Libby Cudmore's Blog

Libby Cudmore is a music nerd. Joseph Wade is a movie nerd. With our powers combined, we break down all your favorite movie soundtracks one song at a time! 80s dance classics, 90s road trip comedies, 2000s action epics…We sift through them all to find the perfect soundtrack gems!

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I spent 20 minutes staring at the DIY day planner display at the craft store yesterday.

20. Minutes.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m a huge fan of papercraft. So you would think the DIY Day Planner trend would be right up my alley…but instead, like most things, it just gave me an anxiety attack and a sad feeling.

I like Day Planners. My dad, ever adorably practical, gets each of us girls one every year and I, with my millions of appointments, deadlines and other nonsense, find it very useful…(for the first three months, before I leave it on the counter and forget about its existence). So I, still in this post-book cloud of alternating relief and stress, floated towards the aisle, like a moth towards a bug zapper.

After 20 minutes, I was sad and confused.

For those of you with actual lives who don’t know about this stuff, the DIY Day Planner trend consists of a lot of stickers, inserts and an expensive folio that you jam pack with affirmations, lists, folders and other nonsense. It is the most useless thing in the world, because that thing must weigh at least 10 pounds and if you took it on a plane, you would be forced to check it as oversized luggage. 

Men’s planners are not like this. Men’s planners do not charge you $4 for a fuzzy cactus on a card that stays “Look Sharp!” Men’s planners do not sell you separate inserts for Bible Study, Wardrobe Tracker and Meal Planning. They are a basic calendar, a time-zone list and a place to put your mistress’ phone number under a fake title.

So here’s what the DIY Day Planner trend says to me:

A desire to organize the chaos of modern living, right down to what you’re wearing on Thursday, as though that will somehow allow you to finally gain some control of the madness of the universe.  Who are you kidding, imaginary planner-lady, you haven’t worn anything but yoga pants since your honeymoon. How do I know you don’t work? Because career women don’t have time for this shit.
Crippling ennui of suburban drudgery. Our lives are so devoid of real meaning or plans that “Meet Sue For Lunch at Starbucks” warrants a sticker set, an insert card that says “Good Times Are On The Way” and a whole list of things you like about Sue (total cost: $7). Your life is not that interesting. Sue is not that interesting. I’m sorry, this is not worth anything more than a post-it note to be crumpled up and tossed away later.
The gussied-up reinforcement of the WOMEN HAVE TO DO IT ALL message that screams at us from every magazine, from Martha Stewart Living to Glamour to Shape to Reader’s Digest. The DIY planner trend is just the Culture of Busy wrapped up in Pinterest. If you don’t plan your wardrobe and your meals a week ahead of time, you’re a FAILURE, Stacy, just a goddamn failure to this WHOLE NEIGHBORHOOD. Because now not only do you have to keep track of doctor’s appointments and playdates and lunches and wardrobes and everything else, you have to decorate it too! AHHH!!!!

It’s a con, ladies, just one more way to play on both your insecurities about success in your field (from being a mom to being a CEO and everything in between) and your fear that it’s not pretty enough, that you’re not making it yours, that you are falling behind in your life because it’s raining and you had planned to wear flats and you can’t wear the canvas flats if it’s raining!!!! Because you want to use the stickers at say “Like a Boss.” You want to feel like you’ve accomplished something because damn it, the whole world is out to tell you that you are worthless…but don’t fall for it. You don’t need the stickers to rule the fucking world.

Put DOWN the washi tape. It’s fine, it’s all fine. Yes, you probably need a day planner, because day planners are useful. Get one with flowers on it if you’re feeling fancy. Put stickers in it if you want to put stickers in it, make lists if you like making lists. But don’t get suckered into an expensive project that turns the simplest outing into busy work. The DIY Planner trend is creating chaos, not managing it.

 

(Wow…it’s been awhile since I’ve written a blog post. I’ve got to get better at this blogging thing….)

So I just finished a new draft of a novel that I’m sending over to my amazing agent, Jim, tomorrow morning…but I am seized with that awful post-novel drain, that nebulous floating feeling that comes after you pour an entire year (or more) into a project that seems to consume your very existence.

