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Posts Tagged ‘Wilco’

Never never never never have I ever ever ever wanted vanity plates for my car

Never say never because now that I’m fifty, it’s either a second tattoo or vanity plates. Not really, but it sounds like a good threat, doesn’t it?

Now that I have a sense of what it must’ve been like to be a Dead Head, you know since I feel like I could follow Wilco all over the USA and be happy about it, I think I might consider the following license plate:

TWEEDY

or

QUEENPIN

but QUEENPIN is probably too many letters

maybe TWINKLY so you all know me when I drive by

From the Solid Sound Festival this year, the Friday night all-request show by Wilco. Although they played covers of others’ songs almost exclusively, this one is their own. You have to excuse some of the footage, but the sound is good, real good.

*what’s the asterisk for? It is so you know that I’ll be editing yesterday’s post—making some changes, probably by day’s end. Sometimes my enthusiasm gets the better of me and I forget what is precious and dear and private.

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You don’t know me, Jeff (we simply call you Tweedy ‘round here), but I love your music. I love your lyrics. I don’t love everything, mind you, but Wilco’s music has become an indispensable part of our household musical canon. For the ages. Like the late greats you sing about.

It must be strange to have photos of yourself floating all over the internet. The electronic, the digital, the ethereal.

Oh, Tweedy. What can I say to you?

I have a friend who went to your concert in Hartford (CT) this past Wednesday. I am sort of sorry that was her intro to the band. She’s not really familiar with your music. The concert was good, maybe even great. You put the energy out, you all played and sang well. But I am afraid you seemed tired. It must be hard to be up there every night and not have things get stale. Yes.

I like it so much better when I see live bands and I feel a connection with them. That’s the whole point of live music. It breathes, it contains errors. It is energy and light.

Get some rest, Tweedy. I want to invite my friend back for Solid Sound 2013. I hope for great things there. Living art. Yes.

Here was a cloud up at Essex Junction, VT on Sunday, before sundown, before the band started playing:

I know the nose is sort of phallic-looking which is sort of unfortunate (not that I have anything against phalluses, on the contrary), but that’s how real noses sometimes are anyway. It is a great winking cloud face, don’t you think? It felt magical; an elixir, a balm.

I love having a wholesome, honest, not-sexed-up band to share with my kids. Here they are sitting on the lawn:

We saw this in the parking lot on the way in to the concert:Just so you know, we’d like to name our next dog after you. Not the Jeff part (no offense), but the Tweedy part.

I know that if wishes were horses, fools would ride, but still, I have hope, too. I think we like to pin these hopes on people like you, Tweedy. I am actually wondering if you can fix the T key on my keyboard. It seems to be sticking sometimes.

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This was spotted in the parking lot at the Mutton and Mead Festival which we attended in June (Hubby affectionately refers to it as the Bosom and Midriff Festival).

Although the pull-along camper is one of the most interesting things I saw at the festival, I also saw this:

We saw a FULL JOUST with guys splitting their lances (sexy!) and a woman riding a large steed sidesaddle. She had the kind of aforementioned bosom popping out of her burgundy velvet with gold-brocade frock. Look, I know you don’t believe me, so here:

It was at least 90 degrees (with full sun, as you can see) that day. Can you say sweaty peasants?

Hey, folks. I have no working TV reception so I am totally missing out on the Olympics. FUCK.

I have lots to share, as usual, but mostly it’s photos, just like in today’s post. I will have to bring you up-to-date on our recent 2 Wilco shows in one week. I do have a new favorite Wilco song and all of a sudden, my T key is sticking. FUCK again, but at least FUCK is not spelled with a t.

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Slackery, though it’s not a word, makes a great word, dontchathink?

Fear not, my pets, for I have not abandoned you. Abandoned looks so strange…

I have a manuscript deadline (yippee!!!) and many other goings-on.

