This song Hattie was inspired by a character from Woody Allen’s Sweet and Lowdown. It’s about a fictional “the second greatest” jazz guitarist Emmet Ray. I love the costume (it’s set in 1930’s) the music and Emmet’s obsession with Django Reinhardt (the greatest jazz guitarist ever) but the character that fascinated me the most was Hattie, Emmet’s girlfriend. Hattie is a mute but she emits so much energy and somehow looked more alive than Emmet who just can’t stop talking! I always wanted to give her a voice and this song was my attempt to give her one.
The video was shot by a very talneted photographer Megan Senior. This was our first video collaboration and I’m really happy with what we came up. Not to mention blowing up and wrangling 72 balloons was a blast! (pun intended)
Spring is coming and with it, it’s bringing lots of changes. I like changes. It’s exciting and challenging, and really who doesn’t like a new adventure? But what if it’s your friends who are about to embark on a new adventure, and you have to see them off while wishing them luck? Lots of my friends are about to start new chapter of their lives. I know I should be excited for them but the problem is I have a hard time saying good-bye.
I’ve been living in NYC for a while now so I’ve had my share of saying good-byes. But I never seem to get used to it. Each good-bye hurts and the pain surprises me like it never happened before.
Last weekend, I had to say good-bye to one of my most favorite people in the world. My 3-year-old friend Gretsey. Gretsey and her family, who are all close to me, are about to start a new life in suburbia. I know it’s only a train ride away but past three years, I got to see Gretsey on a weekly basis. Being only a walking distance away, I could just pop in to see them at the end of the day or meet them at a park near by. Gretsey and her little sister Maddie, made my life so much better and so much more fun. Sometime we spin ourselves till we are dizzy, or sing a song badly and loudly on the street. It’s nothing like seeing their faces light up when I walk in the door.
I cried like a kid when they drove off in their packed car. As I sat down in my very quiet room – kids are noisy! – with the pain in my chest, I did what I usually do when that happens. I wrote a song. I didn’t want say “Good-bye” so I used “Goodnight” instead. I don’t really know why but maybe that goodnight sounds a lot less final.
My band performed the song at our last show. (There was another good-bye at the show but that’s for next time) I asked James to take a video and asked audience to say “Goodnight Gretsey” at the end of the song. I hope she gets a kick out of it! A little of bit of singing makes you feel a whole lot better – that’s something I definitely re-learned from her.
Hope you enjoy!
Oh the sun has long gone down
Here we are still holding hands
Wasn’t today amazing?
Wasn’t it so much fun?
But the clock is ticking and it’s almost time…
Isn’t it hard to say Goodnight?
Isn’t it hard to say Goodnight?
Though I know I’ll see you soon
But I know I’ll still miss you
Isn’t it hard to say Goodnight my love, Goodnight
I love the stories you told me
While we waited our train
How we couldn’t stop laughing
No one else seems to find it funny
But the clock is ticking and it’s almost time…
Isn’t it hard to say Goodnight?
Isn’t it hard to say Goodnight?
Though I know I’ll see you soon
But I know I’ll still miss you
Isn’t it hard to say Goodnight my love, Goodnight
Maybe one day, someday, I find you far away
Drifting apart from one another
All but a memory fading away
I met Sophie when we happen to play on the same bill at the Living Room in the lower east side, Manhattan. I loved her beautiful songs, voice and her ukulele so I was thrilled when she asked me to do a duet with her.
Choosing what song to cover was the most difficult part of the project. I mean there are so many to choose from! In the end we settled on 9 to 5, because we both love Dolly Parton. Turns out, Dolly wasn’t the only thing we love in common. We both love old films (Jimmy Stewart, Hitchcock, Audrey Hepburn…) studio Ghibli (My neighbor Totoro!) Agatha Christie (Poirot or Miss Marple?) and of course, Murder She Wrote. “You have Murder She Wrote board game!” was the first thing she said, when Sophie arrived at my place in Brooklyn. Jessica Fletcher just makes everything alright, you know?
Every time we get together to work on the video, we end up drinking numerous cup of tea (hello, English and Japanese over here) and chatting about old films. It was very pleasant. We did work hard though, especially Sophie with all the sound and video editing. I couldn’t be happier with the finished video. Did I tell you that there is a surprise ending? Maybe I will tell you about how it came about one day, but for now, please enjoy! I hope it brightens your 9 to 5 day with a smile.
