Music has always been a part of my life -- now welcome to the journey. Just a little blog to reminisce, review, rant and rave about the music in my life. "Music is my mother and my father. It is my work and my rest,my blood, my compass, my love" ~Jeff Buckley
Madison Square Garden - the name alone conjures up images of greatness: sports, concerts, religion, the Penguins beating the Rangers in OT when their own goalie gets the puck in the net ... oh, sorry...that was at the Civic Arena...I digress.
The Garden has been known for some amazing shows - Led Zeppelin, The Concert for NY, the Grateful Dead, Billy Joel - you name it. I have seen Metallica, Jimmy Buffett and most recently, Manchester Orchestra and Kings of Leon at MSG and each show didn't disappoint.
Back down South to Bonnaroo, I was able to see these Manchester Orchestra and Kings of Leon perform in front of tens of thousands of people in the hot hot hot Tennessee sun. The crowd knew KOL, they were from Nashville and becoming more and more popular by the second.
Before 'Roo, I had heard of both bands. After 'Roo, I decided to really check them out. Manchester Orchestra (MO), at times and please forgive me if you don't agree, reminded me to Wilco but with a heavier edge. I like them - and want to see them grow. My favorite line from the night at the Garden was that they saw Wilco and the Flaming Lips perform there on a New Year's Eve and that they wished they could play the Garden some day. You wanted to hug them when you heard that. They seats weren't yet filled, but they had a few thousand listening to them and liking every note.
Kings of Leon -- what I love about them is that they CHANGE. They remind me of U2, not by sound, but by their chameleonness (yup, a new word). If you look at Achtung Baby back to Boy, every album sounds different. They re-invent themselves because they know what sold before and that they probably won't be able to replicate that (instead of Being John Malcovich, it's like Being The Edge, I am guessing that is what they assumed). You listen to their Youth and Manhood album and compare it to Come Around Sundown and they are different, more open to experimenting. It might be that they were able to grow overseas before making it big in the States, whatever it is - don't lose it. Change is good, trying new sounds and new feels might make you lose some fans but don't ostracize your artistic endeavors.
The band had a stage set that was incredible - complete with dozens of spotlights, a disco ball and vintage looking live screens. They could have walked out without the visual and just played their asses off - which they did. This set up seemed to work much better in the Garden than at 'Roo.
Meeting the crew that was filming their video for Pyro was even more cool when I saw them react when they heard the song live and felt it almost to be their song -- it is in a way. But, and thank you for being so cool Rob, as you said, the video was not yours, it is ours. Best of luck and I cannot wait to see it!
From Mary to Black Thumbnail everyone was on their feet. It wasn't like those concerts where people became disinterested and began to talk annoyingly at points. Everyone knew every song and they sang it, screamed it, danced to it.
My highlight was hearing Back Down South. I heard it first on that hot, steamy night in Tennessee. It makes me think of that wonderful weekend - standing next to my best friend, having the time of our lives, surrounded by people who loved music as much as we do.
Congratulations Kings of Leon and Manchester Orchestra, you made it in NYC!!
Ever have that moment? That time when you are listening to a song and it pieces all of the puzzle pieces together or it seems as if Martin Scorsese couldn't have scripted a better moment in your music memory?
Well - I have. There are several These aren't the "Oh my God, this is the best concert ever moments". These are the "Is this really happening?" moments. Here are some of the ones that I would place in my top surreal music moments.
Sitting in my flat in Belfast in the still smokey morning listening to David Gray and Fun Lovin' Criminals on my disc man in an attempt to drown out the sound of helicopters patrolling the streets after the riots that followed the pre-12 July bonfires
Belfast again: watching Braveheart at 3 in the morning while listening to Rory Gallagher and eating spaghetti Bolognese
Watching INXS in their home city of Sydney
Standing on the field of Three Rivers Stadium watching U2 perform
Standing inches away from Bono's boots while he waved an Irish flag and sang "Out of Control" with Manhattan as the back-drop
Standing in a muddy field at midnight in Manchester Tennessee with 80,000 people all singing "I will see you on the dark side of the moon" in unison while the Flaming Lips played
Buying tickets for Wilco in Pittsburgh and getting a three and a half hour show in return. This included an acoustic set off the stage complete with lamps and a kids drum set
Playing "family drums" with our DSO family at Nokia Theatre - and this included basketball legend Bill Walton and GD member Donna Jean Godchaux
Listening to My Sweet Lord by George Harrison in my car while driving to class at Pitt. I hit black ice when the line "Lord, I really wanna see you" came on and proceeded to slide sideways down the highway as did the truck in front of me. I repeated over and over - "not yet, Lord, not yet."
Hearing Belfast Child at a fish shop in East Belfast. This was the song that inspired me to write my Northern Ireland screenplay Getting my Family Style LP signed by Jimmie Vaughan
Screaming the lyrics to Master of Puppets during a Metallica show at the Garden with my husband and realizing I had been screaming those lyrics for twenty years
Standing front row at one of the smaller Bonnaroo tents watching Levon Helm sing Chest Fever, The Shape I'm In and The Weight
And this list would not be complete without this one:
Getting engaged on stage at a DSO show in front of a full audience - any music lovers dream come true!!
