Diego's Umbrella

I am making a conscious effort to blog every Thursday night.  (This started two Thursdays ago.)  So this blog on a Saturday evening is a transgression, a breaking of the rules.  But I saw a band last night, and I can't stop myself from telling you about them.  The band is called Diego's Umbrella.  They are the worst band I have ever seen.

Abbey and I went to the Independent in San Francisco to see a band called Vagabond Opera, out of Portland.  After Vagabond Opera finished their show and pulled down their cloth banner at the back of the stage, Diego's Umbrella hoisted up their banner with the band's logo.  The logo looked like a Billabong advertisement or an Abercrombie & Fitch poster.  But I didn't think too much of it.  Maybe it was ironic.

I had heard good things about Diego's Umbrella.  A friend, who I ran into at the show, had an ex-boyfriend who is a friend of the lead singer of Diego's Umbrella.  And the band is made up of guys from the East Bay, where I'm from, so that was potentially good.  And they have a great name: Diego's Umbrella.  I love that name. I had never heard any of their songs, but given their being on the same bill as the burlesque, raucous, melodramatic, klezmer inspired and mostly good Vagabond Opera, I had high hopes for Diego's Umbrella.  I was expecting a cool, indie sound, melodic and textured.  Something sweet and smart.  Diego is the name of my brother's little boy.  In the space between sets, I felt positive and warm feelings for Diego's Umbrella.

But the banner with the Abercrombie & Fitch logo was no ironic gesture and foreshadowed what was to come.  When Diego's Umbrella did finally come out on stage, they were dressed in completely all-white tuxedos.  This is not a bad or good thing, in itself.  The right band could do wonderful, happy things with all-white tuxedos.  The right band could make sparkling, glorious music a la Frightened Rabbit in all-white tuxedos.  Needless to say (which is itself needless to say) Diego's Umbrella, was well, hmmm, the all-white tuxedos could not fix what would be a very unfortunate problem.

When the in-between-set-music stopped and the lights went down, five band members dressed in all-white tuxedos came out on stage.  There was an electric fiddle player, stage left, with brown curly hair who stood over some sort of small synthesizer probably capable of creating various electrical, likely bass tones.  In the center of the stage a young man stood with a white bandana wrapped around his forehead, holding an electric guitar.  In front of him two drums and other percussive possibilities, the kind you play standing up.  This would be, I guessed, the salsa influence.  On the far right stood another man with an electric guitar.  This was an orange man, with orange hair and orange beard.  And in the back center of the stage the drummer, who had cut the sleeves off of his all-white tux.  To his left was the bass player with a white headband.  Cute.

And then Don Juan himself came valiantly on stage thrusting forth with an acoustic guitar wired electric.  The lead singer took up the position just to the left of salsa/bandana guy and just to the the right of orange man.  He began with a huge 80s metal strum of his guitar from far above his head to the the floor of the stage...and Diego's Umbrella broke into song.  The guitar playing man with the bandana and the salsa drums immediately took on an expression that conveyed: "are you not amazed?!" with eyes wide, enamored of his own musical gifts.  The lead singer then gesticulated around the stage, brushed back his hair, and acted out the role of the rock star.  It seemed that this man also had a healthy sense of self.

And the music.  Oh the music.  The music was very bad Sublime, it was poor 311, it was left over No Doubt.  And the audience loved it.  The Independent was packed and the audience actually "sang-along" during a call and response portion that went like this:

Lead singer: "I take off your shirt!" (huge grin!)
Audience: "I put the shirt back on!" (frat boy high fives!)
Lead singer: "I take off your pants!" (jump around and point towards the sky!)
Audience: "I put your pants back on!" (this is great, original music!)
Lead singer: "I take off your underwear!" (face pressed close with orange guy, both leaning back and just enjoying the moment!!!)
Audience: "I put your underwear back on!" (Jesus, these guys fucking rock!)

This was the beginning of the third song, and we did not stay long enough to hear the last verse.  Two and 1/3 innings and Diego's Umbrella had already given up 17 runs, the manager comes out and says, "son, you didn't pitch well.  We're sending you down to the minors.  No, actually, we're just gonna let you go.  You can leave your uniform in your locker."

