 4 out of 5 doctors things, so I don't question it. Orange Juice, Halls Defense Vitamin C cough drops, Clementines, the O.C. (a whole different kind of vitamin)... basically ingest as much of the stuff as you possibly can. I'm not sure if you can OD on vitamins, but I'm about to find out.

[3] Tea. It's all warm and smooth going down your throat. Perfect to counteract the cold, clumpy, mucus that is hanging out back there. I'm committed to the tea. I even substituted my Peet's coffee of the day for Peet's tea: Jasmine fancy.

[4] Eisley. It's hard to feel sick when you're listening to Eisley. Upbeat, ethereal;listening to Eisley transports me to this whole other not sick world. I've primarily been rocking Vintage People and Tree Tops, but I'm pretty sure any of their catalogue would work just fine.

Frankly though, this world is not about me. Good things happen, bad things happen, regardless of my sicklyness.

Which good things you ask? Blink 182 broke up today. (Has there ever been a legitimately good band with a number as part of their name? I submit Sum 41 and Maroon 5 as evidence to the contrary.)

Which bad things you ask? The Jayhawks also called it quits today. Check this out by way of eulogy:

The Jayhawks - "Waiting for the Sun" [care of stereogum]

Commentification on the Situation

I made some changes to this virtual homestead of mine... anyone and everyone should now be able to comment, regardless of whether or not you share a membership in the elite blogger.com society.

So come one, come all... add your witty banter to the fray, how I love it so.

Singing in the rain in the car, with friends.

I went up to Dallas over the weekend to see some bands play (Eisley, Pilotdrift, Midlake) and hang out with some friends (Paul, Dan, Kendal, Rob, Katie, Amy, Mindy) and some friends of friends (Pilotdrift, Eisley).

I've been thinking about friendship lately; the fact that I like it, and also how it works. When I first meet someone it can be a little awkward; especially if (and when) I offend that someone in a terribly aimed attempt at humor. The friendship usually progresses or regresses from there, depending on whether or not I like the person.

This is all background for what I realized about friendships this weekend: the situations in which you sing with a friend present are a great reflection of the level of intimacy the friendship has achieved.

Singing along at a concert requires the least amount of friendship intimacy, because it's probably too loud for you to be heard and there's a good chance that it's too dark for you to be seen. There's the chance that you might lose some respectability for singing along at a show, but you could probably pass it off as you making fun of all the other over-enthusiastic attendees.

The next step in intimacy tends to be the car sing-along. I experienced this with Paul on the way up to Dallas (Dan was sleeping). You've got music playing, which makes it easier to stay in tune and/or hide your voice between the better original vocals. You're putting yourself a little bit more out there since you can be both heard and seen, but you're still pretty in control of how out there you are. You can mouth the words to appear contemplative and respectful of the original work or you can sing as loud and far as your vocal chords will carry you, depending on comfort level. One thing to be careful of is any attempt to harmonize. This can go wrong, fast. (Side note: it's pretty much impossible to screw up singing along with rap music or famous patriotic tunes).

The ultimate level of song-singing friendship intimacy is singing by yourself with no musical accompaniment whatsoever. This situation usually occurs when you're trying to tell someone about this song you like (or hate), and they have no idea which particular tune you're talking about. Even typing this is making my palms sweaty (my palms are sweaty / I'm barely listening).

I usually start by reciting a few lyrics in complete monotone. This never works for some reason, probably to spite me. The next step is an almost always unsuccessful attempt at humming. For some reason it works on Name That Tune (often in 3 notes or less) but never with me. I'm pretty sure that this is also to spite me.

At this point I usually try to change the subject, but if it's a really good friend and a song that I really want to talk about I'll combine words with music. I seek refuge in the only remaining way: singing as obviously poorly as I can. I don't let on to my real vocal abilities, sparing myself true judgment.

I have yet to reach that point with a friend (even of the girl variety) where I showcase my true a cappella abilities. I was kind of saving that for marriage (along with sex), but after watching Sandy Cohen sing to Kirsten "Kiki" Cohen on the O.C. the other week... I've decided to take this ultimate level of openness and honesty to the grave.

Cup of Joe Peet's

One thing you haven't been appreciating about Peet's if you've simply been reading my blog is the Peet's (to go) coffee cup. If one were to go to Starbucks, one would get a white cup with the (in)famous Starbucks logo on it. The logo is that last ounce of advertising Starbucks was looking for: "Why yes I am drinking Starbucks coffee, thanks for noticing. Where did I get this coffee you ask? Well I got this particular cup at the Starbucks on 24th and San Antonio, but you could also get a similar blend at the Starbucks on 5th and Lamar or at the Starbucks on 15th and San Antonio." This only changes around Christmas time, when Starbucks starts giving out red cups upon which they've managed to turn their green, circular logo into a wreath of sorts. It's as though they're saying "Starbucks is awesome like Santa Claus, only more awesome b/c Starbucks actually exists (on every corner)."

