I honestly feel like I've been preparing for this troubling time for the last 10 years. Maybe my whole life.

When I barely escaped death in back in February 2010, I went on a journey—both musically and spiritually—to explore my views on death, particularly my own.  Although I had rejected my Catholic-turned-Evangelical upbringing many years before, I realized I still had a lot of fear about death and dying...this fear was directly linked to the mythology I heard in childhood about hell and the devil.  Yes, although I no longer believed the fire-and-brimstone Sunday school stories of my youth, the conditioned fear still remained.  It was a fear that clung stealthy to the undersides of everything...I never really acknowledged Death until the day my house burned to the ground and I was forced to face my own mortality.

In the wake of the fire, my life was in shambles and I struggled to put my life back together after losing everything.  I put out my first record "Queen of the Devil's Rodeo" and worked techie day jobs off and on to support myself and my music.  But when I moved to Austin, TX a couple of years later, things took a turn for the worst.  I was jobless, semi-homeless and felt quite hopeless.  My dogs were aging and not doing so well.  It was then I took the time to grieve my past and impending losses; and I started researching and writing songs about death. I needed to address my mortality, study death culture and find a better way to deal with the inevitable loss of self...and others.  When I moved to San Antonio, I learned more about Dias de los Muertos (Days of the Dead; in San Antonio and other places it's a multi-day celebration) and Santa Muerte (Saint Death). I learned that death could be talked about openly and even celebrated for its memorial of—and connection to—those we've loved and lost. I lost my first dear doggie right before the holiday that year...and second one had a fatal heart attack on my move to Seattle.

While I was in Seattle, I wrote more death songs (some about said dead doggies) and I stumbled my way into the death positive movement. I had been following many of its leaders for years, but connecting with them—and performing for them—in person at the Death & The Maiden conference in England in 2017 was the clincher. I believe that death and grief should be healthy topics of conversation for every person in every society. I'm living proof that addressing mortality and making peace with death can help you find a more peaceful, joyful life. It has an amazing ability to put things into perspective.
 

Not quite two years ago, I released my first death-focused music offering, The 'Deathfolk Magic' EP under the band name Bye Bye Banshee. It was recorded/mixed/mastered by Tom Garneau (Prince, Sting), co-produced/mixed by Jeff Crandall (Swallows, J. Briozo) and features some amazing Twin Cities musicians, like my friend bassist and composer Chris Bates and his brother JT Bates who is the weirdest, coolest drummer I slightly know. Aaron Kerr is also amazing on the cello!!!! Jeff Crandall added some eerie hammond and backing vocals and Brett Hansen skillfully plays a bit of lap steel and electric guitar.

I'll be honest--the EP release in late 2018 was a bit of a mess.  The publicity firm I hired really let me down...took my money (of which I had little) and didn't do what they promised to do.  I knew Deathfolk Magic wasn't a commercial release.  It needed a special audience, like the very receptive live audience I had in England the year before. I was specific about the type of audience this was for, but they dropped the ball and sent it to their normal list (some of which they pay) of mainstream bloggers, radio peeps, etc. This publicity firm also insisted that I have an EP release show, which I suspected I would lose money on (and I did).  At any rate, it was the final straw (of many, many, many) that made me completely disgusted with the music "business". Besides a few one-off performances, I've been creating and woodshedding in lots of solitude since then...most recently in Tennessee.

Worldwide people are hurting. Some folks may feel like they are truly facing their own mortality for the first time. Or they've lost a loved one. Are afraid they might lose a loved one. Or feeling especially close to death...and they don't even want to say that word...DEATH. We can't avoid it any longer. People are dying and so many more are doing to die. Probably some of our friends and loved ones.  But we can start to address the fear of death, start having honest and healthy conversations about it, meditate on it. Understand that death, too, is a gift; its brevity makes life worth living.

I didn't write these songs because I thought they'd get radio play. I didn't write these songs because I thought music critics would like it. I wrote the Bye Bye Banshee songs as an antidote. Not against death—as there is no cure for that—but as an antidote against our fear of death and denial of grief. As I played the songs over and over, it released a lot of my fear...the one described in the first track "If I Die in My Dreams".  It released a lot of grief, too.  This project is deeply spiritual and intended to help others.  Today I'm making the Deathfolk Magic EP free for all to download...there's no suggested donation or email sign up required. Feel free to share it with others if you think it might help.

Please stay safe during the coronavirus pandemic, for the sake of yourself and your community. Wash/sanitize your hands regularly for fuck sake and stop touching your face.  You can re-program yourself to NOT touch your face by wearing a bandana or homemade mask. Stay 6 feet away from others if you can. I know we can do this...I have a very strong sense that we will come out of this better, stronger and kinder humans than we were before.

Kindest regards,

 

Jezebel

All photography: Lars Kommienezuspadt
 

Death is all around us. Mostly in America, we avoid it.  For some reason, it's comforting to acknowledge Lady Death and make peace with her. 

When I write a song that confronts my fears...when I sing and breathe out that fear, that ominous presence--a kind of exorcism happens. And the fear is banished. Or at least slinks away sullenly into a dark corner somewhere.

That's what happened with this song: healing magic. (Also, it's kind of badass, as acoustic songs go.)

A recurring nightmare.

A nightmare no more.

Exorcism.
 

Update: Check out the song "If I Die in My Dreams", by Jezebel's new side project Bye Bye Banshee.

Masters of Performance: Chris Cornell, Part 2 

Note: I just woke up this morning to find out about Chris Cornell's death. He was a music hero to me, mostly because of his phenomenal, expressive singing voice and partly because Soundgarden was one of my all-time favorite rock bands. RIP, Chris Cornell. The world won't be the same without you. 5/18/17 -JJ
 
7 live performance moves you should steal from Chris Cornell:

1. Create a Conversation. 
   One of the great things about watching Chris Cornell perform in Seattle was watching the ongoing, natural conversation that was happening between him and thousands of fans. While making that kind of connection with total strangers is more challenging, engaging the audience—asking them questions, answering their questions or just bantering like you would with a friend—makes a show personal and memorable. Janis Joplin was brilliant at inviting the audience to converse with her, as was Townes Van Zandt. When you listen to their respective live recordings, you feel like you’re part of something…instead of just listening to something.
    
2. Perform with Emotion. 
   One of the biggest gifts a performer can give the audience is to share their emotions in a genuine and raw way. I see this so rarely; Chris Cornell is pretty great at it. It doesn’t hurt to start out with a gorgeous voice, but plenty of great singers fail to move me emotionally. Conveying true emotion—and bringing the crowd along to feel it with you—is harder to do then most people think. It means vulnerability, letting go of ego so you can really ‘feel’ what you’re singing/playing. It also means letting go of self-consciousness and the need for perfection.
    
   Perfection is not terribly interesting, especially if the song or performance lacks emotion. Some roughness is absolutely essential.
    
