When I was a little girl, I didn’t want to be a ballerina. Fuck ballerinas, man. I don’t mean to shit on anyone’s ballerina dreams but it just wasn’t my thing. Words, to me, are prettier than a lady in a tutu. I didn’t like pink, I didn’t dream about my wedding.
When I was a young, but older girl I was not like the other young, but older gals. Back then it was a sore spot, something I sought to hide and cover up with hairspray and boy talk and jeans that were long enough to reach down to the ankles situated on my long, lanky legs. I fit in fine enough, but I didn’t feel like I did. I knew that I didn’t.
When I graduated (with something like 38 people, a good 97% of them 12 year students) and set my sights on getting out of this tiny Midwest black hole, I pondered my future. I cried when my parents let it be known they couldn’t afford to send me to UVa — they were oblivious to the fact that Dave Matthews resided there and that, at the time, I was enamored with Charlottesville music scene. I can’t believe I just admitted that Dave Matthews shit. It’s fine, I’m about to regain my street cred. Watch.
If God him-/herself had descended upon me in a field and said, “Fair geek who does not feel at home here in this county, I shall do thou a solid”, and followed that with ” Who would you like to be?”, I’d have responded with “God, make me Cameron Crowe. Also, sweet beard, dude.”
That’s no shit. My love for Cameron Crowe, his taste in music and women (dude married chick from Heart for fuck’s sake), and his life, was downright strange. Other girls loved Justin Timberlake…and this was pre-“Bringin’ Sexy Back” and as such, I can find no excuse for this infatuation on their collective parts. Other girls could not tell you what an ellipses was or who wrote Still Life With Woodpecker. Cameron was my guy.
[This guy. Dude on the right gave me the dude on the left, arguably the hottest fictional 70s rock-n-roller ever put in film. Thanks, buddy.]
I went away to college in a town that I’ve grown to hate and after six months, I was over it. I had spent all my life accidentally assuming that I would spend a large portion of my life in schooling of some sort, and after half a year I had grown so tired of math and classes that were not English-related and girls in those goddamn booty shorts with faux diamonds on the ass, that I quit. It was incredibly liberating and at the same time, it fucked my psyche.
Through all that was music. And writing. And thus, Cameron. I don’t care if you think Almost Famous is trite, that flick is still in my top five. “The guitar sound is incendiary. INCENDIARY.” I was the kid who wanted to meet one of my favorite bands and say that, those exact words! You know what else? Penny Lane has the best groupie name ever, she has her shit together (despite that one time she ate a bunch of Dirty Biscuits in a possible suicide attempt), and she has great taste in tunes. If Stillwater were a real band, I would listen to that shit. I’d have their record(s) on vinyl.
All this to say, Cameron Crowe. Mr. Crowe does this thing (or at least he used to anyway) where he makes a mix tape for every month. He used to make cassettes and if he’s doing that now, he’s making discs…or 8track playlists, I don’t know. He then labels these mixes. For instance, he’d have “August 1974”. I bet the Ozark Mountain Daredevils hold a spot on that playlist, dudes.
So I make mixes. I make them and I label them and I store them in an old-school earth cellar constructed in 1912 by my great-great-grandparents (I made that last part up but that would be awesome, right?). Personal, easily portable little journals that most of the time, do a better job at explaining my life at any given time better than my own words could. Plus, fewer run-on sentences and excessive comma usage in a music mix.
Here is a mix. It’s called “November 2010, Bitchez” and will be labeled as such in my collection. Dig.
Recently, I sat down and had a country chat with an old friend. Said old friend once gave me some Moonshine that his own dad made. It was illegal and awesome.
[BUY Ironto Special]
I’m adding “learn how to play upright bass” to my life list.
[BUY War Elephant]
Did she just ask me if I’d “fucked all those dragons yet”? Sweeeeeeeeeet.
Why, hello there COOLRUNNINGS! Looks like you put my personal philosophy statement in a song! I too live by the words, “If you really wanna know what I’m thinking, shut your running mouth and just fuckin’ listen”!
[DOWNLOAD more at Dracula Horse]
Songs about the river are always a win. A big, massive, fat win. And this sort of plays into that time of my life when I was really into Celtic music. Like, really into it.
[BUY been listening]
Singing saw. That is all.
One would think that a song in which one hears a fucking xylophone would contain very little substance to latch on to. But one would be wrong.
[BUY In Memory of Loss]
Old school. Still the shit.
This is not a joke. Don’t judge, assholes, lest I judge you for that Edwin McCain album you have hiding in the back of your closet.
Ivan Howard @’ed me on Twitter (which, by the way, is like Facebook’s retarded cousin. How the fuck am I supposed to fit ANYTHING in 140 characters?!). Also, I just love The Rosebuds. As a sidenote, Jude still gets sad every time the fox dies in “Nice Fox”.
[BUY Life Like]
Go see The Builder.
As Stephen Colbert once noted of this song “Why would anyone ever zone for danger, let alone build a highway to it?”. He’s right. But still, the men from Solid Gold could literally come to my house, piss on my zinnias, kick my dog in the balls (if I had a dog, that is), and insult the paint color in my bathroom…and I’d still love them. This cover is better than the original, by far, and the original was pretty fucking sweet, ya’ll.
I’m almost positive DoE is telling me that if I’m gonna do that thing, I should do it now. While I’m young. What they’re saying should be taken to heart. Also, that first sentence I just wrote there is a testament to what I said earlier about a song doing better than what I write when documenting my life.
[BUY In Ear Park]
Keane/Mumford & Sons/Noah and the Whale/The Staves association. I’m trying really hard to like this band. Shit, that implies this band sucks. They do not. Apologies.
[BUY Bitter Pill]
Let me tell you guys something: Vandervelde’s voice in the opening stanzas of this tune sound like those of the dude that sings the Wubbzy song. Jude pointed that out and he’s right. BUT THEN Vandervelde says the word “shit”, and thus, it’s all good. And then his voice gets awesome as fuck so then it’s all really good. In other news, I should learn how to hang.
[BUY Summer Time Hits]
The chorus of this jam and the breakdown leading up to it are heaven. Plus, it’s a great song to end a playlist with. Ask Rob Gordon, he’ll tell you.
[LISTEN to more from Dawes]