Sometimes, we have moments that we think are brilliant. We are cozy on the couch under a blanket after a very long day, wearing extremely cozy clothes, laughing at something silly. With our partners, our pets, our BFFs. Our luxuriating in the thrill of a quiet house and free reign to do whatever secretly weird thing we like to do. Or out with friends having one of those rare mind-blowingly great meals.
And then there is that moment after we laugh, when we space out on the movie or the conversation goes into soft focus, and we stare at the wall, or into our drink, and we think about stuff. We philosophize or rhapsodize on the moment; if we are content, we bask in the glow of the awesome parts of our lives, how proud we are of accomplishing certain things, or of how motherfucking awesome our lives are, how great our friends are. This kind of contentment usually comes after a big glass of wine and a chance to finally unwind. Sometimes the added bonus of an extra extra glass of wine with a close friend or an old friend or our boyfriend (or our girlfriend or our mother or our cousins or our long-lost-friend-from junior high school*) can sometimes lead to a mutual-rhapsodizing session that leaves everyone's face flushed from smiling their widest and talking really quickly. And sometimes intensely. And loudly.
*who we reconnected with on Facebook, like, six months ago, and we don't really talk, but every once in a while we throw out the 'hey, you're still out there' comment to. And then we met up for a drink and at first it was awkward but then it was awesome.
In this moment, when we are at our most relaxed, our most content, our most joyful, our extreme silliest, sassiest, ego-maniacal, irreverent, unapologetic; we rule the fucking universe.
This may not be the reality of our day-to-day jobs. We may have started out the night in a terrible mood with sore feet and a strong desire to set something on fire. We may have typed FML somewhere into our status updates. And our L may be totally F-ed. Or maybe we just didn't have enough lunch and were feeling cranky. And maybe we our just deluding ourselves with wine or we caught an endorphin rush, or we're falling in love, or we fell in love, or got revenge, whatever the case may be,
right now, we feel fucking great.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Itch Kitsch Bitch Twitch Buttonhole Stitch
Le sigh.
Sometimes it's difficult having a band name that contains a naughty word. And playing songs containing various naughty words. Because, as cute as your band might be, it doesn't always look good on paper. Or to your parents. Your boss might not appreciate the ironic silliness inherent in singing about wanting a cocktail and wanting to get laid.
But I guess it's like what your mom always says, if you make a funny face long enough, it'll get stuck that way. Make up a silly band name one night when you think you're being funny...it sticks. And you end up with a big "EXPLICIT" label on your face. When you sing songs about your galoshes and the a.m. radio*, this feels kind of funny. (But then again, you also sing songs about feeling heavy motherfucking metal and lighting people on fire, so hey, maybe this is not too funny). Don't get me wrong, I totally heart our band name, I just think it's a little...misunderstood.
*and find yourself referring to yourself in second-person
Aside from brief twinges of naughty-band-name-guilt, Bitch Franklin is on a mighty upward swing. What we're swinging towards, I don't really know, but it sure is fun! We played a most triumphant gig at 19 Broadway a few weeks ago. My stage fright is down to threat-level yellow, which makes the whole experience a little less sweaty-palmed and gut-wrenching, and a little-more like fun.
AND....Mark and I are writing more songs, which is good news for anyone who likes our songs! To give you a sneak preview, we just finished a song lovingly entitled Spoons, in which we sing about Elliott Smith, Kurt Cobain's sweater, Sid, Nancy and hot air balloons. We also are finally finishing up a song we started a long time ago. It's our first love song, all about epic love, devotion, damsels in distress, unending quests, and Super Mario Brothers. I'm sorry Mario, but our princess is in another castle! Other songs in the works touch on important social issues like booty calls, Frenemies, the dreaded walk of shame, and the sobering effects of Sol Food after a night of drinking.
If you think any of that might be up your alley, come check out one of our shows! We are playing at the fabulous Peri's Bar in Fairfax, CA on Friday, August 12th!!
