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Blake Shelton’s bozo babble

January 27, 2013

The Negress has pretty much avoided country music for the most part because she knows where all the bodies are buried. All right, she does watch “Nashville” in spite of her justifiable loathing for Callie Khouri’s husband (you know him as T Bone Burnett), but that’s a soap opera with some enjoyable touches of verisimilitude, annoying wannabes and occasional outbreaks of sobriety.

In short, a lot like the actual Nashville where the Negress used to spend time before folks like Blake Shelton and Taylor Swift started clogging up the studios. The Negress had lived through one of the Great Countrypolitan scares in the late ‘ 80s when people like Lyle Lovett and KD Lang were winning country Grammys and Steve Earle, Dwight Yoakam (whom she likes to think of as the male Gillian Welch) and Randy Travis, were performing dark by-passes on country’s fat-clogged heart. But while they were getting down and dirty, as usual, something else in Nashville was taking over. OK, so one year the CMAs got moved because of Yom Kippur (couldn’t look like you were insulting the LA honchos, now could you? Oh, and ax the shrimp wrapped in bacon for the reception), but the deal was done. We needed a soundtrack for the SUV set, not the old Chevro-let set.

So the deracination of country continued. There are many notches on country’s gun belt for each time that genre has wanted to fill its coffers and expand its audience. Countrypolitan anyone? Then Tammy and Loretta and George (when he remembered to show up) pulled the music back to its redneck, hell raisin’ roots. You throw in Texas and Bakersfield and a little bit of Oceania, and there was always some corrective force to back country away from the brink.

So Blake Shelton had to shoot his fool mouth off this past week, talking about “old farts” and “jackasses” who clung to” traditional” country music, which Okie Shelton defined as Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton duets (Those two might lead the genre in plastic surgery, and Parton is a helluva songwriter, but please people). Ray Price swung from his heels and connected and Shelton started apologizing to everything that Tweeted. Most of the truly creative folks in country have little mainstream clout (Gary Allan might the only one the Negress can think of right quick), so they’ve retreated to indie releases, having books written (full disclosure: a buddy of the Negress, Don McLeese, has penned a nice tome about Yoakam) and touring when they feel like it, not because they have to.

When the Negress first heard about all of this, she got all geeked up on Facebook with her buddies and tossed out some fine putdowns (the late Gary Stewart’s amazing first album, “Out of Hand,” makes the entire Shelton oeuvre look like a display at Hacks ‘R Us), but she realized as she cavorted there that some the stories she heard and lived needed telling. So here’s a couple to remind her of what the best country songs and lives need.

Billy Joe Shaver, who was the most outlaw of all of those who pledged allegiance to Willie, Waylon and the boys, said he was arrested once in Nashville for public intoxication (Shaver, though recently jailed for shooting some guy at a bar in Waco, had been sober awhile when he told the Negress this story). His ex-wife, mother of the astonishing guitarist Eddy Shaver (gone too soon after too much of a New Year’s Eve in 2000) came by the jailhouse and said, “I’m not going your bail. Fuck you. I’m going back to Texas.” Shaver thought for a second and said, “Could you take a train so I can get a song out of it?”

Around the same time, the Negress was hiding out on Lee Roy Parnell’s bus on  a frigid October day at the Montgomery County Fairgrounds just north of Houston. Parnell had burned down the place with his slide guitar, leaving the stage to Doug “I’d Be Better Off in a Pine Box” Stone, who had to cram that one hit into a 45-minute set. “We ate his lunch out there, “Parnell beamed. “But we gotta find the Hag.”

That would be headliner Merle Haggard, whose bus had not arrived at the backstage compound because, it was cold as hell, he was the headliner, and he’s the Hag. The Silver Eagle did finally pull in and Parnell, the Negress and one of Parnell’s rib-cooking buddies wandered across the thatchy field to Haggard’s bus. We were permitted entry to find the Hag chilling before the gig while someone was trying to scare up a pair of gloves for Bonnie Owens, the Hag’s ex-wife and current backup singer. An enormous man who was Merle’s road manager stood watch by the door of the bus while the promoter was talking at Merle, who was studiously ignoring him. He did mention repeatedly that there was a woman outside, head of a local fan club or some such thing, who wanted five minutes of the Hag’s time.

“All she wants is five minutes,” he said again and again.

To which the Hag snarled, “What does she want to do? Give me a blow job?”

