Urban Survival Tip #3

Last night, I saw one of the best shows of my life at the Highline Ballroom in Chelsea. The Ryan Montbleau Band, which happens to be one of my favorite bands, opened things up with a set that included most of their feel-good foot-stompers, including one of their best numbers, "Honeymoon Eyes."




The band was cooking. Great solos from the keyboard player and the viola player (yes, viola), and then there was Ryan Montbleau himself, all cool charisma and playful intensity, who just totally rocked the place.

Then. THEN. Oh, man. Trombone Shorty and Orleans Avenue took the stage and proceeded to scramble what remained of my functioning brain cells into disbelieving goo.

Trombone Shorty is from New Orleans and almost literally sang with his trombone (and his trumpet, which he plays just as well). This guy's raw ability and presence is absurd. And the band was an exuberant, criminally talented bunch of guys who looked like they would have to lie about their ages to join the military. Seriously, the guitarist looked like he might have been fifteen, and he was shredding like a mini-Hendrix, sparkly shirt and silver jewelry and all.



Most of the crowd was wearing Mardi Gras beads and Saints jerseys, and I don't think I've ever seen an audience so beside themselves. After making me almost die from an overdose of awesome with a cover of "Let's Get It On," the band finished off their epic set with a bring-down-the-house rendition of "When the Saints Go Marching In" during which they came down onto the floor and played their way out around the room. People were practically weeping.

And get this: I saw all this - at a swankified place in Chelsea where tickets were about 30 bucks a pop, more for VIP tables - for free. I even got a free T-shirt out of it.

And how, you ask, did I manage this? The answer brings me to your third Urban Survival Tip: selling merchandise.

Like many people of limited means, I want to take advantage of all that New York has to offer, but often find myself stymied by how expensive everything is. I can't emphasize enough how much a little research and resourcefulness can pay off if you want to get out and experience some culture. In the last few months, I have seen a free Barefoot Truth show at the Canal Room, free NY Gilbert and Sullivan Players' performances of "Pirates of Penzance" and "The Mikado" at New York City Center, and then last night what was, again, possibly the best show I've ever seen - all for free. And I just had to sell some T-shirts to do it.

A free show usually isn't the only perk, either. I got to mingle with the actors and musicians. I was invited to an opening night afterparty. Barefoot Truth gave me some free CDs as thanks for helping out. NYGASP even paid me 50 bucks to run the merch table and coordinate the other volunteers one day.

So get on mailing lists of all your favorite bands. Check their websites for upcoming performances and see if they need a hand. Make friends at theaters and ask if they need volunteers.

We could all use a little more awesome in our lives. And FREE awesome is even better.

The List

No, not THAT list. (Bear Grylls and Dave Salmoni, btw.)


Sometimes, if I'm feeling stuck and unmotivated, I like to revisit the list of things I want to do in my life. It feels good to check off the things I've done and add new things that have occurred to me, and it generally reminds me of how much I freaking love life.

Be a ski bum.


Hike for a living.


Get a guitar.


Get a tattoo.


Be a freelance writer.


See the Grand Canyon.


Go to Las Vegas.


Ride a motorcycle.


Go white-water rafting.


Go water skiing.

See the Red Sox win the World Series.


Go to journalism school.


See Saturday Night Live live.

See the Northern Lights.

Go to Burning Man.

Go to Bonnaroo.

Go to Glastonbury Festival.

Road-trip America with my sister.

Go to Mardi Gras.

Get a short story published.

Go sky diving.

Go bungee jumping.

Thru-hike the Appalachian Trail.

Run a marathon.

Do Crow pose on top of a precarious rocky mountain at sunrise.

Brew my own beer.

Learn how to surf.

Speak Swahili, Spanish, French, and one other language.

See the Grand Canyon again, with my family.

Own a Subaru with standard transmission.