Peet's doesn't share this complex with its Seattle contemporary; in fact you won't even find a Peet's logo on their cup. My medium coffee of the day (no room for cream) came in a delectable container printed with "an ancient ceramic flat stamp motif, depicting a human hand (mait), from Central America". [see image, above] I feel more cultured by the sip.

Today's brew was the Major Dickason's Blend:

"This is the coffee that many of our customers identify with Peet's. Over the years it has gained a reputation among coffee lovers for its satisfying, rich and mellow (some say comforting) flavor qualities. The blend's components contribute their regional characteristics but are balanced to make a well-rounded cup that is complex yet smooth. We always use the best coffees from several origins for this premier blend, so the customers who order "a pound of Major" won't be disappointed. It produces a first-rate cup in a French press, not to mention an exquisite espresso."

The Major Dickason's was great, if you ask me. I do wonder though, what happens if I order "a major pound of Major"? Do I get a little bit more than a pound (kind of like a baker's dozen), do I get a laugh because I've wittily used "major" in two different ways, or do I get a confused look/punch in the face? I, for one, would like to know.

my real muse

I like my blog. It's a good time... but read it and you might think my life all fun and games (and good music). I have a first love though in the blog world, one truly demanding of care and devotion. I guess what I'm saying is I love this blog, but I'm not in love with this blog.

You should check out this first love of mine: Musings

I have a new post up on there which you can read, but you should really check out Musings for the great community of writers that is Will, Bob, David, and from time to time Paul.

Will's current subheading for Musings is: Thoughts about life, sometimes nuerotic but always honest. I think that sums it up nicely.

The More You Know...

Here's an interesting little tidbit I learned today via graffiti on a bus stop sign:

Dogs hate Cops.

I wasn't aware. I knew you couldn't teach them new tricks, and that they were man's best friend, and that someone let them out...but the cops thing comes as a surprise.

To make you forget that I'm acting a fool, here's an impressive Ryan Adams lyric:

"Snowflake eating, she is mildly self-defeating / And the secrets that she's keeping / they are really only dangerous to her / Ships ain't sinking."

You, my friend, are a lyricist of the finest variety.

Cup of Joe Peet's.

Today's partaking of Peet's Coffee was a medium Ethiopian Fancy (no room for cream):

"Ethiopia is the birthplace of coffee, and it is still grown there in much the same way it was centuries ago. The flavors of Ehtiopian coffee are virtually untarnished by modern agricultural methods, and it is interesting to note that these coffees, grown exclusively by smallholders in outlying villages, are 100% organic.

Ehtiopian coffee can be described as medium-bodied and full of flavor, and from the best lots you get a tangy, pungent brew with a lingering floral - almost perfumy - aroma. The floral aromatic characteristics are easily noted in the freshly ground coffee as well. Our Ethiopian coffee is from Yirgacheffe, a region within the district of Sidamo."

Coffee with a floral aroma, does it get any better than that? My coffee drinking experience was substantially affected by the fact that Will managed to spill a good portion of his brew. Though I physically felt his pain (empathy or sympathy?), the incident made me appreciate every last drop of my Ethiopian Fancy.

Art or Not Smart?

So I consider myself an artist. I think everyone is artistic in their own way. It's an important way of expressing yourself. Currently I have an installation in my kitchen. I call it "The Wasteland: a reflection of life gone awry":



The picture, being 2D, doesn't really capture the essence of the 3D interactiveness of the exhibit, but hopefully it gives you some idea.

Sadly, some artists aren't appreciated in their lifetime, or even in their own household. My roommates seem to think that my installation is "disgusting" and "needs to be thrown away." I told them that what they were saying was good, that they were expressing some of the very same emotions I was trying to conjure up. When life goes awry, sometimes you just want to throw it all away.

They kind of looked at me weird, with Paul complaining that I was tainting his Clementines (which are in close proximity to my piece). I don't want to step on any toes, but I also don't want to compromise my artistic vision... which pretty much means I need to have a vote.

Do you think my piece is Art or that it's Not Smart?

[If no one votes, art will carry the day, b/c infusing culture is far superior to preserving Clementines.]

the grocer

Whatever happened to sentences such as: "I'm going to visit the grocer"? At some point along the way it's become the grocery store, a thing instead of a person. This could be my opportunity to talk about how life used to be so much more relational than it is now, and how with the advent of big conglomerates and technology things are so much more about the individual than the community.

