the True Margrit Captain's Log

IRONSONGs, Lunar Eclipses, Viral Spiral

2011-12-26T00:56:00.000-08:00

Debut of IRONSONG!
This comically gloomy artwork was the "promotional" poster for a long-ago gig I shared with the terrifically talented songwriter, Robert Geller. We recently reunited for the very first installment of my new songwriters in the round series: IRONSONG--at the ever welcoming, Dolores Park Cafe.

Also circulating songs with us was Lea Carey Grant who sings like an angelic bird and writes clever, pretty, and often theatrical popsongs. Our songs floated down a meandering stream of consciousness with topics and metaphors like snow, birds, politics, airplanes, and literature catching the currents. At one point, Amy Meyers popped in and we got her "up" on stage ( there's not really a stage at Dolores Park Cafe--but you know what I mean) to play a tune or two. Bonus!

Meanwhile:
In the wee hours of December 11th I blearily noticed the moon looking a bit odd--"hmm," I thought, "when I went to bed it was full, but now it looks like a half moon? What the?" Soon enough I realized the dealio. It was the total lunar eclipse of December 2011! And gorgeous! My inner cavewoman watched it in awe, thinking: "Me like Mother Moon, but tonight she is strange. We must sacrifice a virgin carrot to appease her wrath". It also crossed my mind that 2012 is coming and some predictions of doom have been associated with that date. Fear fire foes famine. Trans fats. Or not if you follow the official Vulcan, Hobbit, or cicada calendar. It's all in the trappings of perspective. Looky here--from over yonder. Yknow.

Kate, Kat, and Me
A few weeks later I returned to Dolores Park Cafe for a more "regular" show with kate kilbane and the cellar doors, and Kat Downs. Damn. Those party people sure can kick some musical ass!

PLUS:
I awoke a few days ago to a posting on our facebook page listing me as one of the finalists for Keyboard Player of The Year on Sunset Island Music--oooh! That makes a pianoplayer's day. And if that weren't enough, an online talent search we undertook to interest the bigwigs at Spectra Records (wherein we needed to get a minimum of 250 fans to listen to our tunes to get to Spectra's review stage) went healthfully viral, giving us over 2,000 listens (and counting) ooh! Thanks y'all!!!

The year ends the year begins.
The days are so short this time of year, that dinnertime is right after breakfast. Soon enough it will be a new blank page on the calendar. Let's raise a full glass to a sweet sweet 2012.

The Thirty Names for 50,000 Words for Snow

2011-11-11T07:56:00.000-08:00

Why does the caged poet sing? What and how she sing? Let me count the ways. The words, names, numbers, slip sneakily through the bars off into the night. Each day dawns with the challenge and charge of having & needing to have more to say. Always more...oh you amusing muse.

In honor of this rampant multiplicity, there's a sub-genre in the True Margrit Catalog--the "number songs". What do I mean? I'll show you! For examples: On our 2010 album,"The Juggler's Progress" we had: "500 Years" and "50,000 Names . On our upcoming album we will feature "The Five Hundred Block of A Thousand Oaks" and the mathematical-metaphor-laden,"Obvious Solutions". Mmm, mathy. And so on, unto eternity, with a mobius strip of songs reeling through a massive, metaphorical, and magnificent player piano.

Now listen!

Long ago, in 1999 we released, "Deceptively True" which included, "The Thirty Words for Snow" -- which was a song in my 1997 rock opera/ song cycle, "Tune Into Radio Brain". So, imagine my surprise to hear that one of my very favorite artistes of all time--the one and only, illustrious, fabulous Kate Bush--has a new album about to drop this very month! Guess what it's called? "50 Words for Snow"!!

Whoa. What are the odds? Is it a case of sympathetic magic--like begets like, so simply writing songs with numbers in the title/lyrics multiplies the chances of meeting your song's doppelganger? If the number is higher will there be more doppelgangers? I'd say that is not a very scientific explanation. But it's all I got at the moment.

Or? As it happens My birthday is July 28th and Kate Bush's is July 30th. My song, "Thirty Words for Snow" was actually debuted in San Francisco on July 31st, 1997, the day after Kate Bush's 39th birthday, and her song, "50 Words for Snow" has 14 characters-- and the letters in my first and last name add up to 14. Which clearly explains everything.

I am the daughter of a scientist, after all. Trust me.

Anyway. In tribute to this numerologically propitious synchronicity, and on the magical date of 11/11/11 (All ones! Nothing is bigger than one!) we offer a special free download "single" called: 50,000 WORDS FOR SNOW and it will entail: TWO SONGS FREE (cuz singles were two songs in olden times--side A + side B = single. Nothing is bigger than a single). Thus, you get: "The Thirty Words for Snow" AND "50,000 Names" for free.

The number for the price is zero.

A zero. It's a circle. It has no beginning, middle, or end. It goes on forever, it is eternal, it never stops. But it never starts. It mysteriously contains the entirety of the ever-expanding cosmos. It holds the great nothingness of the void. It will afford you hours of entertainment. And scare the bejesus out of you. And lead you gently home.

There's so much more to say--but I'm trying to keep it to fifty thousand words or less.

Luckey's Streak

2011-10-31T15:56:00.000-07:00

October 28th
Just a tee-tonsey sliver of pie for breakfast. Holy Mother of Julia Child! That is rich luscious, pumpkiny, and chocolatey--and admittedly, a little fibrous. All in all, a success. There was a pumpkin..and then we went to work and there were pies. If only the music biz were that easy.

As pie.

We hop into vehicles and go south. We meet my brother and nephew Elan for lunch in Portland. Much conversational fun and many noodles are had by all.

We hop into vehicles and go farther south. It rains. We drive. We get to Luckey's Cigar Store Club in Eugene, OR, and heave gear within the club and go out for some dinner. For yes--we are already hungry again. It's mysterious. Digestion.

(Laspe of Time for Dinner)

Back at the club Jimmy Frank (aka James Betzer) opens the show up. He belts and sings like an angel, working through a super duper set of originals --peppered with some cool covers ("Mrs. Brown You've Got a lovely Daughter", for one). Bird Erichsen ( aka Brad Erichsen) gets up and sings, in fact, like a bird with a totally different type of lovely, bluesy, tunes with fancy guitar licks. He includes a cover of "Trouble" by Cat Stevens--hearkening back to the Cat Stevens-filled year we were roommates in the Haight--aw, Brad! Yay!

We pop up and do our True Margrit best to follow such excellent acts. Though a bit fatigued from a week of gigs, crazy hours, and much bacon fat, we plow mightily through tunes from "Seaworthy", "The Juggler's Progress" and our upcoming album. I make another shaky foray with the ukelele on the wee songlet,"Like You". And the new ballad "You Could Be Anything" shows its wry face, too.

At last, we play the final notes of the tour, get the hell offstage, and head out into the moist Oregon night, tired, yes, but it's a good healthy-humming-tired. I can picture how Halloween costumes all across the west coast are being shed, partiers are yawning, and blankets are being situated to warm the slumbers of all the weary. We flow through tree-lined streets of Eugene and on and on, to the crescent Moon, past Mars, to places where sleep makes songs new.

Milady Robot

2011-10-31T13:39:00.000-07:00

A little more about October 26th:
We drive merrily back to Tacoma after the Christo's show (in Salem, Oregon), buzzed from their delicious food, from playing a well-received, fun, and excellent show. To top it all off the staff played Kate Bush after our show (and before, too) and we love her. More about Kate Bush soon...

(photo by Bob Goldstein)

We get back to Tacoma and we all get to sleep pretty promptly. For tomorrow is another gig.

October 27th
We head in two separate cars to Mandolin Cafe as Andrew has an errand to attend to. Guided by Droid's fallible GPS, Gary & I take a route that lands us in sluggish traffic making us a wee bit late--we get to the venue 15 minutes before showtime. Oops! Andrew is almost set up and we whisk about getting our gear and whatnot all together. Somehow, we are actually playing our first song by 6:15 ish...and all is fine. As it happens, this 2nd half of the tour consists of three shows wherein we get to play over an hour. We do enjoy this freedom, and amongst the rock, old and new, I take the time to do my new itsy-bitsy ukelele ditty, "Like You", plus a solo piano tune, "Casseroles and Thunderstorms" (and in this case, on a real baby grand). Nice!

After the set there is much chatting, hugging, and visiting to be done--all manner of dear friends, dear family, and dear colleagues have shown up. My head spins a little at the very heartwarming-ness of it all. AWWWWWWWW, you sweet humans. I loves you ALL.

Though some of us have partaken of the Mandolin Cafe's yummy snacks, we are all still hungry for the imminent snack Andrew is planning to cook when we get back to his house: the fish that dare not speak its name. Yes it's true. He has a massive halibut fillet he is going to bread and fry in bacon fat. Oh mercy.

