songstory night

SongStory was the first lit event I've ever produced.  Such an interesting, different experience from being in a reading without coordinating it. One of the things I noticed as I sat watching the show unfold Wednesday night was a sense of... can I say ownership? How about wishful ownership - like it was my right to pretend I owned each one of those performances, those readings, those tremendous stories.

[photo courtesy colin farstad]

I couldn't have asked for a better night - a big crowd and no last minute crises. Someday Lounge is an excellent venue. They can pack a lot of people in there but it's really intimate with low lighting and little candles on the tables and a balcony for more seating. Here's the red curtain waiting for the show to start, before all the readers had made it to their seats down front.

 Emcee Stephen O'Donnell.

[photo courtesy leann o'rourke]

How lucky am I to have a husband who would offer to take care of all the intros for me so I could keep my mind on my own reading and on the rest of the coordination of the event? I wrote up the initial intros but Stephen did a lot of work expanding on them and making them his own. He makes a great master of ceremonies with his lovely speaking voice and charm - plus, note the sexy sweater vest.

First up was Bradley K. Rosen, reading an excerpt from his novel The Bunkie Spills. It was fun to listen to the slow build of laughter as people realized his narrator was talking about making music with one's urine stream. Bunkie speaks surprisingly beautifully and music-savvy about pee...

First off, you got to be open to it. You got to open your ears up real wide and you have to open up your imagination so it can hear all them notes coming into your ear canals and you can imagine a fanfare of clarinets and violins and bells and whistles and drums and trombones and tambourines and trumpets. All them tonal essentialities of a symphony. You can get all them different tones out of your urinactic stream by concentrating real hard and moving it from the middle of the toilet water and out to the edges of the bowl and around and back again. You can use your hips if you want. A gyration of sorts. A slow groove. Like you was fucking a butterfly.

[photo courtesy leann o'rourke]

[photo courtesy leann o'rourke]

 I liked going from the mangled poetry of Brad's narrator to the sumptuous poetry of Lidia Yuknavitch. She read from The Chronology of Water. I didn't know what she was going to read until she started reading, but I'd been hoping she'd choose this piece. It's beautifully layered and intensely sexy.

One night he put a blanket on the floor and told me to wait and when he came back he was a big 10 years younger than me beautiful man carrying a cello.

"Jesus," I said. "You play cello?"

He played Bach. The sixth suite.

I cried. Possibly the puniest sentence I've ever written.

I cried for the force and strength of his body brought to the brink of tender in his fingers straddling the strings. I cried for the violence of hitting as it fell away into the tremor of holding a note. I cried for the man of him - the size and shape of my father - the brutality of muscle and artistic drive - brought to the cusp of such beauty. Bach. But mostly I cried because I could feel something. All over my body. Like my skin suddenly had nerve endings and synaptic firings and ... pulse.

[Oh my dear lord.]

[photo courtesy leann o'rourke]

When Courtenay Hameister got up on stage, she pointed to me in the audience and said, thanks a lot for making me follow Lidia Yuknavitch. I thought to myself, yeah, I sure as hell wasn't going to follow her. [Producer gets to arrange the program so that she opens the second half so she doesn't have to directly follow any of her fabulous readers. Producer is smart that way.] Then Courtenay launched into her essay "My Sister's Husky Too" and killed.

[photo courtesy leann o'rourke]

Courtenay always kills, with whatever she does. I read her essay in full before the event, and it was so great just in my little head - but combined with Courtenay's impeccable timing and delivery on stage it was even better.

I was glad we’d agreed to play New Year’s Eve, as it gave me something to do. I’ve never dated much because as a rule, I hate people, so my New Year’s Eves are generally not the grown-up proms they are for some. My favorite New Year’s EVER was playing dirty scrabble with five drunken word nerds who almost came to fisticuffs over whether the word “poon” was acceptable. (Side note: it IS.)

