#MicroPoetry: July - August (2012)

Summer slowly fades; September offers a reminder of what was and foreshadows what will come; and I welcome the ride. July and August were good to me, got to go home, to see my mom, the state that I love and miss; got a couple new tattoos; had some amazing wine dinners; drank more beer than I should have; turned another year older; found a person; saved a buddy and somehow inherited a dog in the process; no major complaints.

Here is my poetic recap for you. I hope you enjoy!

Starring into silver seas
Hand moving from face to flames
Your fingers found my forest
Pulled me to you

They reside
In the space between transfiguration clouds and Hell’s highway
Riding waves as light rides rays

Followed fissures
From hippocampus to mammalian brain
Watched as thoughts of you
Illuminated neural paths splintered across cerebral cortex
Like sheet lightning lights a cloud’s cold surface

I love them all
Their varied shapes and sizes
Moving with different gaits
Some a slight saunter
Certain of their sex appeal
Others head down quick-step
Moving from A to B anonymously

I felt the darkness on me
Coiled around arms and chest
Constricted to apply pressure and control
Revealed intent through slushy ess whispers

Placed my lips on your heart

Drug lower across its surface

Allowing you to feel my desire

As a child

Only Sunday best

Was good enough to touch God

Now

Yoga pants and cargo shorts

The significance is lost

Watched love in action

Her eyes

Focused and relieved

Her lips

Upturned and full

She closed her phone with a caress

She gazed at me shyly

I wanted to kiss her

Lips I had never seen

Making sounds I had never heard

I returned the glance

Reunions

They

Waiting sleepy eyed

For their Folgers moment

Life

Having been paused

Restarts with a kiss

She sad sadness spoke to her like an old friend
Offered a cornucopia of complexity
Held tightly within the facade of depression's gourd

Ate the wild flower
It's scarlet syrup
Stained the creased of my smile
Left me satiated

His perfect tenor

Conjures images of her face

Lips pursed

Eyes closed

Hair falling

The two forever conjoined

As it broke the surface

I remembered

The pain inherent in art

Turned into myself

Burring my face in covers

Covering my ears with pillows

Fearing the clown who came with the storm

I remember you
Silent finger stretching across blood black sky
And the skin crawl to follow
When auditory receptors were abruptly activated

I felt it
Exhaustion
Left hand on wet fiberglass
Bracing overworked bones and body
Head down anointed by man-made rain

Clouds clutter pale blue morning
Like inkblots clutter afternoon sofa sessions
I see you in both scenarios

You

Kissed wine from my lips

Leaving the taste of bitter chocolate

Dark chocolate

Mingles with oak

Effortlessly

He

Lost in his fictional desert

Greets morning

With throbbing head and maroon stained lips

I move slowly
Allowing my body to adjust to new day
Long gone the jet packs
Propelling me into morning at first sound of alarm

Focused on thick chunk guitars and screaming

Trying to ignore the blood letting

The suffering associated with beauty

LouFest: An Elder Statesman's Review

My arms rested on the cold, wet, rail while water rolled off the brim of a soaked trucker’s hat. The deluge drenched those of us who had positioned ourselves in front of the stage for Son Volt’s set, those of us that were too hardcore to allow a little rain (and by a little I mean a lot) to send us shelter bound. In that moment, I said silent prayers. All I wanted was to see Son Volt.

It stopped.

The stage was squeegeed, and bodies filled in to watch Jay and company tear through a powerful set of fan favorites.

LouFest could have ended right there, and I would have been okay with my decision to purchase tickets, but it didn’t end there. We were barely at the half-way point of Day 1.

