And the word of the day is…

…subtertainers. Love it.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/val-brown/subterranean-drumstick-bl_b_94273.html

Not only has Val Brown introduced me to my new favorite word, but she also references the awesome Alison Krauss/Robert Plant collaboration Raising Sand, all the while reminding me of a few reasons I’m glad I no longer live in New York.

The Little-Known Secret Eighth Person with the Ragged Tiger was Me…

So I’m procrastinating and surfing the ‘net, and I happen to stumble across this story about the first show on Duran Duran’s latest tour:

http://www.reuters.com/article/entertainmentNews/idUSN2630163120080327

This concerns me.

And what concerns me more than anything isn’t so much the fact that Simon LeBon flubbed some lyrics or that John Taylor stormed off stage (in fact, I admire him for storming off stage in defense of the people’s right to good dance music). I’m not even bothered that they’re touring to support an album that’s already bombed on two continents. No, what concerns me is the fact that the members of Duran Duran are, as this article points out, all in their mid- to late forties.

Because if the members of Duran Duran are in their mid- to late forties, then how old does that make me?

Oh, yeah-about that old. I refer you to the line from the article about screaming women in their thirties.

I haven’t bought one of their albums in about twenty years (Big Thing. Don’t remember that one? I’m not all that surprised-it really wasn’t as big as the title implies). And I probably wouldn’t pay to go see them now unless I got a signed guarantee that the set would consist only of songs from their self-titled debut, Rio, and Seven and the Ragged Tiger (and maybe Notorious, if I’m feeling charitable). But Duran Duran will always hold a special place in that part of my heart that’s eternally eleven years old.

Thanks to Duran Duran and MTV, whose successes in the early 1980s were for all intents and purposes mutually dependent upon each other, I learned some of my first important life lessons. The members of Duran Duran were incredibly hot in that androgynous early ‘80s sort of way (the way that’s apparently since copulated with Goth and produced all these little whiny emo bastards that are currently infecting the planet), and thus I got my first introductions to sexual identity politics. Boys at my school were not allowed to like Duran Duran at the risk of being labeled “gay,” although in fifth grade none of us knew what “gay” meant-we just knew it was something that nobody apparently wanted to be for some reason. And after I hung up my first Duran Duran poster in my bedroom (the first of the approximately 4000 to follow), my mom came in and said, “Oh, those girls are very pretty.” To which I replied, after first giving her my deepest, most annoyed eye-roll, “Those are boys, Mom.”

This incident was probably her first clue that my adolescence was going to be very, very difficult for everyone involved.

Duran Duran also gave me my first indications that life might actually exist outside St. Charles, Missouri. Their videos were like nothing I’d ever seen-running around in the jungle after going native, playing imaginary saxophones on boat decks while models writhed around clad in nothing but rainbow-colored paint. They filmed videos for the Rio album in exotic-sounding places like Sri Lanka and Antigua. I’d never heard of Sri Lanka and Antigua. So I looked them up (Did you know that Sri Lanka used to be called Ceylon? Huh? Did you?). And then I read that Simon LeBon’s song lyrics were heavily influenced by his reading William Blake’s poetry. So I went and read William Blake’s poetry. And loved it. And then I started writing my own poetry. And was terrible at it. But that didn’t stop me. And so I kept writing and reading. And writing and reading.

And that, friends, is the story of how Simon LeBon is at least partially responsible for my going on to earn a doctorate in English. And somewhere out there, the members of my dissertation committee are thinking “Great-now we finally know who to blame.”

I’m no longer what the members of Duran Duran would consider a big fan as my musical tastes have changed considerably in the nearly thirty (!) years since they got together, but I hope they keep performing as long as they want to keep going, and I’ll keep cheering them on from afar (that’s cheering, not screaming-whether at eleven years old or thirty years old, I don’t think I’ve ever screamed at a concert). Because thanks to Duran Duran, I got to dance away some of my pre-teen angst in the safety of my bedroom, and I started to dream about a world that was bigger than those four walls with the blue flowery wallpaper. And I’ve never stopped dreaming.

