http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/ en Copyright 2013 Fri, 08 Mar 2013 06:48:30 -0800 http://www.sixapart.com/movabletype/ http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss Dear Santa, I know I haven't written to you in a few years (okay, so like thirty), and it probably seems a little fair weather of me to turn up now, but I only want two things this holiday season, both kind of hard to ask for, so there's nowhere else to go. May I please have some of those Christian Dior temporary tattoos made of real gold? I know this is an awful, bougie request. Especially given all of the poor kids in the world that can't afford real tattoos. And the fact that I could, in fact, get a real tattoo that I would have for the rest of my life for about the same cost as this ephemeral gilded decadence. But they are so pretty and glam, and I just know they would make me happy in that pure, sparkly little girl way I can sometimes still achieve, like when I used to come home from school, and my mom had baked fresh granola, and the whole house smelled like cinnamon and love, and it made the milk a little warm when I ate some right out of the oven, and it tasted just like heaven. The second request is a little trickier, but I'm going to throw it at you anyway. I've still got faith, even though you didn't come through with a Cabbage Patch Doll. Remember in 2011 when everything I really wanted was about to come true, and then it really didn't. And people I love started getting sick, and I realized this was my entrée into adulthood-not anything big and ceremonial with framed photos I would have forever, but a lot of small, infinitely hard life changes that would require me to be more patient and steady and kind than I'd ever been called upon to be, and this after twenty years of nearly total adolescent freedom? And remember how I started doing that thing before I fell asleep where I mentally touched everyone I love, beginning with my family, and moving out through my closest friends, my new friends, my mentors and teachers and yoga instructors, to anyone who'd done something particularly nice for me that day, like those guys at the liquor store who let me cut in line to buy those heavy bags of ice and even lifted them out of my arms and set them down on the counter for me? Uh, no, this is not praying. I was raised by hippies. I'm a liberal. Anyhow, I'm not going to get into a fight with you so close to your big day. The point is that after I went through my list, I wished for all of them one single second when they didn't feel any pain or fear or sadness. It made me happy, just to think it might be possible, this one golden second of peace. Then, one night, I realized my family members and friends are among the most privileged people in the world. So I thought--why not?--and I extended it to everyone, especially the women and children who get particularly brutalized, and the many, many people who have never known anything but war, and I wished for all of them, one single second when they felt no pain or fear or sadness. And then I wished John Lennon was still around, because I figured he'd probably know how to help you make it happen--you guys are both more than a little magic. After all, it was at Christmas 1969 that he and Yoko put up their peace billboards. I'm not telling you how to do your job. I'm just saying that it's all I really want this year (except, of course, for that one item noted above), and I think a lot of other people want it too, even if they've never stopped to think about it. Thanks so much. Yes, I know the drill--I'm going to clean my room right now. Much love, Sarah ]]> http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2013/03/dear_santa_i_never_got_my_temp.html http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2013/03/dear_santa_i_never_got_my_temp.html Musings Christian Dior John Lennon Santa Santa Claus Yoko Yoko Ono Fri, 08 Mar 2013 06:48:30 -0800 For twenty years, we were mostly silent. Hardly even speaking with each other about "the shooting" this black hole, which we moved away from in time, and yet, which we never really seemed to get further away from. Still shadowing our lives as it did with the fact that one of our own had hated us, enough to want us dead, and had succeeded in taking two of our most beloved from us, while those who had been charged with protecting us had failed to keep us safe. Having survived this, we knew truths that others did not know. About the world and people, and what they were and were not capable of, and this knowledge, which had come to us from violence and its perversions, created a perverted form of truth within us. Like a twisted version of The Emperor's New Clothes, we were both the emperor who was naked, and the only one who could see our true state. Even those who were closest to us, our families, friends, lovers, wives, husbands, children, saw us as clothed, as whole, as normal. Or as normal as we could be, when we still had within us the ghosts of the misfit teens we had always been. And yet, we knew the truth. We had been marked by tragedy. It had stripped us of defenses other people took for granted-their ignorant belief in some inherent logic in the world had been ripped from us. And it had left us particularly tender and vulnerable while trying to navigate our lives, now forever altered. We were ashamed of being different. And it was terrible to return to this state of shame, as many of us had been made to feel ashamed of our differences in the lives we had before we found Simon's Rock, that wonderful but all-to-brief oasis of acceptance. And so we kept quiet, even amongst ourselves, and tried to deny our nakedness, as well as the ridiculous farce of pretending we had clothes. Most of us had never really been joiners to begin with. And so maybe this was our natural state, this isolation, especially in our grief, and our increasing certainty as time passed, that in some profound way the grief would never go away. It was a part of Galen now, of the shooting, of Simon's Rock. And these were all things too woven into our emotional DNA to let go of, no matter the cost of hanging onto them. When I finally broke my silence by publishing an essay about the shooting, it was only after the piece, which I had written and performed for maybe a dozen people in Los Angeles, had sat on my computer for two-and-a-half-years. I was only driven to share it then by one more tragedy. And by the resulting bafflement expressed around me in