Then there’s the upcoming 2 Wilco shows in one week (CRAZY and INDULGENT, sez I). I thought I’d qualify that and let you know that I don’t really want to see them 2ce in one week, but we were COMPED tickets by a rather famous local guitarist, a co-parent from our school. So I sez to Hubby, I do not want to go to the show on Wednesday in Hartford and Hubby sez to me, you will want to once you see them on Sunday and I thinks no, that Wilco show last September is when my tinnitus began.

Now you try typing sez without it coming out as sex. GO ON, get on your keyboard and try! Blogging is harder than it looks, I tell you!

Mark Twain, right? Huck Finn, sez sez sez. At least that’s what I remember. I don’t remember even finishing the book and I took a whole semester in Twain. Hmm.

The poet hard at work a few weeks ago on Cape Cod. Little did she know that a deadline for manuscript submissions was lurking in the wings. (From an Alexander Technique perspective this is NOT how one should look when one is at one’s computer. EGADS!)

I am grateful, I tell you. My manuscript is SO MUCH BETTER than when I started sending out stuff willy-nilly last fall/winter. Probably won’t get accepted, but I’ve become a better writer through the process. Now I have a more polished body of work which I can start to submit whenever the hell I want. How rockin’ is that?

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In honor and preparation of the upcoming Wilco show in VT. Inspired by all things Top 10, including our 2010 Christmas card.

If I do nothing else right as a mother, taking my kids to 2 Wilco shows in one week should carry them to unknown places full of heart anyway. And the week after that? GOGOL BORDELLO BABY!!! I’m hoping Eugene’s pants are a bit looser than the last time we saw them.

1. Misunderstood (how long can Jeff hold an unresolved chord?) Here’s a recent live version, the opening number from a concert down in Alabammy this May

2. I Am Trying to Break Your Heart

3. Handshake Drugs (best-ever version was pulled from the youtubes, copyright infringement being what it is)

4. Radio Cure*

5. Airline to Heaven

6. Passenger Side

7. Born Alone

8. One Sunday Morning

9. A Shot in the Arm (you might also like to look up the live version in which Tweedy dons the Gram Parsons tribute suit)

10. California Stars

*Radio Cure

Cheer up, honey, I hope you can
There is something wrong with me
My mind is filled with silvery stuff
Honey, kisses, clouds of fluff
Shoulders shrugging off

Cheer up, honey, I hope you can
There is something wrong wit h me
My mind is filled with radio cures
Electronic surgical words

Picking apples for kings and queens of things I have never seen
Oh, distance has no way of making love understandable

Cheer up, honey, I hope you can
There is something wrong with me
My mind is filled with silvery stars
Honey, kisses, clouds of love

Picking apples for the kings and queens of things I’ve never seen
Oh, distance has no way of making love understandable
Oh, distance has no way of making love understandable
Oh, distance has no way of making love understandable
Oh, distance the way of making love understandable
Oh, distance the way of making love understandable

Cheer up honey, I hope you can

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Likelihood that twinkly’s Index will have at least one photo: 100%

Chance that it will feature breasts: 0

Rank, in importance of kitchen rules, of not using the non-garlic-and-onion cutting board for cutting garlic and onions: 2

still life by Jeffrey Freedner

Rank, in importance, of not washing twinkly’s vintage glassware in automatic dishwasher: 2

#1 rule in twinkly’s kitchen: this is what keeps the mystery in the marriage; why should I tell you?