Now that’s country.

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Amorosa Bella 2010 Chardonnay, James Family 2010 Chardonnay and a Trader Joe’s Valpolicella

January 20, 2013

The Negress is not a Chardonnay person. It’s not an unusual prejudice. She doesn’t stereotype Chardonnay drinkers except for one instance when she was on a boat to Christchurch, New Zealand. She was drowning here sorrows in Diet Coke and looking at her fresh road rash from the sheep station road. As she contemplated her torn flesh and sipped her caffeinated bliss, she saw a man chomping on a cigar wander up to the bar on the boat. He said in what was a Texas accent, “Give me one of them oaky, buttery Chardonnays.” Besides the indications of Dead Palate Syndrome that the request signaled, the man was in New Zealand in 2003, for pity’s sake. He was within sputtering distance of some tasty Sauvignon Blanc (this was before the Kiwis upped the acid level and emphasized immaturity so that some of their worst wines now taste like green pepper marinated in lime juice), but he wanted Chateau 2 X 4 with movie popcorn butter on top.

Green grow the grapes but they will ripen in time

This is where it all begins but it’s the ending that makes all the difference

All this is to say that the Amorosa Bella and James Family Chardonnays (2010 both) would have annoyed our cigar chomper. These wines are full-bodied but light on their feet, and pair nicely with strong flavors as well as more delicate foods. They are neither too naughty or too nice. There’s a touch of minerality to each that is usually bludgeoned to death by more careless winemakers. If you are the sort of person who cringes when the phrase “California Chardonnay” is uttered, you will drink these and ask for more. If you’re lucky enough to live in a state that allows direct shipping, try the folks at Cellars of Sonoma in Santa Rosa. These wines were featured in their wine club in the past two years so they may have some lying around.

A little closer to home for some of you is the 2009 Pasqua Valpolicella Ripasso Speciale 2009, which found its way into the Negress’ cart at  Trader Joe’s. As a rule, she avoids most of the Trader Joe’s cheap and cheerful wines, because they usually do not make her happy (see the Jolly Rancher episode)  But the Pasqua retailed for $10, making it a Pol Roget compared to some of the crap they sell. However, as much as she loves Valpolicellas, this was not one to write home about. Her take on the Italian favorite involves roast meat and earthy flavors and she knows not to expect Amarone when she’s kissing his younger, more callow cousin. But, this was a wine like many wines; not so bad as to require a screed condemning anything and anyone who had been part of its coming to store shelves. Pasqua 2009 is the epitome of  ’meh.’ In short, 24 oz. you should have replaced with something memorable. And sometimes that doesn’t involve wine. Stay tuned.

 

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2012 year in review: In which Canada distracts the Negress from depression, bloody mayhem and bad wine

December 31, 2012

The Negress is quite ready to be done with 2012. This is a year that deserves to be tossed away with both hands. She had friends blown sideways by a crazy, globally heated storm with boat and homes going every which way. She continued her fierce love of Chicago, but now found it mixed up the strain of building a business on communicating when she never felt less like speaking, making phone calls or getting out of bed. So, 2012, please get the hell out of here so she can get on with it. She will keep listening to 54.40, Dan Mangan, the Tragically Hip and other Canadians she hopes will return to Chicago when she has the cash to go see them.

What The Negress wants to get on with is knitting, reading, cooking and keeping herself healthy. That has actually gone pretty well with weight and the shedding of at least three diabetes medications. Crohn’s seems to know its place but she’s somewhat afraid to even think that. If you’re interested in the year in wine, nose around the rest of the blog and read. She briefly worked for an e-magazine called Uncorked before it went under; settling the $1,125 it owed her for a mere $225. There’s a plum assignment looming that has been looming for a few weeks. Once the secret is out, things will be good but just looking at the books (including one she wrote a chapter in) she needs to skim has her nervous

As for the other books she’s read, she adored “Gone Girl,” is still on p. 200 of “1Q84” and hopes Robert Caro doesn’t die before he finishes the LBJ biography (she’s read through “Master of the Senate,” but wants to finish all of it). She’s seen friends retire (buen suerte Juan), fade (you’re not reading this if you were one of those), sober up, and graduate (way to go nephew JT). There was some good news amongst all the bloodshed.

The Negress still loves music, wine, hockey (she misses it, wants it back and will settle for the college game and the Wolves until further notice) and men and women. She and golf are seeing other sports, but will get back together once her broken foot heals.

