Spancil Hill

Shane MacGowan's voice always leaves me a little misty-eyed. Happy St. Patrick's Day to my favorite Irish citizen--my dear old Ma. And to Aunt Sissy, too.

3.3.10

Those of you who know me, know that I'm obsessed with Brazilian music (okay, make that anything Brazilian). If this little thing called life doesn't really work out my back up plan is to run away to a teeny town in Northeastern Brazil and never come back. For now, I'll have to settle for some fab music circa '95 courtesy of Marisa Monte. The song diariamente is my favorite.

Because I Love Her

And because I love her bluesy style. And because, in my next life, this is who I want to be:

Shot in The Back of The Head

Shot In The Back Of The Head from Moby on Vimeo.

I really like this new song from Moby. And I love, love, love the video, which was directed by the one and only, David Lynch. I think that if I could ever get into someone's head (a la Being John Malkovich) Mr. Lynch would be at the top of a very short list.

I'm not really into Valentine's Day...

... but I really, really love this:

do the D.A.N.C.E

So my friend Jude and I were completely obsessed with this listening to, singing along with, and dancing to this song this weekend. And it's one of the coolest music videos, ever. Cause the way you move is a mystery...

powering up

Chan Marshall, aka Cat Power

I'm feeling slightly better. Finally getting some work done and blowing my nose a whole lot. Just bought this new mini-album on iTunes. Cat Power is, like, my all time favorite musical artist. I would follow her to the ends of the earth. Her new album, Dark End of the Street, is like everything she touches, blusey, hauntingly beautiful ,and absolute gold.

the bad news bears

I've been listening to NPR today, and I have to say the reports I hear on our world and our economy are grim. There is an excellent story about a massive homeless shelter in Los Angeles that really got me thinking. Thinking about how grateful and lucky I am to have a (pretty nice) roof over my head and such delicious and organic food to eat. This holiday season I feel more of a need not only to count my blessings, but to donate my time, energy and my money to help those who need it. Because there are simply so many of them out there. {Treaty, 1974, Robert Rauschenberg}

happy-sad, a letter to my nephew

Dear Robbie, Happy Birthday, Bubs! You are such a big boy! I was in Bath, at the Royal United Hospital a year ago, when you were born and will never forget holding you for the first time. I miss you so much and love you even more. I miss your mommy, too. It makes me happy-sad. Happy because you are such a joy for all of us, but sad because I really wish that we didn't live three quarters of a country plus an ocean away from each other. I was listening to this song this morning and it really made me think of you. Love Always, your Tia Nono

what you are and what you are meant to be

So I've decided to create this little space and put it out there, wherever that may be, for myself and perhaps for others to enjoy. I've been needing a quiet area, a blank slate of sorts, to organize my thoughts and inspirations for quite some time and although I'm a blogging neophyte, this somewhat strange format feels right for now. I suppose I should mention that the phrase "by its own design" comes from one of my all-time favorite songs. I will leave you with these beautiful words:

I have seen where the wolf has slept by the silver stream. I can tell by the mark he left you were in his dream. Ah, child of countless trees. Ah, child of boundless seas. What you are, what you're meant to be Speaks his name though you were born to me, Born to me, Cassidy. Lost now on the country miles in his Cadillac. I can tell by the way you smile he is rolling back. Come wash the nighttime clean, Come grow this scorched ground green. Blow the horn, tap the tambourine. Close the gap of the dark years in between. You and me, Cassidy. Quick beats in an icy heart, Catch-colt draws a coffin cart. There he goes now, here she starts: Hear her cry. Flight of the seabirds, scattered like lost words Wheel to the storm and the fly Faring the well now. Let your life proceed by its own design Nothing to tell now. Let the words be yours, I'm done with mine.