toward friday night…

From Cafe 9 : New Haven, CT

Some nice photographs taken by Karen Hotchkiss of me playing my new instrument and such…

a math list of things in my head

1.  Never underestimate the power of the NYDOT to toll and ticket you at every avenue possible.
2.  Never underestimate the power of the CTDOT to toll you at surprising times.
3.  Never underestimate the power of the NHDOT to toll you occassionally.
4.  There is no wireless internet service in Suncook, NH.
5.  There is no coffeeshop in Suncook, NH.

6.  There is a wonderful laudromat in Suncook, NH called Soap Bubbles, where a very kind and generous South Korean can become your best friend for the duration of the time you wash your clothes.

7.  Youth clubs are a great way to keep the youth off the streets and for musicians to get exposure so that some enterprising person’s pockets can grow off of both.
8.  If you have a favorite pair of pants that happens to be mauve colored, don’t be offended when someone yells out the window, Purple is not the new green! Actually, don’t even wince…go ahead and think to yourself, WT? is that supposed to mean anyway?  Didn’t you mean purple is not the new blue?
9.  Even though it’s terrible stuff, you can get 24 ounces of Labatt Blue for 99 cents.

10.  Consider #7 + 8, then, dwell under a bridge until you feel better; preferably in such an idyllic town, with a gentle river running through it, that you find it inconceivable that you should fall, get caught, mugged, or bitten by a critter.

11.  It costs $27 a night to stay in Bear Brook State Park outside of Suncook, NH…it is free to stay in your car in downtown Suncook, NH.

12.  It’s okay to cry if you feel lonely.
13.  If you accidentally drive through the EZ Pass lane at a toll booth in Maine, then, pull over at the toll station on the side of the road to take care of your toll…don’t expect that they will let you pay your toll.  Someone will come out and explain that you are not allowed to pay your toll anymore, you’re going to get a letter in the mail asking why you went through the EZ Pass lane.  You’ll write back to explain that you couldn’t get over into Cash Only lane because that even though it was ridiculously early on a Saturday morning, someone had the energy to dangerously rush you into the EZ Pass lane, where you were told you could no longer pay the 75 cents…which you are sending with your explanation, in the form of a check, which is written out to the MEDOT, which will then be sent from the EZ Pass company to the MEDOT…someday, someone will get their 75 cents and there won’t be potholes all over the roads that cause you to hydroplane to no end as you’re driving down the dark highways of the state.
14.  It’s okay to cry if the MEDOT makes you feel helpless.
15.  Try not to visit New England during Canada’s ‘first category 4 hurricane.’
16.  When you are reorganizing your trunk and discover that it appears that the hurricane has leaked a cup of water precisely into the protective pouch containing your only CD burner and scanner, you can try to choke down the urge to cry…but…
17.  When you’re holding the drenched hardwares in your hand and a woman unnecessarily rolls down her window just to tell you that, Reorganizing your trunk at the gas station is really selfish, bi#%*…It’s okay to let it all go.
18.  You will be really happy if you ever walk into the North Star Music Cafe.  They are probably playing some familiar and comfortable combination of sounds by Jill Scott, Zoe Keating, or Amy Winehouse.  And they are probably going to have really amazing food for you to eat and really nice, really awesome people working…so…
19.  It’s okay, now that you’ve cried, to still be curious about New England, since you’ve wanted to visit here ever since you read Roald Dahl’s, Boy, years ago.
20.  Some parents can ease your worried mind both figuratively and literally…tell them you love them as much as possible…they may be all you’ve got in a world fraught with unreliable people.

Music for today:  Summer Make Good [múm], My Maudlin Career [Camera Obscura], Far [Regina Spektor], For Emma, Forever Ago [Bon Iver], 24 Postcards in Full Color [Max Richter], Antonio Carlos Jobim’s Greatest Hits [ACJ]

Stacks
Bon Iver

This my excavation and today is kumran
Everything that happens is from now on
This is pouring rain
This is paralyzed

I keep throwing it down two-hundred at a time
It’s hard to find it when you knew it
When your money’s gone
And you’re drunk as hell

On your back with your racks as the stacks as your load
In the back and the racks and the stacks are your load
In the back with your racks and you’re un-stacking your load

I’ve twisting to the sun I needed to replace
The fountain in the front yard is rusted out
All my love was down
In a frozen ground

There’s a black crow sitting across from me; his wiry legs are crossed
And he’s dangling my keys he even fakes a toss
Whatever could it be
That has brought me to this loss?

