Tori Amos & The Light Princess at the National Theatre London

Of all the new musicals I've been eagerly awaiting this past year, London-premiering "The Light Princess" is the one I'm kicking myself I'll miss. With music by Tori Amos and based on Scottish Fairytale by George MacDonald, it basically has the potential to be perfect.

As produced by the National Theatre, I'm not sure it is though. 

There are already some interesting similarities between the storyline and The Little Mermaid-- and I don't just mean a red-headed heroine. But one thing I'm sure all theatre-goers can agree on is that no show should share production design with The Little Mermaid. Especially not this one. It, like TLM, seems to vacillate between up-scale ethereal, and plastic toy cartoon. For the record, I think the first is the way to go. See above. And the lowest photo below. 

It's interesting because Tori's aesthetic is pretty much perfect. But then again, knowing personally how little control most musical theatre writers have over design elements, I suppose it's not surprising she'd lose at least a few creative battles. 

 Anyone have a bootleg? I'd kill to hear some of this.

Washed Out - Parascosm - August

Summer just feels lacking if there's not a Washed Out record. I'm sad we'll have to wait until Summer's almost over to have this new one, Paracosm. 

I grew up spending summers with the Sextons and the Greenes in Perry. Blair, Ernie's now wife, and her family are responsible for some of my favorite childhood memories. Her grandmother, Billie, is almost as important to my juvenile education as my own grandmother.  

I'm happy for this little teaser video, but wish we could have a little more to go on. A single perhaps? Either way, we know Ernie's experimenting with a lot more instruments. Fifty, from what I'm told. Maybe I'll write and ask for an advance copy...winkwink. Let the summer begin! I think I'm going to blast some "Amor Fati" on my way down PCH to Pacific Palisades today. Pool Party!

Happy Memorial Day, everyone!

Memorial Weekend Friday Links

On my first free weekend in a long time, I plan on spending a lot of time outdoors. That's all I ask. Can one really ask more for Memorial Day Weekend? I won't even mind if I'm alone on some trails. My post-show depression is receding and I'm recharging for an intense summer of work and musical theatre. 

- My amazing Iona is writing for the Guardian now!!!
- Speaking of which, I'll be going here the next time I'm in NYC.
- The 5 most British Reactions to Honey Boo Boo
- Memory is malleable, dynamic, elusive.
- How to wreck your life with crowd funding.
- French children don't have ADHD. Interesting.
- The gangsta rap version of my blog is not too far from the real thing.
- My imaginary well-dressed toddler daughter, Quinoa.
- Annise Parker, ninjas!
- I do love beards.
- But this guy. He can do whatever he wants. Forever. Reddddddforrrrrrd. There can NEVER be enough Robert Redford appreciation articles. The. Ultimate.

Music Monday - New Haviland - We Fly

So pretty. In every way. It might be my favorite yet! Hope you're having an awesome Monday! I am still decompressing from last night. More on that to come. 

In the meantime, We Fly with Haviland.
The story behind this song is so touching. In her own words:

A year ago today, my wonderful friend, artistic collaborator, and "spiritual advisor" as I called her, Janet Carroll, passed on. You all may know her from playing "every handsome movie star's mom," - including my fave, the crystal egg obsessed Mom of Tom Cruise in "Risky Business." My new song "We Fly" is very much inspired by her and how her light helped me to see myself. Honoring her today, and always.

Get it on tunes.

written by Haviland Stillwell, produced by Alex Tievy mixed by Mike Schlosser mastered by sonic house post photo by Sabrina Bringuier cover design by Heather Weiss 

My Message to Shaping Sound on Opening Night

Before Shaping Sound officially opens tonight, I want to take a minute to talk about the richness of what this experience has given me and what spending 5 weeks with a group of dancers like them has taught me.

I've always known that fundamentally, I lead a cerebral life. I'm a writer. I'm mostly by myself. And if you asked where life exists, I'd easily be able to answer  that life happens in the brain; in my mind. I barely use my body. In many ways, I'm uncomfortable in it. But at the very least, I largely see it as the vessel which stores and facilitates my mind. (Special thanks to hands and fingers for the typing skills.)

I don't live in my body. In fact, I rarely even experience physical contact with other people. But these guys... man. These guys. They live so fully in their bodies. In every way. The way they relate to each other, to the world. The hugs I've gotten these past weeks. 

