Colour Revolt tour diary: 5/25/08

I haven’t Pasteblogged in awhile, honestly, because I haven’t had much to say. Now I sort of do. After two weeks of dismal dreariness briefly punctured by one (uno) snippet of lovely in New York, the sun decided to haul its butt out from behind the clouds and make the day not look so ugly. We spent the whole day with our wonderful sweet booking agent, Wendy, and we saw a bunch of kids fly kites. As the past two weeks have been a plague-bespotted misery for some of us (our van was starting to resemble a sick ward, only dirtier, and vaguely smelling of burrito and socks), it was a welcomed change, IE: we finally took off our jackets for the first time in God knows how long. Seriously. It’s nearly June. It’s like 100 degrees in Mississippi. That’s summer: endless, unavoidable sweating. Why is it so damn cold everywhere else?

Anyways, enough of my complaining. Snowden is a wonderful band to tour with. I’ve particularly gotten along with Corinne, the bassist, who has a sincere love for Carson McCullers, and how many rock and rollish people do you meet like that? She is a gift, she is. I turned her on to Barry Hannah and she’s giving me Bulgarian throat singing, so I think a friendship is fast forming. The shows have been very well attended (minus Buffalo—thanks to the four of you who showed up), especially Toronto. I love Canada so much. Everyone is kind and beautiful. It’s like this weird, dirty Heaven. Not to mention this one guy let us hold Townes Van Zandt’s invisible dice. No kidding. Townes gave them to him at a show in the early nineties, and he let both me and Jesse hold them for a second. See what I mean? Canadians are the jam.

Nice graffiti in Ohio:

What is rock 'n' roll life? Here: off day, can’t remember when, I think in Albany, maybe. Everyone was sick and lounged around the hotel watching HBO, and I wasn’t having any of that, so I walked to a movie theatre, bought a hot dog and a ticket to Speed Racer, and, as there was one of those Cheesecake Factories around, I made a night of it. Let me tell you, don’t listen to the critics. Regard their counsel somewhere near that of Satan’s lesser minions (and this is for a magazine that writes reviews, I’ve written reviews myself, hypocritical, etc. etc.). Now I feel bad, because some dear friends of mine are critics, and they’re just normal people anyway, crunched for time, trying to make a buck. Regardless, you should trust your guts and your own eyes and ears more than some rando from the New York Times. Not even to mention the fact that it takes months (or even years) of constant attention at best to form a good opinion about anything at all. But honestly, as one who grew up with Speed Racer, the movie was fantastic, not at all ADD, and burdened by a heavy-handed moral message worthy only of Saturday Morning Cartoons (remember, ladies and gentlemen, that adherence to a form is as lovely and becoming a thing as the subversion of it, something the idiots seem to have forgotten). Not to mention Christina Ricci is way hot.

My Lord, if I hear one more person say they’re “jaded” about music or film or life I swear I’ll rip them with a meat hook. I mean, good God, just look outside for about five minutes. Or, if you happen to be in New York, fly to Mississippi and go look outside for five minutes. And then, if you’re still jaded about anything, well, I guess there’s no hope for you, and you should probably go write reviews of things. All that to say, the woods are lovely, the darkest and most mysterious of things, and anyone cut off from them must have a hard go at it.

Also, I love Sean Kirkpatrick. Look at that guy dance! See him celebrate his Native American heritage!

Adieu, adieu, and don’t forget all the important stuff.

Love and animal cookies,

Jimmy

P.S. - Real quick: We just got off the stage in Chicago, and I really need to say this: God, I love to play so much. I can’t even believe it. There’s just this weird thing that happens whether it’s 2,000 people or five, when it just doesn’t matter and your brain quits and it’s just wonderful. I saw this Discovery Channel thing on how your brain works, how professional athletes and martial artists’ brains work, how right before the action, half the brain shuts down, everything except the tiny little bit that functions you to move. That’s how it feels, if it makes any sense. It’s all colors and wonderful, and I love it with all my heart.

Just sayin'.