On your back with your racks as the stacks as your load
In the back and the racks and the stacks of your load
In the back with your racks and you’re un-stacking your load

This is not the sound of a new man or crispy realization
It’s the sound of the unlocking and the lift away
Your love will be
Safe with me

[quick ketchup] Fake Babies

As I was leaving Albany, I made a highly unfortunate discovery; I was running incredibly low on funds and had very little time to come up with cash before I was going to make myself late for my show in New Haven.  With a surprising little flash of ingenuity, I figured I could pawn off the Starbucks card I had purchased previously in the trip to some kind business people…and thereafter, I was toll-ready and on my way south.

I arrived at Cafe Nine in New Haven, pleasantly surprised by the venue I was booked to perform at later on Thursday night.  It was a low-ceilinged bar, a bit divey, with solid character.  I opened the night with a generous crowd of 40+ people who drifted in and out of the space to the patio on the side of the building.  Thanks to–a nameless thrift shop in Queens (for a $2 wine box), the guys from Sgt. Dunbar and the Hobo Banned (for a porch to work on and a drill to work with), Evan Moritz (for an excellent contact mic) and a helpful hardware store attendant in Albany–I was able to assemble my long-imagined instrument comprised of music box hearts and to successfully incorporate it into my set…alongside the baby-blue Smith-Corona.

My set had a solid sound in the house [thanks to Dan] and the crowd was really receptive and generous.  One compliment following the show that made my day [/tour] was: If tranquility could have a voice, it would be yours. Following my set was solo musician, Jimi Patterson, who goes by the moniker If Jesus Had Machine Guns.  Though he had much difficulties with feedback coming from his processor, his act was all in all a great performance of really sweet beats layered with synth and passionate vocals.

Fake Babies headlined the night.  I enjoyed their set even more than the last time that I played with them [at the Artful Dodger earlier this month].  Their music is deeply creative and experimental, highly risky and most certainly, successful.  I was fortunate enough to get to spend the evening with them (Justin Roberts, Gary Kiernan+ Bob Nuzzello) at the warehouse where they live at Daggett St.  Their space evidenced rich possibilities and an enviable collection of instruments and artworks in progress.  I was most jealous of their vibraphone (one of my top 5 most wanted things).

The only spaces I have been like this space are all in Baltimore, where I have visited both the Copy Cat and its Annex [which I frequent because of Evan, Kaitlin, Josh, Jake, etc].  The work that Fake Babies has going on feels like Animal Collective and  Timbaland had a [fake] baby…it’s a sort of amazing electro-hop fusion that blows a lot of most recent sound experiments things out of the water.

how i miss thee let me count the ways.

a digital gift…

Sgt. Dunbar and the Hobo Banned

We all crowded into the basement for their practice session.  The eight of them sweated out a euphony of virtuous sounds that filled all three floors of the house and resonated out into the neighborhood.  Of course, no cops showed up to address noise complaints–any Myrtle street residents are lucky to have these guys around.  Members of the band [that I met] include Alex Muro, Tim Koch, Dan Pardee, Donna Baird, Eric Krans, Adam Muro, Louis Apicello, and Jen O’Connor.

They filled the room with melodic flurries from every instrument; banjo, guitar, french horn, trombone, bass, a wildly unique drum kit, a saw, trumpet, everyone’s voices, violin and others I may not recall.  And as if it was not enough that they make beautiful and energetic sounds come from their own instruments, they would rotate, trading and taking turns at the microphone.  Lyrically, musically and, at times, improvisational[ly], this band has won my heart.

The only band I can compare with their sound is Beirut, by virtue of the similarity of instrumentation.  But Sgt. Dunbar and the Hobo Banned is doing what Beirut does not bring itself to try…taking beautiful risks on playful experiments.

Upon the suggestion of our mutual friend, from Perkasie, I made the journey up to Albany to meet them between my shows in Manhattan and New Haven.  Porch talks with Alex and Louis revealed the excitement they held in having the opportunity to play at SXSW this past year, and the joys and woes of being out on the road.  We talked about what a sweet surprise to be toted by NPR’s All Songs Considered as one of the bands its show host, Bob Boilen, was most looking forward to seeing at SXSW.  I am excited to hear about their future successes…it is all looking very bright.