And more than being inspired by the work they do-- truly one of the most beautiful things I've seen on stage, in 10 years of working in live entertainment-- they have inspired me to be aware of how I live in my body. And to live in it. Get out of my head and into the physical space I'm lucky enough to occupy with those 16 ethereal, funny, drastic, precise, beautiful beings. 

More thanks than I can say, guys. For the lessons, for letting me be a part of it-- one of the best professional and artistic experiences of my career. I'm utterly invested in your success. 

What is going on? Friday Links

What is going on out there, you guys? I'm having a lot of feelings. Personally, so much is going right for me... it makes me feel a tad guilty to feel it all. I get sucked back into the feeling I've had so often for the past few years that things were so bad out there, it became a conflict to feel personally happy. 

I know that's not advisable, or even possible, but it's a very heavy pull to resist. I'm not sure anyone realizes how much time I spend thinking about safety, danger, and terrorism. Both personally and professionally. In addition to my own traumas, I've literally spent years living in the emotional world of my characters where Russian terrorism is the heart of their identity. And so much information. It feels like that has seeped into reality and the present day. It's not the truth, it's just how it feels. 

I feel a lot more about these brothers in Boston, but here is not the place for them. Instead, perhaps, it's best to remember how much is going on in the world on all ends of the spectrum. So here are you links:

- I spend a lot of time on this blog.
- Always enjoy a good Elizabeth Warren bank smack down.
- UGH.
- Sylvia Plath's New York. 
- Let's move back to St. Andrews and live here!
- Um... the tunnel people of my hometown? Vegas, who ARE you?
- My fabulous fellow Rice '04 classmate, Caroline Shaw, just won the Pultizer in music!
- A map of NYC's inequality based on subway stop.
- You guys. The English language is rich and diverse. Try harder. Instead of Awesome.

Poliça - "Give You The Ghost"

As I'm looking back over this year and making my Best Of lists, I realize I never talked about one of my favorite albums of the year. It will surely be on my Best of 2012 Albums list, but I thought I'd devote some proper space to it here. 

As Poliça, for all their European mood & sound, is a band from Minneapolis. Fronted by Channy Leaneagh-- part gamine, part enigma; depending on the light-- Poliça came together after her last  band died and has only been in existence for about two years. 

In that  time, they've managed to record "Give You The Ghost" an album as moody and ethereal as the name would suggest.(Or alienating-- in a good way-- as one reviewer coined. I'd agree. There is lot of distancing, refracted distortion and unapologetic use of autotune, not that we're not used to that by now.)  But Poliça (the name means policy in Polish) also has some authority to it. And the non-stop lap beats don't hurt. It's my favorite night driving album of the year. I didn't even really appreciate it until I got here. 

From their initial appeal in their hometown, followed by a pretty legendary SXSW showing, they've basically been touring the US and Europe ever since. If I were still living in London, I'd go see them there in March. Or maybe I'd use it as an excuse for a trip to Paris. They're the perfect band to see on a winter Paris night. 

"Lay Your Cards Out" may or may not be my favorite song on the album. It's hard to decide. But perhaps you've heard it. It's been making the rounds. Enjoy. 

Become You. The NPR version of You.

Pretty much all of my adult life, I've been looking to make my life circumstances align with my deeply-held idea about myself as an avid NPR listener. Only one other-- brief, beautiful-- time was I able to make it a real fabric of my day. That was when I was working my worst job to date: as studio assistant to a world-famous lighting designer in New York. 

For the months I had this part time gig (before she flipped out and called me incompetent for not reading her mind) I came to associate the morning pleasant lull of WNYC with the lighting designer being in a good mood. When she was travelling, I'd flip it on just for my own pleasure while I watered her ficus plants and cacti. Before that, in my childhood, I associated it with night driving and my father and laughing to Prairie Home Companion. Now, I equate it with the mental state I'm after. 

But Los Angeles. Oh, Los Angeles and my sunny Hollywood spot. My home now was made for NPR. Just today, my best friend Emily said, "Don't you love the NPR in LA? KCRW?" And I do! It's one of the few realities that live up to my fantasies of it. In my mind, I'd flip on an old radio to KCRW on misty Los Angeles mornings while I make coffee. I sit at my little kitchen table in my robe, taking my sweet time, and I laugh and am enlightened on all foreign policy and art issues I care about, but feel sometimes overwhelmed by, and I learn about all kinds of new things to hold my interest. The only difference between my fantasy and the reality is that I listen on my NPR iphone app. Sometimes I pick and choose stories and sometimes I flip to WNYC when I miss New York. But I am utterly happy when I do this. 

