Year: 2011

Ten

/ Deb / 2 Comments

I’m still wearing flip flops most days, my son wears shorts to school and my daughter refuses to wear a coat, but it’s undeniable that it is now fall. (I never realized that my children’s penchant for inappropriate seasonal attire came from me until I typed that sentence. Hmm.)  The rain is here and focus has shifted indoors, not that I really mind.  But it does feel like time to put away summertime music and concert memories.

Time, also, to put away the Pearl Jam cloud that I’ve been living under for the past few months. (“Alive…Encore Break“, “Twenty“).  But not, of course, without reflection.   Indulge me one last PJ post as I recount, in no particular order, my Top Ten favorite Pearl Jam concert memories (so far):

1.  Lollapalooza, July 1992, Kitsap County Fair Grounds.  My first time seeing them live, and I am totally hooked – no looking back.  Enough said.  (“Drop the Gyro and Run“).

2.  Magnuson Park, “Drop in the Park”, September 1992.   I’ve just started law school.  I probably should  be in the library, but the allure of a free show in Magnuson Park is infinitely more appealing than Crim Law.  Eddie climbs the trusses like a monkey and swings from a microphone cord.  The hook of PJ fandom and concert mania is set even further.

3.  RKCNDY, Seattle, 1994.  The secret show that never was.  Again, I should be home studying.   Instead, my friends and I go to see a side project of Mike McCready, certain that PJ will then play a secret show.  After his set, McCready grabs an electric guitar and says “we’ll be right back”.  This is it!  The secret show is going to happen!!  But then it doesn’t.

4.  The Gorge, 1993.   Pearl Jam opens for Neil Young.  Blind Melon opens for Pearl Jam, and their lead singer cusses out the crowd, saying he knows we are only there to see PJ.  Obviously he has issues, but my issue is that it’s a long-ass drive from the Gorge back home to Tacoma.

5.  Seattle Center Arena, 1993.   I finally notice that there are other band members besides Eddie Vedder.  (Dang, Stone is fun to watch!  And still is.)

6.  Key Arena, November 2000.  Shit, I have just turned 30 years old.  The band plays “Elderly Woman” (?!?)  Eddie, together with the crowd: “I just want to scream — Helloooooo….”  PJ had been snatched from me a year earlier when a friendship ended (“Alive, Encore Break“), but in that instant, I reclaim the band as mine.  Two people in front of us make out during the entire show.  I understand the sentiment, but not enough to avoid labelling them as idiots.  My sister and I throw things at them.  So much for being more mature at 30.

7.  Ben Harper show, Seattle, 2005.  A rare night out with my sisters after having two babies in two years.  An already amazing show from Ben, when Eddie shows up for the encore and joins him for a few songs. My sleep-deprived mind is blown.

8.  The Gorge, September 2005.  We have amazing dead-center seats.  The debate over “fist to the JAW” vs. “fist to the DOOR” intensifies, this round going to my husband.  Eddie tries to lure Tom Petty down from the hotel next door – “Hello Tom…….come down Tom….” (he doesn’t).  A damn near perfect setlist start to finish, including one of my favorite versions (ever) of “Yellow Ledbetter”, which segues into a cover of “Baba O’Reilly”.  I have a recording of this show, and I run to it all the time.  You can’t help but pick up your pace when “Porch” comes on.

9.  The Gorge, July 2006.  It is, no lie, 109 degrees.  Proving my theory that fans love it when musicians say the F word, the crowd goes wild when Eddie observes, “it’s fucking HOT!”   Eddie sneaks out to the roof above the sound board to sing “Given to Fly”.  Amazing.  Perfect.  And yes, fucking hot.

And, finally…….the most recent show, destined to be one of my favorites, for a million reasons:

10.  Vancouver BC, September 2011.  Long Canadian-cash-only beer lines, and even longer cab lines.  We (kind of, almost) see our friend get in a fight over a cab, but he emerges victorious.  I get my Concert Moment, and then some, when it seems that 95% of the setlist has been channeled directly from my brain to the band.  (I got a spot at Lukin’s!)  It’s my husband’s birthday, and PJ sings Happy Birthday to him (well, actually they are singing to one of their crew, but really, what are the odds?).   I punch him — “sweetie, Eddie is singing to YOU!!!”  He is appreciative, but not as excited about it as I am.