I bought tickets to see Jimmie Vaughan at the Iridium in Times Square. First of all, the Iridium is legendary as Les Paul would play his famous sets with whomever decided to show up that night. The fact that I would finally see Jimmie Vaughan and Lou Ann Barton was a dream come true.
Of course, I imagined what the show would be like - what songs he might play. The days went by fast until it was finally October 21st. I made sure I had my camera and Family Style LP that he and his brother Stevie recorded together in early 1990. I walked through Central Park in anticipation. I would be happy with three songs: I'm Leaving it up to You, Texas Flood and In the Middle of the Night.
I was seated next to two wonderful gentlemen who love music as much as Billy and I. Luck, coincidence or fate I do not know, but I would almost be on the stage our table was so close. I couldn't wait for Billy to arrive to show him ... we were no more than six feet from the stage. Those final minutes, tick tock tick tock until finally...ladies and gentleman...the Iridium welcomes Jimmie Vaughan. Chills. It was him. In awe, he had his white Tex-Mex Fender Strat to play for us. It was unreal to be so close. At one point, I must have been smiling from ear to ear and Jimmy looked right at me, smiled and winked. I could have left then. But...of course we didn't.
He played a few songs, a mix of his hits from his solo albums before Lou Ann Barton joined him. She is a legend of Texas blues. The two rocked the room and Jimmie began to jam. The first set was over way too soon.
As we waited for the second set, the gentleman sitting next to me said turn around and look who is in the corner. It was Robby Krieger from the Doors, sitting just below his guitar that hung on the wall. It was so true that anyone can show up at the Iridium. But the surprises were not over yet.
A few songs into the second set, he announced that another Texan was present and introduced Steve Miller. Steve Freaking Miller!!! What a surprise!! They played a few of Jimmie's songs together, before Steve took a seat and watched the rest of the show. Lou Ann came onto the stage again and I got to hear I'm Leaving it up to You.
I really was not prepared to hear what Jimmie sang next. I thought I would be, but I wasn't: Texas Flood. It was the closest I would ever get to Stevie Ray Vaughan. A surreal moment, I admit I cried. It took me back to the first cassette I ever bought of Stevie's. I remembered the picture of Stevie and Jimmie I had on my dresser mirror growing up and how their songs would keep my mind at ease after my father passed. I also realized what it must be like for him to play that song. The memories that must creep in between the lyrics. At the end of the song, Jimmie paused and looked toward the ceiling, a moment between two brothers.
And I got song number three, as he and Lou Ann sand In the Middle of the Night...a perfect night that I could not have planned. It is the emotion of music that I love. So many in that room were there for that emotion. So many people in that room knew what it was like to live for music.
After the lights came up. I stood in line with my album and rehearsed over and over what I would say to Jimmie. My turn - finally. I held the album close to me and said, "I have been waiting for 2o years for you to sign this for me" as I handed him the Family Style album. He seemed a bit surprised but very touched.
The whole circle came to close that night. I personally saw one of the voices that I used to listen to when life seemed so complicated (remember, I was twelve). I listened to how they sang to the girls they loved and prayed that one day some one would love me that much too. Well, my prayers were answered. It was an honor having my husband there with me at the Iridium. He saw probably one of the defining moments of my life. I don't know if he realizes this or not, but his being there made the night complete.
The last two months have been crazy - busy crazy, stressful crazy, at sometimes, good crazy. Music hasn't been as much of a part of my daily routine as it should have. I have always said that music gets me through things. But what do you do when you are so tired that when you put the music on, you fall asleep before the first jam?
Let me fill you in. The first weeks of September were indeed trying. My firefighter husband was burned at work and subsequently needed a skin graft. Between the long hours at work and making sure I spent the rest of my free time with him at the hospital, I was more interested in sleep and making sure that he was comfortable (and an occaisional Jack and Diet Coke).
I did have one day of music I guess, on September 13th. I was able to see Robert Plant and Band of Joy perform on the Jimmy Fallon Show. It was a treat to see him interviewed and an unforgettable experience to see him perform in such a small venue.
In this same time period, New York City was visited by two tornadoes - which created long hours at work. This was balanced with a healing husband, preparing for an exercise at work in six parts, a firehouse dinner dance and the Tunnel to Towers Run.
Seriously folks, I was tired. My iPod was neglected.
I must thank my husband who has the patience of a saint with my crazy work schedule of the last two months. I apologize that I haven't been home as much as I would like to have been. It meant so much to have you cheer me on as I ran out of the Tunnel on September 26th. Life will get back to normal - I swear, and it will back to the normal crazy that we are used to.
To my wonderful girlfriends, thank you for the much needed weekend away. Music re-entered my life - so did sleep, laughs, and beer. There is nothing like telling stories next to a campfire, sitting under the Vermont stars, gossiping at the kitchen counter, or freezing your flip flopped toes off in a ski lift.
