Monday, October 26, 2009

Jesus Christ

Oh the cursed singer songwriter.

I'm guilty of loving some of their woeful music.

See Exhibit A. See tortured expression on my face? Oh, sadness.

Listening to a girl sing 'Both Hands' on the corner of 18th and Castro last night made every muscle in my body clench. I'm sure even Ani herself would like this song to be put to rest the same way I'd like to forget my 19 year old angsty poetry.

The last time I had seen Ani in concert was probably in 2006. Josh and I made our way to the Mountain Winery for the show and when I saw chairs I nearly cried tears of joy. I had a latte at a fucking Ani Difranco show...AND I ENJOYED IT Secret Shame. Totally.

I remember leaving the venue that night relieved that she's mellowed out as much as we have. Several angry lesbians requested older angrier stuff that she denied them and I was glad. I didn't think I could really sit there and enjoy 'Untouchable Face' or 'Swan Dive' comfortably. Someone has to have the balls to sing about taking your tampon out and waving it around in shark infested waters but you get to a point in your life when that kinda stuff doesn't happen anymore. You sort of realize that kinda shit doesn't work because you're no longer mad, hurt nor misunderstood. Or you may be but you don't act out by threatening suicide anymore because you've come to the conclusion that people will be sad if you die, but they'll move on without you.

These days I take refuge in old Decemberists, Beirut, Fanfarlo, Devotchka, music that makes me feel like I'm a gypsy or living in a secret compartment of a pirate ship. Someday I want to go out to the beach at night and sing Neutral Milk Hotel at the top of my lungs to the ocean.


No comments: