peevish mama

I was scrolling through pictures on my phone the other day and stumbled upon this one from the Bastille Day Block Party this summer. As is increasingly the case, we had a moody Saint James on our hands that day. He wasn’t digging the bands or the scene and he didn’t perk up until we ran into Creeper Bud and familia and he had someone to pal around with. Never underestimate the power of a peep.

We were happily ensconced to the left of the stage, kind of behind the speakers when the eagle-eyed Creeper Bud spotted Astronautalis milling around before his set. He is absolutely adorable, as you can see. As dapper a rapper as ever did rap. Supergirl grabbed my phone and walked over to him, we pushed the littles to follow and she got some girl to take this photo while we looked on with ridiculous grins on our mugs.

The best part of this little summer escapade, however, was Saint James’ turn around. Nothing I could have done or said would have changed his mind more than a musical connection. Having heard the song Dimitri Mendeleev on the radio earlier and talked about it with Dash (apparently, Mendeleev invented the periodic table – the kind of fact both Dash and Saint James are likely to know and me, not so much), he had his aha ! maybe this IS cool moment as soon as Astronautalis took the stage and started to sing in his inimitably intense way. He was hooked. I was happy. And more importantly, vindicated.

Because how can anyone stay moody listening to cool live music in a crowd of happy people on a perfect summer afternoon? I have to remember this episode because with the teen years fast approaching, my role as the official familial “dragger to things” is only going to become more and more challenging. I’ve got to keep dragging, but remain detached from the reactions. I need to keep in mind that it is not in my power to make anyone like anything. That maybe if I drag but I drag lightly, it’ll become more about the thing and less about the mother dragging to the thing. Right? Right.

Doctor Dash and I watched the documentary, Marley, this weekend and we were both blown away. We’ve long been fans of Bob Marley’s and reggae in general, but it turns out there’s A LOT we didn’t know.

Directed by Kevin Mac Donald (did you ever see The Last King of Scotland? Oof. Good.), the movie revealed a shy, complicated, charismatic, spiritual and talented man. I guess I knew about as much about Bob Marley as could be gleaned from a poster in a college dorm room: dreads, weed, great tunes. His short life was about so much more and this movie was not only a great way to learn about his message, Rastafarianism and Jamaica’s struggle for unity, but chocked full of awesome concert footage and photos – a complete joy to listen to and watch.

Stir it up, little darlin’.

And speaking of stirring it up . . . Supergirl and Little Red totally played me and Big Red yesterday. They came home from the park claiming that the other mother wanted to take one last dip in Lake Harriet. How well they understand their mothers. Supergirl knows how fixated I am on the “lasts” of each season – and I played right into her hand. Big Red is just always super game for an adventure, so she was an easy catch too.

It was a gorgeous night down at the lake, so unfortunately we had quite an audience as we cringed our way into the frigid water. The lake is low, making a quick and dramatic plunge impossible. With so many eyes on us, we couldn’t very well back out and we were left to awkwardly Nestea plunge into two feet of water. Of course there was no avoiding the guttural shrieks of pain, but it felt great – and the balmy 65 degree air felt like a warm blanket allowing us to sit on the beach wrapped in towels as the sun went down.

Those stinkers. It was perfect.

Let it be written. October 21st, baby.

Our boys did it again. They won the Fall State Championship. I gotta say, this little team is on fire right now – and I feel lucky to be part of it. A team is an organism – a living breathing thing, made up of living breathing things and as such, it can and will change over time. But right now, these guys are golden. And I’m not just talking about the wins.

They are good kids in a good place. They are kind to each other and they are gentlemen on the field. They work their tails off – they really do – but from the outside, it doesn’t even look like work because they love soccer. They are serious and they are goofballs – like 12 and 13 year olds should be. They are strong and fast and elegant – individually and together. They are, in short, a total joy to watch. And although I can only speak for the little guy below – a total joy to parent.

So in honor of the champs, a little Queen. Freddy Mercury, in his chest-less black and white unitard is just beyond. What a voice. What a loss. And it’s interesting to note that there’s a biopic of his life in the works. Yay!

Happy Monday y’all. I can’t get this stupid grin off my face.

Neil Young sounds like these Autumn days we’re having. He sounds like heartache and a slowly retreating sun distilled into music. I love him. Always have and always will. I listened to a lot of Neil Young when I was young and I feel like it let my heart glimpse what it would feel like to be older. It still works like that for me. There is no one like him.

