I just woke up with the memory of my most recent dream still in my mind. I was at a play that a friend of a friend was putting on somewhere in middle America. It was just an intimate character piece, yet the film concluded with a somewhat elaborate wedding sequence, with individuals from every shade and background standing on risers performing a sweet little choreographed routine. Anyway, it turns out that one of those individuals just so happened to be Mel Gibson, who was bearded and unsmiling, as if this was some sort of community service (or, in the case of Mr. Catholic himself, "penance") for his recent actions. I was surprised and shocked by that, but what really caught me off guard was when someone pointed to two little girls (one blonde, one Asian) who were standing at the front of the stage and said, "Those are Mel's daughters." All I could think was, "I can't wait to blog about this."
Well, here I am blogging about it even though it didn't actually happen. Initially I was embarrassed to think that I might have constructed this elaborate dream simply because I wanted to have something extraordinary to blog about. Do they have blogger therapy yet? Perhaps I'm too far gone. Perhaps I should give this a rest. But no, loyal reader, I couldn't abandon you at a time when you're at your most fragile and weak. I heard about what happened the other night, and I'm very sorry to hear that. You're not a hopeless loser, don't worry. Just make sure not to let it happen again.
In reality, last night was as funky fresh as a Tuesday can (and probably should) get.,,
When I said yesterday that you should check out Monotonix in Brooklyn, I absolutely meant it. They put on another towering display of musicianship (and showmanship) that placed the crowd firmly in the palm of their hand.
At one point, Ami placed a trashcan in the middle of the floor, then jumped into it and began pogo-ing around the room. He also gave himself the worst shoulder bone bruise I've ever felt in my life. Fearful that he'd knocked his entire left arm out of joint, it was up to JT Songs (who, remember, is an actual doctor) to give him the Dr. John Tully treatment. Dr. John confirmed that it was just a bad bruise and that Ami should take some pain pills and wait for the lump to subside. I don’t know if Ami was buying that.
After that, JT and I headed to the West Village to catch yet another Irish singer/songwriter, Dan Donnelly, who was playing The Baggot Inn (Dan’s from Northern Ireland, however, so he sounds more Scottish than Irish). Before Dan played, there was a two-man performance that managed, in only four or five minutes, to make me fearful and depressed. No offense to these fellows, but this was some of the most soulless, unoriginal music I have ever heard in my life. It was so overwhelming that I tried to imagine good music and I couldn’t. Marvin Gaye? There he was, on that stage, singing like a low-rent Scott Stapp. The Zombies? Scott Stapp at open mic night in 1993. Neil Young? Scott Stapp in his Pearl Jam-postered freshman dorm room, learning the transition from G to C on the guitar. It was downright horrifying, to the point where I felt like crying.
Fortunately, Dan went on stage to remind me that there are breaths of fresh air to be found in the middle of the muck. Perhaps he’s not groundbreaking either, but I’m a serious Travis fan and that’s what he reminds me of. He was also nice enough to bring up his fellow Irishmen for a few numbers, which has me even more excited for Thursday night at The Living Room (JT Songs at 7pm, Niall Connolly at 8pm). John played a new song that contains some staggeringly brilliant wordplay, while Niall belted out “She Makes Me Want to Be Clean” (my new favorite song). Seriously, The Living Room tomorrow night, 7pm. These guys deserve to be heard.
Today I log more Israel footage before meeting the crew for a 1pm screening of TALLADEGA NIGHTS (it’s David’s second go ‘round, so apparently he must have liked it). Then, at 6, it’s THE PUFFY CHAIR at the Angelika. If you’re in NYC, you really need to support this movie, and not just in theory either. No offense to LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE, but if you’re going to see one indie road movie this year, PUFFY is it!
I’m still kicking myself that I didn’t make my way out to Chicago to appear in Joe Swanberg’s latest no-budget opus. Pictures from the set make it seem like the funnest time ever. Oh well, next time, hopefully. Wait until you see the first Swanberg/Tully collaboration, “Rubber Kevin,” which was filmed in a hotel room in Baltimore during the incredibly great Maryland Film Festival. When you’ve got Kevin Bewersdorf and a Snickers bar, who needs special effects?
Okay, enough dilly-dallying. Time to liggy-liggy-log and capture the morning away…