I bow to the light and welcome the night – Tarot of the Wild Heart
Welcome summer, hello full moon solstice, and greetings from the midpoint on our wheel of the year. This illuminating sky and shift in the seasons has pulled me deep into a strong tide of creativity and creation. And quite frankly, those waters had drawn me away from my usual anchor of live music this year, until recently.
I had the sweet pleasure of visiting dear friends in the countryside where a sunny pastoral oasis helped me forget my foggy city. Drawn by a summer series in Lagunitas Ampitheater, a pre-pandemic favorite for the warm nights, spunky locals and experimental beers on tap. I came to this show wiped out, after a week of “Full Court Feels” dragging me up and down and wishing I was somehow less in touch with my emotions…but the surf rock set of the Allah Lahs, were a soothing balm. Sitting on a picnic blanket, swaying to their guitar riffs between bites of sourdough pizza, sips of beer brewed under the solar eclipse, and snuggles with dear friends, it was exactly the musical medicine I was yearning for. Recharging my batteries leading into another rollercoaster week.
So where have my creative juices been flowing this Winter and Spring if not attending my beloved live shows and writing…? Well, recording a second season of my ESG podcast, telling my first story at The Moth, and co-leading a Burning Man art project – a giant music box to be exact. So I guess the themes of audio and writing and music have been there, but in a different composition.
A notable show I did attend in April was the spellbinding Andre 3000 at Bimbo’s 365, sharing his new intimate instrumental album, New Blue Sun. It was quite the transcendental experience set amongst a 90-year-old concert venue filled with red velvet couches, antique light fixtures, and a tuxedoed bartender. By far the most surprising and favorite show of 2024.
In the Spring we were also graced with the beautiful majesty of a new Beyonce album, her first country record, perfectly timed for road-tripping around Texas for a special planetary performance. Seeing the total eclipse of the sun was also, in some ways, it’s own celestial concert. What a delight to fall in love with Cowboy Carter.. it’s poetic masters thesis in country music herstory and black culture ,that Queen Bey bestowed upon us with captivating lyrics, heart-stopping harmonies and ingenious musical mash-ups… like an intoxicating trap fiddle?! C’mon now!
Moving into Pride month we’ve been gifted with a delightfully queer Billie Elish album, HIT ME HARD AND SOFT and I’ve returned to Chappel Rowen’s Red Wine Supernova with renewed obsession. Mix in a some French electronic, Karate by Yelle, discovered at a ski chalet in Chamonix, and we’re gearing ourselves up for quite the pool party. You’ll find many of these favorites on the seasonal playlists above.
Reflecting back on the past 6 months, 2024 has already been a busy year, full of travel and transitions into new creative paths; and as I slow down for summer, I’m feeling a bit light-headed. Like when you stop spinning in circles and have to rebalance and re-root again, fully feeling the speed and tilt of it all. Recalibration takes time. And more time. And maybe more time and more tears and often a good folk ballad.
The upside of a hometown summer means getting to support some of my favorite local bands! Tomorrow night I’ll get to see my besties The Furious Tits and Thrown Out Bones at their Pride Show. My favorite dive bar, the Page features live music most nights and that was how I stumbled upon new favorites like The Carrots. For the next few months you’ll find me chasing sunshine and baselines across the Bay and I couldn’t be more delighted to see what new music flows my way. Send me any records you’re grooving to and until then wishing you sweet solstice songs to serenade your summer.
Some seasons are so full of life that pausing to reflect, and record seems constantly at odds with the “living” of it all. This past summer and fall flew by in a hyperdrive of artistic expression, self-discovery, and ensuing flood of “anxieted” feelings that Brene reminds us accompany fucking first times. In the playlists above you’ll find the music that helped me center and savor my 2023 theme of “Space and Grace” through it all.
