Lazerstarred?

There were no lazers and no stars needed the night Lazerstar, the one man local band consisting solely of Chase Capo, stole the night away from Nicky Click, America’s version of a slightly crass hipster feminist. He did it like the flip of the switch. He turned on the fun. She, it seemed, turned it off.

I have heard a lot about Lazerstar. I heard about the desire for sparkly things and the energetic, while slightly kitschy approach to the music. What I had not heard was actually any of Lazerstar’s music. So when Capo proceeded to take off his clothes, stripped down to nothing but metallic neon biker shorts and a yellow T-shirt, I was sure that all the rumors were true.

It was awesome. Not that I expected otherwise. It was sort of like a great book all your friends told you to read until you felt like you know it already, so you aren’t that excited about it. But then you finally read it and it really is one of the best books you’ve ever read. That is how I felt about Lazerstar. His energy was tangible and electric. The songs were light and energetic, but full of depth and connectivity. He played a guitar with a duct tape guitar strap. There was a guy, who we assumed to be either Capo’s biggest fan or very close friend, who was simultaneously both the most amazing dancer I had ever seen and also wildly out of control. And Capo made those neon blue biker shorts look almost fashionable.

However, my friend and I were really there for the Nicky Click show. I knew nothing about her, just that she had toured with a few bands I really enjoy and so I figured, by association, she would be good. Wrong. I listened to her songs on MySpace and I was less than impressed. Still, we showed up, ready to give it a shot.

When we arrived, there were Nicky Click music videos playing on the TV screens. The videos were ironic, I suppose, while hipster to the power of a gazillion. We found them extremely amusing.

Then we saw Nicky herself standing right behind me ordering some kind of adult beverage. I pointed at her and mouthed, “It’s her!” to my friend who had actually pointed her out to me, instead. When she came around a second time, looking for an ashtray, we decided to give her a matchbook with a cleverly written phrase scrawled on the inside flap. It read “Karaoke > Karate”.

We thought it was hysterical. That was until we found the matchbook discarded carelessly next to the abandoned ashtray. Uh-oh, had she found it offensive? Did she not understand that all the matchbooks had ridiculous fortunes written all over them? (I, in fact, took one home that read: if you are rendering matchbooks all night—you need to get laid.) Had she taken it personally, as in, “We think your music is glamorized karaoke”? Crap.

So later, after Lazerstar had put stars in our eyes, Nicky Click took to the stage, now donning a wig and an extremely short, ill-fitting French maid dress. After the excitement of Lazerstar, the energy and hilarity of the music that made us move, Nicky’s audience stood still. She reminded me of a cheap knock off version of the sexually expressive Peaches mixed into the larger than life Beth Ditto from The Gossip, both of which I love, but it just didn’t work. I felt bad for her. No one was dancing. In fact, people were leaving.

I am a fan of hers. She is very creative (we did love her music videos) and has a great persona. But it somehow did not translate into musical genius. Her music felt uninspired. Later, after sneaking away from the stage while Nicky wasn’t looking, my friend and I encountered Capo outside. After striking up a conversation we discovered that a) he loved both karaoke and karate b) needed to buy more neon metallic spandex and c) lived in a New York City Buddhist monestary for nearly three months. In fact, some of his music was written in reflection of his time there.

So there it is. Nicky Click is all attitude. She is so far into hipsterville that you can’t see the person inside the persona. And Lazerstar is all person that turns into a persona. And in the end you can’t be real good if you don’t got the real.

let's go for a walk

They say the south is not conducive for walking. I don’t exactly know who says this, or what evidence that have to prove it, but I can basically account for its validity. Everyone in the south drives a car. I don’t care if its two houses down the street, we are going to drive there. It’s just how our brains have been wired. We’ve also been wired to fry everything from olives to okra so it really isn’t surprising no one wants to go for a walk.

