Good Karma

Before the ACL Show
This music...this man...this experience. I am still trying to wrap my head around it. I am one of 200 people who were chosen (through NIN.com) to attend the the Austin City Limits taping of NIN on November 4, 2013. During a taping, the venue only holds about 800 people (according to web sources), and I will be one of them. This will be my sixth or seventh show--when you get to be my age, it's easy for experiences to blur. Besides all the live experiences, which are phenomenal, the coolest NIN thing to happen to me resulted in my daughter (not AT the concert, gees!). The second coolest thing happened to my husband, who caught a tambourine, during the Lights in the Sky tour. I couldn't go because I was nine months pregnant with my son. Now that tambourine sneaks back and forth from one toy box to the other. Knowing how this "toy" was acquired always makes me smile when it surfaces in a day's play. And now that T-Rez has his own kids, I bet he'd laugh too, particularly if he saw my daughter, who likes to put on fashion shows, using it as a prop on her runway.

In front of Austin's Moody Theater.
Statue of Willie Nelson over my
shoulder. Nov. 4, 2013. 

2 Days After the ACL Show
I wish I could say this was the best NIN show I had ever seen, but it wasn't. It just wasn't long enough, and they didn't play enough songs for the "BEST" moniker. Don't get me wrong, it was an unbelievable, almost ethereal experience. This was certainly the most intimate and unique NIN show I've ever seen, and the fourth best day of my life. 1. The day I got married. 2. The day I gave birth to my daughter. 3. The day I gave birth to my son. 4. November 4, 2013. I hope I can appropriately explain why the #4 is not hyperbole.

I received the email informing me that I had been selected to attend the taping of ACL at noon on Halloween. I don't think I slept more than four or five hours any night prior to the show. I would never have thought to place this event, or one like it, on my Bucket List prior to learning about it, but it certainly ended up there. My dad has been fighting leukemia and lymphoma, and--of course--he was admitted into the hospital with pneumonia on Nov. 2. Needless to say, I did not have a good feeling about this hospital visit; my dad has been one step ahead of the grim reaper since he battled back from the the brink of death in 2010.

My husband travels a lot for work, so we knew we could use airline miles and free hotel stays. However, finding someone to stay with my children and get them to and from school, gymnastics, and fed was a different story now that my mom needed to stay with my dad in the hospital. Luckily, I have amazing family members who understood what a great opportunity this was, and my kids were well taken care of in the hands of Aunt Cheri and Uncle Matt and Aunt Karen (huge shout out of gratitude to you!).

Robin Finck doing
Lindsey Buckingham
better than Lindsey
Buckingham does himself.
Photo by Rob Sheridan.

On Sunday, Nov. 3, we spent five hours with a gaggle of seven year-olds at the local children's museum for my daughter's birthday party. An hour and a half after the last kid was picked up, we were on our way to the airport. My dad was responding well to the antibiotics, and I received his blessing to have fun on this trip.

We flew into Dallas and drove to Austin. We arrived to Austin without a single glitch, found the theater, parked the rental car in the lot closest to where the tour busses were parked. My husband needed to find a place with free WiFi because he still had to work--somebody's gotta pay the bills, right? I decided to explore Austin on foot. This didn't last long since it started raining, and I knew that I was going to need a drink to calm my anxiety. I wondered into Halcyon, a cool coffee shop/bar/restaurant (unlike anything in STL). The bartendress informed me that the band had been in there the day before, that she had never been to a taping at ACL, and that I was one lucky girl since so many Austin natives never get to see a taping, especially the taping of such a well-known, important group.

The yellow circle indicates where we were standing. You can see my husband's face and my hair--sort of.  Photo by Rob Sheridan.

Review of the Show(s)
There was so much speculation about what the setlist would be. Would T-Rez dust off some of the classics that catapulted him to the top? Or would he pull a David Bowie when NIN opened for him? Would the TV audience be considered above all else? Austin City Limits airs on PBS, so "Closer" was probably NOT going to happen (which was perfectly fine with me). I refused to look online for leaked setlists because I wanted to be surprised--and I am glad I did.

Actual setlist held up by ACL volunteer.

I thought the setlist was perfect for the intimate venue. The new album, Hesitation Marks, is much more sparse and melodic to accommodate the kind performance adaptation this experience would require. I am used to general admission, on the rail or very near it, so I know how intense (sometimes violent) a NIN show can be. I also knew NOT to expect that since I watched old episodes of ACL to see how the crowd responded.

On October 1, I attended the NIN show in STL. Sadly, I didn't get to spend much time with the new album for this show--and I turned out to be down-right pissed afterwards. At one point, I turned to my husband and asked him if we were at a Cure concert--"Everything" has THAT kind of guitar riff. The great thing about seeing a NIN show is that it translates much better live than most people might imagine since the albums are mostly electronically produced. Being this unprepared for a live performance, however, made me feel like I had seen the movie before I read the book--and I HATE to do that. At least in Austin, I'd be better acquainted with Hesitation Marks because it has been on endless repeat since the STL show.

