Yesterday was a rough day.  It started early and ended, well, early.  I had one of those relentless hangovers that reared his ugly head every time I smelled the clam chowder that was the soup special in my cafe, every time I bent down to put a plate of food on someone's table, every time I even looked in the direction of that damn clam chowder.  And I love clam chowder, but my hangover didn't.  Monday mornings are busy in the cafe, even busier when you arrive slightly drunk and smelling distilled.  One might wonder why one would drink to a point of absolute intoxication on a Sunday, the Lord's day of rest, when one had to work the early shift at the cafe where they're serving clam chowder the next morning.  The problem with my judgement was quite simple; moonshine.  I didn't know I was drunk until I was completely loaded and by then a mere shift at the cafe was far from important.  What cafe?



Anyway, spending the day with my hangover made me remember that I never want to do it again.  So, I am putting out a call to all and any who will share their wisdom.  What is the cure for the common hangover?

Last summer a local apiarist gave me a jar of unpasteurized honey and swore that if I would just take a spoonful before drinking I couldn't get a hangover if I tried.
A Mexican friend of mine swears by cow stomach soup after a night of hard drinking.
There must be other cures, and I want to learn them all.  Next time I will be prepared to face the clam chowder.

I was recently asked to play a Valentine's Day show for singles. I immediately knew exactly what I wanted to do. There are just so many classic blues songs sung by ladies who know how to sing about pain, love and heartache, and I knew that I wanted to do it too.  I choose songs written and performed by Nina Simone, Koko Taylor, and Bessie Smith to name a few.  I was awed by these songs at first.  It's one thing to take someone else's song and sing it like it's your own, it's another thing to take a well-known classic, a pain-infused, heartbroken song and sing it like it's your own to an audience of hopeful lovers on Valentine's Day.  


Performing these songs was like a history lesson for me.  Of course Bessie Smith could sing about pain and grief, her and her brother had to busk on the streets to bring home money after their parents died.  Of course Nina Simone's voice is deep and resonates with passion, at twelve years old, during her first recital, her black parents were forced to move to the back of the room so that the white patrons could have the front seats.  At twelve she refused to play until her parents were allowed back in the front row.  These experiences show in their music, in their interpretations, in their song writing.

I spent countless hours listening to these ladies, learning about them, their lives and music.  I did not know, for example, that after suffering the effects of racism all her life, Nina Simone became a strong supporter of the black power movement, and her music was often used as anthems for the civil rights movement in America.  Learning about these ladies and their extraordinary lives was as important as learning the notes in each of their songs.  It was intimidating at times to sing songs with so much history, so much feeling, so much hurt, loss and love behind them, especially to a crowd of well dressed singles who were more interested in the sexy single sitting opposite than a history lesson.

However, music is a language.  A language that I speak, that Nina Simone spoke, that Bessie and Koko spoke.  And it is through music that they channelled their emotions, that are, after all common to the human experience.  So, although I was singing to a group of singles at a Valentine's Day show, and Nina Simone was writing anthems for the civil rights movement, I sang and felt the music as they intended their music to be felt.  And there it was.  Music the universal language, as always speaking so relevantly, whether to singles on Valentine's Day or racial protests in the civil rights movement. 



To see more photos from "A Short Study of Love and Heartache" check out jodieponto.com/photoblog

Last night I accidentally witnessed one of the greatest shows I've ever seen.  It was a fluke really, I went to have a quick dinner at a friends, and, lucky for my good fortune, I stumbled into a stellar performance.  In the context of the show, I wasn't sure it was polite to take notes, but god knows, I could learn a thing or two about performance from this master showman.  It was an improptu show, as often the best are, put on by none other than the Kirby Vacuum salesman.  From 7pm until 10pm we witnessed a great display of theatre and performance art as Max the vacuum salesman put his machine through it's paces.  Now, we were all sold on the machine instantly, it seemed to work better than the average vacuum, that wasn't the issue, it was the $3000 price tag.  Of course he avoided all mention of price and payments until he had put the old vacuum to shame and banished it to the snowbank outside (it wasn't what this fine young family deserved), until he had vacuumed a handful of "dust mite feces" from their relatively new mattress, until he had vacuumed up a box of salt which the old vacuum had missed.  All the while he had a steady stream of banter that was not only charming and full of sexist comments geared towards a happy young couple finding their roles within a new and budding family, but hypnotizing and spellbinding.

