"How is it possible to miss a woman whom you kept at a distance, so that when she was gone you would not miss her?”
― Steve Martin, Shopgirl

blue sky and the devil.

…"Old worn out feelings
And yesterday's news
Just give me something
That I can use…"

Dreams came true this past week when Trampled by Turtles played their first show here in Nashville. And while yes, I am aware that this is rapidly approaching music blog status, I'm not sorry for telling you of their greatness.

Ah yes, ok, so the venue was small enough and the crowd included everything from oxfords to flannel...a solid showing for a bluegrass group from Duluth. They took the stage and I cannot express to you how perfectly happy I was from the moment they started playing. Their desolate ballads are hauntingly beautiful - you don't really know whether to sing along and smile or start to cry. Pretty early in their set they played one of my favorites, "Methodism in Middle America," and later they covered the Pixies' "Where is My Mind." Incredible. By the end of the night I was in such a euphoric state that I wanted to head to the country and never return…or quit my job and follow those five guys on the rest of their tour. Win-win if you ask me. We were all captivated by the whole scene, including Kenny, famous for knowing every rap since Tupac's day, fell in love with the bluegrass, and the lead singer, right then and there.

Oh man, I really can't say enough about these guys. I would love nothing more than to be their publicist and let's face it, I would probably already be a groupie (do those exist anymore?) if I didn't have a job and all that. Just trust me on this one: you want to hear this band. I even played a little "Wait So Long" for my 8th graders pre-fall break, and while they were skeptical at first -yelling out phrases such as "Who are these white guys?" and "We thought you liked Kanye!" - they ended up singing and clapping along.

So please, do yourself a big favor and (legally) download both "Duluth" and "Palomino" and give in to the bluegrass. You're welcome.

P.S. 903 just got a little more awesome…we now have a record player.

the Business.

Oh man. Saturday night I had a spiritual experience in the form of

J Roddy Walston and the Business.

True, I've sang their praises in blogs past, but had never seen them live and in all their gritty glory until this past weekend. The venue was small and the opener to the opener sang a song titled "Bitch, This Isn't L.A." - not my style by any means, if you can imagine, but comic relief if nothing else. We somehow survived the boys in skinny jeans and teen angst tunes just in time for my main squeeze to take the stage.

Initial thoughts...Wow, he has great hair. Like really great hair. We all know how important this feature is to me. J Roddy was also sporting Raybans and a wedding ring, the latter of which was a surprise but hey, he's a man of commitment, I can respect that... and be a tad jealous of his lady.

As soon as he started banging that piano with "I Don't Wanna Hear It" we all started singing and jumping like fools, and the great thing is no one cared! It was one of those shows where every one around me was singing along to every word just like I was, so I really didn't care how dopey I looked dancing around like a crack addict singing "I know you hate me baby but don't break the needle." They played all of my favorites, including "Brave Man's Death" where he basically made the piano his bitch in front of my very eyes. I might or might not have semi-yelled that very sentence amongst the madness. Maybe it was the boots I borrowed from Kenny. Nah, it was definitely J Roddy.

Ooh, and pre-J Roddy taking the stage I happened upon 1/3 of the Business, the bassist who was in plaid and also hiding out front whilst the opening band did their thing. We started talking about nonsense, he mumbled between drinks and it was pretty loud but I managed to make out "Great, what song do you wanna hear later?" to which I answered "Caroline" and the aforementioned "Brave Man's Death." They played both, and I was happy. And yes, he was a great kisser.

I'm working on katielovesjroddy.com now.

Until then, get their music and get ready to keep it on repeat.

25.

Well kids, I'm officially old. A quarter of a century, to be exact. That's right. On the 18th I turned 25. I spent the week and half or so celebrating this momentous occasion, from seeing both Grace Potter and The Raconteurs at the Ryman to singing karaoke while eating a cookie cake with my senior picture self in the middle. The only thing that could have made all the happy birthdaying any more epic would have been if Jack himself had sang to me from the Ryman stage, and let's be honest, we're not there yet, kids.

Turning 25 makes me think back to when I turned 16. I wore seersucker and I distinctly remember telling my best girlfriend at the post-party sleepover that I couldn't wait to turn 25 because that's when you become established. Who knows what episode of "Saved by the Bell" I got that from, but I was convinced of the inevitable transformation that would occur on this particular year. Truth: I am not at all the girl I was at 16. I've grown taller and hopefully smarter, been on my own, loved and lost people I will always adore, and had my fair share of mini-breakdowns and moments of pure happiness. Now here I am at 25. I'm somehow allowed to (attempt to) shape young minds every day, and while yes, sometimes I want to yell mean things and run away from the creatures called 8th graders, I am thankful for the opportunity and welcome the challenge. I have solid friends who keep life oh so interesting, and no, I do not need the anti-aging cream just yet. Oh, and I can now rent a car. I'm pretty neutral on my level of excitement on that one, but hey, it is a perk that comes with this age.