This summer I leaned into music as a tool to calm my nervous system and rebuild my self-confidence, as I switched jobs, taught my first business school class, and launched a podcast. There was a lot of self-doubt intermixed with nostalgia for chapters ending as they began and Bon Iver’s cover of “Heart of Gold” captured that bittersweet hope in June and July perfectly. Then I was switching gears again, heading back to Burning Man, after a 5 year hiatus. This reunion year would turn out to be a creative cornucopia as I had the pleasure of supporting two amazing art pieces exploring trans identity, tarot mythology, and the playful side of physics. The exhausting prep and run-up to that trip was fueled by catchy dance groves like “I Wanna Help Your Mind” by Goth Babe, and the ensuing decompression depression afterwards was softened with sweet acoustic ballads like “Willow” by Taylor Swift.
As summer turned into fall I was blown away by powerhouse performances from two of my favorite artists – Beyonce and Janelle Monae. While I’ve written many pages pontificating about my reverence for Queen Bey, suffice it to say that my 3rd time seeing her live DID NOT disappoint, she’s as empowered, inspiring, and dazzling as ever. God damn, we are lucky to be grooving, swooning, and thriving in Beyonce’s world. As for Janelle, it turned out that I would be treated to a doubleheader as she toured her phenomenal 2023 album, Age of Pleasure. First at Outside Lands, where I was tickled Pynk by her pool-themed attire on favorites like Water Slide, seeing her right after another great set by Yaya Bey, a new sultry funky R&B artist. Then I got to see Janelle a second time spontaneously at Bill Graham, when a change of plans meant that I got the rush, with my crush, of seeing this queer diva part deux, in their adopted city of gay liberation*.
With the glow of new beginnings also comes the shadow of closure, and this fall was the end of an era for my family as we sold our property, Kikala Farms, after 20 years of living on Kauai. After weeks of packing up the house, I cried big heaving sobs listening to This Time Tomorrow by Brandi Carlile, watching from my window seat as the plane pulled away from The Garden Isle. As early fall turned into spooky season I leaned into the depths of family remembrance rituals like Dia de los Muertos, and spent long nights gazing at my favorite guide, the moon. During these melancholy moments, Mitski’s haunting reverb in My Love Mine All Mine was a cozy retreat.
And now we find ourselves on the precipice of the winter solstice, the wheel of the year turning us ever closer towards the pinnacle of darkness in the Northern Hemisphere. Perhaps you’re like me, struggling to get out of bed, knowing it will be dark again soon, hoarding bespoke candles and sparse songwriting with a hygge obsession that is borderline manic. This is the first holiday season in two decades time that I won’t be spending Christmas morning eating fresh papaya from the farm or swimming with sea turtles. The first-world problem of it all is ridiculous I know, but I’m grieving our family home all the same. Yet with old chapters ending, I know others now have fertile space to sprout. In fact, it might be time to rename my holiday playlist, Kauai Christmas. A creation built to bridge island music and the traditional holiday cannon for woodfire pizza parties held on the patio; all of us huddled around a Norfolk Island pine, singing Mele Kalikamaka. Or maybe I’ll change the title next year. Or maybe never.
*Adrienne Marie Brown’s analysis of the socio-political relevance of both these artists making such bright and beautiful music celebrating queer love, as strong black artists, is required reading IMHO, so treat yo self to this deep dive – Queer Delight Season: Concert Gush.
A friend recently described his trip home to NYC during “Rom Com” season aka shoulder season aka Spring or Fall. This too is my favorite time to travel, no extreme temps, (theoretically) cheap flights and a calmer adult-to-child ratio at tourist hotspots.
Last month I left a classic “Grey May” San Francisco for an oh-so sunny Lisbon, Barcelona, and Albstadt. Two weeks of being nowhere familiar was exactly the escape I needed after a rough month of layoffs, egg-freezing, and the ensuing WTF brain haze. I practiced Portuguese on street cars and sipped white port, savored Vermut and tapas lounging on a friend’s patio, and celebrated a decade of long-distance love in an idyllic German countryside lodge. The quality time with community, delightful culinary discoveries, Gaudi architecture, and a shift to a slower Mediterranean state of mind was just what I needed. I returned refreshed and ready for a summer of music.