March Madness, March Sadness

I love college basketball, although over the last few years I haven’t felt as though I’ve had enough time watch as many games as I’d like during a season. But no matter what I’ve got going on in my life, everything comes to a screeching halt (or, well, at least it slows down a little) during tournament time. I pay some attention to the conference tournaments, I sit glued to the TV during the Selection Show (and that’s Selection Show-capitalized. Because it’s important.), I cheer with the bubble teams that get in and pout for the ones that don’t. I listen carefully to Greg Gumble, Clark Kellogg, and Seth Davis and then choose my #9-seed-over-#8-seed upsets based on their analysis. And then I go online and fill out my bracket, which enters me in our family pool, where we play for nothing but pride. And I mean nothing but pride, because I’m sure that two weeks after the tournament is over-probably two hours after the tournament is over-nobody remembers who won. Except for last year. Because I won last year. Because I rock.

This year, however, I suck. I never expect to make it through the first and second rounds without losing at least a few teams, but this year I’m really stinking up the joint. So, to name just a few, I’d like to thank Drake, Clemson, USC, and UConn for losing in the first round and screwing me. I’d like to thank Vanderbilt, who I picked because they were a good team and not because they fell under the “pick teams whose coaches used to coach at the school where you earned your doctorate” rule (which exists-I checked), who also screwed me. I’d like to thank South Alabama for screwing me, along with Seth Davis, who screwed me by talking up South Alabama, which made me pick them in the first place (I swear, either Seth Davis or Clark Kellogg screws me every year). I’ll continue by thanking Butler, who screwed me by beating South Alabama, thus proving that Butler somehow manages to screw either my husband or me every year (and every year, one of us asks the other, “Where is Butler anyway?” Answer: Indiana. Who also screwed me, by the way). I’d like to thank Duke, who screwed me in the second round, and who I picked under the rule of “pick Duke because your cousin went to school there” even though they haven’t had a very good team the last two years. And the “Hey, Let’s Screw Amy” Grand Prize this year goes to Davidson, who I should have picked under the “pick the team who won the conference to which the school you work for belongs, because your school hasn’t been to the tournament since the mid-1990’s and doesn’t appear to be going back there anytime soon” rule (which also exists). But I didn’t pick them, and in return Davidson screwed me twice, beating Gonzaga in the first round and Georgetown in the second. And not only did Davidson screw me in both the first and second rounds, but as I had picked Georgetown to go the Final Four, they pretty much screwed me all the way to the end.

So after all this screwing around, you’d think I’d be tired and I’d just give up. But this year, as every year, I’m back for the third and fourth rounds, ripe and ready for further punishment. Since the Thursday games go on too late for me to stay up and watch and not be a zombie at work on Friday, I had to log on to the web in the morning to learn that Tennessee had screwed me by losing to Louisville. And so it continues.

And even though as the rounds wear on, my bracket does sort of align with reality (after all, three of my Final Four teams are still standing), I can suspend my desire to win our meaningless family pool long enough to root for the Cinderella. So here’s to you, Davidson, for showing that a small private school from the Big South can play with the big boys in the power conferences-I forgive you. But don’t even think you’re beating North Carolina if you get past Kansas (and I do hope you get past Kansas under the “hate the teams from the border states of the state where you grew up” rule). Because North Carolina has managed to bulldoze almost everyone in their path this year, and that’s why I’ve picked them to take the whole thing (not because I had to pick them under the “pick the major state school team from the state in which you live” rule). So enjoy your moment, Davidson, because the Madness is almost over for you.

But the Madness won’t be over for the fans until April 7 (March-April Madness?). And so at 6pm, I’ll hear that siren call from CBS (duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-DUH-duh-duh) and head right for the couch.

In love with In Rainbows

It’s Sunday morning and I’m bored, so I thought I’d write about something other than my writing for a change.

Anyone who knows me even just a little knows that I love music, even though I can’t carry a tune nor play a note. And anyone who’s been in my orbit for the last two months or so knows that the one album that hasn’t left my car CD player or iPod rotation is Radiohead’s In Rainbows, which they probably just should have called Holy F’n Crap We Just Made the Best Album of the Decade (but that probably would have been too long to put on the CD booklet).