The guys were incredibly generous, providing me with a bed to sleep in, delicious ravioli to eat and their mind-blowing music.  I am glad to have made friends with them and cannot wait until they come to visit us in Virginia…

Photographer : Brittany Worgan [used with her permission]

Music for today: Sgt. Dunbar and the Hobo Banned [duh], Lucy Michelle and the Velvet Lapelles, Des Ark [2x], Whitey, and (since I’m in a coffeeshop and it’s on their system) Rilo Kiley.

Links for you: http://www.myspace.com/thehobobanned + http://www.myspace.com/lucymichell

some gifts for you

[that got tangibly given to some familiar strangers]

These are a the first of a series of line drawings that I have had for sale at shows.  Everyone gets an original and a plastic pouch to keep it safe.  They go for five dollars.

3hirty dollar days and the meaning of loneliness

I knew that the success of the first night would be hard to compete with for the next few days to follow.  I had expected that all along since my show in Philadelphia would be competing with a great bill at Danger Danger, my show in Lancaster would be at a very small venue [where my sounds might be too loud] and my show in Manhattan would be at a venue far from where my NY friends lived at an ethnic bar…

So, I had three 30 dollar days, in which I made some money, had a decent show, had some people to listen and sold a few CDs.  Those shows were relatively anticlimactic, so I will leave it at that.  As far as the venues were concerned, the spaces were really nice as was the backline.  The Green Line Cafe was this really great coffeeshop that had an enveloping quality to it.  The sound that night was really true.  The Chestnut Hill Cafe was another coffeeshop that had a truly refined aesthetic identity architecturally and graphically.  It was unique, small and very very sweet.  The food couldn’t have been any better.  I had an incredible tomato, basil and mozzerella panini with a beautiful spinach salad [topped with tomatoes, craisins, walnuts, and thinly sliced red onions].  And finally, the Shrine Bar was an incredibly pleasant surprise.  Though I should have pulled my amp out of the car, the equipment they had in their backline was just awesome and the food, amazing [!]

When I drove up to the Green Line on Saturday, I saw John Harouff, from Cinnamon Band walking up Locust St.  It was so bizarre because I had wanted to contact him and a few of our other friends who had just moved to Philly, but I didn’t have any of their phone numbers.  He reminded me about the show at Danger Danger, where our friends, Preacher were going to be performing with Lucy Michelle and some other musicians.  My heart sank a little bit because I had definitely missed the opportunity to have any of our mutual friends out to my show–I forget, there are ALWAYS good things going on in big cities.  Nevertheless, we agreed to meet up after my show was over; and that we did.  I got to see Preacher because they played later than they were slotted to.  And, I got to witness a convenience store that had 40s of Schlitz, a lot of strange candies and socks for sale.  Afterwards, a big group of us went to a party further west.  It was a huge spectacle of hipster-everythings.  I got completely overwhelmed and had to sit down for the better part of the evening, marveling at the vanity.

The next morning, I got up and went over to Melissa Frost’s house.  We drove over to Bella Vista and took a metal awning off of a family’s house.  Melissa wanted it for her place [though she was not sure for what].  It was a comical adventure…as is nearly everything she and I do.  Afterward, we went to a great record store where I found some gems some for gifts and some for me: Stevie Wonder, Tom Waits, Townes Van Zandt, a collection of Langston Hughes’ poems read by James Earl Jones, Growing, and something that Melissa insisted I had to get, though I can’t remember it now.  She set me up with an old copy of NY-NFT [New York Not For Tourists], which was perfect since I’ve been to New York many times, and merely have to warm into it every time.  Then, I headed to Lancaster for my show at Chestnut Hill.

Now, I understand that this cafe was filmed in the movie, ‘Girl Interrupted,’ and though I haven’t seen it, I can see why.  It was a really low-key performance in the really beautiful space and Alex and Leah Wash came over to listen and we headed back to their house in Lititz for the night.  We were all weary and Alex and Leah had long-standing plans to watch back-to-back episodes of ‘How I Met Your Mother.’  It was a great way to relax for the evening.  In the morning, I got up and went for a run.  I found the local library while I was out.  A little while later, I drove over there and burned and burned CDs for the next few days in New York.  When I met up with Alex and Leah again, we walked around town, thrift shopping and stopped at their friend’s bakery called Dosie Dough.  There we parted ways and I headed north for my show in New York.

