LIVE FROM MEMPHIS

Saturday night I engaged in one of my favorite past-times. I went to a show with absolutely no previous knowledge of the band and zilch in the preconceived-notions department. I had never listened to a single track, hadn't read a review and didn't even know what genre my brain was supposed to be boxed into and through which to process and understand any and all sounds.

Last Friday night I headed to The Cove to meet some friends and enjoy an old fashioned cocktail —I had a "Woo Woo" because the name seemed to match my mood perfectly—and rather unexpectedly stumbled upon a Yazoo Shakes gig. As I was groaning about the cover, I asked the guy at the door who was playing. I had to take back some of my groans then, because I'd heard about Yazoo Shakes here and there in the past few months but hadn't ever actually listened to any of their stuff. It was a welcome accident.

True to my word, I saw Jamie Randolph and Dark Horse last week at Newby's. And yes, they did play "Blue Dress," and yes, it made me feel the aforementioned inappropriate feelings in my downtowns. But we'll get into that later.

Jesus, Elvis and a Catholic school girl hitch a ride on a highway outside Las Vegas. It sounds like the beginning of a joke, and it kind of is— a joke that runs 89 minutes, has multiple punch lines and doesn't exactly work for repeating at dinner parties.

There are a lot of things I like about Grace Askew: I like the timbre of her voice. I like her face when she sings. I like the way she writes. But probably most of all, I like that she's an old soul. She's about my age, but for some reason when I look at her I see youth—maybe it's her milky clear skin, that tramp. So when I heard her sing "The Thrill is Gone" at the Dixon's Art After Dark on Thursday, I couldn't help but wonder if she was on in years enough to even know the thrill to begin with. But if I close my eyes? All I hear is the blues.

The other day I finally made good on a promise I made way back during Goner Fest and picked up a 45 of Magic Kids' "Hey Boy." Frankly, walking out of Goner with just one record in hand was a testament to my willpower. And like a gift from the universe for not breaking the bank on vinyl, I got a free Magic Kids button! For free! Which happens to be my favorite price!

This weekend I finally managed to do it. After all that gushing and several missed opportunities, at long last I was in the same room with Star and Micey. And they had instruments, and they played them and they sang songs and everything was right with the universe.

I really should've written this post sooner. I say that because what I want to talk to you about—my deep, rapturous and newfound adoration for Star and Micey—was born this week as a result of the fact that their self-titled album has been streaming on Spinner. And I should've told you sooner, because it's only going to last the week and frankly, I want you to fall head over heels for this record, too.

As of this weekend, I am an official resident of Cooper-Young. If your dog just perked up, it's because he can hear the very high frequencies of my excited squealing.

Many moons ago, I was a creative writing minor during my undergrad and someone, somewhere taught me that it's much harder to write a short story than it is to write a novel. It's clearly a vast over-simplification, because neither one is easy, per se, at least not easy to do well. But the short story has its own unique set of complications and requires a writer to be able to powerfully choose just a handful of words to communicate the same emotion or image that a novelist can explore for pages and pages.