Things are slowly getting back to that crazy normal. I am so excited to see Jimmie Vaughan this Thursday.Yes, Stevie Ray's brother, guitarist from the Fabulous Thunderbirds. Friday may be My Morning Jacket performing the album Z, maybe Dave and possibly some Roger Waters at the Garden (and if Billy had his way, Phish at Toad's Place - yeah, we all wish).
Tonight, on the way home, I bopped to Franz Ferdinand, cranked Stevie's solo in Life Without You, and wanted to polka the Transcontinental Hustle when Gogol Bordello came on the iPod.
The stories shall commence again loyal followers. Prepare to hear all about getting kicked in the head during Pantera, listening to David Gray in Belfast as helicopters hovered overhead and how John Lennon made me come to New York City. I am back...
It is that time of year again, when you notice the sun going down a little sooner, the mornings a little more chilly. We make the annual Labor Day trip to Bayville to officially close out the summer. We consume enough crustaceans, meats, pork and beer to make Anthony Bourdain blush. With culinary experience from the Caribbean, France and the firehouse, we feast on smelly cheese, cured meats and whatever we can create from last night's pasta. We play music, try to remember the words to the songs we always seem to forget, tell the same stories and wish that time didn't fly so damn fast.
This is always a rite of passage to the fall. We begin our summers at the same location, when the water is too cold for non-polar bear swimmers, the sun too harsh for the spring virgin skin and the pants a little too tight from the hearty winter solstice meals. No matter what time of year (and this includes Christmas) we always have music on the beach.
Music and Bayville kind of go together. It seems everyone either plays it, sings it or enjoys it. If the music isn't on the iTunes, it's being played live while we all sing along. Yes, a sing along. Sometimes we don't even know the words, but we all sit together on the deck and laugh (and drink) and sing (and drink) and drink (and drink) and eat and tell Jasper the dog to stop barking.
A few songs and artists have become the staple: Ripple, some Cat Stevens, Johnny Cash and for some reason, the Talking Heads We're on the Road to Nowhere. Whether it is just fun to sing WOO and HEY at the freaking top of your lungs while the neighbors watch, I don't know, but it's cathartic and kind of like primal scream therapy. It's also enjoyable to watch people walk down the beach and look us with amusement. Music, friends, laughs - it doesn't get any better than that.
Every now and then, we'll try something new or someone will stop by with a harmonica and all of a sudden we have Tom Petty or Bob Dylan. It's the magic of music. It happened at Christmas when the guitar came out, the fireplace was roaring and we all stopped to sing Imagine (then I ran into the Sound). It will happen in the middle of winter when someone wants to hear Hendrix or Clapton or the Beatles. Yes, I will run into the sound again in the middle of winter, but people break free of their boundaries, they laugh, don't care who sees them making ridiculous faces or sing off key.
I guess the point it, I love that Bayville is music. We have created a tradition of bringing in the summer and then packing it up and sending it away for the winter. Maybe it's because it is so elementary. Food, music and so many characters that Jerry Seinfeld couldn't keep up with.
We will see you in a equinox and a solstice, summer. Thank you for some great memories this year.
I often wonder what life would be like if we didn't have iPods, especially for subway commutes. It's really a therapist if you think about it. Well, for me it is. It sets my mood-or helps me to continue in the state of mind that I find myself. You can encapsulate yourself in a world that no one else will know about (well, except for you folks that don't understand the concept of the headphone and listen to it at decibels that would make Roger Daltry cry).
When people make me angry, because they have bad breath, are encroaching on my space or snapping away at their gum, I can relieve stress by scrolling to one of the following: Metallica, Anthrax or Pantera. Anger no longer pours out of my eyes at the person who has, unbeknownst to them, crossed my wires. The drums, the heavy bass, the lead singer yell for me.
But then there are the rides home, when you settle on shuffle and start nodding off to Robert Plant and get startled awake by the chorus from Hair (hey, it is my iPod we're talking about here). Or the times where nothing seems to suit your mood and Christmas music seems to filter the conversations out. There is nothing like clicking on Do They Know It's Christmas? on a 95 degree day.
Everyone has one it seems on the subway and I think it is kind of a good thing. It's the Linus blanket, the hot chocolate chip cookie, the voice at the other end of the phone letting you know everything is going to be ok. No matter what you listen to, it puts you in your place of zen, contemplation, complacency or restraint. You wonder what others may be listening to. What time traveling they may be doing.
No one can deny the guilty pleasure of putting on an 80's tune and getting away with it. Taking the express back to 6th grade via the B-52's can prove rewarding even to your seat mates, creating wonder in them when a smile spreads across your face for no reason. I often wonder if anyone can see that I am listening to Selena, Trixter or Terence Trent D'Arby sometimes. And if they do see it, I wonder what they are thinking.
