peevish mama

My girl turns 6 today and if there is any truth to the old wives tale of the difficult years for kids being either even or odd, then we’re in for a good one coming up. Five was challenging with sweet DB, yet it still remains my favorite age. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – kindergartners are pure magic. They are bright, curious, without guile, hilarious and verbose. LOVE.

This past year, Devil Baby put her kindergarten teacher through the ringer. She had her Spanish teacher pulling her hair out, she brought her music teacher to her knees. Turns out, Devil Baby didn’t really change much when she went to school. At least, not until she did. Slowly, over time, with her lovely and creative teacher working overtime to figure her out, Devil Baby learned how to bend a little. How to be a good citizen even though she could really give two shits about being a good citizen. How to not do something she really wants to do, especially when that thing she really wants to do is to make the other kids laugh. She’s funny and she knows it. I called a meeting with her teacher in February because I was in a panic that she was being so naughty she would start to be rejected by her peers, but her teacher assured me there was no danger of that. They loved her shenanigans. The teachers, not so much.

If being a class clown weren’t enough, this funny little lady also developed an irrepressible need to whistle. This is the thing I want to remember most about Devil Baby’s fifth year of life. She purses those plush little lips of hers and out comes music, clear and sweet. She picks up tunes like pebbles on a beach. I don’t even think she knows when she’s doing it, which is why it became problematic at school. She would whistle when the teacher was talking, whistle during quiet time, whistle during music class, whistle during prayer service, whistle when she had been told to stop. I know Devil Baby is awake in the morning because I hear her whistle before her feet hit the floor. I happened to be flipping through some old pictures on my phone and found this one of her whistling while bowling. It’s just what she does and I hope it never stops.

This Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros song is a particular favorite of hers to whistle, not surprisingly. We saw them in concert a few weeks ago and had a rollicking good time. I fear peevish mama can’t keep up with the music reviews anymore, but I’ll dedicate this one to my baby who’s no longer a baby. This song is for my girl, who as she turns six, is defined by music, laughter and stubbornness. I’d say, it’s a winning combination.

I love you, DB. You are one and only and I thank my lucky stars for you. Happy happy happy day, girl.

As you know, I’ve got it bad for Bon Iver. Not only does he make the prettiest music imaginable, music that makes you stop what you’re doing and listen, he can also blow you out of your seat live with his giant band. I think Justin Vernon is brilliant, I ‘m a sucker for a male falsetto and he’s got a good one. No one does this song better than Bonnie, but man, does Vernon bring a whole other level of yearning to it. I found myself holding my breath. I Can’t Make You Love Me.

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.

When my guys were tiny, I felt they had me literally on my toes. Every eye in my head, and then some I didn’t have, were trained on whoever happened to be at the age most likely to stage dive off the top step or slip quietly unnoticed to the bottom of a pool. It’s exhausting work, being the mama of small children and I’m here to say that it does get better.

For about a nanosecond.

All is well and good until one day you wake up and realize you’ve got to find those extra eyes in the back of your head again. You’ve got to keep your ear to the ground and cultivate a nose for news. You’ve got to be available and aware because everything gets quieter and more subtle.

What’s more, in the midst of developing these heightened senses, this deeper awareness of what’s going on INSIDE the heads of your kids, you have to pretend to be totally chill. You have to hone your casual opener to the finest edge, so they don’t even hear the envelope tearing, don’t even realize the contents are spilling out.

And while on this tightrope of respectful, cool, hyper vigilant awareness, you need to juggle, like, twenty three different eggs in the air. Because just as things are starting to get tricky in this new way, the shit hits the fan and your family is busier than ever.

This is where I am right now. I am barely keeping it together, barely keeping up – which is frightening, because I suspect this has only just begun. But I dig it. These young people are getting VERY interesting. Curiously, I think I might be better at this than I was at that. Maybe it’s because I have a keen connection to my goofy, confused, scared, and overly imaginative 12-17 year old self. For some reason, that part of my life is really vivid for me, and for better or worse, it may just come in handy.

How about a little country croon for all the mamas out there, muddling through with grace and humor? And when I say grace, I mean tripping and falling and flubbing and sucking and brushing ourselves off and starting again. Because every day is a new day, and every day we get to try again. Thank heavens.

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?

This week’s selection is dedicated to my girl Foxy Brown, who has learned to walk her muddy paws back and forth on a towel when I stand at the back door and say FEET!!!

DJ Jake Rudh busts this song out every now and again at Transmission and I always get a chuckle. My favorite part comes at 59 seconds. Oh, and also at the beginning when the announcers says “metamorphosis.” Such fun.

Me likee, very much. I mean, come on. Look at him. He’s like a hip hop Beck.

Based out of MPLS, with vim and vigor to spare, check him out.

Did I mention me likee very much?

Very much, indeed.