a variety of social situations. Those who had previously seemed like relatively intelligent adults suddenly seemed like small children trying to understand where the people in the TV had gone when it was switched off. I found myself impatient with their naïve ignorance, having finally accepted years ago that you can't force answers onto a tragedy because senselessness is at its core. The essay went out into the world and what resulted was its own form of answer, though--a gift so profound and surprising I could hardly stand to receive it. All of you were returned to me, and with you, Simon's Rock, which had been lost to me in my grief. You contacted me with such beautiful, humble, troubled, grateful correspondence. You dared to wrestle with your own pain and guilt and shame within my sight. Even though you had not seen me in nearly twenty years, even though I was essentially a stranger to you. This simple communion reminded me how exceptional all of you are. Because in some profound way you are seekers. It's what brought you to forego the traditional path and find your way to Simon's Rock--where Galen and Nacunan, also seekers, were drawn as well. I had forgotten about this quality of being exceptional, because it had made the ensuing loss all that more profound. I'm sure, like me, you have found it incredibly difficult to come back over and over again during these twenty years to the fact that there wasn't just the grief that came out of the violence of the shooting. There was the unalterable fact that Galen Gibson was a truly exceptional person, even with and particularly because of the things within him that were sometimes difficult. And that we all are, and have always been aware, of how exceptional he was. And it has always added to the pain of losing him, and to our shame at remaining behind in what we see as our naked, unexceptional states. And yet, it is also that which must finally be our consolation, because it is all we are left with--it truly was a gift to have this exceptional person in our midst for far too brief a time. And because, maybe in that time, he found something exceptional within us too, because we were his people, and I know how happy he was amongst us for the time we did have together. Of course we lost sight of this, because our sudden loss of him has only spotlighted how special he was, and will continue to be so, for as long as the rest of us are here to remember. We found each other--Galen found us--for a reason. I suppose it is up to all of us to decide for ourselves what that reason was. But I am extremely comforted to finally have our loss spoken out loud, and to feel all of you here with me, at the place of the wound, which of course is also the place of the healing. Of all the messages I received in the aftermath of my essay, there was one that meant the most to me. When I saw it in my inbox, two days after my piece was published, I immediately burst into tears before I had read a single word. So great was my sorrow and guilt to be sitting there in my bungalow in Los Angeles, writing, living, when Galen was not alive to do what he was meant to do, and instead his father, bearer of that loss, was reaching out to me. During the course of my correspondence with Mr. Gibson, I apologized for not having been able to read Goneboy because it had always upset me too much. He wrote a reply that was exactly what I needed to hear; had needed without realizing it for these twenty years. I wanted to share it today because I know he meant it for all of us equally. He wrote of Goneboy: "Oh, don't worry about reading it or not reading it. Ever. It's just out there doing its work now. You get busy with yours!" So I have, and so I will. These twenty years have gone by all too fast. There's a lot I want to accomplish. Not just for myself, but for all of you, for Simon's Rock, and of course, for that exceptional young man we carry with us forever in our hearts. http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2012/12/20th_anniversary_memorial.html http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2012/12/20th_anniversary_memorial.html Writing Galen Simon's Rock essay shooting writing Sat, 15 Dec 2012 12:03:34 -0800 OUR SCHOOL SHOOTING, is up on Salon this week. I felt a familiar, creeping dread when I saw the first mention of the July shooting in Aurora, Colorado, on Twitter and again not two weeks later when I read newspaper reports about the massacre at a Sikh temple in Wisconsin. It had been even worse when I first became aware of the shootings at Virginia Tech and Columbine. These incidents upset me not only because the violence was shocking and terrible to consider - a fear so deep we don't allow ourselves to think about it until moments like this: that an ordinary day will be shattered by pain, death, loss and the horrible accident of being in the wrong place at the wrong time -- but also because I am not only an observer. The images from these news stories open a portal to my past and bring up memories that have dimmed but never cease to be accompanied by grief, confusion and the question, "Why did this have to happen?"]]> http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2012/08/new_writing.html http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2012/08/new_writing.html Writing Galen Gibson Salon Sarah Tomlinson Simon's Rock essay writing Tue, 21 Aug 2012 17:59:25 -0800 I know the photo is blurry. I'm on vacation. Cut a girl some slack. ]]> http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2010/10/conor_oberst_is_my_co-pilot.html http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2010/10/conor_oberst_is_my_co-pilot.html Conor Oberst Nashville Traci Thomas Thu, 07 Oct 2010 15:44:49 -0800 The Huffington Post. Yes, I'm very excited to be writing for Ms. Huffington and co. Become a Fan. What the hey, right? My mom is. In other news, ALL ABOUT ME, I just gave a reading at the enchanting Tavin Boutique in the Echo Park neighborhood of Los Angeles as part of a delicious new salon called Little Birds. The night was co-founded by my friend Steffie Nelson. And I debuted an excerpt from my new novel-in-progress, "The Year of Mr. Nobody," in which our heroine Stella follows Keith Richards and the lads to Marrakesh in the spring of '67. Debauch ensues. You wouldn't expect anything less, would you? Get a wrap up of the reading. The book I co-wrote with actor Todd Bridges, "Killing Willis," comes out on March 16, 2010. And let me just tell you, it's juicy. Pre-order