We'll be sharing the stage with 5 Minute Orgy (how's THAT for a band name!), and Hung Like a Nun. (Wow, with a line-up of band names like that, people might show up expecting an ENTIRELY different kind of night!). But Hung Like a Nun is good clean fun! They play happy songs about bidets and blackberry jam and are incredibly good looking people. And 5 Minute Orgy always brings out the sexy dancing ladies as they rock their way into the late-night hours. And this is a special night indeed, since we'll be celebrating the glorious birth of Hung Like a Nun front man Dan Rauk! (which means people will be getting drunk and who knows, you might meet someone nice to make out with!).
Oh, also, if you come to our show, you can pick up a copy of our Super Tiny EP! Just three bucks (or we'll just look the other way while you take one!)
Sometimes it's difficult having a band name that contains a naughty word. And playing songs containing various naughty words. Because, as cute as your band might be, it doesn't always look good on paper. Or to your parents. Your boss might not appreciate the ironic silliness inherent in singing about wanting a cocktail and wanting to get laid.
But I guess it's like what your mom always says, if you make a funny face long enough, it'll get stuck that way. Make up a silly band name one night when you think you're being funny...it sticks. And you end up with a big "EXPLICIT" label on your face. When you sing songs about your galoshes and the a.m. radio*, this feels kind of funny. (But then again, you also sing songs about feeling heavy motherfucking metal and lighting people on fire, so hey, maybe this is not too funny). Don't get me wrong, I totally heart our band name, I just think it's a little...misunderstood.
*and find yourself referring to yourself in second-person
Aside from brief twinges of naughty-band-name-guilt, Bitch Franklin is on a mighty upward swing. What we're swinging towards, I don't really know, but it sure is fun! We played a most triumphant gig at 19 Broadway a few weeks ago. My stage fright is down to threat-level yellow, which makes the whole experience a little less sweaty-palmed and gut-wrenching, and a little-more like fun.
AND....Mark and I are writing more songs, which is good news for anyone who likes our songs! To give you a sneak preview, we just finished a song lovingly entitled Spoons, in which we sing about Elliott Smith, Kurt Cobain's sweater, Sid, Nancy and hot air balloons. We also are finally finishing up a song we started a long time ago. It's our first love song, all about epic love, devotion, damsels in distress, unending quests, and Super Mario Brothers. I'm sorry Mario, but our princess is in another castle! Other songs in the works touch on important social issues like booty calls, Frenemies, the dreaded walk of shame, and the sobering effects of Sol Food after a night of drinking.
If you think any of that might be up your alley, come check out one of our shows! We are playing at the fabulous Peri's Bar in Fairfax, CA on Friday, August 12th!!
We'll be sharing the stage with 5 Minute Orgy (how's THAT for a band name!), and Hung Like a Nun. (Wow, with a line-up of band names like that, people might show up expecting an ENTIRELY different kind of night!). But Hung Like a Nun is good clean fun! They play happy songs about bidets and blackberry jam and are incredibly good looking people. And 5 Minute Orgy always brings out the sexy dancing ladies as they rock their way into the late-night hours. And this is a special night indeed, since we'll be celebrating the glorious birth of Hung Like a Nun front man Dan Rauk! (which means people will be getting drunk and who knows, you might meet someone nice to make out with!).
Oh, also, if you come to our show, you can pick up a copy of our Super Tiny EP! Just three bucks (or we'll just look the other way while you take one!)
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Gig One: Bitch Franklin will Charm You
Driving into the fog of the city, and all my little childhood fantasies are about to come true. Bundle of contradictions in the passenger's seat, my palms are sweating and the pit of my stomach is a of swirl nerves and the taco plate from La Hacienda. I'm anxious. I'm excited. I'm a little tired. I'm singing a silly song from a movie I used to watch as a kid in a slightly hysterical manner. Mark calmly navigates the PT Cruiser (aka the Bitch Mobile) through commuter traffic. He's been playing gigs since I was in junior high school, so he thinks my nerves are funny.
