…and it ends on the porch.

I’m not all too sure where it began. And at this point, it doesn’t seem to matter. Its late April, due to be 91 degrees tomorrow, I’ve rekindled my love for unsweetened ice tea (thanks dad) and two trees provide subtle cover between their green leaves and pink flowers. Reminisce of late evening weekend decadence are piled in the corner, while once structured candle wax seals the lumiere to the porch.

It’s been nearly a year since graduation and I feel no less excited for tomorrow than I did June 17th 2008. While “big life events” seem to benchmark our memories, graduations, weddings and birthdays are not the events that I recall. Hacky sack during AP Government outweighs prom by light years. Porch nights and Mario Kart over shadow move-in-day like king sheets on a twin bed. And walks that start before dinner and end after breakfast may be the pinnacle of my past, yet.

As the birds answer their own questions and have more to pick at, off the branches of trees, I’m having a hard time holding the structure of the week/weekend. It all blends together, the clothes do not change, my habits stay consistent and I don’t look forward to two days any more than I do the other five. I’ve always appreciated times of discomfort and downright agony as times when I could really look at myself. Cause who’s ever aware enough to scrutinize anything when they’re happy?

Well, it seems for the first time, that I am aware of myself and in no state of discomfort, either physically or mentally. (Canvas slip-ons and linen pants- case in point.)

This is not to say I haven’t enjoyed, and more importantly appreciated spring in the past. Is life what I’ve made of it, or how I remember it?

The ice in my tea is beginning to melt and the record just ended. Seems like a good time to grab something long sleeve.

--d.

Horn tunes...lots and lots of horn tunes.

In order for this entry to be truly understood, you should head here, and allow the salty-sexy sounds of Black Joe Lewis and The Honey Bears to flow through your bass poundin computer speakers…
Last Tuesday, I was coming home from a tasty dinner of potato flautas and chicken tacos when I ran into my neighbor at the local provisions…great dude (also a Midwest transplant) who instantly started ranting about some horn band he was checkin out at The Middle East later than night. After a bit of email checkin/CBS drama watching, I stammered down the street and forfeited last night’s tips for entry into The Mid East Upstairs.
I was instantly bombarded with an onslaught of horn and drum and soul and funk…did I mention horns?? The opening band, who will forever remain nameless, and who I had yet to know- was my introduction into a live-horn double whammy of a week. Nomo hit the stage with a casual vengeance, waltzing into a set wrapped around a quiet baritone sax on the right hand corner of the stage. All I could think was how thrilled I was to have gotten off my ass and done something with my Tuesday night.
I was particularly susceptible to the evening, as I had been pleasantly surprised by the suggestion of an old friend at the local record shop a few days before. I walked in with a mission: Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings. (The Dap-Kings you may recognize as the backing band to Amy Winehouse as well.) And I walked out with Brotherman, a soundtrack to the blacksploitation film of same name, which was never produced. I’ve grooved no harder than I did that first evening with those records in a constant back and forth across my turntable.
Two nights after my Nomo experience, we had an event at Uniform (my primary place of business) where the tunes were provided by Ken Powers, premier DJ of The Pill, local dance night in dive bar central, Allston Rock City. My betterhalf, coworkers and I decided to check this Pill out the following night, so after a tasty burger we headed westward, into what…we were not quite sure. Arriving at Great Scott, it was a mish-mash scene of hipsters and slouchers, slackers and pre-madonnas. We fit right in.
There was a bit of noise over the crowd, typical set break top-40s. It was one of those nights that happens each spring, where everyone realizes they can leave the house sans-coat, and allows that joy to carry them through the crowded, sweaty mess that is their peers.
Not long after we arrived, the opening band to Ken’s set strode onto the stage, and a wirey-wiesely figure got on the mic. “Ladies and Gentlemen, from Austin Texas, Black Joe Lewis and The Honey Bears!”
For the second night that week, I fell victim to the power of the horn, and tapped my toes to stir the gods. I smiled, and I rocked…and I hooted and hollered my way through an hour of soul crushing Texan rhythm and blues. For the second night that week, I couldn’t imagine what I had been doing if I hadn’t happened upon the live tunes going on minutes from my caving-in humble abode.
Halfway through the set, a shadowy figure grazed by and I spotted a familiar bat inked across his arm. That ol’ buddy from the record shop and found his way to the Black Joe Lewis gig…from Sharon Jones to The Honeybears, it had come full circle. It’s a small city when you play it right, and that’s something I can’t seem to remember until I'm reminded. Cheers to that, and if you're still rockin to BJL & THB's...I end my rant with them. --d

