I was so rushed and so busy last Wednesday that I didn’t get time to
mention that the blog would be a little silent while I flew to Boston
forAmerican Thanksgiving, an engagement party thrown by my future in-laws and
to pick up the accordion that Wendy found for me (and bring in back in the super-cool nigh-indestructible accordion case that Wendy gave me for my birthday). I’ll update throughout the rest of the day.
Urban Medium’s T-shirt design, DJ-D2 is pretty sweet…
…but in my opinion, the AG-D2 version is superior and even more ready to get the par-tay started:
Today, November 10, 2004, is the first anniversary of ther release of Outkast’s biggest single, Hey Ya!, in the UK. While the clever pop magazine Pop Justice hails the song as one of the greatest singles of 2003, they’ve had enough. They’ve posted a page titled ENOUGH IS ENOUGH and are asking all you Beyonces and Lucy Lius and babydolls to get off the floor. They’re asking people to stop dancing to Hey Ya.
I think they will meet with very little success. The song’s riff (build
on top on an infection G – C – D – Em progression) is so catchy that
people will dance and sing to even my (necessarily pared down)
accordion rendition.
I just got an email from my friend Karen B., who wrote in response to the invitation to my party this Saturday:
The woman who asked turned out to be an old friend of mine from high school.
My question is: How does the subject of accordions come up in a “normal” conversation, especially at a snooty private club?
Saturday night: The last errand I ran prior to hopping in my car and going to Homecoming at Crazy Go Nuts University was to buy up as many copies of The Globe and Mail as I could. Ryan Bigge’s story on Wendy’s and my engagement (“There he goes again…does he talk about anything else?”, I can hear you say) appeared in the Saturday issue, and I wanted enough copies to send to relatives and as personal souvenirs.
Saturday’s edition was a special one spolighting China as a great power — if not the dominant one — of the 21st Century (Adam Yoshida must’ve had a total conniption fit).
It was a popular issue, so picking up a dozen copies as I’d planned took travelling to five separate stores. The last store, from which I bought the last two, was the magazine shop beside the Lettieri cafe at Queen and Spadina.
As looked for an available bike rack, I noticed that someone sitting at one of Lettieri’s outdoor tables had a small accordion. An old-school accordion case — the sort that looks like one of those stiff cardboard suitcases from old black and white movies — lay open at her feet. She sat beside two of her friends and was talking to a rubby on rollerblades.
“You really play accordion?” asked the girl, the incredulity showing on her face.
“Shhhhhure I do,” said the rubby. “Jush han’ it over, and I’ll play you something.” He held out his arms, making “gimme!” gestures with his hands.
I wasn’t about to let anything bad happen to this nice girl or her accordion, so I intervened.
“I play accordion,” I said.
She turned and looked relieved to see me. “Okay, you play.”
I slipped the accordion on and started riffing in C minor, easing into Baby One More Time.
“Ahhh, I didn’t want to play anyway,” grumbled the rubby, who lurched northward on his rollerblades, his ankles almost running against the ground. For a guy who probably was on his fifth bottle of cough syrup that day, he skated pretty well.
Accordion Girl explained that she’d bought the accordion earlier in the summer and really wanted to learn how to play. I offered a couple of pointers.
I found out that the girls were big fans of Nine Inch Nails’ Pretty Hate Machine. I played Head Like a Hole [Windows Media link], and snippets of Down In It [Windows Media link], Terrible Lie [Windows Media link] and Only Time [Windows Media link].
It was then that I noticed that I’d forgotten the keys to my bike lock.
“Hey, could you watch my bike for a moment? I have to go buy some copies of the Globe and Mail. And hey, there’s a picture of me and my accordion in it.”
One of them pulled the bike closer to their table as I ran into the magazine store and bought their last three copies of the Globe. I returned and showed them the engagement article.
“Aww, she’s pretty!” one of them said, looking at Wendy’s picture.
“I’ll bet you use the accordion to get chicks,” said Accordion Girl.
“It helps,” I said. “It’s also good for making money. On a good night on Queen Street, you can make anywhere from fifty to a hundred bucks. You can also use it to gate-crash parties; most people at the door assume you’re the entertainment.”
“I could eat feel-eh meen-yon in a fan-cy res-toh-rant,” said Accordion Girl, affecting a posh accent.
I quickly went over the important chord patterns for most rock and pop songs: I-IV-V, I-IV, I-III-IV and so on.
“Look, I have to go,” I said, “but can I get your picture for my blog?”
“Blog?”
“You know, like a LiveJournal,” said one of her friends.
Except without all the drama and psychological problems, I mentally added.
“Oh, cool!”
I snapped their picture:
Miranda [Accordion Girl], her accordion and her friends.
Taken at Lettieri (southeast corner of Queen and Spadina) last Saturday evening.
“Okay, I’ve got to run now, but promise me this: don’t let that thing gather dust in the attic, okay? Play it!” I was already on my bike and heading north.
“I will, Mister Accordion!” she said.
Ten minutes later, still enjoying an accordion high, I was in my car and turning onto the Don Valley Parkway. Nice start to a good evening, I thought.
I’m in Che Kothari’s series of photo portraits taken at the 2004 Om Festival back in June:
Accordion badass!
That photo belongs in an ad for jeans. Or maybe bourbon or whiskey. I
look as though I could kick your ass and dance and play zydeco on your
corpse!
If you want to see more, check out my photos from the 2004 Om festival in photo album or slideshow format, my housemate Paul’s photos and my short videos.
[Thanks to Dan Cochran for telling me about the photo!]
I’d been so busy over the past few weeks, what with Wendy’s birthday
and our engagement, that I hadn’t given any thought to attending
homecoming at Crazy Go Nuts University,
which took place this past weekend. On Saturday night at about 6 p.m.,
I went “Oh, what the hell,” threw my accordion into the car, ran a
couple of last minute errands and motorbootied down to Kingston.
A couple of hours later, I pulled into town, where I joined Eldon and
the gang from Science ’94, after which we went to the student ghetto to
check out the street party taking place on Aberdeen street. It turned
out to be a four-block long bacchanal, with the street blocked off from
traffic and packed with people. People began to yell “play something on
that accordion!” (one guy mistakenly called it a “banjo”), I broke out
the rock and roll, and that’s when the fun began. I snapped a few
photos and Eldon snapped more while I played; you can see them in album or slideshow format.
The accordion: social hardware!
The crowd joined in and sang along. There are two videos you can check out:
Every other person seemed to have a digital camera, a
technology that wasn’t readily available during my years there (1987
through 1994). A zillion flashes went off in my face, and I spent half
my time playing “snowblind” and feeling the keys.
I was surprised to find that a number of the students, perhaps ten or so,
came up to me and said, “Hey Accordion Guy! I read your blog!” One girl
clung to my sleeve and tried to drag me to a party until her friend came up
to her and said “Don’t hit on the Accordion Guy! I read he’s engaged!”
Who needs social software when you have a blog and an accordion?
