When we first moved, I worried a lot. Would I be able to see concerts? Would I be able to go see indie movies? The truth is, Saint Louis  is one of the coolest cities I’ve visited, and without a doubt, the best place I’ve ever lived. Indie movie theaters, we got it. Live theatre, live music, awesome museums… we got it. You can go into the city and see almost any professional sport you want to. There’s some really high quality colleges around here. Business and industry still exist in Saint Louis.

But the absolute, without a doubt, best thing we’ve done in Saint Louis is subscribe to the Saint Louis Symphony Orchestra. About once a month, we head down to Powell Hall and see the symphony.

When I was six or seven, my class took a trip to the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra to see the Nutcracker. I moved out of my mother’s house at twenty-two, and I found the ticket stub from that concert in a jewelry box still. I adored the experience – the beautiful concert hall, the glowing instruments, the glorious noise.

Michael and I have been to probably 4 or 5 concerts at Powell Hall since September. We’ve sat in some fantastic seats and some less fantastic seats, but there’s no bad seat in the place. Powell Hall is gorgeous, all red and velvet and gold painted crystal chandeliers. It’s been beautifully renovated and feels simply elegant. It’s a gem.

And the orchestra is ridiculously good. They’re a full-time orchestra, this is their only job. We’ve seen them play music from Looney Tunes, with the cartoons playing behind them, we’ve seen them play a show of only Mozart, we’ve watched them accompany vocalists and tap-dancers and Ben Folds kicking a piano’s ass. There’s a variety of talent.

The second concert we went to was an all Mozart program, including some more obscure pieces. Our seats looked right out over the entire orchestra, watching the bows rise and fall together, and the waxed shine of the stringed instruments contrasting with the bright, bright brass. The warmth and the power of the sound… I have never heard music sound so perfect. You can pick out the sound of a lone triangle as easily as the sound of a lone bassoon or violin.

After the first movement, I started to cry a little, very quietly. Michael looked at me quizzically and I just took his hand. It was maybe the most profoundly beautiful thing I’ve experienced. And it can be experienced by anyone. The cheapest seats are typically around $40 bucks a pop, usually it’s a bit cheaper for the family shows. The experience is astounding for the cost.

And the cost… it supports keeping something as magnificent as a symphony around. Because once the symphony and the hall fall into disrepair, no one is going to choose to spend the money to bring them back. In my mind, I get a mind-blowing experience and help to make sure that my children and grandchildren can have that exact same experience some time in the future. The kind of experience that reminds you of the power and beauty in a world that can be kind of deadening sometimes.

If you live in Saint Louis, or are just visiting, I urge you to take the time to see the Symphony. I’ll meet you there!

Fast forward many guitar-free years and Michael buys me an electric guitar. At this point, I can’t play a damn thing because it’s been so long. And I have to learn how to use a pick and I have to change the whole way I’d approached the puzzle of the guitar.

I think the hardest thing for me, in terms of being motivated to write, was this idea that I didn’t see too many women with electric guitars doing things I found sonically interesting. Please feel free to enlighten me, I’m sure I’ve missed loads of ladies. I liked the riot-grrl punk stuff, I liked Liz Phair, I liked the folk-y women like Ani DiFranco. But while I had the sense that those women were making compelling music, it wasn’t anything I particularly wanted to play.

So, when I heard St. Vincent (Annie Clark) a couple months ago on Sirius, I was pumped. A woman who can sing and play guitar was making music I found sonically and thematically interesting.

So I dragged Michael to see her locally, mostly to evaluate her talents in a live setting. I was not expecting very much. And, she can actually sing and play guitar quite well.

Combine that experience with my relatively recent discoveries of My Bloody Valentine and Failure (I know, I’m so far behind the the times that it’s ridiculous), and I’m eyeing my electric guitar anew. Most likely, nothing will come of it. But it’s nice to see a puzzle differently.

Oh, and I can recommend St. Vincent albums freely, as there’s no RIAA related junk associated. I’m very much enjoying both Strange Mercy and Actor.

I am not really an Apple gal. I never got the hang of their software. It’s all clean and empty and I’m not used to technology like that. I’m used to clicking around on a bunch of things and learning how to make happen what I want to happen.

Well, I feel like everything is hidden on Apple. And it is. They give you a few simple functions and expect you to be happy. And most people are, because it’s simple and clean and pretty and it does what they need it to do, and it does it easily.

Well, iTunes has underestimated my pickiness about my music. The first thing that pissed me off was I had plenty of storage on the device, and it was still only giving me a couple songs off an album. So I checked in iTunes, and all songs for those albums were in the library. So then,  I tried to add music by album instead of artist. I synced everything up and checked my iPod. It was empty. I think I’m just not getting something here, but I NEED my iPod for work. It gets me through the day. And messing with it every night gets to be a hassle.