My drive couldn’t have been any more stressful, as I should have left sooner, but somehow, I made it to Shrine right on time and didn’t have any trouble making my way over the GW Bridge, through Harlem and to a parking space immediately in front of the venue.  I tried two of the amps they had on stage and ended up not balancing the EQ very well on the one I chose.  It made for a really super bassy, not-so-easy-to-make out the words sound…this was all my fault.  That’s just the way it was.  After the show was over, I had a woman come up to me and tell me that she felt that the songs were very rich and meaningful, which meant very much.  She was my only CD purchase of the night, but it’s always nice when you get to sell a CD to someone you know will enjoy it.

After the show was over, I went outside to have dinner.  There, a Liberian man came to sit with me to enjoy his drink.  We got to talking and somehow we began discussing my line drawings, I showed him my Zap Book and his initial reaction was [in typical fashion] a bit confused.  Then, he began to see…and understand.  He asked me to illustrate a portrait of him, in exchange for a drink.  Of course, I accepted.  He was so proud of his drawing that he showed it to the couple sitting beside us.  I offered to make some for them as well; they were thrilled.  We all enjoyed the night and a good conversation over really perfect mojitos and afterward, the owner [I think] of Shrine insisted that a group of us go down to SoHo to Pianos.  I had heard a lot about Pianos, so I was eager to check it out.

It was all that it had been cracked up to be.  It was a bit rustic feeling, but fresh at the very same time.  The music was good and the energy was great.  It turned out that all of the guys I went there with were from Burkina Faso and we talked about life there and how much they love New York.  As I was walking away from the bar, someone said, “Is that really Nelly Kate?” and before I knew what was happening, Jess, a friend from college threw her arms around me and started the hundred questions.  I was so relieved to see someone that I knew and she insisted that I stay with her [which was a great improvement over my plans for a hostel in Times Square].  We went to the bar next door called The Living Room, watched the tail end of a performance there, and hung out with her friend Julian before heading back to her place in Queens.  It all made for a really great end to the evening.

I woke up and began to walk to the post office.  Something flitted at the corner of my eye and then, I felt feathers brush against my skin.  A bird had broken its wing and was drifting downward from a building above.  Usually, I would have stopped…compassion is my greatest weakness…but I could not.  I noticed an officer was about to ticket my car and continued on.

The post office was its usual self, bustling with business and a very long line.  I was writing an address, she was looking at her nails, two children were chasing one another around the partitions, he was filling out a form and then, an ungodly sound.  The sound of bone on concrete.  A man had collapsed in the corner of the room without warning.  He had hit his head very hard on a counter close by and his hand was bleeding.  I was very far away from him, so many people rushed toward him before me.  They were trying to stand him up and I insisted that they help him lay down in case anything was broken.  I was undone [inside] and powerless.  I wanted to be by his side to tell him that help was on the way and roll up the sleeves of of his button-down shirt.  I wanted to be sure he knew that someone was there for him to hold his hand…but I was crowded out, and I returned to the counter where I had been, to finish writing the address on the package.  I had bit my lip so that I would not cry and cry.

Somehow, moments like that can distill the essence of being human and the fragility of life for me.  I feel so alone on this journey.  But he–lying on the floor, his skin clammy, his eyes blank and his head resting on a pile of canvas mail bags–he must have felt the weight of an entire lifetime’s-worth of loneliness.  I felt like the whole world and its meaning was swirling in the room along the walls and ceilings in vignettes.

I was imagining him sitting on a bench near one idyllic bridge in Central Park, holding the hand of his wife of 50 years, her head, nestled beneath his shoulder.  Walking down the aisle of my wedding.  The cry of his first child.  A sunset on an endless horizon at sea.  Birds falling from the sky to the sidewalks below.  A little girl spinning in circles on a lush hilltop in early spring.  Forevers.  Forgottens.  Your dream job.  Getting fired.  Miles.  Hours.  Degrees.  Latitudes and longtitudes.  My heart was breaking breaking breaking.  He let out a moan that sounded like his life had come from somewhere deep within him and pressed itself through his vocal chords, on its way out.  This story doesn’t end with him dying on the tile floor of a post office in Queens.  The EMTs eventually arrived and snapped us all into their sterile reality…he was just another call in the midmorning to them.

north and east : a case for defensive driv[liv]ing

The speeding traffic of automobiles and life are much alike.  Every geographic place has its own patterns and rhythms as do life cycles.  I was seeking something fast, where the risks would be great and the possibilities looming in skyscrapers and gutters.  Something dense.

