Tallyrand

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Originally uploaded by hilarydarling

What can I possibly say about one of the best times I have ever had? In Jacksonville? In the world? I’ve traveled pretty far and wide, but the Tallyrand Music Festival that just stormed its way through Jacksonville’s metro park, hipsters and hippies alike, really stole the show yesterday.

It wasn’t crowded, but there was definitely a crowd. Spread between the three stages set up for our entertainment, it definitely made the audience seem a little sparse at times. At times throughout the day my friends and I, spread across some oversized beach towels, questioned whether or not the thin audience was a good thing or a bad thing. All in all, we determined, it was better for us. Therefore, a good thing.

People of all ages were showing up to support a relatively underground art scene that is bursting and budding through the topsoil to make Jacksonville a great up and coming artistic community. Everyone there was there for a reason. Not because it was the thing everyone was doing. Not because it had been massively publicized. But because Jacksonville has finally broken through to become a population of artists, or people who revel in the art that is made available to us.

Tallyrand brought a new breed of underground/mainstream music to Jacksonville that many people here love and enjoy, but has in the past not been made readily available to us. I hear these songs in the clubs or bars. DJ’s spin their discs and hipsters dance to them. we play them in our bedrooms and on our car stereos, but never before have they all come to us as one unit, as one massive party live and in person.

One might have expected a festival like this to have more of a draw. I mean, such big names in music as Polyphonic Spree, The Bravery, Spoon, and Keller Williams were all coming together for Jacksonville’s viewing pleasure. Or listening pleasure. But the atmosphere seemed to reflect a trend in Jacksonville these days. Really cool things are happening, and only those keyed into really cool things are picking up on it. These days in Jacksonville this kind of event is mostly spread through word of mouth. And I was a part of that massive mouth. So, all in all, I felt cool that I knew to come, and that I was basically surrounded by cool people.


I didn’t get there until right before Polyphonic Spree went on at 3. The Tallyrand stage was located at Metro Park’s Sydney Opera House-esque, a stage covered by a massive white tent that stretched into four peaks. They cut into the sky elegantly, and Polyphonic’s music seemed like a perfect match for it. It was eloquent and jovial and perfectly in sync. There must have been twenty people in the band hitting each note on cue. “They must practice all the time,” I thought to myself, envisioning the oversized band stuffed into a tour bus with their instruments banging together in an attempt to practice on the road.

I ran into a friend almost immediately. A guy I haven’t seen in years, a throwback to my high school days, walked into the present with a big grin and a huge hug. It started off a day filled with friends crossing paths, cold beers, hugs, bobbing heads in front of an amazing show, etc.

I ran into another friend, a few cousins, my sister’s old best friend from years ago, an acquaintance that is now one step closer to friend status, and some kids from my old church. And that’s just to name a few. It felt like my whole past, present, and future had come together for one of the coolest things to ever happen in Jax.

I remember the days when Jacksonville would try and have festivals like this, but no dice. I like to blame it on the conservative right that seemed to control this town for at least a decade. Maybe they still do, but are loosening their tight grip on our “society”. Call me crazy, but I think they were preventing the cool from coming to Jacksonville. But, you cant keep the cool away, no matter how hard you try. And as Jacksonville’s art scene has slowly trickled through the cracks over the years to finally form one massive puddle, the cool finally came to us. And being there for this festival, the first of its kind to my own knowledge, I was ecstatic to be a part of it. And extremely proud that I knew so many of the people there. It kind of reaffirmed my belief in my own coolness.

The Bravery put on another great show and I was singing along to songs I didn’t even know. But more than that it was just a great day in all. One of those days that only happen every so often, that keep you going through the crap days because you know one like the Tallyrand Festival will eventually come along again. The weather was beautiful. We could walk around outside with beers in our hands. We were listening and watching some of our favorite musicians. And it wasn’t too crowded. If this keeps on happening, if Jacksonville really is breaking through into the cool, then it wont be long before this kind of event is packed full of people leaving us beer stained, shoulder bruised and irritated. But it was perfect. Peaceful. And insanely fun.

My friend kept saying she wished we could do this every weekend, only to retract and say that if that were the case we probably wouldn’t appreciate it so much. I think that’s a profound insight to where Jacksonville is at right now. We are on the cusp. Things are booming. The cool is coming full force these days, but people haven’t caught on yet. We aren’t jaded yet. We still thrive in the greatness. We still think being outside with friends and great music and great weather is one of the best days ever.

I’m sure one day Jacksonville will kind of reach that place where we are jaded and are too cool to find these things cool, but luckily that day isn’t quite here. In my opinion, I moved back to Jacksonville at just the right time. And I can appreciate it. Coming from San Francisco, one of the country’s biggest cities, that jovial, appreciative perspective is long gone. So, we get the best of both worlds these days. We get the cool, but we also get to enjoy it.

