I Just Read About That…

SOUNDTRACK: ALA.NI-Tiny Desk Concert #643 (August 14, 2017).

ALA.NI is a London-born, Paris-based singer who draws inspiration from her uncle, a British ’20s and ’30s cabaret star by the name of Leslie “Hutch” Hutchinson.  She writes her own songs in the style of the standards he sang.

ALA.NI is sweet and funny and very charming.  She exudes calm and grace as she stretches and waves her long limbs and fingers.  It’s mesmerizing.  And her voice sounds amazing.  The blurb notes:

The singer asked us to record her set using her vintage RCA Ribbon microphone, which she carries around in a small briefcase between shows. It’s a security blanket, a bit of visual branding, a statement of stylistic intent — and, not for nothing, a big reason ALA.NI’s voice carries with such warmth and intimacy.

“Cherry Blossom” sounds terrific.  The guitar is gently echoed and her voice is soft and delicate but incredibly right on.  You could easily imagine hearing the pops and clicks of old vinyl behind her.

Between songs she is chatty and funny.  She raves about the NPR gift shop, “I got some beeswax paper that I can wrap my sandwiches in.”

She says that “Ol Fashioned Kiss” is about kissing.  She plays an acoustic guitar which she uses mostly for percussion in the beginning, but then she adds some gentle strums herself.  It’s a simple, old-fashioned bluesy song.  She does a lot of scatting.  And as the song comes to its natural ending, she says tells her guitarist, “no no keep it going, there’s too many toys here.”  She plays all kinds of things on the desks—a small drum set, some other percussive thing and even the cow mooing can.

“Suddenly” sounds like an old song–it’s so hard to believe these are new.  And then comes

Darkness at Noon is a powerful old-fashioned sounding song that opens. “We agreed to end this love affair.”  It’s chilling and gorgeous.

When the song is over she introduces her guitar player, “this is Marvin Dolly on guitar.  It’s actually Marvin’s birthday today.”  She leads everyone in a version of Happy Birthday she hits some amazing high notes while everyone else sings along  She turns as the song ends, “wow you all can sing as well.”

What a delightful person with such an enchanting voice.

[READ: June 25, 2017]  “Why Aren’t You Laughing”

Sedaris has become a lot more reflective in his later writing.  There’s still humor to be had, but for the most part this is a sad tale about his mother.

He begins by talking about the plainness of the North Carolina house he shares with Hugh (he calls Hugh his boyfriend, although I thought they were married).  He says even the theater manager at the box office he performed at knew what their house look like: “spread out over four levels and paneled in dark wood like something you’d see on a nineteen seventies TV show.”  Hugh liked to point out that the pint of the place was the view.

The title of the piece comes as he says he is signing his name on tip-ins for his books while Hugh reads the final draft of the manuscript.  Depending on Hugh’s reaction or silence David would shout Whats so funny? or Why aren’t you laughing?

While signing his name 5,000 times, he watches reality shows like Intervention.  He says it’s amazing that anyone would allow him or herself to be filmed in this condition: “‘Did you catch me on TV?’  I imagine them saying to their friends.  ‘Wasn’t it incredible when I shit on that car!.”

He says that that was exactly what a drunk woman did –defecated on the rear bumper of a parked Audi A4.

And then there’s the strangest connection ever:

The woman pulled down her pants and “as she went at it–a diamond shape blurring her from the waist down–I thought of my mother.”

He thought of her because she was a lady–she never wore pants, just skirts and dresses.  She never left the house without makeup or her hair styled.   He says whenever he sees a guy with shirt that says “Your Hole is My Goal,” he wonders what she would think.

She died in 1991.  He says he once saw a contest to collect pubic hair–the loser had to put all of the hair on a pizza and eat it.  That was in 2003.  So the jump to shitting on a car seems somewhat reasonable; “to go there straight from ‘Murder She Wrote”, however, would be quite a shock.”

Then he says that Intervention makes him think of his mother because she was an alcoholic.  Sober, she was cheerful and charismatic, with her favorite line being “I got them laughing.”  On Intervention, after the intervention, the addict is offered a stint in rehab.  Some stay, some don’t.  He says that no one in his family ever confronted his mother, indeed they liked to play along to all of her excuses.   When she claimed to have been sober for four days, but was clearly drunk again the next day, he wondered “Can’t you just try harder?”  Of course, “I was drunk too, so what could I say?”

He talks about how his mother always seemed to know when he needed money or that he was struggling–just before he had to ask she’d send a check “a little something to see you through.”  He says he misses her most when he would like to pay her back in some way–a piece of jewelry or a painting.

How I’d have loved to spoil her with beautiful things. On one of her last birthdays, I gave her a wasp’s nest that I’d found in the woods. It was all I could afford—a nursery that bugs made and left behind. “I’ll get you something better later,” I promised.

For a sarcastic observer of reality he can be awfully emotional.