Marty E.(The Dirty Pearls) playing tambourine and Mystie Chamberlin (Just Another Folk Singer / Teh Typos) singing at Memorial Day BBQ 05.30.11 in Brooklyn, NY. Photo by Abigail Hennessy.
Tag Archives: Wildwood
“I miss the innocence I’ve known….”
Mystie Chamberlin (Just Another Folk Singer / Teh Typos) with Marty E. (The Dirty Pearls) playing “The Musician” at Memorial Day BBQ 05.30.11 in Brooklyn, NY. Video by David Fleming.
“She fell in love w/ the drummer…another then another….”
Mystie Chamberlin (Just Another Folk Singer / Teh Typos) with Marty E. (The Dirty Pearls) playing “Alistair” at Memorial Day BBQ 05.30.11 in Brooklyn, NY. Video by David Fleming.
Filed under Adventures, All Tomorrow's Parties, Are you ready to rock?, Media, the Blues, Video
Holy Time Machine, Batman!
Mystie Chamberlin learning how to play (playing “Goodnight Sweet”) her pink Wildwood Daisy Rock guitar on vacation in Wicker Park in Chicago, IL. Filmed via mobile phone 04.20.08 by Cassie Weatherford.
Filed under Are you ready to rock?, Media, Video
“There’s a pretty little thing waiting for the King….”
originally uploaded by Just Another Folk Singer.
Mystie Chamberlin (Just Another Folk Singer / Teh Typos) playing “the lil’ pink guy (Daisy Rock Wildwood acoustic guitar) 09.05.10 @ the gates of Graceland (3734 Elvis Presley Blvd, Memphis, TN). Photo by Billie Jo Sheehan. Americanafest roadtrip 2010.
Filed under Adventures, Are you ready to rock?, Flickr, Media
Performance # 118!
Just Another Folk Singer (Mystie Chamberlin), Alphabet City Soup presented by the Antagonist Art Movement, 04.05.10 @ 8pm @ Niagara Bar (112 Ave. A @ 7th St., NYC). iPhone Hipstamatic Print by David Jordan (Lens: Kaimal Mark II, Film: Float). Performance # 118.
Filed under Antagonist Art Movement, Flickr, Media
“The best laid schemes….”
- Channeling Garbo in Boston
(photo by Billie Jo Sheehan)
“But Mouse, you are not alone,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes of mice and men
Go often askew,
And leaves us nothing but grief and pain,
For promised joy!” -Robert Burns, To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough
I was wrong about 2008, by the way. I ran away to Boston with the aforementioned ex-non-boyfriend in February. Something peaked by Valentine’s Day, and by St. Patrick’s Day weekend I was coming down…HARD!
I flew to Chicago with high hopes of a fanciful, impractical weekend away, only to have them squashed via text message as soon as I took a seat on the plane.
Friday after work, I ran home, grabbed a suitcase, literally tossed in an armful of whatever clothes were nearby, grabbed my guitar, and sprinted out the door. I barely made it to the airport in enough time to check in and board. As the flight attendants prepared for takeoff, I readied myself. Only when I flipped open my mobile phone to power off, I was greeted by three text messages, which was actually one long one divided because of text limitations. It read:
“Dear, Sweet, Beautiful, I don’t know quite how to say this, but I started seeing someone in the last few weeks. I still care about you, and you can still crash at my pad, but I will not be able to stay with you. I hope we can still hang out and party. xoxoxo”
This is the part in the “movie” where my face droops and silently tears begin to stream down flushed cheeks from my glistening eyes (good, huh?). In retrospect, I feel badly for the poor man who got the haphazard seat next to me, as I hastily decided that the best method to respond to this change in plans was to mainline whiskey, to find another friend at whose pad I could crash, and to catch the next flight back to New York (in that order).
Several hours and countless ounces of Jack Daniel’s later, I crashed with a girl friend near my old squat in Lincoln Park. Unfortunately, it turned out that I was allergic to her dog, or rather, that is what I deduced from the hives that broke out on my arms and chest. I proceeded to Schubas, where he was performing (I should know better than to get involved with musicians by now), to pick up the key as I was still unable to book an earlier flight back to New York. With my luggage and guitar in tow, I waited miserably for the first set to end. Meanwhile, I had a beer at the bar until reinforcements arrived, when I decided I needed to switch back to the hard stuff. Continue reading
Filed under the Blues
Introduction (or How I Roll)
I never thought I was talented enough to play guitar. I saved up all my money one year when I was about 16 years old to buy my sister a Rickenbacker that my best friend’s father was selling. She was always the outgoing one. She and our father gave me a bass guitar, an electric blue Yamaha. I took some lessons at the local music shop, however I never got much further than learning the strings and playing a riff of Cream’s “Sunshine Of Your Love.”
For the next 15 years, I kept music as a top priority in my life. Even when I moved from the provincial town of my upbringing to the city lights of Chicago, where I majored in art and did my senior project on concert photography, I always managed to merge music into whatever it was I was doing to pay the bills. I toured with bands, sometimes as their merch girl sometimes as an unofficial band member. When I bought a one way ticket on a Greyhound to New York City, the only things I carried with me were: a duffel bag (mostly of clothes, CDs, and books), a pillow, and my bass. I learned how to DJ, but it was not until a year later that I half-jokingly started up a band, The ThrowAway Girls (TAG for short), with a friend of mine who said she had a guitar.
Our first show was on a Saturday night at the Bowery Ballroom opening for Mr. Brownstone, a Guns N’ Roses tribute band. We were completely overwhelmed during sound check. We had no idea which amp was for the guitar and which was for the bass. Our drummer had practiced with us about twice, but we went for it and gave it everything we had, missed beats, flat notes, wrong strings and all. And we had a blast!
Shortly thereafter, TAG dissolved. I needed more.
Then somewhere around a year ago, I was sitting in a hotel room in Jersey City with an ex-non-boyfriend from Chicago after he had played a show at Arlene’s Grocery. I had recently purchased the pink Daisy Rock Wildwood acoustic starter kit and made my way through plucking out “Jingle Bells” and “A Bicycle Built for Two” before writing my first two songs, which consisted mostly of three string chords. We were reclining in front of the picture window before dawn, drunk on Coronginas (Corona with a splash of orange juice), and encircled by ringlets of smoke from our Parliament Lights, which we flicked gingerly into a paper cup of ash-water, when he turned to me and told me for the second time that he always thought I was a rock star. He then handed his acoustic guitar to me, and I fumbled to play my songs for him.
-Fri., July 31st, 2009
ThrowAway Girls (photo by Mickey Cheng)
Filed under Are you ready to rock?
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