Wherein Sara Leah's music geekness rises to a new level...

I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be singing. It seemed to be a sing-a-long type of moment. We were crowded in the center of the room. Crowded in the dark, circling John Vanderslice and his guitar, David and the bass drum, St. Vincent and her crystal clear harmonies. John pulled his arm up from his side and waved it in the air. Was it a sing-a-long? No one else was singing with them, but Will and I, but at that moment there could have been choirs behind us. The whole room was filled with sound. As John opened his mouth and wagged his blonde head, the whole world seemed to be singing along:

"You know that guy who
stole your girlfriend
away from you
in the summer
of '95
he's going to die

you know her name
sits in your brain
like a tumor
eyes still shine in your memory
she's going to die

well you can carry that grudge
or you can let it go
but as sure as I'm singing this song, you know
she's going to die, she's going to die

five'll get you ten so just let it go
that she and he and i will hear the final chord
just let it go, let it go, we're going to die"

-Nikki Oh Nikki, Life and Death of an American Four Tracker



The room was still. The lights were very low, casting an orange and golden glow upon the faces of my friends, standing just across the way. Rebecca stood, elevated on a bar stool, camera pulled up to her small serious face. Amber stood below her, hands clasped, eyes warm, smiling in my direction. This was it. A perfect moment.

I sat at the bar earlier, trying to tell Ben way I love John's music, telling what scattered history that I knew, what my nervous brain could remember. I kept saying the word perfect. Scott Solter's production, perfect. John's lyrics, perfect. I know that these statements are not true. The lyrics, the clicks and whirrs, the piano, the guitar...not perfect. They are odd and interesting, off putting and inviting at the same time. There is an earnestness in every measure that I can't shake off, that seems perfect when it hits my ear, like that moment when you slip into a warm bath and you sigh and smile. It's a good moment and to you, it is perfect because it's what you've longed for. I long for music that speaks to me. More than that, I long for music that makes me think, drives my day. I long for music that will make me tilt my head as I start my car, exhausted from a long day of work. I turn through the intersection, underneath the overpass and forget everything. I lose myself in his voice and what he has to say, every clear strum of the guitar. Every distorted chord transports...

John had walked quickly to me once he had found that I was there. We chatted about the music scene, the Bottletree, Chris Ward and Pattern is Movement, the SDRE/Mk Ultra show in St. Louis. He smiled so easily and spoke with an honest warmth. Why was I so nervous? I felt nauseous still and the meeting was already over. I knelt down by Hamric, who was sitting at a table on the patio, his green "Wes McDonald and the Fizz" t-shirt, his smirking, wonderful eyes. I told Jason Hamric and Brandon that maybe it was because as a listener, you build this image of, this meaning behind what you hear. This is the freedom that you are given, to create a persona, a history from which the stories and the songs are born. To finally meet the person behind all of this can be devastating or transcendent

I remember meeting Mark Kozelek a couple years ago at the Nick. I had seen him in Nashville the night before and had decided not to talk to him as he stood beside me quietly during Warren Gently's opening set. Having seen him on stage a few times in my life and knowing his cloudy and sometimes downright mean disposition, I did not want to actually talk to him, for fear that his stage persona would leak into his true self, a self that I so honestly wanted to be the yearning, sad hearted, quiet lover of his voice. In other words, I did not want him to punch me in the face for asking him about a particular song or album. When I finally got up the nerve to approach him at the Nick, after much pushing and prodding by my friends, he was genuinely...well...sweet. "Hi. Hey. I remember you. Pink scarf girl." It was a great moment.

I've been listening to John Vanderslice for ten years. His music has been a great part of my life soundtrack. I do not know him, but I know his climbing voice. His voice has been a friend to me. His music has gotten me through dark days and accompanied me on great adventures. When he walked up to me after his set and hugged me and thanked me for smiling and singing along...I thought to that moment, sitting at a table at the back of the room, when he had traveled from the stage to the organ by the bathrooms to sing a number. I sat at that table and smiled as he lifted his head and sang out. It was a perfect moment. Worth all of the nervousness, worth all of this quiet hope.

check out tour dates and news of John Vanderslice at www.johnvanderslice.com

SXSW ate my brain.

How do I start this? I'm a little overwhelmed to be sitting here in a fold up chair at my computer in the Bucket office, eating a mishmash of salad bar and listening to the Vulture Whale Boys practicing in the next room ...it's hard to believe that just this morning I returned to work. At 7am (7:15), I walked through those automatic doors to the ER with my cup of tea, I sat at my desk. I was not sleeping heavily on Will's couch, or sitting and waiting forever for the Austin Transit, or racing down the street, pushing through the crowds, holding on to Amber's hand as we scan the sides of buildings, looking for the venue to the next show.

I love my friends. I'm sure I told them ten thousand times this week how happy I was to be making this journey with them.










*****************************************************

LISTS:

TUESDAY:
Team Hydration Departs -
We met up with The Bucket Mobile (Travis and the Twins)
and The TTS Party Van a couple of times on our journey.



Once at a honky-tonk truck stop. Then again at the Dairy Palace in Canton, Texas....home of Freedom Toast.




