Travel Blog

This week sees Cathy and I embarking on a different kind of trip. With the support of the Idaho and US Humane Societies, we are headed to New Orleans to help clear some dogs out of a temporary shelter that's about to close down. We'll be loading the dogs into a U-Haul and driving them from N.O. back to Boise where they'll either be adopted or placed in shelters until they're ok to be adopted.

None of you will be surprised to learn that Cathy's the one who's gotten us into this. However, I think you'd also agree that this is at least a worthwhile endeavor, and could be at most an adventure that will change our lives.

So, with camera and laptop in tow, we head out tomorrow morning on a flight for Houston. I hope to blog it at the travel blog, so check in over there if you're curious.

Okkervil River

There's something about seeing bands from Austin play up here in Idaho that makes me very happy and also profoundly homesick. The Gourds? Sure, that's obvious. There are strong connections to my life in Texas and, really, to my development as a human being that go along with seeing that band play. But Okkervil River? I've seen them a handful of times, I've got a couple of their records, and while I do like them quite a bit, I wouldn't consider myself attached to them or their music in any meaningful way.

Still, seeing them this past Saturday night at the Neurolux had a strange effect on me. They put on an outstanding show, full of their hallmark energy and abandon and yelling, and the respectable-sized crowd responded with enthusiasm, staying with the band even through the quieter moments of their loud-quiet-loud roller coaster ride. They were into it. So were we.

The strange thing is how familiar it all sounded. I mean, I'm familiar with their work, but I mean this in a larger sense. Back when I wrote for the Austin Chronicle I interviewed Will Sheff for a SXSW edition of the paper. When I asked him about whether moving to Austin has made a difference to the music he makes, he replied that he'd be making the same music no matter where he lived. I was surprised at this then, and I think I attributed it more to him not wanting to credit the scene more than he or his band's inherent creativity. In hindsight, I think I was at least partly correct. There is something Austin about that band, something buried deep that surfaces as part of the murky characteristics of Mood or Tone or Aesthetic or something indefinable like that. It's in the way the keyboards and the lap steel fit together, or in the way the rest of the bandmembers sing all the songs whether they have mics or not, or in the narrative quality of the lyrics or the sense of unrehearsed style they all had. Note: This is a good thing. It is a measure not only of style but of quality.

And stranger than this recognition of roots or pedigree was the effect it had. When the show was over, I was sad. Not in the sense of not wanting a good thing to end, but in the sense of leaving a place that I love. Oddly enough I don't really even get this feeling from seeing the Gourds play. Maybe I'm too close to their music. Seeing Okkervil River was less a big event than just a good show, more a feeling of being transported to Austin to see any one of hundreds of bands that would give me this same feeling. When it ended, I was only beginning to recognize it. Then it was too late.

I don't know what this all means. Just another layer on my already complex and freaky relationship with Austin, TX, I suppose.

Dramatics aside, the show really was very good. If you get a chance to see these guys, take it. Whenever you have songs this good, a band this solid, and a level of passionate engagement this high, it's not something to be passed on lightly.

I'm Too Much

Trouble

Only about 6 weeks back in the country after a wonderful trip abroad and already I'm reading through the travel blog every day.

I find it's getting harder and harder to stay content. I love where I live, I like my job more than I've liked most jobs, and all parts of life seem to have fallen into their proper places. But, still, the restlessness prevails, the wanderlust seeps into the front of my mind, and I find myself checking air fares and weather in far off places and just constantly wishing I were somewhere else.

Travel is good like that. It gets in your nose and your bones and creates a permanent place in the mind, a room off a main hall that you pass by often, where you can poke your head in and see how things are going and look back at trips gone by. But this, this is something else. It's distracting and troubling, a feeling that sends small tremors through the beams and mortar of everyday life.

On our last trip, I approached the day to day with the idea of just pretending I lived in a place. In Paris, or in Amsterdam, in this case. It was wonderful, a whole different style and pace of traveling, and I enjoyed it so much that I think I took it too much to heart. Now I actually do want to live there. Somewhere. And it seems so plausible. That's the trouble.

Wedding Bell Rung

The weekend is over. My little brother is married.

