Just Another Folk Singer’s duet with self covering Frank Loesser’s “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” Recorded 12.19.11 (Upper East Side, NYC) on Garageband App.
Tag Archives: holiday
A game of cat & mouse…with myself
Filed under Are you ready to rock?, Media, Post A Day / Post A Week, Soundcloud
Better late than never: Performance # 4
Credits: The Merch Grrls (Mystie Chamberlin, Charlotte Eerie, Joe Kavitski, and Mark Suall) perform cover of “All I Want For Christmas Is You” for the first time for the annual Antagonist Holiday Party and Potluck 12.15.08 @ the tiki room @ Niagara Bar & Lounge (112 Ave. A, NYC). Filmed by Chad Dancer. Performance # 4.
Wokka Wokka Wokka
Just Another Folk Singer (Mystie Chamberlin) performing “Dramaville” on a toy guitar 12.18.10 @ Berkeley Oceanfront Hotel (1401 Ocean Ave., Asbury Park, NJ). Filmed by Lucinda Gallagher on a Flip.
The entourage was at the hotel to celebrate Billie Jo’s birthday and to see Marah as well as Jesse Malin & the St. Marks Social “It Came Upon A Midnight Beer” holiday show @ The Stone Pony (913 Ocean Avenue, Asbury Park, NJ) .
Cameo by David Jordan.
Filed under Adventures, All Tomorrow's Parties, Are you ready to rock?, Media, Video
The Devil and The Deep Blue Sea
- July 2005; photo by Jeremiah Birnbaum
On Independence Day weekend 2005, I was working in the Image Collection at DePaul University’s library. Students and teachers were away celebrating their holiday. My boyfriend and I had separated, and although I accepted, along with my friends, that our parting was for the best, I felt desperately alone. I had recently turned 27 years old and impulsively dyed my hair denim blue. Blue was the perfect manifestation to reflect my temperament at the time. I liked to color my hair when I needed a change. It was an easy way to transform into a different person in roughly one hour. However, the alteration was always ephemeral, and eventually I started itching to break free of, well, everything really.
As I sat in the empty office that day, I felt a familiar itch. I daydreamed to myself with a silent sigh, I could leave and no one would even know I was gone. Then, somewhere, a light bulb illuminated. I COULD LEAVE, AND NO ONE WOULD EVEN KNOW I WAS GONE! I shut down my computer, turned off the fluorescent lights, marched out of the office, and fled the library. I drove home, grabbed a small suitcase, flung in a handful of whatever was on my bed, and strolled out the door.
I hiked downtown from Ukrainian Village, directly to the Amtrak train at Union Station. I purchased a round-trip ticket to New York City. The ride was approximated to last 18 hours due to a route through upstate New York, but I did not care. I was doing something! I was going somewhere! I rationalized the journey by reminding myself that my mate from Surrey, UK was visiting New York, therefore the least I could do was convene with her.
From the instant I entered the waiting room, the following events could have been the plot of a Richard Linklater or Michel Gondry flick. Trains were delayed, and travelers, probably returning home from holiday, were mulling around with large packs. One cherubic boy, dressed casually in a T-shirt and baggy, jean shorts, caught my eye. He was sitting on the floor about a yard ahead of me in line and lounging on one of those sturdy travel/hiking backpacks with an aluminum frame.
Ordinarily, when I traveled via train, I effortlessly got an entire aisle to myself, but this trip was an exception. Once I boarded all but a few sparse seats, in my coach, were claimed. I would be fortunate if I could locate a place beside someone who would not flirt with or aggravate me, I thought. My eyes frantically searched for a woman, since she would feasibly solve one concern. I saw an opening alongside a shaggy blond mop of hair and hurried to the neighboring seat’s occupant.
“Is this seat taken?” I asked before even looking at her.
As it turns out, she was a he. In fact, he was the same youngster I noticed in the waiting room. He shook his head, but made obvious to me by his expression and general demeanor that he had also desired to have an aisle to himself. Whatever! At least I knew he would leave me alone, and I would not be distracted, since he was not my type (not that I have a type, but if I did, he would not have been it). I pulled out a copy of Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, a book I had checked out before I left the library. I pulled my portable CD player (remember CD players?) out of my bag, put on my headphones, and pressed play.
