where the wild is tatted.

back when I was your age: sweden, 1975

Capslock got tired of hearing our parents say: “I wore those acid-washed jeans/sparkly studded cowboy boots/fill-in-the-blanks when I your age. And I wore them first.” So we went through the family photo albums to prove it.  Here’s what our Swedish family members (and some random Germans) were wearing in 1975. Start stealing.

hear this: theresa andersson.

meet theresa andersson. she may look like your average swedish/new orleans indie darling, but in fact, she is a one-woman atomic whirlwind; and she is probably blowing your favorite quirky singer with bangs straight out of the musical water. backup band? what backup band? theresa loops her violin, tuned-down guitar (read: bass), half-filled pop bottles, dulcimers and her own sultry voice into a fantastic musical kaleidoscope that will immediately kick your cold-weather blues. think: grittier feist, or thao and the get down stay down if the band caught swine flu. when theresa is not single-handedly entertaining the masses, she can be found recording in her kitchen, collaborating with norwegian artists on obscure swedish islands, or hand-stitching her own album covers. take that, too-cute indie singer-songwriters in vintage tweed dresses. 

guest drop: no basic space for the xx

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Capslock is a huge fan of The xx. Sadly not all of the caplocks fans in DC were able to skip on down to DC 9 to attend (same on you). Prior to the concert I hesitated over the proper attire for such a show. In a recent interview The xx acknowledged that black was their color of choice, I’d hate to think of it as a really enforced thing, I guess I’ve always worn black… You’re not going to get shouted at if someone was wearing pink or something.” So naturally I went with a light color. I shimmied my way through the see of plaid and knit hats, to the front of the crowd so I could be right up against the stage and in arm’s length, because it’s not creepy at all for a short girl to touch you during your concert. They played their entire album and 2 covers. Having been listening to The xx at all times for the past few weeks it was amazing to hear them live. Their sound is the perfect mix of harmony and melody. Romy and Oliver compliment each other so well vocally. I walked out of there feeling elated. There is no better feeling than the perfect contentment after an amazing concert.

your morning power folk ballad.

Sometimes I like to browse foreign itunes lists, and that’s how I found the London-born Mumford & Sons. It’s folk music for the jilted indie-rocker–imagine if the  Avett Brothers were British. And they have a dobro! Unfortunately, they have yet to make it across the itunes-pond, so if any Brits out there want to give me their credit card number, I’d be much obliged.

see this: mass in an american car.

The quaint colloquial charm of Vermont chewed me up and spit me out in western Massachusetts. This would have been the perfect time in my trip to get all Hunter S. Thompson and go Gonzo through the state – and the small liberal arts colleges that dot the western Mass landscape would have been the perfect source for the necessary pharmaceuticals. 

In lieu of hallucinogenic drugs, I decided to get all “messed up” on fall foliage and the Berkshires.  I began in Williamstown, home of Williams College, and delighted in the price of a cup of coffee in their campus center.  It costs $50k/yr to attend the school, but coffee will only set you back a dollar per cup. 

By sunset I headed east toward Amherst.  The hotel that had been booked for my stay had an intense No Country for Old Men vibe and a real relic of a TV that operated by turning a dial.  I didn’t linger.  I headed to town and found a bar full of UMass kids singing karaoke.  To keep my “American” theme alive, I chose to sing “American Girl” by Tom Petty.  They were not prepared.   The only friend I made that night was the DJ.  Not a warm and welcoming crowd overall – but I guess solo karaoke isn’t always the best icebreaker.

bright lights.

hey sicily…

you look like narnia.

morning after: rad shoes and the clinton years.

 Sometimes following strangers down the party rabbit hole leads to sulken pizza munching at 11 pm—but on lucky star days, it leads to the nineties. deep blue something, genesis, clinton, plaid. check.  for some reason I spent a lot of time stalking shoes—so cheers to the boys who (on-purpose?) matched, as well as to the guy who marched after me screaming, “what’s wrong with my shoes?” they were okay too. shout out to the capslock reader going to oz next week and a sparkly nose stud. not the guy wearing it. just the stud. and as I recall, I think, we both kinda liked it. And I said, well that’s, one thing we got.  

guest drop: a. strattner