3. Provide some eye candy. 
   Cornell had an understated but beautiful set and visually it set the mood for the evening. Humans don’t just hear things with our ears, we “hear” with our eyes, too. I love it when smaller bands or individuals take the time to do this—it really adds magic to a performance.
   
   Sure, it takes a little extra effort to create a backdrop or add a few stage props, some lighting effects, etc. but it helps your audience get (and stay) in the mood and feel more like they’re at a show, and less like they’re just watching some random band.
   
   P.S. unless you’re as recognizable as Chris Cornell, you should probably have your band/artist name displayed on stage during your set. This is helpful for getting new fans to know who you are and for them to reference when they're sharing pics/videos of your show. If you’re looking for DIY backdrop ideas there are some excellent tips here.
    
4. Use effective transitions to tie songs together. 
   I think many artists (especially ones who perform solo) struggle with how to tie the songs together and keep momentum going as they switch instruments, tune, etc. This was one of my favorite parts of the Higher Truth show: I absolutely loved the transitions between songs. In addition to conversing with the crowd, Cornell had a record player on stage and his tech played snippets of vinyl sometimes between the live songs. In addition, Cornell used a loop pedal sparingly but effectively during some transitions and as a swelling cacophony at the end of the show. It really got the crowd pumped for the encore.
    
5. Invite a guest or two—living or dead—to join you on stage. 
   For this tour, Chris Cornell played mostly solo and acoustic.But he had an excellent cellist, Bryan Gibson, who joined him for several songs throughout the evening; he was absolutely stellar and gathered his own applause during the show. Cornell also told a very hilarious—but clearly fictitious—tale of how they met “back in the day”. In addition, Pearl Jam guitarist Mike McCready joined him onstage for a couple of songs, much to the delight of the crowd.
    
   But one of the appearances that impressed me the most was Cornell’s former backing pianist—and songwriter in her own right—Natasha Shneider, who died of cancer in 2008. Cornell had recorded her piano part years earlier and put it on vinyl.  He explained this as he set the needle on the record; as her beautiful playing filled the auditorium, Cornell and Gibson rounded out the trio. It was a really lovely song and a fitting tribute to his friend.
    
6. Change things up. Frequently.
   Honestly, when I first saw the stage before the show, I’ll admit I did a teeny tiny eye roll at the 7…8…9? guitars on stage. For a SOLO acoustic show, mind you. But it made sense during the show—Cornell kept the performance interesting by changing things up frequently. In addition to some of the things I mentioned earlier—such as musical guests and good transitions—he changed instruments (different tunings, different sounds, harmonica) regularly throughout the set. The show had a lot of variety, considering he was on stage by himself for most of the 3 hours he performed.
   
   Oh, and wow: kudos to his hard-working guitar tech who barely stood still the entire show.
    
7. Steal a clever idea from a master performer.
   At some point in the show I realized that Cornell was wearing a harmonica rack around his neck—sans harmonica—and that he was actually singing into it, instead of a headset mic. I marveled over this clever idea before he explained how he saw Neil Young do it; Cornell stole the idea from him.
   
   
   I hope some of these ideas are helpful.  Please let me know if you have some additional advice for people looking to improve their live show. 
   
   
   Sin-cerely yours,
   
   
   Jez

 

Masters of Performance: Chris Cornell, Part 1 – Seattle ‘Higher Truth’ Show

 
Note: I just woke up this morning to find out about Chris Cornell's death. He was a music hero to me, mostly because of his phenomenal, expressive singing voice and partly because Soundgarden was one of my all-time favorite rock bands. RIP, Chris Cornell. The world won't be the same without you. 5/18/17 -JJ

***************************************************

I’m in my overpriced, moldy Fremont living room listening to the hazy, warm sounds of The Cult’s ‘Love’ album on vinyl, trying to decide what you tell you about last night. Damn. What a show.
 
After my recent move to Seattle, I found out Chris Cornell was going to playing a solo acoustic gig at Benaroya Hall, in the heart of downtown. Since I was on the mailing list (and if you’re a fan you probably should be on it), I got the early box office deal and splurged on 3^rd row center.
 
Now I’ve seen Cornell perform with Audioslave a few times, mainly due to my ex-boyfriend David, aka ‘the Minneapolis Mensch’. For many years, he was a sound guy/tour manager for Chevelle; I went to a few shows the two bands did together back in the day. I really dug Cornell’s smoky, multi-octave vocals, so I started listening to a shitload of Soundgarden, digging beyond the few hits I’d heard on the radio as a kid. Truthfully, it turned me into one of those annoyingly un-hip post-band-breakup fans. Looking-forward-to-the-reunion-‘cause-I-never-saw-them-live-before kind of deal. I apologize profusely for any pain this may cause real Soundgarden fans.
 
Fast forward {x?} years and I’m in Seattle, stoked about seeing Cornell’s solo show, strolling through a HUGE CLOUD OF POT SMOKE—some of which I may or may not be responsible for—and into Benaroya Hall. Some ridiculously nice older-lady ushers point the way to the “good seats” and I settled my leather dress-dressed self into the roomy third row, a mere 20 feet from the stage.
 

At this point, if I were a Chris Cornell fan-freak, I would launch into some annoyingly-detailed play-by-play, citing every goddamn thing that happened during his set, including analysis of each song he played, the exact order he played the songs and how Cornell kinda-sorta clammed halfway through this one particular song but it was still SO amazing and blah, blah, fucking blah. 

Well, I’m not going to do that.  It sounds like a fairly tedious post for someone else to write. Probably some pale bearded hetero-man, who happens to have Mr. Cornell on his ‘allowed-to-be-gay-for’ list. Actually, if you must know some of these things, you might want to reference Dusty Henry's review on Consequence of Sound; it's detailed but not tedious. 
 
I CAN tell you this: the return of this Rain City son to a sold-out crowd of fans and friends was a beautiful thing to experience. He played almost everything I wanted to hear (except Mailman) and almost everything EVERYONE wanted to hear (except Outshined) because HE PLAYED FOR 3 MOTHERFUCKING HOURS, much of it solo. He played and played and sang and sang until some of the 40 and 50-somethings who had kids waiting at home with teenager babysitters had to leave.  And then he did an encore. 
 
SO instead of lulling you to sleep with a detailed analysis of the drop-D or drop-(insert favorite here) tunings on Cornell’s 9 or 10 guitars, in a few days I’ll publish a follow-up piece called Masters of Performance: Chris Cornell, Part 2 – 7 Ways to Make Your Next Live Performance Shine. Maybe there will be 10 things if I get all Irish about it. I think we can all benefit from the interesting creative decisions and killer performance skills that went into making last night’s show a memorable experience.
 
In the meantime, I’m packing my things. Moving day looms once again, like the approaching clouds of winter.  




-JJ
 

Read Masters of Performance: Chris Cornell, Part 2 

Hi Everybody-
 
Just wanted to let you know that I'll be in town playing a few shows in the Twin Cities this weekend.  I miss Minnesota badly; I haven't been home in nearly 3 years.  
 
