I knew he was planning a few shows, but it looks like this tour will be as extensive as the Canadian version. Which makes all Matt Good fans very happy south of the border.

For a full list of shows in order to find one near you..
http://www.matthewgood.org/shows/

ooh la la, almost makes me wish I was American.

Labels: Matthew Good, music, song

The flashlight is missing in action. I think it's on tour, slowly going across the nation like a beacon. No, I think 'beacon' is the wrong word, because I gain no comfort from who has it. People need to take care of themselves, is how I put it. It's so true. I never want to be a Gish that broke the camel's back again. It's the worst kind of guilt. Ahhh, the things that live in my head.

Anyway, I had to say that because it was in my head. Playing around with my nephew today in the backyard, he's attached at the hip with my mother whom he calls Nokomi (grandmother in Ojibwe) and we were laughing at his attempts at speech.

At the title 'suggests', I am sad that I wasn't able to go see Ryan Adams in Toronto tonight. He's playing at Massey Hall (amazing venue) and well, there is no one I would rather see at the moment. Hear those words, that music with my own ears. His mouth to my ears. magic, maybe.

Meanwhile, I'm ready to cut my hair and wear a rebel beret, not really sure what the cause is yet. Maybe I could practice being a seed activist. I would have to move: London is very conservative. However, that won't stop me from voting for the Green Party.

Yeah, yeah....I know.
Nightie.

Nobody Girl - Ryan Adams

Labels: Gish, nephews, Ryan Adams, song

I'm sure in the grand scheme of things, my depression and as of yet undiagnosed neurosis are small potatoes compared to the suffering that is going on in other parts of the world.

But I can't even think past what I will be doing in 15 minutes, let alone the loss of countrymen, civilian lives and other pieces of humanity in general.

My theory is that despite all of our wishes, hopes and dreams....humans are locusts with brains. We consume, build, destroy and paint ourselves into corners. We do this knowingly, if you believe the environmentalists. Or we do it unknowingly, if you believe all those proud Americans for all the wars they actually had no business starting or being involved with.

My theory is finite. We don't have a sustainable future. As a race, humans aren't meant to perservere. This whole earth thing, as in planet earth is a one shot deal. Unlike Sim City, we don't get to start over. We think too much, and we don't think enough. We act too quickly and do not make up for the damage we've done to anything we've touched.

The only thing I can think of that even remotely interests me in life, is art. And trust me when I say that it's only a matter of time before that's soiled with the leaking parts of my radioactive brain. Love? you ask. I don't have any faith in it. I think it's for certain kinds of people, and I just happen to be the other kind. I'm not a girl that gets to have love.

It's with those thoughts, that I ponder the usefullness of my own existence. A friend tells me that we have no other option but to keep slogging through the mess we've made of our lives. But, somewhere inside of me, I know that it's only a matter of time before there are no more words from me, and I am underwater.

The past few days have been bad. I've had worse, but I can feel myself sinking below the water line, and knowing there isn't really anything or anyone that can thrown me a life saver. And really, who cares anyway?

The Fine Art of Falling Apart - The Matthew Good Band

Labels: drama, neurotic, song, Sylvia Plath

weapon
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

here by my side, it's heaven
here by my side, you are destruction...

I'm not one of those girls that has a gazillion huge tattoos all over her body. I have 5 small ones, one is a drawing and is about 1.5 inches in size. The other four are choice words or phrases that I like and they are all hidden from view, or can be with bracelets.

For instance, the latest one is Weapon. I put it on my right wrist. We hurt other with our hands We type or write words that sting like nettle. It's also the title of my favourite song by Matthew Good. That song came from a time I believe as having woken up from a suburbia-induced coma. My right hand is connected to my heart.

The only problem with that is, once you're awake, you can't ever get back to sleep. careful...

I wanted to write something more whimsical, but I'm sleepy now. The telephone was ringing off the hook yesterday but I hid from it under the sheets. Today not such a good day, I guess I was crashing from the good days I had earlier this week. I feel as though I can slowly wind myself up in the red curtains Sylvia Plath was making when she killed herself. What a poet.

So...bed time.

Love, Gish

Weapon - Matthew Good

Labels: blue pills, depression, Matthew Good, melancholy, neurotic, photographs, song, Sylvia Plath, tattoos, zopiclone

Last night, I went to the first concert in a long while. To a venue I hated. Ok, I'll just be upfront because slander isn't slander when it's true. I hate The Drink, now called Cowboy's Ranch. The staff are rude and abrasive, apparently change of ownership or name of venue has not changed that. Simples questions are answered with grunts and seriously, they treat customers like gum on the bottom of a shoe. Cattle to ber herded in.

I can understand they may get a little tired of dealing with a rowdy university crowd night after night, etc but in all honesty...if that's what the issue is, then go into another type of business. Because hard drinking late teens, early 20's kids away from home for the first time...are not ever going to be neat and orderly and polite.

Ugh. So I endured Cowboy's Ranch aka The Drink last night for Interpol. It made me miss the days of The Tea party and Matt Good playing there. Even Thornley when I used to kind of dig their music.

I endured the smell of the people around me (I mean, really people....personal hygiene shouldn't be elective), the worst Gin and Tonic I've ever tasted (and I bought three just to make sure it wasn't a one off thing, nope. All bad). But the band was good. At first a bit flat, but things picked up after awhile. Heard a few old favourites and some new stuff from their recently recorded album. Didn't bother with the camera since the venue is also (surprise, surprise) a bitch when it comes to photography.

I was wearing 4 inch black patent leather platform highheels. They looked so good with my jeans. And made me tall enough to see over everyone so I can squinch my eyes and pretend the bass player on stage was Stuart Chatwood (close resemblance). I shared a soft kiss with some guy standing by a pillar during Leif Erikson, coincidentally also a close resemblance to Stuart Chatwood (I'm really not kidding). Then hobbled out of the venue when the band left the stage after the first encore so I could rest my tired and squished feet. I gave up 50 feet away and took my shoes off to walk barefoot on the concrete.