Alas, this mix was made in Spring and its eccentric content represents the highs and lows of the past season. Truly, when times are challenging, I retreat from new music – returning to the auditory weighted blankets of old playlists and film soundtracks; providing comfort and familiarity when the foggy future and uncertain present overwhelms. Therefore this season’s playlist represents two different music discovery chapters – the pre-chaos period of early Spring, sunny shred jams and forest folk and the post-chaos period of late Spring, a mix of global tunes that thrummed in my earbuds while getting lost on cobblestone streets. As we reach Summer Solstice eve I’m feeling more grounded and hopeful than I have in a long time, which feels like a celebration in its own right. Hopefully, a few of these oddball tracks will join you on road trips, around the campfire, or wherever your summer adventures await.
This winter I became one eighth of a Tahoe ski lease cabin, soon to be adventuring through California’s second snowiest season on record. The powder was deep, the highways often closed, and I was endlessly searching for a soundtrack to enjoy this snowboarding wonderland.
My 2018 standby, Triathalon Training Oh Yeah, had been an invaluable tool to completing my first sprint triathlon but these days it was insufferably dated and stale. The “Before Times Bangers” just weren’t slappin’ like they used to! Also in the past 5 years Spotify’s playlist curation had matured tremendously resulting in a steep decline in creating my own activity-specific playlists. Great finds like Golden Hour for a rooftop rendezvous, greenshaker//journey for whimsical roadtrips, Camping Playlist for s’mores night nostalgia, and Morning Pages for that tough to stick with, but oh so helpful, creative practice.
But through all my searching I couldn’t find the perfect workout playlist, a unique mix of joy and inspiration that uplifts while it inspires, delights while driving you harder. Alas this winter Shred, Flex, Shimmy Repeat was born, reflecting the quirky cocktail of activities that had kept me sane lately – snowboarding, yoga, and dance. It’s still evolving as I close out the season here in the beautiful Sierras, but it’s a solid start to a refreshed sporty soundtrack.
On the winter new music playlist “Snow Bunny” you’ll find songs I’ve sung loudly along the I-80 corridor more times than I can count. In particular, the soaring multi-leveled 70s rock ballad Look At Us Now, by Daisy Jones & The Six. This album features Elvis’s granddaughter, Riley Keough and band/actor front man Sam Clafin on dynamite vocals. The whole album comes from an Amazon Prime show (and best-selling novel) based on the fictional rise and fall of the band Daisy Jones & The Six. I binged the whole series while recovering from Covid in March and that ballad became my healing anthem. Just try to listen and not fall in love with them, I dare you. Last but not certainly least, check out the hottest new Bay Area punk band, Furious Tits, founded by my friends and dear creative muses. Their queer activistic lyrics are raw, funky, and fresh.
Do you have a favorite workout playlist?
Or a favorite song to yell scream in the shower?
Lemme know. Music recommendations and writing feels always welcome.
“Take me to January, I want to touch the sky, I want to feel alive, take me to January, like it’s 1995. Take me to January, I want to be renewed, want to break the fuse, take me to January, you know the only one I want is you…” – January, by Millie Turner
I love a good non-denominational greeting. I am absolutely that stranger others might regard with a side eye when they hear “Happy New Year!” well into January. And to all the Ba Humbugs who are done with “Happy New Year” by January 2nd I say good riddance.
Earlier today as I walked home from Golden Gate Park I passed an adorable elderly couple shuffling down the sidewalk who slowed their pace so I could graciously pass. As I did so I paused, unsure of what time it was… would “Good morning” or “Good afternoon” be appropriate..? And quickly realized the time didn’t matter because I could respond with a spritely “Happy New Year!” They returned the greeting with a smile and I nod, as I continued down the street I felt that warm fuzzy goodness welling up inside, that spontaneous neighbor interaction that we’ve all been been craving for the past three years. Cheers to New Years and the chance to connect on a whim.