One of my favorites is The Moth. True Stories told live by artists and interesting people ranging from relative obscurity to relative and/or fading fame. Storytelling. Mmm. "Storytelling for everyday raconteurs." You go, Peabody judges. 

It's like a dream come true. They're all very real and basic and often simple and always poignant while revealing some mono no aware thing about living. Recently, I laughed in every room of my house while writer Walter Mosley told a wonderful and very real story about identifying language and its meaning. It is a delight. I cannot recommend enough. 

Also check out my old friend Suzanne Vega on Stage Fright. 

Sometimes, I lament that we have no BBC. But then I remember NPR and I am soothed again. 

Cloud Chaos & Sky Smearing with Matt Molloy

It's such a beautiful day outside today, it seemed like the perfect time to post these romantic and soulful  time lapse photos from Matt Molloy. 

I learned about him via My Modern Met and have been scrolling through his flickr ever since. The Ontario based artist uses hundreds of stacked photos to achieve the affect. I'd say it's working. SO dreamy. I want to hang that cloud and birds one in my house, man. Hope you're having a beautiful Saturday! 

If you're craving more, here's an interview with the artist. And you can buy his work here. 

A Nomad Finds a Home in Historic Hollywood

You guys. After nearly six months of this year spent living out of a suitcase, schlepping via over night bus, etc etc, on Tuesday, I will move into my very own adorable vintage Hollywood one bedroom. Complete with original 1920's fixtures and all the charm of Old Hollywood, I could not be more excited than I am to get in some space of my own and feel truly settled. 

The view from my front door is the Hollywood sign. And I'm six blocks from Paramount, where my little townhouse was built in 1923 for Paramount workers. In addition to some original period features, it's been suped up with a bit of history, such as doors from the famed Ambassador Hotel: former home of the Cocoanut Grove Nightclub, the 2nd & 12th Annual Academy Awards (Where Gone with the Wind won 10 awards including Best Picture !!!), and tragically, the 1968 Assassination of RFK. It was demolished in 2005, and one of the room doors is now my front door. On top of all that, it's light and airy and even has a dishwasher. I didn't think I could afford to live alone, but sometimes, you just get lucky. 

And! And! I'm feeling even more lucky because the fabulous Dena is so very generously helping me decorate, so I can pimp the place out in the Hollywood splendor it deserves. Lots of whites and beiges and metallics and mirrors. A big cream Chaise and a mirrored desk. A regal upholstered bed-- the only thing that will end up fitting in my cubby bedroom. Even all my belongings from London will be delivered right to my doorstep next week! Happy girl right up over here.

Woof.

Via. 

Sunday So Dreamy

What is it about Scandanavians and that dark fairy tale tone? They just tap into that like nobody else. Hans Christian Andersen, anyone? I came across these fabulous pieces by Norwegian artist, Rune Guneriussen, via Honestly WTF and haven't been able to get them out of my head, so I'm passing them on to you. Haunting. Lovely. Woodsy. And as CS Lewis once said, "It begins, as a good story should, with a young man [or woman!] lost in a forest."

Hope you're having a dreamy Sunday!

More. 

Florence + The Machine + The Hollywood Bowl

Before time totally gets away from me, I wanted to share a little bit about Flo and her awesome Machine at the Hollywood Bowl. She was joined by The Maccabees (why has no one ever casually mentioned how hot the lead singer of said Maccabees is? Is that a recent thing? I don't remember him being hot.)  and another love, The Weeknd. I was joined by two of my favorites as well: Haviland and Ashley. There was a lot of mermaid hair in this group. 

Other than the psycho fan girls of The Weeknd next to our box (seriously, I feel old. Since when do bands like the Weeknd get ruined by SCREAMING teenagers? Isn't that reserved for the Biebs and Glee concerts?) all three sets were a treat. We lounged in our comfy cox chairs and chilled out (when we could actually hear him over the screaming) to The Weeknd. Then we jumped to our feet and hopped around (she asked us to) with Flo. 

Florence is the kind of wild horse-tree nymph-seventies film goddess you want to be when you grow up. Or in your imagination if you can envision a world where you relinquish any and all Type A tendencies. Not to mention, a deep deep sense of what is inherently theatrical.