So here's to being 25. Turn up the music and roll the windows down.

I'm happy.

she's got the medicine that everybody wants.

Earlier this week I had the good fortune of seeing Ms. Grace Potter & the Nocturnals at the Ryman and I officially adore her. How can you not? She has awesomely blonde hair with the Alison Mosshart bangs, legs that go on for days paired with the highest stilettos, and perfectly short dresses that I would gladly welcome into my wardrobe. To complete her bad A package she has a killer voice AND the ability to play just about any instrument, electric Fender included, and still belt the big notes without so much as breaking a sweat. Oh, and she has her very own band of Nocturnals to play with her on the daily. Ooh la la, indeed.

For her first stint headlining the Ryman, GP played an UH-MAZING set, complete with my favorite not-so-love song off her first album, "Apologies," and everyone's new favorites, "Medicine" and "Paris." She moved across that stage, dancing and shaking in massive heels, and we all fell in love with her rocker stage presence that is rarely found at such a level in female performers. All of this, and at THE RYMAN. I was a very happy girl.

If I die young, I hope to come back as Grace Potter.

"You hell on boys, let's see how you do with a man."

Fact: I have started writing 4 or 5 different “books” in the past 4 or 5 years. I’ll get this idea in my head for an excellent piece of (at the least) chick lit, I’ll write and write, and then the inevitable happens….I get too caught up in juggling real life and end up with a couple questionable chapters of an undeveloped story. These half finished works of mine are, embarrassingly enough, mostly about a girl falling in love and living happily ever after with the prince charming of her choosing, and I cannot believe I am admitting that I, too, more than once, fell trap to the fluff. However, I don’t want to write clichés any longer. After all, it isn’t always rainbows and butterflies, right? We aren’t always supremely happy, we don’t always have the best relationship with our parents and not all stories end with the protagonist lucky in love and making bank.

I just finished reading “Provinces of Night” by William Gay, a Southern Gothic writer who lives in Hohenwald and actually signed the copy that I was so graciously leant. His style is uncanny, writing such dialogue that you honestly feel as if you’re somehow in the book, witnessing it all right next to Boyd and Raven Lee. He writes the nitty gritty, and I can’t help but crave to emulate that somehow in a piece of my own. Sure, it’s a far cry from the pseudo romantic comedies I’ve starting writing before, but I feel like this is the time for me to actually write about real life and real relationships. Everyday is not a fairytale, and not every story ends so nicely. That’s what I love about both “Provinces” and my personal favorite, “The Long Home” – all loose ends are not tied up at the conclusion of the story, and everyone does not necessarily live happily ever after. All these black-and-white-I’ll-die-for-you-after-knowing-you-for-a-week stories can’t hold a candle to the gray, er muddy, areas that W paints in his stories that have so enthralled me this summer.

Ladies, and perhaps gentlemen, put down whatever fluff your pretending to mindlessly enjoy and pick up something with a little more grit. I strongly suggest the aforementioned as well as “Fay” by Larry Brown, a story of a less than leading lady so intriguing and perfectly told that I solemnly swore to never ever read the fluff again.

xoxo.

Ah, September.

This might possibly be my favorite month. I love summer, I do, more than most anything, but if the seasons must change then I will welcome September with open arms. Sure, I am not a fan of saying so long sweet summer, but this beginning month of fall ushers in many happies...

Exhibit A: College football is back, which means hello again to SEC haircuts, game day festivities and Sportscenter being a constant on your tv. Now I understand some girls tend to dread football season and all that it entails, i.e. a lack of attention from generally all males during games. However, I happen to love SEC football and all that it entails, especially when it involves good people and good beer. After all, I am a Southern girl.

Exhibit B: My birthday falls on the 18th, and while I am always excited when there is a reason for a nice little get together, I am even more excited this go around because I am turning the Big 2-5. That's right, kids, a quarter of a century. Oh the days when I thought 25 was when one became established, er, old...

Exhibit C: Jack White, in the form of The Raconteurs, at the Ryman on the 15th. Seeing Jack live at the Ryman might be the greatest thing, ever.

So here's to school supplies, cooler weather, football, birthdays, road trips, boots, the Ryman and everything in between. September, please be sweet.