The Towers Of Ivory Are Crumbling
Love, Sex, Death, And God On Today's "Dancing Barefoot"
If the equipment works and my computer doesn’t die and the internet continues to internet, today’s episode of Dancing Barefoot shall be a solid two hours of music performed by the man in Gucci: Nick Cave. Get ready to believe in God and love, because Miley Cyrus floats in a swimming pool in Toluca Lake, and the King will walk on Tupelo.
Speaking of Tupelo—and since several of you have asked me—I saw Priscilla. Well, ok, as of this writing I have now seen Priscilla three times. I first saw it on Friday, October 27, and I had to go all the way to the goddamn Grove because the movie was still in some kinda limited release phase. The last time I was at The Grove was over a decade ago when I needed something to wear to the office holiday party and thought Banana Republic might be a smart place to shop. They had a decent petites section and I bought the same dress in two colors: one in red and one in black. I wore the red one that night and on my way home a drunk co-worker jumped into my cab and harassed me from Downtown LA to Studio City. I thrashed and squirmed and yelled the entire time while the driver looked ahead and said nothing. Eventually I slugged the drunk co-worker in the stomach, and he had the gall to act surprised. I remember jumping out of the cab when it got to my street and busting up laughing the second I was safe inside my apartment. I think the part that still makes me mad is the fact that I was lucky.
Anyway, I saw Priscilla on Friday, 10/27 and when I came home I wrote about Austin Butler’s sensitive sweetie pants Elvis vs. Jacob Elordi’s awkward fuckboy Elvis. I was still on a roll at 2am, but I forced myself to go to bed so I could wake up refreshed to see a Nick Cave concert the next day. To celebrate the occasion I dug up a pair of false eyelashes I bought last year after I read they were the kind Austin Butler wore in ELVIS. I was worried the glue had dried out, but the lashes remained in place the whole night.
I broke down crying during Nick Cave’s performance when he announced that the song he was about to play had grown more meaningful in recent weeks. He launched in to “O Children” and I doubled over and pressed my hands against my face, feeling the gluey edges of my false lashes as my body convulsed in snotty sobs. I had listened to that song on repeat throughout the week thinking about all the children who have paid (and will continue to pay) the price for all of our made up bullshit. My friend who was with me put his hand on my shoulder and I finally caught my breath and enjoyed the rest of the show. Still, it was heavy. Appropriate.
We're all weeping now, weeping because
There ain't nothing we can do to protect you
My friend and I were hungry after the show so we went to Bob’s Big Boy and devoured plates of country fried steak with home fries, eggs, and biscuits. The next day I spoke with my headshrinker in Echo Park who assured me “the hard work is paying off” after I babbled for an hour about the worst case scenarios that repeat in my head all the damn time but goddammit, they Will Not Win. When I came home I got gussied up to see Nick Cave again and decided he should have his own episode of Dancing Barefoot.
Yes, the show is today at 3pm PST at k chung radio dot org. Hit “play” where it says “Chinatown.”
Yes, I owe you all an essay with audio. It’ll happen.
Yes, I keep typing my thoughts on Austy and Jacob (and Baz and Sofia), and the poor boy from Tupelo, and the 14 year old girl who fell in love with him when he was 24 and more powerful—if not more popular—than God. Still, as I type away and furrow my brow and think think think about this American icon, I chuckle when I remember what my mother said on Sunday when I brought her along to my third viewing of Priscilla.
“What’d you think?” I asked.
“What a boring man” she said.
The King will walk on Tupelo
The King will walk on Tupelo
And carry the burden of Tupelo
And carry the burden of Tupelo
And carry the burden of Tupelo
O Tupelo