…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