The Muddy Blues

Austin City Limits music festival is one of "those" experiences. Not sure how else to describe it. Right at the end of summer each year, probably 200,000 strong invade Zilker Park for three days, deep in the heart of the Live Music Capital of the World, to bathe in a 150-decibel ocean of rock, reggae, alternative, hip-hop, and blues.

This year was different: (1) we also had Irish drinking music -- thank you, Flogging Molly -- and (2) all us music enthusiasts were bathing in mud, too.

Let me set the scene for you: I make the trek from Dallas to Austin late Friday morning, with visions of Eddie Vedder, Jack White, Dave Matthews, and Dave King on my mind (full line-up here). I park my car and begin what seems like a 39-mile journey on foot to the park, and am greeted with this pristine picture:


Mmmmm, just look at that blue sky. And that green grass! Don't you just want to roll around shamelessly in that beautiful Bermuda? In prior years, a lack of adequate ground cover combined with bone dry weather caused the crowds to kick up tons of dust that would get EVERYWHERE, with the most unpleasant side effect being dusty, gray snot. No more this year, after the city of Austin spent $2.5 million and multiple months renovating Zilker Park by laying down grass and a better irrigation system. Money well spent, I'd say.

Until it rained on Saturday, that is. And then the skies opened up:


And I don't mean a passing shower. I mean a downpour. I mean a monsoon. You know when Forrest Gump is talking about Vietnam ("Lil' bitty stingin rain ... big ol' FAT rain ... rain blowin' sideways ...")? I mean that kind of rain. I think 3-5 inches of rain fell over the course of about as many hours. Which is OK on its own, but you combine that with the huge throngs of people in attendance? Well, this is what the scene looked like on Sunday:


How about a close-up?


And it smelled about as good as it looked, too. It took about four times longer to walk anywhere than it normally would, just to avoid slipping, falling, and eating that soupy, delicious mud. I tell you, we all complained at least once about how much it sucked. (I think our exact words were, "Man, this sucks!") But the whole time, in the back of my mind, I couldn't help but think that after a day or two passed, I'd look back on what an awesome experience it was.

I'm glad I went. And I'm glad it rained 5 inches. And I'm glad I had to slog through one and a half inches of mud everywhere I went. To cap it all off, Eddie Vedder (lead singer for the headliner Pearl Jam), after finishing off "Corduroy", proclaimed to the crowd, "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm personally not leaving until I'm covered in dirt."

Cheers.

Mike Blowers, Precognitive

Whenever I watch a Dallas Cowboys game on Sunday, and I find them needing a big play to reverse their fortunes, I'll do what most fans do: make an outlandish prediction for the next play and try to will it to happen metaphysically. Just two Sundays ago, as Eli Manning marched his New York Giants down the field in what eventually was the game-winning drive, I yelled at the TV, "Interception, Terence Newman!" or "Sack, DeMarcus Ware!". At this I fail, without fail: it has never ever EVER worked.

Maybe I need to take lessons from Mike Blowers.

Last Sunday afternoon, on a pre-game show, the Seattle Mariners color commentator laid out a painstakingly detailed account of what would happen that afternoon against the Toronto Blue Jays. In a manner reminiscent of Carnac the Magnificent or those precogs in Minority Report, Blowers made the following prediction:

(1) Mariners rookie Matt Tuiasosopo would...
(2) hit his first big-league home run...
(3) in his second at bat...
(4) into left-center field....
(5) into the second deck...
(6) on a fastball...
(7) with a 3-1 count...

Have a listen to what actually happened:

JoshCast #13 - So Many Nights

Lucky number 13...

When I moved into my current apartment, the previous tenant apparently had a subscription to Paste Magazine, which specializes in indie music (among many other things). On three occasions, I was lucky enough to open my mailbox and find a free issue of Paste peering back at me, even if the intended destination was the coffee table of some guy named Chris Long.

Once they stopped magically appearing, though, I got my own subscription (Only $15 for 11 issues). The best part is that each issue comes with a free CD, containing about 20 songs each. So, each month, I copied them into my iTunes library, and sometimes those tracks would fall through the cracks. That's not a bad thing, though, because when you randomly find it again 8 months later, you've got something new. Like finding a $10 bill in your coat pocket.

Such was the case tonight, when I found "So Many Nights" by a group called The Cat Empire. Kinda upbeat, poppy, and oddly appealing, with a little 80s keyboard and some trumpet forcing its way in from time to time as well:

(JOSHCAST UNAVAILABLE due to imeem's going under. Check back later.)

P.S. Paste has been one of the few indie music magazines to survive the recession, as subscribers were forced to tighten their finances. Numerous other magazines haven't been so lucky. I'm grateful, of course, for its survival, made possible by its avid readership, who contributed over a quarter of a million dollars in donations as part of the "Save Paste" campaign. If you're looking for something to skim at your local coffeehouse, might I recommend Paste.

I Hear The Train A-Comin'

I don’t know about you, but I am stunned that, as of yesterday, it’s already been six years since the Man in Black left this planet. From “A Boy Named Sue” to “Hurt”, his vivid storytelling and songwriting talents were as impressive as his inimitable bass-baritone voice. As a buddy of mine once quoted, “If God had a voice, it would sound like Johnny Cash.”

One thing’s for sure: when I teach my kids about musicians I appreciated in my youth (assuming they’ll listen), Johnny Cash will be one of the first names I bring up.

Here’s to you, J.R.

Colin Farrell And His Wool Cap

Because I just don't feel like formulating my own opinions tonight...

Family Guy giving Colin Farrell his due. Wait for the end: