Tag Archives: Adele

Art Orgasms

20 Nov

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Straight up: it is one a.m., as I start this.

…I waited until midnight for the Adele album to drop, like sci-fi nerds are waiting for Star Wars. Same experience. Same geek-factor. Same obsession.

…The digital download popped early, so I’m well of two-times into listening to one of our generation’s greatest storyteller’s “junior album.” And it plays like a fucking doctoral thesis.

…Cuz sometimes…a freak of talent is born unto us…who speaks an international language of art, so well…that even sounds before the words, punch you in the gut with real-talk. My instinct pulls heavily towards “All I Ask,” and “Million Years Ago.”

…The album as a whole is story-telling rich, has surprisingly eclectic genre-play, and (together with her vocal texture), is frankly balls-out magnificent. Totally worth the wait. But art speaks differently to different people, and for me (at the moment), these two songs are the repeat mini-set as I write this. Small, totally significant details that tickle, punch, and thrust. Together with the power of her instrument to tell the story…it’s like a master-class in being human and vulnerable.

…Which, after even a pretty fucking great rehearsal tonight, on a pretty fucking good play, with a pretty fucking stellar set of co-stars, makes me hungry to do more, and better…be braver, more naked, more “real.”

…Which is the drop-down gorgeous thing about “art.” The inspiration of one, on another…the combining of these words to the effect of chills or delight. The gut punch, of action or inarticulate sound, when words aren’t enough.

My god, how lucky…to have that damn desk job, so I can afford to go to a rehearsal, I’m not being paid for (this particular time), so I can speak words of art, debate and discuss interpretation with other artists, go home after a good night of hard work, wait til midnight for an album drop I’ve waited YEARS for, and have the leisure to stay up, with a couple fingers of expensive top drawer whiskey, reflecting about it until (let’s face it) two a.m. or better, before bed n’ work tomorrow.

Exhaustion is worth it. It always is. I would trade nothing past 4:30 p.m., for anything. Which means, I’ve got a pretty supremely blessed life, frankly.

…And sitting here, with this musical goddess of storytelling piped at full volume in my earbuds, it presses me forward…to work harder, do better, and hope that at least once in my career, I can slaughter a human heart with empathy, at least a tenth as well…as Miss Adele.

~D

For The Oscar

24 Feb

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This one is a last minute post to m’peeps who won tonight. (As seen in tape delay with a bevy of friends.)

…Of course, we knew Adele would win, that was never a question up for debate with real people…of which I am proud and roared loudly upon acceptance speech.  In the mean time though, can we get a “hollah” for Shirely Bassey at 110, singing with the same chutzpah and vibrato as her original self a zillion years ago?

…Also, I’d like to openly shed a tear for Streisand’s Hamlish tribute (the same year I saw him live at the Seattle Symphony), and get an “Amen” for Annie Hathaway’s Best Supporting win.

…My only major upset for the night was effing Jennifer Lawrence, who at age twelve has absolutley no reason to be winning an Best Actress catagory Oscar when people like Kate Winslet had to spend over a decade and six nominations to finally win…especially when going up against Juilliard-trained Jessica Chastain and her hotel room of mugshots and engrossing meta homework on “Zero Dark Thirty” like a fucking GROWN UP actor.

…But I’m not bitter or anything.

Congrats to m’peeps, 12 of whom won of the ones I wished to…which ain’t bad, when you consider how political Hollywood is.

…Also, Charliz Theron should keep the hair, Seth MacFarlan should be my other boyfriend, Catherine Zeta-Jones is a physical wizard, Daniel Radcliffe, should always randomly Broadway-dance, George Clooney still makes the best Cary Grant,  Daniel Day-Lewis should maybe be retired from award-winning…just to be fair…and Les Mis peeps were all on the same stage at the same time, singing…and it was of awesome. 

…So there.

Until tomorrow:

~D

How Things Are From Here

6 Oct

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I am counter-acting last night’s chick-fest with a shit ton of James Bond hotness. It’s all about finding totally realistic balance in life, between men who will ride up on a white horse and pine for you, and men who beat the shit out of people while wearing Armani.  This is all I want.  And frankly, I don’t understand why it’s so difficult for the guy upstairs to get it right.

…And speaking of Bond.  How about a hand for my girl, Adele’s, epic leap into all-time cult status for her newest track to hit the “Oops, it leaked” viral rage.  Love it, babe.  Keep ’em coming.

Since last night actually ended mid this morning, spent the better part of the day working myself up to the point where I would be inspired enough to take a shower and get dressed. This happened eventually, around four…after making “breakfast” and finishing my book. Then a walk n’ talk with a bud, and now home to Bond.

…Oh Bond. There is something about men of extremes. Really does it for this dame, I gotta say. Cuz there’s a time and place for the roguish pretty-boy Willoughby, the right moment for the deeply devoted Brandon, and plenty of space for the sexy “I will fuck you up and look hot while doing it” Bond. Manly men. It’s all we want. Am I right?

…This would be the opposite to “M’s” current obsession of grilled-out rappers, who spend all their time pointing at the camera and tossing their dreadlocks like really disturbing shampoo ads. I only know this, as rounding the corner from 3:00 to 3:30, this is what she was playing on her ipad while zumbaing, to a tag-mix with JLo’s latest album. I giggled a lot in between eating chips. (And anything else that wasn’t glued to the coffee table.) Fun was had. It’s how we roll.

…It makes me miss The BFF…who is alive and well and currently residing on the books of Central Casting. And though I have rehearsals to keep me busy, and buddies to keep me company, you can’t replace a person who is “your person.” The Fella and I both know this to be true. It’s hard when other-halfs move two fucking states away…and you can’t just roll back and forth to one another’s houses anymore, for a talk, or do the weekly dinner makings, or go on ‘ventures. You realize how much a PART of your daily life they had become, and how important that family bond is…even though it’s stretching from casting agent offices right now, to me in sweats, tapping away at my blog per usual.

…It’s weird not to smell garlic cooking on the stove simultaneously…or corks popping. It’s weird to have a Saturday and not text almost first thing in the morning: “Dude, whatchu doin’ today?” And weird to not have our usual play-by-play conversations, over a walk, end-of-the-day.

I’m really proud of her to have made such a huge jump to such a different place. And I know she will make of it the best that can be made, cuz the woman doesn’t waste ANYTHING…least of all time, talent, or resources. She’s gonna be okay. And so am I, (in the current new position of private matters I’ve found myself in, since her leaving. ) It’s just…I wish there was a bridge that could be built to fill the gap, a time blip that could be established…so that no matter where on earth your people happen to live, at the end of the day, all it would take is a button pressing to zap you both into the same kitchen (whoever’s that is) and get back to the way things are supposed to be, when catching up takes place.

~D

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