She skips everywhere she goes. I'd like to do that. She makes everyone hop around on the finale "Dog Days Are Over." She knows the importance of a harp. In many ways, The Hollywood Bowl is the venue she was born to play. She should set up residence there. 

While my Dog Days I fear are far from over, this night was the first night where I felt like I lived in Hollywood. And for now, that'll do. 

Special Thanks to Alex Tievy for the tix!

Americana, Man

One week ago, my dad and his surrogate (my surrogate) family, in addition to some culture-shocked Scots, were rocking out to Steamboat Springs at the Myrtle Beach Depot. There was free New South Beer (Red Ale = delicious) and Red Velvet cake and brisket and pretty much everything amazing. 

Dad rocked out in all ways, as usual, but most especially, Statesboro Blues. And I got a little teary, as I always do, when they played Music Man in honor of Jeff. His son Hunter is practically a man now, and I hope a few more of these concerts and we'll have that college fund of his taken care of. 

My family's never quite been the same since my Grandfather died. It's hard to know what to rally around. But these gatherings somehow always clear up the confusion for me. I am enormously grateful for them. And for all the effort of so many people to make it happen. 

I'm not sure that my Scottish friends really appreciated what was going on. Perhaps its kind of an inside joke. But for some just off the boat Scots (And one who's reluctantly heading back) I can guarantee they witnessed some some m-f-in' Americana, Man. 

This Boat Is Real. Halifax Boat Cruise at Sunset

Are you guys sick to death of my travel photos? Can one even get sick of beautiful locales? I'm going to hope your answer is no and keep editing and moving through some of these, but I also promise that I'll be taking some quality alone time in Brooklyn this weekend while I housesit for one of my favorite people to hit you with some real writing or whathaveyou. 

Today, on the other hand, let's bliss out on a Canadian Seaside Sunset. We took a boat cruise the first night I arrived in Halifax. It was chilly and brisk and the air smelled salty and fresh and amazing-- a welcome contrast to the 12 hours I'd just spent in NYC, the 8 hours on a plane, and six months of rain in London before that. 

We danced, drank a strange Coors Light Iced-Tea beverage, let our hair frizz, and caught up with people, some of whom we hadn't seen in years. Obviously, because let's face it, Aly and I take the opportunity to sing "I'm On A Boat" even when we're not on a boat, even when we're somewhere like a Madrid Roof terrace, we sang snippets of our jam allll night lonnnng. It's a joke obviously, but then the thing is, I'm sincere about it. No matter what the body of water: The Seine, The Thames, The Tiber, The Hudson, or Halifax Harbour, there's pretty much no where I'd rather be than floating on a boat on the water with my friends. 

This float was special, too, in that we even saw a Mountie Wedding. That's right! A Royal Mounted Canadian Police (did you know that they're called, amongst themselves, "The Force?" Hardcore.)  getting married in full costume. Most of the Haligonians said it was pretty much the first time they'd ever seen a Mountie in that get-up, but nevertheless, it didn't feel like we could have gotten much more Canadian than that. 

Halifax Harbo(u)r - Natal Day Fireworks

Saturday night before Aly & Dion's wedding, the city of Halifax decided to celebrate them with a fireworks extravaganza. Okay, actually the fireworks were for Halifax's birthday, the uncomfortably named Natal Day. 

Though, apparently, Halifax isn't a city. It was dissolved in 1996 and made a municipality along with a few other former cities. There are no longer cities in Nova Scotia. I have no idea what that actually means, but I'm intrigued by what appears to be a lot of semantics and bureaucratic rigmarole. 

City, Municipality, unincorporated provincial metropolitan area, potato, po-tah-to, I have to give it to Halifax Harbo(u)r. Daytime, Sunset, Night time... it is gorgeous 24/7. 

Fresh, Friendly, Local - A Trip to Brooklyn's Farmacy

Being back in NYC with the heat and humidity made a trip to a classic old time soda shop a necessity. After a day of babysitting the adorable Penny, we (Penny, Penny's mom Bob and I) decided to take ourselves on down to Brooklyn's adorable Farmacy. New York is known for its egg creams and soda floats and Farmacy takes the whole thing to a new level.

Our pal Bryce Nice mixed me up one of their best: The Violet. It's a soda float with vanilla soda and black raspberry ice cream. Ugh! Perfectly refreshing and not too sweet. Other flavors I was tempted by: The Betty Boop- chocolate soda and vanilla ice cream, The Purple Haze- chocolate soda and black raspberry ice cream, and The Strawberry Fields- strawberry soda and ice cream. 