Additionally, I’d been dumped a few months prior by a really attractive, sweet sociopath and the breakup had lead me to eat some things. So as I was putting on my holiday bustier before the show, I noticed that the fancy silver hook-and-eye closures were straining a little harder than they used to do their job. It didn’t help that the other backup singer was a size two, and we often dressed alike. Her bustier made her look like Kiera Knightley in Pride and Prejudice. Mine made me look like an 18th century barmaid trying to smuggle a passel of puppies home to her kids. 

So as we stood in the echoey gym bathroom in front of the mirrors, I felt a lot like my awkward 16 year-old self, but now I didn’t have that whole “You’ve got the rest of your life ahead of you” thing going for me.

During intermission, Cymbalman arrived at the entrance to Someday. I wish I had a picture or two of the audience playing him as he wandered through the place. I know people were taking pictures, but none have come my way yet. I love to stand back and just watch people. Some are totally shy about it, afraid to take the mallets from his hands, afraid to give more than a soft ching-ching or two to the cymbals all over his body. Others really let him have it.

Stephen was not only emcee for the evening but Cymbalman-rangler too, escorting him up the stairs since those tiny eye holes in his eye cymbals don't leave him much room for peripheral vision - and then Cymbalman did a bit of percussive performance on stage.


Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!




Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!

Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!



[cymbalman photos courtesy leann o'rourke. psychedelic colors courtesy me having fun with paint shop pro. except for the first shot. that purple is just the lights.]

[photo courtesy leann o'rourke]

I was the first reader after Cymbalman had his bow. I think it's fitting that I followed him because I think of Cymbalman as a clown - in the best sense of the word - and the essay I read was all about my decision to become a circus clown - and the overblown childhood strivings that led me there. My strivings were always grand and timid at the same time, and when I discovered the anonymity of clownhood, I'd found my calling. I see this in Cymbalman too - not only his anonymity but his combination of cacophony and quiet.

[photo courtesy lidia yuknavitch]

Alone in the house, my bedroom door locked, I sat on the edge of the bed in an endless rhythm of strum, each chord a smash of sound with the click of the plastic pick hitting the strings. My cockatiel, Punkin, sitting and sharpening his beak on the wood of my antique washstand, started a quick-paced chirp, low in his throat, along with my music. Of course he wasn’t in tune and he wasn’t in rhythm, but as long as I kept strumming, he kept chirping. I decided this could be some exotic, foreign instrument, like when George Harrison introduced the Beatles to the sitar.

I like this picture Lidia took of me. The combination of lights and iPhone make me look like a faceless yellow phantom, some character from an old movie about the future, complete with some sort of beam of light shooting down onto my head from the mother ship.


Next up was Vanessa Veselka, reading a funny, edgy, very moving piece called "Flora in Pregnancy," which had a landing that left me a little breathless. Listening from my seat, I was glad I hadn't followed her either.

My midwife says I should look at my pregnancy as an opportunity to get closer to my women friends. But I figure they’ve had their chance. Ten years of punk shows, basement parties, and having sex with all the same people should have been enough to break the ice.

                         

“Don’t you have any female friends?” asked my midwife.

            

 “None I’d let near a child.”

[both photos courtesy leann o'rourke]

 Vanessa has a delicious rock 'n roll way of reading, all casual with the mic in one hand and pages in the other. I wish I could put these two pictures of her together and make a flip book.

[photo courtesy leann o'rourke]

Kevin Sampsell closed the show, reading from A Common Pornography. I was kind of delighted to hear him read about his own youthful strivings for musical grandeur - so similar to mine. Both of us read about recording our own music - in the bathroom where the echo was better. Although between the two of us, only Kevin was innovative enough to add percussion to his recordings by banging on the toilet seat.

Our first "album" of punk rock songs was recorded on a cassette player in his bedroom and bathroom. Just Terry and me. We decided to call ourselves Neon Vomit. He was good at creating some heavy riffs based on my smallest suggestions (usually just me saying, Can you do something like this - and then imitating a guitar part with my clenched mouth) and then I would yell the lyrics in my best Rollins imitation. There were no drums but sometimes we would bang on the toilet seat for percussion.