A couple of months ago, I moved to Seattle from Texas, but it hasn't been all sunshine and candy canes and unicorns. But then again, Seattle isn't really known for any of those things.
 
On the second day of my journey from Austin to Seattle, my dog "Z" keeled over suddenly.  After living several years with an extremely bad heart condition, he fell over, seized and then died in moments.  I couldn’t revive him; instead I held him and cried until he went cold. His ashes lay in a box by my bed, along with the ashes of my first dog Hunter, who died only 9 months ago.  For 10 and 13 years respectively, they were my faithful companions. They still sleep by me at night.  Sometimes they visit me in my dreams. 
 
Both deaths have hit me very hard.  The loss of the second one was more painful because there's a huge void in my home.  They were my family—better and much closer to me than my flesh and blood.  The loss of their presence and love have brought a deeper, new kind of pain.  I know this is natural and realize that the grief will follow me through this lifetime (this excellent article on pet loss explains why).  

I still cry every day.  I miss their unique, beautiful souls; I’m not convinced we will ever see each other again.  So I wear mementos—lockets containing their ashes.  I write songs about them.  I draw them in crude form, inspired by Dias de los Muertos. I’m practicing my drawing, practicing my grief.  I'm memorializing their place in my life...and my place in theirs.
 
When the dogs and I nearly died in a house fire several years ago, I started really exploring what death means to me.  For much of my life, I avoided the scary aspects of Death by being "born again". The fear of dying and then going to hell was a driving force in my life, well into my 20’s.  That same fear of impending death and judgment drives many of us in this American culture.  We’re so afraid that we don’t question our core beliefs—the beliefs that govern our lives.   Fear encourages obedience...and i'm not big on obedience.
 
Death has often been portrayed as mostly masculine throughout the ages. As the Grim Reaper, Death becomes a terrifying figure, an imposing spectre designed to frighten the masses.  But what if Death was not that way at all?  What if Death was a beautiful, mysterious woman? What if all aspects of death were tied to the feminine divine?  How might we live our lives differently?
 
My new project is very personal—it’s an exploration of this concept, but it also represents growth in my writing and musical sensibilities.  I started this alternative "career" path fairly late in life, but I’m trying to make up for lost time. This latest project—Bye Bye Banshee—is all about death. And also remembrance.  For those interested in the beginning stages of music, rough demos of this new project are available, below.
 
I’ll be debuting some of these new tunes this weekend when I open up for the freakin’ amazing Rasputina Saturday night Aug 22 at the Turf Club in St. Paul.  I'll be backed by some of the members of my former band (Jezebel Jones & Her Wicked Ways) and it’ll be great see so many friends—especially those in the local music scene—who have been incredibly cool and supportive these past several years.
 
I’ll also be doing a solo old-school country set at my favorite record store of all time, Hymie’s Vintage Records (Laura and Dave are the BEST) and also playing a solo show at the Nomad on Sunday night Aug 23 with my talented friends Blood Brother (Philip Westfall’s one-man band) and the ever-evolving Swallows.

View details for all Twin Cities shows.
 
Some of this music has never been played in public yet—and I can’t wait to share it with you folks in my hometown first. Please say hello—I'll be hanging around before and after the shows.  Hope to see you all soon!!!
 
XoXo,
 
Jezebel
 

Dear Readers,

The other day I received some mail that I thought you might find interesting. My response follows...



Dear Dave-
 
Thanks so very much for your thoughtful and—dare I say—highly imaginative letter, but especially for your flatterous words.  
 
A musician always loves people who will take the time to kiss ass a little, but preferably a LOT. We music-types have huge EGOs, imho!  Usually that “flattery” takes slightly different forms, though, like praising my original music or comparing me to artists I dig, such as Nick Cave, Billie Holiday or the great Barry Manilow. Sometimes people just compliment me on my quality footwear. But saying you covet my domain name—JezebelJones.com—is almost just as good.
 
As a fellow arteest, I’m sure you can understand the importance of a owning the same dot com name as your already-established stage/band name. In fact, it may be slightly more important than owning the dot com name of a character in a yet-to-be-completed first novel.
 
Although I didn’t read your fan-fiction—primarily because I’m not a fan-fiction fan, but also because I hate to read—I’m sure your upcoming novel will be equal parts moody and dangerously brilliant, and sell like DC crack til you finally make the New York Times Best Seller List.  If a talentless hack like E.L. James (also a fan-fiction writer!) can manage to write a best seller, literally anyone can.
 
I understand why you feel marketing your upcoming first novel/runaway debut bestseller is more important than my relatively trivial musical endeavors. As you so politely did NOT point out, soon you’ll be outselling Stephen King while I’m opening up for some puppet show at a theme park in California. So really…what’s the point in me even keeping JezebelJones.com ?
 
That’s a tough question to answer. I guess while you’ve been riffing on JK Rowling’s ideas, I’ve been working on writing unique, “riff-free” music, getting the word out about it and building a community of friends and supporters.  I’m sure you can understand why it’s at least marginally important for me to keep using JezebelJones.com.

Also, my Turkish fans might be really pissed if you took over the domain.  I really, really don’t want to let them down. They're very nice. And they’ve been through enough lately, don’t you think?
 
That said, I’m not entirely unreceptive to selling the domain name for the right price. Turkey will understand…eventually.

Since you didn’t mention money at all, I assume that money is no object. I get it. That’s cool. I know several trust fund kids, and they’re only mean drunks when they’re drinking. But considering the time, money, passion and pain it has cost me these past several years to write/produce music, build a fan base and promote my site—not to mention the continued long-tail value over the next several decades…
 
In short, I would be willing to sell the JezebelJones.com domain name for...(drum-roll, please)... 

$1,000,000 US.

It feels like the right amount for this “prime Internet property”, as you call it. Funds would need to be verified beforehand, naturally.   But I think we really “get” each other, so maybe we could skip that part. However, I would feel much better if I could sign the transfer paperwork after your payment posts to the Swiss bank account I plan to open.
 
As far as the hosting, rebuilding and re-architecting of my website, I would prefer not to have a Drupal developer touch JezebelJones.com. Ever. Please never mention it again, as it is extremely upsetting to me for obvious reasons. “Unsweeten the deal”, so to speak.
 
In summary, I prefer to keep JezebelJones.com.  But money talks. And bullshit does something else altogether, but that’s not important here. I’m willing to part with the domain name if I can afford to quit my 9-5 job, pay off my debts and pursue my music full time.  We all have to make sacrifices, I guess.
 
At this point you're probably wondering what I’d do with the money from the sale of my domain name. Most likely, I would buy a tiny cottage in Ireland or lease a flat in Paris or Berlin where I could smoke gratuitous amounts of high-quality marijuana, write my next album and take up urban landscape painting. Maybe Barcelona would make more sense for all of that. Well, I’d better go brush up on my Spanish.
 
