MobileChelonian

Bonnaroo is done, and my eventful summer is underway. Firstly, if you desire to read the coverage of Bonnaroo that Hannah and I wrote, go to Daytrotter's Hard To Navigate to Bonnaroo section. If you want to see the pictures, go to their Flickr page here. I will be uploading more to my own Flickr shortly.

Overall, it was a fun experience, although I have no plans to go back. It's hard to really experience the music the way I'd like to in such an enviroment...just you and 69ooo of your closest friends, all trying to use the john, buy pizza, and take pictures of Radiohead at the same time. It was unbearably hot, for which I'm supremely grateful that we had press credentials (sorry Natalie!) and could retreat into the air conditioned Journalist Pen. We saw Radiohead, Bonnie Raitt, Cat Power, Beck, the Preservation Hall Jazz Band, Matisyahu, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah!, the Streets, and a few more I can't remember. We missed an equal amount of acts though, due to the competetive nature of the scheduling and a general inability to get out of bed before 1000AM. Thank you, Alan and Brandi for putting us up. Camping would have sucked, as everyone else seemed to be determined to have the ultimate indie-rock experience and get sweaty and high together. Not so much for us.

Next up: Hannah will be here for 10 days starting Monday, and if you think I'm going to have time to blog you're out of your mind. We will see Radiohead again on Tuesday night, this time in a much smaller, less dirty venue. She will scout jobs and places to live, and I will endeavor to make San Diego look as appealing as I can, which gets easier every day. Right after she moves down here in August, Alan and Brandi will come down for a week to stay with me and scout out their potential move to San Diego. I may be dogsitting for Nicole soon. I bought an air conditioner. And I start school again in September. Did I mention that I'm in the Navy? And working long hours for the next 6 weeks?

And that's my long term forecast. Stay tuned -

Posted by Aaron at 7:02 AM | Permalink | Comments

Loon? June is shaping up to be busy and a lot of fun. School is out, A's all around - the resourceful Hannah got us press passes for Bonnaroo courtesy of Daytrotter, so look for Hannah Clemens and Aaron Sheehan in a Rolling Stone near you. Scratch that, Rolling Stone sucks. Um. NME? Paste? The Oxford-American music issue? Eh, just check out Daytrotter for hopefully daily updates on the festival. I will also hit the quarter century mark whilst there, so presumably my car insurance will go down. Finally, Hannah is coming here for a fun filled 10 days, that will include seeing Radiohead live on the bay in downtown San Diego.

I finally can cease my quest to see a good movie. Last night I caught The Proposition, written and scored by Nick Cave, and set in frontier Australia. A very violent, fly-covered, dusty, hot Australia peopled by bad men, lawmen, and drunks with bad teeth. The acting and script were fantastic and a lot of the plot was not explained directly - and was left to the ability of the audience to piece together through context and interpetation. We were shown, not told. I recommend it highly if you're fortunate enough to live in a city that's showing it. To see if you are, you can go here.



I attempted to write a music review of Murder By Death's CD in the form of a song. Great conceptual idea - totally bloody useless. But I like what I wrote, so I share it here with you all, in hopes that someone among my readers has a voice like a gravel mixer and maybe some time in prison. Alan, the time you were in a holding cell at Grady Memorial doesn't count. If you don't know MBD, imagine Johnny Cash's singing this, and you'll understand.

Voila:

Starting Over Again (In Hell)

It’s hard to think of water, drink of water
In this heat
And it’s hard to call to Father, walk to Father
Down this street

One boatman’s not enough, his ferry’s stuffed
With cursed men
We all called the Preacher’s bluff, we were tough,
And scoffed at sin


And there is no sun in Hell
For the heat comes from the ground
Dug a trench and sunk a well
Black burning oil is all we found.


I guess Old Scratch forgot us, once he bought us
For all time
Our jailers never see us, never beat us
For our crimes


We tried to build a town, it fell down
Upon the sands
You can’t build a home, from rags and bones
And sinners’ hands


And there are no stars in Hell
All their light gets swallowed up
A good man will always fail
When there’s whiskey in his cup.


At night we hear the sounds, from the ground
Of voices raised
A bell is ringing, choirs singing
Hymns of praise

God’s forgiveness, that He gives us
After gavel’s fall
If only we had meant, that last repent
Our gallows call.

And there is a moon in Hell
It’s a pale and baleful eye
Pins us down like a nail
To cheat death, all you do, is you die.

Posted by Aaron at 8:26 PM | Permalink | Comments