For a challenge, for sharp contrasts, for paintings and photographs, for illustrations, for bicycles, for music, for sounds, for disappointments, for competition, for collaborations, for films, for wide expanses of green fields, for 8 lane highways, for taxis, for angry horns, for pedestrians, for a disturbance…

To test the mettle of my work, and of my self.

It has been since I was very small that I have been making music…the music has been as routine as brushing teeth.  In ways, it has been one thing that has frequently gotten me into trouble…

Nelly, please don’t hum at the table.
Sorry Mom.
…
Nelly…?
Sorry Mom.

-or-

2nd grade : Mrs. Jenkins is reading a selection to the class; she has read the paragraph at least three times.  If she asked me–I could tell her that the boy in the story is wearing a blue cap, he’s riding a red bicycle and going three blocks to the local market to pick up a lemon for his mom, who is making a pie for his sister’s birthday.  I could have told you that two paragraphs before this one…so, instead of listening again, I am working on a song.  In my own way, I’m working on a symphonic piece [which I am humming softly].  In my head, there’s a backing band; a bass drum, brass section, piano [which i am playing on my desk], xylophones, strings, the works.  My eyes are fixed on the tray beneath the blackboard at bits of chalk and a dusty eraser, the rest of the room is a blur.  Even Mrs. Jenkins, as she saunters toward my desk and abruptly slaps it with a wooden ruler…

Nelly, go to the cubbies.

[The cubbies are in a closet, with all of our coats and backpacks.  I am afraid of the occasional cockroach that scurries across the tile so, I sit atop the cubbies...the throne of my punishment.  Aside from the fact that it's a little dark and musty, I kind of like it in here.  There are old cursive books in a corner that I read--most kids don't get to learn cursive until third grade; that's a smile at the corner of my mouth.]

Fast forward from 1991 to yesterday.  I stop in Baltimore to pick up some posters that Kaitlin had designed and screened for me.  They are really beautiful.  She and Evan are working hard to finish the set, puppets, and costumes of their production of Beowulf, which they are about to take on tour.  I spray paint some CDs and cases.  We grab lunch together at Yabba Pot, I eat a bowl of kale salad and nibble on their tofu ribs and rice.  Hugs, ‘will miss’es, and ‘good luck’s and I’m off…to see if anyone in the northeast likes my sound.

A little while later, I pull up to the Maennerchor.  My friends from Perkasie help me to load in all of my equipment at the Cathedral Room upstairs.  My very first tour stop is a sweet one.  The energy in the room is warm.  The high ceilings resonate the sound beautifully and the walls are covered with artwork and film projections.  I have never sold so much of my work at one setting.  This is a good solid beginning, I am pleasantly surprised and blessed in the same breath.

Music on Friday : Towards Migration [my new things], a compilation [Des Ark], House Arrest [Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti 5], My Maudlin Career [Camera Obscura], Strawberry Jams [Animal Collective], “The Light” [The Album Leaf], Catalpa [Jolie Holland].

one series of escapes

We* were invited to perform at the Beauty Bar and Cafe Mundi, both in Austin, TX; but for some reason, couldn’t get any shows along the way [until the last moments before we were set to depart]. So, Pablo went to Argentina for a wedding. I and went with Adam, my great friend who had offered to sub for Pablo, on a series of escapes from Staunton and my altered self (which has been developed over the last 2 years almost entirely unbeknown to me). And so, we found ourselves spontaneously in Richmond, Chincoteague, Pokomoke State Forest, Assateague, D.C., Baltimore and perhaps tomorrow in Berkeley Springs and Seneca Rocks.

I have a few stories to tell. Whale tales. Horse tales. Tales of silence and friendship. Tales of fires. As well as thoughts on death, urbanity and America. But, as such, all of these will have to wait. Missoula Oblongata, a New York theater company is here at The Annex, in Baltimore for their second round of performances of their play, “The Moon, the Racoon, the Hot Air Balloon.” I need to help set up.

One note of major consequence to the upcoming postdated entries is that my Sony Cybershot, of 5 years in age suddenly and unexpectedly died 6 miles back into the middle of nowheres without any backup to replace it. So, photo uploads will be difficult and photos will be generated via disposable cameras and hour-photo booths from this point on until I spontaneously begin making more money…

This is a brief announcement about more to come.

*we = Pablo + Me = Little Ocean Boy