an insatiable urge to write

My name is Jessie Opoien. I'm a political reporter for the Capital Times in Madison, Wis. I'm an Iowa State University alum. Past gigs include: editor in chief of the Iowa State Daily, reporter for the Oshkosh Northwestern, intern for the Des Moines Register, CNN, Isthmus and the Center for Media and Democracy. I'm passionate about writing, music and politics, and I play the piano and the banjo. I'm also an Iowan-Wisconsinite hybrid. You can ask me stuff here. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-18171729-2']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })();

[jessieopoien]

"I never knew there was so much to a rocking chair."

I don't remember the first time I watched "Christmas in Connecticut," but I can't remember the last year I didn't watch it during the holiday season. It's tied, with "White Christmas," for the No. 1 spot on the "Jessie's Favorite Christmas Movies" list — and although I could just as easily recite the scripts by heart at this point, it's not Christmas unless I've watched both of them.

This year, my parents and I started a little early, with "Christmas in Connecticut" on Thanksgiving night. I'll be honest: it might not be the last time I watch it this year. A favorite Christmas movie feels kind of like an old friend, or a family member, that you only get to see once or twice a year. You look forward to the old jokes, stories and memories. They're comfortable and exciting at the same time. And even though you chime in with the punchline just a half-second too soon, you laugh just as hard as you did the first time you heard it. 

Why "Christmas in Connecticut"? I can't say for sure, but there's always been something enchanting about Barbara Stanwyck, to me. And, OK, maybe I identify a little with her "bachelor girl" character, Elizabeth Lane, a little bit — a magazine columnist with a dry wit and good intentions, who tends to refer to babies as "it" regardless of gender. Or maybe I just love watching the chemistry between her and that charming, All-American sailor, Jefferson Jones (played by Wisconsin native Dennis Morgan, doncha know).

If nothing else, the movie introduced me to the idea that there are multiple approaches to using a rocking chair, which serves me well to this day.

[jessieopoien]

The Song: "Wires" — Basia Bulat

"Take me out of the wild, build up my frame of mind."

It takes a lot to stand out among the static, as an opening act. An artist has to emerge from the fray, somehow commanding the audience's attention during a time often reserved for procuring beers and staking out a prime location for the main event. Even when that happens, a mind-blowing set from the headliner can make the opener nothing but a blip on concertgoers' radars by the end of the evening.

When I attended a Jim James solo show at Madison's Majestic Theatre early in September, Basia Bulat achieved rare staying power as an opening act (for me, at least) — despite an intense, soulfully psychedelic performance from the My Morning Jacket frontman.

The Canadian singer-songwriter's tunes haunted me before they reached their closing notes. I found myself interjecting statements of my admiration amid the pre-show conversation (while we procured our beers and staked out a prime location for the main event, of course) — "She's really good!" followed by my friend's response: "What is that instrument she's playing?"

The answer to that question was "a zither," although a keyboard and ukulele made appearances as well.

But let's return to that zither. Of the three songs that took the strongest hold of me that night — "Tall Tall Shadow" (the title track of her newest album), "A Secret" and "Wires," two make heavy use of the zither.

There's something both dreamy and piercing about the sound that, when paired with Bulat's lyrics, amplifies the poignant and pining nature of many of her songs.

The video above includes three performances. The first is "Wires," the song that sent me over the edge as a newly-converted Bulat fan at the Jim James show. I'm a little bummed that the arrangement on her new album is so elaborate and heavily produced compared to the stripped down performance like the one I saw, and the one in this video, because I think the power of this song is in the sentiment and her delivery — but I suppose it can't be all vocals-and-zither, all the time.

The other two in the video are "The City With No Rivers" (also from "Tall Tall Shadow") and "The Shore" (from her 2010 album "Heart Of My Own").

Bulat's record company must think "Wires" is capable of winning over more fans than this one. While searching for a link to the song for this blog post, I learned that "Wires" will be the second single released from the album, on Nov. 11. 

If you like what you've heard thus far, here's a bonus video. This is the first song that made my ears perk up at the show. "A Secret" is the final track on her 2007 debut album, "Oh, My Darling."

"I've been uncovering words I've been waiting to say to you."

[pilottcandidate-deactivated2013]

Visit Original Link

[jessieopoien]

This is what the inside of my head sounds like.

[jessieopoien]

The Song: "All Shades of Blue" — Gregory Alan Isakov

Gregory Alan Isakov wrote the perfect frustration waltz.

Perhaps he didn't intend to — but I think he might have, given the song's earnest working title for years leading up to the release of The Weatherman: "Dreams On a Windowsill."

Isakov's a waltzy guy, as it is. And nothing says frustrated like "you fumble with your fiddle and you're fresh out of tricks" and "the horseflies are biting but the fish never do."

So there it is. The perfect folky-frustration waltz.