Gary & I speed off into the night charged with the important task of procuring tartar sauce ingredients. We locate a Safeway, grab the items ( mayo, shallot, fresh dill) and leap back into the car. But where are we? Uh oh, we are lost...but no! We have GPS. Gary turns on the audio option and the directions are issued in that imperious, flat, run-on, computer-generated voice--in this case it is female...ish. When "she" manages to make the phrase: "take-the-ramp-to-the-port-of-Tacoma" mash into one very long word that does not sound like English (it's closer to Elvish spoken by a machine), we dub her: "Milady Robot".

Such diversions notwithstanding, we get home in time for me to whip us some tartar sauce (greek yogurt, mayo, dill, diced shallots, and some homemade dill pickles of Andrew's). The fish is already swimming out of the bacon grease. And into my mouth. Oh my lord. It's good. You'd have to be made of stone to be unmoved by such deliciousness, on such a night. So say we all--even Milady Robot.

Meanwhile.

For a side dish we are eating some tasty sci-fi broccoli that came from Heather & Andrew's Little Eorthe organic veggie box. There are a growing constellation of pumpkins piling up from several weeks' worth of boxes, and we have been discussing all week how to cook them. I look at the clock and say:

"I bet we can cook a pumpkin pie by midnight". It's 10:45 and Andrew high-fives me in the customary ritual acceptance of a culinary challenge. It's on.

We grab the prettiest pumpkin, cut it up, remove its seeds and get it cooking in a REALLY hot oven ( just shy of broiling). Meanwhile we decide that yesterday's brownies must be reconstituted into the crust. We crumble the brownies onto a baking sheet and they go into the very hot oven as well--in this case to crisp up. Gary heroically goes back to the store to get heavy whipping cream. We melt a stick of butter and stir it into the brownie crumbs, then mash them into the bottom of two pie pans. For good measure we poke chocolate chips into the crust: more chocolate = better. We mix up the piping hot pumpkin flesh (once we speedily extricate it from its skin) and spin it up in the mixer with eggs, maple syrup, butter--and that heavy cream Gary brings. And of course we add the requisite pumpkin pies spices--cloves, ginger, nutmeg, allspice, cinnamon. We pop the two pies in the oven. It's 11:55.
Whoa. The colossal mess we've made is really something to be proud of.

The pies take an hour to bake, and we are getting very punchy...

They come out looking and smelling spectonkular. We are too tired and it's too rich to partake tonight (right before sleeping)--but tomorrow, well, we won't need Milady Robot to navigate our pie-laden forks to our mouths.

The San Francisco Treat

2011-10-29T14:50:00.000-07:00

October 26th
To Salem from Tacoma we zoom. And when we arrive we are delighted by the True Margrit posters plastered all over the front of the venue, Christo's Lounge (+ Pizzeria). On some of the posters we are called the "San Francisco treat". Nice.

We have a good feeling about this gig. And we are right!

Kyle the talented, good-natured, and conscientious sound guy sees to all our audio needs with easygoing aplomb. Lisa and Mike Learn make sure we have drinks, make sure we order food for after the show (the fragrances of baking pizza garlic and love are AMAZING to the nose up in here), and once we play, they listen to every note of every song with delight. Plus the rest of the generous crowd gives back as much love as we put out. Our chests swell up with the pride of taking part in the great tradition of live performance--let it live on. Like it does here at Christo's. Best gig.

The Chicken That Dare Not Speak Its Name

2011-10-29T13:35:00.000-07:00

October 24th
Monday's pork-shoulder
That Andrew roasts slowly for long hours
Then gently stews in chili verde--
Tomatillos, peppers, garlic--
This he lovingly spoons over cheese enchiladas (melted cheese liquid gold)
And it is eaten with joy (and two colorfully contrasting salsas:
spicy tart red cabbage & avocado/citrus/pomegranate)
Followed by ice cream, cookies & action movie

October 25th
Tuesday's free-range organic chickens soaks in buttermilk
All day
Until Andrew dredges the pieces in spice & flour
He fries them in bacon fat
We eat and groan
And yearn for bigger stomachs

ROCKtobering

2011-10-25T12:53:00.000-07:00

Dear readers, here's a recap of what's gone down in October thus far:

Sunday, Oct 9th at YOSHI's San Francisco LOUNGE--ooh
Sonic Zen Records/ Bay Vibes has been running a songwriters unplugged series at Yoshi's for a few years. October is their last month at that venue, so I'm glad I got to play on account of the fancy factor, meeting the nice people involved, and the free sushi.

What was it? Three songwriters trading mini-sets: Lisa-Marie Johnston, Lea Grant, and me in this installment. It's not quite the truly Attention-Deficit-Disorder-friendly format of switching between performers after one song, but mini-sets nonetheless keep the evening rolling along. My voice refused to warm up, but it didn't matter in the end: I plugged away at some brand-new tunes--and dare I say it, it was strangely invigorating being the sloppy, slap-happy, slacker/savant of the evening (and alliterative, too). Lisa-Marie and Lea both sang flawlessly, they have rad tunes, and we had a great supportive attentive group digging it all. There were thrills, chills, and spills of sake. Domo arigato Yoshi's and Bay Vibes.

Saturday, October 15th 2011
Noe Valley Harvest Festival (Church Street & 24th--next to Happy Donuts)
Sunshine!! Yes, sunshine-- though common in California, is notable if you saw us here last year: it was the opposite day last Harvest Fest. Yes, spare a sad emoticon for True Margrit getting deluged by the deluge in 2010. In addition to sunshine, 2011's Noe Vally Harvest fest featured a tall raised stage---ooh.

Kif, the child-prodigy Noe-valley phenom, did a short sparkly set before we played. He' a tough act to follow, and as we took the stage we felt like ancient and gigantic hulks in contrast. However, we soon received love from the horde--for, once we started playing, wildly gyrating 4-year-old fans began kindergarten moshing in front of the stage--most amusing (and distractingly hilarious). We debuted the new song, "Goldstar" incorporated into a medley with "Superhero Drugs" ( among other wholesome treats). During our ballad, "Great Praise, the moshing halted, and at one point I looked down and standing right below me was a wee girl listening intently with eyes narrowed with an intensely pensive mien, as if pondering the existential ramifications of the lyrics. Whoa. We wound up our set with "Comforting the Castaways". Then the dog costume contest took the stage and blew us away...that's show biz.

PS The Noe Valley's Farmer's Market just released a compilation CD (upon which we have a song: "Please Move Your Car"). Proceeds help them keep having an AWESOME famer's market--which is great for everyone.

Thursday October 20th
1st Driving Day for 2011 Autumn Adventure/ The Chicken that Dare Not Speak Its Name Tour
(Bad Road Food (part 1)--Salt Salad and Bloody Chicken
Gary and I managed to leave SF by 8:00 am. And if you aren't impressed you don't know any musicians. That's an early bird in these parts.

We made pretty good time all the way up to Weed, CA where we stopped for Gary to grab some coffee and a scone. We decided to zoom on to Ashland, OR to eat at The Wild Goose--a rare eatery right off the freeway that is not a chain, and is often pretty palatable. We got there in due course and settled down to our lunches. Unfortunately, my smoked salmon cesar was mercilessly salty. It was so wildly overdressed with too many anchovies, smoked fishes, and parmesans combining on too little lettuce (and with the added insult to injury of stale croutons) as to fill me with a rare sodium-fueled indignation. Chalk it up to mis-ordering. I thought, "The next meal will make up for it."

Uh oh. The worst was yet to be visited upon my stomach.

We met up with the infamous Reverend Marc Time (of Sunday Morning Hangover and Eugene Storefront Art Project fame) at the Pioneer Restaurant--which is somewhere between Junction City and Salem--or somewhere. Whatever. Don't go. This truckstop diner has no reason or right to be good--and it isn't! I ordered chicken --the menu said it was "broasted" which I must have misinterpreted, because it was simply fried chicken. The wing tasted pretty good, actually-- although barely deserving of the name fried chicken next to Andrew's diabolically great version of which we fantasize often. After devouring the wing, I took a big bite of the breast--which (though it sounds funny) was sad. Instead of the running of clear juices that signify thoroughly cooked fowl meat, there was blood to be seen. I say: gross. Naturally, there were profuse apologies from the Pioneer staff--and new chicken was whisked to me. Well, it took twenty minutes, but who's counting. Anyway. Marc was amused, because when we ate there another time he witnessed me when I sent back tepid tea (which I believe he thought was diva-ish of me, but bloody chicken is an actual safety issue...Marc). I texted Andrew to warn of my imminent case of salmonella/ botulism but spellcheck changed it to "salmonella/ nihilism". That too.

