More songs thoughts about buildings music and food

The Talking Heads entire catalogue has been remastered and reissued. For those of us of a certain age and disposition, this is a major event. And if you have any doubts about the influence of the contribution of the band and its members, look no farther than here, here, and here. Yours truly will be purchasing, though I already own all but “Sand in the Vaseline” on vinyl.

Today has been about finishing. Yesterday was about starting. After a shopping trip to the world’s DC’s best coffee roasters, DC’s best market, and the temple of yuppie pulchritude, I set about making chili and spaghetti. Now, while I’m not a slow food enthusiast, per se, I do work up my food from scratch. And in the case of both chili and spaghetti, I think you need to cook ‘em for a lllooonnnggg time. So after an hour of prep work (dicing much garlic and onion, cutting up racks of ribs, cubing steak, decasing sausage), four plus hours of cooking, and ongoing cleanup (so as to spare the DP the nightmare of a kitchen pillaged used by me), I had two vats of chili and spaghetti that a normal person might think were finished. Not so. After resting overnight (and allowing me time out to go here and here – see below for more details), I had to finish the chili – which was easy: skim off the fat, and make sure the whole tomatoes were fully broken down into sauce, and finally thickening the chili with corn flour. (Please note that my definition of “easy” cooking has been ridiculed the DP as the culinary equivalent of “bait and switch” advertising.) The finishing of the spaghetti is somewhat more involved and, ehm, tactile. Once you’ve cooked five pounds of pork ribs and two pounds of bone-in chops until the meat falls off the bone, there are lots of bones, collagen, sinew, fat, and other stuff that need to be removed, tomatoes to be mashed, fat to be skimmed, tomato sauce evened and thickened, and the whole thing put back together again. And then everything packed up and labeled, and tucked into the freezer so we can eat very, very well for some time to come.

So back to Saturday night and Sunday morning: Bob and Rich have been playing music that they like for their friends and fans for over two years. Blowoff is an event the likes of which I always wished for, but never imagined could happen. I called it the basement party you always wanted to have the first night I went, and I haven’t changed my mind since. It’s never the same twice, and the crowd is what it is: people who like music and eschew the trappings of the usual gay and straight clubs – that is, they’re human (and the pretense that you too often feel in DC isn’t there). Bob and Rich have “golden ears” and networks that bring them the best of new music – and they share it, wrapped up in a sexy, intimate way. And, finally, Backbar is the working home of my favorite. bartender. ever.

Last night the blogoratti were out in force. I saw him, him, him, him and I think I saw him – and I was spanked scolded by my blog daddy for not posting more often. It’s been a slow, grinding haul of the last two weeks, bud. More will be forthcoming. If you’re wondering why I didn’t talk to ya, well, I was catching up with the other Shawn, back from Madagascar. And I was out before the alleged shirt swapping or boyfriend macking on my way to see Miguel Migs.

I like lots of different kinds of music; a trip to the record store can be a harrowing experience for the bank account. However, I’m pretty selective, and in some genres can put me off in a big way. Dance and house music fall into that category – but there are some artists (Ben Watt, Justin Martin, Jon Clausell) who can overcome my objections and create great music and amazing events. Migs is one of those artists, and even solo I found myself shakin’ my groove thang. Five is not my favorite venue – the space sucks, and the crowd can be, well, the pretentious lot that inhabit clubs all over the world. But last night people were shakin’ ass and having a good time to Mig’s great percussive mixes. And ya gotta love seeing straight boys dancing with their hands in the air (like they just don’t care they look just like the gay boys at Nation)!

When I left at 3:30, people were still pouring in! No available cabs lead to a refreshing walk up the street to the treehouse. Debriefed with the DP (who’s not much for big crowds or the claustrophobic confines of Backbar). Sleep followed, though not encouraged by the various caffeinated beverages added to the liquor along the way.