Or playing a song from a concert you remember. It takes you back to screaming at the top of your lungs for New Kids, Clapton or Pearl Jam, it doesn't matter who, it takes you back to that place. You felt the mud or the sticky stadium floor, almost smelled the smoke and got lost in the fact that the subway almost feels like the crowd moving you around.
This morning, for me its Dire Straits (thanks Z for the recommendation). Mellow, smooth, contemplative. It's a thinking man's band. I like them and it has successfully gotten me through a train commute that was supposed to leave at 0641 and didn't until 0654. It doesn't seem like much of a delay, but you can squeeze in a few extra tunes (only one if you are listening to the Dead, Phish, Dave Matthews or old Metallica).
Upon the end of the song, I can only hear the scraping of metal against the rail. Everyone is in their own world listening to songs that transport them, soothe them and excite them. The train car is silent. No talking, maybe a turning of a newspaper page every now and then. Nope, I couldn't imagine this commute without my music.
You know, people can't fall in love with me just because I'm good at what I do ~ Robert Plant
We have all been there - admit it. You have had the crush. I have had several - ok, still have several. Robert Plant, Bono, Eric Clapton,James Hetfield, and Nikki Sixx.
I don't know what it is about rock stars. Ok, I lied, I do. They are sexy hot. I also admit, that my version of sexy hot rock stars does not fit everyone else's. We each have our own check list, I am sure.
You either are or are destined to become a rock icon
You have been through hell and back and possibly made a return trip a couple of times
You can have strong political convictions
Accents are best
Tattoos are welcomed
Hair - long locks are good but not required
You continue to put out music because you enjoy it
I guess the crush starts when you first hear the voice. Listen to a good live Since I've Been Lovin' You and you get all sides of Robert Plant. You get the blues, you get the golden god's vocal crescendos and, if you're watching, you see him feel the song. I should add that to the list - crushes must feel the song they are singing.
(note, this video contains a number of items from the above checklist: icon, hair, accent).
A great example of the emotion being worn on one's sleeve is definitely Bono.Bono, from inception, I think has been overtly
emotionally tied to his songs. U2 songs are not just poppy love ballads and kitschy tunes, they (most of the time) have some deep political, social, and/or religious meaning. (Dr. Wrabley at Pitt Johnstown knows that I know this - he received too many papers from me on them). In Rattle and Hum, U2 performed Sunday, Bloody Sunday. But this performance came on the heels of a bombing (that could have been stopped by the British Army) that killed numbers of veterans in a war memorial ceremony. Bono's emotion is raw. Whether singing about the United States occupation in Central America, the plight of millions in Africa, or lamenting civil rights activists - he was genuine. And U2 still continues to put on tours and make albums and stay true to their original concept - making music that educates as well as entertains. Bono - well, maybe it was the hair, it was definitely the accent, but what girl can resist a guy who wears his heart on his sleeve? (Back to checklist - rock icon, strong political conviction, accent, had long hair at one time, still enjoys making music).
You're probably asking yourself - Eric Clapton? Yes, Eric Clapton.Read his biography - you'll love him even more - you'll want to give him a great big hug. This man has been through hell - and won. His love life should make anyone thankful for their own. I don't know how he can still sing Layla, I couldn't fathom knowing Sweet Home Chicago was the last song he ever played with Stevie Ray, and am thankful that he doesn't have to sing Tears in Heaven anymore. His relationship with George Harrison still fascinates me. Look at the bands he has been in: Yardbirds, Cream, Blindfaith, Derek and the Dominos.I finally saw him play in June of 2009. It was amazing. I couldn't believe I was finally seeing Eric Clapton. (back to the tally board: Icon, been through hell a couple of times, he has an accent and toured not that long ago with Jeff Beck).
Moving right along - I know, don't give me that, what? Why? Really? Hey, this is my list and I can put anyone on it that I want. And I happen to want to put James Hetfield on this list.Hmmm, let's see, heavy metal god, puts some politics into their songs (One, For Whom the Bell Tolls, The God that Failed), went through hell (third degree pyrotechnic burns, kicked drugs and alcohol), he's got tattoos and last time I checked 'Tallica has been on the road for the last two years AND they were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame! HA! HA! HA!
I was at this show in Manchester TN and Metallica kicked it big time. The proof was that the non-Metallica fans were enjoying themselves. The truth is - when at Bonnaroo, we're all MUSIC fans. It still sends chills through me to hear the music stop and James address the audience: Bonnaroo, Are you alive? Tell me, how does it feel to be alive?
Lastly, Nikki Sixx, the man whose poster used to hang inside of my closet - because he scared my mother. Talk about a rough paper route in life, family issues, he died a few times, shot up some JD -- need I go on about this guy. He can write (wrote most of the Crue's songs) published the diaries of his heroin days, an amazingly terrifying read if you want a glimpse into the not so sexy world of 1980's heavy metal touring. He is a photographer looking at the world through his eyes and putting it out there for us to question our perceptions of reality.