Last night I told myself I was going to blog about Elvis Costello...and I think that sentiment sums up what I've been up to for the past 19 days.
I went to Iowa City, Iowa back on March 6th for my sister's dance performance. She is a ballet/education double major and is now part of the dance company at school. She even spent Spring Break in Mexico City, traveling the show with the company. The experience of being an older sibling, going to my younger sibling's event put everything in perspective in a way that nothing else ever has. Whether it's a performance, graduation, or wedding, watching a younger sibling in her own environment, a place that I have nothing to do with, did a lot to show me what I left behind when I came to Boston. Before she went school, I could accurately picture my sister's life while I was away at school. Going to the same school, hanging out in the same surrounding towns, and at least for the first couple of years, living in the same house.
But now she has her own life, her own setting, a place that I've barely seen, let alone experience. When I was younger, I liked to think that the world stopped when I went to sleep. When I broke up with my girlfriend sophomore year of high school, if just made sense that she would cease to exist...Imagine my surprise when I bumped into her at Barnes & Noble five years later, over winter break.
I've often thought of an idea or a conviction, but kept my conclusions reserved until the idea has been tested. This trip was that test for my thoughts on the lives people lead after I've left them. Yes, egocentric, I know. But lets get honest, how else do I relate to the world? "The reality of the cup is that it is there, and it is not me." --Sartre. I'm just getting gritty.
The company of my turntable last night, was yet another test of conviction, though far more deliberate...
Elvis Costello is one of those artists that's easy to love, and en vogue with his recent collaboration with Jenny Lewis. My admiration/slight addiction with the Rilo Kiley front lady has spilled over onto Costello, though I've enjoyed The Beat ever since I saw Fast Times at Ridgemont high in 1995. I have a couple of his records, and was excited to pick up Momofuku, his newest effort, released in 2008, and featuring Ms. Lewis as premier backup vocalist.
And so yesterday, I put my Elvis Costello fanhood to the test, playing three records...nonstop, until all the Elvis I had played through, and I could, once and for all, claim my love for EC and his assorted backing bands. The test was a success: he's passed the exam of time (his catalog spanning roughly 30 years) and I loved every minute of it. From Pump It Up, to The Imposter and American Gangster Time, it was an Elvis Costello rock-show...in my Central Square bedroom.
My conclusion for the bulk of March, 2009...check in with those you left at home, they've probably become extraordinary, or at least, pretty cool people since the last time you hung out with them. And listen to Elvis Costello/Jenny Lewis. Cheers --d

Viva La Siesta.

They say that a snake sheds its skin four to eight times a year. They also say that you have completely different cells now, than you did some time ago (exact timing I can't quite remember). As I research pesto recipes online I am beginning to realize the truth in what "they say." Granted, I am no snake, boa constrictor or other species, but in certain ways, ways that are certainly more important than skin, I feel like a completely different person than I did...some time ago.
It may all just be a consequence of my environment, though I can't help but feel that there's been a shift leading me toward home made salsas and a new-found interest in the gadgets of Crate & Barrel. Band t-shirts now go under button downs and over dark wash jeans, instead of year-round faded cords. Surface examples, sure, but for the first time that I can remember, I found inspiration in the morning, inspired enough to do something about it, not just sleepily enjoying the sunrise.
Every Wednesday I wake up for work around 6am, a time that I used to think was reserved for high schoolers and those who work the elusive "9-5." But this morning in particular, I opened one of my sets of blinds, allowing in a sun that has just recently began to wake up with me on these mid-week mornings. Everything from the frigid floorboards to my bagle warming in the steam from my shower (me being too lazy to plop it in the oven while I wash my hair) brought some amount joy to an already above average morning.
The day continued on, but I kept coming back to the morning, not wondering why it was so good, but merely wondering how I could repeat it as often as possible (still not fully understanding why it was so good to begin with.) Thinking about such things is not foreign to me, but it still felt different. I understand that the same thought processes feels different when more life experiences are behind them, but understanding something, and experiencing it with that understanding in mind, are two totally different things.
My hands are dry, and cracked with white lines from a day of cardboard and paper. I begin to understand a mid-afternoon pleasure that's been foreign to me, as school was often followed by work, and I could never embrace a proper nap in high school or college. It appears that now, in my twenty-third year (soon to be twenty-four), the nap and I are going to draw closer, from aquantinces to lovers in a matter of months I'm sure.