A pretty darn perfect weekend all around, topped with international intrigue as we see two people arrested at the border on the way home.  Were they smuggling plans for a secret Seattle PJ show back into the U.S.?  Because I am still waiting for one…

Twenty

/ Deb / Leave a comment

My head is still spinning from last night’s “Pearl Jam 20”, the new Cameron Crowe-directed documentary.  All day yesterday I was antsy, mostly because I realized that it was the 19 year anniversary of the Drop in the Park show at Magnuson Park.  In my head all day, and later to my friends:  “Nineteen?  Really?  NINEteen?  NineTEEN!”

I am overly-nostalgic and live in my head a lot anyway, so the intersection of this anniversary with the release of the movie was almost too much.  I loved every minute of the movie, and I’ve got to get these thoughts down, brain-drain style:

  • It is hilarious, yet somehow fitting, that I could smell weed while in line for the movie.  Obviously to some, the event wasn’t too different from a concert.
  • I love that I went to the movie with five people who I have known for the entire 20-year run of Pearl Jam and have gone to shows with [including Life Altering Concert #1 (“Drop the Gyro and Run”), and, of course, the Magnuson Park show].
  • All of the old footage was priceless.  Long hair!  Headbanging! Stage Diving!  Eddie climbing everything like a damn monkey.
  • Best nugget from the movie:  Jeff Ament describing how he’s always been stoked to play every show; that they’ve never phoned it in.  This was my “hell yes” moment – it is EXACTLY what I’ve always said to people when defending my concert habit — I’ve never seen a bad show from Pearl Jam – always new/different, and they always look like they are having fun. That’s what keeps me coming back.
  • Eddie described how, on stage, there’s not much difference between the band and the fans.  I can’t remember the words he used, but the idea was that it’s a give and take, drawing off the energy of each other.  I’ve always felt that way about concerts, and wondered if the band can feel the energy change on different songs.  I love that they understand what the fans’ experience is like, and that they would be out in the pit, too, if they weren’t on stage.

My main take-away:  go ahead and mock me for my PJ fandom (and I know you do).  I’m not ashamed of it.  But it’s not, and never has been, an “ooh, Eddie’s so dreamy” kind of thing.  As much as I may worship at the Altar of Vedder, I’ve always said that I would love to just hang out with the band and have a beer.  The movie just confirmed what we, as fans, already knew.  A bunch of great guys, now 20 years older just like the rest of us, who happen to play in an epic band.

And go ahead and mock me for my concert habit, and the fact that I’m traveling to Vancouver BC this weekend to see, who else…Pearl Jam.  If you don’t love live music – have never lost yourself in a show – you will never get it.  And that’s OK.  But for me, and thousands of fans like me, live music is money well spent.  It is timeless, and you are never too old (or too young) for it.  How lucky are we, that there are bands who love it as much as we do, and are happy to oblige.

Finally last night, nostalgia gave way to thankfulness, and I left feeling lucky to have grown up with this band for the past twenty years.  I happily hopped in the booster seat-filled minivan that the 21-year-old me swore she would never drive, blared “Evenflow”, and rocked home to relieve the babysitter.    Bring on PJ30 and PJ40….and count me in.

The Beginning of the Soundtrack

/ Deb / 2 Comments

Thirteen years ago this morning, I awoke in a hotel room, walked tentatively to the window and opened the blinds, and was relieved to see a perfectly blue August sky.  We had planned an outdoor wedding on the side of a mountain at a spot we had both fallen in love with, and there was no contingency plan for bad weather.  The gamble, thankfully, had paid off.

A few hours later, I cruised LBJ (‘Little Black Jetta’) down I-90 with my sisters, wedding dress laid across the back seat….Dave Matthews Band “Live at Red Rocks”, disc one.  My car didn’t have a CD player, but, being the resourceful type, I had taped my CD so that I could listen in the car:  Seek Up, Proudest Monkey……Two Step, with my favorite jam in the middle.   My husband hates those jams that make the song drag on forever; just one of our many differences that help us to balance each other.

12:00pm is not exactly the time for a dancy, party kind of wedding.  Our plan was to get hitched, have some food and cake, then get the heck out of Dodge and fly to San Francisco for the night, before heading out the next morning on our Italian honeymoon.