Do you feel like the beginning of the year is just another day? Or do you, like me, feel like it is a chance to start fresh? I like January because you get to do the things for the first time just because it’s new year. Like first day of the year, first dinner, first drink, first run, first dance, first song, first…
I have lots of “first” things coming up. First show of the year, first recording day of the year, first project of the year – so exciting! I’m superstitious so I feel like if the first show of the year goes well, I’m off to a good start! I know it’s silly, but I can’t help it. I hope you have lots of “first” things.
Sat. Jan. 12
Freddy’s Bar (Brooklyn, NY)
Sun. Jan. 20
Rockwood Music Hall (NYC)
Sat. Feb. 16
Living Room (NYC)
Here’s to a wonderful 2013. May it be filled with exciting adventures!
Our next show is back at our beloved Living Room in Lower East Side, NY with the whole band!
Yes that means:
Matt – durms
Nick – upright bass
Ben – banjo
Rebekah – trumpet
Ryan – electric guitar
Needless to say, I am very very excited about the show and we got some new songs!!!
The show is Friday, April 20th at 9pm. (Free!!!)
Living Room is located 154 Ludlow street between Stanton and Rivington.
Grizzly Rose, Grizlly Rose, who did you kill?
How about Gil?
No, he was ill.
How about Phil?
No that was an accident at the mill.
How about Cecile?
No, she rolled off the hill.
How about Jill?
No, she drank a gallon of oil.
How about Basil?
No, he was lost in a mountain trail.
How about Will?
Alas, I stabbed him in his heart and now he’s lying still!
Singer-songwriter Miwa Gemini grew up in Japan studying the piano and listening to The Carpenters. She started writing songs on the guitar as a teenager, but didn’t seriously pursue her strange, dark country-folk leanings until she moved to New York to study photography.
Her approach to Americana is fairly traditional but that doesn’t mean it’s predictable or staid. She’s an artist, like My Brightest Diamond, who, having received formal musical training, starts out with all the tools of the trade arrayed in front of her. Considering that, it’s remarkable that she would gravitate toward the often gloomy sounds of old-time US music, taking up the banjo and mandolin, in addition to the guitar.
The multi-instrumentalist approaches those sounds with a haunting theatricality and indie rock sincerity that makes Mirah her closest musical cousin. But there is so much breadth to her music that it’s hard to link her to any one influence. She has written fuzzed-out blues stompers where she channels Holly Golightly and wistful ballads that touch on Cat Power’s musical universe. And even on, say, a simple song about a picnic, an edge of Nick Cave-style danger seems to lurk around every corner.
Her forthcoming third LP The Fantastic Lies of Grizzly Rose promises to be a fanciful and musically intricate vision that centers on the mysterious and larger-than-life heroine of the album’s title.
If the song “Goodnight Trail” off the album is at all representative, Miwa Gemini’s lyrical world is growing more surreal, while her relationship with her country and folk source materials is growing more profound and intimate. There’s something magic about the moaning accordion and her sighing delivery in the song that evokes cool night winds and old legends no one remembers. But we’ll have to wait until Grizzly Rose comes out May 31 to get the whole story.
After losing her aunt and her best friend in New Orleans, Grizzly Rose joins a circus.
This story is the beginning of the transformation from “Little Rose” to “Grizzly Rose.”
Please enjoy with a little swing of trapeze act and a thrill of knife throwing!
Between the Seasons
Impaled Heart
Recounted by Zoe the circus elephant
The knife throwing is sometimes called an art of impalement. Actually, “impalement” is something you really want to avoid as an impalement artist. Of course it’s bound to happen sometimes, no matter how skilled you are.
My name is Zoe, and I’m a circus elephant. I suppose I’d be happier roaming about in the plains like my mother used to tell me, but I was born in a circus tent. You can’t miss what you never had, and I’m happy here as long as those silly circus folks leave me alone. I don’t mind the audience, especially children. I just don’t like most of the people in the circus, especially the ones that walk around swollen with their own importance. There are some that I like though. I like Scarlet; she’s a trapeze artist. And I don’t mind Sweet Mel either. She trains and takes care of the poodles. Those poodles are too chatty for my liking. Mel dyes their hair with beet juice so I try not to look at them too much. If I do, I just start laughing—they do look funny in beet red curly hair. But they think they look great, so who am I to contradict them? These days, I try to hold my tongue. I also like William Bell and Rose, the impalement artists.