See Machu Picchu. See Petra. See the Great Wall of China. See the Taj Mahal. See Igauzu Falls. See Ankgor Wat. See the mountain gorillas in Rwanda. Backpack Europe. Climb Kilimanjaro. Visit the Galapagos. Scuba dive in Micronesia. Surf in Australia. Snowboard in New Zealand. Visit every state. Visit every continent.

Live and work in Africa.

Work for National Geographic.

Write and publish a novel.

Have a dog. Have ten.

I feel better now!


These scruffy Canadian dudes have a pretty sweet list.


---

And the moon is the only light we'll see

The Playing for Change fall tour is coming to New York this Sunday. You should go.



Man, that video gives me "Where the Hell is Matt?"-type feelings. (You 
know what I mean. The part where all the people crash together in the 
plaza in Madrid? My heart grows three sizes every time.)

Playing for Change is such an incredible idea. Music? Facilitating 
peace? All over the world? My music-lovin', travel-buggin' little ass 
can barely even handle it.

From their website:

Musicians from different cultures uniting together for the common purpose of peace through music is a powerful statement. For the past four years Playing For Change has traveled the world with a  mobile recording studio and cameras in search of such inspiration. Throughout the journey we created  a family of over 100 musicians from all walks of life. We connect these musicians together with "Songs Around The World." 

They'll be at the Town Hall at 8:00 on Sunday - just three blocks from 
where I go to school! gah! - and I'd be all over it if tickets were a little 
cheaper and I wasn't planning on being out of town this weekend. But 
as it is, I'm getting out of Dodge and going home to Massachusetts to 
see my parents and breathe in a little non-city air.

My hometown on Buzzard's Bay.

So please send some of those musical vibrations my way.

I'm also planning on bringing my old bike back to New York with me. Stay tuned for some island bike trail adventures!

When you get old and start losing your hair/Can you tell me who will still care?

Since my last post,

1) The Red Sox left their heads most decidedly up their asses and got themselves eliminated.

2) The Rockies, my backup team, flamed out shortly thereafter.

3) I don't even want to talk about the Patriots.

4) I saw Barefoot Truth, and they were an explosion of awesomeness and flannel.

I took some pictures, but either my camera was having issues or I just suck at taking low-light photos. I salvaged a couple that weren't too horrible and tinkered with them a bit in Photoshop so that instead of crappy and blurry, they look cool and artistic. Or maybe pretentious and contrived. Your call.

And the next night?

Okay, look. I did something that you might judge me for. And it's cool if you do. I'll understand. But if seeing Hanson in concert makes me a bad half-assed hippie, then I don't want to be right.

With the exception of a few guys (either gay or putting forth an inspired effort to get laid that night), the audience was female and mid-twenties: legions of "MMMBop"-singing teeny boppers all grown up. It was glorious.

Oh, the days when a toss of Zac's long tresses made my heart flutter. I remember going to the orthodontist's office in eighth grade after someone threw a frisbee into my teeth during a game of Ultimate (yet another reason why I'm a bad half-assed hippie: I now freak out when a disc whizzes even remotely close to my face). I had to get my front teeth fixed and I was a teary, hyperventilating mess.

But then a Hanson song came on, and I felt like everything was going to be okay. (How adorable was I? And pathetic?)

Anyway, my point is this: I would have done terrible things for a chance to see them when I was twelve, and I never got the chance.

...until yesterday. Boom. Full circle! No regrets!

As for why I'm talking about them in a blog that's supposed to be about crunchy stuff, they actually organized a one-mile barefoot walk earlier that day as part of their "Use Your Sole" tour. They're raising money for a number of different causes including AIDS treatment and research and drilling wells for clean water in Africa. Good stuff.

I've heard a lot of 1997-themed punchlines in the last 24 hours, but the crazy thing is, Hanson is actually totally legit now. Great musicians, great performers.

And yes, they played "MMMBop."

Barefoot Truth: Certified Crunchy

Music post!


Fellow New Yorkers, there is a band I would like you to meet. I've known about them for a few years now, but I recently rediscovered them, and holy crap have they gotten even more awesome since the last time I checked. They're playing at the Canal Room in Manhattan this Wednesday, and they're called Barefoot Truth.