Friday, October 21st
Tour Kickoff Gig in Olympia at 4th Ave Tavern!
(the redemption of Cambodia via Tacoma)
Before the show we needed to eat something really great to fortify us for the rock and to make up for the previous day's food horrors. Heather & Andrew recommended a Cambodian restaurant near their house called Mitapeap ... ok, I'm not sure how it's pronounced, but luckily this conversation is written so I don't sound so bad... but the point is: if you're in Tacoma you must eat there, it's AMAZING. Great cold spring rolls--so fresh! Evanescent stir-fried catfish, sublime wonton soup. It's no joke.

Replete with deliciousness, off we went to Olympia and 4th Ave Tavern to play our gig. There we heard sets from Lijie and Roxi Copland, and then we burned through a dozen of our tunes, tore down our shit, chatted with peeps, and took off. It was 2:30 am when we got back to Andrew's and we were starving...all over again--crazy! But then, it was 8 hours since dinner, we realized. Heather & I shared the leftover soup from Mitapeap. So good. Lord bless the to-go container and she who takes the time to request it ( Heather). And to all a good night.

Saturday, October 22
Portland's Mississippi Pizza Pub
I must disclose (in the interest of full disclosure) that my very own brother books this venue. But slow down haters, before you cry nepotism on my house, just know that we were booked TWICE on our musical merits alone at this fine establishment before Dan worked there, thus showing we are not recipients of special treatment.

Anyhoo. Andrew sped us down to Portland, pulled up the truck to the venue, and we heaved gear out onto the sidewalk. Dan arrived, chatted with us (but didn't hug because he had a terrible cold), the band in the early spot finished their set & dragged gear out the door, we rustled gear in, set up, and commenced our tunes.
It sounded quite nice. It's a nice venue! During the set I tried to shout-out to both upcoming acts, but I blanked on their names: I called Dream Cannon Dream Weaver and I called Gloom Catcher River Empires ( their old/ alternate name). Dammit! mental weakness aside, we had some extra nice versions--especially of "Comforting the Castaways". The 50 minutes went by in an eyeblink--oops we were supposed to do 45. Well... what's five minutes among bands? We took our gear back out the door and tucked it into the truck for the night. The other bands got up and did their thing, we ate an excellent half pepperoni/ half mushroom pie, we listened, we visited with Dan & my nephew, Elan (aka Might Misc. We visited with Andrew's colleague, songwriter, Eric Stewart, then we headed back to Tacoma. Done and done.

Sunday, October 23
Seattle: EL Corazon
Well, I do not think we have yet found the perfect venue/ bill for True Margrit in Seattle as of yet, but El Corazon was surprisingly fun and had these attributes in its favor: a big loud stage on which to rock with Andrew's full drumkit, a bill with a big loud lineup, it's all ages, and there was an amazingly attentive audience made up of the bands and their fans. And amongst the hard rock acts we got to hear the fantastic Mary Lambert who has an insanely pretty-but-also-raw-versatile voice and strongly realized tunes with layers and ribbons of meaning.

Plus. Something interesting always happens when we play in Seattle--at our first gig in town, we met Heart's drummer, Ben Smith, who was drawn into the bar we were playing when he heard "Opposite Man". Another time, a woman told me she liked the "rigatoni" I played on the piano (not sure--did she mean arpeggio??). And once, we had sausages from a cart at 1:30 am after our gig--that is all kinds of sublime.

On this particular occasion, we were all ever-so famished after the show--dinner had not happened. We drove around in the obligatory rain (rain in Seattle--what?). We found a strip with many restaurants, we chose Pho Cyclo cafe and trooped in. The staff sadly shook their heads at us. And we turned away dejectedly. Perhaps in pity of our tragic demeanor, they changed their collective mind and shepherded us back in.

Oh joy oh soup
Hot curling steam rises
Oh broth so rich
Oh basil so piquant
Beansprout so crunchy
Friend or Pho
After your show
To Cyclo Cafe
Go

A Tale of Two Pianos

2011-08-29T11:35:00.000-07:00

It was the best of rehearsals, it was the worst of rehearsals, it was the age of clicktracks, it was the era of elastic tempo, it was the season of unavailable studio time, it was the spring of Gary arranging a session at Studio Trilogy (with audio Jedi, Justin Lieberman helming the engineering).

The thing was, we decided Gary & I should concentrate fully on playing, take off our customary engineer hats, and be pampered by recording somewhere really rather fancy--so we did!! Ooooh the microphone collection! The preamps! The compressors! The consoles--SSL & API ( for those who know and will also say "ooh")! The accommodating staff gamely moved away the 7-foot piano they had set up for the session and moved in their other 7-foot piano, which I had to confess I preferred, and that was, unfortunately, in a different room ( see above photo)!

And how was it?

It all went swimmingly. Without getting freaked out, rushed, or even mildly stressed, we recorded all the songs we planned on (although we did indeed break many a sweat--this is rock after all). I attribute this success to good planning, practice, the excellence of the Studio Trilogy staff, and eating regular meals including breakfast--the most important meal of the day. We even made dinner the 2nd day--Andrew got an 8-lb pork shoulder and rubbed it with smoky paprika and other splendid rubbing spices, I dressed up some cabbage, carrots and onions with Greek yogurt, mayo, vinegar, and sugar into a creamy sweet/ sour slaw, Andrew popped the pork into Studio Trilogy's griller/smoker Weber, and we went off to play for 8 hours. It was all ready to go at the end of the session. Andrew chopped up the meat in the proper pulled-pork style, Gary busted out some Everett & Jones barbeque sauce (local and insanely good) and some french rolls and all the folks lucky enough to be hanging out (strangely more numerous than expected) set to: pulled pork sandwiches with coleslaw. Beguiling. Everyone who could fit more in their stomachs had seconds. And all smacked their lips and sighed happily.

I believe the pulled pork party more than made up for having to move the piano...which, by the way was TOTALLY the right choice. The original piano was very nice and ever-so mojo-rific(it has been played by the likes of Stevie Wonder and George Winston!!) but not for me and the demands of the True Margrit sound. The piano I ending up playing is brilliant, bright yet full, with great thunderous yet clear bass notes, and above all, fun to ply my piano-rock upon. It was so nice to have choices--the second bowl of porridge was just right.

It's far far better piano I played today than I have ever played these songs upon before...

breakfast!

chilling

Vietnamese sandwiches for lunch

This is where I sat and played and played and played.

a big room with big drums

We Are Not Not Amused

2011-08-15T22:57:00.000-07:00

I read a massive tome about Queen Victoria this spring. I learned as much as (or more than) I'd ever wanted to know about the long-reigning monarch-matriarch's life, who very name conjures up the final days of Britain's Empire-ishness, the era of industrial revolution, and the proliferation of Victorian houses. She was an intriguingly contradictory human who appears to have experienced moments of great insight well ahead of her time as well as dire lapses of vision not uncommon to her era. She was skilled in working the drawing room, assuredly open, wisely innocent. and she kept all around her guessing. She was capable of royal rages and of wild understatement when displeased, when she would say (famously): "we are not amused". Significantly, she kept a diary quite religiously, which has allowed history to peep into her brain. I shall attempt to adopt her habitual journalistic habits--it may be amusing...

July 20th
Andrew arrives in the bay area on a plane from Sea-Tac. He shoots right over to the studio and sets up his drums. Other gear is also assembled by Gary & I, and in due course we play some songs. Sadly, we sound a bit rusty. Maybe tomorrow it will be better...

July 21st
We do have a somewhat more palatable practice this time. We keep an eye on the time, because Gary's niece, Jaci (not to be confused with Nurse Jackie, even though they sound similar) is cooking the band ( and Sarah and Heather!) dinner! We don't want to be late. At the stroke of 7:45 we hurry over to Gary's place which is redolent with the glory of garlic fumes. Jaci has made garlic bread, pasta, and her grandmother's ( or was it her grandfather's?) meat sauce. Andrew whips up one of his famous Ceasar salads, and we promptly set to with gustatory gusto. Mamamia...and I don't mean that in an ABBA sort of way. Jaci's father's side of the family is Italian ( not the Hobish side) and she has treated us to her culinary heritage and not only are we soon satiated but also much hilarity arises, aided by the wine Gary uncorks from his mystery cellar. Suffice it to say: it was amusing.

July 24
We have another band practice followed by a meal. This time Andrew throws together a basa stir fry (a Thai catfish we can get here in the mission at Sun Fat Seafood Company for ridiculously cheap--especially in light of how delicious it is). We all gobble it up,and Heather and Andrew zip off to the airport and fly home to Tacoma.