Although I cannot seem to find the reference, I am pretty sure I once read that LouFest prides itself on being an Indie Festival. While it always offers well known headliners and a smattering of bands with some mainstream popularity, the bands filling the supporting spots are often bands that you have to know to know, bands that are amazing but someone’s brother’s cousin’s girlfriend probably made you watch a video six months ago, and now you know to know, but you keep the secret fearing if the world knows what you know, the band will somehow turn to suck. As a musician, this is an odd and frustrating paradigm. Never the less, as an elder statesman of the scene, always interested in fresh sounds, LouFest provides an opportunity for me to discover some really great bands that I may have not heard of otherwise, as well as catch some bands I have been waiting to see.

If Son Volt didn’t make my weekend, Dawes would have. I have been in love with them for a few years but hadn’t had the chance to see them do it live. Despite the threat and actualization of the Day 2 storm, their set was fantastic. I always feel a sense of relief when a band I covet can pull it off live. They gave me everything I wanted and sounded seasoned while doing it. Even if Dawes had not been there, I heard a few bands that satiated my lust for new music and made LouFest worth the coin.

On Day 1 Phantogram blew me away. They followed Son Volt which is hard to do because I am such a huge Son Volt fan, but they came at us with abandon. They offered every atmospheric trick to perk my ears and tied it tightly with some solid vocals.

Day 2 offered up Pernikoff Brothers, Cults, and Dr. Dog. I am embarrassed to say I had never heard of any of them, but I know to know them now, and I am letting you know, you should know them too.     

Being a two day music festival, clearly there were other bands, including some bands I already knew; but, in recognition of diminished attention spans, the bands I listed were the ear-openers, for me. What’s great about LouFest is the music is just the surface, the golden carrot goading the masses to open wallets and dig into purses. The truth is, unless I hated every band on both days, I would still probably go because, for me, it is so much more than just the music. LouFest also presents an opportunity for me to spend a couple days with my closest friends, run into hoards of friends that I don’t see nearly enough, and eat some pretty good food.

Like all concerts I attend, I arrived at Central Field early, both days, ensuring I had enough time to ease into the festival, secure a central home base that offered a clear view of both stages and scope out the festival offerings, before those same activities would be met with paused movements as bodies work against gravity to avoid each other. After settling in, I kicked off each day with a Kaldi’s Almond Toddy, the rich Kaldi’s coffee, juxtaposed against the lightness of almond milk and a hint of honey for sweet, provided the perfect reward for getting to the festival before the first band had finished their sound check.

The food offerings were a bit different this year; the traditional food trucks were traded in for a selection of St. Louis’s more interesting restaurants. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be guidelines determining who could cook what. With food trucks it is a bit easier, as they tend to stick to a style of food. If you get four trucks, you will likely have four different styles of food. This year, if I am not mistaken, I could have had 4 or 5 different type of Nachos. Atomic Cowboy was offering your standard Chicken or Beef nachos; PM BBQ was selling Hillbilly Nachos; even the vegans got in on the nacho action with Local Harvest’s sans meat or dairy selection. Hummus was offered by several of the vendors, and sliders were plentiful. For someone that was going to be there all day, for two days, the options seemed limited, but that certainly didn’t stop me from eating, rather it initiated my two day love affair with Dressel’s Pork Belly Sliders. On Saturday, I had them for lunch. For dinner I did a little communal thing with Bryan and Steph and sliders showed up there, as well. So let’s say I had them 1 1/3 times on Saturday. Sunday I had a new plan of attack for lunch. I loved the pork belly but was not a huge fan of the onion heavy slaw, so I got me a couple sliders sans slaw, ordered up some guacamole from Atomic Cowboy, and we were in business.  Since chips came with the guacamole that kept me full for the majority of the day. There may have been an evening trip to the Ben & Jerry’s booth for some Cherries Garcia. Lastly, while I did not have an order myself, Plush was selling Chicken Fried Bacon and Bryan got a cone full. If I had any space left, I would have done the same because it was delicious.