Looking forward to your kind response.  Adiós (aka, “goodbye”).


-Jezebel Jones


P.S. To your point, no, I wasn't able to to secure "jezebeljones" as some of my social media handles, thus I go by "msjezebeljones" on Twitter, YouTube and Instagram.   You said that msjezebeljones.com would be a “perfect alternative domain name” for my website. I completely agree except I would replace the “alternative” with “additional”, at least until you purchase my domain.  So I have additionally secured msjezebeljones.com in anticipation of that joyous event.


UPDATE 7/23/15:

Dave emailed me back.  This is what he had to say...

Thanks for the forthright and humorous response. If-ever I have $1,000,000 to spend on a domain name, I’ll be sure to come back with a new and proper proposal!

A True Story of Weed & Backwards Masking by Jezebel Jones

********************************************************************

Note: This is a repost of a piece I did to celebrate 4/20 a couple of years ago. I took it down temporarily because I was concerned about "random" testing at my day job in Texas.  Have I mentioned I'm happy to be living in Washington state with lots of other "devil worshippers"? ;)

********************************************************************

I like to think I smoke marijuana because Freddy Mercury told me to.

Back when I was a child, I’d spend weeks of my summer at some Pentecostal camp or another, usually with my family. When I was about 12 or 13, I was finally old enough to go to Teen Camp on my own, which meant less crafts, less supervision, more sophisticated pranks (quick-set cherry jello in the toilets) and longer church services with age-appropriate topics like the evils of drinking, pre-marital sex and masturbation. Hello, Jesus Camp!

That week was a several hour presentation by not-quite-famous Peters Brothers, a pair of slick sibling “saints” who traveled around the country peddling a titillating, anti-rock music multimedia presentation called ‘The Truth About Rock’. Three glorious hours of demonic imagery & ungodly music mashed up with bouts of fiery preaching, followed by an offering and an altar call to repent of your music sins. It was profitable (tax-free!). Sexy and gory and riveting, OH MY!

Now, one of the topics covered in this anti-rock music extravaganza (you can watch an older 80’s version on YouTube and laugh your ass off) was backmasking or backwards masking, which is a technique used to hide subliminal sounds/phrases in music. These messages are only understandable if you were to play that bit backwards, and the Peters Brothers provided convincing evidence of evail, Satanic messages within popular rock songs.

One of the audio clips they played was “Another One Bites the Dust” by Queen, which happened to be a favorite song as a child. By favorite song that I mean we roller skated to it in grade school. They and many other preachers were saying Queen communed with the Devil because the song has the message, “It’s Fun to Smoke Marijuana” or “Decide to Smoke Marijuana” backmasked into the song. Hail Satan!

Fast forward many years later I’m living with my folks in Florida and waiting tables. If that doesn’t drive you to all kinds of drugs, I don’t know what will. Weed was readily available. I had given it the old “college try” in college but didn’t get high that first time.

This time I was a bit older—maybe even wiser—and wanted to know what I was getting into. So I start doing research on marijuana on the internet—the effects, the different types, the history of use, the laws. And that’s how I found out about medical marijuana and how it’s helping so many people cope with various conditions (especially pain) with minimal if any side effects.

It was an eye-opening experience—marijuana was not the evil drug that we’d been warned about. In fact, it was much safer than many common over-the-counter & prescription drugs…and it seemed like it might be fun. So I decided to give it another try. The first time I got high was really amazing. With my mind relaxed, I chatted happily with my co-workers, forgetting my troubles for a few hours, with absolutely no hangover in the morning. And no regrets.

Several years later when I started writing and playing, marijuana was the ultimate Muse, the valve that opened the flow of creativity for me. Yes, I have stupid stoner moments, and plenty of them. But I’ve also solved complex problems, eased physical pain, had deep spiritual insights and awakenings, and stopped taking anti-depressants with dangerous side effects. And experienced much growth, creativity and satisfaction in my musical development. Personally, I’m thankful for this good plant.

While we were recording my first record “Queen of the Devil’s Rodeo” I was telling my co-producer—David J Russ—about the Peters Brothers, when suddenly I remembered that reference to the Queen Song. We had a good laugh about it. Then I had an idea…

For laughs, I recorded me saying “decide to smoke marijuana” and we reversed it, adding it to one of my songs; a homage to Queen, a bit of a “fuck you” to the crazy Peters Brothers and a pro-pot statement all wrapped up in a private joke, buried in a song. You can listen to The Prisoner here; the marijuana bit happens around 1:42, and we threw in an extra backmasked bit at the end (reversed a piece of the whole song) to give it an authentic “Satanic” sound.

Happy 4/20 & Happy Record Store Day 2013!!! Please support legal weed AND your local record stores.

-Jezebel

P.S. As I’m writing this post, I’m playing Queen’s Greatest Hits on vinyl. And smiling. Hail Satan!

P.S.S. And if you missed this awesome Backwards Masking DJ mix of 'Another One Bites the Dust', check it out.
 

Goodbye, Texas.  

I'll be hitting the road soon--remaining dog at my side--driving  through Roswell, NM, Moab, UT and Boise, ID, on my way to my new (and old) home, Seattle.  I've landed a good day job, and a songwriter often needs one of those things to pay the bills.  I love a good road trip and this one's bound to be inspiring. 

I'm talkin' about the road.  Inspiring. Expansive. Full of Revelations.

But if the car is the modern American horse, what are planes?  

Planes are annoying.  Too much waiting. Too little room, obnoxious people, crying babies. And then there's the crotch-grabbing before you even board the plane...

We teach our children not to let strangers touch their genitals (STRANGER, DANGER!!!), but apparently random agents of the government can touch our genitals all they want, in a public place.

Today one of my favorite alternative weekly's--the Denver Westword--posted a funny story on TSA crotch-grabbing memes.  As I scrolled through, I laughed but started to get a teeny bit annoyed that all the TSA memes they posted were of MEN.  I have first hand experience with the TSA fondling my labia, and I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one. 

So I thought I'd post a female TSA meme--surely they existed.  But after some unsuccessful googling, apparently the internet thinks airport crotch groping it IS a male problem, because I couldn't find much in the way of female TSA memes.  

So I found a picture that works (and jives well with my upbringing) and made my own. 

Happy Sunday, Everyone.  

Fly America at your own risk.

-Jez

 

 
An acquaintance just posted a note about his recent conversation with guitarist/former Television band member Richard Lloyd on Facebook and it so disturbed me that I had to turn to the pen, so to speak. Below is the post in its entirety (minus the discussion thread that ensued).

“I was driving Richard Lloyd and he shared his thoughts on suicide. Suicides, he said, should be forgotten, their names expunged, because they are foremost murderers, and murder should not bring glory to its perpetrators.

At first, it didn't sit right with me, but after watching friends whose loved ones have killed themselves, both suddenly and slowly, by premeditated murder and by manslaughter, I have to acknowledge the fundamental violence of the act and deem it unforgivable as murder. To honor a victim of suicide is to place his murderer above the survivors.

