This is Durham (Megafaun)

The Longest Day - Megafaun

There are many reasons why I find myself falling in love with the city of Durham. The restaurants, the rustic old warehouses, the ultimately humble, easy-going personality that sits unhindered by the fast-paced, modern life that surrounds it (my regards to Raleigh and Chapel Hill, both nice cities in their own right).

I'm sure I'll detail in length, some day, what it is about Durham that I'm falling in love with. For now I'll mention one new reason why I love this place: Megafaun.

On Saturday night I whisked Katie away to my first "real" show down here since moving in late June. Held at the Carrboro Arts Center, the show featured Bowerbirds and Megafaun - the former based in Raleigh, the latter based in Durham - who played a Homecoming show of sorts, as the two bands had been on the road for six weeks prior. I was excited to see the bands on their home turf, but have to admit that while I was already a fan of Bowerbirds, I knew little of Megafaun apart from the fact that they were the former bandmates of Bon Iver (which was a heavy selling point for Katie).

Megafaun played first, and I was shocked. Absolutely shocked. There are few shows I can point to where I felt like I did during their performance. It wasn't just a show; it was an event, a connection of everyone in the room, everyone wholeheartedly participating in the music. It reminded me of the time I saw Man Man at the Union in Athens a couple of years back. No, Megafaun is not nearly as aggressive or intense as Man Man (though they have their moments). What the two shows had in common is that the bands were not merely performing their songs, they were putting forth every last ounce of energy and passion into their music because, well, it's what they do. And they clearly love it.

The song I've posted above would make one wonder how in the hell someone could ever make a connection between Megafaun and Man Man (and really, there aren't many). This song, "The Longest Day," does a good job of showing the band's range; they jump back and forth from folk to bluegrass to gypsy to experimental, and somehow they manage to land here, in the land of crazy awesome Americana ballad.

When they played "The Longest Day" live, they pulled the plugs and did it acoustic, belting to the crowd of 400 or so, all of us dead silent. It was one of those cool moments when you aren't just listening to the music, you're feeling the music and your mind is completely enveloped by it.

I'm not trying to get gushy on Megafaun; maybe I'm just trying to brag that these guys are here, these guys are local for me now.

But that performance of "The Longest Day" on Saturday night, along with the rest of their show, helped characterize the camraderie, the passion, and the life that is this peculiar triangle in North Carolina. And to a large extent, it helped me finally feel like I'm home, because honestly, this is a lot like what I always felt in Athens.

7 South from Burlington

I'm keeping one eye on the road and one eye on her. If I had a third eye it'd be on what was just beyond her, out the passenger-side window. It'd be on that view of the Adirondacks, the mammoth, forested mountains so immense despite their being 20 miles or so away, on the other side of Champlain.

We're still in Vermont, picked up route 7 back in Burlington, where we stopped for a seafood lunch and gaped at the geologic wonders from the fisher's wharfs on the shore of Champlain. The mountains are bigger than the standard Appalachians we're used to, and we couldn't help but snap some photos. The mountains didn't turn out. Too far away.

Ferries between New York and Vermont were stalled 'til late April on account of Champlain being frozen in the middle, so we had to pick up 7 and haul it down south, where the lake would be narrow enough for us to cross over via a bridge and pick up 9 North to Port Henry. From Port Henry we'd drive northwest, eventually commuting across upstate New York on 73 and 86, passing through Lake Placid on our way to Saranac Lake. Beautiful lakeside towns, popular in summer and winter. It's late March now.

We've got a playlist running, one I'd made up back in Ohio, special for this Spring Break roadtrip. Mix of acoustic and anthemic, roadtrip-worthy tunes. But mostly acoustic. That's what she likes best.

So far we've been through Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Connecticut, where we'd spent three nights with my grandfather. From there it was on through Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Maine. A few more nights spent at my sister's and brother-in-law's, then we'd high-tailed back down to New Hamphire and promptly headed due west, up through Vermont to Burlington.

Now here we are, cruising south on 7 from Burlington, running parallel to the Adirondacks.

She's smiling at me. Glances at the mountains, takes a picture, then turns back to me. Her beaming face is something I'll never grow accustomed to, never grow old of. No, it's new, fresh, lovely, every time I see it. She's looked at me like this many times on this trip as we travel together, discover together. It's a loving face, a content face, a never-wanting-to-leave this-moment face. I love it.

The two-lane road winds up and down over the Adirondack foothills, around sweeping curves and past vineyards, fields, quiet little villages. Some houses perch atop hills along the road, staring blankly at the lake and the mountains on the far side. No matter the cold, cloudy, leaf-less land. We love it here.