But you don't understand. I don't have the best track record ever. When I was younger, I loved being the center of attention. I made up little songs, commandeered sisters, cousins and friends into various dance and lip-synching routines. I played a singing mouse in a church musical, dreamed of being a world-famous singer. Preferably, one with long blond hair and even longer legs. But, le sigh, it was not to be (especially the legs and the hair). High on my own little ego, I decided I was going to sing at my eighth grade graduation. I was so sure I'd be amazing I didn't bother to practice....or even give it much thought until the very last minute. We don't need to re-hash the whole gory thing, but the back-up music was in the wrong key. Children stuck their fingers in their ears. Most of the boys in my class had to be bribed not to burst out laughing. It was an epic fail, the kind that makes me glad YouTube did not yet exist. There is a VHS tape festering out there somewhere; I have never even seen it. I am positive that I never want to. I would like to have it destroyed in a ritualistic manner, but I think it's being held for future extortion opportunities. After that, I never sang in public again. (not even in front of Mark).
These are the thoughts as we pull up to Cafe Royale on Post Street. I try to swallow them with a few glasses of champagne, and the attempt is a relative success. Pink-cheeked and slightly buzzed, my knees are kind of weak, and I'm really glad some of our friends made it out. Suddenly it's our turn, and suddenly we are standing in front of a bright red curtain. We are Bitch Franklin, and the lights are bright. Since there is no turning back, might as well enjoy it. I look at Mark, I look a the ground, I look at the faces in the dark. He lifts up the guitar, and here we go.
I had a fucking awesome time. My nerves mostly vanished in the lights and champagne, and it sure beat the hell out of my Eighth Grade Grad performance. And what's cuter than a girl with a ponytail and a chirpy voice, singing about love, umbrellas, and clutching a semi-automatic weapon? Especially when she's standing next to the man she's gonna marry, a long-time rocker with dreadlocks an acoustic guitar, and some pretty sweet harmonies.
Bitch Franklin will charm you. ;)
-Sierra
But you don't understand. I don't have the best track record ever. When I was younger, I loved being the center of attention. I made up little songs, commandeered sisters, cousins and friends into various dance and lip-synching routines. I played a singing mouse in a church musical, dreamed of being a world-famous singer. Preferably, one with long blond hair and even longer legs. But, le sigh, it was not to be (especially the legs and the hair). High on my own little ego, I decided I was going to sing at my eighth grade graduation. I was so sure I'd be amazing I didn't bother to practice....or even give it much thought until the very last minute. We don't need to re-hash the whole gory thing, but the back-up music was in the wrong key. Children stuck their fingers in their ears. Most of the boys in my class had to be bribed not to burst out laughing. It was an epic fail, the kind that makes me glad YouTube did not yet exist. There is a VHS tape festering out there somewhere; I have never even seen it. I am positive that I never want to. I would like to have it destroyed in a ritualistic manner, but I think it's being held for future extortion opportunities. After that, I never sang in public again. (not even in front of Mark).
These are the thoughts as we pull up to Cafe Royale on Post Street. I try to swallow them with a few glasses of champagne, and the attempt is a relative success. Pink-cheeked and slightly buzzed, my knees are kind of weak, and I'm really glad some of our friends made it out. Suddenly it's our turn, and suddenly we are standing in front of a bright red curtain. We are Bitch Franklin, and the lights are bright. Since there is no turning back, might as well enjoy it. I look at Mark, I look a the ground, I look at the faces in the dark. He lifts up the guitar, and here we go.
I had a fucking awesome time. My nerves mostly vanished in the lights and champagne, and it sure beat the hell out of my Eighth Grade Grad performance. And what's cuter than a girl with a ponytail and a chirpy voice, singing about love, umbrellas, and clutching a semi-automatic weapon? Especially when she's standing next to the man she's gonna marry, a long-time rocker with dreadlocks an acoustic guitar, and some pretty sweet harmonies.
-Sierra
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