Sending a little California-love your way today. We’ve been happily ensconced in a cute little bungalow in Venice Beach for a few days and man, I could get used to this. The people watching is out of this world and I’m glad to report that surf culture is alive and well.

L.A. is kind of blowing my mind. It’s just so vast and as we’ve been opting for side streets instead of congested highways, we’ve seen the city up close – colorful, diverse, bizarre, beautiful.

It’s a city of such extremes and the yearning is palpable – yearning for riches and fame or more simply, for a livelihood, a love, another bottle of booze. And those leggy palms, whispering in the wind: not all that glitters is gold.

Y’all don’t know this, but I’ve gotta a little thing for producer extraordinaire -Danger Mouse. He’s just one of those really talented, behind-the-scenes music people and everything he touches, turns to gold. Not necessarily in a commercial sense, though he has that touch too; rather, one simply knows that whatever he collaborates on and produces will be good.

He was one-half of Gnarls Barkley with Cee Lo Green, one-half of Broken Bells with James Mercer of the Shins and he’s worked with everyone from The Black Keys to Beck to Gorillaz. He’s everywhere.

This is a song off a new album called Rome, in which he collaborates with Italian movie composer, Daniele Luppi, featuring vocals by Jack White and Norah Jones. It’s a loving nod to classic Italian cinema, but with a modern sensibility. It’s a movie score without a movie and it sounds good to my ears, but then, when does Jack White not sound good to my ears?

Here’s a little warmth for low down in your gut on this dreary spring day.

I just spent the morning carrying my laptop from room to room as I made pancakes, got the kids ready for school and tried to clean up for the painter. Do yourself a favor and watch or listen to Bruce Springteen’s keynote speech at SXSW when you can stay in one place. Make some meatballs and enjoy an hour of the funny and self-deprecating Boss dishing music history, anecdotes, jokes and adolescent angst all interspersed with a little illustrative singing and guitar. Bruce is a silver-tongued wordsmith and his drippy hot descriptions of doo-wop alone, are worth the listen. Hard work, grit and caring too much are what have made him a titan. But he sure doesn’t act like one. He’s easy and cool. BY FAR the most riveting hour of video I’ve seen all year. What a guy.

How could I not? Doctor Dash and I travelled to the ‘Lou for a quick 24 hour get-away to see Radiohead and dip our toes into the lives of our dear friends, Dolly and Soul Daddy. Radiohead is one of Dash’s favorite bands, and so, by virtue of exposure, proximity, osmosis and all the rest, one of mine too. He’s the one who spearheaded this adventure, however, and for that, I am grateful.

Not only did we get to have our minds blown by one of the best concerts I’ve ever seen, for realz, we got to do it as two little anonymous people in St. Louis, swallowed up in collective adoration of the band with their very cool, happy, energetic fans. And not only that – this complicated, heady, loud, bad-ass show was sandwiched between lots of beers and laughs and nibbles with Dolly and Soul Daddy. We got to love up their kids, peer around their cute house, perch at their kitchen island and listen to their tunes, while they kept us fed, hydrated, giggling and on-schedule for the show. It was a blast – as lightening quick of a frolic as is humanly possible, with as many words stuffed into 24 hours as humanly possible, but so very satisfying for every little corner of my heart. The shimmer lingers on. (As you can imagine, I was swooning during the entire show, but I swooned particularly deeply when they played this song. I love it so.)

I wouldn’t be able to pick a favorite Stevie Wonder song, but this one makes me want to groooooove. Looooooove. Happy Monday, people. All I do, is think about you.

Hold me closer tiny dancer. Count the headlights on the highway.

Simply because, it’s simply the best. Lost my wits when the band played this on Saturday night at our school dance party in the gym. Thank goodness Dash was close at hand to contain me and spin me around a bit. God, I love this song. No one does it like Elton, though I must say John Frusciante does it pretty fucking well. A little Chili Peppers for fun. 

This past weekend, Saint James was invited to his first party, with both boys and girls. Supergirl is good friends with the host’s younger sister so to her great joy, she was invited too. By all accounts, it was a blast and from what I hear, the kids just danced and danced and danced. Nanook’s words after sneaking a peak: “they were in full Dougie.”

Am I crazy, or have things changed? Since when does a room full of boys feel comfortable showing off their moves under the shattered light of a disco ball? From what I remember of school dances, it was always just a mob of spazzy girls dancing, the boys shuffling around the perimeter until a slow dance came on and maybe one brave soul would emerge from the pack to approach a girl (sigh, never me).

It appears the kids today have obliterated all such awkwardness. For all the talk of the isolating effects of technology, I would have to say that based on this admittedly tiny sample size, all is well in the social department for our youth. They hung out, talked, laughed, goofed off, included the younger kids who happened to be there and danced. Maybe sixth grade just happens to be a golden window for this kind of freedom and frankly, coolness. But I can’t help but hope this portends of how it’s going to be. Now I just need someone to teach ME how to dougie.