Reluctant Gay Icon

Thanks to the kindness of a friend I was able to see Rufus Wainwright at the Pabst Theater Monday night. Strange thing is, until I was offered the tickets, I had no idea he was even playing. I also knew none of his new songs and hadn't heard anything of his since the Poses era stuff, 3 albums ago. Granted I'd seen Rufus at the 9:30 Club way back in 2002, but my have things changed. No longer was he the long haired youth playing the piano alone; now he confidently stood in front of a large band, occasionally tickled the keys, and played the guitar; along with 3 other guitarists, a bass player, drummer, and 2/3 horns. But his voice is still unique and powerful. I went with no expectations but the hope to hear "Cigarettes & Chocolate Milk".

Performing to a packed crowd at the Pabst, Milwaukee's gay community came out in full force. It is worth noting a few things: the band were in absurd designer costumes, there was less playful banter than before, and the whole event was being taped for a DVD. Therefore they redid songs and re-started songs a few times. I didn't realize how popular the guy was/is until the show, not only was the venue packed, but fans knew every song, stood, screamed, and were emotionally moved at every lyric. I enjoyed it, but have to admit I was yawning at points and often more interested in watching the roving filmmakers than the band. That isn't to say it was a dull show, just that I was tired, knew none of his music, and frankly preferred the mellow tunes to the slightly dance and rock oriented numbers being thumped about.

The early set consisted of mellow tracks with heavy acoustic guitars. My references are limited, so it reminded me of Dreamland era Aztec Camera and Ryuichi Sakamoto. Later there were straight up dark tracks, then a slew of Judy Garland covers, some Celtic ballads, and rocking stuff from the new cd.

I have nothing else to say about the show other than the random things it brought to my mind. For example, my brother had an idea that music fans are like sports fans and instead of talking about athletes we talk about this drummer from this band is moving to this band, instead of the linebacker is being traded from The Bears to The Falcons. I know it is a strange idea, but kinda true, especially with most music buffs not to athletic (not even into armchair athletics). Having missed 5 years of Rufus' music reminded me of my own inability to stay in touch with pro sports when I once knew minor league goalies who later went to the NHL All-Star team. Or I think that Mark Messier is still playing in Edmonton (FYI he retired after NYC). I feel the same way about music, that when I stopped listening, time stopped. Rufus Wainwright should still have long hair, smoke during the set (which he didn't do), be on dope, and sing "Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk". Well, 5 busy years came and went and people did stuff, and changed, and well, that is life. I just can't be bothered.

What else, hmmm...Rufus dressed in Lederhosen for the Milwaukee crowd which was a nice touch. He also invited fans and his current lover on stage for some antics. At the end of the show (which approached 2 hours!) the guitarist played a banjo to two swooning girls up front and I looked back at the mad crowed cheering for an encore and thought of the Joe Strummer show I saw 5 years ago and how the fans still cheered and wouldn't budge after 2 encores and the bouncers commenting that they'd never seen such devotion. I remember that show and almost cried remembering the acoustic version of "Island Hopping" Joe did as his 2nd encour . Anyway, enough indulgence. I left the show with my friend without seeing the encore. I guess I'll get a 2nd chance in 2012. Dag.

After arriving at home tired and bleary eyed, I couldn't go to bed because the perfect weather and full moon just demanded my attention!

FYI: I later read that the show went 3 hours, he dressed in drag, and did a choreographed dance with the band! Maybe we shoulda stayed a little while longer.