Let it be known as well that this place has shelves and shelves of dill pickles. One of the things I'm happiest about now that I'm back in the USA is the return to a world with dill pickles. I was also thiiiis close to leaving that place with about 5 jars of pickled okra. 

If you should find yourself round Carroll Gardens way, you should stop in at Farmacy. I think it might be my new babysitting Penny tradition. 

For Alyson & Dion, On Their Wedding

It was my great honor, this past Sunday, to stand under the chuppah with my best friends and say a few words-- some mine, some Don Paterson's-- about their great love and our shared experiences together over the last seven years. The two of them remain constant sources of inspiration to me to stay patient, to enjoy it all, and that loyalty to those you love really is its own reward. Here's what I said. It was a really beautiful day and I'm so grateful I could be a part of it. More from the wedding to come. 

For Aly & Dion

August 5, 2012

I spend a lot of time thinking about geography. So I'd like to say a little bit today about finding your way.  

There's a kind of emotional geography to these readings-- what you'll write and what you'll say-- in that, the spot on the map you're aiming for is the sentiment that is equally true of the bride and groom's relationship as it is of your personal feelings about them. That's why I'd like to start in New York City and end in Scotland, both old and new. 

New York is the kind of place where serendipity doesn't hide. It's right around every corner, on every subway platform, in every artistic partnership formed at a bar, in every answered craigslist ad. This is how we all came to be together today. Even though New York is on a grid system, it can still be remarkably easy to feel lost on occasion. It's the kind of place that serves as a proving ground that we are capable of making our way in the world alone....

But also that it is easier... and sweeter... when we go together. The way any number of people can see off the light of a single candle... and how that candle loses nothing by lighting others from its flame.  This is the best way I can think of describe both Aly and Dion. What they represent to me, to each of us here, and to each other. 

I'd like to quote my friend, the great Scottish poet (and rockstar!) Don Paterson: "And the true path was as lost to me as ever, when you cut in front and lit it as you ran. See how the true gift never leaves the giver; returned and redelivered."

For me (especially for me) and for each other, you have served as beacons-- lighting the path in front with your glowing, inimitable 'Aly&Dion-ness,' providing unparalleled comfort & relief, and signaling the way home. Which perhaps has never been a spot on the map at all-- never here nor there-- but which has always been together. 

Say Hello, Then Say Farewell to the Places You Know

This is Small American, Signing off from Great Britain. Though there have been ups and downs, the literal greatness of this chapter of my life is inarguable. The enormity of it all; how much living I packed into these two years, and how much idleness, stillness I earned-- that I relished-- (mostly) will probably take re-entering the rat race to fully understand. 


I'll plan on unpacking that here once I've... ya know...unpacked. Right now, I'm still actually packing. But in the meantime, I'll leave you the same way that I came-- with this song. I remember the moment Taylor played it for me in my room at Deans Court. That was the moment I knew I was on a serious adventure. I am a much changed person from that day-- and very much more/better of the same. 

Go sing, too loud
Make your voice break- Sing it out
Go scream, do shout 
Make an earthquake...

Whatever you may be debating, my advice is go do. We should always know that we can do anything. 

Reflecting in St Peter's Basilica

After the communication onslaught of yesterday (connecting with everyone over Ben has been really moving) I've been kind of quiet today. Packing, thinking, and realizing that what I did when I woke up the next morning after finding out that news was go to the capital of Catholicism: The Vatican and St Peter's Basilica, where the apostle Peter was crucified upside down. I think Ben would have had a chuckle about me heading to the Vatican in a way, in his honor. Many of our discussions were about Buddhism and Catholicism. Though he was pretty cool with Buddhism too. 

Everyone keeps asking if we went to the top of St Peter's and the answer is no, actually. I'll explain more later, but let's just say I had reached my limits of standing in line and sharing stank air in confined spaces with strangers. 

Even without journeying to the top, St Peter's is breathtaking. From the square with its outstretched arms that hug inward-- welcoming you into the fold-- to every golden overlapping angle. Crepuscular rays for days. A scientific word far too ugly for the thing it's describing. 

I love being in churches, cathedrals and chapels-- of any religion even more than I like cemeteries. It easier to hear the stories of what came before in places like that. It's easier to feel still enough to listen. 

There was a mass happening while we were there and singers. It was just a glowing, golden feeling bouncing off every one of those angles. Music. Light. Breeze. I was grateful.