Jim Trainer

Posts Tagged ‘Pope’

Dave Grohl, South By Southwest 2013, Blues&Trouble in Paradise

In Uncategorized on March 14, 2013 at 10:56 am

Neurosis-it’s what’s for breakfast. Doesn’t help that the whole town’s on vacation and the whole fucking world is on Austin’s doorstep for the 27th Annual SXSW Music&Media Conference.
The construction crews on Rio Grande haven’t missed a beat. They’ve got some clever machines, including one that sounds like some kind of mechanical pick-axe. It chisels me from dreaming, it chisels me awake. My mornings usually begin with me fantasizing about climbing onto the roof of the mansion with a rifle and taking Mr. beep-beep-beep out, and the rest of his crew too.
I’m stuck on repeat, creatively speaking, and I’m just as neurotic about a poem submitted last Friday night as I was the last time I posted.
Uncle Dave Grohl will be delivering the keynote address for this year’s SXSW, at 12noon CST.  I don’t know how he could possibly hold a candle to last year’s address by the Boss. Bruce Springsteen’s Keynote Address for SXSW 2012 is one of the finest moments in the history of broadcast media. I strongly encourage you to listen to it sometime. The best thing about it? The Boss knows that all we are ever doing is standing on the shoulders of our ancestors. He never comes across as self-important or some hot shit rockstar. He talked about Son House and The Animals for christ. Other than Grohl’s work behind the kit, I’m not really impressed by the man. His work with the Queens and of course Nirvana are fine examples of hard rock drumming at its finest. The Foo Fighters on the other hand, are fratboy fare, nothing we haven’t heard again and again, repeatedly since punkrock’s incorporation. If his recent AMA on Reddit is any indication, this should at least be interesting. Bound to have more resonance&depth than his band-of-Dads’ sappy post-hardcore horseshit.
As far as SX is concerned, before day’s end I’m bound to see Freedy Johnston, The Joy Formidable and end it all with a little nightcap east side.
It’s impossible to get anything done around here with the whole town exploding and shit happening in every abandoned bus and bank lobby in Hippie Town.
And besides all that craziness I can’t get over the fact that I submitted a poem  that I am not proud of to an Anthology . I guess that’s life, right Brother? Some of us shack up in the high rooms with a bottle of champagne and rue our Artists’ plight while the streets are filled with Gilligan’s Island rejects wearing wristbands and drinking from plastic cups and jamming to the Foos.
Meanwhile the rest of the world’s awash about the appointing of another kiddie feeler as the head of an ignorant, hateful and dead religion.  1.2 billion people can’t be wrong, can they?

Between trouble&the blues, how will we ever survive?  See you on the streets motherfucker.  Rock and Roll can never die.

We live in a post–authentic world. And today authenticity is a house of mirrors. It’s all just what you’re bringing when the lights go down. It’s your teachers, your influences, your personal history; and at the end of the day, it’s the power and purpose of your music that still matters.
-Bruce Springsteen from his 2012 SXSW Keynote Address

the pope and michaelangelo

Taking The Weekend Off

In Uncategorized on March 3, 2013 at 5:33 pm

The wire was dead down here at the office on Friday.  This much madness was too much sorrow. I broke code and dodged deadline. Silence isn’t a good trait in a self-proclaimed iconoclast writer. My silence was the result of a tie between my shock and utter apathy about current events. It’s a great big dirty world. The news was bad. I was sitting at the writing desk among the empties. When I attempted to reflect on current events a dumb boredom clamped down on me like a migraine. The upside down American flag in the back room rustled lazily but told me nothing. Me&Steve Earle were yelling back at the bastard grackle and I was bored. The grackle yelled and me&Steve Earle hollered back. Then the phone rang.
It was American Book Award winning poet and friend, Lamont Steptoe. Said he was just checking in. He told me I should send off a poem to the 17th annual Poetry Ink Anthology coming out in April. Deadline is next Friday. He asked me about what was going on in my life while offering me the wisdom of Etheridge Knight and Sam Allen and hipping me to the 7 universal roles of a poet. He said something to the effect of do your work for three decades or so, and things will start to happen. What a godsend that man is. A cherished friend and something to look up to. His call was a much-needed shot in the arm. After hanging up with Lamont I felt redoubled, at ease. I knew I could rest in my work, wherever I am in the world and whatever I am doing.  A poet.
Then the editor came by and we went out to the big poetry show. Bedpost Confessions‘ Poetry Show was a high night of art and hilarity. These ladies know how to throw an intimate and inclusive event that never compromises the art of performance. I mean, how many times have you gone to a slam, a spoken wordoff or whatever-the-fuck, and ended up feeling so alone&isolated that you began to wonder if Plato was right? Sweet, sexy, revealing, as dark as you want and fucking hilarious. Well done, ladies. Well done.
I was particularly impressed with the poetry of Ms. Jenna Martin Opperman and of course I was reminded of how so very special poet Lacey Roop is. It’s not often that a poet can simply make me happy. Fill me with joy. What a blessing she is. Look out for these performers and this series. They are up to something good. For true.

Saturday the Editor&me went to a songwriters circle at the Saxon. We dug on tunes from the mighty Jay Sims&friends over Lonestar big boys.

Now the weekend’s over. And I’m back at the desk. There’s still plenty to be outraged about. By dodging deadline Friday I managed to avoid having to touch on the crime of the century or the brownshirt humor of pop culture and the voices of those railing against it.  The world kept turning and grinding out the days of our grisly plight but I had to recharge and redouble. Had to bask in the love for my people before I felt ready to get back in the game.

I’m ready now. Christ.
Vox populi vox dei.

going for the throat image