I'm more concerned at the moment though with grocery shopping philosophies... why people buy the things they buy, and the various shopping strategies employed by the food consuming public. My friend Jenn goes with the grocery list, where you write out ahead of time what you're going to buy - smoked tuscan mustard, northeastern red snapper, etc. - and ignore any deals or cravings that hit you at the store. She actually even writes her list in an order reflective of the layout of her particular grocery store (formerly grocer). I guess this means putting down the Yoplait Blueberry Crumble yogurt immediately before or after the Promised Land chocolate milk, and putting hot dogs and hot dog buns on completely different parts of the list since they're never close together in the store (even though it's completely logical to put down hot dog buns right after hot dogs, since they go together back at home).

My friend Erin subscribes to a fairly similar philosphy to my own; she just shows up at the store when she's been out of food for a while and buys whatever strikes her fancy. Free samples might sway her, a 2 for 1 deal on Strawberry Poptarts might suck her in... you never know. Sometimes she runs out of food and doesn't feel like going to the store, so she just mooches off of her roommate (Kristen). Apparently Kristen is completely ok with this, which must be a girl thing (or a Christian display of putting treasure in heaven thing)... b/c at my house I'm only allowed to mooch food when it's been around for more than a month, untouched; and that's only b/c there are people starving somewhere and it would be rude to let perfectly good food go perfectly bad. I asked Erin if Kristen shared her food with drop-ins as well, and she said yes. I'm considering becoming their resident Kramer, b/c I'm hungry, and frankly everyone needs a Kramer.

My other friend Jimmy likes to go to the store hungry, which I find extremely dangerous. Me going to the store hungry often ends with me buying $80 worth of things, none of which go together (unless you're a pregnant woman, in which case popcorn chicken and oatmeal somehow mix). It seems to work for him though, so I'll leave him to his devices.

As interesting as all of this may be, it pales in comparison to what goes on in the 10 items or less line. I tend to frequent the 10 items or less line b/c I do the run out of food before grocer-ing thing, and even then don't like to commit to a full hour in the store. My less than 10 items tend to consist of key things such as cereal, milk, and frozen chicken pot pies.

What interests me is other peoples less than 10 items. I mean these are the things that they need to the point that they left the cozy confines of home for standing in line. The other night I was in the 10... line and there were two guys behind me. One of these guys had Bud Light and asparagus. Really? The two things you couldn't live without were Bud Light and asparagus? I could understand Bud Light and toilet paper or asparagus and a fine wine of some sort... but Bud Light and asparagus? The only thing I can fathom is that the Bud Light was for him, and the asparagus was for a neighbor (probably female) who didn't want to leave the cozy confines.

The other guy had a frozen pizza and bleach. Now you can't even eat bleach (and you definitely shouldn't drink it). Apparently this guy's idea of a good time was making himself some pizza, convincing himself it was delivery, and giving the sink a good rub down. (I only did a couple of double takes, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't Danny Tanner.)

Consider grocery shopping and the societal ramifications my bane.

consider me broken hearted

WOW. Rolling Stone (or should I say, Rolling, for Shame!) just reviewed Eisley's newly released LP, Room Noises:

"Forget Hilary Duff: this youthful small-town Texas quintet of polite, pretty Christian siblings (and one best buddy) should have performed at W.'s reinauguration. The slo-mo pop songs on Eisley's full-length debut were written around the angelic voices of Sherri and Stacy DuPree, which intertwine in melancholy harmonies that grow more cloying as Room Noises passes. Outfitted with soft piano and sparkling guitars, "Marvelous Things" and "Lost at Sea" conjure a teenage neverland where everyone is sad and beautiful, and punk never existed. Elsewhere, "Brightly Wound" and "One Day I Slowly Floated Away" make prominent use of the verb "shall." Room Noises has some encouraging, lovely moments, but Eisley have yet to prove that they're anything more than a killer talent-show entry"

Did they hear a different version of Room Noises or are they just that jaded? Sounds like someone needs a hug...

Maybe their review didn't go through the proper editing process... let me take a crack:

"...The slo-mo pop songs on Eisley's full-length debut were written around the angelic voices of Sherri and Stacy DuPree, which intertwine in melancholy harmonies that grow...as Room Noises passes. Outfitted with soft piano and sparkling guitars, "Marvelous Things" and "Lost at Sea" conjure a teenage neverland where everyone is sad and beautiful... Elsewhere, "Brightly Wound" and "One Day I Slowly Floated Away" make prominent [greatness]...Room Noises has some encouraging, lovely moments...Eisley...[is] killer..."

a sure-fire cure to any Valentine ills...