For the following four hours, I either read chapters of the James Joyce book or listened to Embrace’s song Madelaine on constant repeat. Just a few weeks prior on June 30, 2005, the day after my birthday, Embrace performed at the Double Door in Wicker Park in Chicago. Somehow, I got roped into doing grassroots marketing for Filter Magazine in preparation for the show. While I was shoving things into my suitcase earlier that day, I chucked Embrace’s Looking As You Are EP in with my luggage. From the first measure of Madelaine, I was in love. Finally, the CD player battery was about to die. I put away my materials and planned to take a nap.
Two elderly women entered the car at the previous stop and sat directly across from us. They watched a comedy on DVD without headphones so everyone could hear the movie, and they guffawed uproariously. I sank low in my reclined seat attempting to ignore the noise, but found no immunity. Suddenly, a loud snore sawed through the amalgamation of sounds from a row somewhere behind mine. I looked up at my blond neighbor, who also appeared disturbed.
I abandoned my vow of silence and solemnly stated, “Just so you know, I toss and turn in my sleep. I might, unintentionally, slap you.”
He glared, and I noticed his blue eyes (like mine).
“I also snore VERY loudly,” I said in the same earnest tone.
A smirk spread across his thin lips. And with an English accent, he forbearingly stated, “I’ll kill you.” Continue reading
Filed under the Blues
Leaving the Boogaloo
- At the Camden Hostel (photo by Jas)
Marky is allowing me to add or remove a note from a chord and still count it as one chord. Last night he asked me how the challenge was going, and he told me that I should be able to write a one-chord song in 15 minutes. Now, I could blame it on the fact that I had to remove the guitar strings, re-screw the input, and restring my guitar (yes, I fixed the Bubinga ALL BY MYSELF! I can so play with the boys!), but perhaps I am trying too hard. So, I turned off the television and pulled out the lil’ pink guy (but only after spending a few hours checking out how my Chili Dog octave pedal sounds with my fixed Bubinga) and placed my fingers over the notes in the formation of a C-chord
After another hour of picking around, I started randomly strumming, adding a finger here, taking away a finger there, until I found something aurally pleasing. Marky says that is the easy part. I then placed the guitar beside me on the bed, and I opened my journal. I spent the next few minutes staring at a blank page. Then, I checked Twitter and Facebook on my iPhone. I responded to some text messages. I listened to Etta James, and I watched some White Stripes videos. When I was finally finished messing around, I finally picked up the pen and scribbled a few random words such as: hurt, head, bed, and arm. Then, I started humming, and meanwhile I thought about a trip to London that I took over three years ago.
I spent three days with a friend in Surrey then got a hotel room in London on Old Street, but instead of staying there I went out with to the Good Mixer pub in hopes to run into another friend whom I had met on my last visit. He introduced me to his lovely friend (are you still following?) whom I stayed with on Chalk Farm Road that night. I made it back to my hotel with just enough time to check out and check into another hotel in Belsize Park. I was restless, but I remembered a suggestion to check out the Boogaloo bar.
The Boogaloo bar is located in Highgate, a village in north London. I suppose there was an easier way to get there, but being foreign, I got directions from my bellhop and took the train to the Archway tube station. It took me a while of wandering around in the dark by myself to find this infamous bar. After about a 15 minute walk straight down Archway Road, I came across a charming little juke-joint with a small sign that unassumingly proclaimed: the Boogaloo!
I walked inside, and my eyes took a moment to adjust. The room was amber lit with modest neon signs and some candle light. A handful of people occupied the cozy space, some in the corner, a few at the bar and one or two making use of the red couches in the center of the room. I could not help but notice the tall, angular gentlemen sitting on one end of the bar. There was something about him. It was not that he was wearing tweed or that his bright orange hair seemed to catch fire, illuminated as it was by the amber light. It was, rather, the soft curves in his face, and the way he slouched over the bar with a pint of Guinness in front of him that suggested an air of defeat. I thought he must be waiting to melt into the floor, and I let my eyes linger on him momentarily as I carefully chose a seat all the way at the other end of the bar. Continue reading
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