Monotonix

There are times in my life when I will do things based on instinct alone. Although I don’t always know to trust it, instinct is a powerful tool. If we would only listen to it.

For instance, moving to California was sort of an instinct. I somehow just knew we would find jobs, a place to stay, friends, etc. We were completely unprepared for that kind of move, except for the cash, clothes, and guitar strapped to our back. But it felt right, and we went with it. Literally.

There have also been times when I’ve ignored my instinct. After visiting a friend in Spain, I kept telling my friend I was nervous about my flight home. But I was only nervous about one part. The short part, from Barcelona to Amsterdam. It made no sense.

The anxiety over the flight got so extreme that as I stood in the airport waiting for my boarding pass I even considered changing my flight. I felt crazy, having flown a thousand times, but I just did not have a good feeling about this. I was panicking. But, I played it cool, refusing to turn into Devin Sawa in Final Destination, freaking out and running off a plane just before it blew up. If my plane was going to blow up, I might as well blow up with it. Or rather, I convinced myself, the plane as clearly not going to blow up.

At the end of the flight I woke up to the sound of the pilot gravely speaking over the intercom in Dutch. He spoke for a long time, his voice extremely forlorn and the faces around twisting with fear. Finally he spoke English. Something was wrong at the Amsterdam airport and we wouldn’t be able to land. He didn’t know if we would ever be able to land, in fact, and we might have to reroute to another country. He would continue to circle with the rest of the planes hovering over the non-landable airport.

At that moment I had never been more acutely aware of how strong instinct really can be. As my body went into a full-fledged panic attack, I swore to myself that if I ever made it off the plane alive, I would never ignore my instincts again. Ten minutes later, the pilot gleefully instructed the flight crew to prepare for landing, and all was right in the world.

This past Sunday as I was checking my MySpace page I was faced with my instinct once again. TSI had posted a bulletin for a performance that night by the Israeli rock band Monotonix. I knew nothing about the band, didn’t even bother to listen to any of their songs, but something inside of me clicked. I had to go to this show. It was raining. I was tired. No one else wanted to go with me. I even got into a small tiff with my boyfriend in order to get him to tag along. All the while, I never once questioned my motivation for wanting to go to this show.

Turns out, it was one of the most amazing shows I have ever seen live in my entire life. The power that came out of this trio was absolutely mind blowing, an unavoidable force that sucked in every single person in the bar. They were everywhere, figuratively and literally. They filled the space between each breath and between each moment between that. Hands and fists pumped the air. Every song was met by a screaming ovation. The excitement for the band connected each one of us, making the audience more like one solid entity than individual people. I felt like I was on some sort of weird, mysterious rock drug.

Throughout their performance the lead singer, Ami, continued to move the drum kit around the venue. During their final song, the audience helped Ami move the drum kit one final time. Onto the bar. While the drummer continued to play. One minute he was on the ground, the next on a chair, and then as if by magic, on top of the bar. And he never missed a beat.
I told my boyfriend, over cheap PBR’s and huge grins, that I would never forget that night. He agreed. Everything else had melted away. It was just one of those moments. And as if the moment itself were not enough, Yonatan, the guitarist, popped up in front of us.

“Do you think we could crash at your place?” he asked humbly through a thick Isreali accent. Justin and I looked at each other for a split second.

“Of course,” we said, simultaneously.

And there it was. I had assumed my instinct was pulling me towards this bar, this show, this band because it was simply one of the most amazing shows I would ever see. But at that moment it all became clear.

We took them to the house. When I showed them the guest bedroom Yonatan said, “This room is available?”

“Yes,” I said. “This is where two of you will be sleeping.”

“Noooooooo,” he said, a small grin peeping out the side of his mouth. “I’m getting to bed!” He ran into the living room and grabbed his things quicker than a five year old at a sleepover. He’d found the best spot.

We spent the night mostly talking to Ran, the drummer. Ami crashed in the bedroom with Yonatan a half hour after arriving and that was the last we saw of them. But Ran stayed up. We drank Naty Lights, shared cigarettes, and talked about the Holy Land.

Ran asked us what we thought about life. He had a son. Was it worth the dream to be gone so long? Or were family and friends worth sacrificing the one other thing that made him feel alive?

My boyfriend and I knew something of the matter. We had been there, a lifetime ago. My boyfriend was a musician in a rock band, touring the world, gone ten months at a time, his most meaningful relationship turning into the one he had with his bunk bed.

I looked at my boyfriend. I understood the tinge of nostalgia that twinkled in his eyes.

“It’s like a drug,” said Ran.

