Sarah Tomlinson: Blog

It's true. I listened to nothing but Conor, all the way from Los Angeles to Nashville. And he was an excellent companion. Not a back seat driver at all. More like a back seat therapist.

Mostly the trip was lovely. Except for the rain storms in Arizona during the first day. But, hey, it's just like that saying: you've gotta break some eggs if you want to make an omelet; you've got to have some rain if you want to see some rainbows. And I saw six.

When the newspaper arrived outside my hotel room in Albuquerque, the lead story was about rest stop serial killers. I opted not to read it, since I didn't want those dark thoughts in my mind while traveling alone. But my dad did. And was plenty worried. If you read it, don't worry. That human head they found in the bag in Barstow was not mine.

Highlights: Eating BBQ at Big Vern's in Shamrock, TX. Getting good news in OK. Stopping at Loretta Lynn's dude ranch on my way into Nashville. Coal Miner's Daughter was my favorite movie when I was little. I loved that scene where she hit her husband in the hand with the purse. There was real poetry in that moment for me as a child.

Now that I've arrived, I'm officially stepping out on Los Angeles with Nashville. She's so pretty. And such a good flirt. I arrived at Traci's house last night, bearing a pumpkin I had bought earlier in the day from a farmer with three teeth, who told me about his adventures putting up chain link fences in Long Beach in the late '70s, just in time to get dinner. The most amazing collard greens of my life. And Cowboy and so many other lovely people welcomed me to their city with all of the music talk and food talk I could possibly want. It helps that I'm staying with the best hostess, ever. My friend Traci can open a can of whoop ass just as gracefully as she cans peaches. Now that's a true Southern Lady. I've been in her big, beautiful back yard all afternoon, hanging out with the wonder dogs Willie and Lucy and enjoying my favorite past times: writing and dreaming.

I know the photo is blurry. I'm on vacation. Cut a girl some slack.

A new year. A new decade. A new economy. At least that's what they're telling us. Read my thoughts on the matter on The Huffington Post. Yes, I'm very excited to be writing for Ms. Huffington and co. Become a Fan. What the hey, right? My mom is.

In other news, ALL ABOUT ME, I just gave a reading at the enchanting Tavin Boutique in the Echo Park neighborhood of Los Angeles as part of a delicious new salon called Little Birds. The night was co-founded by my friend Steffie Nelson. And I debuted an excerpt from my new novel-in-progress, "The Year of Mr. Nobody," in which our heroine Stella follows Keith Richards and the lads to Marrakesh in the spring of '67. Debauch ensues. You wouldn't expect anything less, would you? Get a wrap up of the reading.

The book I co-wrote with actor Todd Bridges, "Killing Willis," comes out on March 16, 2010. And let me just tell you, it's juicy. Pre-order it on Amazon. What the hey, right? My mom did.

Other than that, I'm working on some exciting projects, if I do say so myself, including a TV pilot, feature film (rom com, of course), and a revision of my second novel, "Sizzle."

And currently obsessing about the new season of "Big Love" (Mormon rock rocks!), music by Band of Skulls, and the chocolate hazelnut fudge flavor of Coconut Bliss "nice" cream.

By Sarah Tomlinson,
Globe Correspondent / February 20, 2009

LOS ANGELES - The rapt crowd at the Troubadour watches Juana Molina's every move on Tuesday night, almost as if she were a magician performing sleights of hand. They sway to the bossa nova-flavored rhythms of her lush, giddy indie rock songs and sing along to the Spanish lyrics.

Wearing a black skirt and tank top, the wiry Argentine singer-songwriter has the poise of a music teacher on recital day - albeit one with a ferocious core. It is remarkable how effortlessly Molina unleashes so much music - a sonic collage of guitar, keyboard, and voice she creates with the help of two loop machines. The sound is even fuller now that she's being backed by a band for the first time.

The drummer and bassist are part of the tour in support of Molina's fourth album, "Un Dia," which comes to the Brattle Theatre on Thursday. And she's beginning to see the advantages of being part of a band.

"The dynamics are more controllable when you play with more people," Molina says over a cup of Earl Gray and a pastry before the show. "Because I can just build things all of the sudden, or have more impact with certain sounds."