Five DAYS LATER
July 29th
Andrew drives back to San Francisco with his big D'Amico drumkit. Why? Well may you may ask. We are fixing to do the first set of recording sessions for the new True Margrit album. Excitement is in the air. But where will we record basic tracks? We don't know yet! Oooh the suspense.

July 30th
Rehearsal! For, tomorrow is our big gig with Kate Kilbane and Debora Iyall!
July 31st
This morning we indulge in our traditional Sunday bacon & eggs breakfast before the big gig. Most fortifying. We arrive at Bottom of the Hill, there are soundchecks; then fans, family, friends, strangers, and familiar faces gather, the show starts. It ebbs it flows, there are sweet tunes, grooves, rock, some dancing, much applause, some birthday cake ( it's my birthday--AND Robert AND Dakota's birthdays too)! and all too soon it is done. Sigh. An amusing day to be sure. {someone wrote this excellent sentiment on our mailing list at Bottom of the Hill: "Love you True Margrit"--see photo above}

August 4th

Off we go to Sacramento. We get caught in a bit of traffic, and we all have uneasy flashbacks to the long long long drive to Texas last year. Here I am again, packed in the little "jumpseat" behind the main cab. Ooof.

We get to Naked Lounge early, and being hungry we set off for some hunting and gathering. We are forced to choose between these two fine establishments:

Jim Dennys Lunch or Bangkok 12

Bangkok 12 Thai restaurant wins, and it is quite delicious--in particular we relish the fried calamari. Revivified, we head back to the venue where Sonic Glow rocks the stage first. We
are next, and we do our best to serenade the entire central valley. Mededoora playes last, beers are quaffed, hands shaken, goodbyes made and we roll back out to the freeway that leads to other freeways, that lead to San Francisco, where we can sleep, soon enough, and dream amusing dreams.

Elves Don't Cry

2011-07-26T22:19:00.000-07:00

Tuesdays in June were noteworthy (in addition to the fun gig described in the previous post) for a limited theatrical engagement of The Lord of the Rings Extended Edition! YES! LOTR on a big screen. On Tuesdays! Why? Well the Blu-Ray of the extended version just came out, so what better way to pimp it than to show if off on the big screen--Peter Jackson: he's clever that way. Some of you may not, could not, did not care. But I do, fervently care about Frodo & Co. Oh Sam. I am glad you are with me.

I admit it--it still makes me cry, even though I know how it all ends. And have known for years due to myriad multiple re-readings of the books.

And then Harry Potter's final chapter came out mid-July --and this culmination generated further fantasy fan tears (ok, ok, including mine). Obviously, it pushes some buttons for some of us--one either has the sci-fi/ fantasy gene or one doesn't. There's nothing for it--that's just the way it is.

And the High Elves sail west with Dumbledore, Gandalf, Frodo and Harry . Merry & Pippin practice polyfidelity with Hermione. Ron Weasley and Sam start an organic farm in Yorkshire where True Margrit will play gigs once a year.

So. Don't cry! The Hobbit movie ( part one) comes out in 2012...and meanwhile we start off on a new True Margrit recording quest this very summer, with reluctant heroes, narrow escapes, bravery and fellowship--right after our gig at
BOTTOM OF THE HILL this Sunday
(7/31/11).

ps it's my birthday show!

Les is More

2011-06-28T10:46:00.000-07:00

No speakers. No mics. No amps ( well--ok there was a mini-bass amp for electric bass). No subwoofer thumping. No spotlights, explosions, confetti, or pitch correction. Just three acts playing their tunes--and it was simply fab and I was ever so proud to be part of it.

What it was was this:

On Tuesday, June 7th Gary & I scooted over to Les Wisner's deceptively modest and increasingly-legendary music spot Bazaar Cafe, for a special rare unplugged show. We were appearing as special guests of Kate Kilbane and the Cellar Doors and their June residency. Stove (a duo extracted from Griddle) was originally booked to play as well, but a last minute family emergency got in the way. Kat Downs of Sit Kitty Sit, at the 11.9th hour, valiantly stepped up to join the lineup.

I started off the night with a few tunes with Gary & then I debuted the (newly revised) version of "You Could be Anything". This is a tune that was originally started as a Writing Exercise Challenge between Kat & me. Somehow we came up with the line we were both to incorporate into a new song--"a straight dude gay for Dave". I did in fact put that line in a song but the tune went off in a different direction and eventually it sloughed off the lyric sheet. These things occur--rewriting. I do a lot of it! That very night I also played two other BRAND new tunes that went back to the drawing board a few times.."Goldstar" (about celestial infatuation) and the very newest, the melancholy waltz, "Apology to a Pigeon". Presumably, the band will be tackling these tunes when we are all together in a few weeks...oh yes.

Kate Kilbane & the Cellar Doors sounded fantastic in unplugged glory. Their songs shine in every setting and I suspect if you heard them coming out of a broken speaker on a Hello Kitty toy telephone they would still sound sublime. That's just how it is--they're scary talented. My favorite song is the chill-inducing, "Chariot Rise" which is from their rock opera, The Medea Cycle. This is what you should do: if they play, go.

Kat Downs played selections from the Sit Kitty Sit repertoire- which also shone bright acoustically. Lest anyone forget, Kat is a TOTAL BADASS piano-player and magnificently risk-taking songwriter with serious vision. Dude. Her drummer, Mike Thompson--an utter rockstar, couldn't ply his mighty crafts in the cafe setting. However, Kate Kilbane conveniently brought along a cajon (a wooden box, big enough to sit upon that sounds remarkably like a quiet kick & snare & highhat) and Mike gamely tried out the instrument for the first time and filled in for the The Cellar Doors absent percussionist--and accompanied Kat on some of their regular tunes.

How can I sum it up to those who weren't there? It was more than the sum of its not-inconsiderable parts--and yet, a night so unpluggy, stripped down, and sleek! The air seem suffused with the glow of a shared secret--on this night, this was the place to be. All the performers thanked Les for hosting us and I couldn't resist the punny epithet: Les is more.

Quantum Mechanics, Marmalade, and Steroids

2011-05-29T15:12:00.000-07:00

Have you missed me dear readers? Hell's bells, I've missed YOU. I know it was a long hiatus. I wanted to leave a respectful margin after the milestone of the release of TRUE GRIT. Fear not, the time has been well spent! I have been writing songs rather than blogs--a process whose end result will be available for your delectation by and by (once we record said tunes and make them available to you the listener via a myriad of venues: download for sure, or affixed to disc, or maybe vinyl, or maybe wax cylinder; so much is possible and the future is perfect until proven disastrous.

Speaking of spatial-temporal matters, I have been reading about quantum mechanics and string theory and hyperspace. I'm no physicist (though I come from a short line of short physicists, of course), but I find it very intriguing nonetheless, and have found it to be fertile fodder for metaphors. I like the idea of multi-dimensional/ alternate universes, and the idea that the possibility of time travel is implied by higher maths and geometries. Y'all will hear some of this percolating into the songs (again--I know, for, to those listeners who have pored over SEAWORTHY and THE JUGGLER's PROGRESS it's one of the theme threads I like, and which I am excited to once again weave into the as-yet-untitled new album which will complete some sort of pop-music triptych. And which may, who knows, one day spin off into a theatricalized version of the entire grand rock opera. Or not.) Anyhoo. You'll see. And the best of all the five senses (where music is involved, you'll hear.

Upcoming Shows Department
With the writing chugging along, and the first set of recording sessions for the new album on the horizon, we are also easing back into some gigging. First up I'll be playing an acoustic, (mostly) solo show (Gary will join in on some tunes) at Bazaar Cafe in SF on Tuesday June 7th. This event is part of the fab Kate Kilbane's June residency at Bazaar ( speaking of rock operas, she has a TOTAL doozy, the astonishing Medea Cycle). And if this weren't enough, Kevin and Xifer from GRIDDLEhave aduo called STOVE and they are playing too. I say: Oooh.

Furthermore: please save the date of JULY 31st at the time of 6pm-9pm for we will be playing at BOTTOM of the HILL again with the above-mentioned Kate Kilbane and her band the cellar doors... AND, wait for it....DEBORA IYALL ( of Romeo Void fame)!!!! It is my birthday show, so your presence (but no presents) are requested!

Department of Delicious
Top Three Snacks Eaten in the Past Week:
3) Proper English scones with butter and Fortnum and Mason Dark Lime Marmalade. It's marmalade from a fancy-ass store in London. And if you don't eat wheat or butter, I'm sorry. Just sorry.
2) Greek Yogurt with apple and flax seeds. I'm obsessed with this and if a day goes by without it, that, my friends, is a day wasted.
1) Lavash grilled chicken sandwich from Progressive Grounds Cafe in Bernal Heights in SF. Why is it so good? Chicken, mozzarella cheese, hummus, zucchini, glazed onion, and tarragon. It's WAY more than the sum of its parts--even though it has a lot of parts.