The last thing I would like to say about LouFest, I say not out of spite but out of a sincere desire to see local bands be seen as more than just a local band. For once, I wish that the local bands would not be relegated to the opening spot of the festival. I remember watching John Hardy and the Public last year and thinking, this band is as good as any band that is playing here; and, throughout the festival, that thought never left my mind. I thought the same thing when listening to the Pernikoff Brothers and Sleepy Kitty this year. For those that, even for a second, thought, we should be lucky that they allow local bands to play at all, slap yourself because that mentality is what justifies this action. As an elder statesman of the scene, someone who has been performing in and around St. Louis since 1998, I can tell you St. Louis has a rich tradition of exceptional musicianship, excellent songwriting, and a genuine lack of support from those outside the scene. LouFest has the power and the vehicle to change that by presenting its local talent as equals. I am not saying they should make a local band the headliner (although I thought it was a shame that Son Volt wasn’t given that respect; still, I understand the need to bring in the tweens with their lawn-ready high-heels and parent’s cash) just don’t automatically subjugate them.

Phew, glad I got that off my chest. See you next year LouFest. See you next year.  

My Trip to the Sun...

I feel as though I have been slacktastic as of late: no new blogs, no new videos. But I have an excuse! And it is a valid one. Somehow my PC caught a gnarly Trojan that was a replicator. I suspect this may have happened while I was in California, but I cannot confirm (insert roommate shenanigans here). Thankfully my buddy Jeff was able to wipe my PC and rebuild it, but we are still struggling with getting the sound to work. In the absence of sound, all I have are my words. I hope you do not mind. 

The 101

Drove the PCH

Through miles of sleepy seaside shanties

Rows of million dollar shacks

Inching their way towards fresh breaks

An occasional flip-flopped surfer emerged

Board shorts and tattered tee

Skin brown

Like skin of Aztecs who lived in loin clothes

While building great civilization

Sun weary hair

Tangled and matted by salt’s compound grip

On the horizon

They duck dive

Dipping into calm beneath fury

As sun fades

Leaving raspberry trails

Across dusk sky

I am thrust into the speed of now

5 to 8 to 163

And the heart of the city

Awaits

I was literally driving, so I was unable to snap shots of the drive, but I think this one of Ocean Beach at dusk gives you an idea of the beauty.

#EpicRoadtrip12: Favorites

If you are connected to me in any other social media channel, follow my Twitter, friended me on Facebook, fanned my Facebook page, you probably already know that I recently went on a five state roadtrip that was of epic proportions. If you know my friend Stephanie (aka Ironstef), you may have already read her awesome recap blog post. If you are friends with my buddy Bryan (aka Cashew Chicken) you undoubtedly have already salivated over his food photos, so why add yet another blog into the mix? Well because I thought it would be cool to do a “Favorites” post. To note, at no point was I dissatisfied on this trip, but there were standouts, and I think they deserve shout-outs. So here goes.

Favorite Meal…

This was a very challenging category for me because we ate at some great places, and all offered something wonderful for my taste buds to experience; however, when I think of meal, I like to consider the entire experience, each piece, the environment, the atmosphere…all things considered I am going with Breakfast at Alterra Coffee Roasters at the Lake in Milwaukee, WI. Housed in a functioning flushing station, the building was exciting to look at, offering multiple levels and hidden alcoves. It is a coffee house, so the beautiful rich aroma of roasted and brewed coffee filled the space, and my bacon potato burrito was delicious. What may have driven it over the top were the little details, the grapes and orange slices served with my meal. The amazing iced mocha, and of course the cookie was KILLER.    

Favorite Bite…

So this is a little different. Here I am truly talking about my favorite bite, atmosphere be damned, what was the best thing that entered my mouth during this trip, and that has to be the Chorizo-Egg Torta from Xoco. I mean it’s Rick Bayless’ joint, how could it not be the best? The chorizo was flavorful and had a good texture. The eggs were fresh and cooked well, and the bread made me want to marry a baker. Add some amazing cheese, avocado, and fantastic salsa verde, and you have my favorite bite of the trip.