it on Amazon. What the hey, right? My mom did. Other than that, I'm working on some exciting projects, if I do say so myself, including a TV pilot, feature film (rom com, of course), and a revision of my second novel, "Sizzle." And currently obsessing about the new season of "Big Love" (Mormon rock rocks!), music by Band of Skulls, and the chocolate hazelnut fudge flavor of Coconut Bliss "nice" cream. ]]> http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2010/01/its_the_new_economy.html http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2010/01/its_the_new_economy.html Music Musings Writing Band of Skulls Big Love Huffington Post Killing Willis Sizzle Steffie Nelson Tavin The Year of Mr. Nobody Todd Bridges Tue, 12 Jan 2010 09:19:03 -0800 By Sarah Tomlinson, Globe Correspondent / February 20, 2009 LOS ANGELES - The rapt crowd at the Troubadour watches Juana Molina's every move on Tuesday night, almost as if she were a magician performing sleights of hand. They sway to the bossa nova-flavored rhythms of her lush, giddy indie rock songs and sing along to the Spanish lyrics. Wearing a black skirt and tank top, the wiry Argentine singer-songwriter has the poise of a music teacher on recital day - albeit one with a ferocious core. It is remarkable how effortlessly Molina unleashes so much music - a sonic collage of guitar, keyboard, and voice she creates with the help of two loop machines. The sound is even fuller now that she's being backed by a band for the first time. The drummer and bassist are part of the tour in support of Molina's fourth album, "Un Dia," which comes to the Brattle Theatre on Thursday. And she's beginning to see the advantages of being part of a band. "The dynamics are more controllable when you play with more people," Molina says over a cup of Earl Gray and a pastry before the show. "Because I can just build things all of the sudden, or have more impact with certain sounds." Molina, 47, estimates it would require more than a dozen musicians and four singers to play her songs as they are recorded - just her, the instruments, and the loop machine in her home studio in Buenos Aires - and she fears such a large band would actually give the audience a less intense experience, lacking the synergy that can occur between a few tightly focused musicians. No two performances are exactly alike anyway, she says, so she strives to create something more ephemeral and, ultimately, more true when she performs. "What I really try to do is to keep the spirit of the songs," she says. "Some things on the record are things that I don't know how I did. Maybe a better musician would just repeat it exactly. But sometimes I can't. Sometimes it's a combination of a late finger, and another one that was ahead." Molina didn't record "Un Dia," which follows three critically lauded releases - her 2003 debut, "Segundo"; 2004's "Tres Cosas"; and 2006's "Son" - with the idea of performing the songs with a band. Rather, she approached the songwriting process just as she has all her music since giving up a career as a television star to pursue her first love. She worked on the material slowly, over time, letting ideas blossom and mature. "Some songs grow," she says. "Some songs die. You need to let them go for a bit." Once it came time to tour, though, she decided she wanted to do something different and invited two musicians to join her. As a songwriter, Molina is both a practical craftsman and an openhearted dreamer. For longtime fan Andy Cabic of San Francisco-based indie rock band Vetiver, which often swapped songs with Molina when they toured Europe in 2007, it is this mix of intelligence and emotion that gives her songs power. "She has it all," he says by phone amid preparations for a European tour. "I know that she is very conscious of the rationale and reason behind her approach. But when you're in the middle of hearing it all, it's very fluid and full of feeling." Molina's songs come to fruition in a deeply personal way. And although she is thrilled to be playing shows with other musicians, she does not expect to bring collaborators into her songwriting and recording process anytime soon. "It's better in the way that I have no witnesses, so I am totally free," she says. "I don't avoid doing things that I could regret, because there's no one there. And, if I don't like them, I just get rid of them, and no one will know, ever, about them." © Copyright 2009 Globe Newspaper Company.]]> http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2009/02/onewoman_band_branches_out_jua.html http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2009/02/onewoman_band_branches_out_jua.html Music Juana Molina The Boston Globe Vetiver Sat, 21 Feb 2009 18:37:55 -0800 Drum roll please: I've dared to begin my second novel after eight years spent working on, and obsessing over, my as-yet-unpublished first book "Because the Night." The fresh start is exhilarating and scary; I'd imagine it feels something akin to dating during a trial separation. I can't quite let go of the potential of the primary attachment, and yet, the new possibilities are starting to seem pretty enticing, especially following such a long season of frustrated desire. I workshopped the first 30-odd pages in my novel class tonight. What could be better than being compared to "Beautiful Girls," one of my favorite films, ever? "We all want something beautiful." Indeed. But distractions abound. In the immortal words of my main man Marc Bolan, "I try to write my novel, but all I do is play..." Yes, that was me at Tom and Lucinda's absolutely dynamite housewarming/Valentine's soiree, doing the voices from my talking Nanny doll with Fran Drescher (in my defense, have you ever met someone whose doll you own?) -- "Remember, the bigger the hair, the smaller the hips look." So true. And she is truly lovely. Speaking of Beautiful Girls, I just caught Greg doing a solo acoustic set at the Troubadour with Mark Lanegan. It was nice to see him looking and sounding so well. "If I Were Going" -- I'm 16 again. Mark's voice -- total wow. Their cover of "I Get a Kick Out of You" -- maybe a little, you know, but the kick they got out of it? Infectious. Charlie Louvin at Spaceland, the night the lights went out in Silverlake. 