The other day I was shopping down in Five Points at this great boutique Anomaly. I had a thank you card I needed to mail, but I absolutely hate trying to find a post office or mailbox. I asked the store worker if she knew where I could find a mailbox in the area. She told me there was one down on Park St. Well, considering the store was on Park St. I asked her if I could walk to it. Park is pretty long, so the question was valid. She explained to me where it was exactly. Around to the right and down a street. But she told me she wasn’t sure if I would want to walk there because I might get tired.

I thought I’d take my chances. It turned out to actually be just around the right at the next street, which was about a quarter mile away. I laughed out loud. Who in their right minds could possibly think that this would be a suitable distance to deem unwalkable!?

But it’s the south. We walk nowhere. And not to knock the girl from the store. She’s just been trained. And granted, most people would have driven. It’s kind of the same drive that makes us circle a parking lot for ten minutes waiting for the closest spot when we could have already been in and out if we had just parked in the back. But basically, we are just lazy.

Well, living in California kind of altered my perception of the whole walking issue. People walk everywhere there. It’s one of those cities. There is a mass transit system, a much utilized bus system, and there is a lot within walking distance. So I guess it just seems natural. Plus, parking there is an absolute terror. As in, there is no parking unless you want to pay thirty bucks for an hour or find a spot on the street two miles away in which case walking from where you started would have been closer anyway.

Californians are also, ironically, considered some of the healthiest people in the country, a fact they will never let you forget although if you leave the metropolises and enter the valley you will find some of the country’s most morbidly obese people around. In fact, on the newest survey that just came out of the country’s most obese cities, California had at least four or five cities in the top twenty.

Regardless, I lived in the city and got used to walking. It was great. It was brisk. (Usually because it was generally freezing there. And when I say freezing I mean chilly.) I felt more in shape. I liked being outdoors and really getting a sense of where I was, not just a butt impression on my car seat. And now with the invention of the iPod there is even a portable soundtrack for walking.

When I moved back to Florida I made sure to move to a place where I could maintain some of this walkable culture. So, I moved to San Marco. And, I live within walking distance of a thousand great things. Restaurants, bars, shops, cafés, parks. You name it, I can probably walk to it.

As my ex-patriot friend (she currently resides in Barcelona) and I strolled through the streets of San Marco back to my house from lunch at La Napolera she sort of twirled around in the wide open street and said, “You know, you can decide to make your life a walking life. Even in Jacksonville.” Then we got to my house, hopped in my car and I drove her home. Come on. She lives a good three miles away. But you get

The Black Kids

The Black Kids, of which only two of the band members actually make this namesake a truth (which I love), are hitting the scene, doing a great job, about to become famous. They are your run of the mill indie band in a lot of ways, but they have a shocking name, some really great songs, and an eclectic mix of characters that makes them intriguing on a world wide fame kind of level.

They’ve received national recognition. The New York Times has supposedly taken notice, Billboard has their eye on them, and Rolling Stone has even marked them as one of the ten best new bands for 2008. So wow! Another great thing coming out of great ol’ Jacksonville.

I vaguely kind of have met these guys on a few random occasions. We run in similar circles. I am a semi-regular at TSI, their local headquarters where a few of the members DJed for a while. When I went to my first Black Kids show, I was excited. It’s cool to see someone close to you do so well. (As we are clearly, like, best friends forever.) I think this must be a trend amongst people wanting to take some claim of the fame for themselves. And I knew who they were and I knew they were getting a lot of attention. When I heard they were coming to TSI (but of course), I had to see what all the fuzz was about.

The show was great. I mean, they made me want to dance and move around and there was a lot of clapping and shouting (by band members) and things of that nature. I can’t remember any of the songs, but that could have been the beer or the dancing or the way I couldn’t really see through the over-packed throng of fans.

After the show I went up to one of the band members and asked them how it felt to be experiencing so much success. His basic response to me was: It’s about f—king time.

I must have looked shocked (as I stood there motionless) because he followed it by explaining how hard he had worked for so long and blah blah blah.

Well well well! Divaness unite! Actually, there is this syndrome that I have been unlucky enough to experience first hand a number of times. It’s called LSD. It makes you hallucinate, think you’re God, see things that aren’t really there. It is Lead Singer Disorder. It happens to the best of them. I think it’s a sure fire sign that a band has reached some kind of mild success.