So my friend Will had an interesting thought today on all Valentine's Day related saga. In the past I've subscribed to the "greeting card/candy company ploy" theory, but I might just adopt this: Will claims that if we told/showed people we loved them all the time, that Valentine's Day would seem utterly pointless... and I'm pretty sure no one gets worked up over pointless holidays (see Columbus Day). He was actually talking about people in relationships, but I think it might work in a general sense (i.e. for the singles out there).

Of course I also subscribe to the belief that good music can make any day way better. My parents sent a Valentine's Day miracle my way earlier, care of an iTunes gift certificate. This could be the complete and total cause of my Valentine's bliss. Any thoughts on what I should get?

In light of paying it foward, here's some music to check out. It's free, which is kind of like me giving you an iTunes gift certificate... well sort of.

Andrew Bird - "A Nervous Tic Motion of The Head To The Left"
Low - "California"

[both care of stereogum]

Cup of Joe Peet's

I realize that I might be going a little over the top with the amount of posts over the course of the 4ish days I've had this blog. One thing I want to try to keep in mind is quality over quantity, or both quality and quantity when possible.

In my attempts thus far, I feel as though my blog has been missing something... that something is coffee. A coffee-less blog is not at all reflective of my life, and that's got to change. That's why I'm starting a new feature (blogs should have features) called "Cup of Joe Peet's." Peet's Coffee is some of the best coffee that's ever graced these lips, and it's worthy of some serious whoring mention.



Here's a short description of what I had today, the House Blend:

"The lively, well-balanced flavors of Latin American coffees combine to make House Blend a perennial favorite at Peet's. Its medium body and pleasant, satisfying flavor make it an enjoyable coffee for drinking anywhere, anytime. We think House Blend is a perfect introduction to Peet's coffees, and for many customers this is a favorite they return to time and again."

I agree. I think I shall return time and again.

you really disappoint me...

...Grammys. John Mayer wins song of the year for Daughters? I'm sorry what?!? By "won a grammy" do you mean "Colombia paid a handsome sum for radio to play me"?



I mean John Mayer had (and will hopefully in the future again have) his moments, but Daughters is definitely not one of them:

"Fathers be good to your daughters / Daughters will love like you do / Girls become lovers who turn into mothers / So mothers be good to your daughters, too"

I could have sworn I hated that song the last time, back when it was called Butterfly Kisses.

be still my heart

so tomorrow is Valentine's Day. my Grandma is awesome, b/c yesterday via the postal service (aka the USPS aka the mail) i got a Valentine's Day style card from her:



in addition to making my heart grow three sizes that day (yesterday), i gained newfound hope that i too could be a greeting card maker. turn a common, everyday object into a heart... reminding us all that love is sometimes best found in the everyday things.

speaking of the postal service (the cool band one), they have a new song out called be still my heart. it's good, bordering on being a little cheesy; but since the creative minds of ben gibbard, jenny lewis, and that other guy are behind it, i'll give it the benefit of the doubt.

in case you were wondering, the inside of the card reads: "Thinking of you, Grandson, and sending you warm thoughts and wishes that your Valentine's Day is as special as you are." yes, i think i've found my calling in life...

i'd rather Parish...

so i keep finding myself at the Parish, of all musical venues. it seems to be the new venue of choice. i'm not sure if that's resulting from a musical interests change on my part or whether it's from a booking interests change on the part of a few of my favorite bands. ultimately, i like the Parish, and i've enjoyed the shows i've partaken in there over the past few months - A.C. Newman, Eisley, and tonight: Mason Jennings.

i had no idea who this Mason Jennings chap was, but my friend Kendal was in town and this was my only opportunity to hang out with him. the Parish was in true form tonight - good show, good crowd, good times all around. after watching the show i can officially say i'm a Mason Jennings fan.

i sometimes have a hard time enjoying a show if i've never heard any of the music before... and that didn't happen tonight. he started strong with a little "o brother where art thou" (i think it was "down to the river to pray") into his first song, and was solidly entertaining all the way through the obligatory let's-pretend-to-be-suprised encore.

he has a really unique voice, which i can only describe as monotone (in a good way) with a drawl. he also busted out the harmonica some, which i'm partial to. you should check him out: you can listen to several whole songs on his website.

opening tonight: apparently dave matthews + bjork = the sarah glynn band.

thanks Dan, i heart you.

This is what happens when people stop being polite and start being real:



That bowl was part of a set! 4 place settings down to 3.75 place settings. (Is that right? I don't really know how place settings work.)

At least it went out in a Cap'n Crunch Berries blaze of glory...