So, we’re (Michael) working with some software (Rhythmbox) in Ubuntu and it should work once we sort out some way to convert my many lossless audio tracks into tracks playable by the iPod. It shows you a library of your music in one box, and then you just drag and drop – albums, songs, artists, whatever – into your device. Looks pretty handy.

Anyway, in other news, today I was remembering how I ran for Student Council President in elementary school. I remembered this in a weird flash, and it reminded me that I always have believed that I know better than most people and can do a better job than pretty much anyone. My dad coached me every night when he got home from work – he helped me craft my speech and made me practice saying it in front of him. He taught me a lot about public speaking that was repeated to me in the course I was required to take in college.

I lost, by the way, the election for Student Council President. I didn’t expect that I would care so much when I started, but I put so much work into it that it felt awful to lose. The guy who won – he was among the most popular guys in class. He faded to pretty much nothing a few years later. Me, I didn’t have to fade. I’ve pretty much been the same level of awesome and popular since ten. I’m pretty low on the totem pole, my friends.

I’ve been good at public speaking since. Kicked some ass in my course in college. I learned something important in college, though – I have nothing to lose in speaking. I have a job now where I make a lot of phone calls. I’m asking the people on the other end to go to some hassle for me. You have to know your audience… which is hard when all you have is an office location and phone number. It’s a totally different kind of public speaking, much more stressful. But the girls in the office say I’m really good on the phone. The trick is not to be afraid to sound like you don’t really know what you’re doing. The other trick is to sloooow down for people in the southern or midwestern US. Anywhere else, talk fast and don’t waste time.

I’m largely a talk-fast person. I have to prepare myself to slow down to talk to some people. They don’t like you so well if you talk quickly, and I need to make friends in a few short seconds to get what I need.

But I do mostly research and not so many phone calls, so I need my music or I go flipping insane. Which is where my lovely, pretty iPod becomes a life-saver.

His death has sort of brought to a head lots of ideas swirling around in my head.

I believe kids around 12 or 13 start to form an identity to oppose the familial influences over them. My identity was, well, one of the goth kids. Don’t get me wrong, I never died my hair black or wore black lipstick. But I wore black t-shirts and jeans every day of the week, listened to the music and wished I was thin enough to wear the skanky goth clothes, not that my father would have (1). paid for it or (2). let me out of the house wearing it.

In my locker, there were three pictures. Trent Reznor, Peter Steele and David Bowie. I won’t tell you how but somehow me and a couple girlfriends got the  pictures from the Playgirl shoot of Peter Steele. It may have involved the internet (Porn…on my Internet?!).

Anyway, that was my identity. For a few years anyway. But I never stopped listening to the music.

Recently, I had to explain some of my clothing to – well, I guess I’ll call him a coworker. I was wearing an older Jeff Buckley shirt, and he asked me about him so I explained his music and his death. A few days later I was in my favorite Elliott Smith hoodie and he asked me about that. So again, I explained about his music and his death. And my coworker looked at me and gravely said, “You need to stop hanging out with dead guys.” Maybe he was telling one of his trademark dry jokes, and I laughed but it made me think.

I don’t intend to give up music I enjoy. But for someone who used to define themselves based on music, life is getting kind of hard. Many of my favorites were dead before thirty.It’s starting to look like I’ll be alive for thirty. I mean, hell, I want to be.

An old friend once told me, surround yourself with people you want to be like. He said we all need role models for life. I admire the musicians I listen to in a lot of ways, but I’m starting to realize, maybe they’re not my role models for life.

In conclusion, the death of Peter Steele makes me sad. *sigh* It reminds me of so many adolescent fantasies gone unfulfilled.

Anyway, I could go on about how fantastic Robyn Hitchcock is, but we’ve already covered that here before. I just hope he never plays the Black Cat again.

Now that my complaining is out of the way, the real reason I’m writing this post is to provide correct lyrics for the refrain of the song “TLC” from “Goodnight Oslo.” The lyrics that are floating around online didn’t seem quite right to me, and after much Googling I finally dug up the correct drug names. It’s more difficult than you might think, since the names are brand names for medications sold in the UK in the 1960s and medicine brand names have a fairly short half-life.

Anyway, the correct lyric is:

Tryptizol (amitriptyline)
Librium (chlordiazepoxide)
Carbrital (phenobarbital and carbromal)

In particular, it’s Carbrital, not Carbitol. Some people online are hearing “Carbitol,” which is some kind of solvent and not a drug. Besides, I heard Robyn sing this song live and he definitely does not say “Carbitol.”

If you haven’t heard “Goodnight Oslo” and this sounds like complete gibberish, now would be a great time to go listen to the album.