So, perhaps this band won’t be that band. Although I have never seen a band it didn’t affect. The Shins seem to suffer from this. (This one time in Atlanta, after driving hours to see them live, we ended up staying at their hotel. The lead singer was walking past us and we said good show. Yet, he somehow found it impossible to even turn his eyes our way. LSD I tell you!) It’s a pretty rampant disorder that producers and A&R guys and band members will all back up.

So the next time I go to see them I set my expectations at par. Big egos, good music, lots of people, dancing. Pretty average.

I pass that same band member leaning against the bar with a few of his friends. None of them are talking. Just staring into the great abyss that is his success. I ask if I can get his picture.

He immediately starts to giggle.

“You want to take my picture?” he asks me, still giggling while his silent friends move to the sides like the red sea parting for Moses.

“No no no!” I keep telling them. I just wanted a normal picture. “Get back together. I wanted you as you were.”

The friends seemed surprised, and so did mister LSD. But he complied. And I got a nice, “normal” picture of a guy and his friends.

There was also a crew at this show filming a documentary. They didn’t tell you who they were with exactly, but they only asked questions about The Black Kids.

“Do you own any of their music?” they would ask.

“No,” I responded. I didn’t even know you could own their music yet.

“What do you think about their new success?”

“I’m waiting to see if they will develop major diva behavior.” I said in all seriousness.

“Why do think that will happen?” he asks, laughing through bit cheeks.

“Because it happens to every band that experiences some level of success.”

“And you don’t think The Black Kids are different?” This guy was about to crack up.

“No.”

illuminated by luminaries

Every year Avondale does their annual luminaries celebration. For years, I have heard about this event, about the hayrides that occur and the crowds of people. I had a general understanding that it was a fun time, but not a fun time that I had ever participated in. It seemed like some exclusive, for the neighbors’ type of thing. And also, we had our own dang luminaries that I could drive around and see. What is all that exciting or different from one lit up [possibly enflamed] paper bag?

Well, this year, I finally got an official invitation to partake in Avondale’s luminary extravaganza. Actually, I got two official invitations. And somehow, being that my grandmother recently moved to the area, I felt completely compelled to participate.

We parked at my grandma’s house around 5:45 and, armed in hand with wine and cookies, made our way to party numero uno. We walked through the park, whose winding trails were lined with luminaries. The air was a crisp negative twenty degrees, so it really felt like the holidays, and the walk warmed our veins. The luminaries really were beautiful. Somehow tea candles and paper bags can turn a street into a serene, angelic sort of place. The appropriate oohs and ahhs were distributed amongst us.

When we reached the strip of stores and restaurants on St. Johns Ave. a small trickle of people had already started to form. Horse drawn sleds [carriages] were beginning to roam the streets, looking for warm bodies to fill their seats. There were large black stallions of horses, and sweet, little white ponies. We passed the restaurants, the shops, the people on the street waiting for tables, and even a luminary in a wild, smothering flame.

We finally arrived at party number one: the street. A beautiful house on the edge of the strip, covered in sparkling white lights and red, velvety ribbons. Adults filtered in and out of the house, between the chili and the cookies and the soups and the cakes. Tables adorned the front yard, while kids played in the street shouting at the slow trickle of people-filled trailers making their way down St. Johns. What I had assumed to be a sort of neighborly affair was shaping up to be quite the event.

We sat at the table, watching as more and more floats began to pass by. Extravagantly lit, decorated with Santa’s, blow up Frosty Snowmen, filled with chatty children chucking hard candies as our bodies became targets for the sweet projectile bullets, the floats started to fill the street little by little.