Guster-tastic!

Remember Guster? They of Keep it Together, Lost and Gone Forever, Goldfly, and Parachute fame?



They're back, with a vengence. And by with a vengence I mean recording a new album. Brian Rosenworcel, their drummer, is journaling the creative process (along with the galaga playing). Maybe I'm an information junkie, but I always find that making-of stuff intriguing. You can (and really should) check out their studio journal here.

Or you can just practice your jowling. Can we get Eddie Sutton in on this?

my date with patty griffin

My name is Brett, and I'm a music lover. Sadly, there's no twelve-step program for me; I'm pretty much stuck with all the melodies, great lyrics, and drum beats (electronic and actual) floating through my brain. Nothing I've created myself, mind you, just all the really good stuff that other people make.

For the most part, liking music is a good thing. I think. Just like a movie, life tends to be a little bland without a soundtrack. I heard a musician say one-time that his job was to help people get to the deepest parts of their emotions, deeper than they could ever get on their own. It was probably Ryan Adams that said that. He says some really smart things and some really drug induced things that I would never think of in my own only-kind-of-smart-non-drug-induced world.

There are, however, a few problems with me liking music. Like the ridiculous amount of green pieces of paper I push towards buying music and going to concerts. Or the lack of quieteness in my days. Or the fact that I'm probably not hearing the words coming out of your mouth if good music is on in the background.

Cue Zen. Zen would be this great Japanese mildy-fast-food place to check out if you live in Austin. It's on Guadalupe between 34th and 35th. I went there once in the spirit of all things new, and now I'm hooked. Part of that hooked-ness is from the great music they play there. It kind of makes me feel like someone stole my iPod and put it on random... and that makes me feel good and validated.

The other day I was there eating lunch and in walked Patty Griffin. (You know that great Dixie Chicks song "Top of the World" that forced you to lend them musical credibility? Patty Griffin wrote that, so take their musical credibility away and give it back to her.) You can imagine my initial excitement as a huge Patty Griffin fan. There was someone that was an integral part of the soundtrack of my life, sitting mere feet away from me.

As I saw it I basically had four options: (1) Tell her I was her biggest fan and get her to sign the back of my hand. (2) Pretend as though I didn't know who she was. (3) Leave her alone, letting her live a normal, non-semi-famous style life. [This would look the same as (2), but with attempted eye/smile contact] (4) Ask her out on a date, acting as though I had no idea who she was, while dropping a few obscure lyrics of hers here and there in an attempt to give myself some amount of allure.

It then dawned on me that Patty Griffin had no idea who I was. And that I had a ridiculous amount of insight into her thoughts, feelings, and talents inspite of the fact that she had no idea who I was. That weirded me out a little bit, b/c it meant our connection was really one-sided. That I cared a great deal for her, while she cared no more for me than for anyone else she didn't know. If she wasn't a celebrity that would make me a stalker. Instead that makes me a fan. (By the way, I promise that stalking isn't a theme of this blog, even though that's 2 mentions in 2 posts.)

I decided that the only way to end me being weirded out about all of this was to go with option (4), and ask Patty Griffin on a date. Which is what I would have done if I hadn't just left her alone.

adding to the noise...

I guess I'm a little late in the blog game. The trendiness has come and gone (much like with Napoleon Dynamite). Chances are if you're reading this, you're me... or maybe a friend I've pestered into checking me out in the blogosphere. Chances are you've also got a million other things you could be doing right now, including reading all those other blogs with good music links, great thoughts, and pertinent details on that girl (or guy) that you're internet stalking. That's the best-of-times-worst-of-times reality of our information saturated world. Everything at your fingertips, convenient and overwhelming at the very same time. (Overwhelmingly convenient or conveniently overwhelming?)

I'm probably just adding to the noise... but at least in my own unique way. Or maybe in a way closely mirroring the writings of Don Miller - I like him - and I say that with a staunch record of heterosexuality. You'll find in my writing or blogging or what have you, that I use lots of parentheses (b/c I like to cram in as many asides as possible, to come off as witty and ironic as possible), and that I use lots of ellipses... b/c I just can't seem to end anything... you could even call me the king of ellipses...

Hopefully you'll find some good thoughts here, or at least some slightly amusing ones. Maybe you'll get to know me a little bit better, that is if you think I'm worthy of internet stalking... or maybe you'll have your life enriched by my pointing you towards the books, music, and people that I find really great. If nothing else you'll probably get some Ryan Adams lyrics and C.S. Lewis quotes, b/c they're much higher up in the wordsmith echelon than I am; and b/c sometimes I like to recycle the noise instead of just adding to it...