Remember, all of this is happening in all-white tuxedos.  The amount of love these guys showed to each other, all while playing ripped off reggae bass lines that Black Uhuru made beautiful in the early 70's, was astonishing.  You know when a band thinks it's really jamming, I mean really getting into the groove, but you are thinking, "Jesus, I have heard this before done much, much better."  Well it was like that only made infinitely worse by the generated ego nexus propelling their lack of talent and originality to the limits, and making me feel shitty about being in San Francisco on that particular night and from the East Bay generally.

If you want to check out Diego's Umbrella, you can find them on myspace!
http://www.myspace.com/diegosumbrella

I'm sorry.  I don't usually like to be so negative, but I have a low tolerance for huge egos coupled with bad music.

with love,
Anthony

wholehearted

http://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_on_vulnerability.html

In my last post I attempted to connect with you out there struggling mightily with some form of severe emotional distress: depression, anxiety, panic attacks, bi-polar, schizophrenia, addiction, to name a few.  I didn't offer any suggestions in my last post.  I purposefully did not offer any ideas for what to do because of something very true: I don't presume to know what will help lift you out of the mud.  On the other hand, in providing no resource I felt like I did not offer any support.  I know when I was in the throws of severe emotional distress, as much I hated anybody or anything that attempted to provide Advice, I desperately needed support.  So tonight, with this link, I offer a possibility, just one thing in forty billion.  However, if a video about worthiness, shame and vulnerability doesn't sound like your cup of tea, or if a video about worthiness, shame and vulnerability makes you want to vomit, by all means, leave it alone, let someone else walk down that path.

The link above takes you to a talk titled, "The Power of Vulnerability."  The gist is that human beings, bottom line, crave connection with other human beings; and allowing yourself to be vulnerable with other people actually allows you to connect more and better.  The talk is counter-intuitive and brilliant although it is unlikely to solve your problem.  It's just one stone on a path through a Japanese pond.  Of course, you may not like Koi.

with love,
Anthony

Paul Simon is not the Topic of Discussion

Paul Simon is not the Topic of Discussion.  He just released a new album.  April 11, 2011.  Beautiful day, so what.  I bought the album in Starbucks. (Take me to the stars with your green, wanderlusting, fucklebusting, neverlasting bucks, the bucks that don't pay bills.)  But Paul Simon is not the Topic of Discussion.  I want to talk about Emotion, or from Middle English, Emotione.  Emotion, the very word triggers a response: BE CAREFUL.  Don't talk about it too much, don't let those slippery emotions fall out of your stomach.  Be watchful, guarded, strong.  Flex your bicep and reject.  The whole thing needs a pentagon agency devoted to closing the door.

I was having this discussion in a taxi downtown, re-arranging my position on this friend of mine who had a little bit of a breakdown.

But I want to talk about emotion.  Emotion engulfs.  It ensnares.  It occupies, not directly, indirectly operating on your swirling mind.  How do we ease the incessant thinking?  How do we feel better?  There are many who have answers.  I guess that's all I want to say tonight.  There are many who have answers.  It's up to you to pick and choose and sort through the bullshit.  And when emotion slams down and pulverizes your brain like an anvil whipped across space and time, meshing with your frontal cortex (compassion), and leaves you near death, dazed, in a stupor, just fucking miserable, repulsed, disgusted with yourself and your life; when emotion powers the sicknesses of depression, anxiety, panic, attacks; when emotion runs out of control and leaves you a long way from wanting any fucking celebrity apprentice to magic-wand his way into your mind and fuck you with Advice.  When the sickness is so overpowering, the hospital starts to sound like a good place for an afternoon coffee, there are people who have answers.  It is up to you to sift through the bullshit and find the answers.  You probably won't want to start here.  But start somewhere.  Go out into the night of resistance and find something, one star in the night, one thing to hold on to.  And from there swing like Tarzan to the next star in the night.  Fight the instinct that it is in your DNA, that you are pre-emptively fucked from the beginning, that the sickness is real and everything else is shadow.  Go out and find one thing.  Just one thing.

with compassion,
and love,
Anthony

mephistopheles keeping me grounded

The Strokes are back in the atmosphere.  They just released a good single from their new album, Angles, which comes out on March 22nd.  They were on Saturday Night Live last weekend.  But right now I'm listening to one of their songs that was released a while ago and featured in Sophia Coppola's latest movie Somewhere.  It's a demo version of the song You Only Live Once, called I'll Try Anything Once. You can hear it here:

http://noisenarcs.com/2011/02/25/oscar-madness-nominees-film-song-2010/

Just scroll down a bit.