When Rose showed up at the circus, Mr. Charlie, who runs the show, wanted her to train as a trick pony rider and a sharp shooter. I don’t know where she learned how to shoot but she was good at it. She is good at everything, though—she rides horses beautifully, walks tightrope better than most of people in the business and she’s a first-rate acrobat. On the other hand, William is not a very good impalement artist. He couldn’t impale anything, target or otherwise. William is the son of Franz Dagger, famous German knife thrower known for his rapidity. Franz assists Mr. Charlie now—he retired after losing William’s mother to an accident during their routine practice. Franz doesn’t throw knives anymore, but he trains his son. Unfortunately, William is horrible at it, but not for want of practice. As a matter of fact he practices a lot. I watch him practice late at night, throwing knives over and over again to the target board. Stray cats would come and tease him walking back and force in front of him as if to say “Strike me if you can but I know you can’t!”
God, he’s awful. He doesn’t impale things that he’s supposed to and impale things that he isn’t supposed to. Rose would join me once in a while. There were a few nights she and I sat together and watched William practice. She winced and grimaced watching him but also smiled.
One night as we were watching yet another stray cat taunting William, Rose got up and walked over to him.
“Those cats aren’t a very good target,” she shooed the cats away.
William was a little taken back at first but said,
“Well, I’m not good enough to have a target girl.”
“Sure you are,” Rose said.
“I’ll be your target. Come on.”
William didn’t say anything.
“Come on, throw the knife at me. I’m quick, I promise you won’t hit me.”
William raised his hand then lowered it, shaking his head.
“You know I’m no good. I might hit you.”
“Stop being a coward,” Rose chided. “I told you I’m quick.”
“I will probably hit you.”
“No, you won’t.”
“I will!”
“You won’t.”
“I will!”
With that last shout William let go of the knife. The knife went straight for Rose but she dodged it so nimbly that not one hair was out of place. William was speechless, staring at his knife stuck right
next to a smiling Rose’s head.
“That was fun, come throw another one and make sure it hits me this time!” she said.
It was a shock to everyone—except me—when Rose asked Mr. Charlie if she could train to be a target girl for William. There were some mean comments made in hushed voices, but Rose ignored them. I was rather surprised that Mr. Charlie said yes, but in a way, Rose probably was the only target girl for William and being a smart manager, he probably realized that. So it was that they became “William Bell and Rose” and they were a hit, much to everyone’s surprise, including William.
Of course it was Rose’s amazing escapes that kept the audience going, but William seemed very happy. I even saw Frank pat him on his shoulder once or twice. They still practice at night and when they take break, they would sit with me.
It wasn’t anybody’s fault what happened later. One night during a show, a knife thrown by William struck my back leg. Nobody saw it so I kept quiet, but it hurt pretty badly and I fell down immediately after their act. Rose and Scarlet hurried off to town to look for a doctor while William and Sweet Mel stayed with me. Sweet Mel is used to tending injuries because of her poodles. She tended my leg while William paced back and forth, repeating, “It’s all my fault. I know I’m no good at throwing knife.”
Sweet Mel is a good listener. She must be, dealing with those poodles. William told her how he never wanted to be an impalement artist but kept on trying, first to make his father proud then to make Rose happy. I was only half conscious as I listened to William’s low murmur.
By dawn, Rose and Scarlet came back with a doctor. Much to the relief of everyone, including me, my injury was nowhere near as bad as it looked. I was to be back on my feet in a few days time. However William’s guilt lingered on.
Rose was all excited hearing about “Wheel of Death”—it’s a trick invented by a legendary impalement artist in Germany, but nobody here in America has done it. The target girl is fastened to a spinning wheel while the knife thrower works blindfolded. Rose really wanted to try it, but William wasn’t too keen on the idea.
“Seems so dangerous and I’m not sure I will be able to aim well blindfolded.”
“Don’t worry. I’m thinking I will do somersault instead. Besides it won’t make any difference to you if you are blindfolded or not.”
It was meant to be a joke but William didn’t laugh. Noticing his seriousness, Rose corrected herself hastily.
“It will be ok! Come on!”
“Rose, I’m thinking about quitting knife throwing,” William said.
“Don’t be ridiculous! We are doing great and we can even do better. Now stop whining and throw a knife at me!”