Department of Afflictions
Meanwhile, we went on a hike in the redwoods for Sarah's birthday (at Sam McDonald Park), I contracted a case of poison oak (well, a case of contact dermatitis from encountering poison oak). This is the third spring in a row this has happened--I guess it's particularly juicy and potent in the spring. And I'm, apparently, particularly susceptible. It starts in one spot and then goes creeping all over my skin, so the doctor prescribes a few weeks of prednisone--a strong steroid for those who aren't familiar. It makes my mind race about, and makes me tend to stay up even later than usual, reading books or writing lyrics (and I snack even more voraciously than usual with those notorious steroid munchies). And maybe I get a little 'roid rage...y'know, just a little grouchy.

I will try to keep a cool objective scientific head about the whole experience. Maybe in the wee hours I will have an insight into quantum theory or I'll envision clearly images of vast expanses of the cosmos heretofore unavailable to my brain. And find that perfect line for a tune. Better living through chemicals. Or maybe I will just eat a scone & think of England.

Department of Non-motorized Vehicles
I have learned to ride a bike! And I love it so very much. I am learning the best bike routes around the Mission--I rode to and shopped at Rainbow Grocery a few days ago. The next big expedition will be to ride up to Golden Gate Park via THE WIGGLE. What is The Wiggle? It's a bike route from the Mission to Golden Gate that cleverly AVOIDS HILLS using geographical and topographical forethought. Perhaps if I study enough quantumn theory I can design a wiggle route to make time and space compress and it will be instantly be the day of our next gig.

Cuz I can't wait to see y'all.

The True True Grit

2011-01-12T09:58:00.000-08:00

Of course we get the question from time to time--where did your band name come from? My name is actuallly truly spelled Margrit--nope, it's not an affectation, it's the spelling used by my mom's friend, my namesake, Margrit Vanderin. And then there's the book, True Grit. It's now been a movie twice over, and yes, we do indeed make reference to it in our band name. But how when and where does one find one's inner grit? And which grit is the grittiest?

In the fine novel by Charles Portis there's a sustained bone-dry wry tone as` the slightly tall-tale follows the wild-west odyssey of Mattie Ross (a frighteningly capable teenage farm-girl with a stubborn streak of epic proportion) who wants to wreak revenge on her father's rather pathetic murderer. She seeks a man with "true grit" to help her pursue the villain into the Indian Territories. She falls in with a U.S. Marshall, the alcoholic, one-eyed, semi-murderous, tough-as-nails, Civil War veteran, Rooster Cogburn as her guide/ foil. In the massively successful Academy Award (trademark inserted here) winning 1969 version we get some lapses of tone from the original story--especially with the unbelievably lame theme-song, and occasional moments of cutesy-ness. But the screenplay stays firmly tethered to its source in plot, atmosphere, and dialogue, and Kim Darby offers a bracing (although overly-gritty, that is, abrasive) Mattie Ross. But this version features a career-topping performance by John Wayne as Rooster Cogburn, pretty much defining the role and himself. And there's an amusingly florid turn by Glen Campbell as the vain (and in the major departure from the book, doomed) Marshall Le Boeuf.

It's hard to imagine being faced with the job of trying to re-make such a classic, but the Coen Brothers new version is ever so gorgeous--the screen drips with golden western light the very color of cowboy nostalgia, nighttime skies are studded with burning blue stars, winter aspens appear stark and Ansel Adamsesque against the snow, horses go galloping kinetically across the prairie. The brothers Coen's script adheres largely to the novel's text, but fails to generate quite the same nuanced flavor of sweet/dark humor of either the book or the 1969 film. The new version is both more formal, with its hip film homagery and super cool editing wizardry, and yet more offhand with Jeff Bridges' Rooster Cogburn dypsomanically muttering his lines into his beard, and peering with knowing keenness out of his one good eye. The new Mattie Ross, played by the excellent Hailee Steinfeld, is more matter of fact and naturalistic, and yet, somehow more mythic. Her story in the hands of the flmmakers, ends up less as ripping yarn and more aesthetically stimulating, catering more to the cerebrum than the gut. And it's darker and colder, and somehow more cartoonish--particularly Matt Damon's delirious offering of comic relief as the ridiculous (and indestructible) Texan, Le Boeuf.

Be that all as it may, can the book or the films or the band answer the question of which grit is the genuine article? Grit is the irritant/catalyst that generates pearls inside of oyster shells. Grit can cause the friction that rubs off a superfluous surface. Grit is more than skin deep--so, it's not the grit on the outside that matters. Jeff Bridges' Rooster Cogburn is missing his right eye, John Wayne the left. Some Le Boeufs die, some live. All of the Mattie Rosses are tough enough to take action against a sea of trouble (making her the opposite man to all the Hamlets soliloquizing through the centuries). Maybe grit can't be explained--only experienced. Grit is more than the sum of its parts. You can tell where it's been by the debris, but there's no knowing where it's heading. Fake grit turns to rust and tarnish. Through the tests upon inner mettle that chisel away pretense, real grit reveals new identities and vistas. And whether you're dealing with murderers & horse thieves, or wrangling a touchy chorus & quarrelsome chord cycle, grit will get you stomping your foot & singing along. And saying, "damn! I like that! But I'm glad someone else tried that, so I didn't have to!"

Blur at the Bottom of the Harvest of the Noe Valley Aubergine

2011-01-03T23:28:00.000-08:00

Andrew stayed in town for three weeks in October. We rehearsed a handful of new tunes. We played some gigs. This last clump of shows followed in the wake of over fifty appearances this past year. So. The last full band appearances (and really, the past 18 months) have blended together into a single glob in my head. Here's the glob:

We launch into our set opener. I pound the keys. The kickdrum thumps, cymbals shimmer, the bass vibrates the whole stage. Some smiling faces peer up at us from the side of the stage. I smile back. Riffs. Chords. Basslines. Backbeats. Tunes. I sing the words of "Syllable": "wish I were a centipede" and I mean it, dude! The lyrics of "Lucy", "Opposite Man", "Emily". Gary harmonizes, miraculously matching my jagged phrases. The song is winding up. Vaulting onto the piano I demonstrate the love that dare not speak its name. I hop off the keyboard. Applause! Thanks y'all!! I sip a tasty beer. We ease into another tune. The set ebbs and flows and pitches and yaws and wows and flutters. We play "50,000 Names" followed by "Opposite Opposite Man". "Bow-legged Romeo shrugs down the street, the wind at his collar and a poem in his teeth". The audience has been watching curiously, appraising, and now when the drums make their surprise entrance in the middle of this stealth ballad, they are drawn into the storyline and forget themselves--just like us. "Comforting the Castaways" maintains the collective state of suspended disbelief. Then "Make Them Beg" snakes through its syncopations and reaches an insistent peak. I knee and stomp the piano clanging discordant bliss while the bass rumbles and duels with the drums. Applause! The show is done. We drag our instruments offstage into a waiting vehicle. It's raining. Sad streets steam silently silvered in the smoky fog. We drive away from the venue. Towards home.

Trial by Juri Street

2010-12-10T09:53:00.000-08:00

Juri Street is in San Francisco. It is one block long. Gary lives on it (not on the street--he does have an apartment, y'all, and we promise that if one of the members of True Margrit becomes homeless, well, you'll be the first to know, kind readers).

On October 3, 2010 we played at the 2nd Juri Street Block Party. The last one was in 2008. 2009 was skipped for some reason--I don't have any data on why that is. In any event, this year was fabu. We played a nice long set, there was a totally groovy/lovey vibe happening, we enjoyed some super tasty foods (it's a potluck!), and I received (in a trade for a copy of "The Juggler's Progress") a LAZERKASOO!!!( yes a kazoo that has a lazer attached and makes pretty/ outerspacey/ Spencer Gifty images while you hum!
And if you still don't believe me, you can check it out it on facebook:
Lazerkasoo).

People of the Juri Street, I must emphasize: the only thing that was a trial about this event was that there were too many nice humans to meet, too many scrumptious treats shared out on the tables, and generally too much fun for one wee afternoon.

PS--it was a benefit for sfsmiles.The verdict: terrific.