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a little late to the party on this one. Although I love Radiohead and have since I first heard “Karma Police” in 1997 (having been intrigued by the crunchy guitars and lyrical sentiments of “Creep” in 1993), for some reason I tend not to follow my usual brand loyalty purchasing strategy with their albums. For example, if there are even the tiniest rumors afoot that U2 or the Dave Matthews Band are about to release a new album, I’m stalking the net for release dates and preordering the disc so it shows up at my house the day it hits stores. But with Radiohead, I always hang back a little and wait to hear the singles and read the reviews and then eventually I end up buying the damn thing anyway.

So you’d think I’d learn.

But this time, I got a little distracted. As you may or may not know, Radiohead released In Rainbows in October ‘07 as a digital download on their website. Furthermore, they allowed consumers to name their own price. And I got sort of caught up in reading all the analysis and singing with glee that this band was basically holding up a giant middle finger to the music industry (because as far as I’m concerned, the business side of the music industry is probably getting everything it deserves right now). And so I sort of forgot to buy it, for a penny or otherwise, because I was too busy observing all the hype surrounding its release.

But I did finally buy it last month, and I’ll admit that my purchase occurred after I learned that an imprint of ATO Records, which is partially owned by Dave Matthews, was handling the disc’s U.S. distribution (and in my world, anything that combines Radiohead and Dave Matthews, even tangentially, is a very, very good thing). But I didn’t buy the album because of ATO. I bought it because I always end up buying Radiohead eventually (see above). I bought it because I’d been meaning to since October–really. I bought it because I work on a cubicle farm and I had to finish writing something up, so I needed to listen to some music in order to buckle down and concentrate. And I bought it because on that particular day, everything on my iPod was pissing me off and then I remembered “Oh, hey–there is that new Radiohead album.”

So I forked over the $9.99–because the pay-what-you-want deal is over.

I was so floored I almost didn’t get my work done. Eventually, I was able to push the album into the realm of background music and do the things I needed to do, but I think I listened to the album in its entirety five times before I left work that day. And then I started burning copies to share with my husband and friends. And I’ve just kept listening to it, almost once a day since about mid-February. Seriously. I haven’t had a visceral reaction to music like this in a long time. The fact that some people out there paid almost nothing for this album amazes me, because I would have easily paid twenty dollars. Thirty, even. Just for the honor of owning it.

And, of course, as with anything amazing, the “What’s so great about In Rainbows?” question is almost unanswerable. You just can’t quite put your finger on it. From the opening frenzy of “15 Steps,” you just get sucked in. And the song sounds like it’s sucking you in. It’s a sonic vacumm cleaner, if you will. 15 steps and then a sheer drop. Exactly. Halfway through that song, you’ve fallen off the cliff and you’re not going to hit bottom until the dirge-like piano of “Videotape” fades away. 

In Rainbows is one of those albums you can listen to over and over again and every time you hear something you didn’t hear before. A lyric you missed that suddenly leaps out. An inflection in Thom Yorke’s voice that makes a line stand out in a way you didn’t notice before. A layer of guitar or keyboard that you can only seem to make out when listening to the album through earbuds. Every week, I have a new favorite song. Right now, it’s “Bodysnatchers.” For the last two weeks, it was “Jigsaw Falling into Place.” Next week, something in one of these songs that I’ve heard at least a thousand times by now will stand out to me for the first time, and I’ll have to listen to that song over and over.

So, yeah–I think In Rainbows is a masterpiece, the most accessible album Radiohead’s done since The Bends that doesn’t compromise all of the advances they’ve made in musicianship and songwriting since then. But I also love what the album represents, because it shows me that there are still artists out there who are willing to make music that doesn’t conform to what seems to be the current definition of “good” (read: commercially viable, which in most cases seems to mean “Keep doing what you’ve been doing–just make sure you throw a hip-hop beat over it”). I love that this album went #1 and that their concerts are selling out, because it gives me hope that there are still a lot of music fans out there who aren’t willing to swallow whatever talentless but impossibly hot blonde the music industry’s decided to shove down our throats this week. I love that Radiohead has once again made an album for adults. And I love that a large number of adults are apparently still able to recognize substantive, challenging music when they hear it.