What if the song makes me feel sad?  What if it that feels good?  What if my life was a flying airplane with empty engines?  What if it was all beautiful?  The blazing sun: backdrop for the falling plane and the life inside.  See that's the thing.  Even when life is shitty.  It is life and it feels amazing.  Blood is literally pulsing through your veins.  You are alive in the great spectrum of mysteries.  To take one entirely insignificant example, how do my feet stay in contact with the earth as the earth travels ridiculously around the sun?  Why is there psychic  pain in my stomach?  Does the psychic pain in my stomach rotate?  Does it spin like a washing machine?  Will the clothes come out clean?  I added the Tide, so hopefully.  You can be underwater.  You can fall to the bottom of the pool, breathe out all the oxygen in your lungs, then smile and have a tea party.  And come forcefully, shooting back into the atmosphere with Mephistopheles driving the team of horses through the sky.  You just a passenger.  Sitting next to Beelzebub in the small pew of the chariot.  He's taking you to a lake.  A lake reflecting the snow-capped, jagged mountains.  Your tea party with Lucifer is calm.  He is a gentleman, a black-magic magician, cloaked and freshly shaven.  Lucifer disparages the intelligentsia.  Poor professor all alone in his words.  Satan plays badminton with the professor's words on a lawn court near the lake, in the English country side, not far from Oxford.  You and the Devil hear the stormy music coming from the College.  It keeps me down.  It keeps me from going down any further.  It keeps me and collects me and rotates me.  I like to be in love and one day have a wife with children and that white picket fence.  "And but for the sky there are no fences facing." But what does the Devil mean?  What is his significance in the modern atheist order?  to the Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Jew?  What is his representation now?  Disorder? Hate? Evil? The Dark Lord?  But isn't that from Star Wars?  What if the Devil is simply anger and underneath that anger is sadness?  What then?  The Devil as sadness.  Do we as a society push the Devil away when we should really bring him close, and let him melt into tears.  The Satanic Verses and The Master and Margarita are two of my favorite books.  If God is Dead then is the Devil Alive? and more importantly

is that okay?

I hope you are happier.  But if you are happier, I ask you this.  Have you felt the sadness?  Have you really felt the sadness, the sadness of a loved one passing or the death of a pet or a poet or magician? One billion human movements create sadness.  The subtle, nonverbal communication from one person to another, crushing pain.  Have you felt that?

Love,
Anthony

i think you're a contra

New York City.  It's big.  The big buildings throw punches at you while you're walking down the street.  You have to avoid them, the punches.  Last time I was in New York I listened to Vampire Weekend's latest album over and over.  It's a good new york album.  Now, my life is simple.  I'm no longer in new york and maybe I miss the buildings a little.  But I'm listening to Vampire Weekend so I'm going to write a poem.  hehehe.

the salty dog grabbed the waitress
and went for broke
exchanging his coinage (pennies) for her snatch
wealth.
I can't take it! I can't take it! she cried
and tears came like watermelon seeds
and I'm a happy teddy bear.
now we sit along the wall and watch the
facebook
open and close open and close open and close
sixteen figurines and a salty roof
mansard bastard and watermelon, too.
the beat box 80's rap star's wife's girlfriend
calls me on her cell phone
"it's ee and i'm cumming!!!"
"oh shit i'll be right over!"
"don't bother.  the damage is done."
inside the moma i see a klee and a honeybee
and a klee and a payyyyyyphone.
keep me captured she calls over the wire, through the can of tomato soup
mr. brainwash original
on the wall of the pristine palace of new commodities
rage against the artwallinfectednothing
mason commercials mediated psychologists open heart
surgery
climb the pole
feel the role
roll the scroll
read the bible
open the cabinet
smoke the smell
torah time open wine modern catapult your feelings into excess away from loving tender comfort
sleeeeeeeeeeep!!!!

but gosh.  it's got to be better than this right?

that's the end of my poem.

much love,
Anthony

Swashbuckler Blues

I like this song by the Theater Fire.  There's a lyric that goes:

"So it's strange how I am my old man
despite all attempts
to be Errol Flynn"