81-years-old, still smoking his Winstons and charming the hell out of everyone in sight. What a dynamo. It does not get more real deal than his story of playing in a Kentucky parking lot for some miners who'd just gotten off the night shift and wouldn't take no for an answer. He and Lucinda killed the two songs they sang together. Magic. My newest favoritest band, Plants and Animals, playing at the Canadian Consulate as part of the Grammy festivities. Look for Laurel and I on CBC (Canadian national television), as they enlisted her to do a comedy bit as we came in the door. There are few bands that would inspire me to brave an hour of traffic for a three-song set. Plants and Animals is that band. "Bye Bye Bye" is as sublime as anything by Queen. Their percussion pineapple is sweet. They sang. We danced. The Canadians get their pride on. No poutine, though. Speaking of, remember the time I wrote a travel article about Quebec for The Boston Globe that said I ate peasant? Yes, as in poor people. http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2009/02/the_great_american_novel_take.html http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2009/02/the_great_american_novel_take.html Fiction Beautiful Girls Charlie Louvin Greg Dulli Lucinda Williams Mark Lanegan Plants and Animals Mon, 16 Feb 2009 22:30:00 -0800 By Sarah Tomlinson, Globe Correspondent / January 23, 2009 LOS ANGELES - It was hard to tell who was having more fun at Longwave's show at the Troubadour in December - the fans or the band. The indie rockers, decked out in the vintage boots and fitted black attire of their hip Brooklyn neighborhood, were playing moody, symphonic music more appropriate for breaking up than rocking out, but they were decidedly lighthearted. During one swooning number from the band's fourth album, "Secrets Are Sinister," singer/guitarist Steve Schiltz paused to playfully tap one of drummer Jason Molina's cymbals with his finger before unleashing a fierce guitar solo. The band's high spirits were contagious, and the crowd cheered mightily and sang along to old favorites, even playing air drums from time to time. It was a remarkably warm welcome for Longwave's first LA show in five years, especially heartening for a band that didn't know for a while if it would ever perform again. On a morale-crushing night in December 2005, Longwave played to a meager audience at the Middle East Downstairs after learning RCA Records had dropped them. "The last show in Boston was the real nail in the coffin there for a second," says Schiltz, whose unruly curls give him a boyish air, sitting with his bandmates in an unassuming conference room the night before their Los Angeles show. "That show was tough for us, and I remember thinking, '. . . This is just the end of it.' " But, as sometimes happens, this downturn didn't kill the band; it actually made it stronger. At the Troubadour, the mop-topped quartet played harder, faster, and louder than they did during more elegiac shows of the past. It was as if they'd been liberated by the time when they were lucky to play for a handful of people at shows booked mostly to pay down their debt. When the band did dip into old material, including the ballad "Wake Me When It's Over" from its 2003 major label debut, "The Strangest Things," it roughed up the songs' refined beauty. This brashness has carried over from the new, more raw "Secrets Are Sinister," released in November. The band recorded the album on its own with producer Peter Katis (Interpol), with production costs covered by the band's longtime publisher, Chrysalis Music Publishing, before finding a label to release it. When it came time to find a label, Longwave again chose to work with a friend, who convinced the group to sign with the newly formed label Original Signal Recordings (Butch Walker, the Bronx ). The band returned to the studio with a fresh sense of possibility. "We were all excited about trying something else," Schiltz says, citing production details such as adding hand claps or changing out the bass strings. Each band member brought ideas inspired by projects he had worked on during Longwave's downtime. Schiltz had the chance to experiment with a grittier, more flamboyant guitar style while backing Strokes guitarist Albert Hammond Jr. during solo tours. Founding guitarist Shannon Ferguson and drummer Molina developed a side project, Falcon, whose minimal sound seems to have contributed to Longwave's new airier feel. New bassist Morgan King was recruited from Brooklyn-based indie rock band Robbers on High Street, bringing a muscular but melodic bass style. For all the fresh influences, Longwave's new album still maintains the lush romanticism the band has always favored. Longtime fan Damian Kulash of Los Angeles-based OK Go, which plays the Paradise on March 12 before taking Longwave out as openers on a string of East Coast dates, says Longwave's deeply felt music sets the band apart. "The type of music they do would have been really cool in the early '90s, but was not particularly cool when they started doing it," says Kulash by phone during a break from recording a new record. "It seems to me like it fits again in some way - actually beautiful music, and music with a soul, as opposed to music with a snarl or a grimace." Having learned the hard way that major label support and years of touring don't guarantee success in an increasingly mercurial music world, the band is keeping its expectations low. But its members are clearly thrilled to be a band again. "We decided that it was still fun playing together," says Schiltz. "At that point, it was like, 'Well, what do you do next but make another record?' That's what bands do." © Copyright 2009 Globe Newspaper Company. ]]> http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2009/01/brash_tacks_longwave_resurface.html http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2009/01/brash_tacks_longwave_resurface.html Music Longwave OK Go The Boston Globe Sat, 24 Jan 2009 09:47:43 -0800 When the cherry cigar-smoking security guard outside the Legion Hall in Highland Park on Friday night asked if I had ID, I momentarily feared I was going to be deemed too old for the lo fi debauch inside. But the show, which I was invited to by my amazing writerly friend Jen Sincero of "Don't Sleep with Your Drummer" fame (www.jensincero.com), was a fundraiser for an Internet radio site called Kill Radio, so it was a good mixed crowd (i.e. I clearly wasn't the only one feeling nostalgic). It's not that I miss the faint smell of mildew or the crummy house sound, but the sense of possibility, that those in attendance might have stumbled upon a little bit of magic. In this case, the something special was being thrown down by a local garage