A Dangerously Big Head

2010-12-03T22:52:00.000-08:00

On October 1st we played at Kate Goodnight's rad women's music series:
Womengig--at Caffe Trieste! We kicked off the night, roaring into our set with some newer tunes ("Comforting the Castaways", "Obvious Solutions", "Unreliable Narrator") and some older faves ("Syllable" and "50,000 Names"). What with our exuberance and the love coming back at us from the crowd, it was as though an electric beachball was being passed from the stage to the audience and back with sufficient energy to light up Emeryville, San Jose, and Poughkeepsie. We were to be followed by our dear friends, the evening's illustrious headliners, Judea Eden Band. But alas, we couldn't chill out! We had to scoot over to Oakland, for our video, "Opposite Man" was being screened on The Great Wall of Oakland.

Rushing out of the club after the set made us feel a little sheepish, a little silly, and a little bit like rockstars--we were going to a screening of our video, after all, on a HUGE wall, a rare occurrence indeed.

We zoomed over to Oakland and managed to situate ourselves on a roof for an excellent vantage to watch the video. And what a surreal rush: before our gig-induced adrenaline even had a chance to wear off, we experienced our video projected to 100 feet by 100 feet! YOW! My head was three stories high! Neat-o. And scary--for this literally massive representation of my noggin coupled with the grandiosity of having a show wherein my figurative /interior head was expanded--well, that was a bit much for my poor metaphorical neck.

We zipped back to Caffe Trieste to catch the 2nd half of Judea's set--nice! Luckily, as the night wore on, our heads inevitably returned to more customary dimensions--fitting into hats, cars, through doorframes, and into our quotidian, humble, comfortably neurotic lovable psyches. Phew.

There Was a Lot of Glitter pt 2

2010-11-26T15:25:00.000-08:00

As some of you dear readers know, beyond writing tunes for True Margrit, I also score films. Recently, I composed a score for director/writer Scott Boswell's "The Stranger in Us", which has generated quite a buzz here in San Francisco at the Frameline Festival; plus it screened at many festivals around the country, it has won some awards, and garnered great reviews--including in Variety Magazine (wow). In addition to my original score, two True Margrit songs were featured in the film--"Opposite Man" and "Opposite Opposite Man".. Scott and his producer, Cheryl, just negotiated some deals for worldwide DVD distribution of the film, and to add to his other fab special features on the DVD package, he and Sarah Dunham (the director/filmmaker/magician behind our videos: "Opposite Man" and "Syllable" cooked up the plan to include a new music video for "Opposite Opposite Man" with both footage from "The Stranger in Us" and of the band.

There was a bit of a crunch with the deadline, so Andrew flew into town from Tacoma for an extra special weekend. We had a top-secret shoot at an undisclosed location, and all I can tell you is that (as sometime happens in True-Margrit-related activities) there was a lot of glitter. "Opposite Opposite Man" is a pretty intense song, so by the end of the shoot (what with the hypnotic repetition of the tune and the glitter flotsam & jetsam) it appeared that the Horsehead Nebula, the Crab Nebula, and The Tree of Souls were whirling about in our heads. Whoa, dude.

Here's a silly document of the glitter cleanup after the shoot--if you look closely at the street, you can see the glitter swirl when we shake the dropcloth.

The above shoot was in September--now it's almost December and we will unveil the "Opposite Opposite Man" video in a few days on youtube--and there will be a premier-screening in San Francisco, as well. So, stay tuned.

The Opposite Band

2010-08-17T22:29:00.000-07:00

Saturday August 7
We stop at Pea Soup Andersons on Highway 5. We get to SF around 7:00 pm. We sleep.

Sunday August 8
Off we go to Bottom of the Hill at the crack of noon. We meet the (MANY—it varies from show to show, but today they are ten) members of Family Crest. Family Crest plays first. They are VERY adept at what they do, which is definitely in the Arcade Fire kind of vein, but with more pop-soul-tinged vocal stylings, and more aggressively orchestral flavorings—and occasionally even embracing Gypsy-meets-Celtic-music-meets-chamber-music moments to keep the listeners guessing and wondering. And they are cute as buttons.

Next up is the worldwide premiere of our new music video, OPPOSITE MAN—directed by filmmakers, Sarah Dunham & Chelsea Walton. The screen goes up, Sarah pushes ‘play’, the video kicks in, and we are as excited as HELL to be sharing it with the folks here today. The video looks AMAZING—from the time-lapse, and tilt-shift, to the radiant saturated colors, to the wild glowing white grid backdrop—splendid! I’m so proud.

It really strikes me, upon seeing it on a biggish screen, how much Sarah and Chelsea totally nailed it—the video fits the song in this super-cool way. Multiplicity. Choices. The time lapsed/ tilt-shifted scenes of humanity moving through the cityscape convey that pseudo-brave shell of ironic distance that belies the vulnerability underneath. Don’t we all sometimes wish we were the opposite man? But as soon as you get the opposite of what you had, you want the NEW opposite, don’t you? That’s that fleeting myth embedded in an unreachable past in a hall of reflecting mirrors wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a sweater.

And the dog’s in the cradle, and the cat’s in the cupboard, and Bono’s in a villa, and the pea’s in the pod, and the butter’s on the table, and the bacon’s in the pan.

We leap into our set after the video, while on the floor a whole sassy dance-section forms and organizes some fancy moves custom-made on the spot for each tune--very amusing. We do some bangup versions of tunes from SEAWORTHY and THE JUGGLER’s PROGRESS, plus some newer ones: “Blazing Wheel”, “Obvious Solutions”, Superhero Drugs”, and “Comforting the Castaways”. All of these are on the docket to be recorded… and soon! And how!

In a blur our set is over and the final act , McCabe and Mrs Miller takes the stage. They are a super-duper-supergroup (each member being a big star in his/ or her own right) and show no mercy as they croon, roar, whisper, and scream, and pummel their instruments and vocal cords in the name of Sunday afternoon rocking. Very impressive, very cool— and it’s a great ending to a great day of music.

The bands’ gear is cleared and carried away to waiting vehicles, the final drinks are quaffed, farewells are made, and the last cars drive off. The night is young and there will be a variety of companionable gatherings with beverages and foods and all other manner of refreshments, but that part of our mission where we get up onstage and play for you nice people is completed (for now) and though it is sad it is over (for now) it is also satisfying to know in our guts, in our bones, and in our very cells that what we just accomplished was a summer tour well-done. North, south, east, and west, we chased the cardinal points to shows in Washington, Oregon, and California--playing at an organic farm, a burlesque show, a jazz club, a restaurant, a café, at big and wee nightclubs. We answered interview questions, we appeared on the radio, we traveled far, we drank beer.

We did our best to rock you.

Mim's the Word

2010-08-15T12:09:00.000-07:00

In the morning we receive an email from David Bash generally thanking all the performers and asking if anyone accidentally took a black jacket from backstage at the venue—Steve Barton is missing his groovy 60’s coat. Andrew fesses up—he thought is was Gary’s jacket so he scooped it up & tossed it in the truck. Oops. We get in touch with Steve and make the joke he’s probably pretty sick of: “your jacket’s in the Valley, but you’re not”. Ouch. He’s totally gracious and agrees to meet us at our venue before the gig to retrieve his cool garment.

We get to tonight’s venue (TRIP) at 5:30-ish and Steve shows up promptly. We hand over his jacket; and it turns out that both his cell-phone and a copy of his new, unreleased album are in the pockets DAMN. We are glad all these items are safe back with the owner. To make up for our bad behavior we give him some True Margrit CDs and he gives US a copy of his new CD to check out! WOW—what a guy!

We get our gear onstage while Shane, TRIP's amazing sandwich artisan, makes us all the MOST mysterioously scrumptious sandwiches. We eat these with relish (actually, with pickles).

Soon enough, though, we greet friends, and then it’s time to play. Andrew has a whole table of high-school friends there cheering us on; Gary has a quite a crew tonight, as well. Super-sweet. We blaze through a few tunes and then my sister Mim Eichler Rivas (yes, she’s that famous as hell author), and her husband Victor Rivers (also famous as hell) arrive. YAY! We greet them (well, to be more accurate, we all intone: “MIM” in an oblique reference to Galaxyquest), and then carry on with the rock.

After the gig we mill about on the sidewalk and eventually formulate a plan to go to Jerry’s Deli. There, we chat and eat and have a nice little after-party. Matzo-ball soup, chopped liver, chopped salad, burgers, and cheesecake are all consumed by one or more of our group. And then somehow it’s after midnight. Our friends/family are all looking weary. We are a bit sleepy too, but not very--we are getting tough. After that epic journey to Texas, this trip (though not a complete piece of cake) is certainly way mellower.

We zip back to Grenada Hills in half the time it took to get to Santa Monica due to the late hour and its attendant lack of traffic. And now the air has cooled down, the palm trees are silhouetted in the streetlights, their leaves gently sussurating in the night breeze. And tomorrow: yea though we travel through the Valley of Central California, I will fear no odor.