The grand finale of the evening was Kevin using our old relic of a boom box and his own relic cassettes to play some actual Neon Vomit recordings - not only that, but he gave the best lip synch performance ever, rocking out all over the stage as his teenager self. It was hilarious and awesome.

[photo courtesy b. frayn masters]

I want to say thanks again to all the readers, to Someday Lounge, to Bob Priest and March Music Moderne. To Stephen for being emcee and helping coordinate. Thanks, too, to Leann O'Rourke for taking some great pictures of the event.

March Music  Moderne is going on all through March with an outrageous lineup of musical events. Check out their calendar here.

[photo courtesy me]

[one more picture for good measure. emcee stephen contemplating the boutonniere he made from the lost cymbalman feathers he found lying in the someday lounge green room after the night was over...]

spotlight on songstory: courtenay hameister

The always hilarious Courtenay Hameister will be appearing at SongStory, coming up this Wednesday. Here's a sneak peek at what she'll be reading. The essay is called "My Sister's Husky Too," and in this excerpted moment, the author is performing with a band on New Year's Eve...

*

We were playing in the gym at The Kennedy School – a 1915 elementary school that had been turned into a hotel. The gym was decked out with tables and a bar, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think you’d accidentally walked into a prom where all the students were alcoholics and had to repeat their senior year 15 times.

I was glad we’d agreed to play New Year’s Eve, as it gave me something to do. I’ve never dated much because as a rule, I hate people, so my New Year’s Eves are generally not the grown-up proms they are for some. My favorite New Year’s EVER was playing dirty scrabble with five drunken word nerds who almost came to fisticuffs over whether the word “poon” was acceptable. (Side note: it IS.)

Additionally, I’d been dumped a few months prior by a really attractive, sweet sociopath and the breakup had lead me to eat some things. So as I was putting on my holiday bustier before the show, I noticed that the fancy silver hook-and-eye closures were straining a little harder than they used to do their job. It didn’t help that the other backup singer was a size two, and we often dressed alike. Her bustier made her look like Kiera Knightley in Pride and Prejudice. Mine made me look like an 18th century barmaid trying to smuggle a passel of puppies home to her kids.

*

Courtenay will be reading with Kevin Sampsell, Lidia Yuknavitch, Brad Rosen, Vanessa Veselka and me on March 7th at Someday Lounge as part of the March Music Moderne music festival.

Facebook event is here. And info on the other great events that are part of March Music Moderne is here.

*
Courtenay Hameister is at home on stage, on radio and on the page. She’s the dynamic head writer / host of LiveWire Radio, the self-spoken “only person with boobs” on the Cort and Fatboy show, and the writer/director of the short film Stella’s Flight. Stella's Flight will be premiering at the Hollywood Theater on March 8th. Facebook event page for that is here.

spotlight on songstory: brad rosen

On Wednesday, Brad Rosen is going to be reading from his novel, The Bunkie Spills, which is in its finishing touches stage right now. I've had the privilege of witnessing much of the creation of this book, and I think you should be jealous of that, because I'm head over heels in love with it. Here's Bunkie demonstrating how to be a true musician.

*

First off, you got to be open to it. You got to open your ears up real wide and you have to open up your imagination so it can hear all them notes coming into your ear canals and you can imagine a fanfare of clarinets and violins and bells and whistles and drums and trombones and tambourines and trumpets. All them tonal essentialities of a symphony. You can get all them different tones out of your urinactic stream by concentrating real hard and moving it from the middle of the toilet water and out to the edges of the bowl and around and back again. You can use your hips if you want. A gyration of sorts. A slow groove. Like you was fucking a butterfly.

*

[brad and me in our writing group, me censored, brad curious. those are some weird glasses i'm playing with.]

Brad will be reading with Kevin Sampsell, Lidia Yuknavitch, Courtenay Hameister, Vanessa Veselka and me on March 7th at Someday Lounge as part of the March Music Moderne music festival.