Do you ever get that sinking feeling like your heart is falling into your stomach and your whole body is falling through endless pit? I had that as I watched William put on a blindfold. I wanted to stop him but I’m an elephant, I don’t speak people’s tongue. William stood still for a minute or two and threw a knife at Rose as she somersaulted. I watched the knife hit the heel of Rose’s left boot and ricocheted straight back to William.
The whole thing probably took only a moment, although it felt like days. By the time Rose finished the somersault, William lay dead on the ground, a knife through his heart. Rose stood by William’s body just dazed when miss Scarlet and Mel noticed what happened. They called for help but they knew it was too late.
There’s not a thing you can do for an impaled heart!
Death keeps following Grizzly Rose. Where will she go next? To the desert is my bet. We’ll see…
Here’s the story about Grizzly Rose’s life in New Orleans like I promised. It’s got cherry brandy, étouffée, storyville, trombone player and of course flea circus. It’s accompanied by one of my favorite songs off the new album called Matchbox House Blues. Enjoy!
Matchbox House Blues
To cure a grouchy man Recounted by Julian Bernard, a trombone player and a handyman for the Orillon family
To Cure a Grouchy Man
Recounted by Julian Bernard, a trombone player and a handyman for the Orillon family
Little Rose’s ticket to independence all started with an old mason jar and fleas. Things were never easy for little Rose; her mother and father were both dead by the time she could read and write. She took the long journey all by herself from the swamp of Indiana to the swamp of Louisiana only to find her aunt Louise Orillon, or her “first cousin many times removed,” wasn’t even at the dock to pick her up. Little Rose had to be brought by the greengrocer who was making his deliveries. I have to say she wasn’t a cuddly kind of kid, but still I felt sorry for the way everyone in the house treated her—something between a perpetual annoyance and someone insignificant enough just to ignore. I used to save her cookies the cook gave me for tea whenever I was there fixing that perpetually broken third stair of the main staircase or replanting trampled primroses—Mme Louise partied a lot and there were always a fixing or two to do around the house. Anyway I was telling you about a mason jar and fleas…
The cook was throwing away an old mason jar when Little Rose asked her if she could have it. I was sharing cookies with Little Rose in the kitchen. It was just an old mason jar, nothing special, so I asked her what she was going to do with it.
“How would I know, Julian? I just got it.” You could tell she was thinking hard. ”I could catch something. Maybe like moths. I used to collect them back in Limberlost.” Her eyes lit up as she said, “Then I can sell them and make some money!” I smiled and told her there wasn’t any moth worth catching around here. “If you want to make some money, might as well catch fleas. You can start a flea circus.”
“That’s a great idea, Julian!” she beamed. “I did see a flea circus once. It was wonderful! I can make them draw carriages, walk tight ropes and dance!”
To train fleas, first you trap them in a jar and keep them there for three days. After that, the poor suckers can’t jump higher than the jar anymore. I don’t know how Little Rose put together her flea circus but a few month later, there she was in front of Mme. Emma’s, entertaining men in top hats and the ladies of Storyville. I was rather vexed with her when I first saw her in Storyville; it’s not the kind of place children should be hanging about, but there she was stubborn as she could be. “But Julian, it’s a good place for circus. Lots of people around and besides, I know how to handle drunken people.”
This was true enough—Mme. Louise was always drunk and Little Rose was always able to avoid her stormy temper and destructive gait. She used to come by my cottage, too. She liked it whenever I played the trombone. She said it reminded of her old Glover, a horse she had back home in Indiana. “Your aunt won’t like you being here,” I’d to say to her but she just shrugged her shoulders and said, “She won’t care. Remember she’s not my real aunt, she’s just my first cousin many times removed,” she laughed, although Little Rose called Mme. Louise “Auntie” when the green grocer finally dropped her. Mme. Louise’ response was very short: “I am not your aunt. The correct term will be ‘first cousin once removed,’ but you may call me Louise.” Like I said things weren’t exactly easy for Little Rose.
Anyhow, Little Rose’s flea circus was a great success and she seemed to be happy for once. She also made a friend, besides me that is: Mme. Emma’s cook Viv. She’s a quiet girl and doesn’t talk to anybody. Mme. Emma didn’t put her to work like she did with the other girls because she fell in love with Viv’s étouffée, or so the rumor goes, but there they were, Viv and Little Rose, inseparable. Viv gave Little Rose a red velveteen ribbon. Little Rose has a flaming red hair and a red ribbon is probably a last thing she should put in her hair but she did and she was very happy about it, too.