The mountains never leave us, firmly and intensely gazing across the lake, taunting us of our drive to come. What lies across the lake is more driving, more gaping, more laughing and carelessly enjoing a new region, new adventure. More singing along to the playlist. More talking about our life together. Of beauty. Love. God. These sorts of things.

To this point, there's no telling how many hours I've spent in the car with her. But I know now that I'd gladly spend the rest of time right here in the driver seat. One eye on the road, one eye on her.

Following the road signs, we turn west, heading finally towards the mountains. Another song starts, and we smile at each other for what seems like the millionth time. It's a familiar tune, a slow-walk of a song that drives with some banjo, acoustic guitar, harmonies. It's beautiful and wonderful, and we've sung along to it together several times before. Now here it is, introducing us to the bridge that will carry us over Lake Champlain and into the New York wilderness that lies before us.

Four months later I would propose to her. Four months later we would be separated by miles, by states, by hours of travel. But we'd be committed to more road trips, more talks of beauty, of love. Of God.

She would write to me shortly before leaving for an extended period of time. "I love you more than you know," she'd write. "I will miss you - keep the passenger seat open for me, I can't wait to ride with you again, my dear."

I'll miss her. I'll long for her. I'll cry for her. But I'll know that, just like I did on our trip down 7 South from Burlington, I'll always have her there next to me, enjoying the ride. And I'll always have one eye on the road, one eye on her.

At the "Cemetery Gates"

In October of 2007 I scored front-row seats for me and Katie to see Andrew Bird perform at Stuart's Opera House in Nelsonville, Ohio. To this day, I cite it as one of the greatest performances I have ever been witness to, and Katie and I generally reference it as one of our favorite early memories together.

I acknowledged in my Athens Insider review of the show that it seemed as if an entire orchestra were performed by one man; Bird uses looping pedals and his violin to quite literally create the sound of a symphony. The absolutely immense musical power that he projected from the stage was hair-raising, goosebump-inducing, stunning.

Recently, Bird performed some songs for Pitchfork inside a little church, a performance that the music site filmed and posted to the web, and which they've called "Cemetery Gates." What you will find in the "Cemetery Gates" is a sample of what I saw Andrew Bird do onstage at Stuart's Opera House: create a gorgeous orchestration that is not just musical, but also ethereal and spiritual in some ways (especially considering the five-song-performance's location).

I've posted below the video of Bird's "Cemetery Gates" performance of "Anonanimal," one of my favorite songs off his latest LP, Noble Beast. Enjoy.

Goodmorning

The first thing I will say is that I'm incredibly lucky. I know this. I have a job, an apartment, a loving family, and a beautiful fiance. For these things I am very grateful.

So to complain of being alone seems selfish. To say that I'm bored a lot, that I wish I were closer to friends, it just seems mean. I know that a lot of people would trade me spots. Two months ago this was the kind of spot I was dying to be in.

Don't get me wrong. It's the spot that I should be in... the spot I need to be in. And the spot that one day I'll look back and recognize was the most important spot I could've been in.

But still I can't help but feel alone. My friends and family are several hours away. The one person who makes every situation in my life better, no matter the bleakness, will be away from me for several months. So for now, I'm left to be alone.

Of course, I'm not alone. And it's remembering this fact that keeps me hopeful, keeps me happy, keeps me company. Soon enough, I'll truly be in the company of friends, of community, of a home. But for now, I have the company I need.

I find that the mornings are the most difficult to feel this company. It's when I wake up that the loneliness of every day hits the hardest; that moment when I realize that the day ahead of me contains more or less exactly what the day before contained, and what the day after that will contain as well. It is that split second when I open my eyes and turn off my alarm that I most strongly feel the empty hole within that longs for the presence of friends and of family.

But that moment always passes. And for that, too, I am very grateful.

I found a beautiful song today that goes a long way towards fixing that lonely moment I can't help but feel when I wake up in the morning. It's called "Goodmorning" by William Fitzsimmons; read the lyrics, listen to the song, discover the hope that we are meant to feel at the beginning of every day.

Goodmorning - William Fitzsimm...

Moonlight will fall
Winter will end
Harvest will come
Your heart will mend
Good morning
Good morning
You will find love
Good morning
You will find love
You will find love
Good morning
Good morning

"Good Morning" by William Fitzsimmons

To Ohio

So here I am, in my roughly 6-foot-by-10-foot, no-windowed office, wrapping up my first feature for the magazine in anxious anticipation of the afternoon, when I head home for the first time since moving to Durham. I've got The Low Anthem's album Oh My God Charlie Darwin streaming in the background, my first listen of an album I can tell I'm going to like a lot.