Facebook invite is here. And info on the other great events that are part of March Music Moderne is here.

*

Bradley K. Rosen started playing drums when he was nine. He holds a Bachelors Degree in Music from the University of Oregon. He has travelled around the world playing music professionally, mostly with the singer/songwriter Jerry Joseph and the band Little Women and Jerry Joseph and the Jackmormons. He has numerous recording credits. He currently plays in three local bands, Humbleweed, Burn the Field, and Ramblin’ Rose and plays timpani in three local orchestras, including the Mt Hood Pops.

His short story, An Ancient Air, was recently published in the anthology The Frozen Moment. His first novel, The Bunkie Spills, is in its final draft.

spotlight on songstory: interview with cymbalman

Today's spotlight is an interview with Cymbalman who will be performing and offering himself up to be played at SongStory on March 7th...

ME: What gave you the idea of creating a character made of cymbals who is played by the audience?

CYMBALMAN: The idea came kind of organically. It started out as an idea for an instrument where my creator made me to be able to play myself because he knew that I would look so much different than anybody else that I may be ostracized for it. When I was born this proved to be the case, people don’t ever quite know what to make of me I think. And when people do not understand something, they tend to take the easy way out and let the fear into them. But usually within minutes people recognize the love and we become friends and they want to bang on me, so I let them. This usually becomes contagious and the love multiplies and combines and pretty much everybody around me is playing Cymbalman. Everybody wants to play Cymbalman. At least once.

ME: When and where was Cymbalman born?

CYMBALMAN: Cymbalman was born in the head of his creator many, many moons ago but actually came into fruition in the summer of 2010. His first eye opening was at the Oregon Country Fair. He was only a baby and was only a prototype and has evolved since then. Every year my creator calls me in and he at least makes some kind of attempt to make me a better, well, not human being, but a better symbol.

ME: One of the intriguing things about Cymbalman is this sweet, silent character you’ve created. He’s not just a human instrument, he’s a very particular figure. For me, he has elements of a shaman and a of classic clown. How did this character develop?

CYMBALMAN: Cymbalman developed out of love. Really. I know that sounds trite but it is true. I try to communicate through gesture and music but as of late I found that I can actually talk in certain situations. Mostly I like to sing.  I represent all the good that humans have to offer, plus the loyalty and unconditionality of a pet dog. Peace and love and all that other hippy shit.

ME: There’s a great vulnerability in putting yourself out there to be played… with mallets. Isn’t that dangerous?

CYMBALMAN: Sure it's dangerous, but it was part of the reasons I was put on this planet. I find that if I approach people with gentleness and reverence it is reciprocated in the way people relate back to me. As a result, I don’t get too much of the bangy, bangy. I hate the bangy bangy. Sometimes when they go for the eyes it hurts a little bit, so I have to put a stop to that fairly quickly.

ME: Has your costume evolved? You’ve got the cymbals, of course, you’ve got a purple boa and tassels, you’re all decked out in the colors of royalty. Where did these elements come from and how did they become part of Cymbalman’s persona?

CYMBALMAN: My creator, he loves purple. In fact he told me once that back in his hippy days he was known as Mr Purple. I suspect he made me to wear this color as a result of that. I think that maybe he made me in his own image, but I have never seen him, really, and doubt that I ever will, so who can say for sure? I know that he made me asexual, and that I adorn anything that looks good. Whether they be boas or lovely long silk gloves or knee high platform pleather boots. I am not afraid.

ME: Do you have a favorite Cymbalman moment?

CYMBALMAN: My moments are ongoing. In the face of a two year old who is afraid of me at first but warms up rather quickly and the smile he/she gives me fuels my heart. The same holds true for everyone as as they learn and explore the love of Cymbalman. 

As far as a particular moment goes, there is one. I once showed up at a party of some mutual friends of my creator. There was a writer there, a rather famous and well revered one, I think. When I presented the mallets for him to play me, he didn’t know what to make of it. I had to show him more than once. When he finally figured it out, I think he enjoyed playing me. At least the grin and the laughter that came out of his heart told me so.