Mathematical equation by which twinkly calculates rank of kitchen rules: 6 kale leaves multiplied by number of maple syrup quarts left in pantry stock ÷ granola³

Maximum number of females in twinkly’s household at press time: 5

Maximum number of males: 1

Number of household members sleeping: 4

Ages of non-feline, non-sleeping household members, respectively: youngest, oldest

Rank among parents in twinkly household that Hubby holds for “funniest person in the house:” 1

Amount by which twinkly suspects other voting members were paid off to attain this rank: 1 Lindt chocolate each

Percent more absorbable heme-iron is than non-heme iron, according to twinkly’s Energizing Iron supplement: 33

How tired twinkly will be of frying beef in a cast-iron pan after the next 2 months as she tries to build back her iron stores (multiple choice: not at all; sort of; very; please don’t make me eat a hamburger ever again in my life)

Likelihood that Hubby, at any given hour of the day, is listening to yet another live version of Wilco’s Handshake Drugs: 29%

Amount of inward joy twinkly feels when she hears him listening to this song: unmeasurable

Minimum number of Julian Cope CDs in twinkly’s household: 23

Minimum number in which Julian is playing a Casio: 19

Likelihood that eldest teenager in house, given her druthers, will sleep past noon on any given non-school day: 98%

Likelihood that anyone has druthers to give: 7.4%

Non-heme iron sources found in twinkly’s kitchen at this time: appx. 5

twinkly’s favorite among these: kale

twinkly’s least favorite, though tolerable: organic molasses, straight from the bottle

enthusiasm twinkly has for eating roasted pumpkin seeds: meh

likelihood that she’ll eat them anyway in any given day until anemia is resolved: 87%

love that twinkly has for 20-year old Dualit 2-slice toaster, purchased with wedding money: ABUNDANT

love that other family members have for said toaster: appx .09% (one might say, an anemic amount of love)

Rank, among household appliances, of Dualit toaster and Sebo vacuum, in twinkly’s mind, respectively: 1, 1

Number of years pink Cuisinart toaster, which twinkly managed to purchase at the bargain price of $69, lasted: 2

Number of times, in 20 years, that Dualit toaster has broken down: 1

Price to fix by Ed of Ed’s Electric: $15

Original cost of toaster: $199

Price of toaster, adjusted for inflation while factoring in built-in obsolesence of all small-kitchen electronics produced by American companies but manufactured in China: -$199

Money twinkly has saved on bagels over the last 11 years by purchasing them on $5.99 Wednesdays instead of paying full price: 3 million, 211 thousand, 50 dollars and 22 cents

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You know what the Advent Calender window had behind it on Christmas Eve? Annie insisted that Paul be the one to open it, so I speculated that it would be a picture of Tweedy. But not really. Perhaps a picture of a bottle of Polar Seltzer, black cherry flavor. No. Maybe a fully-decorated Christmas tree. So wrong. It was an ICE DRAGON in the tiny double window. I love my kids!

Got my first iPod nano from Hubby for Xmas. It is tiny, so tiny. I feel dangerous when I have it on. Am I the only one and will this feeling pass? Are there any iPod virgins left? I look forward to loading hundreds of songs onto it. I am figuring it out, but as intuitive as Apple products are reputed to be, I find it klunky and somewhat unfriendly. I also couldn’t figure out how the little fucker clips on to my clothes. Hubby had to show me. Why, Santy Apple Claus, why, do you insist on making me feel dumber than I really am?

Christmas was good. This is the first year since we moved to Western Mass in which I didn’t feel financially stressed more often than not. Eleven years of living in the bliss/hell of self-employment in a New England state, so different than when we lived in Ohio. I am so grateful that our income was more predictable this year. It’s amazing what that does to my ease my mind.

Best present given this year? Behold the perfect gag gift for the consummate lover of Polar Seltzer in our house:

Be afraid, be very afraid!

I am grateful for this blog, for the technology which allows it, for my readers, for the kindness of those who leave comments.

I am grateful that I started writing poetry again and not only that, grateful to be reading it again

Grateful that I was able to take an improv class this year.

Glad that I celebrated 20 years of marriage. Glad that we get to go away to amazing places within a few hours’ drive, stay overnight, eat, shop, walk, swim, hike, visit friends, hear cool musicians, see amazing art.

Grateful that I found out about and saw Gogol Bordello.

Grateful that I got to go to my 30-year HS reunion, see lots of old pals (including my biggest high school crush, which was a hoot), stroll about Kent, Ohio, home of myself, land of the birth of my adulthood*, have that nude photo shoot in a garden in the heat and flower of summer.

