[es-pree de less-ka/-iay] (idiom) A witty remark that occurs to you too late, literally on the way down the stairs. The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations defines esprit de l'escalier as, "An untranslatable phrase, the meaning of which is that one only thinks on one's way downstairs of the smart retort one might have made in the drawing room."
After a couple of years of family-filled Thanksgivings, my parents and I found ourselves flying solo this year. Neither sibling has been home for my favorite holiday in several years, but usually we're with my Dad's family. It turned out no one was going to be around. So we ended up going to dinner with the family of one of my Dad's colleagues. It was nice, but just not the same. I convinced my mother that we should make our own meal. And by "we" of course I meant "her," because she makes the meal. I'm a lucky girl, because I love her turkey and love Thanksgiving leftovers. I hope you all have yummy leftovers too.
This, she thought, was unbearable. Did this question still come up, after all these years? Clearly it did, and clearly it became harder to answer as you got older.
From Juliet, Naked, by Nick Hornby. It's always funny when you read a passage in your book and it mirrors something you just discussed. The rest of that paragraph is good, but very long. It's about her realization that she no longer has the framework to describe her musical tastes - especially with people who may not have the same arts background as her. I stayed up too late finishing this book last night. It was excellent.
Although I haven't read many of Hornby's novels, I have read the compilations of his columns from the Believer magazine on reading and loved them. I like the way he writes about books and music, two things I don't think are very easy to write about.
I don't feel like writing a whole review of this book. It's about our connections to music and art, how the internet changes our abilities to find like-minded people, fandom, and inertia in a way. The story is told from three perspectives: the reclusive musician whose career stopped 22 years ago, the obsessive fan and expert on said musician, the fed up long-term girlfriend of said fan. All in all, I thought it was a very satisfying read.
About a month or so ago the oldest member of the office came over to ask the young'uns what "alternative" music was. His grandson is going to a prestigious music school and was curious about the phrase. It was not an easy question to answer. I told him that it didn't really mean anything, because it was a big umbrella term. We even looked up its Wikipedia page. I was thinking of alternative music as a whole, as opposed to just alternative rock as Wikipedia sees it, as music that crossed traditional genre boundaries.
I was thinking about this exchange last night while I was at a show in a little bar in Columbus, and about how I have a hard time describing the music I like. (Don't you *hate* the question, "What kind of music do you listen to?" I do. I find it impossible to answer. I love music, but I don't know if that comes across in my bumbling answer to that question. I usually don't really answer it if I don't feel the person is sympatico musically.) One of my friends from school and work jokes that she will go to shows with me, but only if they are country bands. I have never convinced her to come, because while a lot of the music I listen to has country roots (much to the chagrin of father should he ever understand that), it's not pop country. You'll be hard pressed to find me at the next Carrie Underwood concert with my friend.
But I'm digressing. Last night, after I went to a historical society's lecture on streetcars in Columbus, I met my friends and we headed to a little bar in Columbus to see half a band we really liked. My friend Stacey, with whom I share a musical affinity, introduced me to Minneapolis-based Romantica two years ago. I have since gotten a couple of friends into them as well. Lead singer Ben Kyle has a gorgeous voice. He and Luke Jacobs played an understated set of mostly new songs. The set was more down tempo than I was expecting, but excellent. Jacobs wonderfully played a lap steel guitar.
We stayed for the headliner, Carrie Rodriguez, and had no expectations. It was quickly clear that the other 17 people there (there were about 20 of us), were there for her. It was also clear why. She rocked. Jacobs stayed on stage to help her, and Hans Holzen, who we all thought was a bit dreamy, joined them. They were all excellent musicians - some of my favorite moments were when Rodriguez tore it up on her violin and Holzen did the same with his mandolin. It was a *great* show.
Anyway, that's where my thoughts on genre came into play. At times I felt like I was hearing some modern blues, there were definite underpinnings of country and bluegrass, but the whole thing was indescribable, in the best way possible. I have also decided that not being able to describe the music I listen to is well worth it, especially when it comes to finds like Carrie Rodriguez.
A little way into the show, I started thinking of Lucinda Williams. Rodriguez doesn't really sound like Williams, but there was something about her voice that made Williams come to mind. Then she asked the crowd if they had seen her open for Williams last time she was in town. (They had. Which made the somewhat older crowd make more sense.) She's working on a cover album, and here's an excellent cover of a Lucinda song.
According to my fortune cookie tonight, the universe is looking out for me. Frankly I feel like my intuition is a little wonky these days, but this is reassuring. Actual posts soon, besides just photos.
The internet changes your social life. Things like Facebook are great because you can find people you've lost touch with, but it's terrible because people can find you. My sister made me snort with laughter at my desk, quoting a favorite childhood movie in response to someone finding us. This is for her.
It's that time again! Fall 'Roid Week is upon us my friends. Prepare to be inundated. I need to get out and shoot some more this week. I can't wait! These are from a hike in the Hocking Hills a couple of weeks ago.
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