10 years later

This just in, after 10 years of hiatus, waiting, and scouring short stories collections for SOMETHING to satiate us, Junot Diaz is back!! Yes, this is no lie, read the Village Voice story. In case you didn't live in New Jersey when Diaz was heralded as a saviour, you need to look this guy up. His success in the mid-90s came for a number of reasons, a powerful new Dominican writer when there aren't many, an immigrant Jersey Boy (stories named Edison quantify this) who went to Rutgers and was blasting holes in the American Dream. The profs at Rutgers found anyway imaginable to squeeze his stories into the curriculum, no matter what the department. His prose then was lean, angry, and dirrrty. The kinda stuff that would seep onto the page like acid. One friend whom I made read Drown felt like she needed to take a shower afterwards. But it wasn't a dark book, just gritty and realistic, and blunt. I really love Drown, it is one of the few short story collections I've read and reread for the last 8 years. Now there is finally new material from Mr. Diaz. I haven't read the new book, and when I do I'll review it here. If you don't know about Junot, get his new book, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, or find Drown at your library and read it now!!

Why blogs are no good

5. There are too many to try and navigate them all without successfully wasting your life.

4. If you are lucky enough to find a good blog it is usually defunct after a few months and the decent links long expired.

3. They are narcissistic looking glasses that serve no purpose but to help one kill time online and show off the useless trash the writer finds on the net.

2. Only 10% of those people posting blogs have anything interesting to say. Do I really need to know that you once played bass in a shoe-gazer band in 11th grade or have a fetish for grape Hubba-Bubba?

1. No one reads them! Why don't we all stop this nonsense and go back to journaling. Then the only person forced to trudge through someone else's self-absorbed ramblings are relatives that dig these journals out of the attic once you die.

Don't look back in anger...

Driving through Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona I was forced to endure an epic amount of country music. The din of country ceased only for hip-hop as we crossed the Navajo reservation or found a good tejano song. However, I found myself enjoying country after the 10th straight hour. One song stood out, Jake Owen's "Starting With Me". It is a little melodramatic, which one comes to expect. Half of the country I heard rambled about how everything was, "Better before....". Whether they are lamenting lost love, dead dogs, missing fathers, memories of camping with Coleman lanterns and cans of good ole' American Coca-Cola, every country singer is here to tell you how it all went wrong. "Starting With Me" is no different, but reminds me of my own ongoing laments about nearly everything I've done. Enjoy!

Morning coffee

Complaints are pouring in by the dozen (I wish) that I have failed to update my blog with accounts of a recent trip to the rainy Southwest. However, my sister has the photos so until she sends them my way that shall have to wait.

In the meantime I’ll recommend a coffee to y’all. I must start with the disclaimer that my friend, a Barista Guild Member and director of Coffee Quality at Murky Coffee, states that, “No good coffee comes from Bolivia”. Maybe it is true, but I don’t buy it. One of the world’s highest grown coffees, Bolivian Anjilanaka, a direct trade, organic offering by Intelligentsia (one of America’s finest roasters) caught my eye this spring by it’s description of walnut, licorice, and vanilla flavors. I think it was the walnut and licorice that got me, I’m mad for both. I ignored my friend's advice and purchased a pound of the stuff, something I’d wanted to do before, but previous attempts were derailed by temptations of Rwandan and Columbian coffee.

Many of you may scoff at the idea of coffee with such luxurious descriptions. But with single origin, high quality coffees, it is no laughing matter. Okay, maybe it is, but have a sip and taste the difference yourself. If one brews fine coffee properly and has a decent pallet, the subtle differences are very apparent. Granted, I think people go overboard describing coffees as having a hint of buttered toast, but the general principal is well-grounded and does add more depth and vibrancy to life. I will still mock those championing single origin chocolate’s mango hints, but with coffee, it is as true as with wine. Meanwhile…back in reality.

After a 3 month wait, I boiled the water, ground my beans and brewed a press pot. The first cup or two were unremarkable, decent flavor, but no body. It was too thin. Yesterday, however, I tried again and it tasted so good I greedily sucked it down. This time the flavors really came out in rich, deep, and sugary walnut. So much so that I felt as if I was drinking a liquid nut pastry, and this with no sugar or milk added. I drank a whole french press on my lonesome because of this sweet, sweet flavor. Today, I detect hints of melon and maybe just a little vanilla edge as well. It may not have the notoriety of other South American beans, but it is a wonderful coffee, and one which forces us not to write off all Andean coffees.