While reading the Indy at breakfast yesterday...afternoon, Kristy and I stumbled upon (old) news of the
Carrboro Music Festival. A full day of bands at 23 individual venues all over the "city" (bustling metropolis that it is). A little excited, a little apprehensive from past disappointments, we decided to check it out today. Even though every band has an off-putting and 99% of the time, fucking STUPID name, maybe we just don't know. There are so many local bands here and being new to the area there's really no way for us to know if "
Johnny and the Bent Weiners" are any good. Whoops.
Parking wasn't terrible which was surprising since they'd closed down some major intersections. Okay. Fine. We parked at our bank downtown and decided to walk the length of the festival to get a feel for what was going on. Ten blocks or so...no music. Really? With venues both indoors and outdoors all over town, there wasn't a single band playing. We walked for close to a half an hour without hearing any music, save some bad european sounding electronica pumping through a restaurants sound system. Awesome scheduling, guys. Every festival I've ever been to employs a rotation of music. I guess no one else noticed though, because
hippies everywhere were hoola-hooping to a silent soundtrack and rando
hipsters were smiling into the oppressive sun in painted on jeans and Ray Bans.
We heard two bands play during our two hour stay in Carborro. The first was a group of 30-somethings playing competent but boring funk on a porch. Decent amount of people crowded around. Funk..right. Unless Parliament or the Meters are on stage, you can save it. Please. The second was a 3rd wave ska band covering The Violent Femmes. I've heard the Violent Femmes cover the Violent Femmes for the last ten years so this seemed especially unnecessary and redundant. I only hope they were teenagers. Bad ska bands are only acceptable if the mistake to be in one is made in your youth (testify).
You'd think in a town that collectively forcefully and constantly perpetuates the notion that it's still a bastion for good, homegrown music things could be run better or at least there'd be something beyond "Americana" everywhere you turned (a genre that people down here associate with almost anyone who doesn't step on a Big Muff. I guess if you have a southern accent and don't listen to At The Gates, you can play Americana). The more time I've spent in this area the more I'm really starting to believe that it only sustains itself through it's kinda storied past. The history of the now-defunct bands that made Chapel Hill an Athens, Portland, Seattle, Boston, one of these supplemental culture-capitals is all that drives bands to tour here, kids to show up at venues in big numbers. It feels like a duty, both for the residents and for those visiting. And the problem, I think, is this: Chapel Hill and Carrboro have no
balls. Really. That's it.
Anyhow, this has turned into a rant and really, I just wanted to seperate the next post from the previous one. I still love you,
North Carolina.
We're working on a cookbook. Yup, that's correct. Dylan is a fierce recipe-er and I like to eat. I thought it might be interesting to document the trials and tribulations that this thing is going to cause us. Join us as we document the process, from suck to sweet. Here's a very, very preliminary peek. 
This would actually be one of the first pages, talking about how we came to be so crazy as to make a cookbook. We hope to sell to dirty hippies and rich ladies at the farmer's markets. I'm hoping to call it, oh, I don't know. Bite Me?
