In case you don’t know, and maybe I’ve never explicitly stated here in the pixels of I Will Dare, but the main conceit of The Beast is that a 50something former rock & roll singer is explaining the meaning behind her songs through writing her greatest hits liner notes. There’s more than that going on, but it’s kind of hard to explain.

I got the idea for The Beast after reading Mike Doughty’s memoir The Book of Drugs. In the book he talks about an apartment complex near where he grew up called Grey Ghost (at least I think that’s how it went) and I was all, aww, now I get the song a little more.

Voila, an idea was born.

However, I have recently learned there is danger in finding out too much about the songs you love.

Enter “Born for Me.”

This is the song as it appears on my very favorite Westerberg album “Suicaine Gratifaction.” If you click play you’ll hear that it’s a slow, bittersweet love song with lovely strings and backing vocals by Shawn Colvin. All of Westerberg’s love songs are bittersweet.

Though I cannot find any verification of this fact I believe it was Westerberg’s ex-wife Laurie Lindeen who said he always writes a sad twist in his love songs because he could never write one that is wholly sincere. I have no idea where I heard/read this, but my fellow Westernerd friend EM says she remembers this too. Also, we both seem to “know” that “Born for Me” was widely believed to be a song Westerberg wrote for his now ex-wife. I did try to find verification of this, but it was hard and I got bored.

In fact, this was a belief I held onto so firmly that when I saw the I Don’t Cares (the duo of Paul Westerberg & Juliana Hatfield) were going to cover “Born for Me” on their new record “Wild Stab”, I sent EM many exclamation-point-laden, swear-filled texts. Why did this matter so much me? I have no fucking idea, but it did. It does.

Then I listened to the song.

Nope. Still nope. 18,000 nopes piled on Nope Mountain with a flag claiming it for the Kingdom of Nope.

It sounds wrong. Westerberg & Hatfield’s voices don’t blend well. The music doesn’t match the lyrics, which is usually something I dig, but in this case it makes the inside of my lungs feel itchy. Like it’s too jarring. Also, it makes me want to punch someone.

And then the whole ordeal got worse. SO MUCH WORSE.

On the 22nd when the I Don’t Cares’ record came out Vanyaland posted and hour-long interview between Peter Wolf & Westerberg, and thus all my illusions about “Born for Me” were totally shattered.

The reason “Born for Me” is on there is because I wrote it about her whatever how many years ago it came out. . .

This quote comes from Westerberg’s lips after he spent some time talking about the deep romantic element in the record and how that’s why Hatfield wasn’t at the interview because there’s something about putting the relationship out into the world that makes them super vulnerable.

In a way I find that kind of sweet and makes clear the line “well, I’m the one to talk, you’re the one that’s free.”

And yet, I’m still so disillusioned about what he claims are the origins of “Born for Me.” I say claims, because I don’t think Westerberg is the most reliable of narrators (which makes me super curious about how next month’s authorized bio Trouble Boys is gonna play out). He’s often cagey and contradictory in interviews and seems to say whatever might be true to him at that very moment. That truth might be different in the next breath.

And I’m not entirely sure why this even matters. Why does the writing it for Juliana instead of Laurie make a difference? Isn’t the emotion behind the song still the same? Maybe

This new version sounds awkward to my ears. The new tune doesn’t sound like it comes from someone with lonely eyes or empty hands. It sounds a little bit like “ha, ha we’re fucking.” “Born for Me” feels tainted now.

Listening to this new version makes me feel like Holden Caulfield: “That’s the whole trouble. You can’t ever find a place that’s nice and peaceful, because there isn’t any. You may think there is, but once you get there, when you’re not looking, somebody’ll sneak up and write “Fuck you” right under your nose.”

I feel as though Westerberg & Hatfield wrote fuck you right under my nose.

The post A Tale of Two ‘Born for Me’s, or Paul Westerberg is an Unreliable Narrator (probably) appeared first on I Will Dare.

The first concert I ever paid my own money to attend was Bell Biv DeVoe (now ya know) at the Met Center in (I think) the spring/summer of 1991.

A longtime New Edition fan, I was giddy with excitement to attend this concert with my high school BFF Nikki. I drove two hours from Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin where I lived at the time just to see BBD and Keith Sweat and Johnny Gill. I wore my flyest, brightest tie-dyed shorts.

Since I was a poor kid I didn’t get a lot of opportunities to see live music even though I loved the hell out of it. I spent any dollars I had on music I could keep, and in 1991 that didn’t happen very often. In fact, I stole most of my music from the Chippewa Falls library, making endless mix tapes from the records I’d check out.

Before Bell Biv DeVoe the only other concert I had seen was The Jets & Limited Warranty. So of course I was giddy as fuck. Nikki, my petite, blonde, cheerleader BFF, and I were amped up and chatty as hell as we navigated our way to our seats. And that was probably the last happy moment of the concert for me. Well maybe not when Johnny Gill sang Rub You the Right Way, but still . . .

I had the great misfortune to be seated at that concert in front of and behind total assholes. Every time I stood up the people behind me would tap me on the shoulder and ask me to sit down because they couldn’t see. Because I am a nice, Minnesota girl, I did. Of course. But because I am a freakishly tall Minnesota girl, whenever I sat down my knees were wedged into the seat in front of me, which totally pissed off the woman in front of me who turn around and ask if I could move my knees. It was awful, because I literally had no where to move them. At all.

There is something about being freakishly tall that really brings out the total asshole in people, even Minnesota Nice people, at paid events like concerts or movies. Take for instance this total bullshit about tall people being jerks puked up on City Pages today.

Of course when you’re 5’1″ as the author of that piece is, isn’t just about the entire fucking planet taller than you? And also, why do people taller than you owe you anything? We have just as much right to exist as anyone else. Plus, as my 6’9″ BFF Wolfdogg pointed out, actual tall people, the freakishly tall like me and him, are ridiculously aware of how much space we’re taking up at all times.

It reminded me of this wonderful description Kim Gordon had about her ex-husband Thurston Moore in her book Girl in a Band:

. . . and the wariness you see in tall men who don’t want to overpower other people with their height.”

That wariness goes about quadruple for tall women.

I’ve been a concert-going music fan for more than twenty years now and I have never, ever been front row center at any concert I’ve attended. I got pretty close when I saw Mike Doughty at Hippiefest a hundred years ago, but that was a strange combination of drunken bravado and hippies that had never before or since been duplicated in my entire life.

Being a freakishly tall female concert goer adds an extra level of peril to the whole experience, because then you get the sexism on top of the usual belligerence of shorter-than-you men. I remember a particular Ryan Adams concert at First Ave where a drunk guy was mad at me for being in front of him at the back of the room and at the same time told me how he’d forgive me in bed because “we’re all the same height laying down.” (Barf)

As you can see that article totally pissed me off. I see this lament about tall people at concerts all the time and it drives me bonkers. Because really? What are we supposed to do? It’s not like we can fucking help our height. So if you’re short, why don’t you stop being an entitled asshole and move. Fuck.

The post The Perils of Being a Freakishly Tall Music Fan appeared first on I Will Dare.

Now, this isn’t the same as just grooving on a song or having to repeat a song 183 times because it’s fitting with something you’re writing. It’s different because you have to listen to the song so often because of the way the words are said. It’s the combination of the words and not even the words specifically. It’s not like the phrase is beautiful or clever. It’s just the sounds. It doesn’t happen a lot. At least not for me. Here, I’ll show you what I mean.

Carl Perkins’ Cadillac, Drive-by Truckers

TRUE STORY: I had a spiritual experience at Sun Records in Memphis. It was weird and it made me feel tingly and weepy & totally embarrassed Sister #4. This has nothing to do with the words they say in the song. It’s just that I thought about it right now.

ANOTHER ASIDE: I think I have a thing for songs about singers (see: Alex Chilton and Emmylou, which are the first two I can think of right now). I should probably start a new playlist.

FINALLY: The way one of the Truckers (I don’t know which one it is, because I am a bad fan) sings ‘all y’all’ is so dreamy and awesome I want to buy it ice cream.

Walt Whitman’s Niece, Billy Bragg & Wilco

I have been known to say that if I were the marrying type and it were legal, I’d totally marry the way Billy Bragg says the word “poems” in this song. It never, ever fails to make my parts all quivery.

Fort Hood, Mike Doughty

Now, there was a time in the not-so-distant past where the mere mention of the name Mike Doughty made me think all kinds of sexy thoughts. I had a real Mike Doughty thing going for awhile, a thing that was bigger than my love of his music. But as is often said, familiarity breeds contempt and after seeing him in concert what felt like 728 times in the span of a few years the sexy-crush wore off and I was just back to being a regular, old Doughty appreciator.

Now if you’re a fan of The Doughts (as I have taken to calling him in my head) dating back to the Soul Coughing-era you know he’s got a way with pronunciation. I could probably write an essay on the way he says lisssening (I wont. At least not today). So, it’s probably surprising that it’s not one of the Soul Coughing-era words that gets me. In fact, ‘Fort Hood’ is a pretty recentish song and I remember (surprising because there was a lot of gin involved that night) the first time I heard this song at HippieFest down somewhere in MN that is not here. From that moment the extended ‘parking looooooot’ got me. Still does.

Pancho & Lefty, Willie Nelson (with Merle Haggard)

As you may not recall (and why would you?), I’m a relative newcomer to the wiles of Willie Nelson and a lot of this newfound appreciation can be laid right at the feet at the way he says the word ‘Federales.’ What great fucking word. I wish I had more use for it in my everyday life.

I Love Rock’n’Roll, Joan Jett & The Blackhearts

I hopped on the Joan Jett bandwagon pretty young — ridiculously, elementary-school, not even fully understanding the Joan Jettiness of Joan young. There was two reasons for this: 1.) getting a 45 of that “Crimson & Clover” cover she did in the early 80s from my Mom’s cool friend TJ and 2.) the fact that I was pretty sure Joan Jett was Leather Tuscadero from “Happy Days” (she was not, though she did cop her style from Suzi Quatro).

I wish I could remember the exact first time I heard “I Love Rock’n’Roll,” but I can’t. All I know is that whenever I hear Joan scream “OWWWWwww” my heart soars. It’s not the same kind of jiggly heart that the opening to “I Will Dare” gives me, but it’s close.

There are more, and perhaps I’ll write a part II but right now I’ve begun to bore myself so I’ll stop.

The post The Words They Say (which include all y’all, poems & parking lot) appeared first on I Will Dare.

Also, while Mel Gibson was protesting with the cookie sheets on the front lawn I discovered my sixteen-year-old cat, Madison, had burrowed through the wall into the neighbor’s house and there was a barn owl stuck in the wall. Animal control told me that the only way to get the barn owl out would involve killing it, so I should just let it live there.

The end.

Also, I was never a Mel Gibson fan. Never saw the Lethal Weapons movies, never understood his sexual appeal, and now I actively dislike him and his cookie sheet wielding bullshit.

The post So then my subconscious subjected me to this appeared first on I Will Dare.

No, I discovered was in a drunken haze inside a bar called The Grand Illusion in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. As a GI regular, I grew pretty familiar with the bartenders’ musical proclivities and they’d often acquiesce to my drunken moans of “put Sugar in.” It was the fall of 1994 and their “File Under: Easy Listening” had just come out.

One night as I whined loudly to put Sugar in, Todd one of The GI’s bartenders gave me that dead-eye, I’m done with your bullshit look and said, “Enough with Sugar. All you ever want to hear is Sugar, just listen to this it’s amazing.”

So I tripped back to the booth clutching a bloody mary and some popcorn with lemon pepper and tried to listen to the music. At one point I turned to my friend Chuck and said, “is this guy counting?” He nodded his head at me. “Well that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

The song was, of course, “Casiotone Nation” and I fell hard. Really hard. Within a few weeks my “put Sugar in” pleas changed to “put in the counting song.” I’d ask Todd every weekend what the name of the band was and every weekend I’d forget.

Eventually it stuck. I got “Ruby Vroom” for Christmas that year and my nearly a decade long love affair with Soul Coughing and lead singer Mike Doughty began. In fact, Mr. Doughty holds the record for musical artist I’ve seen the most times. Even more than St. Paul Westerberg. Surprising isn’t it?

I’m pretty sure “Ruby Vroom” is one of my top three all-time favorite albums. It is an amazing album musically and lyrically — that big stand up bass, Doughty’s pronunciations, all the strange static and whack-a-doo noises, it’s all magnificent. There isn’t a single thing about this album that comes remotely near to sucking.

But even more than music, “Ruby Vroom” represents a huge, huge turning point in my life. Soul Coughing was the band that first introduced me to online communities, and the first people I met from the internet were from the old newsgroup alt.music.soulcoughing. This was back in the 90s people, when meeting someone from the internet seemed fraught with danger and the ultimate in nerdiness. But to a lonely, fresh from college, living at home twentysomething that newsgroup was the best thing to ever happen to me. It was alt.music.soulcoughing where I discovered my voice as a writer and learned how the things I wrote could connect with people I’d never even met.

In fact, if it weren’t for Soul Coughing and that newsgroup, I Will Dare as we know it might never have existed. It was a man from alt.music.soulcoughing who first told me to check out Blogger because it seemed like something I’d dig. And when I brainstomed 482,283 stupid domain names, he’s the one who said, “yes, that’s the one” when I finally came up with iwilldare.com.

Verdict: In the cannon. Obviously.

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