Grateful for all the cool music I’ve discovered this year, in part because of the technology and youtube, but more because I do stick to my Music Monday posts. Especially my new-found love for all things Wilco and Tweedy.

Grateful that Willow was in our life.

Annie’s shrine to Willow (detail, not the whole thing), which includes a nail-polish painted (I kid you not, my kids are goofy) white bathroom tile

That is an origami Willow with a little paper bird (crane) in its mouth. Annie must have made a thousand paper cranes on her own this year and went on a bit of an origami adventure. SO GREAT!

My latest fad of photographing bathrooms from our travels. This is from the newly opened Atlantic Pizza Company in Rockport, MA. One of the prettier public restrooms in New England (this photo does not do the bathroom justice)

And this, the environmentally-friendly Euro-loo at The Wired Puppy, Provincetown, Mass

Grateful for any way that a reader might find my blog. Truly, the most abundant search term seems to be some manifestation of “ass tattoo.” That’s not even the most ass of the ass tattoo searches. Ready? I’ve had to live with this and I think if you’ve made it a year here, you will be able to live with it, too: asshole tattoo. You can imagine that I don’t want to know more about asshole tattoos. I do not think someone was thinking, hmm, how many assholes (meaning people who are jerks, idiots, morons) have tattoos? No, I take it as a literal search for tattoos on people’s assholes. First of all, OUCH and second, DUMB and third, if you want a tattoo on your asshole, you’ve come to the wrong place–begone with ye!

Thanks for coming along for the ride this year. Who knows, I may post again before we see the dawn of 2012, but ciao for now and thank you.

With tres mucho love, twinkly

this one is from the uber-tacky, red-and-white tiled bathroom at Five Guys Burger and Fries on Cape Ann

*for some reason, this seems like I’m talking about my maidenhead: why, Santy Claus, why?

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Dear Readers,

I don’t have an iPod (RIP Steve Jobs) and even if I did, I couldn’t play it through my 2000 Toyota mini-van’s stereo system (see, I used the phrase stereo system, so you know the dinosaur part about me is true).

I bought the new Wilco CD yesterday and I played it in the car on the way to the high school open house I attended last night. I listened to this track twice, once on the way to the school, once on the way home. Wilco played this live when we saw them in Boston last month and it stuck with me…I kept wondering which song was that?

During our 15-minute Geometry “class” at the open house, I tried sneaking reading the lyrics, but no worries, my daughter will probably get an A, unlike me who flunked high school Geometry (or was that Alg II?). Sneaking lyrics wasn’t the only thing I did in high school to get into trouble and I can only hope my amazing, intense, creative, energetic, artistic daughter goes a better way than I did back then.

This song, I don’t know what it’s about, but I think this is the true gem of the album, the one for the ages. There are a couple of lines that kill the hell outta me:

Outside I look lived in/like the bones in a shrine–it’s immediate, sharp and soft at the same time, and reminds me of churches in Prague and I am cold for my father/frozen underground

I’ve lived without my father for so long, lived without knowing him for so much of my life, but I was missing him and picturing him yesterday. I pulled out a bin of old photos.

I forget the damage, you know, the damage of losing a parent when you’re still pretty young. I don’t grieve for him any more, but I am today. How death defines us, underneath all of the geometry and the words and anything else we layer on top.