There, that is my list. I think I have remained true to my rock and roll (okay, rock, rock, blues and heavy metal) crushes. Each of these guys I truly respect. Yes, I am getting serious. Each of these men have some pretty heavy weight on them. Legend, sober, humanitarian, believer, fighter, lover can be used to describe anyone of these men. Crushes just aren't about looks - believe it or not.
So there are folks who failed to make THE list, but made the list of those I had obsessive, binge crushes on: Michael Hutchence: I did trek to his memorial in Sydney and even left flowers.
Donnie Wahlberg: I pray every time we go to Dorcester that I accidentally run into him and not shriek like a child - although I almost ruined an entire scene with him in it while running over the Brooklyn Bridge one morning (yes, Donnie, that was me and you are so welcome).
George Michael was a crush for so long - who wouldn't want that angelic voice singing to them?
Mike Patton of Faith No More: I contained all urges to jump onto the stage very well I think.
Dave Matthews: it's that hippy thing I think, and I like it when he does his South African accent. I have seen you over 30 times, is that obsessive?
Boy George (there Angie, I admit it) I told everyone in kindergarten I was going to marry Boy George.
Bobby Dall, the other bassist in my life. Rachel Bolan from Skid Row: Jan, what memories!!
I need you kiss, but love and duty called you someplace higher
Somewhere up the stairs into the fire
~ Into the Fire Bruce Springsteen
I write this as news just comes in that two Bridgeport, Connecticut firefighters have lost their lives. They work in a job they love, some paid, others not, to selflessly save the lives of others. Too often, their own lives are lost in the battle.
What hurts most is that tonight I have to go to sleep knowing my husband is putting himself in this same position. Tonight, in New York City, Connecticut, DC and you name it everywhere else, husbands are going to the firehouse, while their wives do their best to diligently not think of the danger. It's nights like these when the slightest sound wakes you up in the middle of the night, or you think you heard your phone ring. My circle of wives has already checked in with each other to make sure we are all ok - without actually asking the question.
These wives are my heroes.
Somehow we go about our days and nights knowing the selfless position our husbands put themselves in. Many of these wives are also EMTs and burn nurses. We know what can happen.
Three years ago, a fireman I knew from Engine 24 / Ladder 5 was killed along with another member from his house. I was about to be married. I could not fathom what their girlfriend and wife were experiencing. I stood at the steps of St. Patrick's and witnessed a scene I had viewed too many times: the passing of the helmet to the widow. I know how much I can love someone - the physical pain of actually loving them till you want to burst. I could not imagine the pain of not having that person their anymore to hug you, make you laugh, laugh at you when you do something stupid, or wake up next to in the morning. I could not bear to think of the emptiness they felt.
Not a huge Bruce Springsteen fan, I reluctantly purchased The Rising after it was released. I listened to it and could not believe the raw emotion that Bruce Springsteen captured. The line that grabbed me was the following: I want a kiss from your lips, I want an eye for an eye.The sadness and the anger were immediately felt - he was singing about the grieving partner following the attacks on the Trade Center. The album felt like it was a dedication of sorts to the firemen - The Rising, Into the Fire, You're Missing, all captured the selfless walk up the stairs that morning.
The wives also had a job after 9/11. Healing their husbands. It was not a short process and for many it still lingers or appears with no warning. A leaf on the street, a blue sky, a song...they can all make it come flooding back. So we also recognize our healing role. We know when they need to be alone, when they shouldn't be left alone, to not talk when they get that distant stare...we've been there for the memorials, the dedications, the 5K's and the street re-namings. It's hurts us to see them hurt so much after almost ten years. It hurts me to know that my husband lost so many friends that day.
If you watch Ladder 49, the wives really do know each other that well. It is a special bond. We know how much we need each other, and would, God forbid the horror, if it were one of us receiving the helmet. We know the quarks and the kitchen humor of our men, that they will talk to each other on the phone 10 minutes after getting home about the softball game next week.
I don't want you to think I forgot the husbands or partners of the female firefighters. I know that the women I know on the job have strong partners and husbands, and that they are always welcomed into the circle as well. Man or woman, the love of a firefighter does not stop with gender.
Tonight, I pray for the wives and their children who lost their everything. I pray for the other wives who will, for the next week, do everything humanly possible to comfort these families. God Speed Lt. Steven Velazquez and FF. Michel Baik.
My music is like a lowdown dreamy bit of the psyche.It's part quagmire and part structure. The quagmire is important for things to grow in. Do you ever have one of those memories where you think you remember a taste or a feel of something, maybe an object, but the feeling is so bizarre and imperceptible that you just can't quite get a hold of it. It drives you crazy. That's my musical aesthetic, just this imperceptible fleeting memory. Jeff Buckley
The adventure continues.
You are wondering what the title of this post means...so I am saving it for the very end...
When we left off, I was still reeling from seeing INXS on their home turf. I always find it so fascinating that a song or an artist can take you back to a specific moment. You can hear the song over and over but when it connects you to an event or special time - it becomes a time travel machine of sorts. You stop and remember, or try to, the smells, feelings, thoughts, touches...Australia had a few of these songs. I have a good soudntrack for Australia.