It was a hell of a time, starting with family arriving all last week, a bachelor party on Thursday, and the wedding weekend up in Stanley. Lots to report, from seeing family and friends to riding the totally burnt out Fisher Creek trail, but it'll have to wait. I'm now buried at work and have yet to get my head back together from the damage of all the festivities.

Brother married.

Fisher Creek scorched.
















Family gone now.

More later.

Fall

I rode to work this morning in the dark, accompanied by the familiar wet and cold of autumn. It's tougher to get out of bed in the morning, too. That happens when it's dark and chilly and I know I have to get on my bike and ride to work.

Fall must be here.

Though the official opening of the season is now a couple weeks behind us, and though it's already been dark during my morning commute ever since we got back from vacation, this morning is the first that's really felt like fall. I broke out the raincoat and the fleece gloves and even wore a hat under my helmet for the ride in. And just as I was dealing with the too-familiar dread of getting out in it first thing in the morning, I came around to the very familiar realization that it's not really as bad as it seems.

This change in seasons will bring about the obligatory re-ordering of life and all the re-commitment that goes with it, but this time it'll be a bit different. I'm committing to a training and fitness regimen for the fall and winter that will include a membership at the Y. I've never joined a gym before, so this will be some sort of experiment, but I've decided to engage in another training program for next year, and my winter training will rely less on actual road miles and more on a structured system including riding, spin classes, weights, maybe swimming, and most definitely a regular program of cross country and skate skiing.

In other big news, I drilled some holes into my house and shop yesterday, which allowed me to lead an actual cable from the router inside to my computer in my office, which means that at long last, for the first time since moving in, I've got reliable high-speed internet access in my office. This should change everything. And, to add to the excitement, when we make the move to re-do our bedroom and upstairs bathroom, we're going to include a small piece of money for renovations to the shop building. This way I can get a wall and some climate control without having to rig it all myself with second grade materials. Very exciting.

The lean-in to every new season causes this sort of shuffling and stocktaking in me, and I'm really excited about it this time around.

Them Gourds

I got to work at 11am today. Yes, it was a good night.

We started out at our place with a vat of sangria and about 30 of our closest friends. Great fun. We laid waste to 3 gallons of wine, a bottle of brandy, a crapload of fruit, a bunch of beer, and a table full of snack items. Very fun. Nice that so many people turned out early and stayed out late on a schoolnight.

I left the party and headed downtown early to try and catch Kevin Russell and whatever other Gourds I could round up so I could drag them to the BCRP studio and record some promo stuff for my show. I hovered about the Neurolux entrance, then went to the studio to set up, then went back to the venue, and stuck near to the entrance for a while. They never showed--well, they did, but they snuck in the side door and I didn't see them until they took the stage. Oh well. Kevin's promised to record a couple drops for me and send them via e-mail.

The Hackensaw Boys opened, and they did a fine job of whipping the crowd up. Good solid 6 piece acoustic music that sped around the stage and stomped all over, though without the "look at us and how hickish we are" facade of so many bands like that. They were good.

The Gourds opened up with "My Name is Jorge," which was a hell of a way to start, especially as it was followed by "Dying of the Pines" and then "Hellhounds." Great way to kick things off. They were having some sound problems, but they seemed to get them ironed out quick--due no doubt in no small measure to Rche being in the house--and got on with the rocking.

They put together a good set, digging into the old stuff, taking solid turns through the newer stuff, and even playing a couple tunes I'd never heard before. The biggest surprise of the evening was just how much Kevin's playing the electric guitar nowadays, as well as Claude's time at the keyboards. Suddenly dude can pound the ivories like mad. Really impressive. For a good bit of the night they seemed like a straight-up rock band, with Jimmy on electric bass, Claude on keys and Kev on the Fender, with Max switching between mandolin and guitar and Keith playing drums like he was back in Prescott Curlywolf. It was a big change, and one that could have gone over poorly. But they pulled it off and even had me hoping for more of it.

The first encore had Kev and then Jimmy come out solo, and to be honest I'm having trouble remembering what they played. I do remember that one of Kev's songs was new, original, and just beautiful. The final encore was a fairly rushed and obligatory turn through "Gin and Juice," which was a bit disappointing after the others and in light of everything else they could have played. It was done rock band style, which was a cool twist, but it still felt like "OK lets play this song and get the hell out of here."