And, when the couple looked at each other and knew that it was more important to save money for their baby on the way, than to "invest" in this new vacuum, Max stepped up his pitch.  He made false phone calls to head office painstakingly describing the financial situaiton of this young and hard working couple who "deserved a vaccuum that would keep their soon to be born child safe".  There was no one on the other end of the phone line, but the dialgue was convincing, and each time he called the price dropped, and each time he hung up he congratulated the happy young couple on joining the Kirby Vacuum family.  They said, "sorry, no" four times and the price went down four times.  He threw in a 10 day all inclusive trip to Mexico (flights not included), free vaccuum bags, extra shampoo. He was there for three hours for gods sake, trying to sell them something they never intended to buy.  He almost had them when he started weaving a spell of words and payment options, pitting husband and wife against each other, and pleading the health of their unborn.  All the while shampooing "the wife's" carpet so it shone as white as her wedding dress that she wore only a few months before.  It was almost a religious experience and if he was trying to get them to part with their souls rather than their hard earned cash, he would have succeeded without a doubt.  The night ended in a sparkling square of carpet placed so it contrasted the high traffic area of carpet like an insult, it ended with the Kirby vacuum being packed away by a sad and defeated Max who only wanted what was best for this hardworking family, it ended with the couple feeling terrible that they couldn't afford what they really needed to keep their unborn safe.

And then, the auxillary salesman showed up.  Just like that.  And we heard yet another pitch on how the investment of this life time warranty, super-dooper, do-everything-but-procreate machine would change the life of an expecting house wife who worked so hard.  We were all exhausted and a little confused by the time that vacuum left the scene, at first we weren't sure if we'd even experienced it - but there was that gleaming white square of carpet smiling back at us. The happiest fucking carpet around.

If it were even possible for me to become half as convincing as that salesman, I would be the most successful independent musician of all time.  But even I wouldn't set my sights that high...

This winter has been all about getting my shit together.  And, unfortunetly, that means i've had to work a "real job".  At first i was OK with this prospect, it has been a few years since i've worked a normal 9-5. (excluding a 4 shift stint at the road-side fruit stand last summer which i quit/was fired at exactly the same moment).  Now, however, it seems that working at my day job takes up more time than the rest of my life - which is exactly why I'm opposed to "real jobs".  Chronic Jobs - they're bad for your health.

You see, I work at the Cafe.  I make a mean pannini, but play guitar less.  I can froth a steamy latte, but spend less time out on the farm.  I get up at 6:30 am.  Enough said.  That sucks.  

Musicians develop a very specific skill set, and once we've honed the skills of staying up very very late, perfected the art of drinking while performing all activities, and can make sweet sweet music with every waking hour -  It's really hard to go back to, "Order Up! Vanilla low fat and no onions for that lady there that looks expensive".  

I don't hate my job, I just hate that I have a job.

That said, here's how to make a sweet pannini:

It's really just a glorified grilled cheese sandwich, so butter both sides of your bread and stuff it full of all sorts of good things and put it in the ..... pannini grill (or fry it like a grilled cheese in disguise).  But don't forget that everything tastes better with lots of butter.  

Here is a pannini profile:

butter
bread
butter
mayo
mustard
cheese
meat
veggies
veggies
veggies
cheese
butter
bread 
butter


ps.  here is a preview track (rough mix) from my new album!!!
"Bad Luck Woman" - Memphis Minnie

Rolla BC, population 119, is a little farming community chalk full of crazy and talented beared men and loud crazy women.  I'm convinced they drink beer for breakfast and give birth while harrowing fields.  The people that live in Rolla are different than people that live elsewhere, which is exactly why I love Rolla so much.  Is wasn't the flat fields that stretch as far as the eye can see in every direction that started my love affair with Rolla, it was the pub.  This little gem is one of Northern BC's only heritage sites, and I won't even try to expand on all it's attributes in one small blog.  Just go and check it out some time. It's one of the wonders of the North.