rock quartet called Spider Problem. Raw, raucous, and helmed by a frontwoman who actually managed to make rock seem dangerous again, the band played the kind of set that's truly refreshing -- funny, dirty and dangerous. Now that yoga is the new Starbucks, her waterfall back bends were less spectacular than they might have once been (even that most sexy and serpentine of frontmen, Iggy Pop, would probably seem stiff and stilted after the number of people I've seen doing yoga at parties; well, this is California), but the overall effect was delightfully demented as she rambled nonsense between songs, wrung a symphony of emotion from her one mighty note, and repeatedly dropped, slid and crumbled to the ground, often taking her guitar player with her. Spider Problem (http://www.myspace.com/spiderproblem). Wow. Playing at a house party near you. http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2009/01/friday_night_at_the_legion_hal.html http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2009/01/friday_night_at_the_legion_hal.html Music Iggy Pop Music Review Spider Problem Sun, 04 Jan 2009 13:35:11 -0800 For years, I asked the questions during interviews with everyone from Deepak Chopra to Miley Cyrus. Plus, I've had the thrill of speaking with so many musical heroes -- Joan Armatrading (my first concert, ever, in Augusta, Maine, and the best soundtrack for a bitter divorce, according to an informal survey of my friends' moms), Conor Oberst and Chan Marshall (who sang me a bit of the Bob Dylan song that inspired my name). So it was a little unnerving to sit on the other side of the tape recorder for once. Luckily, my colleague Mark Shanahan from The Boston Globe went easy on me -- he was charming and exceedingly generous with his time when he put together a piece about me and Tila, which ran in his column "Names and Faces" on 12/18. But he still kept me on high alert, quickly cutting to the juicy questions (see below), even though I told him it would be indiscreet to "write and tell." He pulled the gem about my mom right from this blog o' mine. Who says that said mom is my only reader? What says she gets her own show (day-in-the-life-of-a-small-town-librarian) before me (author of two TV pilots)? As long as she lets me be an intern. A shot of Tequila Would you take dating advice from Tila Tequila (above)? Didn't think so. But it's great that the MySpace star and host of MTV's "A Shot at Love With Tila Tequila" has written a book. It's even better that Tequila's tome is ghost written by Sarah Tomlinson, a former Boston freelancer whose work regularly appeared in the Globe and the Phoenix, among other publications. "No, I did not sleep with her," Tomlinson said of her sexually ambiguous subject. "But she did teach me how to flirt - it's all in the eyes. . . . You have to use your eyes." Called "Hooking Up With Tila Tequila," the book includes revealing pictures and plenty of bawdy language. "My mom's a librarian in Bremen, Maine," said Tomlinson. "But she can't stock it because it's too racy." http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2008/12/enquiring_minds_want_to_know.html http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2008/12/enquiring_minds_want_to_know.html Wed, 24 Dec 2008 06:42:01 -0800 I gotta part ways with Morrissey on this one...there's nothing lovelier than seeing deserving friends get recognized for their talent and heart. I was thrilled to watch The Dead Trees (nee Furvis) get pressed to sign CDs following their opening set for local soon-to-be-favorites Little Joy (featuring Fab from the Strokes). It was so good to see the lads from my days back in Boston looking good (with an assortment of dapper tour facial hair) and sounding even better during a short but spirited set that showed off songs from their amazing new album, "King of Rosa." I felt like the ghost of late- nights-past, sneaking up on them without warning, but it was a very happy reunion. Here's some indie rock insider knowledge for the nerds out there: Todd from the Dead Trees once did a guest turn as the bassist for that other Strokes' side project fronted by Albert Hammond Jr. That band featured Longwave frontman Steve, who was also in attendance at the Troubadour, and who I happen to be interviewing tomorrow evening for The Boston Globe. I've known Steve long enough to have a story about drinking tequila with him the night they got dropped by their label (it happens to the best of us), and it was great to catch up and wage that age-old debate: NYC vs LA. But our focus was soon hijacked by the amazing Little Joy set, which featured guest turns from all of the Dead Trees on just about every song. The Little Joy album is one of my top five favorites of the year, and they killed it with joyous (adjective intended; pun unfortunate) renditions of their Bossa Nova-flavored indie rock, which I adore for being so refreshingly uninterested in being too cool for school. Highlights included the introduction Fab's bandmate (and girlfriend) Binki Shapiro gave to the song "Unattainable" she wrote for him, which made him beam like a goon and stick a shiny pink heart in the middle of his forehead, and their inspired cover of one of my favorite songs ever, "Eat at Home," from Paul McCartney's entirely perfect album "Ram." They ended their set with album track "Brand New Start," which is a perfect love song; sweet and a little old fashioned, with just enough of a sexy swing. Then it was off to the East Side bar Little Joy that first inspired the band's name for last call, more catchup conversation and a few games of pool. Little Joy (the band, not the bar) will be taking the Dead Trees to Europe in January, which is amazing for them, but I'm already looking forward to their next visit to Los Angeles. http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2008/12/we_love_it_when_our_friends_be.html http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2008/12/we_love_it_when_our_friends_be.html Music Mon, 08 Dec 2008 02:42:42 -0800 How did I spend my summer vacation? Writing a book with MySpace superstar and reality TV survivor Tila Tequila, of course. And the fruits of her labor (I helped a little), "Hooking Up with Tila Tequila," was published yesterday. By Scribner. I'm in the Library of Congress now. For real. You can buy it on Amazon or at your local independent bookseller (even better!) and dig into all of Tila's secrets. Seriously, she taught me how to flirt, and she is good! Be warned, it's a little, um, spicy (my mom will not be stocking it at the Bremen Public Library), but Tila has a great story and some really interesting thoughts on gender relations and pop culture and, yes, SEX. It's been a dark week in publishing, so any dollars you can throw at the declining empire would be appreciated. (I've still got a novel to get into print, and there needs to be some publishing houses left in order to do that). Plus, it would make a great holiday gift for your grandma, rabbi, prison pen pal, or, well, anyone. And, finally, Tila was truly a pleasure to work with, and she inspired me on a lot of levels with the courage it took her to get where she is today, so you should support her for that reason, if no other. See a shout out Tila gave me during an interview here: http://tv.msn.com/tv/tila-tequila-interview/?icid=TV1&GT1=TV1 I know the blog has been dark for about a year now. But I'm bringing it back, so check in regularly for reports on the latest and greatest concerts I've attended (Ray Lamontagne guesting with my friend Lucinda Williams on her song "Fruits of My Labor" in Boston in October = pure joy), news on my next project (there's some juicy stuff in the works), and updates on my ongoing efforts to find a publisher for my first novel (yes, THAT one, the 8+ year-odyssey), Because the Night. When it happens, oh, you'll know... http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2008/12/hook_up_with_tila_tequila_and.html http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2008/12/hook_up_with_tila_tequila_and.html Writing Wed, 03 Dec 2008 20:32:57 -0800 The White Stripes got paid a million dollars to play,” my friend Brett said as we stood, waiting eagerly and sweating profusely, in the old Tower Records store at the heart of the Sunset Strip. It had been temporarily repurposed into Icky Thump Records, in order to sell copies of the new White Stripes album when it dropped on Tuesday (the store even opened at midnight, old school style, recalling the days when eager fans still queued up to buy those most coveted new releases like “Appetite for Destruction”), and to host an exclusive show by the rock duo. The atmosphere was pretty sexy for a bah mitzvah, though, and it definitely felt more like a rock show, what with the way the seriously bland store, with its dropped ceilings and boxy, vacant vibe, had been done up with red light gels, and the foxy young minxes in vintage cigarette girl garb circulated, pedaling limited edition buttons. When the band finally took the stage, the crowd’s anticipation crescendoed, as everyone pushed forward and started to move. Meg and Jack were dressed down, compared to the elaborate costumes they sport on the cover of their new album, and the whole night had an intimate, basement show feel. They played much of their new album, as well as oldies but goodies like “Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground,” which found the crowd singing all of the verses, and a gorgeous, punked up version of “Hotel Yorba.” Plus there were classic covers like “Jolene,” on which Jack howled. The interplay between Jack and Meg was a thing of subtle beauty. Jack prowled the stage, moving between several microphones, sweating and wringing the most remarkable highs and lows out of his voice, and the most delicious blues licks out of his guitar, but always stopping from time to time at the microphone near Meg’s drum set, to commune with his big sister, as he still calls her. A charming master of ceremony, Jack was gracious and funny, thanking everyone for being there, especially the fans who had camped out for tickets, and who were apparently sent pizzas by the band (now that’s classy). And with his smooth voice and fervent tone, he sounded like a Pentecostal preacher, as he had the crowd say Amen, not only for the wonder of tangible, non-disposable music, but also for Meg, of course. But when the band tore through a ferocious version of “Seven Nation Army” during their encore, it was a reminder that, spectacle aside, the duo is responsible for some of the most authentic and ambitious rock ‘n’ roll this side of the ‘60s. And that was the perfect note on which to end a celebration of their latest record, which is at once as fierce and tender as anything they’ve released. And a note for those concertgoers who like to be in on the latest trends (wave a cell phone, not a lighter, etc., etc.), apparently young bucks no longer hoist their ladies onto their shoulders during concerts, so that the girls can get a prime view (and flash the band, of course; this show was on the Sunset Strip). Now, they sort of grab them under their rib cage, as if they’re pulling them out of a burning car, and hold them aloft for as long as they can, so the girls can see over the heads of those in front of them. It’s not quite as sexy, but it seems to get the job done. ]]> http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2007/06/get_icky_pumped.html http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2007/06/get_icky_pumped.html Music Icky Thump The White Stripes concert review Thu, 21 Jun 2007 11:15:23 -0800 Juliette Lewis and The Licks, which was a major change from the first time I saw her play to 100 obsessed Natural Born Killers fans back in Boston a few years ago – not a socially suave crowd, let me tell you. This show was the band's only LA appearance in several years, and people were clearly hungry for it. After a pre-show party to celebrate the release of the band’s sophomore album “Four on the Floor,” (due out July 24), Juliette took the stage looking like a post-apocalyptic Indian princess in skin tight black vinyl pants and a headdress adorned with brightly hued feathers. From there, it was all thrashing hair, sweat, and attitude as she and the band powered through a taut set that found her holding down the stage with that wild, Iggy Pop-patented mix of athleticism and sex appeal. She’s taken a lot of flack since starting the band, which she addressed by teasing guitarist Todd Morse about how no one takes him seriously on guitar because he used to sell insurance door to door (I think we all know what that’s a metaphor for, unless he did really sell insurance door to door, in which case, that could have been the start of a porno or something, seriously, because he is cute). It’s true that some of the band’s early songs had a slick radio rock sound that was a little generic, but they’ve obviously dug deep while writing the new material and there’s plenty to like now. They play a fierce