Christmas of 1902 I caught what I thought was a bad bout of the flu. It turned out just to be a nasty cold in the end but I didn’t know it when Little Rose came to see me all hazy in my bed feeling absolutely miserable. “What’s wrong Julian? Are you alright?” I just grumbled something like “go away” to her and fell back asleep. Later that night I woke up shivering. The fire was out but I hadn’t been able to pick up coal for days. I was just cursing myself when I noticed a brown medicine bottle standing on my windowsill. I opened and smelled it. Cherry brandy! I had no idea where it came from or who brought it but I didn’t care. I down the bottle at once and fell sleep comfortably. Next day I awake to somebody tapping my windowpane. It was Little Rose! “Good morning, Julian. How are you feeling?” She looked really pleased with herself. “So it worked!”
“What worked?”
“The cure. The cherry brandy.”
The memory from the night before came right back to me then and I said to her.
“Where in the world did you get that? You didn’t steal, did you?”
Little Rose smiled and told me.
“Well after you told me to go away, I went back to Mme Emma’s and was talking to Viv. I told her all about how you weren’t feeling well. She asked me what was wrong with you but I told her I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that you were very grouchy. Then she said she heard Mme. Emma talking about a cure for just that. Viv said Mme. Emma was talking to some other ladies about her cherry brandy how it was a wonderful cure for any grouchy men.”
“You didn’t go talk to Mme. Emma!”
“Of course I did.” Little Rose replied calmly. Mme. Emma was a known “countess” in Storyville and known particularly for her nasty temper.
“I just went up to her and told her I have a favor to ask her. She looked a little surprised you know. Then she asked me what I wanted so I asked her that I wanted some of her cherry brandy.”
“She looked very surprised then. ‘What do you want cherry brand for,’ she asked me, so I said to her my very good friend came down with a very bad case of grouchiness and I heard her cherry brandy was a great cure for that.”
I was holding my breath by then—I knew she has shot one of her customers in his foot for trying to swindle a dram of her whiskey.
“I told her that I would be happy to pay for the brandy,” continued little Rose placidly.
“I told her I’d be happy to give her a dime but not a penny more. She asked me then what if she refused. So I told her I would take my business elsewhere. She said, ‘What business?” so I said, ‘Why, my flea circus, of course!’“ I started to feeling sick again by then. I couldn’t believe this girl talking to Mme. Emma that way when the Mayor of New Orleans tiptoed around her!
“I don’t know why you all seem to think she’s so scary. She wasn’t scary. She laughed and said, ‘You telling me that you are going to take your business elsewhere, huh? Well we can’t have that!’ Then she turned and called for Henry and told him to give me the small bottle of the cherry brandy and to make sure to get a dime for it. That was all really, except she asked me who was suffering from grouchiness so I told her it was you.”
I can only expect what I would going to hear when I go back to work on New Year’s Eve at Mme. Emma’s. The band was going to be playing there, but I couldn’t help it, I laughed. I laughed and laughed and Little Rose laughed, too.
Unfortunately the dawn 1903 brought big changes to Little Rose. On New Year’s Eve, her friend Viv died and soon after that, her “first cousin many times removed” fell over that third step of the main staircase one last time. Little Rose came to see me before she left the town. She had with her a bag, a jewelry box and her old mason jar, now filled with confetti She opened the jewelry box and showed me the contents. It was filled with stones—rubies, diamonds, emeralds, you name it, they were there, just like a miniature pirate’s booty.
“Louise gave me that before she broke her neck. Do you think she knew?”
Mme. Louise never made any will so the town of New Orleans was taking over all of her possessions. Rose’s relation to her was too vague to stand any chance in a court and the mayor knew it. I didn’t know what to say so instead I asked her what she did with her fleas.
“I let them go. I needed a jar to keep Viv’s confetti,” she said, adding, “It was a great show, by the way.”
I guess she was watching us play a set at Mme. Emma when Viv dropped dead, but that’s another story for another time.
And that’s it, really. She left New Orleans that morning, with a boxful of jewels and a jarful of confetti.
Where is Grizzly Rose now? Next up her brief career as an impaled artist recounted by Zoe the circus elephant. Stay tuned!
Fantastic Lies of Grizzly Rose 