When I finished The Big Rewind, my post-novel come-down manifested itself in a series of poems about TV. Finish this novel has resulted in this insane urge to completely redo my entire wardrobe.

I’m not kidding.

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Yep, this is a dress you can 100% wear out in public without looking like an idiot.

My wardrobe consists of the following general pieces: black skirts, skinny jeans, concert shirts, casual dresses, Doc Martens, a handful of cardigans that are more functional than fashionable (I never quite figured out how cardigans work. Some people rock them; I look like a homeless grandma) a couple of incredible vintage pieces I take extremely good care of and a ton of hats. (I rock hats.)  It’s a look that works for me; it’s a little edgy and a little sweet and easy to wear and I can throw on a blazer for work if I need to.

But somehow, I have it in my head that I need to completely shake things up and redo the whole thing. Jumpsuits! Weird baggy shirts worn as dresses! Pants in exciting colors! And yet, when I get to the store, none of it works for me.

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A hideous dress by Victoria Beckham, now at Target!

I have always loved clothes. I was a goth girl in high school and still have the binder of DIY tricks salvaged from pages of YM & Cosmo Girl. I am a master of the thrift store and decent enough with a needle and thread to upgrade and fix a favorite piece. My style icons over the years have been Patti Smith, Tom Waits, Courtney Love, Cyndi Lauper, Debbie Harry, Victoria Beckham and my friends Natalie & Ari, whose effortless leggings/tee/cardigan/scarf/boots was a combination I could never quite get to work for me, much to my chagrin.

I want a look that is funky and fun, easy to wear and comfortable. I want a look that says writer/record nerd/glam/rebel. I want to look like I work in a fancy office for a high-end music magazine but also be chill enough that I can take a nap in whatever I’m wearing.

I want someone to design a wardrobe for me. Take me shopping and help me pick out some new pieces for spring.

Help?

Seeing Steely Dan at the Beacon is a long-standing Libby & Matthew tradition.  Since 2011, when we bought tickets to Rarities Night and were treated to the only performance EVER of “The Second Arrangement,” we’ve made it a point to meet in the city and see The Dan perform a hometown show.

Our show was “By Request.” We requested “The Second Arrangement,” but I would have been happy with “King of the World.”  Matthew bought me a Beacon exclusive tee-shirt to add to my collection.

Our seats were Becker-side, between a man-spreading Steely Dad and a humorless woman who talked about how she hoped they played “Aja” (they always play “Aja”) and then talked about how Rikki Lee Jones helped her get through her first divorce.  As the jazz trio started, she talked over that (“Oh, who are they?  I didn’t see that that there was going to be jazz.  I heard Steely Dan started an hour and a half late the other night, well, you know these union guys….”

I did not get the sense that she was ever going to shut up, so I loudly announced that I needed a drink and Matthew and I relocated to the back of the balcony, where we sat during last October’s “Greatest Hits” night on the Rockabye Gollie Angel tour.

Earlier in the day I mentioned to Matthew that my life goal was to one day buy out all the seats around me and sit alone, reigning over the other concert-goers like the Queen of Steely Dan so that I didn’t have to hear people run their mouth the whole damn time (what kind of a jackhole talks through a whole concert?) I got my wish.  Not a single other person sat in our section.  Marvelous!

But Don & Walt were running late. The crowd was getting restless. People were yelling, demanding they come out on stage, chanting “Steely Dan!  Steely Dan!”  One man screamed that he was going to miss his bus.  Baby Boomers, stop acting like children.

At 9:30 they took the stage to rabid applause.  I always get a little gooey when I see Donald Fagen, because I want him to be my sugar daddy.  Walter Becker was wearing sweatpants and having trouble with his amp.  They opened with “Bodhisattva,” an high – energy number, but one I’d heard at ever concert before.  Still never fails to get my heart rate up.

“Black Cow” was next, and Donald Fagen sounded better than ever.  I’ve heard him do this song twice this year, and he KILLED it.

Yes, they played “Aja,” (enjoy, sad lady we abandoned) but this time, Papa Don got out the melodica, which added some nice texture to a song I’ve never been especially fond of.

“Hey Nineteen,” complete with ramble.  “A lot of people don’t know what a black cow is,” said Walt.  “But around these parts, you could be beaten to death for not knowing how to make a chocolate egg cream.”  The Ramble is one of the highlights of the show; no two are ever alike.