Favorite Flight…

During this trip we had the opportunity to visit 12 breweries (note, we were unable to taste any beers at Surly or Summit, so we drank at 10 breweries). In almost all cases we did a flight which usually consists of a 3 to 4oz pour of five to six beers which allows you to sample several of the brewery's creations without leaving bloated and wasted. Some of you may prefer the latter, but when you are doing 10 in 5 days, you have to pace yourself. My favorite flight was from the Milwaukee Brewing Company.  It would be fair to say that I prefer malt over hop and barley, and the flight I did at the Ale House had an excellent amber ale, Louie’s Demise, and a pretty magical milk stout called Polish Moon. Those coupled with a nice I.P.A, wheat, and some light ales, and you have my favorite flight.

Favorite Beer…

Of all the categories, this was the easiest for me, New Glarus Wisconsin Belgian Red, hands down, was my favorite beer of the trip. Leading up to New Glarus, seemed like every time someone would mention the brewery, Steph would chime in about some cherry beer that everyone loves. I am a fan of cherries, so naturally I was looking forward to it. However, nothing had prepared me for this beer because it isn’t like a beer. It isn’t like a wine. It’s not even like a cider. It can only be described as delicious or, if you will humor me, yummy. I brought eight bottles back, if that gives you any indication of what I thought about the Wisconsin Belgian Red. 

Now we are turning from things that went in my mouth to things that went in my ear. This roadtrip was based on our desire to see Glen Hansard. All three of us are big fans of the Swell Season and the Frames, so seeing Hansard solo would be a real treat, problem was he was not coming to St. Louis (or so we thought at the time. He has since scheduled a show here in September. Yeah, I’ll be going to that too), but he was coming to Chicago…that’s close! But, it was on a Tuesday. Suckage!!! Well, let’s make a roadtrip of it! As a result, we also got to see Lisa Hannigan (of Damien Rice fame), who opened for Hansard. Then in Minneapolis, we decided to catch The Lighthouse and the Whaler, as well as the opener, Black Church Service. 

Favorite Performance…

This is a no brainer, right? Wrong. My favorite performance was not Glen Hansard, although he was amazing. But, I have seen him be amazing several times at better venues. I was not a huge fan of the Vic. Some of that was our fault. We didn’t know how early to get there. We didn’t know if we should get seats up-top or stand on the lower-floor. So we ended up grabbing seats up-top, and I think we all regretted it. There is a certain amount of disconnect that happens when you are in the balcony, and while his energy was enough to produce an amazing performance, the disconnect caused it to not be special. What was special was seeing Black Church Service at 7thSt Entry. Here is a band that I knew nothing about, opening for the opener, to a sparsely filled room, and they threw down like they were playing the Garden, just straight-up garage rock with conscious tone and a solid rhythm section. No hipster-social switching of instruments, no multiple drummers banging several floor toms, no keys anywhere near the stage, just straight-up two guitars, one bass, one drummer, four piece rock...just dudes that were determined to melt faces and get laid, as rock-n-roll intended.

There are a few other comfort factors that are important to address while on a roadtrip, so I thought I’d pick my favorites of those too. They are a bit random, but trust me their presence is imperative to a successful roatrip.

Favorite Stretch of Road…

For those that have been watching the temperatures out here in the Midwest, St. Louis has had a series of three digit temperature days that is record breaking. Luckily, we left home at the perfect time and managed to stay a day ahead of the serious heat during our roadtrip. When it got seriously hot in Chicago, we moved to Milwaukee, and when Milwaukee started warming up, we moved up to Minneapolis. The stretch from New Glarus, WI to Minneapolis was amazing. It was 84 and dry, windows were down, and there was lush greenery for us to daydream into.

Favorite Bed…

My back felt three beds while on this roadtrip. None of them were horrible, but none of them felt as good as my Simmons at home. If I had to pick one, I’d go with the bed at the Double Tree in Chicago. It was firm and appeared to be clean, as did the rest of the room. Sadly the same cannot be said for other areas of the hotel. 