live show. And the lady has pipes. She can belt it out, even on the ballads. Not that there were many slow songs. It was all meaty AC/DC-sized riffs and wild yawls on new songs like the sexed up come on, “Hot Kiss” and the sinuous rocker, “Purgatory Blues.” Also new, “Death of a Whore” has an old-timey swing that makes for a fun romp, even though it’s about as dark as a song gets. For real people, stop being too cool for school. She can rock. I mean, it was cool enough for Michael Rapaport, who was in the house, chewing gum as only he can chew gum, with an entourage of guys who looked straight out of Southie. It took every ounce of restraint I had to hold back from assailing him with “What we need are models. Big ones.” (Go see “Beautiful Girls.” Right now. So unbelievably good.) As the Licks fans trickled out, the Deadly Syndrome/Brothers and Sisters/Wounded Cougar fans came pouring in for week two of the Deadly Syndrome’s month-long residency. Love ‘em, love ‘em, love ‘em. The eight-piece, Austin-based Brothers and Sisters mellowed the mood with their sweet, slide guitar-laced country rock ballads. It was on at the Echo, too, where The Burning Brides were holding down the second night of their month long residency for a crowded house. The shows celebrate the release of their third album, “Hang Love.” As always, these guys delivered an airtight set of ferocious hard rock. Fronted by one of rock’s hottest couples, Dimitri and Melanie Coats, (Remember that old saying – they who rock together, stay together? No? Really? Yeah, well there should be a saying.), the band has serious chemistry on stage, even more so now that they’ve added more guy-girl harmonies. The album boasts a bunch of badass moody rockers, especially “San Diego” and “She Comes to Me.” The band played under one of the best stage projections ever – a rotating cast of classic album covers, from T. Rex’s “Electric Warrior,” (of course) to, appropriately, a couple of Burning Brides albums. As I’ve been a little remiss in updating my b-l-o-g lately, what with all of the work I’ve been doing on my b-o-o-k, (which will be done this summer, for real; I’m sick of feeling like the girl who cried book; no, really, I wrote a book. I did. Can you read it? Well, I know it’s been six years, but it’s not quite done yet. Almost. Almost done.), this seems like the perfect place to segue into the killer set that the Burning Brides played while opening for Wolfmother at the Grove of Anaheim in (you guessed it, Anaheim) last month. It was cool to see them holding down the big stage, and they rocked the crowd, which is saying something, since this was one of the rowdiest, drunkest audiences I’ve seen, ever. (And I've covered the Dropkick Murphys' St. Patrick Day shows in Boston, so I know of what I speak.) When the sweaty men who push past you coming out of the mosh pit smell like sweat AND puke, you know it’s not good. Wolfmother were on that night too, unleashing their epic rock anthems with aplomb. Singer/guitarist Andrew Stockdale rocked his falsetto and one of those over-the-top double-necked guitars (as well as an intense selection of flying Vs, SGs, and the like). No guitar was quite as impressive, though, as the wall of air guitar playing fans who could not quite kick the sensation that they were playing Guitar Hero when the band tore through “Woman.” And bassist/organist Chris Ross displayed some serious moves. Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s sort of got this Gary Glitter thing going on that’s truly amazing. The lads in the band are starting to look a little wilted after something like two solid years of touring, but it was good to catch them before they take a hiatus to write their next album, which we can only hope will rock even half as hard as their debut. For a little taste of the local Anaheim flavor, check out this photo that my friend Laurel snagged of one of the band's female fans. White pumps. Hot! ]]> http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2007/06/la_rock_city.html http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2007/06/la_rock_city.html Music Brothers and Sisters Burning Brides Juliette and the Licks The Deadly Syndrome Wolfmother concert review Tue, 12 Jun 2007 10:58:39 -0800 Bjork close out the night’s music. She lived up to her reputation as a riveting, theatrical performer, and then some, holding down the ginormous main stage with help from her magical voice and pixie charisma, as well as a mini orchestrate that added up to a magnificent stage show. With the white beams of light that shoot up into the sky around the field to dramatic effect, and a nearly full moon as accompaniments, her set was atmospheric and divine. Although we missed their sets, word was that The Jesus and Mary Chain and Interpol also killed it. In the artists' area, members of the latter band unwound with ping pong and beers while Carlos D’s Italian greyhound leapt about. After a ridiculous post-show rendezvous of Chinese fire drill proportions that involved spending 45 minutes in the parking lot while a very drunk girl we’d only just met shouted into her cell phone at a very drunk friend who couldn’t seem to understand a word she said, while searching for directions to a party at Frank Sinatra’s house, and several false starts that had my passengers disco napping in the back as the car leading our beleaguered posse somehow couldn’t follow the directions or their own GPS system, we made it to the onetime hacienda of Old Blue Eyes himself, only to be denied entrance. Laurel and other members of our crew hopped the fence, while someone else sweet talked the security guards into opening the gate for us. Once inside, we saw that the pool was in fact shaped like a piano and drank free Belvedere vodka. The allure of an enormous Belvedere bottle proved too strong to resist for Spank Rock’s Naeem, and he resembled a figure from the zodiac (the vodka bearer, anyone?) as he poured its contents into the pool. After being shut down by a sassy, Spanish-accented hostess who told him he was not making off with her vibrator (the bottle), he solaced himself by jumping into the pool with Sean (a.k.a. Har Mar Superstar), who, no surprise, opted to swim in the nude. At that point, the party was cleared out by security, and exiting seemed advisable. Day two quickly grew as hot as Hades, and so I opted to enjoy several traditional heat beaters – napping, swimming in our rental house’s partially shaded pool, and trawling the aisles of the heavily