The ACL setlist breaks down like this ... of 17ish total songs performed

• 10 from Hesitation Marks (2013)
• 1 from Pretty Hate Machine (1989)
• 4 from The Fragile (1999)
• 1 from The Downward Spiral (1994)
• 2 from Year Zero (2007)
• 0 from The Slip (2008)
• 0 from With(a) Teeth(a) (2005)

I thought for sure that "A Copy of A" would be the opening song, but I was pleasantly surprised. I can see how the pace would need to be set differently for this kind of show instead of the arena tour. That's the thing about NIN music, everything is where it is supposed to be. It has such an organic feel to it even though it is artificially and electronically produced. Strangely, it never feels natural upon an album's first ten listens or so--you have to get comfortable with it, take it on a few dates before you really open up to it's potential. It's never love at first listen. That's also what makes the music last through the evolution of a fluid industry in a fickle culture.

Highlights

The famous Austin City Limits backdrop.

• Starting with "All-Time Low" and  being able to scream "Hey, everything is not OK" while most of the lame, middle-aged* pseudo-fans around me were wondering what the song was. It was as if they suffered from shock, only to (falsely) be reinvigorated when TR threw in a few lyrics to "Closer" to raise the audience's anticipation. It was like TR knew he was singing to a room half-full of idiots who hadn't listened to NIN since he got clean and sober. Wait, he's clean and sober? Really? (Ugh, facepalm.)
• "The Frail/The Wretched." I can never hear these two songs too much. Hell, I even had "The Wretched" as my Android ringtone for years before I switched to an iPhone. The menacing intro still gives me goosebumps no matter how many times I hear it. Plus, you get to yell "stuck in this hole with the shit and the piss" when you sing along. What's not fun about that?
• Going deep into the vault for "Sanctified" and "The Big Comedown." The fans around me, most of whom had stopped listening to NIN after The Downward Spiral (pussies, right?), vaguely remembered the songs but certainly couldn't recall the lyrics. Hell, most of them couldn't recall the names of these songs, which is understandable with the newly funkified arrangement for "Sanctified." (This has to be a result of adding Pino Palladino, right?) There was no excuse for not knowing "The Big Comedown." 
• "Survivalism" is such an intense song to try to keep up with vocally. Plus, it made the rubes around me a bit nervous when my husband and I started getting a little "into" it.
• "Even Deeper" is one of my favorites. Shout out to Dr. Dre, yo. (Yes, that Dr. Dre, you idiot).

  

  Charlie Clouser, Trent Reznor, Dr. Dre,
  and Danny Lohner.

• "Find my Way" is a prayer. A mantra for those days when you are stuck in a hole with the shit and piss. It is as moving through headphones as it is live--at least for the women who have the orgastic** pleasure of watching TR sing it.
• "Hurt." I don't know how many times I've seen NIN close with this song or how many times I've watched live performances of it, but THIS--THIS was mind-blowing. There is always some douchebag who screams as the song gets quiet--ALWAYS. Not so on this night. The quiet parts and whispers were held sacred. Even the producers and people behind the scenes were in awe.

This producer knows what's up. Here's a couple more:

• "Satellite" just kicks ass. Period. Prior to the release of Hesitation Marks, my kids used to complain when I would play albums like Still or With(a) Teeth(a). They called it "creepy music." Now, they ask to hear "Satellite." On Halloween, (after I learned that I had won the NIN lottery) my cup overfloweth when my daughter requested "Came back Haunted." It was Halloween after all. Had she asked for "Burn," I might be slightly concerned.
• Ilan Rubin forcing me, practically against my will, to fall in love with "Various Methods of Escape" 
• Pino Palladino finally looking comfortable on stage.
• Back up singers, Lisa Fischer and Sharlotte Gibson, providing some seriously kick-ass ambient awesomeness that reminded me of Pink Floyd.

* I am 38 years-old, so I have the right to label someone middle-aged. 

**Not a typo. See F. Scott Fitzgerald's masterpiece, The Great Gatsby.

More than Moneyball

Mike Matheny managed the St. Louis Cardinals to a win in Game 2 of the 2013 World Series because he believes in his players. Maybe, just maybe, baseball is more than a "stats-driven" game. Don't get me wrong, I loved the movie Moneyball--but, here in St. Louis, we fans know that there is more to America's pastime than numbers, money, and talent. Something that cannot be seen. Something that only a serious player and ardent lover of the game knows--something that is felt. In composition studies, Sondra Perl calls this feeling, "the felt sense." Bernie Miklasz calls it confidence in the players and the reciprocated loyalty of a manager's players. No matter what IT is called, Cardinal fans FEEL it. It's more than the electricity of red October(s), civic responsibility shown by iconic sports heroes who never shy away from being called-on to lead by example, or the legendary names that have "skippered" and coached this team.