If a man loses his fight with depression, he should hope to be scoffed at and forgotten and erased. No resting in peace for you, suicides. Decay in dishonor.”

Wow.  This is one of the cruelest things I had read in long time.

First of all, suicide is not about YOU, friend. It’s not about YOU, Richard Lloyd. It’s about another person wanting to end their pain. Sometimes it’s about depression and despair that so colors your world, you can’t see clearly, whether it’s in a moment of desperation (often aided by legal/illegal drug or alcohol), a product of chemical imbalance, combined with the means to commit the act. Sometimes it's about mental illness. Sometimes it is a rational decision, a considered response to physical pain or the dying process.

Yes, I’ve heard all the arguments and the finger-pointing. God, we just love to pass judgment and blame someone else for their faults and decisions. “Suicide is a selfish act”. How very cliché. Well, most of our lives are lived selfishly. In America selfishness is our enthusiastic pasttime, our true national religion. Isn’t it selfish of us to condemn those who are suffering or blinded by pain, saying they should choose to live so that we won’t suffer when they die?

Some of those same people who express anger after a suicide, could have—and maybe should have—intervened earlier. Some of these folks feel a sense of outrage and betrayal after a suicide because it makes them feel guilty and regetful about their own actions or inaction. Religion often heaps on more judgement and cruelty, condemning a person to hell for this act, dictating that they cannot be buried with their congregation.

BUT many times there simply wasn’t a way to prevent the act. Anyone who has dealt with depression, especially serious depression over a lifetime, may turn to suicide regardless of strong family and friend ties. That person may be loved, but still find themselves wanting to end their own life. It’s natural to ask “what more could I have done?” after the fact. But many times there truly wasn’t anything you could do to prevent it; ultimately they chose to end their pain in the only way they knew how.

I personally had an experience when I was going off anti-depression medication many years ago. Even though I tapered off it gradually as the doctor recommended, it triggered suicidal thoughts to the degree that if I had had the ready means on that evening, I may have decided to end it all. Luckily that terrible evening passed, but thoughts of death and dying are not uncommon for me. They are not uncommon for many of us, particularly artists and musicians.  But fortunately, since I rediscovered music a few years back, neither are thoughts of life, love and joy.

I’m advocating for compassion on all sides of the issue. Compassion for the person who commits suicide, compassion for the friends and family and most of all compassion for one’s self. You can never walk in another person’s shoes, not really. We can only try to understand and extend as much love as our hearts will allow.

Several years ago, a family friend ended his own life. J. was a sweet person—beautiful inside and out. I remember being quite shocked when I heard the news. He seemed so even-keeled, so zen. He was a student of Buddhism; I believe he was studying to become a priest at the time of his death. But a moment of drug-enhanced despair and the means to do it (a gun he kept in a safe for protection) led to a tragic end.

I’ve written a new song about this very subject, inspired by my brother’s good friend. Here is semi-produced demo of the song (flaws and all), which I decided to share with you today of this post. We’ve only performed it live a few times and it will be on my next album. It’s called San Diego; I dedicate it to J. and all folks who have been affected by this issue.

For those who are tormented by guilt and regret over the suicide of a loved one, please try to extend compassion to your loved one and most importantly, yourself. To those who are tormented by thoughts of suicide, please try (and keep trying and trying) to reach out to others. If you don’t have that support network, there are compassionate strangers who want to help you. Call a support line, say something on Facebook, talk to a teacher, doctor, or counselor. People do understand, care and want to help.

There are no easy answers to a subject this complex and fraught with emotion. Can we open our hearts to forgive and understand? Can we demonstrate compassion and reach out to those who are hurting? 

In love & compassion,

Jezebel

(originally posted Nov. 2012, revised Sept 2013)

 

Just came across some photos of me on Facebook from a photo shoot I did with Courtney Conk in Minneapolis. I modeled for her “Experiments in Madness” series…these were filmed in the attic of a (haunted?) Victorian home in South Minneapolis.

Funny, looking at it again yesterday reminded me of a date I went on in Austin a few years ago…it was the photo prop (I’m sitting on) that jogged my memory.
“Jason” seemed like a nice guy—we had a fine dinner and conversation. Talked music and social justice and he seemed like he could be fun, despite his nervousness. Afterwards he invited me to his apartment for a toke and a beer. Why not (I thought)? He didn’t seem dangerous. In retrospect, perhaps that was the problem all along.

We walked in to his one-room studio off South Congress.

I glanced around quickly…and that’s when I noticed it.

It was in the corner. It was small in stature, but it gave me the evil eye.
It gave me the willies, staring me down like that. I thought maybe I had had too much to drink. I blinked. Once. Twice. It was still there, lurking like a tragic omen, telling me to run, run, RUN!

But his bed—that sorry little TWIN BED in the corner—sat there like a stern nun at midnight mass. I’m not clairvoyant but it spoke to me just the same.
I tried to retain focus as we shared a joint. Jason kissed me—poorly—but maybe it was me. Making out was the last thing on my mind, replaced by an army of rapid-fire questions…

Did his ex take his real bed? Did she take his dog, too? How does a man over age 30 sleep in one of those things? How does a woman sleep with a man who sleeps in one of those things? Are there plastic sheets? Is this indicative of…um…size? Why I am here again? Can I start laughing now? No? How ‘bout now?

After a little more sloppy kissing (fail!), I extracted myself kinda-sorta graciously.

I've long forgotten Captain Twinbed's name, but his legend lives on…and now that I made the connection, I’ll always have the photos to remind me.

-Jezebel

P.S. Courtney owns Twin Cities-based CC Photo Arts was also the photographer for my album & 7inch cover art. She’s awesome to work with and gives musicians a discounted rate. CC, you rock!!

Elana James is now officially my least favorite musician in Austin. 

Why is this Hot Club of Cowtown fiddle player trashing original roots music? Could it be because she's pimping another album of STANDARDS? Oh, Lordy! I just love a juicy mystery…

Here’s the quote from her interview with Kansas City weekly The Pitch that got my attention today.

"I think this creepy obsession with new, new, new, personal 'I wrote it' stuff is a kind of plague on American traditional music...what's wrong with reinterpreting traditional melodies or, in our case, standards and traditional songs from the early part of the 20th century, in an absolutely current, sincere and thrilling way?"

Maybe I’m interpreting this quote incorrectly—I’m not sure how else to take this—but let’s discuss. Writing or liking original music is a "creepy obsession"? Songwriting from personal experience is a kind of plague?

OK, well, sometimes that’s true. Especially if you wrote part of one album back in 2007 that was panned by some critics including the Amazon editor who reviewed the record, saying…

“On her solo debut, Elana James continues to impress as an instrumentalist, though her original material is pretty slight and her voice lacks range”. (read full review)

He nails it. Albeit very, very politely.

