Wednesday, January 7, 2009

NYE, ought eight

D nigh,

This is the last d-mail where we get to say "ought eight" in the subject line. We're going to miss saying ought eight, since it had such a nice ring to it and all. But we'll find a new ring tone for the new year, so auld lang sigh. It was a truly memorable year though, in so many ways. And there is a good chance 2009 will be even more memorable. We'll do our best to make it so.

Tonight, Dec. 31, ought eight, we will usher in 2009 to the African Reggae music of our old friends Irie Still. Dancing hard is the way to do it. Clamdaddys will play at 5pm, Quillion acoustic around 7ish, and then Irie Still to finish the year. Let us leap together.

Friday night we're still partying. We have the debut of a new bluegrass band on the scene, Finders&Youngberg at 8pm. We've known the duo of Mike and Amy Finders for awhile, and we've known Aaron and Erin Younberg for awhile. All excellent bluegrass musicians with storied careers and we can't wait to hear what they've put together. Another great bluegrass band plays after, 40 Gallon Still. $8.

Saturday night we have a CD release party for The Saurus at 7pm. The Saurus is a very entertaining and excellent hip hoppy jazz trio. $8. At 9pm we have Curley Taylor in from New Orleans with his Zydeco band. $12. First time for Taylor at the D Note, so let us welcome him with our dancing shoes on.

Thanks for a great year! Here's to the next!

D love

Extra Credit: Here's a poem by the artist that did the D Note mural, David Larsen. He's riffing, we suppose, off 4 and 20 blackbirds baked in a pie.


Fifty pizzas sent to my house,
Pizzas nobody could love:
Ten pizzas heaped amain with boiled owl
Ten fat with boiled dove.

There were four and twenty blue jays
Baked in seven deep dish pies,
Eleven pizzas strewn with seagull
Plucked from arching landfill skies,

One giant strangled ostrich piazza
Stretching nigh on six feet wide,
Another topped with roasted peacock
Boasting still its outraged hide,

Four swollen duckbill pizzas,
Five whereon mute ravens sang,
And as my hands received the last one
(Whippoorwill) the church bells rang.

He left my front porch rank and groaning,
That mysterious pizza guy,
And feathers trailed him as he sauntered
Back to his gore-flecked Hyundai.

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