The beginning of the year signals the end of another, and increasingly these years feel harder and longer than it seems possible. Thankfully, we’ve got music to help us reflect on those highs and lows and maybe even a squad of friends to boogie the night away with. 2022 was a mixed bag but the disco dreamscape of Renaissance I was euphoric and transformative, Harry’s House was my constant kitchen companion, and Wet Leg had me jamming on air guitar down Highway 1. The Seratones were my quintessential Jazz Fest crush who played a surprise set at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass and Brijean was a last minute set at The Independent whose tropical house jams tempered my Fogust bouts of depression.
In 2023 I’m looking forward to revisiting some of my favorite small venues around San Francisco and parsing through the Rockstar Librarian after a 5 year hiatus from Black Rock City. There’s a lot of open space on the horizon for new musical adventures this year, so I hope we all get a little lost along the way and find something that surprises and delights us.
New music playlists come in all colors, shapes and sizes. They can remind you of a favorite road trip, a #fuckyeahfall themed party, or simply a band you were falling in love with note by note.
There was a time when sharing music amongst audiophile friends was such a regular occurrence that delighting in new tunes was my full time hobby. At this time I was finding enough new music to fill monthly playlists and going to shows twice a week.
Since concert venues have re-opened their doors my quest for live music, and attendance at shows, hasn’t rebounded to that 2014/2015 peak. But a steady stream of new tunes has begun filling my earbuds, and I’ll excitedly share my latest audio crush with anyone who will listen. Nothing really beats the endorphins of hearing that new favorite ear worm that perfectly captures your mood. Music is autobiographical, that’s why a song can transport you back to a memory or a feeling instantly – sometimes even without your permission.
In this post-lockdown world, where so-called “endings” feel like broken records and the beginnings feel stretched and hazy, I’ve found solace in grounding myself in nature’s cycles. Though many would argue that San Francisco’s seasons are simply 12 shades of autumn, the equinoxes and solstices provide us an ancient framework for built in reflection and intention setting, in manageable 3 month increments. And thus seasons have become my method of collecting music as well. Lately 90 days is just enough time to capture the peaks and valleys of my music discovery journey.
Part of me wishes I was hunting new music with the prowl of my youth such that I was creating more frequent playlists with that same vigor and intensity. But honestly, fuck intensity. Let’s all take some radical rest and appreciate the beauty that is captured in a season, that most elusive yet beautiful of time frames. Happy listening.
NOLA’s Jazz Fest had been on my bucket list for as long as I could remember, a 7 day festival over two weekends, 12 stages, and over two dozen genres of music. “Hardly Strictly Bluegrass on steroids” was how I described it to friends back home, but even that comparison doesn’t capture the beauty of it – hundreds of bands performing anything from zydeco to hip-hop, funk to gospel enclosed by dozens of food and drink vendors servin’ Louisana’s finest.
Playlists: “Temperatures done rising, baby come feel the heat”
In the before times, as they are now called, I would dream of going to New Orleans. A fabled land of endless celebratory spirit, cafes brimming with jazz and blues, alcoholic slushies flowing from antique soda fountains. Costumes standing in for everyday attire because what the hell what was better than a costume anyway? When we landed the night was thick with humidity and anticipation as we drove into the city I couldn’t believe how warm it felt at 8pm…
Over four days of music I got to twerk with Big Freedia, stomp and clap to Shovels & Rope and boogie down with Trombone Shorty. It was truly a phenomenal line up of artists, and in the end it was basically impossible to enjoy all my favorites. But enjoy it I did if I had to pick, my new artist standouts were Cinafunk (of Cuba) – afrofunk dance , Seratones – soul rock, Ranky Tanky – Charleston quintet, Rory Block – blues, and Helen Gillet- cello pop.
Cimafunk (of Cuba)
Cimafunk is an Afro-Cuban rockstar we should all be blasting from our speakers to properly wind up #hotvaxsummah. Performing with his 9 person band from Havana, Cimafunk and his sunny island grooves had us salsing and shiming across polo fields. Cimafunk has worked alongside rapper Lupe Fiasco and funk master George Clinton, and other greats to develop the hypnotically rhythmic cuban pop dance paired with African beats that are insanely catchy and uplifting. If you put this on at the pool party your DJ friend might even say “This slaps” with a gleeful smile.