After listening to some of her original songs today, I’m convinced she shouldn’t criticize ANY songwriters. Or singers. The lyrics to the original songs on her album are pretty boring stuff and her voice ranges from vaguely annoying to unpleasant. The record does feature some great instrumental work, though, and James is a very good fiddle player. She’s earned the right to criticize fiddle parts & playing with impunity. 

Now, there’s absolutely nothing “wrong” with reinterpreting standards (way to go on the defense, though). We have a treasury of songs that are being preserved because musicians are playing them for new audiences. And bands like Hot Club of Cowtown are doing just that; it’s very important. But did they reinterpret them in an “absolutely current” and “thrilling” way? Hello, Spin City!

Yes, interpreting standards are important, but I would argue that writing new American classics are just as important, if not more so. Ya know, that “new, new, new personal ‘I wrote it’ stuff” James so eloquently described. Original songwriting is already extremely undervalued by our society. We certainly don’t need musicians telling us to value it even less in the press.

And in general, it’s a hell of a lot harder to write a new song than to arrange a classic.

So how ‘bout a little respect for those who do write original Americana? You might be covering their “traditional song” in 20 or 30 years.

-Jezebel

P.S. You can hear Hot Club of Cowtown's new album Rendezvous in Rhythm here.

It was opening night at Hamlin Christian Academy’s* First Annual Spring Musical. 

Trepidation hung in the air, like the b.o. of 30 sweaty adolescents and teens too embarrassed to ask their parents for a stick of deodorant. It was just a week before Easter Sunday and the auditorium was buzzing with excitement, gossip and hellos as hundreds of parents, community members and church goers greeted one another and started to take their seats. The performance was about to begin.

Although the name of the musical is long lost in the pock-filled labyrinth of my adult mind, I do remember bits of the story and songs. The musical was an interpretation of Jesus’ life as seen through the eyes of a young orphan boy, Nathaniel.

The story went a bit like this…

Nathaniel lived in an orphanage and he, along with all the other orphans had this crazy pipe dream of being adopted one day. Specifically, he really wanted a Dad. Stop me if you’ve heard this one before, right? Yeah, I know.

The role of Nathaniel was the lead and during tryouts a few months before, competition was fierce. It almost went to my crush, Bobby Nyberg*, who at 13 was an “older” boy. All the girls had a crush on Bobby. He was the most popular boy in the 7th grade. Athletic and smart, he had recently started sporting a whisper of a blond moustache.
The auditions were fierce.

And it was close. The role of Nathaniel almost went to Bobby, but in the end they choose someone else. In an unprecedented and gender-bending decision, they chose ME. And I became Nathaniel, the singing Jewish orphan boy (Bobby got a supporting role as a fellow orphan).

I don’t remember what the in’s and out’s of the plot—I think my character meets Jesus, is shocked at his death, overjoyed at the resurrection, gets adopted by a nice family and finally has the father he’s always wanted. It had a warm fuzzy ending and was followed up by an altar call or offering. Probably both.

But hell, the crowd didn’t know any of this yet. It was the first show, and from behind the curtain we could hear them whispering and stirring in their seats with anticipation. The auditorium lights dimmed and one of the drama teachers walked on stage to introduce the play.

Someone gave the two-minute warning from backstage. The curtain was about to go up and I was terrified with excitement. Something magical was gonna happen; we all felt it, waiting in silence.

And then…

Suddenly in the dark, a warm hand squeezed mine and as I turned to look. Bobby Nyberg. I turned and he pressed his lips to mine. I kissed him back. Softly. Behind the curtain. Magic.

I faintly remember the praises we got afterwards; the crowd really loved it and we added more performances. I’ve forgotten a lot of the details. The mementos of my childhood are all gone now.

But I’ll never forget the wonder of that well-timed first kiss. Tender lips, the jolt of adrenaline to my heart. And a hand—squeezing mine—in the dark.

*You didn’t think I’d use real names now, did you?

A very healthy dialog took place in San Francisco last weekend. A Concert-Conversation of press-worthy proportions.

When rebel folk singer Michelle Shocked started slinging some anti-gay rhetoric during her second set, the audience responded, first by talking back, then leaving. Finally the club owner (who is gay) apologized to the dwindling crowd and shut down the show.

I’ll admit, I don’t know Michelle’s music that well. On a whim, I picked up Short, Sharp, Shocked (1988) on vinyl last year. I’d heard of Shocked and loved the cover and for $4 I took a chance. The album showcases her beautiful stories and voice. The album is classic; equal parts folk, blues and country, it stands the test of time. It also has a strong conscience. A great example is the song ’Graffiti Limbo’ (watch the video), which talks about the unjust death of graffiti artist Michael Stewart, who was killed by NYC police in 1983.

After I bought the record, I found out the cover was not staged; it was run on the front page of the San Francisco Examiner during the Democratic National Convention. Shocked and others were protesting the practice of U.S. corporations giving money to both major parties (i.e. hedging their bets) during political elections.

I admire female musicians like Shocked who are feisty, willing to stir up some trouble and even break the law when it is warranted. Recently she was arrested again as part of the Occupy movement. Both on and off stage, Shocked has been known as an artist who cares passionately about social justice issues.

However, Shocked’s anti-gay ranting over the weekend was nothing more than the canned cream-corn rhetoric of the evangelical Christian movement. No more, no less, word for word. Has her passion for social justice been hijacked by the religious right? Has she been brainwashed by the blood of the lamb?

As a former Evangelical, Pentecostal Christian I know the game plan. I was raised to execute the game plan. You may already know, but in case you don’t, let me tell you what it is, in a flying nutshell from 50 feet:

The world must conform to our idea of God. If it does not, it is evil and must be destroyed.

I’m dead serious about this. In my roughly 20 years in the Pentecostal church, this is my testimony, and it’s based on observation and first hand experience.

Evangelical Christianity is an abusive boyfriend. When he’s sober he'll just hit you up for some money, but when he’s drunk he’ll just hit you. Oh, but he’s so good at sweet-talking. He’ll make you think it’s all your fault and shame you into submission. Don’t question him, it makes him angry. Obey, obey, obey. Soon his thoughts and your thoughts and his words start coming out your mouth. Submission is vital to this sect of Christianity, and they preach about it all the time. A person who dares rebel against the church authority or question the leadership is called a 'Jezebel'.

The Cult of Christianity can embrace you lovingly, but it has an equally abusive, hateful side. If you’re familiar with my music, you’ll probably recognize these themes in many of the songs from ‘Queen of the Devil’s Rodeo’ (download it free).

Given your pain, you needed someone to blame
Born into nothing more lethal than shame
So you supplied all the cobwebs and lies
To be re-born is to be—certainly—hypnotized

                      –Intro to ‘The Prisoner’ by Jezebel Jones

Until Michelle Shocked converted to the born-again ideology in the late 90’s, she had always maintained that her sexual orientation could not be defined as either gay or straight. But she did clearly identify with the label “lesbian”. In 1990 she told a Chicago newspaper, "I resent like hell that I was maybe 18 years old before I even heard the 'L' word. I mean, that's understood, growing up sheltered in a Mormon environment. But it would have made all the difference for me had I grown up knowing that the reason I didn't fit in, was because they hadn't told me there were more categories to fit into”.