As the penultimate song on a standout album, "All Shades of Blue" didn't jump out at me the first or second time I heard it. It was somewhere around the third listen that made me stop and tune in a little closer. 

And there it was:

"Broken bottles shine just stars; make a wish, anyway."

Somehow, this particular line appealed to me — and my belief that it matters not so much what you wish on, as it does the wish you make. 

I think this is a lovely song. And I think it is ardent and humble to its core. 

It presents itself as a solution, at first. But it's as much a solution as it is an understated plea. It's as much a direction as it is a request. 

It's a frustration waltz. With a banjo, and some whistling.

You really can't go wrong with that.

[jessieopoien]

The Song: "That Moon Song" — Gregory Alan Isakov (with Brandi Carlile)

Sometimes two entities come together, and the results are nothing short of magic. 

Sometimes those collaborations fly under the radar — for instance, Gregory Alan Isakov's 2009 album, "This Empty Northern Hemisphere" — much of which features contributions from Brandi Carlile.*

To be more specific: the third song on the album, "That Moon Song." That song is nothing short of magic — at least, for me.

The entire album has been the soundtrack for my week, or at least the last few nights. Something about the soaring harmonies and subdued strumming, interspersed with a little banjo-picking (for good measure, of course) has just been clicking, in the way that only happens when the right album finds you at the right time. Isakov is a rare combination, in my book: a gifted and skilled lyricist, a talented musician and a great vocalist.

With this album, he shows something even rarer: an ability to create beauty with others. 

With this song, he and Carlile demonstrate something even rarer, still: a partnership that plays up both individuals' strengths to result in something exquisite. The song is still every bit as beautiful when Isakov performs it with his band, sans Carlile, but it loses a piece of the magic.

That magic, for me, is in the way that the strings and the drums lap at each other in a lazy ONE-two-three like waves gently lapping at a rocky shore. It's in the way each downbeat is like the in and out of the tide, accompanying this lyric: "she pulls on this heart like she pulls on the sea."

The good news is, Isakov's new album, "The Weatherman," is also wonderful (and not flying under the radar at all). The other good news is, in an interview with Slant Magazine, Isakov said he's planning on collaborating with Carlile again — this time on a country record of cowboy-type songs. 

It'll be different, this new collaboration, I'm sure. But I have high hopes. And I'm looking forward to hearing what they create next.

In the meantime, if you're as enthralled with this song as I am, you can watch this live performance from a 2012 concert at Red Rocks, where Brandi Carlile gets a chance to shine a bit toward the end of the song — and you can read Isakov's lyrics here.

*Brandi Carlile deserves her own post someday, in which I discuss my 180-degree turnaround from "Is that the one who sings that song that was on 'Grey's Anatomy'?" to "Brandi Carlile sings the songs of my heart with the voice of a country-folk-goddess."

[jessieopoien]

The Song: "Ghosts" — The Jam (and covered by Ted Leo)

A few weeks ago, I had a conversation with a friend about the way I listen to music. I explained it as such: My life is a constant quest to find the next song that I can't live without, and then I can only hope that I'll find the next song that I can't live without before I've played the current obsession on repeat too many times. Sometimes there are long lulls. At the time of that conversation, I was in a major musical lull, so I had no answer to what the current song was.

Later during that conversation, the subject of Ted Leo came up, and I was embarrassed because while I knew that I do, in fact, like Ted Leo, I couldn't name a single song that I particularly enjoyed. I always knew I hadn't listened to enough of his stuff, but at that moment it was painfully clear that I had some catching up to do.

Somehow, these two points in the conversation ended up connecting, weeks later, when I was on a musical nostalgia kick. The Jam's "Ghosts" came up on a playlist I had made about a year ago, and I was reminded all over again how much I love the song. It's from the band's 1982 album "The Gift" (yes, that came out before I was born), and the first time I heard it I don't think I thought it was anything special. As is usually the case for me, once I listened to the lyrics, my opinion changed.

A few things: It has drum-claps. The lyrics speak to me, and so does the chord progression. It's completely outside of my usual musical wheelhouse(s), but there's something about it that works for me.

…so, as I was searching for a link to the song, I came across a comment from someone who mentioned a Ted Leo cover version. I tracked it down. The "Ghosts" cover appears on the Ted Leo and the Pharmacists EP "Tell Balgeary, Balgury Is Dead," along with two other solo covers that serve as tributes to artists that influenced him.

Once again, after the first listen, I didn't think there was anything special about it. It was good, but the original was better.

After a few more, I found myself in a terrible conundrum: I didn't know if I preferred the original or the cover anymore.

Then I realized that every time I got in my car, I played the song on repeat, from the moment I turned the key in the ignition to the moment I shifted into park. Considering the song doesn't even clock in at two minutes, that's a lot of plays.