Eventually, we moved on to party number two: the float. I dashed inside, grabbed a quick chicken finger and miniature quiche, poured some hot cider and put on my Santa’s hat. We climbed inside the trailer and laid blankets over the hay and then over our legs before making our way down St. John’s Ave. At first, we were far away from the action. But as we drove, the cold winter air blasting our cheeks, we passed hordes of cars and trucks and trailers who screamed “Merry Christmas” at us with smiles and waves. Occasionally, a peppermint would fly through the air and [hopefully] land gently in the hay by our feet, avoiding our heads and extremities. The closer we got, the more people and trailers and Christmas lights we saw.

One trailer blasted Christmas Karaoke loudly into the street. Another had rocking chairs and benches filling its space. Some were decked out with lights strung high into the sky. And yet another had taken the seat out of a car and strapped themselves into that.

We laughed as the air chilled our faces and hands. We collected candies that had bounced off our heads and popped them into our mouths. We waved and laughed with the people around us. How had I not done this before? I had known about it for years, but this time, illuminated by the luminaries, I realized that this is something we should all partake in. Just come and stand in the streets, or drive a trailer from the beaches, or hop on board a horse drawn carriage. However you do it, don’t let this very merry Jacksonville experience float on by.

where has all the music gone?

One of the critical issues of the holiday season is the giving of gifts. Clearly, this is a nationwide trend. I can’t imagine one speck of American culture that excludes themselves from this materialistic tradition, myself included. I love it. I love to shop. I love earning a quick buck and then spending it. And I love to hand pick gifts especially for a person that draws out some little nook or cranny of their personality via torn wrapping paper and loose ribbon.

Jacksonville is filled with a thousand places to find such oddities. I go to thrift stores, scour the knick-knacks, potpourri and ornaments, rummage through pet stores and dress stores all for that perfect gift. There isn’t one place I won’t go, but I do have a particular fondness for all things local. There is a flavor that comes with local shops that one can’t find elsewhere. I take a lot of pride in what local Jacksonville retail has to offer. It makes this town in my eyes. And I do love a tasty treat.

A few weeks ago, buried deep inside Talbots at the Town Center, a young woman about my age complimented my mother’s sunglasses.

“They’re from Edge City!” I said, with uber enthusiasm. I was received with a blank stare.

“You know, in Five Points.” Still nothing. The girl had never even heard of Five Points. I about fainted. But, as it turns out, there are people out there who don’t know about our little gems of Jacksonville. In my mind, what would Jacksonville provide without such spices? Strip malls, a lot of traffic, and perhaps some reddish hues that give us a bad name?

However, the other day as I was talking with my old roommate from California, she mentioned a trip to Amoeba music store and it hit me. I could not think of one single independent record store in town. Having worked (briefly) at Vinyl Fever in Tallahassee, I am personally very drawn to their quirky, somewhat elitist atmosphere. It makes the experience of buying music more authentic, especially in this era of downloads and MySpace.

Jacksonville seems to have lost many of its local music stores. Sure, there are the Barnes and Nobles and the Borders. But where can I go to find those slightly obscure cd’s that aren’t sold in corporate powerhouses who are only after the high price tag? And I do not think I should have to whip out a phone book to find a music store. That kind of information should be readily available at the front of my brain.

My spirit has crushed. What is the world coming to? And why did Jacksonville follow suit? It’s terrible. There is no good excuse. Sure, the industry is changing. If anyone knows that, it’s me. I’ve seen the inside; I’ve seen the outside. It’s sort of sick and twisted, the music industry. But, it gives us music. Why have we turned our backs?

I have no good answer for this question. Must I succumb to Amazon purchases? Or iTunes, which requires me to burn a cd and make my own cd art? Where did all the records go? In fact, my boyfriend has an old record player back in Tallahassee that I have been begging him to bring home. But where would I find any records? I find this blank space in my brain as a devastating, harsh reality.

California, for all its oddities and horrors, did not lack in the local music stores. They were so easily accessible, even tourists knew where to go… mostly because they were located at almost any street corner. Did I forsake one of my all time favorite past times, one of the worlds greatest treasures to the human race, by moving home? I am sure not. I am sure there must be something out there… but where?

