Wherein I write too much about myself and not enough about Joanna Newsom and the CSO

Relatively last minute, I was able to score amazing seats to see Joanna Newsom perform with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. Roommate Tim and I sat on the main floor, center, second row after biking slowly (I was in a dress and shoes that clicked--yikes!) from the near-west side to downtown. I'd never seen the CSO nor I had ever been in the space and it's safe to assume that it was beautiful. The sound, the building, the hugeness of things. Everything was crisp and clear and I quickly drank a beer and sat down and had a throughly enjoyable time. Am I supposed to do anything other than gush? Her voice has gotten stronger and fuller and uuuhhhhh what else am I supposed to say other than it was so much better than I expected even though I expected total greatness? What does that become then? GREATNESS GREATNESS? Yes, let's settle on that.

The first half consisted of songs from Ys. And duh, of course it translated beautifully from record to stage because Van Dyke Parks is a genius and all of the musicians involved are terribly talented. Although there was no "danceploration" from the Drag City folks, it was particularly adorable when conductor Ryan Francesconi picked up an instrument part way through a song and kept his head bopping. Then intermission came, a break for fresh air, and more more more. I was and am still impressed by everyone. And have you seen Joanna Newsom live before? Talent. I mean, really, truly, even if you're not fond of her voice, it's a wonder that her hands move so and that she's still singing perfectly.

There was cute banter and overwhelming beautiful arrangements of songs that played a significant role in my life as Milk-Eyed Mender was one of the three most played albums during my stay in France (you know, one of those typical "coming-of-age" experiences because if I am anything at all, I am pretty normal).

My favorite song of the night? I don't know. I can't say. My favorite song from the second half? Maybe "Peach, Plum, Pear". Maybe not. Look, I can't choose! Here's a video from Brazil of a song that she also played on Friday night that's a contender for favorite:



If it's any indication to how the new album is shaping up, then gosh. Well, gosh. My goodness. I'm going to go melt somewhere now, thanks.

indie hip hop pop twee irony shut up

Have you heard of Yoome? Probably not. I found the above image on their Myspace page. Also, there's music there (what's up, music blog). It's really very good pop music--a tinge of melancholy and tongues situated firmly in cheek but with a sheen of (take a moment, wait for the word I'm going to choose next...) sincerity (bam! you thought I was going to say irony, right? Me too.) in these reality-inspired fictions and awkward but familiar sentiments that should make someone with a good ear and sense of humor laugh a small, self-contained chuckle. And I'm not saying this because I like everyone in the band. I actually listen to this project. "Whiskey and Peppermints" is my favorite.

Reckless Lots

I find record stores as uncomfortable as book stores. I love these places, but I am under-qualified to be there. I know nothing of music or books. I played the violin for a little while when I was younger but what kid didn't play the violin? Sure, I'm a writing student. That doesn't mean a thing if I can't focus to write what I need to write.

Record stores make my guts open up and let my heart dive into an acidic bath. I get so nervous. I bite my nails. I end up buying some album, any album. Please don't judge me, I think. Please be my friend and think that my selection means that I am an inviting and interesting person.

Admittedly, that's stupid. Pathetic. No one cares about what album I am buying, about what album I'm listening to, what song I'm obsessed with. No one really cares about much of anything, least of all some dippy girl who is clutching on to a Leonard Cohen album she already owns but will probably buy again anyway because she's forgotten her Ever-Growing List of Records That Should Be Bought. She's forgotten it because she's walked into a dim record store where everyone else knows everyone else and she's starting to bite her nails, really bite them, and goodness, that's the sound of a heart splashing and writhing inside of another organ, isn't it?