There's something a little more raw and stripped down about this one. He takes it at a faster clip than I think I would if I were him, but then I'm not the one who can sing with that kind of earnestness and knock out that guitar riff, so I'm not the one calling the shots here. 

What I love about his cover is that it whispers the same thing in my ear that the original does, but it does it with a slightly different tone in its voice. I think they're both wonderful.

[jessieopoien]

The Song: "Saved These Words" — Laura Marling

It took me too long to catch on to Laura Marling, but hey, better late than never. I love the richness to her voice and the way she walks the line between straightforward and abstract concepts in most of her lyrics. 

"Saved These Words" is the last track on Marling's latest album, "Once I Was an Eagle." It's also the most hopeful, by far. It starts simple and grows, which, as I've dedicated some words to before, is something I appreciate.

It's a simple love song about complex feelings, and that's why I like it. So there you have it.

[jessieopoien]

It's really something, how comfort can find you even when you don't know you're seeking it.

I'm a recent "Community" convert. I give full credit to my friend Anthony, who was able to convince me to give it another shot after years of shaking my head at the promos in disdain. I watched a few episodes of the show, once upon a time, without any context, and I saw no value in it. I couldn't understand why people — people whose opinions I respected — thought the show was so great. Then, finally, a few months ago, I listened to Anthony, and tried it again — this time, from the beginning. 

Turns out, I love the show, and now I'm one of those people who argues with other people who hate it and tries to convince them to give it another chance. But that's not the point.

The point is, I am a recent "Community" convert, and I have taken to watching an episode or two on nights when I can't sleep or I don't have to be up particularly early the next day. I'm not quite caught up to the most recent episodes that have aired, but I'm inching my way along. And tonight, after spending some time tucked into my bed without approaching anything near sleep, I decided to cue up the next episode on the line-up.

Season 3, Episode 8: "Documentary Filmmaking: Redux."

I clicked the 'play' button as I lazily swatted my pillows into a comfortable nest for television viewing. I snuggled in for about two minutes. Then I sat straight up.

Annie Edison — the character played by Alison Brie — was wearing my owl blouse.

And the last person who had that thought while viewing this scene, to my knowledge, was Barbara Mack.

I saw the owl blouse on my screen, and I instantly remembered the tweet — almost exactly to the word, because the words Barbara used have a way of sticking in your memory.

It came about a month before I graduated from college. I had been joking with her all semester about how she needed to tweet more, and had even helped her make the monumental switch from the anonymous "egg" avatar to one with a picture of her Greenlee headshot (we had, for a moment, considered using this stunning black-and-white photo).

One day, after our 8 a.m. media law class met, she asked me if I had seen the tweet. If my awe could have physically manifested itself I would have stumbled on it many times over — not only did Barbara think of me when she saw that blouse on TV, but she then thought to tweet about it! Well. My goodness. 

It was a joyful, funny moment at that time, and since then, a relatively small one in terms of the memories of Barbara that I've held close. But when I saw that owl blouse on my screen tonight, I was overcome — not with sadness or with loss, but with comfort.

And I didn't know I needed it, but I did.

Not just for the smile that it brought, but to remind myself that I am who I am, and I do what I do, because of Barbara Mack. 

I was, at best, a writer when we first met, and she helped turn me into a journalist. I was a fumbling kid when I met her, and she helped shape me into the woman I am today. 

Tonight, that flash of a yellow blouse on a sitcom was my reminder.

And it brought me comfort.

[publius-esquire-deactivated2018]

Founding Father Pin-Ups, 2nd Ed.: Tread on Me

[jessieopoien]

Well. My goodness.

[jessieopoien]

In which 'dog people' are superior

Mom: There are advertisements for a dating website for people who like dogs.

Me: OK…?

Mom: I just think that's odd.

Me: Well, sure. But if you're looking for a mate, do you want to end up with a cat person?

Mom: Well, no.

[jessieopoien]

In which I am a beer snob and my friend Ryan is slow to catch on

Me: Tell me what I should have for dinner

Ryan: steaks of course

Ryan: I don't know what I'm having. Probably whatever they're serving at the local establishment.

Me: hmm

Ryan: Hopefully whatever it is goes with Coors Light

Me: Everything goes with water

Ryan: right, but who wants water?

Me: that's what you're drinking

Ryan: naw. It's friday night. Time for beer

Me: i thought you said you were having coors light

Ryan: Nice, nice...I get it

[jessieopoien]

This is why I can't have nice things.

[jessieopoien]

Massage therapy (in which Jessie can't relax)

Every few weeks, I turn my muscles over to my massage therapist's skilled hands, as part of a (mostly successful) effort to alleviate some of the chronic back and neck pain that has plagued me for as long as I can remember.

For a good 30 minutes, it's incredibly stressful. Because I am terrible at relaxing.