This holiday season, the one thing I am asking of you Jacksonville, is to bring home the music. It spins me right round baby right round. Like a record baby. Like the world, baby. Where would we be without music? Surely not round round

Art Walking

On the first Wednesday of every month Jacksonville hosts its monthly Art Walk through the gorgeous streets of downtown. Starting up near Hemming Plaza, Christmas lights are strung to and for across trees, the fountain edged by local artists setting up displays, and people walking around the brick laid streets with wine and beer in plastic glasses. Galleries, which are plentiful in Jacksonville’s downtown, open their doors for the night. Shops stay open in hopes that people will spend a quick buck along their curious stroll. And restaurants are packed, with lines bulging out of doorways. It has got to be one of my all time favorite local events. And it happens every month!

This month’s Art Walk, being December, was additionally festive and merry for the upcoming, or occurring, holiday season. Suddenly the lights strung from tree to tree seemed a little more cheery. And the shopping along the way seemed a little less greedy. Children nestled on Santa’s lap with a long list of toys. Wreathes were hung, the air was chilled, and Christmas trees could be seen through windows here and there.

Jacksonville’s library came out full force with the Christmas trees this year, our first stop of the evening. A gathering of about ten or more people all came together to commence the walk at the library. On each level Christmas trees, donated by local companies around town, had been decorated around the theme of a book that could be found in the library. A couple trees used the exotic bird theme, with brightly colored peacock feathers sticking out of the branches and various types of (plastic) birds tweeting away on their own little kindling. One tree was based on the Secret Life of Bees, with clusters of glass ball ornaments in yellow and red, and little bee’s and beehives nestled inside the green pine. Another tree took a fashion theme, another music, and still another on Pirates, donated ironically by the Bank of Jacksonville. Many trees were themed around children’s books, Tonka trucks, mittens and cute little forest animals splattered across the limbs. Food was another great theme, with all things from wine to popcorn serving an ornamental purpose. Even the all time rivalry, Florida versus Florida State, made an appearance with two small trees themed in the school colors positioned right next to one another. They should have just made a Tim Tebow tree, instead. Because, really, what else matters anymore.

Following the library, we made our way from gallery to pub, to outdoor concert, to live art being created on the street (cans of spray paint and knee pads unite!). It was crowded. The city skyline looked beautiful viewed from below instead of afar and I began to wish downtown could always be this way, crowded and alive. We really do have a fine-looking downtown, gone to waste most nights of the month.

What is so interesting and amazing about Jacksonville’s Art Walk is how involved the city is in the whole process. MOCA shines bright onto Hemming Plaza. The libraries, old and new, open their doors with awesome exhibits, and JPD come out to protect us. It is very different from the Art Walks in other cities I have gone to.

Tallahassee has a fabulous Art Walk, called First Friday, that takes place in the art district of Railroad Square. It’s really more like an Art Street Party aside warehouses turned galleries, their walls splashed with vivid murals, clustered together in the remote col-de-sac. The Fine Arts program from Florida State opens their studio spaces so the art students can showcase their work. There is a bonfire with guitar and dancing and lots of dreadlocks. And wine is sold in Styrofoam cups for two bucks a pop. It’s very different. Very hippie. And wonderful in its way, but not so encompassing of the entire city.

Oakland has a First Friday as well. Suggestive of a wanna be version of Jacksonville’s Art Walk, it also takes place downtown. But the turnout was meager, usually consisting of hipsters and hippies (which seems to be a popular combination). It had a great display of art, something that Oakland does not lack, but the unity, the organization, and the involvement of major city endeavors was lacking very much. It seemed more as if the city turned a blind eye for the night to let the artists wonder the streets like hooligans. Which was fun, in its own kind of way, but also gave one a slight sense of grime. Which could have also been caused by the insanely dirty streets. Or the hoodlums watching for you from around every corner.

In general, in any city, I think Art Walks are an awesome experience. But, Jacksonville has really hit this nail on the head. That’s probably why it’s on Wednesday instead of Friday. Because it’s better. It has to come first. Maybe every other night of the week will soon catch up. I would sure like to make every night in downtown Jacksonville a walk of art.