And wouldn't you know it, this song comes on. I got goosebumps.

To Ohio - The Low Anthem

I left Louisiana on the rail line, oo oo
I left Louisiana on the rail line, oo oo
I was trying to get to Ohio
Trying to get to Ohio

Lost my love before her time, oo oo
Lost my love before her time, oo oo
On the way to Ohio On the way to Ohio

Now every new love is just a shadow, oo oo
Every new love is just a shadow, oo oo

'Cause once you've known love you don't know how to find love, oo oo
Yeah once you've found love you don't know how to find new love
All the way to Ohio All the way to Ohio

Heard her voice come through the pines in Ohio
I heard her voice singing in the pines in Ohio

She sang bless your soul you crossed that line to Ohio Bless your soul you crossed that line oo oo All the way to Ohio All the way to Ohio

~

I'm coming home, Ohio. I'm coming home.

Grizzly Bear, "Ready, Able"

Killer performance of my favorite Veckatimest song on Letterman.

Out of the Dark

(Didn't have much to go with in terms of picture, so this will do.)

Graduation. Job offer. Moving. Engagement. My last month has been, well, insane. Between my last post and now, nearly everything in life has changed. And, thanks to the "timeliness" of Time Warner, I finally have cable/internet in my apartment, which means I can once again post to my blog.

I don't have much to say here now. There are many things to say, sure... like how I accepted the position of Associate Editor at QSR magazine, graduated from Ohio University with a degree in magazine journalism, moved to Durham, North Carolina, and proposed to my girlfriend of two years, Katie (she said yes). But those are not things I put here on this blog (at least, not all at once).

So instead, I'll tell you what music has sountracked this entire last month; the best albums and songs that have quite literally been all that I've listened to during this transition:

Best Albums


Grizzly Bear, Veckatimest - Forget Animal Collective; at the end of the year, this will be the album standing as the greatest of 2009. You can hold me to it, trust me; this is a gorgeous masterpiece, one that finds the Brooklyn acoustic mopers turn to a poppier, more "accessible" brand. And it's stunning.

White Rabbits, It's Frightening - Didn't know much about this band when I picked up their latest LP, but opening track "Percussion Gun" immediately hooked me. Maybe I'm biased, but the way these guys lace their indie/garage rock with almost tribal drums really stirs me in way I'm not often stirred (hmm... probably weird imagery).

Phoenix, Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix - Another pick-up on a whim, this electro-pop French rock is catchy and fun to blare on a sunny North Carolina day (lucky for me, that's pretty much been my last three weeks).

Dirty Projectors, Bitte Orca - The only way I know how to explain them is to say that they would be the love child of Vampire Weekend and the Talking Heads.

Passion Pit, Manners - Yeah, I've discussed them already, but so what? Maybe by mentioning them again you can get it through your head - THIS IS ONE OF THE BEST RECORDS OF THE YEAR. Okay, maybe that didn't need all-caps, but I want to drive home the point so you go get it. Trust me.

Best Songs

"Ready, Able" by Grizzly Bear - I'll start by saying that my favorite song off of Veckatimest changes pretty much every day, but for now, I'll stick with "Ready, Able" (with "Two Weeks" a close second and "I Live With You" bringing in the bronze). These guys just found a way to create awesome melodies in every single one of their new songs, and every time I listen to the record, I'm floored.



"Percussion Gun" by White Rabbits - Being a drummer and all, I find this song to be an adrenaline-fueled fist-pumper that demands playing at the beginning of nearly every car trip I take nowadays. Didn't know anything about these guys when I got the new record, and this, track one, sold me instantly. I replayed it about ten times the first day I had it.

Percussion Gun - White Rabbits

"Lisztomania" by Phoenix - Pretty fun electro-pop song from these French dudes, and, I imagine, a lot of fun to dance to (my dancing consists of shuffling about in the driver's seat of my car, and still, this song gets the job done).

Lisztomania - Phoenix

"Let Your Love Grow Tall" by Passion Pit - My favorite song off of Manners is still "Little Secrets" (in fact, not 30 minutes ago I officially anointed it my newest ring tone), but I'll give a shout-out to this track as well. I don't quite know how to explain it - it's catchy, it's anthemic, it's dark, it's dancy... it's got a little bit of everything. All I know is when it goes into the musical breakdown before the chorus, I tend to start driving just a little bit faster.

Let Your Love Grow Tall - Pass...