Margrit & Margaret

2010-08-13T00:51:00.000-07:00

Thursday, August 5
Picture this: I write a blog about how I undertake a mission to cook all the recipes in Margaret Cho's cookbook...no wait...wrong universe.

OK. Picture this instead--since this DID happen:
International Pop Overthrow Festival at the Echoplex in Echo Park in Los Angeles! IPO is indie-music tastemaker, David Bash’s baby—and his baby is now a teenager, this is the 13th year (time for a bar-mitzvah) that he’s been traveling to and from NYC, Liverpool, Seattle, Los Angeles (among other locations ) creating scores of super lineups of indie-power-pop joy. We are proud to be part of such a cool institution—in fact this year we are on the IPO compilation CD. Hence, if you go to any of the shows you can pick up a copy and you’ll get our song, “SYLLABLE” for free (and 65 other cool tunes by bands you will be psyched to know about).

We are up first tonight, so when we get to the Echoplex we just carry our gear right up to the stage and set it up and check it. Done and done. We get swag on the merch-table, Done and done. It’s still over an hour before our set, so we repair to TWO BOOTS pizza next door. I always get a TWO BOOTS slice when I’m in the Village in NYC; I had no idea they had expanded to LA. I say: YUM! We are all pretty much ravenous, but we only get a single slice—for now. There are many items on the menu we want to experience, but I for one, must not be too terribly full whilst rocking. But after the show—I intend to eat the face off of a calzone (as Christina Kowalchuk would say).

We go back downstairs to the club and in walks Gary’s friend, the clever funnyman, Jim Earl (of the Clutter Family--oh, and Gary just mastered their CD). Jim is accompanied by his friend--the brilliant, hip, and fabulous Margaret Cho--ooh! How cool! We try not to say anything too ridiculous to her, since we are such total fans of all her work.

And then it’s time for us to rock! We explode into “500 Years” and it’s super fun to play on such a big ol’ stage. We burn through our set in what seems like nanoseconds (but it’s actually our allotted 25 minutes), and then it’s time to take a bow and carry off my piano.

We sell and sign some CDs, and chat with Jim Earl and Margaret Cho, who give us warm and fuzzy feedback--especially Margaret, who says many enthusiastic and encouraging words about our music, genre, and our performance thereof--and this, I must say, my friends, is most inspiring and thrilling indeed. She tells me she is working on her music these days ---which is supercool--and that she has a keytar...(Ok this link is a crazy one with Rick and Adam Wakeman--just saying). Margaret informs me that the old keytars from the 80's are "bullshit" but the new ones are great--this is a good tip and when I (inevitably) can't resist the urge any longer, and go ahead and acquire my very own personal keytar, I will be forewarned and forearmed. She and Jim then take off to fulfill their quest for pie. Mmm, pie.

The next band starts up: The Shebangs! We just played with them in SF in January at El Rio. Now here we are on this massive stage. They have an awesome set, followed by Steve Barton –who also plays a superb set. WOW! And hey--we are everywhere that Steve is (well, twice in 24 hours--as will be related in the next blog). This is a damned good show of which we are proud participants.

At this point our returning hunger makes our interest in music become detached and visions of TWO BOOTS pizza draws us back for more of the fine fare. We go order and split a chicken parmesan sandwich and a saprasetta mushroom and artichoke calzone—it is pretty delish. As we munch our second dinner we look around. Wow. Everyone looks famous— for example, I keep thinking the guy across from our table with the pepperoni slice looks like a guy from Star Trek New Generation...right?

And now, because pie was invoked during the course of the evening, we go now in search of dessert. We end up only a few doors down at Masa. We are ALMOST turned away, but once the owner is assured we will take something sweet to go, he personally sets us up with bread pudding and carrot cake. He tells us that if we don’t like the bread pudding we can come back & get our money back. He is very confident. He informs us that it’s actually croissant pudding—specifically, it’s made with chocolate and almond croissants. Good LORD!

When we get the treats back to Lynn’s house and try them, there is much rejoicing-especially over the bread pudding. AMAZING! It is should have a star on Hollywood Boulevard. I just know it's Margaret Cho's recipe--and I know, I just know she can cook it while singing and playing her keytar!

With these comforting visions dancing in my head--and eggs, sugar, butter, chocolate, and marzipan pirouetting in my belly, I slumber sweetly.

Tasmanian Angels

2010-08-11T23:58:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, August 4

The guys arrive at my place a mere two hours later than they said they would and we’re off to Los Angeles (actually, our first southern Cal date is in Sherman Oaks at a fancy schmancy restaurant). Andrew drives like the wind through the central valley. It is boiling hot today (you guessed it, we have no AC), and with the aromas from Cowschwitz, Pea Soup Andersen's, and other loathsome Hwy 5 landmarks, we are glad to make serious tracks.

We arrive at our host’s abode—once again the lovely Lynn is putting us up/putting up with us. Overcome with a crippling torpor we drape ourselves on the furniture for a wee rest before the shower queue begins.

Soon enough we are off to Sherman Oaks. When we get to Cafe Cordiale we do a walk –through. Well. White tablecloths. Low lighting, hushed tones. We’re gonna bust up this quilting-bee, neighbors and gentlefolk.

We start loading in our gear, and one of the other performers, Rod Fritz (who is here all the way from Australia), arrives. We feel like we are old friends, since we’ve been shooting posts, emails, and info back and forth on facebook and reverbnation . His girlfriend, Tania from Tasmania, is totally bubbly, charming, and blessed with good looks beyond mere mortals; within a few moments we are all getting along famously & sipping drinks at the bar. Shortly this particular configuration alters, because my “uncle” and “aunt” Phil and Mary show up; we repair to our own table to chat. Meanwhile, Athena Murray starts up her set—and a very excellent set it is.

Rod gets up next and sings like and angel (and with much stage presence). I had checked out some of his tunes online, but he sounds even better in person. Tania and he beam at each other while he plays. She tells me about each song.

She says:

“ Oh this one is the absolute BEST” and “This one makes me cry” and other such commentary. Aw, cute. She takes a break from shooting pics of Rod to pose for my camera.

Then it is time for True Margrit to stand in front of the red curtains. Ooh red. We feel kind of swanky. The sound is quite nice and we play through our set with the volume down a few notches from eleven (but just a few)--Andrew has a smaller kit than usual, and is hitting the skins with blastix instead of sticks. We will not alarm digesting diners—well, not too much. Tonight’s version of our new tune, “ Comforting the Castaways”, is particularly tasty. We dedicate our closing song to Mary and Phil due to it being their anniversary, and then the show is over.

We sell a few CDs, sign up a few new fans on the mailing list, say farewells to our peeps, and meanwhile Tania tries on, selects, and purchases one of our t-shirts. She and Rod are coming up to San Francisco this weekend and they assure us they will come to Bottom of the Hill and grace us with their friendly faces. Rejoicing at that thought, we ride forth towards Lynn’s house where we’ll soon enough get to slumber.

Marc Time Flies

2010-08-10T00:27:00.000-07:00

Brad~

Sunday, August 1
The guys retrieve me from Brad’s at the crack of 10:30 and we hasten to KWVA where we are to appear in an interview on the Sunday Morning Hangover with Marc Time. He has requested that we bring some rarities, so we share some instrumental versions of songs from THE JUGGLER'S PROGRESS, some outtakes from Seaworthy, and some of my demos of new songs. Marc is an excellent, entertaining, quick-witted radio personality. He asks us interesting questions and makes us feel welcome…well most of the time-- he does start to snore with comical loudness into his mic when I go off on a ( perhaps dull) description of using a whole–tone scale in one of the rare tracks we play, “Desperate and Dumb”. Damn, dude! How rude…and I admit—hilarious! And useful--for the rest of the tour, we use this snoring technique on each other to curtail overly-lengthy diatribes, explanations, and lectures any member of True Margrit may try to bore ourselves with.

After the show we meet Brad at Studio One Café for a spectonkular brunch. Yum. Best French toast. Ever. And a damned good Benedict. And now, somehow, it’s almost 3pm—DAMN! We gotta jet! We get on Highway 5 and point vehicles toward San Francisco…and two full days break from the tour, but I know this time will fly.

Mark my words.

I Live at my House

2010-08-09T23:54:00.000-07:00

Saturday, July 31
On the way down to Eugene (where we play TONIGHT) we stop in Portland and have lunch with my brother Dan Eichler—yay!!!