In this video from 1971, Young plays Heart of Gold and tells the audience it’s a new song. Can you imagine? He also fusses around pulling different harmonicas out of various pockets, making small talk – just the stuff that makes a live performance so compelling.

Enjoy.

I’m a sucker for a good documentary and this one looks great. Musings, meditations and analysis of the most basic thing we all want: happiness.

The question of what makes you happy is a good one to ask and answer for yourself. The question itself kind of makes me happy because it’s a reminder that yes, we have some control over this. And frankly, half the battle is simply reminding yourself to look and then knowing where to look. It’s all around us – begging to be noticed so it can work its magic on our souls.

It’s the Jewish New Year and it’s also the new school year, so in celebration of new beginnings, here are some of mine in no particular order:

1. Loud music

2. Dancing

3. Feeding my family

4. Watching my dog romp with another dog

5. Soccer goals

6. My book club

7. A great pair of boots or jeans

8. Knowing that my siblings are finding their loves

9. When cousins get to hang out

10. Doctor Dash making pizza in a frilly apron

11. Two for one bloody marys and the ladies that go with them

12. The change of seasons

13. Children singing

14. Yoga

15. Tiny dancing

16. Cool graffiti/street art

17. Salty cured meats

18. When Saint James roams for hours on his bike with his buddies . .  and then comes home, winded and happy.

video via Cup of Jo

I love the beginning of the school year. Maybe it’s a residual feeling from my youth, but it always feels like a fresh start. New kicks, new box of crayons, new teacher, new tries for new things. I sense that my kids feel it too. Despite the protestations at the end of the summer, they seem game. They’re popping out of bed in the morning and bubbling over with stories in the evening (the girls are, anyway). Things are still settling into place – we’re all figuring out what to do, where to go and when, how to do it.

New this year is my drive to Saint James’ school at the crack o’. This is my view every morning. Sometimes those big red shoes slide off the dashboard and the sun visor goes down so he can check his hair, but mostly this is what I see. I drink my first cup of coffee, we listen to music, few words are exchanged.

Dash doesn’t understand why I didn’t pay for the bus to take him and I still might when the snow flies. For right now, though, I like this view a lot. This is found time with my kid. Last year, we were both asleep at this hour. Now we get fifteen minutes of hanging out blissfuly devoid of carpool boys, gnarly traffic and chatty younger sisters.

Saint James doesn’t realize it, but I’m gathering up these little blocks of time and I’m making a little pile and then I’m going to build something. And I think it’s going to be good.

I love this song. Pure and simple. I love it. Love it. This is summer shimmy music. You shimmying? Ya? Because I’m shimmying.

Out of L.A., Electric Guest played here on Saturday night. I was trying to shimmy Dash into going with me, but we were on family-stay-at-home-and-chill-out lock down in preparation for Saint James’ early morning game on Sunday. The Minneapolis United U12 team has made it to States. One more game and we’re in the finals, baby!!!

Nevertheless, listening to this song again, I should have shimmied over there myself. I’M not the one playing soccer.

In. Fec. Tious.

I haven’t featured any ladies on Music Monday for a while and that’s because I’m hoarding them for that thing I do over here. I love this song. The first time I heard it, I thought it might be a guy singing. Little Dragon is a Swedish electronica band and the singer is the cool, adorable Yukimi Nagano. Dig.

You know me, I’m not usually a girl overly moved by the twang. The twang hits me somewhere around the bridge of my nose, where the bass, hits me in the chest, in the gut and all the way on down – where all those good chakras reside. But sometimes I surprise myself and find myself loving a twangy band. I’m not sure there’s any rhyme or reason to it, besides the fact that the flavor of twang presented hits in a place that makes me want to take a deep breath. Is this making any sense? I don’t even understand myself right now. The Avett Brothers, Mumford and Sons, Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton, Waylon Jennings and Trampled by Turtles are all bands and musicians in my regular rotation. They are kitchen music, and coming from me, that’s the highest complement.

We caught these guys at Rock the Garden a few weeks ago and they were awesome. Dash and I had already been fully blown away, sweaty, up close and personal-like, by Doomtree and had retreated to a sunny spot on the hill to snarf delicious food truck food and listen to TbT (as they’re called by their people). Notwithstanding the fact that this band attracts fans who may or may not be wearing a coonskin cap and/or an unidentified pelt wrapped around their waist, we were pretty much in heaven. Springy tunes, soft green grass, setting sun, garlicky falafel, lazy lolling. Shit. It don’t get any better than that.