The Negress went on a road trip or two, spending time in Ohio, DC, NJ, PA (crossing the Poconos could not have been achieved without all those Canadian bands on The Verge), Ohio again, Michigan and then home. Baseball is still in the picture but the late-season collapse of the White Sox and the Nationals’ early playoff exit were hard to take. She’s officially done with Astros, leaving them before they make their shameful transition to the American League. The Negress isn’t sure she knows who they are anymore. She also feels that way about SABR, so she’s pondering an exit strategy there too..

The Mazda and her home are good, but she needs to get back to work in a stupendous way. May 2013 be your lucky number too (Lene Lovich, sorry about that).

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In which the Negress talks about music again kind of like she used to

December 9, 2012

The Negress loves the Verge. For those of you not paying out the wazoo for satellite radio, The Verge plays a bunch of Canadians artists and occasionally throws in a tune by Deadmau5 or the Lumineers just to confuse you. The Negress can listen to The Verge for hours and hours and nearly plotzed when the channel devoted and entire weekend to the Tragically Hip and its new album. While Japandroids and Metric have made it South in some fashion, the Negress loves that she isn’t hearing songs she hears all the time elsewhere (though upon hearing the

The members of Whitehorse, who seem to be living in the Negress' head.

The members of Whitehorse, who seem to be living in the Negress’ head.

Lumineer’s “Ho Hey” for about the 10th time, she really missed Gillian Welch). She managed to miss Dan Mangan (deathless lyric: “Let’s start a war for the kids”) and the Rural Alberta Movement (the song “Muscle Relaxants” brings back fuzzy but troubling memories) and the Hip when they were all here in Chicagoland in the past month. Now, she’s going to miss the Japandroids, who are playing Metro on Dec. 13. She likes Metro. She had a sweaty good time there almost a year ago when she saw Airborne Toxic Event there. She also saw Feist at the Riviera. One of these is not Canadian. Pick.

Lastly, she is stuck on  Whitehorse’s tune “Achilles’ Desire” in a way that might predict an intervention if this tune was something like cocaine instead of music. Go. Find. Listen. This was the Negress’ world once. Just when she thinks she is out for good, she gets pulled back in.

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Old news a demi sec 1997 Vouvray and Trader Joe’s 2011 Paso Robles Zinfandel

December 9, 2012

The Negress has been battling her day job to a satisfying draw and thought it was best to catch up on some wine that had passed through the premises of late. The first was a bottle of 1997 Vouvray that was part of her Urbana stash. In fact, it was the last bottle in said stash that could have been consumed by humankind without dire consequences. If  you decipher the label in the blurry photo that is embedded in this post, you’ll have a slightly better idea of what the Negress is talking about.

First of all, some caveats: The Negress has a volatile relationship with French whites. Sancerre makes her skin itch and sprout hives (this was well before Sancerre became this year’s Muscat thanks to the whip-me-beat-me-make-me-write-bad-checks trilogy know to some as the 50 Shades books. The Negress has  written some checks that would make a bouncy castle a hazmat zone, but she didn’t need a wealthy sadist to persuade her.)

The Vouvray in question is on the right

The Vouvray in question is on the right

Back to the wine. The Vouvray drank like a faded photograph; its demi-sec qualities muted by a little too much aging in the humidity of a central Illinois basement.) You could taste the bone structure but the flesh was weak with age. However, it made the Negress want to find a more recent vintage for comparison. The other wines in the picture are reliably splendid with the only surprise being the Gann Family cellars Malbec, which was chocolaty and rich. Heidi Barrett Peterson’s La Sirena Syrah is a monster wine, and the 2005 and 2006 we found in our cellar are fully ripe and voluptuous without being overpowering.

But, in this world, the rough follows quickly on the heels of the smooth. The Negress hasn’t purchased a bottle of wine in Trader Joe’s in ages. She has some nice stuff cellared (Cain Five, part of a Spring Mountain vertical) and she bought another case of the Bonny Doon Ca de Oro Muscat, so she’s in good shape.

However, put a nice guy at an in-store tasting and she’s no different from any other newbie out there. So she came home with the bottle of of 2011 Paso Robles Zinfandel and some New Zealand creamy cheese. The cheese vanished as they do between phone calls for work and furious knitting.