I know what you're thinking. 

You're thinking, are they a hobbit band?

Wait, wait, just kidding. (BFT, if you're reading this, you know I love you.) Here are some better ones.

There we go.

I first started listening to these guys when I was in college. Back then they were just "Barefoot" (for a cautionary tale in karma and what happens when a big label muscles out an independent band, check out these clowns). It started with just two of them: Will and Jay, college boys out of Connecticut. They were really mellow and acoustic, great beach-y music that reminded me of Dispatch (my first love). I actually bought their album "Changes in the Weather" on CD Baby. 

I say "actually" because I was a dedicated music mooch who copied all my music off my hallmates' iTunes libraries. But no one else knew about these guys, and so I shelled out some money, figuring it was the least I could do to support a young independent band whose music made me happy. I was glad I did. Soon other music mooches on my hall were approaching me to tell me they'd ripped off the entire album from MY iTunes library and who the hell was this Barefoot band, anyway?

They sort of fell off my radar screen after I graduated. I didn't have a functional computer or an iPod over the next two years, so updating my music collection wasn't much of a concern. But then a couple of months ago, I landed back on the east coast, bought a laptop, and thought, "Huh, I should see what those guys have been up to."

Hello.

Are you familiar with John Butler Trio? They're this really sick band from Australia, and when I saw them live in Philly in 2005, it was easily the best show I'd ever seen. The musicianship was astounding.

When I caught up with Barefoot Truth and started listening to their song "Broken Road," I thought, "Whoa, am I listening to John Butler Trio?" Except it was like a JBT with a fuller, richer sound. And a better lead singer. (Sorry, John Butler! You know I love you!) Maybe you don't know what I'm talking about, but trust me on this. I can't think of much higher praise. The bass, the slide guitar... it just sang.

The dudes in BFT have graduated and added three more members, an upright bass, a harmonica, a Weissenborn lap guitar, a keyboard, a didgeridoo, and a whole lot more rocking-your-face-off. The growth they've shown as a band is startling.

They have a new album called "Threads" coming out early next year, and they'll be playing some of its songs on this fall tour. They streamed the first half of it on their website for a limited time recently, and it's all kinds of awesome. A great song to check out now is "All Good Reasons," which I may or may not have had on repeat for about a month. I may or may not be listening to it right now.

Tickets for their Wed. Oct. 14th show are ten bucks in advance, twelve at the door. It's 18+ and the show starts at 9, with Spiritual Rez opening. Come on out and say hello!

Now I'm going back to bed, because I did more than 100 sun salutations before 9am and I need a nap. The yoga-thon raised $1,652 to feed and educate Maasai girls! Night, folks.


P.S. Red Sox, get your heads out of your asses!

Bringing the mountain to Mohammed

What's a girl to do when, after basically living in the wilderness for a year, she moves to Brooklyn where there isn't a mountain or a desert in sight? How does she keep from going all "Requiem for a Dream" from tree withdrawal, digging through the pavement with her fingernails and forlornly howling at the light pollution-obscured moon?

A) She sets up a shelter in Central Park and learns Jiu-Jitsu to help her fend off the crazies. 

B) She flies back to Colorado every weekend, because she's filthy rich like that.

C) She busts bowdrill fires on the sidewalk for loose change.

D) She crunch-i-fies her room.

If you guessed D, congratulations! You win some granola and a 30-pack of PBR!

It's not finished yet - I still have to fill in those purplish areas, add some shading, tweak a few things. I might even get super fancy and attempt a tromp' loeil kinda thing where it looks like there's a hole in the wall opening onto the scene. (But let's not get ahead of ourselves here, Emily.)

That's not the only thing I've done to make my room feel like a little oasis in a concrete jungle. Note the earth-toned wall paint. That's important.

A few potted plants (low-light plants, because my window is almost entirely bricked over by another building) go a long way. And check out my prayer flags.