“Kid Charlemagne.”  So much for By Request.  Every single song here has been played already on this tour.  I’m feeling a tad cheated, but hey, it’s not easy being the Queen of The Kingdom of Steely Dan.  At least no one is talking behind me.  And there really is no such thing as a bad Steely Dan show.  No matter what, I was fucking stoked.

Not SAYING Paul LePage is the man this song is about, but….

And then, the first of three life-affirming scenes took place.  Don began to play a melody Matthew and I didn’t recognize…and then launched into “Everyone’s Gone To the Movies.”  We have NEVER, in five years of Steely Dan shows, heard this one.   We screamed.  It was awesome.

“Godwhacker”  Unlike at SPAC, the band let Don play the melodica!

The Danettes sang a lovely arrangement of “Razor Boy” like they had all eaten a fistful of Valium just before taking the stage.  Dreamy, but ultimately uninspired.  My feelings on Carolyn Leonhart are well documented.  We’ve only heard this song one other time, in 2011.

Shit started going down just before “Black Friday” started.  Our angry gentleman from before, the one concerned about missing his bus, yelled out “TEN MINUTES” like he was the fucking stage manager.  How the people next to him didn’t murder him, I’ll never know, but am oddly grateful for because what happened next was the most beautiful thing that I have ever personally witnessed.

They finished the song.  The man yelled “THANKS A LOT, DONALD, YOU MADE ME MISS MY BUS.”  Don mopped sweat of his brow, took a drink and turned to the band.  He mumbled something inaudible.

And then they played “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number.”

For those of you who aren’t wise to the ways of The Dan, let me give you the first two lines:

We hear you’re leaving, that’s okay

I thought our little wild time had just begun…

That, my friends, is Shade. That is Dark Sarcasm.  That’s Steely Dan.  Nobody yells at Uncle Walt and Papa Don.  FUCKING NOBODY, I swear to God.  And they didn’t even need me to fucking Roadhouse this guy because you fucking know I would.

“Daddy Don’t Live In That New York City No More”  Walter Becker sings.  Matthew, having just seen The Magnificent Seven remarks “I believe that bear’s playing a people guitar!”

“This one’s a scary song for Halloween,” says Don.  “Hope you like it.”  I was expecting “The Caves of Altamira” but it’s “Babylon Sisters.”  Not what I’d call spooky, but I haven’t heard it live since we saw Gaucho in 2013, so it’s a welcome addition.  Later, Matthew & I got in a discussion about the song.  He believes that the “sister” is already in the car with our narrator.  I believe that the narrator is taking his friend to a brothel to see the eponymous Babylon Sisters.  Thoughts?

“Josie”

And the third surprise of the night, a Las Vegas style arrangement of “Do It Again,” complete with melodica.  I had been hoping they’d play this at Atlantic City, so I was super-happy to hear it here.  Fagen has said before that he’s not a huge fan of this one, so it was a real treat to hear them play it tonight.

“My Old School”

“Reelin’ In The Years”

I was honestly surprised they came out for an encore.  That’s how horrible the audience was.  ATTENTION BEACON THEATER GOERS ON WEDNESDAY, OCT. 19: You were the rudest, nastiest, most obnoxious audience I have EVER sat with.  You all should be ASHAMED of yourselves.  You are grown fucking adults.  The majority of you are my dad’s age, and you all acted like a bunch of spoiled children at a Chuck E. Cheese.  Bus Guy, I hope you got hit by your bus. Middle-aged dudes screaming “fuck you, fucker!” while I tried to sneak through your petty bullshit on my way to the ladies room, take a fucking Xanax and chill your Trump-voting asses DOWN.  Don and Walt don’t cater to your fucking demands, you rotten pieces of shit.  Grow. The. Fuck. Up, enjoy the show, sing “Yes there’s gas in the car” during the appropriate section of “Kid Charlemagne” and CLAP, motherfuckers, you fucking CLAP LIKE YOU HAVE NEVER CLAPPED BEFORE, AM I MAKING MYSELF PERFECTLY CLEAR, ASSHOLES?!?