My crust for the fest was Seratones, the power soul pop diva group I had discovered in the Spring and couldn’t wait to fangirl over. The Louisiana band describes themselves as a “synthesis of astral Soul, R&B, and Sci-fi funk” and their performance left us starry-eyed. Their retro sound of driving femal vocals, drums and dreamy sync inspired and excited us to no end. The lead singer AJ Haynes was particularly captivating and I low key fell in love with her when she paused dramatically before the finale
Excus my Gemini moon, I’m going to read a poem
Oh yes, we’ll excuse the moon my dear, Shante You Stay!
By day of 3 jazz fest the heat and humidity had torpedoed my energy and I knew better than to spend another 7 hours in the hot southern sun. Lucky for me, legendary guitarist Rory Block was playing the Blues tent. This shady, mist filled oasis was brimming with Block’s twanging voice and fingerpicking sound. She serenaded me as I savored a creole lunch of tippy trout with grilled shrimp and crawfish sauce. One of the true joys of this trip was not only the new artists found but the incredible cultural and music touchstones abound. It was a delight to be surrounded by the soulful sounds of America diverse community.
Ranky Tanky played at the Fasi Do Do stage that I kept calling “ Fasi do re mi stage” to help me remember. Ranky Tanky was a feel good South Carolina sensation. Their whole set they had the audience in the palm of their hand, dancing and swaying with funky delight. The peak of their performance was leading a call and response rendition of “Green Sally ” with a choreographed dance that the we gleefully followed in unison.
On Day 4 it was less of a race and more a crawl, we had made it and just were trying to enjoy all the music we could without collapsing. That day I gave my liver a break and went herbal only to wander into a small idyllic and gloriously shaded courtyard. On stage was Hellen Gillet, a Belgian pop cellist with assertive Fiona Apple indie vibes backed up by a drummer in the grandstand courtyard. Her sound was reminiscent of Andrew Bird’s haunting melodies but before long the tempo would pick up into an upbeat classical number perfect for a Bridgerton ball. I chowed down a delicious mufalatto sandwich entranced by her impassioned hair flips. I’d been feasting on music for four long days (often instead of food) so my body was grateful for the seated respite.
As sun set (thank goddess) on the last night of the festival, we weaved our way out of the festival grounds, departing a bit early from Trombone Shorty’s high energy set. We were exhausted, delirious, and couldn’t stop smiling. After dreaming of this weekend for so long I was incredulous that it was ending, that we had danced, that we had dreamed, that we had survived. On the ride home our taxi driver regaled us with a tale of how her friends tricked her into eating alligator after years of refusal and she had become a convert on the spot. Laughing along we promised her that we’d have some before flying home.
“Is it your birthday girl cause you lookin’ like a present?!” Why yes, Lizzo, it is. Muchas gracias for dropping your first album in 3 years! Praise Goddess.
Obvi this #birthdaybitch was all about the music this week thanks to a dynamite show by Houston-hailin’ Khruangbin, the best band you’ll never know how to pronounce. Their Lone Star psychedelic grooves rocked a sold out set at Berkeley’s Greek Theater featuring all their best songs as well as a dynamic medley of 12+ covers ranging from What is Love to Seven Nation Army. They came to slay! The opener, Montreal-based Men I Trust, started their set with a cringy hello to “San Francisco” and a set of shoegazey lounge rock that was perfectly delightful and much more politely Canadian than their mistaken regional greeting.
Final shoutout to neighborhood band “The Haighters” that played two (!) sets at the Panhandle during my picnic party with hours of jammin’ rock and psychedelic classics to celebrate the birthday of their lead guitarist as well – rock on Mark!
We back! It’s been 3 years since I published a Music on My Mind (M.O.M.) post, and while a lot has changed since 2019, my love of sharing new music has not (what I’d argue is the “6th love language”). For M.O.M v2 I’m going to play around with the format and cadence but stick with my original intention to use this project as an opportunity to connect with my community around music – sharing recs, going to shows, dancing thru it all. So lemme know what y’all think of this passion project reboot. Compliments welcome, critiques accepted at elon@musk.net. Welcome back to Music on Mind friends, pop in those headphones and let’s get weird.