WEDNESDAY:
Lots of Panels
Not enough caffeine
I love the Shinerbock

THROUGH THE SPARKS DAY!!!!

(some pics from the show)









FOOD:
Will took Amber and I to the Whole Foods Flagship Store. THREE floors of underground parking. And the food was amazing.

BANDS:
Through the Sparks
Tally Hall
Slaraffenland (Hometapes Showcase)
Pattern is Movement (with Scott Solter - Hometapes Showcase)

Thursday-

College and Community Radio Panel (really Awesome) (Birmingham is so missing out)
I think I forgot to eat

BANDS:
Dark Meat (Team Clermont Day Party)
Kaki King (Convention Center Stage)
Tally Hall (Found Party)
Cloud Cult(Emo's JR)
Shout Out Out Out Out Out Out(Beauty Bar Patio)
Matt & Kim (Beauty Bar Patio)
Vashti Bunyan (First Presbytarian


Friday-
PANELS:

SXSW Interview: Booker T Jones
Interviewers: Jim DeRogatis and Greg Kot
Very awesome indeed. I was sad to learn from Sweetdog as we walked out of this panel that I had missed Booker T play with Jason Isbell the night before.

The Relevance of Retail
What Makes a Successful Tour? Marsha Vlasic from MVO was a trip.

BANDS:
Some Reggae Band (High Times Party)
Jessie Sykes (No Depression Day Party)
Casa De Chihuahua (on the side of 6th Street)
The Paybacks (Pop Culture Press Party)
The Hoodoo Gurus (Pop Culture Press Party)
Clem Snide (Buffalo Billiards)
Adem (A patio somewhere)
The Cape May (Lambert's - Flemish Eye/White Whale Showcase)
Chad VanGaalen (Okay, well a video of Chad VanGaalen)
Immaculate Machine (Lambert's - Flemish Eye/White Whale Showcase)
Dennis Coffey (Ponderosa Stomp - Opal Divines)
Archie Bell (Ponderosa Stomp - Opal Divines)
Wiley and the Checkmates (Ponderosa Stomp - Opal Divines)
Bobby Patterson (Ponderosa Stomp - Opal Divines)
Harvey Scales (Ponderosa Stomp - Opal Divines)


Saturday-
Slept in.
Forgot to eat again.
Damn you, Southern Comfort.

FLATSTOCK!
Amber and I wandered the stalls for hours. She bought herself and Will some really cool stuff.
I bought an awesome M Ward poster.
I called Tim while wandering through the room. "Who's your favorite band?" "Um? Uh."
It wasn't a fair question to be sure. It's really the worst questioned to be asked.He hesitated. And searched and stammered. Tim works at a record store and loves music. ALOT. So I bought him a t-shirt of a hot dog eating a hot dog.

FADER PARTY!
After wandering through what looked like a Levi's Store and then a maze of empty rooms and couches and doors with signs that said DO NOT ENTER or teased us with ADULT SWIM STAFF ONLY, I followed some arrows to the bathroom and instead found myself in a courtyard with a massive amount of drunk hipsters talking and talking and talking. I followed Travis through the crowd and found Wes, Jake, John, and Dr. Drew standing and smiling, and watching the end of No Age's set.



During the 501 Happy Hour, there was a "Who looks the most like Jesus contest.
I wanted to enter Travis:



But instead, this guy won...or was it that guy?



BANDS:
No Age (Fader Party)
Ladyhawk (Fader Party)
VietNam (Fader Party)
Redman (Fader Party)
Aziz Azinari (Human Giant Showcase @ Friends with Patton Oswalt & Eugene Mirman)
TimandEric.com (Friends)
The Teeth (Park the Van Showcase @ Habana Calle 6)
The High Strung (Park the Van Showcase @ Habana Calle 6)
The Friends of Dean Martinez (Park the Van Showcase @ Habana Calle 6)

Followed by a late night trip to IHOP with the Flemish Eye boys.

Thoughts I was thinking at Lunch - Highlights:

Matt and Kim - Saw them at the Beauty Bar Patio. With the energy they exude on stage, no matter how technically talented they are, it made for an incredible show. Rebecca and I COULD NOT STOP SMILING. Even when the drunk irish guy behind me kept trying to slam dance everyone. I elbowed him in the ribs. Really hard. And then I smiled some more.







The High Strung @ Habana Calle 6 (Park the Van Showcase) Right before they started, Derek (drummer) pulled the plug for the string of lights circling the small stage. Chad Stoker pulled off his glasses and pulled on his Rock goggles. And he needed them. Indeed. That man is crazy.








Pattern is Movement - Hometapes Showcase - Mohawks
Andrew and Chris were joined by Scott Solter (producer of their last two releases and owner of Tiny telephones - homecamp of John Vanderslice awesomeness). Chris Ward (drums) sits up front and to watch him play is a delight. The disjointed, turning, scaling vocals by Andrew Thiboldeaux seem like movements of the classical type...and I guess they are, just pulled forth by the distortion of rock'n'roll.