Favorite Lobby Bathrooms…

As a touring musician, you grow to appreciate a good, clean, bathroom. Typically, your best bathroom options, when sharing a room, are going to be museums or hotel lobbies. There is an unspoken (actually sometimes spoken) rule that if you are on tour or a roadtrip and sharing a room, at no point, can the bathroom in the room be used to do work. The rule can be broken for three occasions. 1) You get sick. No one wants to see someone shit themselves. So if you cannot make it to the lobby due to some stomach bug, then you are granted permission to break the rule. 2) You have known the person you are rooming with for more than 10 sequential years, not like two years in school, eight years apart, a year of catch-up on Facebook, and then a reunion. After ten years of constant contact you are more like family, so poop away! 3) You are rooming with a member of your band. By virtue of being in a band together, you are family. Since none of the three rules applied, we focused our attentions on the lobby stalls. Bryan and I agree, the lobby bathroom at Crowne Plaza in Milwaukee was our favorite: clean, roomy stalls, dimly lit, and well ventilated.     

Well there you have it my favorites from #EpicRoadtrip12.

#MicroPoetry Recap: May - June 2012

The summer months are upon us. We are sweating out all the toxins stored through the dark months, our skin's healthy glow will initiate the mating cycle and later kill us, as it morphs into cancer. Beauty and pain, isn't it amazing how they are often closely related?


After that sobering thought, now back to your regularly scheduled program, the last two months have been fairly productive for my pen. My muse loves warmth, and our unseasonably warm spring had her begging me to pull the images out of my head.


As always, all of these have previously been posted in Twitter and/or Facebook, but not always in the form you will read them today, as I do edit before I post these recaps. I am not sure if all of these can be considered #MicroPoetry because I am definitely blowing by the 140 Character limit of Twitter on some of them, so maybe I will just call them Tiny Poetry, which was actually a chapter in my Master's thesis, always ahead of the curve.


 Enjoy! 

#MicroPoetry: May - June (2012)

Blue jeans
Blood blackened
Fresh flesh
Exposed
Pulsing
His heart
Pounding
Her heart
Quiet
She
Held him

Nuzzled to nape of neck

Cloaked by strands of silk

Shrouded by the scent of mischief

Skin
Bare
Wearing a sweltered sheen
Eyes
Naked
Fixated on open window
Mind
Pure
Negotiating with God for a breeze

Took the long way
Affixed to an old two lane beneath the supermoon
Lamenting over the lack of smoke in my wake

Air
Thick
Muddled with magnolia and summer steam
Humidity held in cement pores
Released as sun heated horizon

He bit her plump lower lip
Lovingly
A gentle reminder
Of love's inherent pain

 

I woke-up in a still-frame
Trapped
Feet buried in seventy’s shag
Avocado appliances holding young arms

My silent screams
Unheard

Pre-dawn sanctuary lit by candles
Creating shadow movies
Misused sheets
Damp and displaced
Support pillows
Abandoned
Love’s indentions
Still present

Hours after sunrise

My mind

Random

Dives into taboo daydreams

Deep

Writes stories

Holds the line

Takes tales from inception to resolution

Explores detail and nuance

Shakes loose fantasy to ponder now

She danced in her rearview
Shook off afternoon sleep
Sang hushed songs when no one was watching
Fixed her hair when she realized eyes were on her

There is a sadness

When sheets are pulled taunt

Pillows fluffed

Wrinkles swept from underused blanket

All while the sun still sleeps

I relive conversations and failed connection points
Stories fragmented and nervous
But I could paint her face from memory
If I had a brush and talent

She painted I love you on his chest
Her brush
A wanting finger
Her paint
Devoured before it could dry

You sparkled when I looked at you

I moved in closely so you could feel my words on your skin

You reciprocated by amplifying my passion

Rain came
Introduced by scent of wet concrete and lazy thunder
Leaves and limbs bow in reverence