No dance floor, but I did feel compelled to hire a DJ to play background music during the reception.  He gave me a list of suggested standards, and asked that I edit it to let him know what I wanted him to play.  I made big X’s across most of the list and gave it back to him, along with lawyerly-typed instructions of what not to play (“under NO circumstances are you to play that Celine Dion song from ‘Titanic'”).  Looking back on it, I suppose it was a little Bridezilla-ish, but why did he give me a list if he didn’t want input on it?   During the reception, he sat solemnly off to the side of the bar.  Someone must have requested an obnoxious song, because I learned later that he was overheard explaining “sorry, I’m just here to play background music”.

The weather held.  I did not slip on the grass while walking down the aisle.  We made promises to each other in front of our family and friends, Mount Si bearing witness in the background.

Hours later, we were whisked away to the airport by our oldest and dearest friend, who had been my husband’s best man.  Sunburned and shiny, we boarded the plane, and the adventure began.  What a trip it’s been so far….and always with background music.

Alive….Encore Break

/ Deb / 2 Comments

Twenty years, holy cow.  Pearl Jam’s “Alive” was released as a single on August 2, 1991.  In honor, it feels like maybe it’s time to release this one from the vault.

Originally written in 2003, it was, in a lot of ways, the precursor to what would later become Corduroy Notes (figured out the origin of the name yet?  Let me know if you have a guess).

And, by way of update, I still can’t believe that I almost broke up with Pearl Jam.  The career drama is a now a mere footnote, and I am thankful to be back in contact with my friend — we still talk PJ, and scratch our heads at the fact that 20 years have passed since our first show.

I’m Still Alive

 Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about music. It’s funny how, while a recording preserves a musical performance, a song also serves to record the events that occur in our lives.

“Dust in the Wind” will forever be a darkened Stevens Junior High cafeteria, and a dance with an older 9th grade boy whom I had a major crush on.  Bobby Brown’s “My Prerogative” = a McMahon Hall lounge, new friends, and the first time I ever saw a beer bong. Likewise, though, other artists have been entirely ruined for me just by their association with bad memories: The Steve Miller Band, Jimmy Buffet, and Hootie & the Blowfish all have found their way into this category (no great losses there).

Which brings up an interesting part of the ending of a relationship: the question of who gets custody of the music. Not the physical CD’s and albums, but the memories associated with them, the ownership of those times. For awhile, I thought that Pearl Jam would find its way into the Steve Miller-Jimmy Buffet-Hootie camp. When a long-term friendship ended a few years ago, I didn’t listen to Eddie and the boys for a long, long time. It was too painful; nearly every song represented some memory of the “us” that was no longer – all the Pearl Jam shows we had attended together, and the Seattle music mania that had gripped us both so many years earlier.

Ultimately, I realized that I could take ownership of those memories and experiences for myself, with or without him in my life. Of course, maybe it was the music that made me do it — giving up The Steve Miller Band is one thing. Giving up Pearl Jam is quite another.

Like many others, I own the entire Pearl Jam catalog, and I love it all. But one song still endures as my favorite. “Alive” was their first song to hit the airwaves, and I was a senior in college at UW — that time in the early 90’s when, as Seattle-centric twenty-somethings, we believed that Seattle had become the center of the music universe (and maybe it was, for awhile).

I remember the first few times that I heard “Alive” – this song, this band – I was hooked right away. I talked to my L.A.-based boyfriend, and asked him if he had heard this new song – from some band named Pearl Jam, and they were from…. Seattle!  Where I lived! I tried to sing the song to him to see if he recognized it. He didn’t. At least not yet.

Since then, I have always had a special relationship with “Alive”. It seems to show up when I need it most — little blips on the radar screen of my life. I vividly remember getting off the bus, opening my mailbox and finding my law school acceptance letter – while listening to it on my Walkman. Three years later, driving home on the day my Bar Exam results were to arrive, there it was again. And again, after a particularly bad job interview, while lost in downtown Seattle in my half-broken-down car in the rain, there was Eddie on the radio, singing my song.

These days, the Seattle music craze has long passed, and you really don’t hear old Pearl Jam on the radio very much anymore, even here in Seattle.