The St. Louis Cardinals is more than just a baseball team. It's a tradition--the kind of tradition that never feels like Thoreau's worn path around Walden Pond. A tradition that is handed down from generation to generation, particularly omnipresent as Joe Buck's tenor transmits his father's passion for the baseball Cardinals beyond the grave while his son remains unbiased for the televised masses. So many of these "tune-in-during-October” fans won’t hear the same announcer that St. Louis fans will hear—but we’re blessed with a collective memory, full of sensational plays and team efforts, that was embodied by what many professionals consider the best in the baseball announcing business. We still hear Jack Buck’s voice in our heads as his catch phrases, like “Go Crazy, Folks. Go Crazy!” and “That’s a Winner!” escape from our mouths as often as when he was still alive.

Please allow me a brief skip down memory lane. I am lucky enough to know exactly when I realized the importance of this tradition. I was a toothless second-grader who had been to plenty of games at Busch Stadium (many more games than my own daughter will have attended by the time she enters second grade next year). Now, I couldn’t tell you (without cheating and using the Internet) what date it was or even if it was before or after the All-Star break. But I do remember that it was a day game, and my dad managed to score four tickets directly behind the Cardinal’s dugout. I brought my lucky bat, so the Cardinal’s won. The Cardinal’s played the Giants, my mom caught a foul ball hit by Darrell Evans, and I had “my usual”--a soda and cotton candy. I also remember that it was 1982. Yes, THAT year. After we watched Darrell Porter nearly tackle Bruce Sutter on the mound after the last strike of game 7 in that World Series, my medium-sized family of four, as if drawn to the center of the family room by a magnet, began hopping around in circles--just like what we saw the Cardinals doing on TV. Fireworks were booming, but we couldn’t hear them over our own revelry. It was the first time I ever saw my dad cry tears of joy—or tears of any kind, really.

I saw all those players on the 1982 World Series-winning team from a perspective that not many get to experience. They were human, life-sized—even to a second-grader. They were no bigger than my own dad. OK, George Hendrick was obviously taller and KeithHernandez with his mustache captured my heart even though I made my dad shave off his mustache. Nonetheless, when I had the opportunity to sit in the row directly behind the dugout, and I was given the privilege of watching the players go about their daily business—the goofing around, the looks on their faces after the TV cameras had moved on, and the sound of their voices when they casually talk with each other—I knew that Cardinal baseball would always be THE central metaphor in my life.

Remember that scene in the movie City Slickers where one guy talks about baseball as being the best, and for this character, the only connection he had with his father? I can only guess, but I suspect that sentiment resonated with many men. It certainly punched me in the gut. Maybe you missed it, but I’m a woman writing this. Somebody get the smelling salts. Yes, women can and do love baseball too. My love for the Cardinals is not necessarily something I inherited from the important women in my life, but it is something we all typically share. Maybe it’s just women born or raised in St. Louis. Regardless, I don’t have a lot in common with my dad anymore. I still love him, probably more now than ever. What we do have…is memories—mostly good ones—and the St. Louis Cardinals. And that’s something special.

It's the guy in the white hat.

Hello and welcome to my world

Coming from my background, the title of this blog, My Well-Documented Life, is both ironic and true. How can that be possible? As a writer, I want my story told—by me. This is not a memoir. This is my reality, the everyday ramblings of a 38 year-old who has figured out what is important in life:  my children, my husband, my parents, my brother and his family, my in-laws, myself, and my friends (and typically in that order, too). Screw the rest of you who think you should fit somewhere in there. Many of you don’t fit, but I let you elbow your way in for a very long time before I came to my senses. Now, you’ll get the stiff arm or a helmet to helmet tackle should you try. (See also 1:43 - 2:05 in this scene from High Fidelity). 

I am absolutely average and extraordinary at the same time. I am a relatively privileged, white (I think), middle-class, educated woman who has the luxury to almost have a room of my own in which I can write.  Whether or not I have the talent is certainly up for debate. Because I believe I do have the talent and an expensive education (from a state university no less!), I will continue writing. These thoughts may only matter to the people snugly tucked away in my own little corner of the world, but I blame my old days of being a college newspaper columnist  and section editor. I believed, then, that people read what I wrote—and I wasn’t even a good writer then! Why not take this education for a little spin, right?

Disclaimer #1:  My mother and father will certainly cower in a corner ashamed or afraid of any attention garnered by my public writing persona. While I am, very much, a product of their parenting and upbringing, I have very different ideologies than they do. They were fabulous parents, so please don’t blame them for my writing (unless it is good, you like it, and/or you agree with it).

Disclaimer #2:  Don’t talk about or ask my husband about what I write. He does not read my writing (at least he doesn’t inform me that he reads it).