Jewels In The Mud

Alas, many moons have passed since I've written last. My apologies!

It's actually a really great thing, as I seem to be getting things done around here. The creative juices are getting dusted off, and that's always cause for celebration with me. It means I have defeated the beast of procrastination once again in a bloody dual! I am juggling a job, a casual-internship with Tom + Gary's Decentralized Dance Party (www.theddp.com) and just embarked on a summer internship with Vancouver's famed Waldorf Hotel (www.thewaldorfhotel.com)!

Working with the productions manager/booking agent at the Waldorf has been a music-lovers magical wand. I get to see amazing acts at my leisure, assist with great shows, meet great artists, and I get to be involved in the underground arts and music scene on the West coast. I have been blessed to see some awesome local and international acts, including but not limited to a last minute ticket (we're talking 20-minutes prior to the show...) to the sold out Fleet Foxes show. I have been SO wrapped up in the Helplessness Blues album for the past few months, re-affirming my love for Robin Pecknold's whimsical lyrics and the bands hauntingly beautiful harmonies. The show opened with the Seattle-based Cave Singers, whom I missed, but coincidentally saw as a headliner at the Biltmore the week prior. The bushy-faced, boot-stomping Pete Quirk is mesmerizing and thoroughly entertaining to watch, if ever you get the chance. His onstage presence is that of a man possessed by music, laughing and chattering away in a vocal style that's reminiscent of blues singers long passed.



Then there was Frank Fairfield! What a treasure! This is a name to watch, people. I truly believe he is here to save our musical souls. Mr. Fairfield fled the monotony of the working-world in his early 20's to ramble and see the American landscape, busking for spare change to whomever would listen until this most-recent tour opening for the infamous Cass McCombs. I was taken aback by his humble, kind, and yes-ma'am-thank-you-ma'am demeanour when I met him at the Waldorf show. Equipped with nothing but a duffle-bag, a beat-up guitar and fiddle, he completely blew everyone away with his bluegrassy style and his toe-tapping rhythms. I felt like I was peaking in on a delicious secret-- or perhaps into the 30s, at a pub somewhere in Louisiana. Frank Fairfield is a man not of this time. His songs are like scratchy old vinyls you listened to at your grandparents' cabin, like a canoe ride on the bayou or something.



It's these moments that are the reason why I love to see live music. I get shivers; I know I am so close to a rarity, and there is a sense of closeness, a warmth in your bones that seems to linger there for days. And then an hour passes and it's all gone in a flash of applause and "one-mores". We un-coatcheck our effects, return to our lives. I guess I'm pretty lucky that I get to do this all the time, because that glitter just keeps caking on, and I can vibrate off that moment continuously.



I guess it helps that I'm also newly in love? WOAH.

Who'd a thought I'd be one of the milky-eyed ones again? I certainly didn't expect it. But like most treasures, it was discovered in a flash. I tripped over it like a hole in the ground, and was suddenly dumbfounded, awake and stargazeringly (I know it's not a word-- don't annoy me) in love. I know I sound like a huge, annoying mongrel. I hate to be that girl: nobody wants to hear about love unless they've found it too. In which case, bragging about it brings up memories of the "ice cream" skit in Eddie Murphys Delirious-- "you ain't got no iiiiiiiice cream, you didn't get noooooone, 'cause you are on the weeeeeeelfare!"

**If you don't know what I'm talking about, that's terribly unfortunate and you should watch the video below.



However, the summer has arrived on the West coast, and everyone knows that summer is made for lovers.

Cupids and heart-thieves are out there passionately hunting it out (I can almost smell it in a bar this time of year, yikes!), while the lucky-ones are busy showering the streets with PDA, cutesy bike rides, hand-holding, flower-picking and being adorable. I feel like falling in love is much like stumbling upon a beautiful song that changes your life, the way you think about yourself. Or maybe your first concert, unless you're like me and can't remember because you got drunk in the parking lot of the venue. A good walk in the park. Either way, the likeness is there.

It's as though you've found jewels in the mud-- a term I first heard used at a Buddhist temple, where the monk suggested the concept as a visual mantra helpful in meditation. The visualization is supposed to connect you with the innermost part of yourself, your true potential, and true peacefulness. I keep remembering it in moments of surprise or awe, when I feel blessed, and it completely makes sense. It's the very moment when all your distractions dissipate, your disenchantments float away like smoke and you're left with complete awareness and wonder. I have a feeling I might have lost some of you at "visual mantra", but nonetheless I think you probably know what I'm talking about. All I'm saying is that, whichever way you experience even a moment of that jewel, drink it up. My vehicles to visit that ecstacy are love, art, and music. Just honour beauty, okay? Besides, t'is the season for merrymaking and joy-- bikinis, patios, cutoffs, beach days and general loveliness.

So what are you gunna do, hey?
Go out there and get some of it!


Cheers!
B