What I want to write about is my perfect Sunday in Rolla.  It all started with a community sledding event with all of Rolla's children, the event that one farmer decided to hold on a weekly basis in his back yard.   There's families, food, bonfire, skidoos, and crazy carpets.  Toddlers to grandparents spending time outside, a whole community getting down together.  Wholesome.  After this heart warming afternoon activity that lasted until long after it was too dark to see where the crazy carpet was heading, we decided it was time to go music making.  And we did until the wee hours of the morning, and there was not an unhappy soul in all of Rolla.   

I can't explain what happens during a great jam session.  maybe it's magic, maybe it's witchcraft, maybe it's god.  but what ever the heck it is, it's a great thing that brings people together in the most joyous, uplifting, ho-downing and loving way.  and now i sound like a patchouli wearing hippie, but it's true, there is nothing better for the soul than jamming with a few of your favorite musicians, and right now my favorite musicians live in Rolla.

"Rolla Pub"
Watercolour by Michael Kluckner
http://www.michaelkluckner.com/bciw11.html
 

 I love my cabin, it's a fact.  I love each and everyone of my animals from Manford the Caribou to Carlos the latino mule deer. and I love Piggy, my woodstove.  Well, I have to say that I have a love/hate relationship with Piggy. Curled up, warm and cozy, in my big chair in front of a roaring fire with the mercury dropping below -30 outside, well, I love Piggy.  5am and it's getting frosty in my little cabin and Piggy has eaten right through all the wood that I fed him the night before, and I have to get up and give him more, well, I hate him.  There is nothing less desirable than getting up in a cold cold cabin, Manford the Caribou staring you down and chastising you for letting the fire burn so low, and having to start a fire.  Nose red and running from cold, goosebumps and shivering - and as everyone knows once you get up in the morning you have to pee.  Well, that's all fine when you have a bathroom, I have an outhouse.  It's not even beautiful at 5 am in the north, because it's pitch black outside.  And once you've been up and felt the "fresh" air, literally froze your ass off peeing outside and spent 10 minutes getting the fire stoked, do you think it's easy to fall back asleep?  

Well, that's life in a small cabin with a small woodstove in the far north.  cozy one minute, freezing the next.  I wouldn't trade it for anything.

-Miss Q

 

Well the recording of my new album is finally finished.  Christmas has come and gone, new years happened and I've finally some time to take a breather.

So, recording an album is a learning process.  Especially recording an album in a tiny cabin in -40 temperatures.  4 people, 10 days, 7 animal heads on the wall, bottles of whiskey and cases of beer - the perfect recipe for successful recording sessions.  If all goes well with the mixing, mastering and reproducing I'll have an album to sell this spring.

One of the great things about having a cabin in the wilderness is that people come and they stay for a while.  This was the case with my friend and photographer Jodie Ponto, who documented our rapid desent into cabin fever over the 10 days of recording.  She had her resident spot on the couch, beer in hand, throughout the sessions and was subjected to hearing 15 takes of "Nobody with you", countless false starts, and the general highs and lows of recording.  One of the great things about having a resident photographer staying at your cabin is that your personal descent into madness is displayed on the internet for all to see...

Check out Jodieponto.com/photoblog to see Jodie's detailed photoblog of the Miss Quincy recording sessions.

Here's to a great 2010 everyone!

Peace, love and all that,

Jody
-Miss Q

I'm not sure how it happened, a few short months ago I thought I would be touring somewhere warm, sipping overly sweet drinks and basking in a surplus of vitamin D.  Well, here I am, living in a small northern cabin with no running water and the weather forecast says   -40 for the weekend.  But here's the catch, I'm loving it.  I have 7 roommates in my 16 X18 foot cabin.  A wolf, a caribou, a sheep, a deer, an antelope, a bird of some description and Mildred - the turkey.  It's really going to be a full house once we start recording my new album in this same cabin in a few days.  That's right, last month in this frozen land I hatched the idea to record my second album, and now it's happening.  I've got 10 new songs and they're ready.  My good friend Ben is taking the 29 hour bus ride from Nelson with a studio full of equipment and we're making a truly northern album.  I've found a eclectic mix of ridiculously talented musicians hiding in the most unlikely places such as Rolla, BC, Bozanzan, AB, Fort St. John, BC, and Nelson, BC.  Together we're going to spend a week and a half in the cabin and see what we can create.

You can keep up with our progress by checking into Jodie Ponto's photoblog www.jodieponto.com

if you're in the area, please drop by.

xo
J