15 Albums

Inspired by a buddy's Facebook Note, here we are...

The Challenge: Think of 15 albums that had such a profound effect on you they changed your life or the way you looked at it. They sucked you in and took you over for days, weeks, months, years. These are the albums that you can use to identify time, places, people, emotions. These are the albums that no matter what they were thought of musically shaped your world. When you finish, tag 15 others, including me. Make sure you copy and paste this part so they know the drill. Get the idea now? Good. Tag, you're it!

1- Buddy Holly, Best of...
For lack of a better compilation, any Best of truly will do. Buddy Holly taught this subruban dude how to appreciate the roots...Everyday.

2- Blink 182, Dude Ranch
It's 1997, I'm 12 yrs old, wearing over sized blue camo shorts and I have found something special in Dammit, Voyeur (though pales in comparison to Toot's Peeping Tom) and A New Hope. Many-a bus rides and study hall periods were spent reading X-Men books to this striped down, fully popped record.

3- Green Day, Dookie
It's loud, short (39 min) and irreverent, and its all I needed out of music while playing Tony Hawk Pro Skater.

4- The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Let's Face It
Though my reggae tastes of be striped down in years to come, without The Rascal King, I never would have found the likes of Desmond Dekker and Ken Booth so soon, stopping off at Rx Bandits and Satori along the way. The Impression That I Get was the theme song to my first car, 1995 Ford Windstar, hunter green...it had soul.

5- Fatboy Slim - On the Floor At The Boutique
It was freshman year of high school I believe, and I decided to become a breakdancer. I wasn't bad, if I remember right...which is iffy. But what I do remember is this record being played over and over as we totted lenolym from driveway to basement to deserted after school meeting room.

6- Cake, Comfort Eagle
Sophmore year, for sure. It's Current Events class, and TG throws a couple Cake records my way. That summer I got my first longboard in Stone Harbor, NJ. Shadow Stabbing is still on my top 5 songs of all time, and Love You Madly is taps toes and hearts alike.

7- The Rocket Summer, Calender Days
Pure, unadulterated pop music. It's a small child's birthday party on a record, and if we all remember a little place called The Beat Kitchen, all I can say is confetti...confetti.

8- The Animals, Retrospective
Much like Buddy Holly, it may be more the band than the record in the case of The Animals. It was The Animals that showed me why soul and rock 'n' roll were meant to be brought together in a Brit-rock manner. Baby Let Me Take You Home...it don't get much better than that at 2am, beer in hand and lady on your arm.

9- Rancid, ...And Out Come The Wolves
Though their later effort lacks...well...everything,

Rancid's third record is 19 songs of pure West Coast punk rock. I realize in 2009 "punk rock" is nothing short of The Jonas Brothers, but ten years back and Rancid ruled over a pile of lesser known (and for good reason) acts. In a scene that fizzled faster than The S Club 7, AOCTW has survived.

10- Jurassic 5, Quality Control
Another b-boy favorite, J5 takes the hip hop cake on this top 15. They follow a long tradition of quality mc-dj team ups, but for me, it was the perfect combination. Jurass Finish First - nuff said.

11- The Wailers, Burnin'
They may be overplayed and over praised, but before Marley became the poster child for Jamaican tourism, he was part of the Wailers. Peter Tosh was still in the band, along with Bunny, Family Man and Bob, they redefined reggae (Think what Alan Moore did for comics with The Watchman or the film The Jazz Singer in 1952.) I Shot The Sheriff and Get Up Stand Up aside, this record came to on the B-side, with Put It On, Duppy Conquer and Small Axe.

12- The Aggrolites, Reggae Hit LA
Dirty...soul...funk...reggae. Aggro is it for modern reggae. period. Though Countryman Fiddle blows doors on their first record, Free Time is the all-in-all of reggae post 2000. Of all the shows, and all the dancin, its The Aggrolies that have provided me with the greatest show experience of my life. 4 times.