Her audience—which includes lots of gay folks—was understandably upset at her hateful speech and slurs towards homosexuals last weekend. Artists should be held accountable for their statements on stage and it’s ok—and even necessary—to have fans do just that. Especially if they feel you’re not being truthful with them. And I don’t believe she is being truthful. She’s denying who she has been all along; a bi-sexual woman with anarchist tendencies. Unfortunately, her religion does not support who she is. Better to keep on the good side of the Cult of Christianity.

I’ve read variations on the same response to the backlash in the media…“liberals—they’re fine with everyone having their own opinion as long as it agrees with theirs”. Such a sad, tired argument. Yes, Shocked had every right to say what she said and the audience let her know they didn’t like it one bit. Sounds like a healthy dialogue to me.

I hope she will find her own voice again and stop parroting this type of hateful speech. Jesus never said a word against homosexuals; Shocked would do much better to emulate Christ and preach radical love, not recycled hate.

Update: Michelle Shocked's two-part statement is shamelessly untruthful, saying she was repeating the beliefs of other Christians: "If I could repeat the evening, I would make a clearer distinction between a set of beliefs I abhor, and my human sympathy for the folks who hold them". But if you listen to the audio of the show (comments start at 4:46) she clearly states that she shares in their opinions and says "Once Prop 8 gets uh...repealed and once preachers are held at gunpoint and forced to marry the homoSEXuals, I'm pretty sure that that'll be the signal for Jesus to come on back". She then goes on to say "This is one woman's opinion and it's fun, a lot of fun" and "If someone would be so gracious as to please tweet out 'Michelle Shocked just said from stage God hates faggots' ". OK, yes, the latter comment was probably meant to be sardonic, but in light of her earlier statements, it had the ring of (shocking) truth.

 
Howdy Folks--

It's been a bit of a shitty transition settling in to Austin. But luckily, laughter and live music are quite abundant here--thanks to old friends and new!

Tonight's laughs came from Austin's Craigslist Musicians Classified Ads...I had to capture a few of the headlines for y'all; hopefully they'll make you laugh, too.

Enjoy the graphic, feel free to share...

Peace & Love & Lots of Music in 2013,

-Jezebel

I just noticed the other day that I had nearly 6,000 hits on a crappy version of Real Life's 'Send Me an Angel" on YouTube.  Honestly, I'd forgotten how terrible it was.

I recorded a much better (and more bittersweet) version by candlelight the other night...Video: Send Me an Angel performed by Jezebel Jones.

Happy Holiday Shopping! Thanks to all of you angels for supporting small businesses, artists and musicians.

-Jezebel

Well. Hello Again.

I’ve been here in Austin for about a week…a little tired, a lot worn out from my move from Minneapolis. I’m also exceptionally hungover right now. It’s been two days—oh, wait, three days—since the now infamous South Austin Whiskey and Wine Debacle of 2012 and I’m still hurting. Ugh.

After two days in bed, I did get restless so I got out the ol’ Hangover Cam to do an impromptu live video for my new tune, Whiskey Dialing. 

For those of you folks who hate my rambling (but charming) introductions with all its umms and ahhhs and awkward pauses and futile attempts to stop the video (at the end, a little embarrassing), I’ve also created a very boring video with just the song. 

I’m sure you truly hate drinking songs so just forget I mentioned it at all. And please, please don’t share the video. I really hate it when our friends and fans show appreciation in that kind of manner. No, no, no!

The trip from Minnesota to Texas took a bit longer than usual, mainly due to driver exhaustion. And lunacy. More on that later, and yes, it did involve a cabbie.

After the movers left my house in Minneapolis late afternoon, I packed the last of my car and hit the road with two elated rat terriers, assorted households (teapot! unsweet tea! Too many shoes!), clothing, assorted leftover liquor and the uke. We spent our first night in a Des Moines highway hotel with an excellent BLT (mmmm, bacon) and deadly snake shows on Animal Planet. Note: spitting baby albino cobras shouldn’t be that adorable.

The second day I got a late start and the second night I did the usual stop in Kansas City, MO. Lucky for me, it happened to coincide with a unique art show/concert—Manifest Destiny—created by local sculptor Renée Cinderhouse.

First, I should probably tell you that I nearly didn’t make the show.

Actually, I nearly strangled the cab driver who refused to use GPS and got lost on the way to the gallery (exactly one mile from my hotel) then proceeded to charge me for the time/miles. In my defense, I’ve had a very disproportionate number of heinous (and sometimes felonious) cab experiences.

But as luck would have it—for the cabbie, at least—there was a witness standing outside the gallery. This turned out to be the photographer Gary Isaacs, who was quite charming. I met him later, after the show when he kindly asked to photograph my half-sleeve. I was already familiar with his work as he provides much of the haunting, old-world looking imagery for Slim Cessna’s Auto Club, DeVotchKa, Wovenhand, etc.

OK, back to the cabbie. Instead of following my murderous impulses, I demand my full change (he gave himself a good tip after all that, oh yes he did!). I’m not quite sure where to properly dispose of a body and a cab in Kansas City and anyway it’s very hard to do so in evening attire. I step inside the gallery.

It was closing weekend for the art show and Renée had brought in Denver Broncos UK , another Jay Munly project with some of the usual (and versatile) musical suspects: Slim Cessna, Lord Dwight Pentacost and cellist Rebecca Vera.

The concept of Manifest Destiny was a live, interactive pop-up book that merges the audience with the musicians and the visual pieces. I liked the combination of found/antique objects that reflect American history (and ghosts!) and her handmade sculpture that tie in the present, maybe even foretell a bit of the future.

Denver Broncos UK played in a semi-circle amidst the art and I thought it was a gorgeous pairing of eye and ear. I’m glad I got to experience it…definitely the best part of this tiring and tiresome trip.

The next day I whiteknuckled through steel sheets of rain and decided to stay overnight in Denton, TX. Thank sweet baby Jesus and his mama Mary we ended this harrowing day with the coolest, most understanding and intelligent hotel clerk at the _______Inn on 1-35. Oh wait, I spoke too soon…desk clerk is clearly a FUCKING MORON or a STONECOLD ASSHOLE. I’m still very unclear about which, and whether or not those descriptions are mutually exclusive. Clearly, they may not be. Clearly.

After several challenging exchanges with the aforementioned moron and/or asshole hotel clerk I settled for a loaded bat (the peaceful kind), a Dominoes pizza (only place that delivers in Denton? Really???!) and watching snakes (yes, again) on Animal Planet. During the show I google ‘venomous snakes in Austin’. Shite. I sleep lightly and dream of baby cobras.