Seemed like they had a great time, and we stayed and talked to Kevin and then Jimmy and then Claude until about 2:30 in the morning. Then we walked home. Getting to bed at 3am on a school night is great fun, and makes me very thankful that I have a flexible schedule and reasonable bosses.

Now the question: Do I go to Seattle this weekend to see The National, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, and M83? Long drive. Tough call.

Gourds Tonight!

Something about seeing these guys play always feels like going home.

Tonight, for the second time since we've been in Boise, The Gourds are coming to the Neurolux, and we couldn't be happier. Last year they came on Cathy's birthday, which was about perfect as could be. This year, it's our friend Allison's birthday, and we'll be celebrating beforehand with a vat of sangria the size of my car.

Openers tonight are the Hackensaw Boys, about whom I've been reading quite a bit lately. They were even favorably reviewed in Pitchfork, which was quite a surprise to me, as they seem to do their bluegrass offshoot without a trace of irony or hipness. I've checked out some of their tunes on emusic, and while I was expecting something closer to the frenetic acoustic insanity of someone like Split Lip Rayfield or that other Austin band that plays the Continental all the time (drawing a blank here), they're more thoughtful and carefully assembled and song-oriented than that. At least, that's the case on first listen. Tonight's set could be a completely different thing.

I've also been giving Blood of the Ram, the Gourds' newest record, plenty of air time lately, and the tracks there have definitely grown some on me. Some of it is as great as they ever were, and while other parts don't really hit me so hard, it's easy to identify the quality of the songs and the growth and movement of the band within them.

So, Gourds tonight. Very exciting.

The Race for Race

While I agree that the rush to blame the disaster in New Orleans on racism was a bit premature, or a bit kneejerk, or at least not well thought out and carried out in the heat of the catastrophe, I have to say I am far more disturbed by the backlash and by the stronger racism and hatred it's conjured up in us. I'm pretty sickened by the internet trash being sent around about it, as if racist whiteys are finally able to publicly rejoice in what happened and can now let all their demons out of the closet where they've been half hidden to play in the flooded streets and spit in the eye of any who disagree.

Both these attitudes are way off base and nothing but destructive. Blacks in New Orleans were inordinately affected by the hurricane--that seems undoubtable. Beyond that, it's really hard to know anything for sure.

The tube-glued couch potatoes among us seem to think they've got it all figured out, that black people--all black people--simply ran amok with guns blazing and peckers hanging out destroying anything of their city that wasn't already destroyed, and then started crying that white folk weren't helping them enough. That's about as simpleminded as saying that the country ignored New Orleans because the only people left there were black.

There is truth in both those statements, but neither of them is the truth. There's a big difference there. And, mostly, I just wish we could disconnect ourselves from the canned and distorted reality of the idiot box and show a little common sense and sympathy. Something very bad has happened, and beyond the local politicians and Brown and Chertoff and Bush, we're not so sure who played what role in all of this.

I guess all I'm saying is let's think, not just react. Let's not assume that everything going on down there has been captured on TV. It hasn't. Or that all these malicious and racist e-mail bullshit making the rounds have any kind of wisdom in them. They don't.

Let's think for ourselves.

Jazz Joint

There's a new joint in town.

I've started a new program for Boise Community Radio called Jazz Joint. Bet you can't guess what it's like...

Actually, maybe you can't. It's two hours, once a week, focusing in a large sense on jazz music. I say in a large sense because it's not your normal public radio jazz show.

Jazz Joint will have rotating host duties, so far involving myself and four other people. And far as I can tell, we've all got pretty different ideas about what this show will be. And that's great. That's the point. There's already plenty of homogenous jazz shows out there, playing the greats playing standards, and that's a good thing, but that's not our thing.

I turned in my first show right before leaving town for vacation, so I haven't managed to hear any of the other hosts' work yet, but I knew their musical ideas beforehand, so I'm confident. But, in these descriptions, I'm also guessing. I'll update this as I find out how wrong I am. Art Hodge is way into breakbeats and all types of jazz, Tim Whitecotten leans more toward the hard rock and avant-garde modes, Isabel Holt is well versed in the classic and historical side of jazz, and Dave Foster leans more toward the ambient, electronic, experimental versions. A really good combination of perspectives if I do say so myself.