Recently, my husband and I were having lunch and discussing my latest career drama: whether I should leave my law firm, do something else, or quit working entirely and stay home with our 8 month-old son. I was stressed out, and questioning whether I wanted to practice law anymore. I realized that I was at a crossroads — with not just my needs to consider, but that of my son and our little family.

On my way back from lunch, my husband called me. “Turn on 107.7”, he said.

There it was: Eddie Vedder, belting out the anthem of my youth, all at once giving me a glimpse of the girl I was ten years ago, how far I had come, and reminding me that, as always, things will work out as they should.

I turned up the stereo, rolled down my window, and sang along.

Quiet 13

/ Deb / 1 Comment

Sometimes you have to to do things just to prove to yourself that you can do it.  No, I am not talking about the half marathon that I ran recently.  I knew I could run the 13.1 miles.  What I didn’t know is that I could run them without listening to music.   I’m usually plugged in, and I take my playlist seriously (“The Sweatiest Music”).

I boarded the race shuttle early that morning with all necessary gear — bib number, timing chip, iPod….but no headphones.  If you had supersonic hearing, you would have heard a thunderous “F**K!!!” emanating from my head when I discovered it.  I’ve done short runs without music, and it’s fine, but a two hour run?  When the momentary sense of panic wore off, I resigned myself to a quiet run and figured that it could be worse.

This being the “Rock n Roll” marathon, bands were stationed along the route, and that was nice, but not the same.  It got me thinking though — if I were the event organizer, I would station a big-name band somewhere along the route.  How funny would it be to see people really surprised?  Maybe the serious runners would not notice, and run on by.  Me, though — I love running, but not enough to avoid stopping and watching one of my favorite bands.

The upside of the quiet run was that I got to hear the conversations of the people running near me.  There were a lot of exchanges that I started calling “No Man Left Behind”, all going something like this:

“You go on without me; this is ridiculous, I can’t keep up”
“No.  No!!  We agreed to do this together, I’m not leaving you!”

The other common theme – spousal bickering: “Well!  If you don’t want to listen to me talk, then don’t run by me!  Whatever!!”   (I could relate to that poor guy.  I didn’t want to run by his wife, either.)

After the finish, there was a little post-race concert with NW mid-90’s darling, Everclear.   Bar Exam memories aside,  (“Heroin Girl, or Heroine Girl?”), it was fun to reflect on how much had changed since the last time I saw them, that summer so long ago (especially the fact that this time, I had two kids with me).   They didn’t sound great, and lead singer Art Alexakis is the only original member, but it was entertaining all the same.

I swear to you on Eddie Vedder that I am not exaggerating this next part.  It is hilarious yet troubling, and if it’s any indication of what’s to come during her teenage years, her dad and I are in for quite a ride.

My daughter decided that she wanted the lead singer to see her rocking out.  My husband held her up and she fist-pumped during the songs, waving at Art Alexakis and trying to get him to point to her.  “Closer!” she said, so she and I crept closer to the stage, leaving the men behind (familiar territory…. although normally my partners in crime are my sisters).   When the show ended, Art knelt down at the edge of the stage and shook hands with those who could reach him.

We were a few rows back, so he waved to my daughter and said “Hi sweetie, how are you?”   She waved back, answered “Good!”, and announced to me that she was ready to leave.  The lead singer had now been informed that she was there, and her work was done.

A Badger and a One-Eyed Toad

/ Deb / 1 Comment

It’s not often that an event pans out exactly as you hope it will.   My Dispatch-Berkeley-Concert weekend with my sister had big shoes to fill (“On Sisters and Pineapple”).  It turned out to be Everything. I. Wanted. And. More.

We settled in to a dusky Berkeley evening, beer in hand, and as the show started, I did my mental concert checklist: free-spirited dancing guy who I could watch during the show?  Check.  People at least as old as me, or older?  Double Check.  Hip parents with two kids about my kids’ ages?  Check.  (LOVE that!!)

The band members stage diving, a’la Grunge, circa 1992?  Not so sure about that, but it was funny.

I knew Dispatch would put on a great live show.  In 2007, they were the first independent band to sell out Madison Square Garden….not one night, but three in a row.  All those fans can’t be wrong.   As cheesy as it sounds, my heart soared when they hit the opening notes of the first song.

