Tell Me What You See

People-watching is always an enjoyable activity, but it's a particularly useful one for writers. (As is eavesdropping, but that's a topic for another post). This past Friday night, I was in Nevada City to see my favorite local band, Saint Ashbury, play at Cooper's bar. Watching people interact in bars is pretty fascinating anyway, but small town bars filled with locals? Gold mine.

My friends and I arrived about 20 minutes before the band was due to go on and as we stood near the stage chatting, an older guy of indeterminate age walked by. He was balding, but his long white hair touched his shoulders and he had a long white beard to match. He was wearing a t-shirt, spandex exercise pants and white athletic socks, sans shoes. The woman I was talking to smiled at my raised eyebrow, and whispered, "That’s J_____.  He went home to change into those pants so he can dance tonight." Apparently J is a regular at Cooper's, and dance he did, by himself, with a lady friend roughly his age, and any woman who happened to be on the dance floor, including me. Amusement at his outfit aside, I started watching J be in the moment and enjoy the evening. He was content just to listen to the music and let it move him. His stockinged feet slid around the old wooden floor and he was in heaven.

I also met a couple who'd gotten married at the county court house earlier that day. The woman was dressed like most of us in the bar: sweater, jeans and boots. But the man, he had gone all out. He was wearing a vintage suit, complete with a white shirt, skinny tie, a fedora and black and white wing tips. I didn't ask, but was dying to know if she had attended their ceremony dressed as she was while her groom had pulled out all the stops.

People-watching is great fun, especially in cities like San Francisco or New York, but there's something inherently sweet about the eccentricities found in the small towns in the foothills. There's a delightful lack of self-consciousness, and I had the sense that no one--including the woman who was around my age and way over-dressed for a hole-in-the-wall bar on a rainy night--was trying too hard or thinking too much about how they looked. They were just out to have a good time on a Friday night.

Will J, the dressed up woman or the newlyweds (or some iteration of them) appear in my writing at some point? It's entirely possible. If we pay attention, real life shows us things we couldn't possibly make up. Power to the people...

A Billion Stars Look Very Different Today…

2016 hasn't been very kind to the entertainment world so far. David Bowie. Alan Rickman. Glenn Frey. What is going on?? The web is packed with celebrity tributes and remembrances, and of course Facebook is full of posts expressing grief over the loss of these artists whose work touched so many lives. High-profile celebrity deaths seem to neatly divide people into two distinct camps: those who don't understand mourning the loss of someone you've never met, and those who get it. (Guess which camp I'm in).

Not to take anything away from Mr. Rickman, who was an absolutely brilliant actor, and by all accounts I've read, a stellar human being, but losing a musician, especially a multi-faceted, brilliant artist like David Bowie, or an architect of a classic sub-genre like Glenn Frey, hits harder and cuts more deeply. Growing up listening to someone's music can influence everything from who we choose to hang out with to the way we see the world. I'll wager that most of us can name at least one musician or band that we absolutely feel spoke to us, for us and about us, (especially during our teens and early 20s).

It's difficult to quantify the impact of an artist like David Bowie. I keep reading words like "visionary" and "genius," and while appropriate, they fall short. Glenn Frey, a kid from Detroit with a gift for writing songs became an integral part of the 1970s Southern California sound. Their art is their legacy, and the music remains, but the loss is all too real...and the stars do look very different today. Thank you for all the incredible music, gentlemen, and the peaceful, easy feelings you inspired. 

Promises Kept

Reading a new book by a favorite author featuring returning characters is like getting together again with old friends. It just feels...right. I've been a fan of Robert Crais since my early days at Tower Books and have therefore been hanging out with Elvis Cole and Joe Pike for quite a long time.

One of RC's great strengths is his ability to keep his signature characters fresh, and reveal a bit more about them in each book. The Promise, the 16^th novel in the Elvis-Joe series, brings Scott and Maggie from Suspect into Elvis and Joe's world. It's risky to mess with a successful franchise, especially one with a large fan base, but Crais pulls it off. The Promise really is one of those books you don't want to put down. (No, I will not use the term, 'unputdownable,' even though Dictionary.com claims it's a word). I finished it after midnight.

My theory as to why RC's books are so successful is that his characters touch something in all of us. From Elvis' wise cracks and Pinocchio clock making up for his lost childhood, to Joe's sunglasses hiding the pain in his impossibly blue eyes, to Scott's efforts to repair what's broken within, and even Maggie the German Shepherd, who understands that pack comes first, i.e. take care of your own, we can all relate on some level. And we want very much for each character to triumph over adversity and find what they're looking for.

A good novel draws readers in, makes them form emotional attachments with the characters and creates a personal interest in the outcome. The Promise does all that and more.  

We All Shine On

Nothing slows down time like a good book. Or, more precisely, finding a book I can't put down forces me to make better use of my time. Amid the holiday craziness of extra hours at work, more socializing than usual and the mad rush to get everything done, I got completely lost in Anthony Doerr's "All the Light We Cannot See."

It's a complex story, with wonderful character development, and Doerr's stunning use of language and vivid imagery makes it a pleasure to read. But it went deeper for me. Perhaps it's because I'm the daughter and granddaughter of people who survived World War II by living in a cellar in Brussels while Hitler's army bombed Belgium. Maybe having an emotional link with such a dark time in history made me immediately bond with Marie-Laure, a young blind girl, as I pictured her making her way up and down the winding stairs in her uncle's tall house by the sea, in Saint Malo. Marie-Laure is only a few years older than my mother was at the beginning of the war, when nearly everything she had known changed dramatically.