Gotta have prayer flags. They remind me of my beloved Eastern religion-obsessed hippie friends. And I found them at a really sweet Tibetan store on St. Mark's Place in the East Village. I have a feeling it's going to be my new go-to store, since the Animas Trading Company in Durango is now about 2,000 miles away.

Then there's the obligatory incense/candle collection. (Note that the picture of aforementioned Eastern religion-obsessed hippie friends is strategically located next to the Nag Champa.)

Then there's the token guitar that I can't play very well. That's key. I might pick it up every once in awhile and pluck out a few Dispatch or Ben Harper tunes, but mostly it sits there looking impressive for anyone who happens to visit my room.

Finally, there's my prAna yoga mat.

I'm no yoga master, but I did whip a bunch of unruly sixteen-year-old boys into sun-salutationing shape last year, so I feel that I can say with some credibility that prAna has some excellent products. This mat was a little on the pricey side, but it's super sweet and I got a pro deal with them when I worked for Open Sky. So, neener neener.

And finally, for an extra little dose of the wild, my roommate's fat cat can occasionally be spotted stalking through the room. Don't be fooled by her unthreatening appearance - she's dangerous, all right. In fact, she once peed on my bed! Talk about taking a walk on the wild side!

I hope you enjoyed your little tour of my crunch-tastic abode. Namaste.

The Friendliest Place on Earth

Hello. I'm Emily. I recently arrived in New York City after spending the last couple of years happily exploring the wilds of the great American West. I worked a series of odd jobs, many of them seasonal in nature: forestry researcher, ski lodge dining room server, brewpub jack-of-all-trades, freelance writer, wilderness field guide. Not only did the mountain air and the smell of sage work their way deep into my heart, I fell madly in love with the culture I will hereafter call "crunchy."

You know. It's not precisely "hippie," but it's definitely granola. "Dirtbag," when spoken with a great amount of affection and pride, is also an acceptable term. We can often be found working in fields relating to wilderness, education, holistic health, music, or psychology. Many of us have a bad case of a travel bug that is more likely to take you backpacking in South America or Southeast Asia than wining and dining in Paris... though we aren't above enjoying the finer things in life. At the risk of further pigeonholing this lovely bunch of people, I will add that if you attend an ultimate frisbee pickup game, odds are that you'll run into a few of us.

I've come straight from Durango, Colorado, a sort of dirtbag heaven on earth. Located in the Four Corners at the exact point where mountains meet desert, there is ridiculous climbing, dirt biking, skiing, and kayaking in the area, much of it actually within the city limits. Many of my friends live out of their trucks year-round because when they aren't field guiding, they're off on a road trip to Utah canyon country or backcountry snowboarding in Wyoming. Plenty of my old coworkers at the brewpub moonlight as rafting guides on the Animas River and have been known to wax rhapsodic about the trip to "Gnar-nia" their new tele skis took them on. The big expenses in our small budgets tend to revolve around gear and music festivals. So leaving that for the bright lights of New York has been interesting, to say the least. You know that part in Crocodile Dundee when Mick arrives in Manhattan in his outback finest? And looks spectacularly uncomfortable and out of place?

Well, it's actually not like that at all. I'm from Massachusetts originally, have spent a fair amount of time in cities, and am incredibly stoked to be here. I am, however, experiencing a few pangs of nostalgia for the stars, which I won't be seeing for awhile. I miss showing up to work in torn Carhartts and Chacos. And there's a lot I'd do to breathe in the scent of a ponderosa pine. Mostly, I miss the people and the lifestyle.

In this blog, I'll write about all the outdoorsy, adventurous things I can find to do in this urban wilderness. I'll talk gear a bit for all you gearheads out there, and if I see or hear about a sweet band playing in the area, you'll definitely know about it. Any tips about inexpensive and/or awesome outdoor getaways and activities would be great. This is New York, and it has a little of everything. I know that there's a little crunch to this Big Apple, and I intend to find it.

"That's incredible. Imagine seven million people all wanting to live together. Yeah, New York must be the friendliest place on earth." 
~Michael J. "Crocodile" Dundee