Molina, 47, estimates it would require more than a dozen musicians and four singers to play her songs as they are recorded - just her, the instruments, and the loop machine in her home studio in Buenos Aires - and she fears such a large band would actually give the audience a less intense experience, lacking the synergy that can occur between a few tightly focused musicians. No two performances are exactly alike anyway, she says, so she strives to create something more ephemeral and, ultimately, more true when she performs. "What I really try to do is to keep the spirit of the songs," she says. "Some things on the record are things that I don't know how I did. Maybe a better musician would just repeat it exactly. But sometimes I can't. Sometimes it's a combination of a late finger, and another one that was ahead."

Molina didn't record "Un Dia," which follows three critically lauded releases - her 2003 debut, "Segundo"; 2004's "Tres Cosas"; and 2006's "Son" - with the idea of performing the songs with a band. Rather, she approached the songwriting process just as she has all her music since giving up a career as a television star to pursue her first love. She worked on the material slowly, over time, letting ideas blossom and mature. "Some songs grow," she says. "Some songs die. You need to let them go for a bit."

Once it came time to tour, though, she decided she wanted to do something different and invited two musicians to join her.

As a songwriter, Molina is both a practical craftsman and an openhearted dreamer. For longtime fan Andy Cabic of San Francisco-based indie rock band Vetiver, which often swapped songs with Molina when they toured Europe in 2007, it is this mix of intelligence and emotion that gives her songs power. "She has it all," he says by phone amid preparations for a European tour. "I know that she is very conscious of the rationale and reason behind her approach. But when you're in the middle of hearing it all, it's very fluid and full of feeling."

Molina's songs come to fruition in a deeply personal way. And although she is thrilled to be playing shows with other musicians, she does not expect to bring collaborators into her songwriting and recording process anytime soon. "It's better in the way that I have no witnesses, so I am totally free," she says. "I don't avoid doing things that I could regret, because there's no one there. And, if I don't like them, I just get rid of them, and no one will know, ever, about them."

© Copyright 2009 Globe Newspaper Company.

Drum roll please: I've dared to begin my second novel after eight years spent working on, and obsessing over, my as-yet-unpublished first book "Because the Night." The fresh start is exhilarating and scary; I'd imagine it feels something akin to dating during a trial separation. I can't quite let go of the potential of the primary attachment, and yet, the new possibilities are starting to seem pretty enticing, especially following such a long season of frustrated desire. I workshopped the first 30-odd pages in my novel class tonight. What could be better than being compared to "Beautiful Girls," one of my favorite films, ever? "We all want something beautiful." Indeed.

But distractions abound. In the immortal words of my main man Marc Bolan, "I try to write my novel, but all I do is play..." Yes, that was me at Tom and Lucinda's absolutely dynamite housewarming/Valentine's soiree, doing the voices from my talking Nanny doll with Fran Drescher (in my defense, have you ever met someone whose doll you own?) -- "Remember, the bigger the hair, the smaller the hips look." So true. And she is truly lovely.

Speaking of Beautiful Girls, I just caught Greg doing a solo acoustic set at the Troubadour with Mark Lanegan. It was nice to see him looking and sounding so well. "If I Were Going" -- I'm 16 again. Mark's voice -- total wow. Their cover of "I Get a Kick Out of You" -- maybe a little, you know, but the kick they got out of it? Infectious.

Charlie Louvin at Spaceland, the night the lights went out in Silverlake. 81-years-old, still smoking his Winstons and charming the hell out of everyone in sight. What a dynamo. It does not get more real deal than his story of playing in a Kentucky parking lot for some miners who'd just gotten off the night shift and wouldn't take no for an answer. He and Lucinda killed the two songs they sang together. Magic.

My newest favoritest band, Plants and Animals, playing at the Canadian Consulate as part of the Grammy festivities. Look for Laurel and I on CBC (Canadian national television), as they enlisted her to do a comedy bit as we came in the door. There are few bands that would inspire me to brave an hour of traffic for a three-song set. Plants and Animals is that band. "Bye Bye Bye" is as sublime as anything by Queen. Their percussion pineapple is sweet. They sang. We danced. The Canadians get their pride on. No poutine, though. Speaking of, remember the time I wrote a travel article about Quebec for The Boston Globe that said I ate peasant? Yes, as in poor people.