air conditioned grocery store in search of tequila and corn chips for later that night. We finally braved the 110 degree heat in the late afternoon. I saw Peter, Bjorn and John play a remarkably peppy and charming set featuring guest vocalist Bebban from the Shout Out Louds on their breakout single, "Young Folks." As always, she looked gorgeous and cool as an iced martini while the rest of us sweated and hallucinated in the heat. I caught a bit of Andrew Bird’s wild violin playing on the way to see The Decemberists, who were as whimsical and inspired as always. Their set's highlight definitely came during “The Mariner’s Revenge Song,” when the stage was stormed by a giant canvas whale, manned by three people, which attacked Colin Meloy as he sang about surviving the belly of the whale. After that, I headed back to the shade in the VIP area near the main stage for The Kings of Leon’s smoldering set. Nonplussed and as full of swagger as always, the Followill family killed it during a set that featured songs from their three albums, including the perfectly sultry rocker “On Call” from their latest. The stage’s huge video screens were put to particularly captivating use as the camera crew caught close ups of drummer Nathan blowing bubbles with his gum while casually wielding his sticks, interspersed with shots of the lads’ dancing feet in their tight as sin stretch jeans and pointy boots. This was also around the time my friend Rebecca spotted a severely inebriated Paris Hilton being pretty much carried around the VIP area by a team of friends. Hasn’t that girl learned to hold her cosmos yet?! As the sun sunk against the desert landscape, the mood was perfect for the Arcade Fire to deliver their set of atmospheric, highly emotive indie rock. While those disappointed by the band’s sophomore album grumbled that their set dragged, it was a gorgeous moment. At night’s end, we engaged in the weekend’s pastime of trailer hopping: This involves taking over the elaborately decorated artist trailers left unoccupied by those bands forced to catch a flight directly after their set and pilfering them for leftover snacks and drinks. The Decemberists were kind enough to leave behind several bottles of wine, a bucket of beer, and some hummus and chips. Rumor has it that Rufus Wainwright took all of the decorations out of his trailer (since other trailers featured, paper hearts, Cabbage Patch dolls and My Little Ponys, among other goodies, we can only imagine what kind of score he made off with), except for a stuffed animal, which was left in the microwave. From there, the party moved to the grass outside Peter, Bjorn & John’s trailer, where the Swedish flew fast as members of the Teddybears stopped by to hang out. And from there, we headed to our rental house, where we hosted friends, made guacamole, and had drinks out by the pool. I ended the night with a soak in the hot tub as the sun came up. Spoiled? Who me? Sunday got off to an even lazier start, but we did get to drop in on a photo shoot for Filter magazine featuring Shaun Ryder of the Happy Mondays, which was being masterminded by killer rock photographer Piper Ferguson. I even got the Brit pop legend a beer! From there, Laurel showed me around her old stomping grounds in downtown Palm Springs. So cute! They have misting fountains above the sidewalk to cool pedestrians as they walk between the main street’s many patio-adorned restaurants. And there’s tons of old school kitsch still reigning in its full glory. We had our first solid meal of the weekend at a Mexican restaurant and then hit the grounds. Crowded House sounded fantastic and vibrant as they played old favorites and new material to a mass of exhausted and drunken, but still resilient, festival goers. Maybe I was just worn down by this point, or the Rage Against the Machine fans can’t hold their liquor quite like they used to, but the vibe was particularly drunk and surreal on Sunday night. Lily Allen was clearly having a good ol’ time, as she apologized at one point during her set because the weed she had smoked was making her forget some of the lyrics. But she was all cool sass in a white dress as she entertained fans with help from a horn section that looked pinched from her local junior high school. Brooklyn-based indie dance innovators Ratatat created sensory magic and whipped up a full on dance frenzy, in spite of playing with a stripped down version of their normal stage show. Backed by a simple white sheet, on which images and shadows of the band were projected, the duo (plus a touring keyboardist) delivered an ecstatic set of all instrumental dance pop gems. The audience was a sea of bobbing heads and waving arms. Karma reigned down on one particularly inebriated young woman who pushed to the front of the platform at the side of the stage, irritating everyone with her flying elbows and the way in which her shirtless beau was energetically grinding her from behind. She was so excited (and, did I mention, drunk?) that she pushed her way past the front and right over the edge, falling into the space between the platform and the stage. (She was OK, so it’s alright to laugh.) Rage Against the Machine sounded as taut and on point as always during their reunion set, as they rallied their devoted fans to end the night (and the weekend) on a high energy note. I had met two young men from Iceland earlier in the week, who flew to California just to see the reunited Rage, if that gives you an idea of how excited people were for this one. In the artist area, the Kings of Leon had taken over Damien Rice’s vacated trailer and singer Caleb laughed about the fact that everyone had told him the close-ups of their dancing feet were the highlight of their set. As we walked towards the exit, I spotted a super dapper Perry Farrell on his way back towards the artists' area. As the acting Patron Saint of summer festivals, he seemed like a good note on which to wind down the weekend. The drive back to Los Angeles only took two hours, but it felt like six, which sort of brought everything around full circle, wouldn't you say? ]]> http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2007/05/burn_baby_burn_coachella_infer.html http://sarahtomlinson.com/blog/2007/05/burn_baby_burn_coachella_infer.html Music Andrew Bird Bjork Bjorn and John Coachella Interpol Jesus and Mary Chain Kings of Leon Lily Allen Peter Rage Against the Machine Ratatat The Decemberists concert review review the Arcade Fire Tue, 01 May 2007 01:17:01 -0800