13- Trojan Boxset: Rocksteady.
Stripped down, analog reggae music. Without the years 1966-1968 reggae would be nothing more than upside down ska beat. Granted there would be no complaint there, but with the advent of lovers rock, reggae has never been the same. Red Red Wine, Wear You To The Ball and People Rocksteady are just 3 of 50 tracks that were my reggae training as a junior in high school. Doesn't hurt that Steve Borth from RXB and Satori introduced me the Trojan Boxset series.

14- Rilo Kiley, Under The Blacklight
Granted, Rilo Kiley has been a house favorite for years, and their newest sound is far from The Frug, but it seems that anything Blake Sennett and Jenny Lewis touch stays with me long enough to find itself on this list. Rabbit Fur Coat and Sun, Sun, Sun were both on the short list, but it was Breakin' Up and 15 that succured Under The Blacklight as representation for the Sennett/Lewis catalog.

15- The Clash, London Calling
Prepering for this record with their two previous ones, London Calling is the pinicale of my Clash experience. From stat to end, its Illinois, its New jersey, its backpackin, its road trippin, its Boston. Breakfast, lunch and dinner, London Calling is anytime, anywhere.

Scoopin' Tunes...

These days, most scoop nights yield a bit of work, a lot of reading, and a good amount of people-watching from behind the counter and atop a makeshift stool...two milk crates to be exact.
But tonight was different. Tonight, time went by with little thought of when time would go by, and before I knew it, time had gone by. It started with a staff meeting, nothing crazy, just a chance for there to be more than one person in the shop at a time, a rare chance these days. I missed most of the meeting as I was "working" as well, thus preparing the few milkshakes that came my way and missing the musings of my managers reminding us to get back to basics and wear close-toed shoes. I'm sure there was more, but like I said...milkshakes.
Some of my mid-meeting visitors were not ice cream seekers at all, but two communications students from Simmons. Their purpose for coming, if not for ice cream, was to track down willing subjects for a project for a film editing class. They were interviewing folks on their connections with music, as well as gathering answers to High Fidelity-esque questions: favorite record, tracks, genres, etc.
As it would not be appropriate for me to miss out on the dress code review and the upcoming B&J's Facebook promotions updates, I promptly asked them to return post-meeting.
They did, and somewhere out there (well I can probably narrow it down to the Simmons dorms) is me babbling on about rocksteady, The Clash, Belle and Sebastian, and my first concert (other than a handful of Christian hardcore and ska shows in middle school, my first major show was Rusted Root at a small club in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, 2001).
A quiet man with minimal distinguishing features came by and ordered a one scoop of chocolate fudge brownie. After procuring and enjoying his purchase, he approached the counter and inquired as to the players we had been enjoying. My tunes of choice this evening focused on Cake and their records Comfort Eagle, Prolonging the Magic and Pressure Chief.
Again, music was the topic of choice, and I couldn't help but muse over my coming weekend, which will include an evening of full of good tunes. This Saturday I'm having a close handful of friends over to enjoy the finer things in life, an evening of BYOB/M if you will.
Each person will be bringing a bottle of choice craft beer and a short mix tape (5-7 tracks) to share with the group. Compiling my selection has been a daunting task filled with light bulb memories of songs long forgotten and the mental thumbing through of my iTunes in search of the perfect musical conversation topic.
The evening winded down with a snowy walk home, the Harvard to Central Sq. trek filled with larger than life flakes, a single worn path along Mass Ave, and a well kept eye out for a new record store opening up on the edge of Central. Weirdo Records is an online shop-turned-store that opens its doors on Friday the 6th. A perfect pre-listening party destination.
As I write this I've been listening to The Cardigans and their record, Life. Recorded in 1996, I was eleven, and I believe my first CD was given to me at Christmas, The Space Jam soundtrack. R. Kelly and I have come a long way. Returning to my past has produced unforeseeable treasures. cheers --d

P.S.

A bit of babble...