By Sarah Tomlinson,
Globe Correspondent / January 23, 2009

LOS ANGELES - It was hard to tell who was having more fun at Longwave's show at the Troubadour in December - the fans or the band. The indie rockers, decked out in the vintage boots and fitted black attire of their hip Brooklyn neighborhood, were playing moody, symphonic music more appropriate for breaking up than rocking out, but they were decidedly lighthearted. During one swooning number from the band's fourth album, "Secrets Are Sinister," singer/guitarist Steve Schiltz paused to playfully tap one of drummer Jason Molina's cymbals with his finger before unleashing a fierce guitar solo. The band's high spirits were contagious, and the crowd cheered mightily and sang along to old favorites, even playing air drums from time to time.

It was a remarkably warm welcome for Longwave's first LA show in five years, especially heartening for a band that didn't know for a while if it would ever perform again. On a morale-crushing night in December 2005, Longwave played to a meager audience at the Middle East Downstairs after learning RCA Records had dropped them. "The last show in Boston was the real nail in the coffin there for a second," says Schiltz, whose unruly curls give him a boyish air, sitting with his bandmates in an unassuming conference room the night before their Los Angeles show. "That show was tough for us, and I remember thinking, '. . . This is just the end of it.' "

But, as sometimes happens, this downturn didn't kill the band; it actually made it stronger. At the Troubadour, the mop-topped quartet played harder, faster, and louder than they did during more elegiac shows of the past. It was as if they'd been liberated by the time when they were lucky to play for a handful of people at shows booked mostly to pay down their debt. When the band did dip into old material, including the ballad "Wake Me When It's Over" from its 2003 major label debut, "The Strangest Things," it roughed up the songs' refined beauty.

This brashness has carried over from the new, more raw "Secrets Are Sinister," released in November. The band recorded the album on its own with producer Peter Katis (Interpol), with production costs covered by the band's longtime publisher, Chrysalis Music Publishing, before finding a label to release it. When it came time to find a label, Longwave again chose to work with a friend, who convinced the group to sign with the newly formed label Original Signal Recordings (Butch Walker, the Bronx ). The band returned to the studio with a fresh sense of possibility. "We were all excited about trying something else," Schiltz says, citing production details such as adding hand claps or changing out the bass strings.

Each band member brought ideas inspired by projects he had worked on during Longwave's downtime. Schiltz had the chance to experiment with a grittier, more flamboyant guitar style while backing Strokes guitarist Albert Hammond Jr. during solo tours. Founding guitarist Shannon Ferguson and drummer Molina developed a side project, Falcon, whose minimal sound seems to have contributed to Longwave's new airier feel. New bassist Morgan King was recruited from Brooklyn-based indie rock band Robbers on High Street, bringing a muscular but melodic bass style.

For all the fresh influences, Longwave's new album still maintains the lush romanticism the band has always favored. Longtime fan Damian Kulash of Los Angeles-based OK Go, which plays the Paradise on March 12 before taking Longwave out as openers on a string of East Coast dates, says Longwave's deeply felt music sets the band apart. "The type of music they do would have been really cool in the early '90s, but was not particularly cool when they started doing it," says Kulash by phone during a break from recording a new record. "It seems to me like it fits again in some way - actually beautiful music, and music with a soul, as opposed to music with a snarl or a grimace."

Having learned the hard way that major label support and years of touring don't guarantee success in an increasingly mercurial music world, the band is keeping its expectations low. But its members are clearly thrilled to be a band again. "We decided that it was still fun playing together," says Schiltz. "At that point, it was like, 'Well, what do you do next but make another record?' That's what bands do."

© Copyright 2009 Globe Newspaper Company.

When the cherry cigar-smoking security guard outside the Legion Hall in Highland Park on Friday night asked if I had ID, I momentarily feared I was going to be deemed too old for the lo fi debauch inside. But the show, which I was invited to by my amazing writerly friend Jen Sincero of "Don't Sleep with Your Drummer" fame (www.jensincero.com), was a fundraiser for an Internet radio site called Kill Radio, so it was a good mixed crowd (i.e. I clearly wasn't the only one feeling nostalgic). It's not that I miss the faint smell of mildew or the crummy house sound, but the sense of possibility, that those in attendance might have stumbled upon a little bit of magic.

In this case, the something special was being thrown down by a local garage rock quartet called Spider Problem. Raw, raucous, and helmed by a frontwoman who actually managed to make rock seem dangerous again, the band played the kind of set that's truly refreshing -- funny, dirty and dangerous. Now that yoga is the new Starbucks, her waterfall back bends were less spectacular than they might have once been (even that most sexy and serpentine of frontmen, Iggy Pop, would probably seem stiff and stilted after the number of people I've seen doing yoga at parties; well, this is California), but the overall effect was delightfully demented as she rambled nonsense between songs, wrung a symphony of emotion from her one mighty note, and repeatedly dropped, slid and crumbled to the ground, often taking her guitar player with her.