My own take on it is pretty scattershot, to be perfectly honest. It's not even all jazz. Jazz music, mostly bebop and hard bop from anywhere in the late 50s to today, makes up the core of the show, but it only spreads outward from there. I work in some electronic music that is, if not actually improvised, has more of an anarchic feel to it, and I'm also trafficking some experimental rock and some plain old avant-garde instrumental stuff. Thelonious Monk next to John Fahey next to David Murray next to Four Tet next to Isotope 217... You get the point.

Or, if you don't, check out the show. It's on Wednesdays from 11 to 1, mountain time, on RadioBoise.

Return

My two weeks of travel have come to an end, and now it's back to the grind. Sure, it's been a relatively easy re-entry, what with Kristi and Steve's fantastic wedding up at Warm Lake this past weekend, a trip that included a great mountain bike ride on the Eagle's Nest trail and road, but still. It ain't vacation, and it ain't in Amsterdam, so I'm gonna go ahead and be depressed about it anyway, thank you very much.

Two weeks is not enough. I mean, it is enough in that I feel like I did go somewhere for a decent length of time and was able to get work and everything else completely out of my system and adapt to a different pace of life, especially my sleep schedule. But last Wednesday morning, as I wandered the streets of Amsterdam for the last time, I felt all too deeply that I wanted another week or two. I wanted to see and feel more of that city before leaving it for god knows how long.

But, no such luck, and no more vacation time to play around with, so here I sit, back in my office, blogging over lunch, feeling all sorry for myself because I have to work for a living like most of the rest of the world. Poor me.

Highlights of the trip are tough to pin down in one sense, as just the acts of wandering the streets and neighborhoods of Paris and Amsterdam and Groningen were wonderful nearly every minute. Dinner at Robert et Louise in Paris was definitely one of the more memorable moments, as were the few hours spent watching football in a pub with an extensive English-speaking expat community the next day.

While the wedding weekend in Groningen, in the Netherlands, was without a doubt the highlight of the whole trip, other Dutch moments stand out with more individual clarity than the rest. Seeing Four Tet at the Paradiso was perhaps the most amazing and unique experience I had throughout this trip, the one that most made me feel I was experiencing something that just is not available to me here at home. And, of course, Wilco playing their tour-ender at that same venue was a pretty fantastic time as well.

In some ways, as it always is, it's nice to be home. Good to see Gus and Henry, good to see friends and to be able to cook my own food and to be in my house and to have my own bikes and all that stuff. But, there's still melancholy and longing for the places we just were, and there's still the time-tested means of best dealing with these things: planning the next trip.

New Zealand next fall for the Mountain Bike World Championships?

Myanmar next year for some SE Asia trekking and exploration?

A few weeks with my car and my mountain bike exploring British Columbia?

It's decisions like these that make time between travel more bearable.

And, it looks like the music offerings are still coming through town. Tonight, a band called the Moggs are doing an instore at the RX and a show later on at the Bouquet. I hadn't heard of them before, but the tracks available on their website are promising. I think I'll check them out.

Departure

Suddenly, here it is. Tomorrow's the big day. The wife and I are off at 8am for a couple weeks' vacation in Europe. As ever, the planning has been going on so long that it's hard to believe the trip is actually here.

Our first week will be spent in Paris, taking in the sights and eating untold amounts of amazing food. The bulk of our research for this trip has been spent on where to eat in Paris, so you can bet that most blog entries will center around food.

After Paris, we head to Amsterdam to connect with Gerry and Christina, whose wedding provides the reason for this trip. They'll be tying the knot in Christina's home town of Groningen, on September 10th, but we'll spend a couple days in Amsterdam with them before heading northward.

In Amsterdam, we'll spend Christina's birthday in a pub watching a World Cup qualifying match between Ireland and France, which promises to be a hell of a time. That's Wednesday 9/7, and Thursday I hope to drag someone down to The Paradiso to see Four Tet play a show. Never seen the dude spin live before, but I've had a few of his records on a short leash to my ear for a couple months now, and I can't get enough. We'll see.

