Please Happy

Yesterday, I wrote about Grace Potter: diva, goddess, belter-outer, rock star. While wandering the streets of Austin yesterday, I saw many other instrument-strumming women with Grace hair-dos. Long bangs shading their eyes, thick hair flying out behind.

We also saw other musicians without bangs: British band The xx and Wu Tang’s GZA, among others. But, just as the night was winding down for us around 10 p.m. (our day had started with a 6:30 a.m. show), we wandered into one of the fanciest hotels in Austin. We felt like we were playing dress-up and sneaking, uninvited, into a party.

The room with the music was carpeted, with huge windows looking out on to the crazy 6th Street swarm. The stage was small. And we scooched up close, sitting in front. On stage were three violins, a keyboard, a piano, a xylophone, a drumkit, and four people.

Wow.

Julia Marcell and her team blew us away. She sounded like a mixture of Björk, Tori Amos and Regina Spektor — ballads, punk, show tunes. Whispery lyrics, then all out wailing. Staccato violin and epic piano solos. The violinist girl with the red mohawk sang as well as she played. The drummer tapped the cymbals and drums with fingernails, sticks and mallets. The violinist boy tapped the mic with his bow. And Julia strummed her violin like a banjo.

From her accent, and her words saying this was the band’s first trip to the U.S., we took bets on her hometown. Paris? Brussels? Iceland? They’re from Poland. And they’re awesome.

We missed our ride home so we could watch the end of the show. And, I stood in line to get a free CD “It Might Like You” and signed postcard. The guy in line behind me, Bruce from Boston, suggested that we each pay $10 for the CD since they were so good. Money was flying. The CD, by the way, is written on with Sharpie, by Julia. “They’re homemade,” she said. “Sorry!” She seemed surprised to see people grabbing for them. Surprised the stack had to be replenished twice.

I’m hoping to catch a glimpse of this banged beauty on stage tomorrow.

And we’re definitely putting one of her songs on the mix for our CD of the month club.

This is USC’s version of Skateboard Punk Rocker.

Looking at him rocking out in his purple togs, I felt like the housewife in Michele Shocked’s song Anchorage:

“Leroy got a better job so we moved
Kevin lost a tooth, now he’s starting school
I got a brand new eight month old baby girl
I sound like a housewife
Hey Chel, I think I’m a housewife

Hey girl what’s it like to be in New York
New York City imagine that
Whats it like to be a skateboard punk rocker
Leroy says send a picture
Leroy says hello
Leroy says keep on rocking girl
Yeh keep on rocking.”

Window is only partially open because of passing 18-wheelers’ exhaust and wake.

Temps crested at 105 at 8 p.m. Sunday.
No AC for over 1,000 miles was a good challenge.
That, and being sick, which I am.

This was not a roadtrip of mix-listening, cute hand holding and food feeding. We did not dance at gas stations, have handstand contests at rest stops or read fairy tales aloud. We tried to breathe. We drank water, watched the road and talked little. When our ears needed a break from the wind, we’d roll the windows up — just long enough for our kneepits and necks to start sweating again — and then roll them back down.

Our conversations had a lot of repeating, a lot of shouted “What?!”s. Usually the phrase that would be lost above the wind would be something brilliant, such as “It’s really hot” or “I’m sweating” or “I have never experienced temperatures like this before.”

These exchanges reminded J of the following quote from Mitch Hedberg:

“I mumble a lot on stage, I’m a mumblerer. But sometimes what I mumble is some insignificant shit. Like I’ll be walking down the street with my friend, and I will have said something, but he didn’t hear me, so he says “What!?” SO I’ll say it again, and again he had not heard me, so he’d say, “What!?” And now by this time I am yelling “That tree is very far away!”

46 degrees in Jackson Hole at 8 a.m. Two bikes, a Thule, a full Suby with Wyoming plates. Headed west.

The Height of The Hotness.

Post-12-hour Melt. Parking Lot, Treasure Island, Las Vegas. Had hoped to stay at Treasure Island. Had hoped to see Cirque Du Soleil there. Had been looking forward to it since Idaho.

Got shutdown for the acrobatic circus. Performances booked. Rooms $149+. Went to Vegas to see a show, get some AC and a shower. Snapped this pic instead and kept driving.

Stayed at Whiskey Pete’s in Primm for $15. Heaven.

And then, the Final Push Home.

1. Mustaches are sexy.

2. Growing them is back in style. Though there are men like Grandpa Whaley who have always had one.

3. Some folks grow them for children’s social and medical service organizations.

4. Some folks grow them during the month of March for a charity of their choice.

5. Girls who are jealous of the facial hair or just like dressing in drag can buy stick-ons in a variety of shades and sizes (in my case, introduced by Rachel Lauren Marie Stevens, the girl with the two coolest middle names ever)

Yes, they’re a little child-molester-drives-a-scary-white-van creepy, but seriously, when you think about the awesome people with mustaches and how so totally rad and hot they all are (Tom Selleck, Chuck Norris, Salvador Dali, Wilford Brimley and the cop from the Village People) it’s nearly impossible not to want one.

If the I’m Growing This Mustache for a Needy Child doesn’t work on the babes in your town, come to Jackson. I know several mountain women who’ll dance, swoon and/or make out with you.

Just flash the ’stache.

I don’t know why I think Born To Run is one of the sexiest songs ever written. Maybe I just have a thing for rock stars in tight jeans and sleeveless Ts. Whatever the reason, it’s up there on my Top Five Hottest. And what with Bruce maintaining his boss status, writing a Web log and singing in honor of Obama and Football, I figured I’d give him a shoutout.

Plus, it’s nearly Valentine’s Day. So, it’s the perfect time of year to sing [or be serenaded with]: Strap Those Hands Across My Engines.

Born To Run.