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for more pictures and commentary form SXSW, which apparently will be added daily until all of the freaking pictures are off my phone and I find all of my notes, visit:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/saraleah

Austin Bound

Dear Ones,

In 6 and a half hours I will step off of the diving board and plunge deep into the waters of Music Awesomeness.

If you recieve random indecipherable text messages over the next week featuring lots of exclaimation points....well. I'll just apologize in advance. I'll most probably be at a show, wishing to god that you could be there, sharing that moment with me.

I would give you a short list of everyone I plan to see, but my brain has melted from going through all of my notes.

So instead, I'll give you a picture of Chachi packing my suitcase.




I will update as much as I can while I'm gone. With Rebecca, Amber, Travis, and the Bucket crew in tow, we're bound to get into some trouble. I can't wait.

Tracy and Leah from Red Blondehead and the boys from Through the Sparks will be blogging together about their adventures in Austin. You can check out their SXSW blog:


http://blog.al.com/sxsw

Autumn Sweater

"What time do you want to meet up? 9pm? Does that sound okay?"
My head tilted left, holding the phone between my shoulder and ear, my hands busy cutting the corners of one more little bucketboy picture. "Mmmmhmmm, Trav, that sounds fine. I think I'm going to take a nap before the show." My stomach growled, I closed my phone and tried to get the tape sticking to my fingers off of one, then another, transfering the little spare pieces in a Charlie Chaplin type of innocent confusion. What? What? Eyes darting from one hand to the other. I WAS tired. I rubbed my palms together, gathered up my coat, turned off the light and collapsed on the couch.

"What are you doin'?" My feet stretched across the arm of the stale, paisley couch. I kept my head underneath the warmth of my deep wool coat, pressing my ear closer to my phone. Gorjus's voice drawing me from slumber with a yawn. "Sleepin'. What are you doin'?"

"Shouldn't you be getting ready for the show? It's almost 8'o'clock."

***********************************************************

Brooks and Rebec-co and I stood underneath the staircase to the left of the stage. Leaning up against the railing in the room full of so many surprisingly unfamiliar faces. Who were all of those people? Seriously? We'd become so used to the returning crowd at the Bottletree, the carousel of regular customers coming out to every show, we'd kind of decided that was it. It was a little jolting to be amongst this sea of strangers and it was also decidedly inspiring. They had come out for the show. Maybe they would come out for more.

I found myself completely taken in by Georgia's pale and quiet grimace of intent. I sketched her face again and again, trying to capture that perfect concentrated gaze as she set the pace through every song.

Halfway through the set, I walked down the steps to the floor and caught the eye of my friend Greg who was standing to the right of the stage. He motioned for me to come to him, and I turned and pushed and turned and slipped past the crowd to his side. I stood right under Ira's Compact Deluxe.

My eardrums were vibrating with fury. The boys next to me were wavering with every note that Ira played, the girls with their arms held tight to their chests. In my head I kept thinking that this moment was meant for something else, for someone else, not for me. It was too much, too much for me to hold. I was wrapped in the distortion, this mess of sound. I was taken to nights, roads, driving, in the dark, around Highland Avenue in the winter chill. I was turning up the road and up the stairs and into my old apartment, in the dark, in the aftermath of a storm. Jessica was there, candles and darkness, blankets and beer and hours of conversation.




When the song ended, I had to step back and look around. Travis had appeared at my side, smiling. The guy next to me was still dancing. The faces around us were fixed on Ira's crouching form. James approached the keys and with one quiet measure the journey began again.

Prediction

This morning I awoke with glitter on my pillow, my shoes covered in cheese, and my knees terribly sore from channeling David Bowie.

It's going to be a banner year.



(Picture courtesy of DC)

3am

Erick and I sat on the porch of Seama's apartment. Kids slouched in tired chairs around us, a crowd gyrated and jumped to Outkast just inside the door. Downstairs, bottles were breaking, laughter, yelling. We sat, eyes bright, leaning forward, discussing his radio show in Tuscaloosa, soul music, projects, collectors. Fifteen minutes before, I had felt a bit lost walking through the hazy, loud apartment, bumping into people, Adeeba pulling me out to the center of the room to dance. I had already had my night out with Jess and Hollis and Rebecca. I was a bit tired. I was there...why was I there? To see Seama and Adeeba and Charles. To hug them. Charles sat beside me, Adeeba and Seama were shimmying and twirling a few feet away. Erick told me of his baby sister and her unusual interest in music, that at 11 she was already telling him what she really did and didn't like in different songs, her preferences in soul and classic rock.

"You'd expect her to like something like..." He scratched his chin and looked around.

"Britney Spears?" I finished his thought.

"I got her a Beatles t-shirt..I'm making her a compilation of their songs."

I smiled. I thought of that musty coat closet by the front door in my childhood home. Down under the hem of a London Fog duster, through the scent of mothballs and leather and dust, I spent many a morning, digging and shifting and pulling out a wonderland of sound. Stacks and stacks of records. I can't imagine who I'd be today with out that, without my father's record collection. I wondered as Erick talked glowingly, proudly of his little sister if she would feel the same way about his gift of music in a few years time.