But they DID come out for an encore of “Pretzel Logic,” because they are professionals and amazing and I love Donald Fagen more than I have ever thought humanly possible.

A last hurrah in Binghamton, April 19, 2007

Binghamton, 2006.  I’m 23, living in a fire-trap basement apartment in the ghetto.  I’m that kind of art-poverty broke where I live on black coffee and scrambled eggs and dinner is paid on for on a rotating basis between whichever one of us got paid that week.  I’m not sure what I’m going to do with my life except that I know I want to write and listen to records.  Out of college just over a year, I’m kicking myself for not having spent more time in music classes because I’ve got a subscription to Spin and being a music journalist would have been a kick-ass career.

I started a blog, Kill Your Ipod and reviewed shitty CDs from indie bands that I solicited over email.  No one read it except a couple of stalkers.  I wasn’t even sure how to write about music.  I lacked the technical language; all I had was this intense passion, this gut feeling whenever I listened to Tom Waits or Warren Zevon or the patchwork of mix CDs that stood in for conversation with boys I liked.  I hung around the record store and worked at FYE like a model waiting tables, hoping the right person might notice me and ask me to move back to NYC to write for some new music magazine.

But print was dead and some might argue music was too.  I left Binghamton, went to grad school, put my focuses elsewhere.  I still played my records and my mix CDs, still thought constantly about Steely Dan and Danny Elfman and The Smiths, sneaking little references into my stories wherever I could.  A corrupt cop named Roland.   A dozen Euclid Avenues.

Then I got the idea for The Big Rewind, and everything changed.  I had figured out, by complete accident, how to write about music the way I wanted to write about music.  And with the book’s publication (and the critical acclaim that followed) I found myself immersed exactly where I dreamed I’d be a decade ago.

Greg Harris, giving me a tour of the Rock Hall on my honeymoon

I routinely wear band shirts and blazers to work.  I’ve got a fun and popular live-tweet that has introduced me to so many awesome record nerds.  I’m writing essays on albums and bands that I love; I’ve been paid in fancy headphones and book plugs and cold hard cash.  I’ve interviewed Greg Harris, the president of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, so many times I have him saved in my contacts, and I’ve been interviewed as an authority on mix tapes.  My book is being taught in a college class at my alma mater.

Holy crow, guys.  I’m actually doing this.

 

LOOK AT HIS ADORABLE FACE!

I’ve been a disciple of the webseries Yacht Rock for years (thanks to Matthew, of course).  It helped re-awaken my love for smooth music, plus it’s funny as hell and I think that JD Ryznar is super-cute.  (I think my love of midwestern guys as firmly been established on this blog).

So naturally, when the guys of Yacht Rock got on Twitter to promote the new Beyond Yacht Rock podcast, I stalked them until one fateful day when JD messaged me to tell me that he enjoyed my Record Saturday pick.  I seriously fangirled, everybody.  Like, embarrassingly so.  We got chatting more, and I sent him a copy of The Big Rewind.  And when they started The Captain’s Blog, I offered to write for them.  He accepted my pitch, and the essay, titled “I F**king Love Steely Dan & You Should Too” was published earlier this week.

It was, to put it mildly, a hit.  It’s also the most honest thing I’ve ever written, coming straight from the gut.  I really do love Steely Dan that much.

The essay is here.  It contains extremely vulgar language and threats of violence, so if you’re my Dad, please don’t read it.  You’ve been warned.  They are always seeking content, so send them a pitch!

If any writers would like to contribute, email your pitch to yachtrock at yachtrock dot com (new email!) https://t.co/CH7rnj8qwT

— Yacht Rock (@yachtrock) September 8, 2016

I’ve also got a piece on The Smiths, Meat Is Murder at the RS-500, an amazing blog that’s compiling stories inspired by every single album on Rolling Stone’s 500 Greatest Albums list.  It’s been a great week for my music journalism career!

During tonight’s Record Saturday live-tweet of The Replacements Let It Be, tweet me a pic (@libbycudmore) of you in your teenage years. Yearbook photos, class trip candids, the more angsty, goofy or dated, the better!

Three winners will receive a hand-picked record from the vaults of Record Saturday.  You have until Sunday, Aug. 28 to reply, and make sure to tag your photo #RecordSaturday so that I see it.