I’ve always wanted to build a concert playlist, and I just might have built this one.  I heard nearly every song I wanted, and “The General” (my kids’ favorite sing-along song) got all the slackers on their feet.  I usually hate new material during concerts, but I tolerated some (left me scratching my head as to whether this was a one-time reunion tour, or whether they are back together).    Two encores later, we were released into the night with “Out Loud”, the final song and my daughter’s favorite (“You Know I Would”).   I gave a silent shout-out to my girl, sleeping soundly 1,000 miles away amidst a mountain of stuffed animals.

You can keep your huge, overblown concerts with special effects that rival a SuperBowl halftime show.   I don’t want to watch through binoculars or see the lead singer up on a huge screen.  I want music that I can feel in my gut, played by guys who seem to be having as good a time as the crowd.

Make it happen under a beautiful sky with someone I love, and really, that’s all I need.  Not such a tall order after all.

On Sisters and Pineapple

/ Deb / 1 Comment

I am a list maker by nature.  Even if I don’t have it written down somewhere, I have the list in my head.  In my head is a list of bands that I like, but have never seen in concert.   The only band left on that list is Dispatch, and I thought they would likely stay there, because they broke up long ago and moved on to other projects.

And so, back in January when Dispatch announced a reunion tour, I was all over it.  I figured I could talk someone into going with me.   The weekend is finally here, and I am headed to San Francisco today with my youngest sister for a weekend of music and fun.

She should be invested in Dispatch by now, because I’ve dragged her to see State Radio, Chad Stokes’ post-Dispatch band. (“There Will be Vodka”).  Chad looks like a friend of hers who brought me a pineapple as a wedding present.  In some odd way, this makes me feel like I know Chad.  And he, too, seems like he would bring someone a pineapple.  It really was a sweet, simple gesture.  I don’t know whatever became of the pineapple.  Most likely it went the route of the leftover booze from the wedding, which is to say that it was consumed by my middle sister and my husband’s brother.    We arrived home from our honeymoon to discover that they were now a couple.

Perhaps they ate the celebratory pineapple, and it brought them good luck.  They are now married and expecting their second child in a few weeks.  I really hope that baby stays put, and isn’t born while I am far away.   It seems strange for two of us to be going without her.  My sisters and I made an agreement a few years ago to forego birthday presents for each other, but to make sure that we got away together on weekend trips, concerts, and the like.  Life gets in the way and we haven’t always been successful, but we try.

It’s bittersweet, but I am still excited to be heading of of town, and she will be there with us in spirit.  The concert on Saturday night will be great, I’m sure I will get my Concert Moment, (“Oh, You Like the Banjo, Eh?”), and I will delete the list of Favorite-Yet-Unseen bands from my head.

But regardless, you can’t go wrong with San Francisco.  My husband lived there before we got married, and it is the site of many great memories.  We both love the city so much that, immediately after our Seattle mountainside wedding, we flew to San Francisco for our wedding night, and left for our honeymoon the next morning.  As I am writing this, I am now realizing that it will also be weird to be in that city without him.

Pineapples, live music, sisters, weddings, babies….think it’s possible I am putting too much nostalgia pressure on the weekend?  I’m pretty sure there is not enough room in the overhead compartment for all of this, but I will try to cram it in anyway.

And Aloha Means Goodbye

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If you want to know how long your post-vacation vibe will last, take the length of your vacation and divide by three.  Coming home from my recent 10-day vacation, it took me exactly 3 days to lose my Aloha spirit.  3 days to admit it was over, and turn my attention to chores.  And exactly 3 days to switch from listening to reggae island music, and trade it in for moody Northwest music.

I tried to keep it going.  Really, I did.  I found a reggae station on XM Radio and played it in the car.  Even the kids noticed:  “hey, it’s like Island Radio!”

But there’s a reason why sunny locales generate happy, carefree music like reggae.  Likewise, there’s a reason why the Northwest produces moody, brooding music.   The weather sets the mood, and the mood inspires the music. Or you could say that the weather sets the clothes, which then set the mood, which then inspires the music.  (which was a funny by-product of the Grunge era…..no one was trying to make a fashion statement by wearing flannel…..it’s just that flannel shirts are comfy, and you could get them for $4.00 at Chubby & Tubby.)  