Cymbalman will be performing at SongStory on March 7th at Someday Lounge as part of the March Music Moderne music festival. Also in the program will be readings by Kevin Sampsell, Lidia Yuknavitch, Courtenay Hameister, Brad Rosen, Vanessa Veselka and yours truly.

Facebook invite is here. And info on the other great events that are part of March Music Moderne is here.

spotlight on songstory: mine

Here's a little taste of what I'll be reading at SongStory, at Someday Lounge, coming up on March 7th.

Tackle Box

I took a career test in college, the kind where you answer questions about your interests by filling in the little circles and then the computer spits out proposed careers and courses of study. When I got the results back, they said I had unrealistic goals and would have to readjust my aspirations if I ever wanted to amount to anything.

What the computer didn’t know is that what I wanted to amount to was a circus clown. At the time, I was dating a circus clown—and, in my nineteen-year-old sureness and my nineteen-year-old naïveté, figured I’d be marrying a circus clown. And whereas my nineteen-year-old sureness was more like thirty-five-year-old sureness, my nineteen-year-old naïveté was really probably twelve-year-old naïveté, which means I was really, really sure. I was going to marry him and go off on the road with a brand new, readymade career and a brand new readymade dream, to match all the overblown and under-accomplished ambitions of my earlier days.

My first ambition in life was to sing Annie on Broadway. I saw the musical in L. A., and as I floated there somewhere between the dark of my seat and the bright of the stage, there seemed nothing more delicious than tragic, singing orphans. Annie’s voice, so big and brass, I could feel that sound like it was coming right out of my chest. I decided in an eight-year-old instant that this was the life for me. In order to attain this goal, I sang Annie’s songs quietly into a cassette recorder and only showed my mom.

[i'm the one on the right. i don't know if i ever noticed before but mom and i are both wearing the same kind of flop-neck turtleneck, striped.]

I'll will be reading with Kevin Sampsell, Lidia Yuknavitch, Courtenay Hameister, Brad Rosen and Vanessa Veselka on March 7th at Someday Lounge as part of the March Music Moderne music festival.

Facebook invite is here. And info on the other great events that are part of March Music Moderne is here.

spotlight on songstory: vanessa veselka

[wow, i like how the angles in the little logo make it look like the logo is breaking loose and about to fly off the screen.]

I'm excited to have such outlandishly good writers in the lineup for my reading SongStory, which is coming up fast - March 7th. Vanessa Veselka is up for the Oregon Book Award, for Pete's sake! Here's a little taste of what Vanessa will be reading - a piece of fiction called "Flora in Pregnancy."

*

There’s not going to be a baby shower because there’s no one to plan it. Everyone thinks someone closer to me is taking care of that but they aren’t and I’m sure as hell not going to ask people to come over and throw a party for me.

             

I ran into Jenny Blitz at the Laundromat.

          

 “When’s the baby shower?”

            

 I told her it was on my calendar at home.

             

My midwife says I should look at my pregnancy as an opportunity to get closer to my women friends. But I figure they’ve had their chance. Ten years of punk shows, basement parties, and having sex with all the same people should have been enough to break the ice.

                         

“Don’t you have any female friends?” asked my midwife.

            

 “None I’d let near a child.”

*

Vanessa will be reading with Kevin Sampsell, Lidia Yuknavitch, Courtenay Hameister, Brad Rosen and me on March 7th at Someday Lounge as part of the March Music Moderne music festival.

Facebook invite is here. And info on the other great events that are part of March Music Moderne is here.

Vanessa Veselka is a writer and musician living in Portland, Oregon. She has been, at various times, a teenage runaway, a sex-worker, a union organizer, a student of paleontology, an expatriate, an independent record label owner, a train-hopper, a waitress, and a mother. Her work has appeared in Bust, Bitch, Maxmum Rock ’n’ Roll, Yeti Magazine and Tin House. Zazen is her first novel.