When Local Music Made Love: GAYNGS

Ear-Candy Cocktail

This year is certainly turning out to be a bright one musically. The most recent addition to this spring's music goodness is a new project by, well, a s#*t ton of local and regional artists (and some out-staters), called GAYNGS. The project, which will be releasing their first album, Relayted, on May 11, includes members of Bon Iver, Megafaun, Lookbook, and Solid Gold, as well as P.O.S., Dessa, Michael Lewis (Andrew Bird's sax player), and many more. The hype alone could sell their record, but as happenstance would have it, the music always brings it home, and no matter how many pretty faces have shown up to be a part of Gayngs, the sound coming out of their first two released tracks, "The Gaudy Side of Town," and "Faded High," is what will have me lining up at the record store in a few weeks.

Additionally, they will be playing two shows at (surprise surprise) First Avenue on May 14, one at 5pm and one at 10. 

Here's a first listen of the two released tracks on Myspace.

-K

Comic-Book Superheroes in the Twin Cities: Would It Work?

Many of you may not know this, and some might, but I am an absolutely HUGE comic book fan. Anything superhero related, and you can pretty much count on me being on board. Yes, I have spent an entire evening creating the superhero personas of myself and my roommates with Marvel's super hero generator, and it was great, I'm not ashamed.

So imagine, much to my surprise, when I was tipped off to a recent McSweeney's article that discusses, albeit brifly, the potential success of America's most beloved superheroes, if they had been located in the Twin Cities.

The real TC superfolk: the delivery guys from Galactic Pizza

Arguably, the biggest problem for many of the superheroes is the Shiver Cities' lack of consolidated tall buildings: Batman could not stand atop a skyscraper in downtown Minneapolis and brood, and Spiderman would have a tough time web-slinging his way between Minneapolis and St. Paul, so he would have to settle for sticking to the side of a truck going down I-94, far less dramatic and incredibly inefficient during rush hour if you ask me. Here's the entire piece, enjoy:

By Keith Pille, courtesy of McSweeney's:

"On the Utility of Minneapolis-St. Paul as a Base of Operations for Various Well-Known Superheroes or Super Teams."

Spider-Man: Poor. The lack of a single, concentrated downtown area would greatly hinder Spider-Man's preferred method of transportation. Given that there's not much higher than three stories after you get out of the two downtowns, swinging from building to building isn't going to work. It's not difficult to imagine Spider-Man standing on Nicollet Mall in downtown Minneapolis, hearing that thugs have taken over the Xcel Center over in St. Paul, and cursing under his breath as he runs to I-94, forced to affix a web to the top of a bus and ride it across town.
The X-Men: So-so. Their initial problem would be that no one around here seems to have much of a problem with mutants. With no one trying to wipe them out, the X-Men would lose some of their edge. They would run the risk of turning into hypersensitive college kids who go around looking for the slightest excuse to be outraged.
They'd have more of a reason to stick around, though, after the inevitable burst of mutant jokes on the local classic-rock morning show. Those guys can be very cruel.
Batman: Also so-so. No real deal-breakers to Batman setting up shop here, but lots of annoying obstacles: lack of dramatic places to stand and brood over the cityscape; difficulty of driving the Batmobile at high speeds through some of the St. Paul street vortices (watch the ice on the road!); necessity of getting cozy with two police chiefs instead of one commissioner; and lack of a paralyzing, all-pervading criminal culture (although he'd be welcome to come to my neighborhood, starting with the three middle-aged fat guys who think riding little putt-putt scooters three abreast at 20 mph down Minnehaha Parkway is AWESOME).
Superman: No problem.
The Incredible Hulk: No problem. Hulk's in the Superman club. When your main thing is smashing things, location is less of a factor. Hulk could smash very effectively in Falcon Heights, for example.
Wonder Woman: Poor. People around here just wouldn't cotton to a woman dressed like that, especially one carrying a magic lasso. Well, some folks would like that quite a bit, but some would make a stink about it.
Aquaman: Most people seem to like him, but Garrison doesn't, so it's a no-go.


-K

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The Hole-iest Season of All...

This could be you...

Potholes. You've gotta love 'em. Well, you've certainly got to something them, because like it or not, they're here to stay. From November through April, metropolitan Minnesota becomes infested with the treacherous horse-sized holes, and so we drive on: hitting bump after bump after coffee-spilling divot. A friend of mine told me yesterday that the potholes outside her Cedar-Riverside apartment are so bad, if anything bigger than a pickup truck drives over them, it wakes her up at night. Ridiculous. With all the freezing and thawing that has been going on lately, they're worse than ever. So what is to be done? Sure, you can call the Minneapolis 311 line and report a pothole, and they, more often than not, will come and fix it. However, fixes last anywhere from a day to a few weeks typically, and they cost the city money in the interim (they'll get re-paved come spring anyways) and then poof! they're back again!

Sooo what to do, what to do, what to do... my suggestion? Public transportation. Chances are, if you're in a bus or on the light-rail you're not as concerned with the alignment-shattering abysses. Then again, that suggestion may not be approved by my good friend in her pothole-adjacent apartment at night, because MAN does a bus make a racket when it drives over one of those puppies.