Playlists: I don’t wanna talk, I just wanna dance. 💃
When the world shut down in 2020, I couldn’t have guessed it’d be 18 months till I’d feel the vibration of live bass guitar reverberate in my chest again. And I definitely wouldn’t have predicted a May 2022 that included two fantastic new musical festivals sandwiched between a case of covid; but alas the world works in mysterious ways and Music fest May was born. Starting with Jazz Fest in New Orleans and ending with Lightning in a Bottle (LiB) in Southern California. Two regions known for their dynamic entertainment scene, hot ass summers, spiked slushies, and a distinctly “less is more” approach to clothing. Starting with part 2 of this series might seem odd, but having just gotten back from the dusty, costumed, camping love fest that was LiB it’s what comes first. She comes first after all, and sometimes that means starting the series with part 2.
Thursday – Arrival Under the Cover of Night
Like many of the best adventures, this one began with a whim – signing up for a music festival I’d never heard of while sipping beers in a ski lodge. A crew of mutual friends from Monterey were going and “…would I want to camp with them and enjoy 4 days of epic music – oh and there is a lake!” Flushed with IPA and altitude-induced confidence I bought my ticket on the spot, excited to boogie to new beats alongside fresh friends and reclaim my festivus glow.
Five months later when we pulled up to the dusty Bakersfield campground with spotty cell reception and I realized why so many Burners came to this festival – for the immersive art, but also familiar surroundings. Our friends had staked out a sweet spot in the radish patch a mere 7 min walk from the festival surrounded by extended community hailing from Davis to San Diego. The energy was electric, like a pack of feral rabbits high on rainbow carrots for the first time in 2 years. During our first brief loop of the grounds that night we happened upon the hilariously talented Fungineers, an LA-based elf troupe of music, art, and puppet masters performing on top of an ice cream truck. It would turn out to be a funky freaky omen for the weekend if we ever did see one.
Friday – Oldies but Goodies
True to it’s Burning Man comparisons, LiB is a non-stop arts festival with an abundance of woo woo workshops, intellectual glory holes, too many vegan food options and art in all its best forms (music, painting, face jewels). I waded into this cornucopia of delights on Friday morning with a dope Afrobeats Yoga Class. It was just the sassy stretch sesh we needed to start the day and when she instructed us all to twerk in downward dog during a Beyonce + Teko song I felt truly seen.
Back at the radish patch my campmates were furiously blowing up animal floaties for a much anticipated lake swim to beat the heat and our hangovers. Only 12 hours into LiB I was beginning to understand that bathing suits were now a viable clothing option for the entire weekend and for once I didn’t mind all the beautiful vapid LA folks. We hid beers in our towels, doned rainbow Tevas, were ready for our first #swamprave.
After lakeside revelry it was back to the set list for the night – above and beyond my favorite lineup for the weekend (!). As someone who grew up going to Rolling Stones concerts, I tend towards bands, with a capital B, those who play actual instruments and whose musicality tends towards uplifting and dancey.
We started out the night with a VNSSA evening set at Woogie stage (pictured at top) with a light show that drew us into the dance floor. Thankfully though I escaped long enough to see the sun slip behind the southern Sierras as sparkle ponies twirled around in the amber glow. Next up was the bodacious Big Wild, a band whose hypnotic earworm 6s to 9s had secured their spot on all indie dance playlists in perpetuity. Their set delivered all the euphoric larger than life sounds my soul had been craving. Adding to the revelry, and grassy knoll dance party all around us, was a series of canvases with spotlights where painters were groovin’ and painting in sync with the music – truly a gorgeous creative fusion.