Your words
Shed clothes
Tender flesh
Exposed
Scars and all
Leave me feeling complete
Broken yet whole

Slivered moon

Suspended

In May’s obsidian sky

Just west of muddy waters

Above homogenized houses and my bed

Hospital corners and a vacant sign

I dreamed in words whispered

With insidious intent

Me

Parting petals

You

Fingers full of hair

I woke red-eyed

From red dreams

Anima overwhelmed by animus

Self threatened

Hidden rage trembles fingers

But conscious mind calms

She said shower and he went to work
Painting pictures of petals he had never seen

Focusing on the trickle of water that fell from her flower

I thought of her
Constantly
Painting her lips
Full
Kissable
Tracing the lines of her face
As if pencils were fingers

She
Spoke
Softly
Allowing each word
To float from tongue
Like feathers from a freshly fluffed pillow
Falling
Slowly
Like lovers
Who prefer movies to moments

Streets sleep
While cardinals dance with metropolitans
Rams hide from heat
And blues are replaced by a summertime rag

The Air
Coated my skin
Reminded me
Of thick summers
The smell of hot Pine
And Sweet Azalea
Of Ruby Jane’s

Ever present smile

And innocent giggles

I
Sat
Silently
More ears than mouth
Listening to conversations of lovers
And dreaming myself inside their words

I

Watched

Her tongue

Move around teeth

Savoring every drop

As if vital to her existence

Pulled
From the place
Where dreams go to hide
I greet the morning
With malicious mind and sinister smile

Slept late
Trapped in a flashback
Your breath on my neck
Midnight moon and hot kisses
Gentle whimpers of controlled want

And I
With crab claws wrapped in velvet
Hold tight
Pull you inward
Allow the touch of your skin
To penetrate my shell

Low sky drive
Wind buffeting
Her voice transfigured
Rises as human’s
Descends as angel’s

She toyed with opposites
Slow trickle of a solitary ice cube
Moving down aroused flesh
Heat of her tongue as she traced cold trail

I awoke
To you smiling up at me
Begging for me to play

And you with closed ears
Navigate human bodies
Flesh
Like you navigate mannequins
Plastic
Your face
Dead
Your eyes
Refuse to catch mine

 

He sat zombie eyed
Forward focused
But
Had he canine ears
They would have turned
Pointed in the direction of words
Of Communication
Of engagement
He wanted it
But
He had been tamed

I like to watch the city wake-up
Proud patrons
Gyrate through a sea of similar souls
Jockeying for position
As if crosswalk curbs
Were metaphor
For lowest rungs on life's ladder

We watched the city unravel
Desegregate itself under a summer night sky
Moving in masses towards manufactured sounds of war
All hopeful for a glimpse of brilliant explosions juxtaposed against cloudless black backdrop

Their tongue
Enthralling
Elongated vowels
Stretched across city streets
Offered pleasantries with freshly thawed smiles

Paint it Red...

I am not a fan of baseball, said sheepishly, half expecting a well placed ninja to dart me or a family member to produce the Excommunication order. I mean, I am the black sheep, I suppose it would only be fitting.

Like many American children, baseball was the first sport I played, and I loved it, loved those moments playing catch with my dad. He’d drive a hopper at me to test my manhood, and then toss one up in the clouds. I’d track it through tree leaves and sun glare, half of my heart wanting to catch the ball for the thrill of the moment, the other half wanting to catch it to make my dad proud. Then I found football. I was built for football. As a big kid, there are only two times when you are not picked last in gym class, red-rover and football. Having outgrown red-rover, football was all I had left. I don’t really have space in my heart for multiple traditional sports, it being so filled with music and poetry and dance and art. But, I have sectioned off a corner for my favorite sports: Traditional Sport (something you can play on a high-school team) goes to football, Alternative Sport (something you wish you could play on a high-school team) goes to skateboarding, and That’s So Fuckin’ Cool Sport (something you have never played but thoroughly enjoy watching) goes to Roller Derby.

