The only direct connection is the name. We’re rolling to Rosemary’s winery. I’ll take it. Rosemary’s winery, La Grange TX.
I never expected to see the band whose records I’ve kept in rotation since the late ‘90s. Any time I DJ’ed I played songs like “Song Against Sex” “A Baby for Pree” or “Holland 1945” and I could always spot the person hearing it for the first time who’d say, “Hey, who is this?” because they were touched.
It’s sexy, soul-conjuring, and unlike any other artist that there is. The lyrics and the mayhem takes you somewhere else in such a pioneering way, it’s almost hard to believe. Sometimes glum, other times pogo-danceworthy with horns that come alive, swell, and then collapse together.
There are spaces between the sounds that almost have control over you, giving you a chance to catch up and really feel the lyrics and imagine the intentions behind them. It’s visceral, graphic, and depicts life, fragility, and how the world can get pretty shitty sometimes.
The carnival-style accordion comes out unexpected, but full of humor, and even vim. But there’s an undeniable dolefulness to this band that drives non-fans nuts. For me, I get a feeling kind of like seeing an abandoned, old wooden rollercoaster. There’s an obvious history behind it; surely fun times, but now it’s creaky, weathered, and going to pot.
I was so pleased to see the line for the women’s room last night was equally long as the men’s. I credit the lyrics about “ovaries” in the song “Oh Comely.” What song has honored the ladyparts as well as this? As a woman, I feel perhaps not understood, but definitely thought of, and thought of well.
It is safe to say that no other band will ever sound like this, or strike these same chords that give us chills at the same time. I think of how lucky I am to be one of those people who has seen them live last night, and I smile.
This’d be a latergram, if I had posted it anywhere ever. Or at least earlier. But I put it here instead, and so are you. There may be a strip mall at the bottom of this pic I took last Friday, before the #shitshowshutdown but one of the best things here is the open sky.
Street art project operating from Brooklyn NY is 3-D printing these great small rabbits and 10K of them are around the world. This is mine from tonight. #mysterabbit
Unforgiven (1992 D: Clint Eastwood, W: David Webb Peoples) was one of the first Westerns I saw on my own volition. I told my then boyfriend/now husband, “Westerns are boring. I like French films.”
But Nick Tangborn took me and Doug Jones to see Unforgiven and all 3 of us enjoyed it. I loved the storyline about Eastwood’s character coming out of killing-retirement to kill a man who did something very wrong to a woman.
However unlawful, you root for him on his quest, because there are folks on the right side of the law doing the wrong thing; and folks on the wrong side of the law doing the right thing.
Like every Eastwood film, it was smart, gripping, and made to be seen.
The Bling Ring (2013 D: Sofia Coppola W: Sofia Coppola, Nancy Jo Sales) was a fun, eye-candy romp that intersected two of my favorite things: unattainably-priced fashion and modern architecture.
Based on real-life events, celebrity-lifestyle-obsessed teens in Los Angeles got online to find out when well-heeled celebrities would be out of town. Paparazzi photos showed what the houses looked like. At Rachel Bilson’s, a door was unlocked; at Paris Hilton’s, the key was under the mat.
Once inside, the teens entered the TMZ-glorified version of paradise. They tried on clothes, stole shoes that didn’t fit, and shoveled piles of jewelry and cash into whatever fancy luggage was in the homes. They re-entered the same homes so often, they even started to party.
Their first “take” was the infamous Hermes Birkin handbag. The girls have style and taste. They went to the hottest nightclubs and got bottle service with a lit sparkler on top. They were up to no good and uploading incriminating selfies with stolen loot to Facebook. They were always going to get caught.
The morality lesson is absolutely there in the film, and manages to not be condescending. This is why it doesn’t actually glorify the crimes (as Rachel Bilson herself said in the press). If anything, it makes you see how truly absurd it is to be enamored with celebrities — and Sofia herself would know.
Breaking the Waves (1996 D: Lars von Trier W: Lars von Trier, Peter Asmussen) made me sad for three days. When the matinee ended, I was destroyed. The outside world was hazy and fuzzy as the sweater Emily Watson wore every day.
However tragic, this is most of all, a love story. The unbridled power of romantic love at soulmate level happened in a small coastal village in North Scotland. There are multilayered forces of religion, illness, forgiveness and faith. There is extreme isolation, whether geographically or inside Bess’s mind.
Bess shows crushing devotion as she visits her newlywed husband Jan who has a serious diagnosis. The cameras get close and handheld, shrinking the confines of his potentially permanent hospital stay. And when she’s not at the hospital, Bess is being ostracized by the rest of the village.
It ‘s confusing, dejecting, and there is something so deep about it, it gets right to the bone marrow, full of gristle and jelly and musk.