So Jules and I got used to hearing the "monkeys" in our ravine every morning. They were kookaburras, birds that think in their insane sarcastic minds that sounding like a monkey at 5 am is funny. It's not. Had I seen one, I would have yelled at it. But I never did. I saw lots of geckos - sunning themselves on the brick steps. Cute little fellas.
The Aussies love their time off. Why wouldn't they? Twenty-five beaches near Sydney alone! Jules, Curly and I began to plan for our Easter Holiday Adventure. We began our trek on a crowded bus North on Highway 1. We passed Coopernook,Urunga, Coffs Harbor and Woolgoolga until we finally stopped in Byron Bay and welcomed out tripped out hostel: the Belongil Beach House. Although I was a little hippie timid back them - this place screamed Woodstock and tie dye dresses. It was covered in mosaic tile art, had a huge common kitchen, a common cat (that I called Buddy), it had a coffee bar, and did I mention we were literally across from the most beautiful beach in the world. Byron Bay is majestic in its simplicity.
The beach was also our road into town. The town, turns out, holds a blues festival every April. (Hint to my husband) The town reminds me of a New England sea town, like Portland or Portsmouth with people spilling out of shops, bars brimming with music and food. We ventured around town before we journeyed back towards the hostel. There were no streetlights so the beach was only lit by the lighthouse to our backs and the moon above us. Somewhere on the beach, someone started playing a bongo. The waves accompanied the solo. Maybe there were only five people on that beach that night, the only five people in the world standing on the most eastern beach in Australia, listening to the music of the earth and the music of someone's soul.
Then it rained and we ran off to try and play Australian Trivial Pursuit. Let me re-phrase that. The American, German and Swede made a pathetic attempt to play Australian Trivial Pursuit.
We travelled further North to the tunes of Santana along the ocean, fought spiders in the "jungles" of Fraser Island while singing Land Down Under, saw full rainbows on the beach (Just like the one on the inside cover of the Cranberries No Need To Argue album), travelled south to Brisbane where we joined that party of the century that ended with us having a fire extinguisher fight on the roof. The following day, I was on a mission: I was going to see the Crocodile Hunter.
At the time, the Australia Zoo was not as popular as it was to become. I dragged Jules along to the train station. The agent informed us that a truck would meet us at the train station to take us to the zoo. Quite nice and quite odd at the same time. Then we were informed that there were only two trains, one into Beerwah and one out. Once we got there, we would be stuck there all day. It was in the middle of NOWHERE. The people picking us up from the train station worked for the zoo. They would also give us a ride back at the end of the day. In 2000, the zoo was still relatively small, lizards crawled about randomly, kangaroos lounged about the grounds, and Steve Irwin ran about feeding crocs.
Jules suggested some shopping - "let's go to HMV!" she said with such innocence. HMV is the equivalent of a Virgin Records store in Australia. I would abide and "look" at the cds -- longingly.
Screw it - $250 Australian dollars later I had amassed a collection of 15 new cds. I tried to think of what I didn't have at home (because it's just not worth it to buy duplicates). To this day I don't remember what I bought - it was like a binge for this music junkie; unfortunately, guess who didn't have a cd player.
After we got back to Sydney and I bought a proper CD discman, it was time to finish the semester - which meant papers and studying and procrastinating by working out twice a day at the gym. I never took my music to the gym (it was usually saved for study time at the house, walks along Sydney Harbor and walks home from class). Macquarie University had a great gym (even sans pool) with a great sound system.
It was a typical Thursday. I had just finished my Australian society class. My Thursday schedule went as such: Wake up to laughing birds, walk through Epping Boys School Field without being hit by an errant rugby ball, start the tunes on the discman, walk walk walk, until I reached the parking lot at Mac Uni, continue to the student union to buy a diet coke and a granola bar - some things do not ever change, if necessary, stop at library for last minute cramming, go to class, talk to Jimmy about his trip to NYC over the holiday that is still obsesses about, hit the gym, catch the 288 into the city and walk around like a tourist.
I handed in my paper on Australian World War 2 Veterans and walked over to the gym. I took my place on the treadmill in front of the TV that was always set on some music channel.
I was into about my 20th minute of running when I heard a voice that sent shivers through me. I stopped, almost forgetting to slow the treadmill down. It was a voice so gorgeous, so melodic and so haunting. It was Hallelujah sung by Jeff Buckley. His voice would transition from soft and tender to harsh, almost angry tones without any effort.
I needed to hear more. I rushed to finish my workout. I ran over to the mall that was adjacent to the campus, walked into the HMV and promptly looked for Jeff Buckley. I found three cds. Score! The names vaguely sounded familiar thoguh, maybe because it sounded like Jeff Beck. Upon putting the cd's on the counter, the check-out girl quickly commentated it was sad that Jeff was no longer alive. WHAT?
