joanna_newsom silentbob oh my love oh it was a funny little thing to be the one to've seen oh my love oh it was a funny little thing it was a funny funny little thing 041218 ... raze your skin is something that i stir into my tea. 041218 ... crOwl never get so attached to a poem you forget truth that lacks lyricism; never draw so close to the heat that you forget that you must eat. 041219 ... silentbob like a wood sprite, she plays a harp and is adorable and full of magic. 050118 ... silentbob go to sleep you stunning sky gently creep cunning by quiet hummmmm is amplified by a thumb that you suck dry 050228 ... silentbob we sailed away on a winter's day 050301 ... mon uow i love harp music. 050307 ... skinny a thimbles-worth of milky moon can touch hearts larger than a thimble.. this song made me cry 050307 ... silentbob I sing sha na na na na na na na na nah peach plum pear peach plum pear 050630 ... tender_square adam said he really liked her until he saw footage of her playing live. “did you know she contorts her mouth to make her voice sound like that? it makes her look really unattractive when she sings.” after i’d gone on to volunteer with a new campus station, i continued to hear disparaging opinions about her. “i can’t stand all these cutesy female songwriters, like joanna newsom,” sue scoffed at the music review meeting. she bristled in my presence, three decades my senior. “it’s like those girls who look like lisa loeb and wear fake glasses.” a coded shot at me, the newbie in the group, as i sat quietly in my shamrock skirt and thick black glasses. no, pretty girls couldn’t possibly be serious about music. 220301 ... epitome of incomprehensibility Can't win with some people: -not pretty enough -too pretty Why should appearance be the basis for judgment about unrelated stuff? 220301 ... kerry i saw her play at the atlanta symphony after Ys came out. i’d never seen someone actually play a harp—like, in real life. it was fucking gorgeous. i also kept wondering, “how does one get into harp?” they didn’t offer it at any school i went to. piano — flute — violin — guitar — defeat 220301 ... ovenbird A long time ago, when I still knew who I was, I saw her play at the Vogue Theatre in Vancouver. I wore a short blue dress that I’d bought only an hour before the show. I met a friend there, who may or may not have been in love with me. I never did know for sure, though I’ve wondered if, maybe, she saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself. I thought of the concert last week and the dress and the way I sat next to the friend who awed me with her brilliance, the way we went to hug and accidentally bumped foreheads. And I couldn’t remember the name of the musician we saw. My mind conjured the stage and the harp and her face and her voice, but her name would not come to me. I refused to look it up. My mind stewed on it all day. I went through every letter of the alphabet testing them each in turn. I kept coming back to “J,” but then dismissing it as wrong because my friend’s name started with “J” and that must be what my brain was getting caught on. Six hours later while forcing myself through a series of burpees, the name fell out of my brain. Joanna Newsom. I was delighted I remembered, as if it proved something, as if it meant there was hope for some vague future where I still have a hold on my mind. 260924 what's it to you? who go blather from