Spider Problem (http://www.myspace.com/spiderproblem). Wow. Playing at a house party near you.

For years, I asked the questions during interviews with everyone from Deepak Chopra to Miley Cyrus. Plus, I've had the thrill of speaking with so many musical heroes -- Joan Armatrading (my first concert, ever, in Augusta, Maine, and the best soundtrack for a bitter divorce, according to an informal survey of my friends' moms), Conor Oberst and Chan Marshall (who sang me a bit of the Bob Dylan song that inspired my name).

So it was a little unnerving to sit on the other side of the tape recorder for once. Luckily, my colleague Mark Shanahan from The Boston Globe went easy on me -- he was charming and exceedingly generous with his time when he put together a piece about me and Tila, which ran in his column "Names and Faces" on 12/18. But he still kept me on high alert, quickly cutting to the juicy questions (see below), even though I told him it would be indiscreet to "write and tell." He pulled the gem about my mom right from this blog o' mine. Who says that said mom is my only reader? What says she gets her own show (day-in-the-life-of-a-small-town-librarian) before me (author of two TV pilots)? As long as she lets me be an intern.

A shot of Tequila
Would you take dating advice from Tila Tequila (above)? Didn't think so. But it's great that the MySpace star and host of MTV's "A Shot at Love With Tila Tequila" has written a book. It's even better that Tequila's tome is ghost written by Sarah Tomlinson, a former Boston freelancer whose work regularly appeared in the Globe and the Phoenix, among other publications. "No, I did not sleep with her," Tomlinson said of her sexually ambiguous subject. "But she did teach me how to flirt - it's all in the eyes. . . . You have to use your eyes." Called "Hooking Up With Tila Tequila," the book includes revealing pictures and plenty of bawdy language. "My mom's a librarian in Bremen, Maine," said Tomlinson. "But she can't stock it because it's too racy."

I gotta part ways with Morrissey on this one...there's nothing lovelier than seeing deserving friends get recognized for their talent and heart. I was thrilled to watch The Dead Trees (nee Furvis) get pressed to sign CDs following their opening set for local soon-to-be-favorites Little Joy (featuring Fab from the Strokes). It was so good to see the lads from my days back in Boston looking good (with an assortment of dapper tour facial hair) and sounding even better during a short but spirited set that showed off songs from their amazing new album, "King of Rosa." I felt like the ghost of late- nights-past, sneaking up on them without warning, but it was a very happy reunion.

Here's some indie rock insider knowledge for the nerds out there: Todd from the Dead Trees once did a guest turn as the bassist for that other Strokes' side project fronted by Albert Hammond Jr. That band featured Longwave frontman Steve, who was also in attendance at the Troubadour, and who I happen to be interviewing tomorrow evening for The Boston Globe. I've known Steve long enough to have a story about drinking tequila with him the night they got dropped by their label (it happens to the best of us), and it was great to catch up and wage that age-old debate: NYC vs LA.

But our focus was soon hijacked by the amazing Little Joy set, which featured guest turns from all of the Dead Trees on just about every song. The Little Joy album is one of my top five favorites of the year, and they killed it with joyous (adjective intended; pun unfortunate) renditions of their Bossa Nova-flavored indie rock, which I adore for being so refreshingly uninterested in being too cool for school. Highlights included the introduction Fab's bandmate (and girlfriend) Binki Shapiro gave to the song "Unattainable" she wrote for him, which made him beam like a goon and stick a shiny pink heart in the middle of his forehead, and their inspired cover of one of my favorite songs ever, "Eat at Home," from Paul McCartney's entirely perfect album "Ram." They ended their set with album track "Brand New Start," which is a perfect love song; sweet and a little old fashioned, with just enough of a sexy swing.

Then it was off to the East Side bar Little Joy that first inspired the band's name for last call, more catchup conversation and a few games of pool. Little Joy (the band, not the bar) will be taking the Dead Trees to Europe in January, which is amazing for them, but I'm already looking forward to their next visit to Los Angeles.