There is something so feral about walking barefoot on a cool Spring night. Something even more free and romantic about driving barefoot. I grabbed a burger then went home to rest. I fell asleep with the image of those piercing blue eyes searching my face for my intentions.

I wonder what his name was.

Labels: drama, habits, how not to be an idiot, late night, music, neurotic, song, writing

OK first things first: Has anyone other than myself, heard Willie Nelson's version of Leonard Cohen's SMASH hit Hallelujah? Raise your hands, if you have heard this cover. Don't worry, no on can see, just raise your hand for a final count.

There are so many versions out there ought to be a cut off point somewhere along the line.

So, I officially here and now, declare the cut off point. No more covers of this song that is called Hallelujah by Leanord Cohen. The man has enough money at this point in his life, and even if you think it's the crowning glory on your newest record, he probably doesn't really care. The time to stop is now.

Don't get me wrong. I dig Nelson's (we're on a last name basis now) cover of the song. In fact, I would put it as my second favourite cover of this particular song, given there are about six different versions to be found ranging from Johnny Cash to Rufus Wainright. And those are only the versions that I personally know about.

Enough already.

Because in the grander scheme of things, hands down, the best version of this song is by Jeff Buckley and that is all there is to it. The end. But not really. There have been a lot of changes taking place in the industry they call 'music', when it encompasses so much more than that, these days.

For instance, a lot of the musicians and songwriters are taking power back by spending as much time in the sound booth to ensure what they hear in their heads, is what comes across when you purchase and listen to their art. In this particular cover tune, we have Ryan Adams to thank for the help Nelson recieved in the production of his new record, Song Bird .

I know you think you know what music is. But I have this theory about it. I think of music as an art form, inasmuch as painting, poetry, writing, or sculpting something with your bare hands. And although emulating someone else's sound could be the highest form of flattery.

Sometimes, it's just time to say ok, enough.
So...enough.

Love,
Ms. G

Labels: cover songs, how not to be an idiot, insomnia, Jeff Buckley, late night, music, music opinion, opinions, Ryan Adams, song

my picture of my photograph
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.
I'm all alone now, I can do as I please.....I don't feel like doing much of anything...
Spent time with some of the kids in my program. They were making hand drums. I don't feel much for editing or sorting through photos or else I'd post one of the kids with the slippery hide and tendons stretching to make taut surfaces of the drums. Time through our fingers, unnoticed.

I think of the new sheets and I just want to curl up in them, but it's still too early for bed. Grocery shopping with my older sister tomorrow. It gives us a chance to catch up, and she gets to pick what I eat (sometimes). I know I'm supposed to be thinking about some arty photography for the theme at The Cooperation, but the ideas I thought I had don't seem very good. And my 'get up and go'...kinda got up an left.

And I'm hooked on this song. My favourite part is 43 seconds before the end of it. This book I'm reading is not doing much for my sense of mankind. It's called The Demon Lover by Robin Morgan. Discussing the roots of terrorism. I don't know if it's something I can fully subscribe to. Because after all, we're looking for solutions, and one of the parts of that is to lay blame with someone or something. This book lays the blame on men. Man, in general. I'll either be a man-hating, frothing at the mouth kind of feminist by the end of the book, or someone who has just read a bad book.

I dreamnt about money last night. Lots of it. I suppose it's because I am constantly worried about not having any or enough. And when sad songs come on the radio, my thoughts drift towards the Apostle. I wonder what he's doing now, what he's thinking. If he misses me. Then I have to look in another direction or I'll get lost in that train of thought.

My face is just a disguise. Another layer to me that no one has really figured out. How many layers are there...? Not sure. Even I don't have all the answers to myself, I can hardly expect someone else to. Silly.

Maybe I'll rent Purple Rain tonight. Such a nostalgic movie, not to mention that Prince is 5'5 feet of pure sex. MMmmmm.

Please Do Not Let Me Go - Ryan Adams

Labels: Apostle, drama, inspiration, layers, music, neurotic, pearls, photographs, relationships, Ryan Adams, song

Dear Cowboys,
I haven't felt like I have anything interesting to say. Then someone tells me that Prince did a bunch of old songs at the Superbowl thing. I'm not a Superbowl kind of girl so I would have never seen it.

God Bless Youtube.
And Prince.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iK4EwxRLiik

I've been on this Prince kick since the original Apostle reminded me of the Purple Rain album. I even rented Purple Rain on pay-per-view last week. Then I had a good cry because someone didn't like where I was from (long story, not worth telling again).

My temporary job hours are killing me. I spend most days trying to sleep, except I keep hearing this ringing. By the time I finally figure out it's the phone, the person has hung up. I call Craig back because I miss him and leave him message. Then he calls me right back and we chat. He wrote a song called 'Nothing and Everything' for me and it's going on his new album. I'm a tiny bit afraid to find out what the song says, but curious as well. In my incapacitated state, I told him I just wanted him here, now in my bed to cuddle. It's something like -30 with the windchill around here lately. And I just can't get warm.

I've been eating popcorn and cupcakes for dinner a lot lately. Bad, I know. But quick, satisfying and that's all I'm after right now. I'm on a mission to take some photographs for a theme at The Cooperation. I have my song titles and I'm almost ready to shoot. I just need a few...erm...things first. I'm going to have way too much fun with this.

I have to spend some time with Buckley before he forgets I'm the boss, and show my face in the living room so my television set remembers me.
Love,
G.

Labels: cold, Craig Bancroff, cry, Gish, inspiration, photography, Prince, song