You Say It's Your Birthday?

It's my birthday, too, yeah!
My dear friend and web/book designer, Eric, created this image for me. It's Marcia the Martian, my mascot and alter-ego. Her/our motto: the pen is mightier than the ray gun!

I was trying to post all day yesterday, but blogger.com was giving me all kinds of error messages. Now that I'm older and wiser - and signed up (reluctantly) for their new Google-associated service - I seem to be back in business. So let's get to it! (We're not getting any younger!)

Time to clear the decks of accumulated musical miscellany. For one, we’ve been out a few times in the recent past, and have pictures to prove it.

After doing a Post preview about the Guggenheim Grotto, which included a lovely phone call with percussioinist/producer Shane Power, I saw the band at Jammin Java and was impressed again with the Irish trio’s quiet power.

They’re also effusively friendly folk, each offering a hug and easy chat to all comers, including yours truly.

Took Grace to see British pop sensation Lily Allen, and she didn’t disappoint at the 930 Club. A bundle of sassy energy, Allen’s live show stressed the reggae rhythms that flow more quietly throughout her debut CD, but the real fun is in her takin’ no BS from nobody lyrics, that are tough but charming and full of playful, cheeky humor.


Grace and her two-teen-pal posse were also smitten with Andrew of Jack’s Mannequin, whom we caught on the second of two nights, also at the 930 Club. He’s a talented, literate emo boy with a piano and a surprisingly big stage show (big but unobtrusive lighting rigs, a confetti explosion at show’s end) that underlined rather than undermined his melodious, heartfelt tunes. He also did a credible cover of Tom Petty’s “American Girl,” which scored well with the parental guardians there with their teenage daughters.

Thanks to the tall, wool-hatted dude who was helping clear the stage, I scored a set list from the show – Andrew’s own, pulled from his next-to-piano bench and still moist from his spilled drink. The girls were mightily impressed.

Openers Head Automatic had a sound designed to appeal to old Costello fanatic like myself – angular melodies, tight rhythms, snarled lyrics – but lead singer Daryl Palumbo put me off the band with his arrogant and f-bomb laden stage patter.
Grace thought he was drunk.