I also developed a deep empathy for Werner, the young German soldier who is cast into the ugliness of war when he's just a small-for-his-age 14-year-old. Given my heritage, the Germans were of course the enemy, but I just couldn't see Werner that way. He was a boy, an orphan who ended up at an academy for Hitler Youth thanks to his expertise building and fixing radios. His and Marie-Laure's stories come together in Saint Malo, near the end of the war, as Germany loses its hold on France. Strangers and enemies, barely more than children, they experience the illumination of human connection. For a story full of the darkness of war, Doerr's novel is also full of light: sunlight on the ocean, the sea breeze drifting into the window of Marie-Laure's tiny bedroom, Werner's need to be decent, even in brutal circumstances, and kindness against a backdrop of brutality. Not all light can be seen, but it certainly can be felt.

Come Together

This weekend, coinciding with the public release of "All Things Must Pass," Colin Hanks and Sean Stuart's documentary about the rise and fall of Tower Records, two of my former colleagues organized a giant three-day reunion that saw over 500 members of team Tower descend upon Sacramento. I've tried, with little success, to explain to non-Tower people (yes, I do actually know a few) how it is that a job I lost nine years ago can still have such an emotional hold on me. Well if you have to ask...

(Side note to my book industry pals, since I met you because of Tower, and you made me a part of your community, I consider you part of the tribe).

Humans have been organizing themselves into tribes since the beginning. And though we may not realize it or think about it, we still do that. We naturally seek out those with common values and interests, and band together. Music, books and movies were the common interests that drew us to Tower initially, but once there, we discovered an environment that encouraged and fed creativity and welcomed being different. We often proudly referred to ourselves as the Island of Misfit Toys, and in the documentary, Dave Grohl says that Tower was the only place he could get a job because of his hair. Colin Hanks spoke at our gathering Saturday night, and reflecting upon his experience in the movie, "Band of Brothers," he likened the depth of the connections between Tower colleagues to those of people who have served in the military together. I don't think that's a stretch.

Anyone who was in the vicinity of 16^th and Broadway over the last few days saw the Dimple Records store draped with familiar red and yellow banners reminiscent its former glory. I arrived late Friday afternoon, when the press conference was already underway. Standing there with my tribe, across the street from the Tower Theatre where it all began, I felt an intoxicating mixture of nostalgia, pride and love. For the rest of that night and throughout the next day and night, I reconnected with people I hadn't seen in years, hung out and had a great time. We're all nine years older and have gone on with our lives, but what a gift to be able to come together and celebrate our shared history. Turns out we can go home again, at least for a little while...

Of Convictions, Growing Pains and Mockingbirds

It's such a pleasure to find a book that stays with you long after turning the last page, one that introduces characters you fall in love with, who stay in your head. I recently finished one of those books, Harper Lee's Go Set a Watchman, which she first submitted to her publisher in the mid-1950s, before To Kill a Mockingbird. The manuscript was discovered late last year, after having been presumed lost.

There was of course much hype surrounding the release, and I purposely avoided all reviews and conversation with anyone who'd already read it, wanting to go in with no preconceived notions or expectations. I needn't have worried; Watchman will live up to the expectations of Lee's most ardent fans. Her ability to tell a story that captivates and charms the reader is why Mockingbird has permanent residence on so many must-read lists. Yes, I know I’m "supposed" to love Lee's perennial bestseller, and contrary to my sometimes obstinate nature, I do.  I know very little about the South, and have never set foot in Alabama, but I was drawn in on page one. I'll wager that ten different readers will give ten different reasons why they fell in love with six-year-old Scout when they first met her. Besides her being a scrappy little tom-boy who hated wearing dresses (like a certain blogger, although for the record, I never beat up boys twice my size), it was her fierce love and admiration for her father that really endeared her to me.

In Go Set a Watchman, we get to know Scout, or Jean Louise as she's now known, as a young woman of 26, living by herself in New York City. She comes home to Maycomb to visit Atticus, in his 70s but still practicing law, and is confronted by the inevitability of change as civil rights tensions and political turmoil are transforming the South of her childhood. She also learns harsh truths about her family and her town. Childhood memories give us further insight into the Finch family while they cause Jean Louise to question her assumptions and illusions of the past. Challenging her convictions and those of her nearest and dearest sets her on a path she must navigate alone.

Watchman is now next to Mockingbird on a bookshelf. I know I'll want to re-read it at some point, but not for a while; Jean Louise won't be leaving me any time soon.

Saint Ashbury

It's always exciting to hear of a local band—especially a favorite—releasing a CD. While it's true that nothing comes close to the experience of live music, there’s something about taking home a CD, your own personal connection with the band.

Saint Ashbury's debut album will be released later this month. Trying to summon the words to describe such a musical feast evokes the old idea that writing about music is akin to dancing about architecture, but here goes.

The word soulful comes to mind upon hearing singer Jamie McCrary's country-flavored, alt rock-infused vocals. She has the kind of voice that brings you along on her journey, wondering where she’ll take you next. The first track, "Life of Crime," makes it clear that Saint Ashbury is fueled by stellar song writing as well as first-rate vocals. Ashley Mitchell and Jeremy Cozakas blend their writing styles to create rich melodies that beg diving into, treating us to lush guitar riffs, solid bass lines and mandolin. Bryan Gessaro, equally at home on keyboards or bass, and Louie Senor on drums seamlessly adapt to fit the mood of each song.

Stand-out tracks include "Matches and Gasoline," "Border Streets" and "Broken," but the entire album will remain on heavy rotation. It's perfect for a road trip or summer evening on the patio. Local bands come and go, but Saint Ashbury is one to keep an eye on. 

If you live in the Sacramento area, you'll have the chance to see Saint Ashbury and get a copy of their debut CD, Friday, August 28th at Harlows.