In addition to my primary role as a news writer, I write a lot about the arts. Here are some of my proudest moments covering theater, the Spoleto Festival, and the Holy City metal scene (among other things).
The Ballad of Michael & Cary Ann (7 Nov. 2012)
Cary Ann Hearst and Michael Trent, the husband-and-wife band known as Shovels & Rope, are having a devil of a time backing their Winnebago into several parking spaces near Summerville’s town square. At the steering wheel, Trent is using the vehicle’s built-in backup camera, but Hearst isn’t so sure about it.
"You want me to dummy check your rear end, Mike?" she says.
This, apparently, is RV lingo, which the two have picked up handily since switching from a 15-passenger van to the big rig in June. But when Hearst says it, Trent gets a half-cocked smirk on his face, the sort that audiences see so often onstage when he takes a sidelong gander at his partner.
"Yeah," Trent replies. "Dummy check my rear end."
Tips for getting published on McSweeney’s Internet Tendency (2 April 2014)
The kindest and most personal rejection letter I ever received was from an editor of McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, the online humor repository founded by literary star Dave Eggers.
Experimental artist Mr. Jenkins sings the body prolific (11 Sept. 2013)
It’s a Monday night at Tin Roof, and a gaggle of gorgeously disheveled scenesters gathers around Jenkins and the two other members of Jean Jacket, one of the umpteen side projects in which he participates. Jenkins, on bass guitar, is seated on a chair on the West Ashley venue’s floor, and he stares out stoically from inside a cardboard television set that he wears on his head. Bandmate Jack Hackenberg is playing the banjo while wearing a stuffed bass fish on her headband; Jeanette Louise dramatically strums an autoharp. No word of explanation is offered for the costumes as they launch into a warbling narrative song about a Japanese sun goddess who exposes her genitals to the world.
Songwriter Johnny Delaware charms his way from South Dakota to the Holy City (9 April 2014)
"I’m not here to break any hearts," Johnny Delaware croons on the closing track to his debut album, investing his little promise with all the sincerity he can muster. He sings over the gentle bounce of a piano and the call of a trumpet that sounds like it’s coming from the end of an echoing hallway, and the whole thing feels simple and honest and spacious, like a Beatles song circa Sgt. Pepper.
"I’m not here to cause a scene/ ‘Cause I’m not here to break any hearts/ Especially when you know when it starts." But we all know he’s going to break a few hearts. He can’t help it. He’s a born charmer.
(By the way, this guy’s debut album is a scorcher. Do yourself a favor and listen to this track on your way out the door in the morning.)
Secret Wave by Johnny Delaware
Art heist leads to new North Charleston City Hall sculpture (29 April 2013)
Back in January, artist Jonathan Brilliant wheeled his new metal sculpture “Woven Structure” into the center of the traffic circle near North Charleston City Hall and bolted it into the concrete. Hundreds of people drive past the sculpture every day now, but few know its origin story.
Intergalactic Nemesis is a flavorless mash-up (6 June 2013)
Remember back in 2007 when these things called "mash-ups" were going to save the world? Danger Mouse's Grey Album had invented the Jay-Zeatles, Girl Talk had become lord of a small hipster fiefdom by sampling Top 40 radio hits, and all your techie friends were raving about the app mash-ups they'd seen at SXSW. The idea was simple: If you smash things together from disparate sources, sometimes the result is beautiful or useful.
Sometimes. Other times, you get a convoluted mess, like Brad Paisley and LL Cool J rapping about racism.
Godwin Falcon embodies the beers-and-bros ideal (6 Nov. 2013)
It’s 3:00 in the afternoon on a Thursday, and the dudes from Godwin Falcon are out on the porch of their downtown apartment, smoking cigarettes and shotgunning beers and plinking cans off the railing with a BB rifle. They are loud for no reason, crass because it’s fun, halfway-bombed in broad daylight because why the hell not.
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to play metal.