I didn't even wait around. Before going home to listen, I stopped at the university computer lab. I didn't know about google so I did an Ask Jeeves search for Jeff Buckley. I had heard of Jeff Buckley before and it all came flooding back when I read the following words: Jeff Buckley died of an accidental drowning. I remember watching Kurt Loder on MTV news while getting ready for a morning summer class at Pitt. I remember thinking that the missing body that had been found was Jeff Beck, not Buckley, whom I had never heard of. Wow, ok, so I would never hear this voice live. But I now had three CD's of new music to explore.
It turns out that Jeff was extremely popular in Australia, so that was good for me. I found the Grace album so cathartic. His voice hauntingly beautiful, sensual and sad, some times all at once. He mastered Nina Simone's Lilac Wine, rekindled Cohen's Hallelujah and made me feel as if I was the one he was talking to in Lover, You Should Have Come Over. He felt his songs, you could hear it in the way he sang. I later found out that Grace was the only album that he had released and that his mother had taken some recordings he had been working on and some live shows and began to release them. Unfortunately, the songs were not complete to Jeff, they were not for public consumption yet. I hope she released them for the fans who simply wanted more of his work - not for monetary reasons.
Jeff also seemed to be eerily telling his future: in Mojo Pin he sang: I couldn't awake from the nightmare that sucked me in an pulled me under...
So now the time has finally come for me to explain the title of this post. One night, I had a dream that Jeff Buckley was following me around my apartment, laughing. He apparently lived under my bed. I woke up and actually checked under the bed. Then I called Billy to make sure we weren't living in Jeff Buckley's old apartment or something. Hey, didn't hurt to ask.
I wasn't the only one taken in by Jeff. Artists flocked to him, a modern day troubadour who fancied keys, clocks and calling people. Robert Plant, Jimmy Page, Bono, Paul McCartney, artists that were more than likely his heroes were mesmerized by him.
So when I hear Jeff Buckley, I think of that moment, on a treadmill when I heard an angel's voice. I think of the beautiful songs that I was introduced to. I know that I am listening to a man who wore his emotions not just on his sleeve, but in his voice. He sang what we felt, not what Sony told him to feel.
I had been accepted as an exchange student at Macquarie University in Sydney. I had never left the safety of the North American Continent. Given the unbelievable opportunity to travel to a land that seemed so adventurous, I readied myself for the unknown. Australia, hmmm, vegemite, kangaroos, koalas ... INXS, Midnight Oil, AC/DC, Kylie Minogue, Crowded House, Little River Band, Savage Garden, Natalie Imbruglia, Nick Cave - uh yeah I was not going to miss this!
While everyone went back to class for spring semester in the new millennium, I shopped for swim suits,watched re-runs of Magnum PI, read up on walk abouts and psyched myself up for some awesome music adventures.
I also psyched myself up for ... wait, I have never flown. How long is the flight? I thought I had everything under control. I would make tons of mixed tapes (yes, you read that correctly). I wasn't going to take my CDs or my cassettes. No, I spent days creating mixed tapes and planned on listening to them on my Sony Walkman. Was I so concerned about connecting flights, looking right instead of left while crossing the road, or what classes I would take that the idea of mixed tapes sustaining me in my new home seemed credible and logical?
This crucial under-expectation of my musical needs while being 10,000 miles from home would haunt me and cost me.
The flight to LAX terrified me. What was I doing? What if, I don't know, what if I forgot how to speak or lost the ability to read when I landed in Australia? How do I navigate airports? How do I find my apartment? What the hell was I doing?
Anxiety attack aside, I made it to LAX. My luggage found it's way to my connecting Air Pacific Flight. Whoah - that is the plane that is going to fly me 15 hours to Fiji? That thing was huge. How did it fly through the air? Inside, it was very roomy and not at all cramped. The staff all wore sarongs (I don't know about the pilots) and the food was really yummy. Still no music. Off I was to my first destination - Fiji.
My seat mate was a yachting priest from New Zealand who like to abscond with airline silverware. It was a very brief lay over in Fiji. Absolutely gorgeous. I was so tired (I was too nervous still to sleep) that I mistook an actual window with the gorgeous sunrise for a painting. Fiji on the return trip would prove much more exciting.
Alright, almost there. Back on the plane and this time my seat mate was a vegetarian folk singer who reminded me of Charlotte Church. I asked a ton of questions about Sydney to which she had no answers. Five hours and I was there. My new home. I never would have believed you if you had told me that this place would not only shape the person I would become, but would ultimately be one of my favorite places that I wouldn't mind calling home. Aside from the occasional spider, Vegemite and lack of peanut butter on the market shelves - it is a magical place filled with honest people, great food and an awesome blues fest every fall (spring to the rest of us). I had never seen a sky so big or so blue, met people so humble and birds so loud. I did not expect the house that the keys opened. It was a four story house on the edge of a ravine. Geckos sunned themselves on the brick steps. It was a house that seemed very empty except for two unkempt beds on the third floor and toast crumbs and cheese wrappers in the kitchen. I began to believe my flatmates were boys.