My other suggestion? Let them get so bad that they soon become a corporation's advertisement platform. Take Chicago, for example: last year, their potholes got so bad that KFC began filling them in to generate some goodwill and free PR. Brilliant? I think yes. By all means, let KFC fill in potholes as they simultaneously clog America's arteries with fried chicken, the metaphor is too awesome to pass up. Who knows, maybe 3M, Target, or Best Buy could follow Colonel Sanders' lead.... and also give me a new stereo system for giving them the idea. Until then, check out metrotransit.org. to find a bus/train near you.

-K

Little Dream on the Prairie, Or "The Night I Peed By A Church in Downtown St. Paul and Sang Reggae with Garrison Keillor"

The moon was out, the sky was clear, and a little over a thousand people were crowded into the street outside the Fitzgerald Theater in St. Paul. Meatloaf, potatoes, and Summit EPA abounded, and everywhere you turned people who bolstered the "Minnesota Nice" platitude were spread out on blankets or camp chairs.

This backdrop of the annual Prairie Home Companion Street Dance, although unassuming, would soon play host to the dream of a twenty-something Minnesota-loving young woman: to sing a love duet with a 67 year-old man in front of her family and friends.

Let's not be mistaken, this wasn't just any 67 year-old man. This was the man in the red shoes, the voice of Norwegian Lutherans, the host and creator of A Prairie Home Companion: Garrison Keillor.

Little did I know when I decided to start this little "all things Twin Cities" blog that I would have my own personal Twin Cities fairytale to begin with. I'm fairly certain that I'm an odd bird, and this is further confirmed by the fact that there is no sound in nature more soothing to me than Garrison Keillor's voice. You may call me a freak, but having been a displaced Minnesotan for much of my life, that droll, melodic voice was a constant connection back to the North Country and, I believe, one of the reasons I returned. Consequently, it was also how I ended up at the family-fun Street Dance last Saturday night.

At the beginning of the evening, as my parents and I and our family friends sat and ate our mashed potatoes, an announcement was made that there would be contests taking place throughout the night, many of which were goofy: "Best Loon Call and " "Best Bank RobberVoice," and some that were more traditional: "Best Kid Singer," and "Best Swing Dancers." While all these seemed fun (I convinced my boyfriend to do his Heath Ledger-esque Joker voice for the bank robber bit), nothing was really up my alley. Having not heard anything that appealed to me, I sat back, excited to spend my night watching others humiliate themselves in front of thousands. Just then, another contest was announced: "Duets" which, the audience soon learned, would consist of women coming up and singing a love song with Garrison. My mother, tactful as she is, looked at me, wide-eyed, and yelled "Oh my GOD K, you should do it!!!"

Somewhere in a past life I was a singer, and I'm not saying that the thought hadn't crossed my mind when "Duets" was announced, but it had been a long time since the term "singer" had applied to anything outside of my shower, much less in front of a couple thousand people. So, despite my mother's insistence, I refused, figuring I wouldn't even get a chance to try and that I wouldn't know the song anyways...

A few Summit EPAs and much parental cajoling later, I was standing in a line with seven other people, waiting my turn to get up on stage and sing Elvis' "I Can't Help Falling in Love With You" with Mr. Keillor himself. However, thanks to those yummy, courage-inducing Summits, there was a wrench in the works: I really, really had to pee.

Having scoped out the port-o-potty situation earlier, I realized that for the thousands of people present, there were five toliets, and from where I was standing on the opposite side of the stage, I could see the lines stretching for ages. It was then that I made a choice: I left my place in line, pushed through the crowd, sprinted towards the side of an adjacent Presbyterian church, found a grassy spot behind a low wall, and dropped trou. Being a wilderness-guide during the summer, I'm used to "creating a bathroom everywhere," but at the moment, the idea of an arrest warrant including anything about "public urination in proximity to thousands of NPR-listening Minnesotans on the side of a downtown church" was horrifying. Needless to say, I peed quickly.

A few minutes later, I was on stage, the third contestant to have a turn. After introductions, Garrison asked if there was anything other than "I Can't Help Falling in Love With You" I'd like to sing, and I was a bit shocked. I don't improv well, and my only solace in the whole thing was that I knew the song, and had been mentally preparing myself for it while I waited to go on - I wasn't sure what to do. It was here that things just got nuts, I still can't remember exactly how it all happened, but what follows is a rough rundown of how our on-stage conversation went:

GK: "This song again? How about something new? What do you know by heart?"

Me: "Guuuhhhhh..... this song?"

GK: "Really? You know this one by heart?" (a look of bordeom on his face)

Me: "Yeah, (and here is the moment where my brain stopped working in a logical way) but do you know the Reggae version of it?"

The Audience: "Woooooooooooooo!!!!!" **clap clap clap**

The Band: **Reggae intro to UB40 version of the song**

My Brain: $&;%#!!!

The rest is history. After all was said and done, the shellshock passed, and I became the twenty-something white girl who danced with Garrison Keillor, sang the Reggae version of "Can't Help Falling in Love With You" in front of thousands of middle-aged NPR listeners and lost all self-respect, but who walked away with the first-place prize and a stupid grin on her face. Strange? Hell yes.

Pre-Reggae banter with GK.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Minnesota.

The First of Many from the Shiver Cities,

K