Once the Zin was open, the Negress was fully flummoxed. The wine tasted like candy — as in “I Want Candy” or “the candy colored clown they call the Sandman.” If she were the promiscuous writer of drinking notes like some of her ilk, she would have noted the wine’s “unusual Jolly Rancher finish.” It has long been said that Americans talk dry and drink sweet, but this is ridiculous. Never again, not even to warn all 10 of you who read this. It’s back to the music and the good stuff.

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My Review of Roku 2 XS Streaming Player, or Why Hasn’t the Negress Been Posting

November 11, 2012

Originally submitted at Roku

Adds an enhanced remote for playing games, plus extra connectivity options.

To hell with cable

By The Wine Negress from Evanston IL on 11/11/2012
5out of 5

Pros: Reliability, Compact, Great value, Video selection, Easy to set up, High quality picture, Easy to use

Cons: Want more video choices, No Spotify Just Pandora

Best Uses: Secondary TV, Bedroom, Living room, Primary TV

Describe Yourself: Netflix fan

Has saved me a ton of cash by dropping cable and has allowed me to catch up on various series I didn’t have time to watch in real time.

(legalese)

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Blitzen Trapper, The Tragically Hip, and 2008 Casa Silva Carmenere Syrah Rose

September 30, 2012

The Negress did some listening, drinking and driving as she wandered through Wisconsin, Minnesota, North Dakota, Illinois, Ohio, DC, NYC, Detroit and then back home again with a nail in one tire, a broken bone in one foot and near complete mastery of one set of FINRA arcania.

Through it all she quaffed a few microbrews (Bell’s Oberon and Motor City GhettoBlaster were the least notable), heard some stories, drove thousands of miles and learned a few things. Her lower back is permanently molded in the shape of a car seat, and she has fallen in love with some music again.

Upon arrival back at her home, she renewed her relationship with the 2008 Casa Silva Syrah Carmenere Rose. It’s a $10 buck wine from Chile, and it has hit all the right notes for this balmy Chicagoland fall. The wine is a deep russet with enough heft on the palate to hold up nicely to some fiery chili the Negress whipped up last week. She recently exchanged some trash talk with  fellow wine enthusiast Dale Cruse about her distaste for white wine after Labor Day. Her rule of thumb is if it’s cellar temperature outside (mid 50s or so here since she stores white, red and pink), then white wine is not on her table. She knows all about more robust whites, but she doesn’t care. Put the white wine with the white shoes after Labor Day (she did make an exception when she was a guest in Detroit since she’s polite when it counts).

Casa Silva rose with Blitzen Trapper's "Furr"

Whatever gets you through the day and night. Or long drives.

Anyway, all of this traveling, studying and preparing of spicy fall foods needed a soundtrack and the Negress found several. First of all, she happened on Blitzen Trapper in Grand Forks when she visited there. Grand Forks is likely the most isolated college town in America (if there’s one more isolated, she doesn’t want to go there). However, if a band is coming East from Portland, OR, and is headed either to Winnipeg or The Cities (nativespeak for Minneapolis-St. Paul), stopping in da Forks is likely. So Blitzen Trapper stopped, the Negress danced and bought two albums and a T-shirt. “American Goldwing” and “Furr” are the kinds of records that are invasive in their pleasures. Going from zero to adolescent obsession took no time at all. Their sound is too gelid and focused to be consigned to the jam band scrapheap. Also, as her chorister pal noted, their diction is impeccable; a good thing when the words are worth hearing. Find them. You won’t be sorry. They’re opening for The Head and the Heart and then Brandi Carlile during the next couple of months.

When she isn’t wearing out Blitzen Trapper, the Negress listens to the Canadian rock channel on satellite radio (this trip would not have been possible without satellite radio). By doing this, she has added Metric, the Acorns, Rural Alberta Movement  (their “Muscle Relaxants,” if mixed with the rose, could end badly), Japandroids and others to Feist and the Arcade Broken Pornographic Social Scene. She sometimes wishes the channel would dig deeper and pull out some 54.40 or another of her favorites, but not happening.

Except for this weekend. The Tragically Hip, the only band ever to write a song mentioning Bill Barilko (“Fifty Mission Cap”), have a new record coming out so they were all over the channel this weekend. The Negress has forgotten how great those guys are. She hopes the new record brings them to Chicago so she can moon over Gord Downie and lift her spirits high. Yeah, those spirits; the ones not crushed by the stupid absence of pro hockey from the continent.

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