This place, this massage therapist and everything about the experience — it's as calming as you could ever hope. There are little chocolates on a plate. I mean, really. It's great. 

I just can't relax.

It starts with a phrase that should be soothing and welcome at the end of a workday: "Start relaxing."

Instantly, I tense up. What if I chose the wrong music for relaxing? Usually, I go with "Celtic Seashore," because it appeals to my Welsh roots. But it's so cold outside, this time, I selected "Caribbean Spa," and what if that's all wrong? I've never been to the Caribbean, or to a spa, for that matter. What if it doesn't resonate with me?

Once I'm on the table, the panic really sets in. My head is in the little doughnut-pillow/support device. Do I need an additional pillow for my head? For my neck? The massage therapist told me at my first session to let her know if I needed one, and I haven't needed one yet, but maybe it would be better if I used one. Maybe I would be more comfortable. But maybe it would throw things out of whack. I am at a loss.

The massaging begins. I remind myself to relax. I remind myself to focus on my breathing.

But I don't focus on my breathing. I focus, instead, on work. Not on the good things about work, of course. I focus on all the ways I could be better at my job. Except I don't do this in a productive way. It's not like a magical brainstorming session where I lie on a table and get my muscles rubbed into submission and all the while my brain is thinking of ways to be a superstar reporter. No, I just think about the general fact that I could be better, and dwell on all the ways in which I am not.

Finally, I convince myself to move on from work, by reminding myself that I'm supposed to relax. I'm not relaxing enough. This is my scheduled relaxing time, and tomorrow is a new day and I can be awesome at work then, but in the meantime, I'm supposed to relax. Ready… set… go… relax.

But by this point, I've moved on to everything else I may have failed at, or be currently failing, along the way: friendships, relationships, RELAXING, fitness, apartment upkeep, RELAXING, writing projects, friendships, relationships, RELAXING, fitness… oh. Shoot. I've hit a loop.

Relax. I remind myself, again, I'm supposed to be relaxing. Maybe I should try focusing on my breathing.

In… Out… In… 

That doesn't work. Maybe if I attach a phrase to the breathing… sort of like a mantra… 

The first thing that comes to mind is Thich Nhat Hanh's mindfulness verse: "Present moment, wonderful moment."

It doesn't work. Maybe it's because it's not my own phrase. What if I just go with the first thing that comes to mind? Something with a cadence that meshes with my breathing… Something like…

"I am here, in this moment."

Yeah. That's nice. I can work with that.

Until I realize: "Oh my god. I am here. In this moment. I'm alive. This is me. This is what I'm doing right now."

Talk about an existential crisis.

I remind myself to relax. Try to focus less on mortality, and more on how much my muscles need this therapy in order to allow me to be at my best in all the ways I've been stressing about since I laid myself on this table.

Try to focus less on what's wrong, and more on what is. Try to focus less on what is, and more on what is, and what is good. 

I remind myself to relax. 

And eventually, I do.

[jessieopoien]

The Song: "Fast Car" (Tracy Chapman cover) — Barcelona

If I'm not careful, this is going to turn into a blog with nothing but cover songs and funny quotes from my mother (#jessiesmom). It's possible that has already happened.

The thing is, I love a good cover. I probably even love a mediocre cover. If this is a character flaw (it probably is), so be it.

"Fast Car" is a solid '90s favorite, and it'll always belong to Tracy Chapman. But Barcelona does nice things with it, just like the band does with its own music — which you should definitely check out. I saw them when they opened for Andrew McMahon in Milwaukee last week, and I'd say I consider myself a fan now.

Bottom line: The cover's good. Their original stuff is better. But I'm writing about the cover because they released a recording of it today and because I am a sucker for a cover.

[jessieopoien]

In which my parents give me a book of poems for Easter

Mom: "It has lovely poems in it, honey. And you like poems."

Me: "It's 'a woman's journey through poems.'"

Mom: "I thought you might want to journey through some poems."

Dad: "And you are a woman. And you like poems."

[jessieopoien]

You entertain me. In this weird way that I find interesting. You're such the post-modern woman. I'm such the pre-modern man. It makes me laugh trying to comprehend your thought processes. It's like Tennyson trying to understand Angelou, or the other way 'round.

— in which my friend Ryan very eloquently tries to understand me.

[jessieopoien]

The Song: "Call Me Maybe" (Carly Rae Jepsen cover) — Ben Howard

I have very little to say about this. I've written about Ben Howard before. Hell, I've even written about "Call Me Maybe" already.

What Ben Howard does here, and I thank him for it, is create a version of the song I feel a little less guilty for digging so much. Scrapes some of the sugar off the edges. Gives it a bit of a dark twist.

Once again, it's all about that chord progression. It hooks me, and as Blues Traveler said, "the hook brings you back."