D Note love letter 4/11/12

D tourists,

We have such good music in store for you coming up this weekend. We almost can't believe it.

First, stop by and listen to the Clamdaddys on Wednesday nights. Or better yet, why not start a chess club? A crochet club? Bring it to Wednesday nights. There is no cover charge and The Clamdaddys' music creates a beautiful atmosphere. There are dance lessons by the incomparable Lark Mervine too, 7-8pm.

This Thursday night after trivia we have a house/dubstep/electro DJ in house named Mosik. $4. Come dance.

Friday night we have Andrew Wynn at 5pm (free), Dave Boyland Band at 7pm ($5). Then at 8:30pm 8th ElemEnt Entertainment presents Nancy Hubanks "Spy vs. Spy" CD Release, including performances by: DJ Mr. Willis, Y-Jay & Fame, Gamer Life, NexKin and special guests. $10 cover, includes CD.

And get a load of the line up on Saturday. We go Celtic to Flamenco to Indian to Afro-cuban all in one day. Whew!

Saturday at 1pm we have Tartan Day Festival Music w/ Skean Dubh (celtic acoustic). $5/ kids under 12 free.

Saturday at 6pm we have a Flamenco Show hosted by Natalia Perez de Villar. (flamenco music and dance) $12

Saturday at 8:30pm Creative Music Works presents Ravish Momin's Tarana. $15/ $9 students. There has been a lot of great press about this show and we're excited for it. Tarana's music uses live electronic beats and programming as the basis of improvisation influenced by jazz, East Indian, and Middle Eastern music. We're honored Creative Music Works is bringing one of their shows to the D Note. We hope there will be more. This will be a deep listening show.

Saturday at 10:30pm we have Rocktin Grove (funk, indie rock, blues, afro-cuban) $5

Next Tuesday will be a VERY cool local show at 7pm with Paul Dehaven (Eye and the Arrow/ Paper Bird), the Rorey Carol band, Birds Of A Feather (bluegrass) $5 suggested donation.

Next Thursday night we have the eighties retro tunes of Youthineyes.

Next Saturday we celebrate Dylan's B day w/ Postcards From A Hanging.

We are looking for a good idea for a regular event to bring in on Tuesday nights. If you have a good idea for this, please let us know.

Yours,

D baser

Extra credit: Here are a couple of terrific poems for you this week by Eduardo C. Corral...

In Colorado My Father Scoured and Stacked Dishes

in a Tex-Mex restaurant. His co-workers,
unable to utter his name, renamed him Jalapeño.

If I ask for a goldfish, he spits a glob of phlegm
into a jar of water. The silver letters

on his black belt spell Sangrón. Once, borracho,
at dinner, he said: Jesus wasn't a snowman.

Arriba Durango. Arriba Orizaba. Packed
into a car trunk, he was smuggled into the States.

Frijolero. Greaser. In Tucson he branded
cattle. He slept in a stable. The horse blankets

oddly fragrant: wood smoke, lilac. He's an illegal.
I'm an Illegal-American. Once, in a grove

of saguaro, at dusk, I slept next to him. I woke
with his thumb in my mouth. ¿No qué no

tronabas pistolita? He learned English
by listening to the radio. The first four words

he memorized: In God We Trust. The fifth:
Percolate. Again and again I borrow his clothes.

He calls me Scarecrow. In Oregon he picked apples.
Braeburn. Jonagold. Cameo. Nightly,

to entertain his cuates, around a campfire,
he strummed a guitarra, sang corridos. Arriba

Durango. Arriba Orizaba. Packed into
a car trunk, he was smuggled into the States.

Greaser. Beaner. Once, borracho, at breakfast,
he said: The heart can only be broken

once, like a window. ¡No mames! His favorite
belt buckle: an águila perched on a nopal.

If he laughs out loud, his hands tremble.
Bugs Bunny wants to deport him. César Chávez

wants to deport him. When I walk through
the desert, I wear his shirt. The gaze of the moon

stitches the buttons of his shirt to my skin.
The snake hisses. The snake is torn.

Self-Portrait with Tumbling and Lasso

I'm drumroll and voyeur.
I'm watermark
and fable. I'm weaving
the snarls
of a wolf through my hair
like ribbon. At my feet,
chisels

and jigsaws. I'm
performing
an autopsy on my shadow.
My rib cage a wall.
My heart
a crack in a wall,
a foothold. I'm tumbling

upward:
a French acrobat. I'm judder
and effigy.
I'm pompadour
and splendid. I'm spinning
on a spit, split
in half.

An apple
in my mouth. I know
what Eve
didn't know: a serpent
is a fruit eaten to the core. I'm
a massacre
of the dreamers,

a terra cotta soldier
waiting for
his emperor's return.
When I bow,
a black fish leaps
from the small of my back.
I catch it.

I tear it apart. I fix
the scales
to my lips.
Every word I utter
is opalescent. I'm skinned
and Orphic.
I'm scarlet

and threshold. At my touch,
a piano
melts like a slab
of black ice. I'm
steam rising,
dissipating. I'm a ghost undressing.
I'm a cowboy

riding bareback.
My soul is
whirling
above my head like a lasso.
My right hand a pistol.
My left
automatic. I'm knocking

on every door.
I'm coming on strong,
like a missionary.
I'm kicking back
my legs, like a mule. I'm kicking up
my legs, like
a showgirl.