And like any drug, it seems like enough to make life worth living. Even for me. I even got addicted, and I was just on the other side. But as we looked at Ran, fixed at this emotional crossroad, I knew that both my boyfriend and I were happy with the path we had taken.

Sure. We missed the dream. But this time, we weren’t living the dream, dreaming about life. We were living life, dreaming about where this life might take us. Maybe it was instinct that let us know which path was right for us.

issue 255

One of a city’s defining features, at least in my eyes, is the quality of its nightlife. There isn’t much I like more than a cute outfit, good music and a great place to go dancing.
So let’s compare. My favorite place to go in Oakland was this Irish Pub, McNally’s. It was green on the outside and on one of the oldest streets in the city, College Ave. Inside there was a huge stone fireplace, much appreciated on those cold, wet days of the rainy season. There was bumper pool, a game I had never heard of before and still have never mastered, a chess set on the back porch and posters everywhere. There was even a little tiki hut outside in the alleyway with Christmas lights and a television.

My crew and I were friends with the bartenders. We went there, on average, at least once a week. Even more so before we moved across town to Jack London. Tony, an old Irish man who had come to America at sixteen, was my favorite part of the experience. He knew more sexual innuendos than any other person in the world. And he could put any guy to shame any day of the week with his sly jokes and rapid-fire wit. He was affectionate with all the girls, and the most genuine, caring person you could ever expect to find. Everyone loved him. He probably had about twenty-three girlfriends, not to mention his actual girlfriend.

Tony told us about his life. He told us about losing his son. About coming to America and the hardships he faced in lieu of that transition. He told us about his broken first marriage. He was open with us, and he could read any one of us just as easily. So, he also gave us advice.
One time, Tony took my friend and me upstairs to the apartment above the bar. It was where the original owner of the bar, McNally, had lived. Now it doubled as an office and a place for too-drunk, close friends to crash. Although you couldn’t have paid me to crash up there; it was creepy as hell.

On the street just below, underneath the concrete sidewalk, was a tiny tombstone for Bill McNally, the original owner. He had been buried there back before the concrete existed, back before the buildings had turned into row houses, and there was still space for a grave. And there they had laid him, right outside his home and livelihood, his bar. That’s where he stayed, all these years, but almost a century later, a lot has changed.

Now all that was left was the small brass plate that marked his spot, just in front of the bar’s addition. My friend and I stood in the tiny room in the upstairs apartment, looking down onto the tombstone. I could swear a chill was passing through the walls and I could feel Bill McNally standing there with us, probably with a pint in his hand. We scurried out. Only one other time did I go back up there, and never again did I go in that room. No need to disturb the dead.

I loved McNally’s. When I think about Oakland and what I did for fun, that’s the first thing that comes to mind. It’s practically the only thing that comes to mind. McNally’s was awesome, but that’s where it ended for me. There was no dancing at McNally’s, either. Sure, you could have danced to the Jukebox, which we did on more than one occasion. But an Irish pub is not exactly what one thinks of when thinking about dancing.

Dancing in Oakland was almost impossible to come by. We finally found the Ruby Room, which was a retro throwback with low ceilings, a stone bar and red lights. There was a DJ and a tiny dance floor, but it was hardly used. And the music selection just wasn’t exactly my cup of tea. I remember on multiple occasions asking the DJ to play a certain song, and he would never have them. He would just look at me, surrounded by his vintage vinyls of the nineties, and say,

“Yeah, that really is a great song. I should get that.” Well, duh.

No, Jacksonville is different. Jacksonville’s nightlife far surpasses that which I found in the cities by the Bay. Even San Francisco seemed to fall short, and the commute was enough to make us forgo the venture all together. BART only ran until 12:30 AM and you still had to drive to and from the stations. It was redonkulous.

But Jacksonville offers me a number of choice options almost every night of the week. The Village Voice even recently sent one of their writers to come down for a show. We’ve come that far. We are worthy of a plane ticket. The writer went to TSI, one of my personal favorite dancing spots. I also like The Pearl, Eclipse, and Square One (on Wednesdays) for the awesome DJ’s who always play the best songs and always have what I request. The guy labeled the scene as “NYC wannabe.” Well, I can settle for that. At least we are emulating the best. Not bad, if you ask me. I’m sure it had something to do with the well-dressed hipsters, pushing their way into that fashion forward category despite limited availability. We just don’t have as many great stores. Yet. But the music is awesome. And the beer is pretty cheap. People are just ready to have a good time and dance.

Not that Jacksonville has made it there, but it’s getting closer. The art scene here is exploding and it shows in this creative nightlife. It’s not just my niche that is a good niche, there are plenty of niches for everyone.

There may not be a Tony or McNally’s here, but I don’t think I’m settling.