The night ended with performances from two jewels of the commonwealth – Chet Faker and Glass Animals. Chet delivered his Aussie sex god realness in those sultry tones and jazzy bass lines, not unlike his 2017 Treasure Island set where I shouted unrequited marriage proposals from the crowd. His new songs are fine, but those oldies from 2016 still held their own as his best, perfect for your next sexy cocktail party. Closing out the night was Glass Animals, a band who had come out with two albums since I’d last seen their technicolor dance set at The Fox. Their musicality and sonic range was pure delight as I danced atop the shoulders of a new friend, everything from to driving drum sequence of Space Ghost to their song of the summer hit Heat Waves. Between songs they complimented our festival totems in charming British accents and we were left smitten, sweaty and smiling ear to ear.
Saturday – Wompapoolza
Saturday started with a strong desire to rehydrate like a boss and get out of our hot dusty camp. It began with napping in shade during A Psychedelic State of the Union and continued to channeling tranquil transcendence through a Inner Space Exploration Meditation workshop. But the real highlight was wandering into the Witch’s Hut, a mystical potionarium hailing from Nevada City whose healing tinctures served in a cozy calming oasis were truly transformative to my overwhelmed nervous system.
The glory of the festivals lies, I believe, is in the pure saturation of it all – so many stages brimming with so much music, you can’t keep up with it all and so you simply don’t try. Coming into LiB I didn’t know 90% of the music (DJs + Electronic + House) so it was the perfect opportunity to get my horizons expanded through the guidance of friends who I’d characterize as womp forward, to my self affirmed womp adjacent musical sensibilities. These leprechaun finds would color the rainbow of musical delights I’d end up enjoying for the next two days.
Saturday’s evening of music started with my sole pick for the night – Elder Island. The adorable British trio fuses together genres as broad as electronica, indie pop, and neo-soul, which was always a perfect pairing for a night of craft beer brewing. Their electric cello was also a fun surprise to see live! After Elder Island we headed to Womp HQ (aka Woogie stage) for another UK artist, the dark emotive dance rhythms of Eli & Fur. Next we heard part of Max Cooper’s set which was both an audio-visual art party as well as a fun electronic music show. Our interests then drifted from the Woogie womp land to bigger stages with bigger womps. I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting from an artist called LSDream, but a splendid trap remix of both Mr. Sandman, and then Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds was quite the delight. These throw back tunes really helped me rally deep into the night. Closing us out was the femme fatal herself, ClooZe, a badass french DJ whose lucid sounds ended our second full day on an atmospheric high note.
Sunday – Running on Empty
By day four of a festival you’ve often transitioned from vacation mode –> survival mode, finding that unique balance of enjoyment and rest to preserve just enough strength to pack up your tent with some semblance of dignity. As this festival was Memorial day weekend our mantra was “We’ll sleep in June” and it felt like a fleeting, if not worthwhile, promise to our future selves.
Sunday began with a “History of Witches” workshop where my new tincture goddess implored “…we’ve been kept down by the penises and priests for centuries, and it’s time to get back to our human connection to the earth, her cycles, and collective healing. “ Afterwards we wandered by the General Store, where steampunk decor flourished in a barter-only shop while, munching on beetroot sauce fries and kimchi pirogies. By the afternoon I was overheated and cranky so I after threw myself into the lake to float on my parrot along the lakeshore catching notes of various concerts and workshops waft across the water.
Case in point, I wasn’t originally jazzed by the idea of going to the Woogie stage for a 3 hour DJ set by Hernan Cattaneo, a major Argentinian DJ who regularly plays Ibiza. But thanks to new friends who were TURNT at this opportunity, I was able to enjoy 30 min of the set after floating down to the stage. Turns out house music is a great frequency for both drying off AND dancing.
As night fell, we doned our last set of costumed attire and headed out for the Thunder stage where Mr. Carmack, an artist whose music hinges seamlessly between dance and hip hop, was playing a groovy set. Next was SG Lewis at the Lightning stage. His disco pop sound paired with falsetto singing voice felt like a remix of Robyn and Rhye, and it was exactly the uplift we needed to finish the night strong. Finally it was Griz,(!!) the capstone performance to close the festival whom everyone had been hyping up all weekend. His self described genre of “future funk” includes electronic music with live sax, energetic funk, and sweeping electro-soul. On stage with him were also a crew of fire dancers – it was lit AF.
