The Consumption! #2

I sat down to write this next post about the media I am binging on and — would you look at that — the 2016 Austin City Limits episode is on PBS with Ryan Adams and Shakey Graves. Duh. Ryan is a no-brainer. But, I’ve never given Shakey Graves a listen. Just fell under my radar, really. I’ve been doing Yoga With Adriene videos on YouTube for a few years now and I know he contributed the theme song. That’s all I know. But, man, this dude is crushing shit. He sounds awesome. So, yeah, gonna have to delve into that dude’s tunes.

Speaking of tunes, here’s some other stuff I’ve been listening to:

Forth Wanderers. They popped up on my Spotify discover playlist and I really dug it. Definitely in the category of a lot of newer bands that are clearly very influenced by the ’90s blah blah and all that same old tired shit that Pitchfork and Stereogum and whatever-the-hell-else article says. Whatever it sounds like, I like it. There’s a tone deaf, droney, unpolished sound that speaks to my angst.

Some other music I have reallllly been digging on is Trentemøller. He’s an electronic producer from Denmark. Super dancey goth rock. Another style that holds a really special place in my nostalgic heart. This particular song has a guest vocal from Jehnny Beth from Savages (whom I love, too…even more so after seeing them live this year. Such an ace band. Highly underrated).

Speaking of live shows, I am really jonesing for a Deftones show. We had tickets to their tour with Refused this fall, but things fell through. This is the first year in a long time I haven’t gone to a Deftones show. HOWEVER, today the mail gifted us with our Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds tickets for June (JUNE. IT’S SO FAR AWAY). But, the anticipation for that bucket list gig will carry me for quite some time. So unbelievably stoked for that show.

Music done. Let’s move on to this AWESOME podcast (I’m sorry I keep ALL CAPS yelling and giving these asides; feeling a little scattered today). It’s called Homecoming. It’s new, so there’s not a lot of catching up to do.

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Amazing cast: Catherine Keener, Oscar Isaac, David Cross, David Schwimmer, and Amy Sedaris. I don’t want to give away too much of the plot, but it’s damn good fiction with absolutely fantastic and realistic production. You feel like you are IN this story. It is exceptional and you should totally be listening to it if you like podcasts.

Welp, this has been fun yet again. I am about to go watch the newest SNL. I’m already fantasizing about the new pillow Joe bought me today, so I doubt I’ll make it through the whole episode. Whatevs.

Peace, y’all. x

 

 

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Bright & Busy – Personal Style Evolution & Art Inspiration

I’ve been working on a lot of commission work lately, so the other night I took some time to work on updating my own denim jacket. A close friend sewed me a new patch and I had a couple vintage patches I’ve been sitting on for a few years (yikes!) that really needed a new home. I love that jacket. I bought it for maybe $10 at Avalon Exchange in Oakland (Pittsburgh, PA) in maybe 2004. Memory is fuzzy about the nitty gritty (pointless) details, but I remember picking it up and seeing the moon and star buttons like it was yesterday. I have such distinct memories of combing the racks of that store. I was in an intense Morrissey phase at the time (some things never change, just evolve a bit), so I was on an obsessive mission to find the perfect denim jacket.

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Mega babe inspiration.

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My own patch in the middle I’m pretty proud of. Still so much space to explore and fill on this thing.

I’ve always been more inspired by quirky and outcast men’s fashions than super girly style. Not to say I look at a beautiful feminine aesthetic and cringe, it just isn’t my go-to ensemble. The days I go super femme, I am not being completely honest with myself. I am open to experimentation, but I feel most comfortable in jackets, t-shirts, jeans, and flannel.

Another one of my clothing inspirations is Ryan Adams. Something about him feels like home. I cannot explain it, but he speaks to me on many levels. I’m pretty sure his influence on my life is painfully overplayed. I have the tattoos to prove it. Sorry, guys (no, I’m definitely not).

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Ry at Newport Folk Festival, 2014, repping Terminator and the Canadian tuxedo.

Speaking of Ryan Adams, he shares a birthday with the late, great Gram Parsons. I’m sitting here sipping a glass of Riesling listening to The Guilded Palace of Sin by The Flying Burrito Brothers. Let’s talk about Mr. Parsons and the Nudie Suit and a style I’m in the mood of not only emulating, but creating and adapting to my own art style, as well.

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Gram in the Nudie Cohn original design.

These bright and bold designs have me so inspired, people. I’ve always had this style subconsciously on my radar, but, lately, I am particularly drawn to the vivid beauty. I’m not saying I want to start sewing polyester suits, but I am saying I want to start upcycling some thrifted and vintage pieces with lucid designs that scream: “I’M ALIVE, MOTHERFUCKER!” I’ve also just heard of Manuel Cuervas. I’m woefully behind, man.

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Manuel Cuevas suits

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Jack White in Manuel Cuevas garb.

When I was a kid, there were two things I always said I wanted to be when I grew up: a cartoonist and a fashion designer. Why not combine the two?

When the rope gets tight…

I was reminded the other day while listening to Jacksonville City Nights (for the umpteenth time) of an old man that would predictably visit his wife’s grave every Sunday afternoon at the cemetary on Park Drive where I spent a good portion of my high school life.  Barb and I would always lament this man’s sad demeanor, the length at which he would gaze upon her headstone silently, his dedication to the dead.  I never spoke to him, only watched him from Kent’s porch.  He must have really loved that woman. . .

His undying dedication got me thinking about the idea of the muse.  I truly think muses are underrated in today’s society, especially in America.  I mean, we have American Idols, celebrities, and public figures, but all we usually do is demonize them and pick them apart to somehow compensate for whatever it is that we are lacking in our own lives.  I’m talking about a real muse.  Someone or something that just grabs you so tight by the balls and drags you into every achingingly beautiful and heartfelt part of yourself that it feels like sometimes you could physically puke.  I pity people who don’t know what I’m talking about.

I have had a deep connection since junior year English class with the Romantic Era of literature.  I identified with the textbook definition of a Romantic poet, because it felt to me like I should have lived in that time.  I should have commisserated with those writers.  Those people.  It was one of the first times (besides listening to Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness) that I felt like I wasn’t alone in my thoughts, and that even if I was, I was ok.  Joe and I watched Bright Star the other night and seeing Keats’ dedication to Fanny Brown, his muse, on screen was just gorgeous.  It wasn’t so much the romance that I identified with, but the longing.  I have always been a dreamer, creating scenarios in my head, too afraid to actually let those thoughts come to fruition.  I have always…yearned (to quote Seinfeld). 

When thinking about the concept of a muse, I feel liberated again.  It’s ok to be moved to tears by someone else.  My muse is Ryan Adams.   I don’t care how that sounds, but his music (particularly that done with the Cardinals) has ignited something creative and passionate inside me that has been dormant for a long time.  It disappoints me, however, because he has basically retired.   I don’t know if I will ever get to see the Cardinals live and that just crushes me because I know it would be otherworldly for me right now.  I listened to the music the most while I was pregnant with Eliot and I haven’t stopped obsessing about it since.  It symbolizes such a large transition in my life and I can honestly say that I can see it carrying me much farther into the future.  This music is adulthood for me.  It makes me feel so heavy and full of life, even though sometimes it stomps all over me. 

If there is anything that my husband Joe has fostered in me, it’s my intense and creative side.  He encourages my obsession.  He thrives on passion and I am so thankful that I can openly celebrate the things that used to be so intensely personal with someone else that understands.   I honestly think that I am his muse, though I have never asked him and I don’t know what he would say.  Though I would never wish it upon either of us, I am pretty sure that he would visit my grave every Sunday.