One thing's for certain, though: I will be catching Wilco at The Paradiso on Monday 9/12. Gerry and Christina leave for their Tanzanian honeymoon the Sunday after their wedding, but we'll be spending a couple extra days at their place on Bloemgracht before we go home on Wednesday 9/14. How cool, to pretend we live there for a couple days and to just get to hang out like that for a while before coming home.

Sounds like there are some big plans for the wedding days, but I've yet to be privy to those. So, if you're interested, read along over at the other blog, CHess Travel Blog, and see what we're up to.

Morr, American Analog Set, and the Joys of Free Access to New Music

There's no shortage of free music floating around. That we all know. But still, it's always such a great surprise, a happy bonanza, to come across a site where you can get access to loads of music without having to pay for it. Matador's web site is one such place, as is the free downloads section of Pitchfork. And there are tons more.

But as I said, it still gives me a smug version of the warm and fuzzies when I find one that allows me to hear a bunch of stuff I can't otherwise hear. This happened to me today, at the Morr Music site. Morr, for those who may not know, is a German record label responsible for putting out a considerable amount of great electronic and avant garde and experimental music from the likes of Tarwater, Styrofoam, Lali Puna, Masha Qrella, The Notwist, and a mess more.

Now, American Analog Set has joined the Morr roster. I don't know the sequence of events that led me to the Morr site, but somehow I ended up there and was reading that AmAnSet has a new record coming out in September. Sweet! This band has come a long way, from a really enjoyable rock-at-a-snail's-pace outfit of kids in Austin to a well respected and critically lauded rock band. They still assemble the slow narco-jams like few others around, but they've upped the pace and the tone fairly often, and their live show has benefitted greatly from the change.

Right now, you can listen to the whole of the new record, Set Free, on the Morr site. It's a player window, and you can't download any of it, but so what? You can hear the whole thing, one track at a time, front to back, for nothing, while sitting next to your computer. Pretty cool.

While I'm on about it, there are some great tracks up for your downloading pleasure at the Pitchfork page right now. Jump on over and get ya some Bob Mould, Kallakak Family, and Paul Weller to chew on.

Dry Creek

Sunday, not knowing the mercury would rise over 100F by the end of the day, Will and I headed out to ride up Hard Guy to the Ridge Road and then to descend Dry Creek.

4+ hours in the saddle. 27 water crossings.

27.

A great ride. I'm ready for fall.

March of the Racoons

They came at dusk to the roof of our neighbor's shop, out at the rear of his yard, on the alley. They came masked and ready for action.

First there was a single older racoon.

Then there were four.



They were brazen, stealthy, and hungry. They made a feast of the plums in our neighbor's tree.



There were 6, actually. Old and very young, both. They moved freely from the tree branches to the roof to the steps.

Apparently, they live under his porch and have some sort of agreement with the cats. Plenty of food for all, so no one bothers anyone else.

Well, they all bother Henry. But that's to be expected.

March of the Penguins

If you haven't seen this movie yet, go see it. I caught it last night at The Flicks, by myself even, and I have to say that I loved it. I'm a total sucker for nature docs anyway, but even so, the work that went into getting the footage in this film alone is staggering, to say nothing of the beautiful piece of art they turned it into.

There were flaws, of course: I wasn't wild about Morgan Freeman's narration, nor the script that was given him to read, and I thought the end of the film very rushed compared to the cadence of the rest of it. But really, that's it. The saga laid out long form presented a whole nother side to these freaky birds, painting them as worthy of the highest respect for their strength of body and commitment and their fortitude for making this incredible journey over and over again, all for the sake of a single chick that may or may not even survive.

Check it out. I think it's pretty great when the big summer film is something like this, rather than the newest SchwarzeCruise Crapfest.

Tangents

I'm trying, in my radio show, to explore the tangents of what I like to call indie rock. (Defining indie rock will have to wait for another post: for now, let's just think of it as my own little aesthetic world.) It's in the transitions and contexts that these tangents live. Putting Slint/Paul Newman/Schneider TM in a row; letting a Wilco breakdown lead into a John Fahey exploration; letting Four Tet, Matmos, The Velvet Underground and Isotope 217 bounce around off each other for a while. That's what gets me excited; that's what lets it all fit together in my head.