How did I spend my summer vacation? Writing a book with MySpace superstar and reality TV survivor Tila Tequila, of course. And the fruits of her labor (I helped a little), "Hooking Up with Tila Tequila," was published yesterday. By Scribner. I'm in the Library of Congress now. For real. You can buy it on Amazon or at your local independent bookseller (even better!) and dig into all of Tila's secrets. Seriously, she taught me how to flirt, and she is good! Be warned, it's a little, um, spicy (my mom will not be stocking it at the Bremen Public Library), but Tila has a great story and some really interesting thoughts on gender relations and pop culture and, yes, SEX. It's been a dark week in publishing, so any dollars you can throw at the declining empire would be appreciated. (I've still got a novel to get into print, and there needs to be some publishing houses left in order to do that). Plus, it would make a great holiday gift for your grandma, rabbi, prison pen pal, or, well, anyone. And, finally, Tila was truly a pleasure to work with, and she inspired me on a lot of levels with the courage it took her to get where she is today, so you should support her for that reason, if no other. See a shout out Tila gave me during an interview here:

http://tv.msn.com/tv/tila-tequila-interview/?icid=TV1>1=TV1

I know the blog has been dark for about a year now. But I'm bringing it back, so check in regularly for reports on the latest and greatest concerts I've attended (Ray Lamontagne guesting with my friend Lucinda Williams on her song "Fruits of My Labor" in Boston in October = pure joy), news on my next project (there's some juicy stuff in the works), and updates on my ongoing efforts to find a publisher for my first novel (yes, THAT one, the 8+ year-odyssey), Because the Night. When it happens, oh, you'll know...

6.20 The White Stripes @ Icky Thump Records

“I feel like I’m at my friend’s bah mitzvah, and The White Stripes got paid a million dollars to play,” my friend Brett said as we stood, waiting eagerly and sweating profusely, in the old Tower Records store at the heart of the Sunset Strip. It had been temporarily repurposed into Icky Thump Records, in order to sell copies of the new White Stripes album when it dropped on Tuesday (the store even opened at midnight, old school style, recalling the days when eager fans still queued up to buy those most coveted new releases like “Appetite for Destruction”), and to host an exclusive show by the rock duo. The atmosphere was pretty sexy for a bah mitzvah, though, and it definitely felt more like a rock show, what with the way the seriously bland store, with its dropped ceilings and boxy, vacant vibe, had been done up with red light gels, and the foxy young minxes in vintage cigarette girl garb circulated, pedaling limited edition buttons.

When the band finally took the stage, the crowd’s anticipation crescendoed, as everyone pushed forward and started to move. Meg and Jack were dressed down, compared to the elaborate costumes they sport on the cover of their new album, and the whole night had an intimate, basement show feel. They played much of their new album, as well as oldies but goodies like “Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground,” which found the crowd singing all of the verses, and a gorgeous, punked up version of “Hotel Yorba.” Plus there were classic covers like “Jolene,” on which Jack howled. The interplay between Jack and Meg was a thing of subtle beauty. Jack prowled the stage, moving between several microphones, sweating and wringing the most remarkable highs and lows out of his voice, and the most delicious blues licks out of his guitar, but always stopping from time to time at the microphone near Meg’s drum set, to commune with his big sister, as he still calls her. A charming master of ceremony, Jack was gracious and funny, thanking everyone for being there, especially the fans who had camped out for tickets, and who were apparently sent pizzas by the band (now that’s classy). And with his smooth voice and fervent tone, he sounded like a Pentecostal preacher, as he had the crowd say Amen, not only for the wonder of tangible, non-disposable music, but also for Meg, of course.

But when the band tore through a ferocious version of “Seven Nation Army” during their encore, it was a reminder that, spectacle aside, the duo is responsible for some of the most authentic and ambitious rock ‘n’ roll this side of the ‘60s. And that was the perfect note on which to end a celebration of their latest record, which is at once as fierce and tender as anything they’ve released.

And a note for those concertgoers who like to be in on the latest trends (wave a cell phone, not a lighter, etc., etc.), apparently young bucks no longer hoist their ladies onto their shoulders during concerts, so that the girls can get a prime view (and flash the band, of course; this show was on the Sunset Strip). Now, they sort of grab them under their rib cage, as if they’re pulling them out of a burning car, and hold them aloft for as long as they can, so the girls can see over the heads of those in front of them. It’s not quite as sexy, but it seems to get the job done.