I have a cold and am exhausted. Still unpacking from the move. My studio remains a work in progress. Too many unopened boxes. Need a new (gargantuan) bookcase. Art is wrapped in Kraft paper.
My feet are cold (literally).
Tea helps.
Tea always helps.
(Does it for you?)
Decided to suck it up and add to today’s NaNoWriMo word count anyway.
108 good little soldiers.
Better than nothing, right?
Until tomorrow, I have the laziest of intentions:
Sweet Repose by Victor Gilbert (circa 1880).
Happy dreams!
“A short story must have a single mood and every sentence must build towards it.”–Edgar Allan Poe
Yesterday’s Google Doodle was in honor of Sylvia Plath’s 87th birthday. The gorgeous art is by Sophie Diao.
Sylvia Plath Google Doodle. Art by Sophie Diao.
It’s drizzling. Cool. A haze of rain. Grey. Nonstop. A wall of grey.
Haven’t stepped foot outside since the last sunset. Don’t plan on breaking this chain. Not today. Today my will is adamantine. Hard as a scimitar. Laziness, my chosen luxury.
Furthermore…
Someone else brought a package in, retrieved the mail. All junk, anyway. Glad I didn’t waste those fifteen seconds. Time spent under a new duvet is precious, irretrievable. Pushing it off is forsaking a cloud in favor of the gutter.
Furthermore…
Tea doesn’t steep through telekinesis. Mugs aren’t self-sugaring. Spoons do not come with ‘automatic stirring’ buttons.
Furthermore…
Books exist to be read. Aged pages feel good when rubbed between fingers, the scent produced intoxicating.
It’s drizzling. Cool. A haze of rain. Grey. Nonstop. A wall of grey.
***
Rain on the River by George Bellows (1908). Collection: Rhode Island School of Design Museum. Public Domain.
Hey all! Please accept my apologies for my (totally unintentional) protracted absence from ASPL. Life got in the way (working, vacation, moving, and computer problems…mostly the latter, really).
We’re in our new rental house. Yay! I’m typing these words on a brand new laptop. Double yay!
What does this mean for ASPL? Daily posting. Again. FINALLY!
Here is the promised Mary Cassatt painting. It’s a repeat, but a favorite. Enjoy.
Five O’Clock Tea by Mary Cassatt (1880). Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Public Domain.
See you tomorrow, you lovely, patient people.
Here’s what my hometown boy had to say about art:
“Art–the one achievement of man which has made the long trip up from all fours seem well advised.”–James Thurber
Thelma and the Sleaze are coming for you Gunning down the highway With guitars in their eyes, like stars Bigger than life Full of that '70s swagger B-movie queens on the rise Heading to your town Gonna take it over They'll charm your women and drink your booze Yeah, these chicks do it up right Night after night on the stage Leaving nothing behind but your dreams They won't stop Even when there's nothing left to give Gonna conquer the world while you weep Bigger than life Full of that '70s swagger B-movie queens on the rise Thelma and the Sleaze are coming for you Gunning down the highway With guitars in their eyes, like stars
DISCLAIMER: I fucking curse in this review, so beware! I know, I know. Why is a dainty book nerd like myself wielding profanity? I am a many-petaled sunflower, okay?
RELIX
While y’all are sitting around watching Super Bowl LIII, I’m listening to Thelma and the Sleaze and drinking cheap booze. In other words: when it comes to gen-u-ine American pleasure, I’ve got you beat by yards.
Wait, who? Thelma. and. the. Sleaze. Remember those words. You’ll want to remember my name, too, so you know who to thank later. You’re welcome, by the way.
AKA
LG and LG’s Pals.
Queens of Rock.
From Nashville, Tennessee.
You’ve gotta see ’em live. That’s imperative.
As musicians, they kick ass all over any stage brave enough to hold them.
LG is the eye of this hurricane. She’s raunchy, rowdy, and fucking hilarious. But, she doesn’t do it alone: everyone up there with her is worth the price of admission any damn gig they play. R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
Their energy is its own entity. Ultimately, you need to be in the same room as that shit to understand its pull. Trust me on this. I could describe a TATS show down to the smallest sweaty detail, until you felt fucking transported to that place and time. Virtual Reality Level: 10. It still won’t do it justice.
Fortunately, there’s something that is closer than anything short of seeing them live.
RELIX
That’s a magic word, right there.
Your ticket to TATS nirvana.
What is a RELIX?
RELIX
Oh, hey! Thanks for asking. It’s just…the best.
“Officially” (via LG on Facebook) RELIX is an “open concept not album.”
Or (in my-speak): it’s a sixteen-song treasure box whose contents keep changing.
I bought version two on Friday, when it was still pay-what-you-want-or-can. By the time you’re reading this, it will cost $217.00 or an original poem. But, probably not. Or, maybe. See, it’s that kind of exchange. Elastic, symbiotic, fiercely creative. Ya know, art. The real deal, brought to you by demos recorded, I believe, at home, and left unmastered.
Imagine trying to bluff your way into a hip stranger’s house party. You’re a bit shaky at the prospect: dry mouth, moist palms. “Do people really do this kind of thing? Is it normal? Am I an idiot for even trying?” You ring the bell. The door flings wide. Maybe you manage a few mumbly words of greeting. Nothing you say matters, though, as you discover there was no reason to worry about being caught and called out for trespassing. You weren’t invited, because no one was: everyone’s welcome, the food and drinks are plentiful, the conversation is actually interesting. Better yet? Some richly talented chicks are hanging out in the living room, playing lit-as-hell songs. As you wander from room to room, meeting new people, getting wasted together, you keep hearing the musicians as they run through a bunch of songs. Sometimes the music is loud, sometimes the music is low, but it’s always radically compelling. Of all the waves in the universe to inhabit, everyone in the house is sharing the same one. (Except for Janet, who has shit taste in music. Fuck Janet.) What are the odds? (That’s rhetorical. I’m not a statistician, so please don’t come at me with your fancy numbers. Also: I don’t care.)
The party breaks-up. People go back to their lives. The only remnant of that night, aside from a short-lived collective hangover, is the whisper of “Oh, my God! Have you heard of this band?” to friends and strangers alike.
That’s the joy of RELIX.
I hope you’ll listen, and join the chorus.
****
So, here we are. What’s left to speak of, except for:
Mutual generosity, getting-and-giving, the vulnerable transaction between creators and consumers. Are they mere ideas, or the lifeblood of every artistic project worth a damn?
RELIX is simultaneously a gutsy experiment, a middle finger to corporatized art, and a gift to those music lovers who will, in turn, give a damn right back.
****
When I bought RELIX a couple of days ago, I paid xx amount of dollars of my choice. I wish that I could have paid more dosh, but, ya know, bills. The majority of my bills are due on the first of the month. That’s adult life, right? I told LG that I would write a poem to pad out my contribution. As you know, when it comes to indie artists I try to put my money where my mouth is. After all, I am one and I respect the hell out of creative types who forge their own path. Look out for my next post (which is going live in a few minutes). It, I believe, more than fulfills my promise.
****
THELMA AND THE SLEAZE LINKS:
THELMA AND THE SLEAZE FACEBOOK
THELMA AND THE SLEAZE OFFICIAL WEBSITE
It’s only rock and roll
A Small Press Life: Books. Art. Writing. Life. Tea. 