This one goes out to my brother, Maestro de Bife, on his thirty-sixth(?) birthday. Can that be? Dang, bro, you’re getting up there! At least I’m not the only one. Sheesh! Nevertheless, happy birthday to you over there and down under!

I love this girl. She exploded onto the scene with this song last year and I’ll say one thing about her: SHE DIRTY. M to the B will surely appreciate her ferociously fast foul mouth.

I know I do.

This Pumpkins cover of Fleetwood Mac’s Landslide is an old fave of mine. Smashing Pumpkins were Doctor Dash’s favorite band for many years in the 90’s and thereby mine by extension and osmosis.

Today I’m dedicating this song to myself and anyone else feeling like they’ve been hit by the summer landslide. Everyday I’m the cruise director, the sunscreen enforcer, the camp counselor, the cheer leader, the chef, the maid, the chauffeur, the laundress and the referee, and I’m weary.

Well, I’ve been afraid of changing cause I’ve built my life around you . . .

In this many years, I still haven’t cracked the code of surviving June intact. But I have figured this much out: only a few more weeks. And then the bliss of August. And then school begins. And then I start pining for summer.

Pine now. Embrace the landslide. Enjoy the song.

Gayngs is, hands down, my favorite band of the last year or so and although I can’t be sure, I think their last album might be a one and only. It’s called Relayted and if you would like some chill, sexy, variegated music to add to your windows-down summer drives or your windows-down summer loving, I would suggest you go buy it. Like, immediately.

Gayngs is a super band founded by Ryan Olson, consisting of an ever changing constellation of over 25 musicians, including, Bon Iver, Dessa, P.O.S, Channy from Polica, and Har Mar Superstar to name just a few. It’s pure Minneapolis/Au Claire cross-pollination gorgeousness. Every song on it is a gem and makes me want to find an excuse to stand in my kitchen and groove. I’ve made many a meatball to these tunes. For my peeps who don’t live in MPLS, this was filmed at First Ave. Look at that aging beauty . . . my favorite place in this city.

I. Love. This. Album.

This is hilarious. It’s a video of some teachers at a Massachusetts high school shimmying and dancing behind unsuspecting students being interviewed about highs and lows from the school year. A few of these dudes have got some moves! And not for nothing, dancing behind innocent unsuspecting strangers without their knowledge is, in fact, one of my favorite things in life.

Of course, a little Beasties in honor of Adam Yauch, MCA, who died of cancer last week at age 47. It’s sad. He’s but a bit older than us and his arc, represents our arc. It’s more than cliche at this point to say that the Beastie Boys brought hip hop to the white kids, but it’s true – the Beastie Boys brought hip hop to this white kid, via the boys at our inner city brother school, U of D. Imagine me, with wild perm and silver braces, bopping around to Fight for Your Right (to Party) before I had any real party experience under my sailor rope belt.

I never got sick of the Beastie Boys and their shaken up beer spraying mug in the camera antics because they grew up too. Their music evolved and so did they, while managing to stay cool and relevant. “They spent their career gently deflating their penis balloon” writes Sasha-Frere Jones in the New Yorker. How hilarious and how apt. It’s true. We grew up. They grew up.

I’ve been reading about Adam Yauch in the last days and I had no idea he directed many of their videos under the pseudonym Nathanial Hornblower and started a production company that produced, among many, the very cool movie about graffiti artist, Banksy, called Exit Thru the Gift Shop – which I loved. In addition to all his work in support of the Tibetan freedom cause, he was a dad and a husband.

So here’s a video Yauch directed for the song, Shadrach, where each frame was painted by hand. It’s gorgeous and was included in the 22nd International Tournee of Animation.

Rest in peace, MCA.

Why not? I’ve got nothing but wine and time, so Imma gonna set this bitch up to publish tomorrow. Sorry, sheesh. I just read an amazing article in the Atlantic about Kanye and I’m very linguistically suggestible. Just google it- to link would take too much effort here with my phone in the airport.

The truth is sometimes a song crashes back into your life and makes you laugh and dance and vow to memorize the choreography in time for your 20th reunion – just in case – with your old friend Patrioouuk whose visit was in itself, a glorious a crashing back.

Brilliant. Funny. Brilliant. What d’ya say, Nugs?