We zoom onward to Eugene and soon enough the True Margrit band is convening with Andrea and Joey at Rogue Brewery consuming delish items like beer, Kobe burgers, reubens, and more tater tots. Mmm, tots. Thus fortified, we walk down the block to our venue, Luckey’s Cigar Store. Teresa (who heard us for the first time last week at the Rock Bar gig is there, having driven down from Portland --which is so very flattering! The New Mexican Revolution kicks off the night with some hearty, excellent, quirky-rock-meets-Americana in the family tree of both Tom Waits and Nick Cave—nice! We especially love the tune where bassist Emily picks up her trumpet and performs a super pretty brassy fanfare. Oh yeah.

The NMR finishes their set with a flourish and we pop up to the stage and roar into a set. We are egged on to new heights by the crowd--particularly by a dude doing some dancing that includes furious pogo-hops, jumps, skips and general arm-flailing. It makes me feel that Eugene is very hospitable—I feel quite at home.

After a few songs he inquires politely:
“Are you gonna play that songs about bruises to your ego?” I gape for a moment—he’s quoting my lyrics!

Finally I answer:
“ Oh, right, oh yeah, ‘Syllable’! Totally. We are definitely playing it!”

He says:
“I heard it on Snap Crackle Pop on KWVA. It’s your best song—but I love them all, so far…” I high-five him by way of thanks. SWEET!

We continue onward, making the Luckey’s stage our home away from home. We slam through our set with full-on rock forces, playing well past midnight. After the show we sell some CDs to various folks, our friends Andrea & Joey take off, we meet the crazily dancing guy (James B) who announces that we are now his favorite band. YAY! I LOVE IT! I give a CD to David Gizara from KLCC who wants to play “Make then Beg” on his jazz show—nice! A great night!

Gary & Andrew head back to Marc’s, but I hang at the bar with my bud, Brad E (a brilliant guitarist--and part of Luckey’s bartending staff). I’m going to crash at his place, so I chill while they close up shop. They are just about to shut the doors when it is determined that a woman, we’ll call her Mabel, is passed out on a couch in the dark. The staff tries to get her to her feet, but to no avail. Not to be defeated, a rolling office chair is produced and Mabel is wheeled out to a waiting cab at the curb. Brad and I opt to go with her to make sure she gets safely home. But alas, Mabel is not able to conjure up her address. When asked where she lives, she can only muster:

“My house!” Hellfire. The cabbie does indeed remember her former apartment, however, it appears she has moved--and to where, it unfortunately remains a mystery. After a few stops around Eugene, some of her close friends are located and she is bundled into her homies' waiting arms and we speed off into the night. Well—what’s left of it.

For, as I finally lay head to pillow and drift off, I hear birds a-stirring and there’s a distinct lightening of the sky.

It's a Little Eorthe After All

2010-08-07T21:05:00.000-07:00

Friday, July 30th
Today we are heading to a potluck /openhouse/concert at an organic farm (Little Eorthe Farm run by Carrie Anne Little & Ken). I throw together some tater salad with olive oil & boiled eggs & celery & capers & onions and we promptly leave for the very farm from whence said taters sprang –whoa. We don’t have super far to go from Tacoma—we are going just outside of Orting, WA. When we arrive we set up our instruments on a brand new stage that looks out over a field facing a wooded ridge. WOW! This is gorgeous. I wander about, checking out the pigpen, trying to photograph the alpacas. They are very distrustful, as they have recently been shorn and they slip away when I come near. The sheep are more social and crowd around to be scratched and cooed at.

I meet our hosts, Ken & Carrie, who are SUPER cool and they go to great lengths to make sure we all have a drink—there are four kegs with housemade beverages: porter, mead, IPA, and carbonated wine. I slurp down a big cup of mead and it’s delicious--- and damn it, I’m drunk. Ken tells me it’s about 15% alcohol. Oops. Just then a big fat platter of roasted chicken arrives (the chickens were clucking, hunting, and pecking these very fields just days ago, but have been sacrificed for the delectation of all of us lucky enough to be here at this party to taste them.). And they are delicious.

After three pieces I feel more sober --which is good, because we presently launch into our set. The sun sets while we play tunes. The first stars line up on the horizon like ships on a quest, dew settles on the fields, and the audience bundles into sweaters, jackets, and blankies, delicious drinks in hand, as they settle in for a good listen. In this dusk of exactly blue we play “50,000 Names”. As I sing, I perceive the deepening sky overhead in my peripheral vision and it feels chockfull of possibilities—way more than 50,000.

In due course, we wind up our set and Deborah Page Band sets up (except for Andrew who is all ready to go, of course). While they prep their show, Monica regales the crowd with some standup in the bawdy, ribald vein, sending the crowd into gales of mirth. The band launches into their moody-sweet music as the stars blaze forth mingling with the onstage lightshow of lasers and swirling colors. The moon rises into a nest of glowing clouds, adding another note of mystery to the proceedings.

After the rockshow is completed there are hugs all around, then the crowd drifts into the night. We tear down the gear and chat with a few late-arrivers. Our hosts have long retired to their repose. They have to be at the Proctor Farmer’s Market at 7:30 am.

A farmer’s work is never done.

Exposure

2010-08-06T14:16:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, July 28th
Before hitting the pillow in the wee hours, I find a little prezzie from Heather resting upon said pillow: a card and a Fran’s salted caramel. For it is my birthday, my friends. In the late late morning I arise and indulge in some strong black tea and some vocal and cardio warm-ups. Thus fortified I’m ready to face my year. I work for a while on some lyrics for a new song called, “Absolute Zero”. I receive birthday calls from friends & family. Meanwhile, as the afternoon wears on, aromas of the most appetizing nature are wafting about causing much growling in my stomach. Andrew is frying up his famous Bacon bacon fried chicken, Gary is baking his famous chili-cheese cornbread, and Heather is roasting organic veggies famously. YUM! Soon we eat, joined by my Tennesse friend, Anne Turpin, who now lives in Tacoma! There is also birthday cake and good cheer, and a lovely and filling time is had by all.

Happy birthday to ME—nevermind Candace.

Thursday July 29th
We arrive at 4th Ave Tavern not knowing who, when, how, which, wherefore, or moreover. The club booked us and Gina Belliveau originally, but then added a burlesque show to the evening. Do we go first? Does the burlesque show include ponies? Is Andrew going to be asked to play rimshots while dancers expose body parts? The suspense is soon to end. We bring in the gear and Ben the good-natured (and we will soon learn talented) sound-guy spells out his plan to mesh the two shows by alternating sets—a sandwich , if you will. We get set up on our quadrant—well, almost half, really--of the stage. The other section will have the risqué dancers prancing naughtily. Or nicely, or both, depending on your proclivities.

Soon enough the crowd arrives--rather dressed up in evening-ish wear and looking eagerish in their dresses and fancy pants. People like near-nudity, it’s a well-worn fact. The show commences with Gina Belliveau accompanied on some songs by her friend Claire. They play a set of super-sweet tunes that is well-received by the filling house.

Then the burlesque players shake their moneymakers, strut, and grind with a healthy dose of humor and to great approbation of the audience. We follow their set with a short but sassy set of our own, closing with "MAKE THEM BEG" (which feels particularly apt tonight). This is, in turn, followed by more nearly-nude dancing. One dancer does her bit to Queen’s Fat Bottomed Girls, an arresting performance which climaxes when she dislodges two cheese burgers from her loincloth/pants and eats them (except for the portions that are mischievously spat out upon the startled but very amused crowd).

Then the dancers turn the stage over to us (in the name of rock) for the rest of the evening and we set forth on a journey that takes us well past midnight. There’s a changing of the guard with the rock-hungry crowd filtering in while the burlesque-satiated crowd filters out. Amongst those with an appetite for both shows I see the nodding and smiling woman from the Jazzbones show—nodding and smiling once again (sweet)! At one point a posse of women arrives that exhibit some enthused dancing while we play. I mention that we are from San Francisco and they all holler and hoot and laugh—it turns out they too are from the bay area! They particularly dig “500 Years” , and during the 7/8 section as the piano and bass accents are thundering, and the drums shatter the sound barrier, they throw cash at us—fives and ones go swirling about mingling with all the eighth notes, generally filling the air with anarchy and love. Whoa.

After the gig we hit King Solomon’s Reef next door. We are joined at the diner by she who nods and smiles (we are then properly introduced and I learn that she is Cat). Josh, who really dug the set and thus bought our CD, also comes along; and (in a rare co-mingling of the burlesuque and rock camps of the evening) Janine, the burlesque troupe’s fearless leader also joins our table for some food and chatter. We all get tasty snacks in the genre of burgers, tater tots (deep-fried, mind you), grilled cheese and tomato soup, and such.

Giving and receiving exposure is strenuous and we are hungry--and the food tastes divine.