Spit and Passion: Cristy C. Road Takes You Back to Middle School (And You Love It)

I remember the first time I cam across Cristy C. Road's postcards. One of them had a picture of two punk kids making out while one of them stood in a dumpster. It said Croadcore on it.

I stared at it for a long time. I bought it from my friend who had set up a table for his fledgling distro at the show I was at and I remember staring at it many times before actually mailing it to someone. The picture was as compelling as a story or a song might be. Every line was invested with a visible emotion. It was the kind of picture that seemed to have a life of its own. I could look at it a relive the moment in the drawing over and over again.

Now, god help us, this same artist is bringing her gifts to bear on autobiographical comics. I just finished Spit and Passion, her recent graphic novel about how her love of Green Day helped her come to terms with her queer identity as a Cubana middle schooler in South Florida. It's so doggedly honest in word and image that it completely took me back (kicking and screaming) to the weird, liminal frame of mind that I occupied between the ages of 11 and 13. I found it so intense I could only read it a few pages at a time in my most relaxed state. So worth it, though.

It's a memoir, but it's also one of the best things I've read about music in a long time. She's so unrestrainedly goofy, specific and insightful in exhuming this story about discovery and survival that it made me want to go back and listen to Dookie or even American Idiot.

Right now, I'm pretty into her tarot card series too.

The Pirates of Penance

I slept on some good bands this year. But they are mostly new so by "slept on" I mean haven't had a chance to see them or get my hands on a recording. I will amend this in the New Year. The most shameful of my omissions is Surfer Blood. Because they are from West Palm and I sorta grew up around there and West Palm doesn't give me too many reasons to puff up my chest while inserting my thumbs under my suspenders with my palms facing out. Here is a live video:



I almost got to see Davila 666, but me and Sean, I shit you not, forgot about Gonerfest. We had a lot going on, okay? Anyway, I feel that particular loss keenly. The self-titled album is pretty great and they're from Puerto Rico so I worry about how many chances I'll get to see them. But, gosh, garage punk sounds good in Spanish. (Am I nuts or do they remind anyone else of The Hives?) Here is an honest-to-goodness video:



I also would have gotten to see the Shitty Beach Boys in Memphis. The name is perfect and they deliver somehow something more and and yet something less than punk covers of Beach Boys songs. And, well, here, this is what I missed:




Then my friend Sara told me I would probably like Dum Dum Girls but I took my sweet time in verifying this. Who's sorry now? I think it's me:




Really, I just wish I'd been at that there Woodsist Fest.

Vivian Girls Watch

I'm just going to get post happy and not care today. It's raining. If you go over to the Vivian Girls Myspace page, you can hear their poignant new cover of The Chantels' "He's Gone".

They have also announced new tour dates. Atlanta is not yet on the list. They haven't been back here in awhile. Was someone mean to them? Don't they like us? They have been making it down to South Florida and they will be playing The Ice Palace with Exene Cervenka and The Blow as part of Art Basel Miami on Thursday. It's really a good thing that I can't go. My head would explode.


Check out the love they get in my home-ish state:

My friend went to Fest 8 and all I got was these sweet photos

Going to the Fest in Gainesville, Florida wasn't in the cards for me this year, but my friend Sandra Julien of Seattle, Washington went and agreed to be the Potluck's Fest correspondent.

"If you go to this you will have the time of your life, but then get sick as fuck for a week after. Don't say you weren't warned," she reports.

She is, of course, referring to the well-documented phenomenon known as Fest AIDS. It might be that the average person isn't constituted to watch several dozen sets of weapons-grade pop punk with gruff vocals over the course of a single weekend, and that trying to do so dangerously weakens the immune system. It may also be that the fans and practitioners of this form of music are vectors for disease. Unfortunately, the research is inconclusive and No Idea Records has declined to comment.

I can tell you from personal experience that Fest AIDS is not life threatening and the Fest is totally worth it. As Marissa Paternoster of Screaming Females, who played the Fest last year, once sagely observed, "Who doesn't love a sweet frat party?" To be fair, it looks like piles of girls played this year, including bands like Cheeky that I yearn to see live. So bummed.

Seven Seconds

Lauren Measure of The Measure [SA]

Sheena Ozzella of Lemuria

Epic line

Holopaw

Indie rock is still way deader than punk is, people. But Holopaw's Oh, Glory. Oh, Wilderness. makes me feel beautiful. The pretty album art is remarkable for the way it reflects the sound of the album. The pale, soft colors and fluid lines reflect the pale, soft sounds and fluid melodies you get when you press play. It's a wet, gray day here so I'm letting myself melt into the sound, which is definitely water soluble. Or maybe it just makes me feel water soluble.

There's also something really persuasive about John Orth's fluttering but controlled voice. I'm focusing in on that and I can tell there is a lot of storytelling and stuff going on in the lyrics but, yet again, I can't make out a word of it on the album so I'm regarding the lovely "songbook" it came with as an added but unrelated bonus. Albeit, a bonus that contains such highly suspect phrases as "the gloaming". Or I'm just getting crotchety here in my late twenties.

Even though not a note of it is false or even predictable, and even though the album as a whole is haunting and full of mystery, I may not put this on again for a minute. It's a little too soft rock/AC for me to take on an average day. But I'll be glad it's there when the time comes. It is a very finely made album and I have a feeling there is just enough enchantment in it to stave off a panic attack or keep me still next time I'm sick in bed. And they still whoop that Bon Iver dude.

My trip to Florida

Yup. My grandfather turned 80 and this is the only photo I took.

I'm thinking of getting this on a leg area