Crushed by a sense of impending doom since Bush was elected to a second term? Humiliated and depressed that your lover’s up and left, that the man who was supposed to be your partner for life has checked out with nary an explanation, without so much as a real discussion, whose fiery meteor of intense, sincere love has suddenly cooled and, straying so casually off course, has blasted your planet into the oblivion of a new geologic age? Resist that paralyzing despair, because with four more years of Bush prosperity and with your deportation to the state of Single Income, you can’t well afford to slip into a full-out, rip-roarin’ nervous breakdown. You’ve got to eat. Okay, so maybe your appetite disappeared along with your husband, but those dogs continue to demand their kibble. Besides, while you may live vicariously through others who flourish in their brilliantly bold and bitter eloquence, you will only meet endless frustration in your own lame astronomical metaphors and annoying second person narration. There’s really no attractive option but to nurture your innate optimism and resist despair. So come on into the kitchen…
I’ve been dancing in the kitchen a lot lately, and let me tell you, the mundanity of making a meal and the drudgery of cleaning it up have never been more invigorating. Anyway, it sure as hell beats staring disconsolately into the bright void of the refrigerator, zoning out over the soup, or dripping tears in my beer. Pulling at my hip strings are generally two types of songs: the giddy escape and the face-the-music music.
For a dose of the giddy, I answer the call of the Monkey Puzzle siren in “Jaguar Temple” and “Panic Dirge.” She never fails to pull me in from an exuberant slide or a wild pogo to sway intensely in place. With Modest Mouse, on the other hand, I don’t bother to find a center at all and just flail about unpredictably. “Float On” assures me it will all be okay; “The View” is too damn manic and perky not to bliss me out (”and if it takes shit to make bliss / then I feel pretty blissfully”), but in “Dance Hall” I usually reach the apex of flailing unpredictability. Speaking of fabulously unpredictable bliss, I owe my recent MM and MP grooves to the spontaneous good will of certain guardian angels working through the U.S. Postal Service. For an old staple in my giddy escape stable, I know I can always rely on Patti Smith’s Horses. I mean, how can you not be swept up in the momentum of “Gloria” or “Free Money”? And don’t even try to deny the danceability of “Land: horses”!
He saw horses, horses, horses, horses, horses, horses, horses, horses
Do you know how to pony / like bony maroney
Do you know how to twist / well it goes like this / it goes like this
Baby, mash potato / do the alligator, do the alligator
And you twist the twister / like your baby sister
Some days the mad twist or the hysterical pogo is definitely the way to go, while other days I prefer instead to flirt with the pain that welcomes me to the human race. With Janis Joplin’s Pearl, I play at White Woman Sings the Blues. (Hey, a girl can dream!) It’s virtually impossible to be a big cry baby when I’m busy staggering about, trying to match Janis on “Cry Baby” (or many other tracks on this brilliant album). I approach “Me & Bobby McGee” cautiously, however, for it leads me deep into vulnerable indeed before raising me up assertive.
Lucinda Williams also has me swingin’ and singin’ (but goes a little easier on the throat than Janis). I developed an addiction to Car Wheels on a Gravel Road shortly after she blew me away live in concert. I especially appreciate how “Can’t Let Go,” ” Still I Long For Your Kiss,” and “(I don’t want you anymore / You took my) Joy” permit me to embrace those contradictory sentiments.
I feel as though we should move right into the religious material but, no, my sacred obsession with dancing to a certain set of sad songs will have to wait for some future burst of inspiration. Today (Tonight? This morning?) the moment has passed.
"Dancing in the kitchen"!? I had a feeling that I might have some peeping Toms!
When I’m feeling particularly frustrated with failed efforts, Janis and I like to perform "Work Me, Lord" (’cuz I’m so r’lijus!) from her Kosmic Blues album. There’s nothin’ like yellin’, singin’, and rippin’ it out like this:
Well I don’t think I’m any very special kind of person down here,
I know better,
But I don’t think you’re gonna find anybody,
Not anybody who can say that they tried like I tried,
The worst you can say about me
Is that I’m never satisfied.
This is of course followed by a big musical screaming "Whoa" that I can never hope to match (no matter how hard I try like only I can try)! Maybe all the screeching and bellowing will minimize the PT crowd outside my kitchen theatre.
Thanks for the intriguing list of new names and music to investigate. If you like a bit of gut-twisting soulful blues, check out Curtis Salgado. I caught a performance last August and was blown away by both vocals and harmonica. Hmm, it looks like Curtis will be in Salem this coming friday – I think I may have just found a carrot to get me through the rest of the week…