We roll into Austin the next day. Me in my rumpled 3-day travel dress and crabby demeanor. Weary and wary anticipation. Four dog ears at full alert. People and animal noses full of foreign smells. Despite the fact that I still don’t have a fridge and have yet to unpack more than a few boxes, we’re settling in to our charming-but-a-little-rough-around-the-edges-place on the South side of town. It’s already strangely familiar. Already feels like home.

The house itself may look like an unholy/unnatural/unkempt disaster, but we’ve been spending lots of time in our new backyard. I like being able to play and write music outdoors—having this beautiful space to myself, even better. Soon I’ll have to get a straight job to support my music addictions. But not just yet.

Look around. Bamboo plants…honeysuckle bushes, clusters of friendly bees…a monstrous agave plant, one ancient lawn gnome, assorted rusty yard junk (so very Austin). A custom metal and stone chiminea that shoots sparks to the heavens, left by my sculptor landlord. Flocks of tiny but ruthless mosquitoes, ready for a hearty Midwestern-style bloodletting. Mine.

At night I spy the first firefly I’ve seen in many, many years. I admire his solitary light. While his flickering path seems random, I know it is not.

And so far, no snakes in sight.

A few weeks ago, Jezebel Jones & Her Wicked Ways had the pleasure of opening up for one of my favorite live acts—Slim Cessna's Auto Club—at the legendary First Avenue/7th Street Entry in Minneapolis.

Slim’s band was everything I remembered from the shows I saw at SXSW 2011—full of fire and brimstone and a kind of otherworldly music that’s not found often…definitely not in this town.

Several years back, some blessed soul turned me on to 16 Horsepower and I fell into this rabbit hole; the oddly-spiritual roots-based bands that make up “The Denver Sound”, much of which was produced by multi-instrumentalist/sound engineer, Bob Ferbrache.

CityPages music writer Dave Hoenack talks to me about Slim Cessna, the Denver Sound and my music in this interview on the music blog, Gimme Noise (Check out the full interview here).

This particular show was a bit surreal.

When I launched this project a couple of years ago, there’s no way I envisioned us opening up for SCAC, who have just released their 8th album, ‘Unentitled’ on Jello Biafra’s label, Alternative Tentacles. There were definitely feelings of unworthiness, but the Catholic schoolgirl inside kicked me hard and spurred me on…

There were a few glitches to be sure, but we played one of our best shows ever—the lineup was killer, Jenny Russ on background vocals/electric guitar, Chris Bates on Upright Bass, Dave Russ on drums, and Scott Nieman sat in on bouzouki, which gave the music an eerier-than-usual air. We opened up the set with a spooky tune about Memphis, Sirens of the Mississippi (P.S. you can download the song free on our secret download page).

I tried not to notice when members of Slim’s band emerged from the green room at various times during the show to watch us; I was nervous enough as it was…

We played to a very attentive and appreciative full crowd. We normally play to a very attentive and appreciative small crowd, so the energy of a larger audience really helped.

Thanks to all of you new fans who took the time to tell us how much you enjoyed the music—I was blown away by the response we got after our set. It feels good to be loved, however briefly.

OK, now on the headliner. Slim’s set was amazing—they are hands-down one of the best bands I’ve seen live, and this show was no exception. Not only is the music spectacular, but they put a very titillating, charismatic show—it’s hard to tear your eyes away from the stage (particularly when Slim and Munly are touching each other, even chastely ;).

I’ve included some photos of the gig by the über talented photographer Lars Kommienezuspadt, who came to film SCAC but ended up taking tons of photos of us, too. It was a pleasure to meet you, Lars--and I love your art!

Afterwards I met Big Bad Bob Ferbrache himself, who seemed relaxed and happy after the show. Soon, he was telling me about his longtime band Blood Axis and some techniques he used to produce Tarantella's album, Esqueletos. I really enjoyed meeting him, as I listen to—and admire—his work on a regular basis. Many of the bands he’s worked with are in my regular rotation. I was only a wee bit disappointed that I didn't get to see him wearing his notorious tracksuit/fanny pack outfit.

Slim’s band was quite nice to us and afterwards I got a chance to say hello to Jay Munly. The crowd was long gone and they were packing up, but I really wanted to buy some hard-to-come-by vinyl with the evening’s pay.

Jay Munly is one of my favorite American songwriters/singers…although he is Canadian by birth.  I happen to like Canadians, so I won’t hold that against him. His music is intoxicating—maybe it’s the vivid, twisted storytelling, the ominous references to Biblical doom or the dramatic string arrangements. And lordy, Lord, that damned voice…

I chose Munly and the Lupercalians’ Petr and the Wulf (2010) and if I hadn’t left the record in my bandmate’s car I would be listening to it right now. You can preview Petr and the Wulf here.

Nerves and some mistakes aside, it was a great night—one of the highlights of my rather short musical career thus far.

And as a band, it was our final show in Minneapolis…for the time being.

In September I’ll be packing my boxes and moving to Austin. After flirting heavily with the city for 5 years, it’s time to jump the broom. I’ve got an arsenal of new songs and I’m stocked up on environmentally-questionable hair spray.

See y’all soon.

-Jezebel

Decided to take a much-needed break! Well, at least on the live show side of things...

The band is going on hiatus for a couple of months while I regain some sanity and actually attempt to have a personal life. A DIY artist needs down time, sometimes.  I'm tired of playing manager/booker/event planner/marketing consultant and I need a vacation from that aspect of music. Many of you understand what I mean!  It's tough to be creative when the business side of things saps out your energy.

The great news is, that I've been experiencing TONS of musical growth & creativity lately; new influences, new instruments and making lots of mistakes have greatly improved my songwriting and playing.  Planning has begun on my second album; but these songs that have been swirling around in my head won't write themselves, damn it!!! :)

My friend Bobbi Miller and I will be planning a big music/art/film event in Minneapolis in March 2012, and in the meantime, I'll be doing the occasional solo show and writing, writing, writing...

Burn in hell for your sins? Not on our watch, you won't!  

Jezebel Jones & Her Wicked Ways introduces an innovative new product you can use INSTEAD of the sinner's prayer to get the same miraculous results!*

Now you can give your life to God by sprinkling on a little bit of "BORN-EAZE".  One application will cover ALL your sins for ALL of eternity.  Yes, folks, it's just that EAZE-Y!

Feeling like shithead? Like maybe you should be a better person, but can't be bothered to do it yourself?  Well, we've got the answer for you! The simple and cost effective solution is BORN-EAZE!

True Salvation can be yours...in an instant*...with BORN-EAZE!

BORN-EAZE is now available at fine, upstanding Christian retailers everywhere. Ask for it by name. BORN-EAZE!

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* Results may vary. Do not use BORN-EAZE with alcohol, fornication, homosexuality or liberalism. BORN-EAZE may be more effective when combined with power, greed and civil rights violations. Jezebel Jones & Her WIcked Ways are not responsible for any adverse reactions to BORN-EAZE. Use at your own risk.