I've been feeling a strong sensation recently to let go of all the anxiety that goes along with the pressure i put on myself to be famous.  It sounds ridiculous, but I have a complex tendency to want to produce great works of art, maybe a short story or a personal essay or a novel or a screenplay or a song or a film.  I put a lot of pressure on myself to produce such great works of art.  But the reality is I'm not prepared and haven't put in the time.  I play the guitar like a beginner and my songs are more like proto-songs.  I haven't even been playing a lot of guitar recently because I've been focused on my "day-job"and I'm so exhausted with the pressure i put on myself.  I want to let it go.  Like water flowing over my shoulders, there's so much tension in my shoulders, and lately I have felt these moments of release, and I can feel the muscles in my shoulders relax.  I crave this feeling of being relaxed.  And right now I would rather "pursue" this relaxation than try be a creative genius.  That's what I expect of myself.  With some perspective, I realize this is crazy.  With more sanity, I'm working on not working.  I mean I still have a job and I want to do it really well.  But I don't want to carry the anxiety in my shoulders.  I want to let go of that.  I put this pressure on myself to do my job really well, which is at least 8 hours monday through friday, and still have the energy to be a great musician or a great writer.  The last few days I have just wanted to let go of the expectations and the anxiety.

The lyric above captures a lot of this for me.  There are parts of my dad that i really hated as a teenager and young adult.  To accept that, in many respects, I am my father is, well -- I used to think that was the definition of giving up. A lot of self-hate.  I too want to be Errol Flynn, the swashbuckling sword fighter, movie star, handsome hero (the song is actually called Swashbuckler Blues on The Theater Fire's Matter and Light album).  It's ridiculous, but it lives inside me.  And I am glad that the Theater Fire created this song and played this song and sang this song.  In fact, the whole musical arrangement of the song comes across as simple; it just kindof moseys along.  The music reflects the lyrics.  A band member plays the xylophone, a few simple notes repeated that produces a child-like simplicity and naiveté.  One acoustic guitar plays call and response with another acoustic guitar creating a simple melody.  The music and the lyrics, they're about acceptance.  About who we really are.  It's about letting go of the expectations and just allowing yourself to appreciate what you are actually doing.  To accept that you are your father.

I have friends who are truly musically gifted.  I wouldn't shy away from saying they have a kind of genius.  One friend in particular devotes his entire being to music, and the results are wonderful.  I am not him, I'm not George Clooney, I'm not Bob Dylan, and to be honest, this kind of sucks.  But I also  don't want to give up music or writing because at times they bring me joy.  But I want to do them free of the expectations and the ridiculous hope that I will create something genius and become famous or wealthy from it.  That's hard for me.  Acceptance is like the blues, at first.  But I think over time, if you can accept who you are, the fact that you are going to be a lot more like your parents than Errol Flynn, (a whole lot of your father's nature and nurture went into making you; not so much time with or DNA from Errol, unfortunately) I think this kind of acceptance can work to your advantage. You seek out and come to projects where you can pour your soul into them for the right reasons.

Without doubt, this stuff is complicated.  There's so many schools of thought.  For example, there are those that say, "push yourself to be great; rise above the average man."  But I think, for me, that's a bit elitist (I don't claim to be completely free from elitism), and more importantly, right now, that's not where my head is at.  I want to be free from the anxiety of expectations.  I would rather live momentarily in the swashbuckler blues.  Lay down on the floor with my head looking up, breathe, and relax.

Yours, fair reader, filled with love and hope.

Anthony

Top 15 Songs of 2010

1. Stornoway – “ I Saw You Blink” – Beachcomber’s Windowsill
2. Frightened Rabbit – “Swim Until You Can’t See Land” – The Winter of Mixed Drinks
3. Vampire Weekend – “White Sky” – Contra
4. Local Natives – “Who Knows Who Cares” – Gorilla Manor
5. Sonny and the Sunsets – “ The Hypnotist” – The Hypnotist EP
6. Cee Lo – “Fuck You” – The Lady Killer
7. Arcade Fire – “Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)” – The Suburbs
8. Stornoway – “Zorbing” – Beachcomber’s Windowsill
9. Band of Horses – “Laredo” – Infinite Arms
10. Matu – “L.A. Skies” – facebook.com/matumusic
11. The Black Keys – “She’s Long Gone” – Brothers
12. The Gaslight Anthem – “Queen of Lower Chelsea” – American Slang
13. The Tallest Man on Earth – “King of Spain” – The Wild Hunt
14. The Mantles – “Cascades” – Pink Information EP
15. The Rolling Stones – “Plundered My Soul” – Plundered My Soul Single