The more I wonder through the freedom of schedule-flex the more time I have to wonder and thing. I wonder if I would think of the same things I do know if I was sitting in an office with slacks and a shirt with six-seven buttons. These things that I think, they are trival and mundane, non consequential and timely, but always prevalent it seems. I recognize the patterns as they happen, which is something new, and I believe comes with age. Whether it's listening to Jenny Lewis non-stop for days upon end, or falling asleep to the same forward thoughts of future and fond memories of the past, I have grown to enjoy my own patterns, and at least until this moment...have done so while weilding off the powerful attack of the mid-winter cold.
I've been fighting the sniffles for days now, ignoring the signs of fatigue brought on by bike riding in tempuraturs bellow that of ten, eating nothing but burritos and falafel....though I refuse to believe that the diet of kings has anything to do with my current physical disposition, as I believe it has everything to do with my emotional demeanor. Though at the conclusion of this little writing exerices I will partaking in what I hear, are some damn fine hamburgers at the Miracle of Science Pub. Local MIT hangout I hear, I'm looking to infultrate on behalf of the low brow working class. Welll...not to sure if I am low brow, or can be considered part of the working class? Huh...what young adult plight do I assosiate with? Definitly not young professional...and I'm not currently in school. It seems I lack a peer group at which to identify, not uncommon, in fact, I'd say its down right per usual.
Any stage of life you have yet to live through can only been seen as compartmentalized for convenience. With only so many outcomes, the future appears less scary. But as you get into a stage of life, the variences and x-factors present themselves, and it becomes obvious that no one, and I truly believe no one, does it the same as another. Nothing is as it seems until its over and you can look at it again, and then you realize it is, only what you remember it to be. It's an introspective time here on Watson Street.

The Hulk is Always Greener on the Other Side...

Welcome back New Year readers! While you've enjoyed a semester break, I packed my winter solstice into one fantastic week at home. Chicago brought a first-night Snowsera gig (my best buddies band, who is shamelessly promoted at the bottom of this blog) at Schubas downtown, lots of family focused around Christmas cookies, specifically the little balls with nuts and frosting, and the Blokus board. If you've yet to challenge your loved ones to a game of Blokus, run, don't walk to your nearest board game retailer and pick up this game de force.
Objective: silently make alliances while destroying those who lack telepathic bargaining skills.
A fan favorite in the Allison house hold at the holidays.
I thought I was going to truly miss the "semester break," but whether it be in the Gap stock room or at the Noodles and Co. counter (I realize that you may have never heard of this haven for noodle lovers, but if you ever venture out to the Midwest or beyond, look 'em up, your pallet will be elated) I was always working during these breaks. So slinging ice cream, countin comics and selling clothes were far from a stretch for this workaholic.
Workaholic, a label that I've been pinned with for most of my late teen, and all of my early twenties life. Have I been fortunate enough to enjoy my place of employment, the people I work for and with, and on the whole, the customers who frequent my places of business, absolutely. Do I love my weekends that fall on Monday and Tuesday...without question. So why have I always picked up shifts, stayed late, and had no problem coming in early?
I like productivity, I like contributing to something other than myself, for in turn I feel better about the time I do take for myself. Which is an interesting way to look at it - for all things that I find worthy of my time, is time taken for myself.
Wanting what we do not have is somewhat of a tradition in the human condition. And how we go about it is what differentiates us from one another. Wanting what we don't have can either be interpreted as wanting what another has, or wanting to better improve what we already posses. It can even be identified as wanting to free ourselves of something we are already carrying. Perhaps this has been the catalyst for my love and infatuation with the superhero genre. Modernized archetypes handling the woes of the every-man with challenges that mirror yet idealize our own. The villain most always wants what the hero has, becoming the incarnation of the hero's ideal, turned on its head. (See Iron Man's Iron Monger). Iron Man himself expresses his need to improve himself by improving his armor, taking it through stages that parallel what he is going through personally. Heroes such as the Hulk or Wolverine are on a constant search to expend their past ghosts and relieve the pain that comes with their genetic and genetically altered charges. Though, all the while, they follow Spidy's Uncle Ben philosophy, "With great power, comes great responsibility."
So what it is that I take from my comic readings?
The story isn't told in one issue, or in one arch...a story never truly has an end, merely a lead in to the next adventure. It ain't over until life is so uninteresting that you stop stop picking up your own book every week. Hell, when I stop enjoying life to the point that I can't find even an ounce of worth while experience in the simplest of tasks, the important will never be appreciated, and that is a life not worth living. Cheers --d