Or maybe it’s all the other way around.  Anyway, you see where I am going with this.

Sometimes during a grey Seattle winter, I’ll try to mix it up and listen to one of my summertime mixes.  But it never lasts for long.  It just doesn’t match.  Summertime music goes best with summer weather.  And besides, the cloudy, unpredictable nature of Seattle weather suits my personality better.  I am not sunny enough to live anywhere else.    But I will gladly vacation in a spot where the weather is constantly nice.

Vacations are vital in getting us out of  a rut, both personally and musically.  Hanging out on an island in the middle of the ocean with some of my favorite people….for ten days, life became as simple as the decision of beach vs. pool, and what to grill for dinner. 

And, of course, there was the music of Island Radio 98.9, where you could hear old songs re-fashioned to a reggae beat (love Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight”?  You are in luck.).   Destined to be a classic (at least in my memory), a ridiculous but catchy song dominated the airwaves while we were there:  set to a reggae beat, “Let’s Drink Beer” by Ikena Dupont (best line:  “beer is not an obstacle, it’s an avenue”). 

It’s available on iTunes!   The best $1.29 vacation souvenir I’ve ever purchased.   Aloha.

A Week of Irony and Self Awareness

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I find myself somewhat scattered and unable to focus this morning, but need to get two things out:

1.  It dawned on me today that it’s ironic that I write a blog about music, and yet I can’t listen to music while I write. 

2.  I realized this week that I am still not mature enough for yoga. (“Namaste, Eddie“)   On my way to hot yoga, every single week, I sing this Foreigner-inspired tune in my head:  Hot yoga, check it and see/Heat the room up to a hundred and three/Come on baby can you Downward Dog/it’s hot yoga, it’s hot yoga…

(Self awareness and publication of one’s dorkiness is important, don’t you think?)

The Last Show Before Everything Changed

/ Deb / 1 Comment

Remember Pete Yorn?  He had a catchy hit back in 2001, and a great album, musicforthemorningafter.  Pete weighs heavily in my musical past for two reasons.  First, in the days before iPods, his CD was in heavy rotation on a fabulous road trip my husband and I took that summer, and, second, he was the last show I saw before finding out we were pregnant with our first child.

We saw him at The Showbox in the late fall of 2001.  I love that venue, and it was a fun show – pretty mellow, good people-watching.  What was unique was that it was just the two of us.  Usually we attended shows with other people, but that night was just us.  I wore jeans and sassy boots, and we had a great time. 

On Christmas Day, we found out we were expecting our first child.  (The best Christmas present ever, yes?)  That show became etched in my brain as the last time that we were out on the town just as “us”….not us plus “Lil’ B”, our in utero nickname for our oldest.

I had a vaguely defined goal that I would be a hip pregnant woman, and an even hipper mom.  Nothing would slow me down.   I went to a few mellow concerts while I was pregnant, and I even went to Las Vegas (which really sucks when all you want to do is sleep).   The line was drawn, however, at The Gorge.  I bought tickets for the Sasquatch Festival but ultimately, while six months pregnant, sitting out in the desert heat (in the midst of neighboring herbal fumes) just didn’t seem like a great idea.  Also influencing that decision was the fact that my mother had threatened an intervention –  something along the lines of, “over my dead body are you taking my yet-to-be-born grandchild to that concert in the middle of nowhere”.  My sisters went without me, sold my tickets alongside the road, and I spent the weekend at home, nesting.  It was all OK.

Everyone who is a parent knows how hard it is to remember what it was like before the little ones came into your lives.  In the years since then, we’ve talked about that Pete Yorn show and always say, “wait…..who babysat?”, before realizing that no babysitter was yet needed.

If you know me, then you understand that I am overly sentimental.  Commercials make me cry, and my kids give me sideways glances at sad parts of movies, knowing that I will be crying.  So I am a sucker for this: TONIGHT – two kids, many shows, and a Big Birthday later – Pete Yorn is playing at the Showbox (SoDo location, but still!!).  I am looking forward to a date night out with my husband, and I know that the evening will be filled with nostalgia for me.   I still have the same jeans and sassy boots – although I probably won’t wear them – but I am so happy that, after all these years and through so many changes, my sweetie will still be at my side.