On that last night, you will get to that last stage and feel dog tired, like your legs could literally fall off. But you will sit on your fur coat, sip some gatorade, munch on a bacon grilled cheese and when the sax solo dives in above the electronic trap beats your heart overrides all bodily functions. Those dancing feet pop you back up into the crowd, swaying in sync with your friends. They’re not feeling any pain because the music moves through you like a goddam rocket ship. You trust that you will sleep in June. #wherelightningstrikes
Over four years ago I started writing this music blog as a creative writing outlet for all the musical adventures I was breathlessly pursuing during my wild 20s in the irreverent Lower Haight. But last year I reached the third floor, settled into a one bedroom in Bernal, and the pull of discontent, the weight of responsibility that had drifted in and out of my psyche related to this project, fell upon me like broken e-scooter. I started and stopped half a dozen posts…feeling swept away by the self imposed perfection of this project – scrutinizing details and spending hours researching bands in order to craft a level of narrative that no one expected of me, but I had created for myself. I was paralyzed by a threshold of expectation that was in one way totally unrealistic and silly and was also something I had once done well, and so I felt a historical attachment and reverence for. So I didn’t finish those posts, and didn’t publish much. I continued going to shows, creating new music playlists, sharing songs with community and gathering great joy from those interactions. But the medium for which to catalyze those discussions and events had grown stale and burdensome. It was time to shake it up.
When I had the option to renew my WordPress subscription in January I signed up for another year, unsure of exactly what this project could or should or would be in 2019. A year where the excitement and energy of new jobs and homes and romance and exercise and sleep and anything with clear deadlines and less vulnerability took priority over my “creative outlets”. But as I de-prioritized this project, what did not change was my total and completely intoxicating love affair with music – it’s therapeutic ability to enhance the most magical moments and it’s ability to soften the harsher realities. And I knew what would never change, would be my zeal for live music (and my hope that you’ll join me in the front row), and of course my curiosity for new sounds to sweep me away.
Tonight is the Libra Full (Super) Moon, bestowing our planet with celestial balance and powerful gravitational force as she sways our moods and minds. Today is also the Spring Equinox, a celebration of new life and planting seeds, a time to reflect on old habits and reminder to leave those behind which do not serve you. Today, on this day of super equinox moon vibes I’ve done something radical – written a note of heartfelt contemplation without hope or agenda that it will get read or considered (a. it’s long as fuck b. less pressure to edit, filter, create a product to the level of expectation that has paralyzed me in the past). I think this blog can still serve a valuable place in my creative heart. But perhaps a more paired down version that focuses on more music and stream of consciousness; less on research and well written narratives (as I explore creative writing in different avenues).
Tonight, for example, if this medium existed, I would tell you that I love the moon and her superpowers most of all. So much so that I wrote her a playlist, first inspired by the exquisite reflection she shone upon Dublin last month as I paced the Docklands on a frigid clear evening.
If this project was indeed that freeform , I would also tell you, for example, that my music tastes have wandered and wondered around a lot this year. And that if you were hungry for a morsel of this sweet new music marzipan you wouldn’t have to travel very far indeed. I would tell you that sometimes we meet those whom we’re meant to know at exactly the right time, even if it’s not for a long time at first, and that the same goes for songs that slip into our life through an auditory Meet Cute.
And, if this were the new way of writing, that I might be toying with, I might end it by saying that I hope you embrace my soundtrack for moon reverie and find some favorites along the by and by. But also, if you don’t, that’s fine too. Do what you will, the moon doesn’t care and so neither shall I. And lastly, if you yearn for the real thing, not that ironic, sepia toned recorded sound wave pulsing out of your speakers, then please join me on the sticky concert floor where we’ll shake our hair and sip IPAs and dream of touring ourselves and perhaps running away.
I don’t really know where this project is going, but you probably knew that by now. What I do know is that my life will always be sparked with the delights of music discovery, admiration and attendance. So perhaps you’d like to continue along the way to see what’s next for this project. It might get weird, it will definitely get woo woo, but above all else – it will always sound great.
Music On My Mind 