This mindset makes living in St. Louis somewhat interesting. It is a city that is fueled by Cardinal Nation. Even on the on-line dating sites, Cardinal love is alive and well. If I had to estimate, 9 out of every 10 profiles I view makes a reference to being a Cardinals fan and/or (usually and) has one, if not many, pictures of them decked out in full Cardinal regalia at Busch stadium. Even the hipster girls with their Facebook poses and big rimmed glasses will have a picture of them in a Cardinals hat with the field in the background.

Fortunately, I was raised a Cardinals fan, my Dad lived in Arkansas for the majority of my adolescence.—For those unaware, most Arkansans are Cardinals fans. The Arkansas Travelers, their AA team, was affiliated with the Cardinals from 1966 to 2000. That and the shared border made the pairing pretty easy.—I spent youthful summers drinking homemade milkshakes with my grandpa. He in his rocking recliner; me, belly flat on the floor, our eyes fixed on images from 475 miles away that had landed on the tube in real time, grandma hummed hymns in the kitchen, not bothered by sport. I was most definitely the only kid living in the west suburbs of Chicago who was not stuck in a continual Cubs vs. Sox debate because for me, it was the Cardinals. One of my first baseball mitts was a Bruce Sutter signature, black with his signature in gold. My dad taught me to read the newspaper so I could check the Cardinals stats. It bonded us. Dad and I still share that connection. I took him to his first Cards game, and even though I am not a fan of baseball, I follow the Cards just close enough to be able to exchange conversation with my dad about the team. I value those youthful moments, those connection points.

So yesterday, when cutting through downtown to get from a music event to a roller derby bout, slowed by multiple stoplights and the sea of red making their way to the stadium, I had nothing but pride in my heart. While I do not love the game and continually turn down tickets, I love people, and I love living in a city that is so connected to its team.     

  

When a Trinity Exists: Show Reviews

The concert season is upon us. Well, if you are me, there is no season. It always is, just a matter of how cold you are willing to get while waiting in line. I am kind of built for sub-zero line-standing, so I complain less than most.

Earlier this week I got to see the Fray, thanks to my friend Liz. I had seen them before at Riverport and really enjoyed the show, so the thought of seeing them at a smaller venue, the Pageant, was pretty exciting. I will say they put on a fantastic performance; however, I do not think they did a great job of acclimating to their environment. They are used to big venues with big production, and at times I felt they overwhelmed the Pageant, turned her up to eleven when she should have stayed on four. Instead of giving us some really intimate moments, they gave us a spectacle, and I had already seen that from them.

Tonight, I got to witness something totally different, an icon, a legend, and a huge influence on me as a songwriter, performing in a very small venue, comparatively speaking. Amy Ray, member of the Indigo Girls, came to St. Louis to play the Old Rock House, a stage I have played many times, and I was there to witness it. I don’t think I can do this experience justice in prose. I mean, in my opinion, Amy Ray probably has the best female rock voice, ever. And I, subconsciously, jacked more shit from the Indigo Girls than any other band. When I was first learning to play guitar and transition from poet to songwriter, there were a few bands in constant rotation: Edwin McCain, Duncan Sheik, and the Indigo Girls.

Rather than dribble on about the evening, I will speak the way I know best…

When a Trinity Exists

She moved me

Like a child

Moved by first experience

Her ten fingers

Overwhelmed six strings

And I

Felt her sincerity

Heard the urgency in her flat pick

And when she sang

I remembered why I sing

Why I crave the stage

Like most crave sex

Why I sacrifice lower order needs

To self-actualize

In rare moments

When a trinity exists

Between

Music

Me

And you

Before I end, I do have to mention Larkin Poe. They opened for Amy Ray. This was my second time seeing them, and both times I have been totally impressed. Also, at the Fray show I got to see Dia Frampton open, and that was actually the cooler moment. She did a great job of capturing it for me, well all of us in attendance. Liz and I are in the purple box.