I found an empty room on the second floor complete with a balcony. I could not believe that I had gum trees and eucalyptus in my back yard. No need to unpack just now. I fell asleep and awoke to the smell of ... toast. A tinge of homesickness hit - but I had to shake it.
In the kitchen I met two young gentlemen. One from Norway and one from Sweden. From this point on they will be named Curly and Mick. I was offered some toast and butter (they were out of cheese). It was quickly decided that we must go explore the city after we check in at Uni for our classes. To their delight, I offered to pack us lunches.
Turns out, Curly loved Pantera and Mary J Blige. Mick liked the Rolling Stones (and James Bond). I could see this would work very well. A speaker system was needed to listen to our music. Finally, this was becoming home!
After a beautiful day of exploring the city and going to Manly Beach - we trekked home, tired, salty, hungry, to discover a fourth flatmate: Jules. Jules was the girl I needed to balance out the house. She grew up in Germany but spoke and understood the English language better than I ever would. She loved music: Miles Davis, Kylie Minogue,Santana, club music. It was a beautiful fit. We were ready for our first night out on the town. And what a first night it was. We ended up a pub called Scruffy Murphy's on George Street at the very same night some Australian soldiers came home from protecting East Timor. The Runners played covers at the front of the smokey, stereotypical Irish pub. Jules and I danced all night and into the morning. Soon the house was filled with music and spiders. We all soon adjusted to a daily school and TV schedule. I cannot remember what night it was, but we looked at our first floor sliding door screen at what looked to be a frog. Upon closer inspection and then far away "make sure it doesn't get in!" inspection, we determined it was a spider. A big, hairy, eight-legged spider. Someone remembered that we received a ten deadliest spiders "web guide" in the mail and went to get it to compare (now through a closed and locked sliding door - because you know spiders can unlock doors).It turned out to be a non-dangerous spider, but he looked scary and that was enough for us to leave all screens closed tight. I think we all slept in our sleeping bags that night - just in case.
We all were finally deep in studies. I began to listen to the radio on my Walkman when I studied at the library, because I admit, I was getting bored of listening to the same music over and over. I was ten thousand miles from home, away from my CD collection and I needed to hear either something new or something that wasn't on a 60 minute cassette. I fought going to the HMV music store because that would be credit card suicide. No - I decided to use my resources: the radio. The two big radio stations in Sydney are Triple J and Triple M. They played both modern hits (Madison Avenue became a favorite) but most of the time -- and I love you Australia -- but you are stuck in the 70's and 80's, they played old INXS, the Little River Band, Crowded House. But I learned to like it. I didn't have radio like that in the States. Soon, I was looking forward to listening to Midnight Oil while studying away in the library. But there is one song that will always bring back Sydney to me. One night while walking past the golf course on my way home (it was a Monday because Buffy the Vampire Slayer would be on when I got home)I was listening to Triple M and a song I never particularly paid attention to by INXS came on: "To Look At You". It is a slow, almost haunting song. It's supported by simple 80's keyboard harmonies with the tell-tale sensual voice of Michel Hutchence. I looked up at the plane lowering it's landing gear as it came into Sydney Airport and then further up to the stars. The Southern Cross flew high in the sky. I was in Sydney. I was in Australia. http://www.pandora.com/music/song/inxs/to+look+at+you
The song always seemed to be on the radio at the most perfect times: While sitting at my desk in my room, my balcony door open and a breeze of eucalyptus tempting to move my papers from their neat pile; Walking back through the rugby field at the Epping Boys school after a late night of back to back movies at Uni; After surfing at Noosa Beach (before Curly's non shark injury).
The only night it wasn't played was May 25th at the Metro, when I saw INXS perform their second show without Michael Hutchence. Not only had I made a pilgrimage to the memorial of Michael Hutchence bearing tigerlillies for him, I managed to get tickets to a 1,200 seat show at Sydney's famed Metro club. This would be the first time the band played Sydney without their leader. It really was amazing to be a venue so small with a band with so much energy. I was up front of course and I wish I had video, even audio, when the venue went silent and I screamed "Kirk!". I was referring to their saxophone / guitar player Kirk Pengilly. To my amazement he turned and looked at me and said, "What?" Now I had to really think fast. I didn't expect him to answer me. So I replied " Play me a song." They moved into "Shine Like It Does". I couldn't wipe the smile off my face for days. This is but one story of many that Australia had to offer. What to expect in the next installment?
Is that a monkey in our back yard?
How I discovered the man who would eventually live under my bed
A $400.00 trip to the zoo and Aunt Suzies Dancing Shoes - sort of
Girls night out with Savage Garden and Vanessa Amorossi and Popstar Madness!
That's so nice of then to fly the Fijian Army first class -- wait, a coup?
Until next time...
"Once there was a swagman camped by a billabong, under the shade of the coolabah tree, and he sang as he watched and he waited til his billy boiled, you'll come a waltzing Matilda with me"