I do wonder, though, what context people are in while listening to the show. I assume everyone else is sitting at their desk working and listening to it low on crap speakers. Or maybe not. I want your attention, but I'm not going singalong. I want you to hear something that catches your ear and makes you check the player window to see what it is so you can write it down. I want you to have to close your door and turn it way up at least a couple times during the set.

Bridgebuilding

This past weekend I and a few friends hooked up with a trail maintenance effort along Bear River, up in the Boise NF. A volunteer effort headed up by SWIMBA and run through the Trail Crew segment of the Forest Service, the goal of the day was to build a bridge across the Bear River about 2 miles in from the trailhead.

The day went well. We headed out about 10am, hiking to the work site with water and lunch on our backs. It soon became apparent that we'd build two bridges, not one, the first being through a runoff and mud pit just shy of the bridge site.

There were 10 of us total, including 3 pros and 7 volunteers. While logs were sawed and stripped, some of us gathered rocks and began work on the secondary bridge. We cut the banks out and lined them with large rocks, then set 3 cut logs across them. We filled the gaps in with small rocks, then decided it'd be brilliant to pack the center with mud and turf. It worked beautifully. It looks like 2 logs with a strip of grassy earth down the middle. If that thing lasts for some years, it'll be an engineering masterpiece. (If not, well...)

The main bridge was a larger task, two very big logs spanning two other fat logs running parallel to the river. These were anchored at both ends after they were dragged into place by resident mules John and Tony. Holes were drilled, bolts pulled through to secure the two logs, and then handrails went on. We cut it low enough to accommodate a handlebar, of course. Again we filled it in with rocks and stuff, closing the gaps between logs, smoothing things out. By the time we were done the thing came together, solid as a rock, sturdier than I could have imagined. A job well done.

Saturday night, John, Tony, Tim and I stayed at the Whispering Pines yurt up there. It was great, except for the fact that we never got inside the yurt. We didn't have the combo to the door lock, due to a misunderstanding on my part, so we spent the night out on the deck. It was gorgeous, a cool night under a starry sky. Next time, though, I'll get the combination for the lock first.

Sunday we did a mountain bike ride, a short trip out Beaver Creek and Crooked River with an extra loop on the Valley Trail thrown in. It was good, if not long enough, as those trails are fun and have great views but are still fairly primitive.

So, a great weekend, and I hope to have photos of the fruits of our backbusting efforts to post soon.

Look what I got!

A birthday present from my lovely wife.


Isn't she purdy?

Dialed In

Looks like we've sort of mostly got this internet radio thing running solid. The hiccups in the stream are fewer and farther between, the transitions between shows are a bit smoother, and the schedule is slowly filling up. Range Life is still running like 6 times a week (that's two shows, three times each), but repetition is still unavoidable for us. Hopefully, that will change soon.

So far I'm pretty pleased with how the show is going. I don't really want to get too comfy with the playlist-only format we're using now, because the whole deal with radio, or at least with my enthusiasm for it, is to be there, in the studio, slapping the records down (or sliding the CDs in), spinning them, and making it all fit together on the fly. While it would seem easier to assemble a show at home in front of my computer, with the ability to change and add things or rework a setlist to meet time constraints, really, I think it's a handicap. The thing that's missing is real time. When you're playing one song after another, no matter how many tracks out you've lined up, it's still the song that triggers the next song, and so on. Connections are made in those 3.5 minutes you're sitting there listening to the track you just put on, and that's how a show gains personality.

Still, though, it's going well. I'm finding it easier to transition between pretty different types of music and to bring in the freaky alongside the stalwart. I'm trying to take the "Indie rock and all its tangents" description to heart, using standard indie rock bands and tracks as the foundation, but being sure to depart from that foundation often, when appropriate or intriguing. I'm working in the old stuff and trying to keep up with the new stuff. Operating largely on mp3 and m4a files makes it a bit easier, as trading music is filling the gaps until we get some content rolling in.

So, take a listen. Gimme some feedback. Make some requests. It's nice to know I'm not broadcasting into the void.