One Sunday Morning

This is how I tell it
Oh, but it’s long
One Sunday morning
Oh, one son is gone

I can see where they’re dawning
Over the sea
My father said what I had become
No-one should be

Outside I look lived in
Like the bones in a shrine
How am I forgiven?
Oh, I’ll give it time

This, I learned without warning
Holding my brow
In time he thought I would kill him
Oh, but I didn’t know how

I said it’s your god I don’t believe in
No, your Bible can’t be true
Knocked down by the long life
He cried, ‘I fear what waits for you’

I can hear those bells
Spoken and gone
I feel relief, I feel well
Now he knows he was wrong

I am cold for my father
Frozen underground
Jesus, I wouldn’t bother
He belongs to me now

Something sad keeps moving
So I wandered around
I fell in love with the burden
Holding me down

Bless my mind, I miss
Being told how to live
What I learned without knowing
How much more that I owe that I can give

This is how I tell it
Oh, but it’s long
One Sunday morning
One son is gone

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nick lowe opened. he sang beautiful songs like a troubadour he serenaded us. he sang alison. he played what’s so funny ’bout peace love and understanding. he played beautiful new songs. he claimed his voice was a bit croaky but it was beautiful and buttery good pipes he was elegant and lovely

wilco played really loud in boston last night my 15-year old did her first school night concert with her parents no less she is tired and grumpy but beautiful so pretty and full of piss and vinegar

they get carried away with just being boys on stage every boy’s hard rock guitar solo jam fantasy not my cuppa (tea) but i sort of get it because you are boys

yes they are a white band with a white sound and you can’t really dance unless you are the big-headed stoner who stood up through almost the whole concert blocking everyone’s view sit down and gave me the finger

i think of that guy and even feel sorry for him because those who can do, those who can’t play air guitar (if you use that, please credit me, but it’s so obvious maybe it’s been said before)

this new song rocks out not so much with its cock out i’d save that expression for other bands and other songs like led zeppelin in my time of dying but it rocks out nonetheless in a good wilco way eff the critics and only their old stuff was good when jeff was using drugs see forward he’s an innovator peeps

tweedy says that was influenced by ed herself he sang another new folksy one with lyrics about his dad i wish i could remember how it goes we had crappy seats but i bought them the day after they went on sale and almost sold out by then loyal fans

rare:

[props to pt dismal who unknowingly inspired me to write without caps] i think i like it the i s are the hardest punctuation would be even harder to let go of but who says i can’t experience new forms of writing look it’s not poetry but i’m trying

to break your heart

I would throw myself underneath the wheels of your train of thought

i ♥ tweedy

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Buckle up, people, it’s a long one. It’s also a bit of a linkfest. Never been to a linkfest before? Here’s your chance.

YES YES YES YES I can’t stop it I am compelled to keep listening to these songs and isn’t that what Music Monday should be about?

After seeing Wilco at the end of June at the Solid Sound Festival at MASS MoCA, 2 members of my family went a little nuts and listened exclusively to Wilco for several weeks. It got so crazy that there had been talk of renaming our cat Willow, Wilco.

Only recently has the spell been broken, but it’s been cast on yours truly, the twinklinator.

This is the song, this is the one, these are the words, this is the Tweedy. Look, I am not too far a fan of self-indulgent guitar solos and for the most part this goes too far. But it’s fucking great in spite of and because of it. Paulie says this is pure Tom Verlaine-style and yes, I hear it, and it’s fucking beautiful.

Inside out of love, what a laugh, I was looking for you

The whole song encapsulates what addiction is about, or at least a particular aspect of it. Nails it.

and then there’s this

and this

and my latest favorite, the amazing “I Am Trying to Break Your Heart”

I am sure I don’t know what those all of the words mean except that they get to me.

Bible-black predawn and

I want to glide through those brown eyes dreaming,/ Take you from the inside, baby hold on tight

That gets to a girl, you know? Take you from the inside, baby hold on tight. Who writes like that? Tweedy, that’s who.

Yours to discover: Steven Colbert interviewing Jeff Tweedy around the time of the presidential run in ’08. Wilco performing on The Colbert Report on the same episode. Also this and this.

You know what I think I like most about Jeff Tweedy? You can’t sex him up. He’s old-school humble. It’s good to know that this still exists in this troubled world. Salt of the earth, a real mensch. Like you or me.

(Can you all believe how brilliant I am? That heart up there? Damn I’m good).

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