tomBOY.

noah lennox's latest effort, tomboy, is a very likely contender (def top runner as of now) for my top ten of 11 list. a bit more cohesive than yer standard AC, this record embraces all the abstractyfunpop goodness that is found in animal collective releases, but is still off kilter just enough to leave listeners feeling a bit dizzy, like punched in the gut by some love demon or coming off some ferocuious hallucinogenic high. the production is right on, and ditties like the title track, 'last night at the jetty' and the 2nd to last jam are just unmistakenably memorable and amazing. perfect dish washing, make-out or bbq soundtrack, this album is def destined for much radio airplay this spring for yers truly. sofuckinggood.com

i wish i could still write like this.

since i've been too busy/tired/awesome to actually write write, (thank you CAREERJOB/RADIO/BOYFRIEND), i think i'll just post jodi classix. now that i got my story journal and my folder of witchboard suicide graphic tales from junior high, ya'll prob won't miss half the garbage coming outta me anyway.

behold my first entry, dated September 4th (friday), 1992. this woulda made me 9 years old. dang, i was smooth. droppin' aesop's fables like nothin', son.

"The Bear With Golden Hair"

Long ago there was a bear

With ice-blue eyes

And golden hair

And pale-pink paws, A bright

black nose, And a shiny, silken

ribbon More red than rose.

But though he was a perfect bear,

he had one secret, deep despair:

he did not have a thing to wear

Except a lot of golden hair.

"I Wish," He'd sigh, "I had a pair Of

socks or shoes In reds and blues.

Some pale plaid pants I'd also choose."

For hours he would sit and muse

On splendid clothes That he would wear

Were he not such a fair-haired bear.

One Wednesday Also long ago,

This gold-haired bear Went

to and fro To see the spring

And sniff the bud, When

Amelia Ellen Whitely

Who was holding him quite tightly,

Tripped a little more than slightly

And he fell into the mud.

Amelia Ellen had to stare

There lay her once-so-golden bear

Now muddied up from here to there.

Now muddied up from there to here,

From toe to toe To ear to ear

To heel to heel To knee to nose;

His ribbon hanging limply down,

A wet and brackish Blackish brown

a lot more mud than rose.

She took him home and ran the tub--

And started in to soap and scrub,

To comb and brush, To rinse and rub.

From dusk she worked Into the dawn,

And as the sunlight lit the lawn

No mud was there upon her bear.

But, oh, Amelia had to stare, His hair was

also gone. then, her needle threaded tightly

Amelia Ellen Whitely Sticked with

energy and care Daily, noon, and

nightly. She made bear pairs of socks

and shoes. In rosey reds and azure blues,

Jackets, Gloves, and pale-plaid pants

At which each passerby would glance,

Exclaiming with approving "oh's."

"I say, my dear, Do give a stare

At yonder very-well-dressed bear.

If I but had such splendid clothes."

Long ago There was a bear Without a

single golden hair. He also did not have

a care. Oh, happy hair-free

carefree bear.

jodi robin root : the weirdo.

st8 outta my 4th grade story journal. my teachers hadtouv thought i was hella kewl.

in case you can't decipher my A+ penmanship, a transcription of pure poetry:

"My Favorite Place"

My favorite place is in my closet. It is a very big closet. I have some stuff in there. My cat likes it as  much as I do. She used to eat and drink and go pody in there. I like it very much.

I think it is very nice. It has very beautiful wallpaper. It has all of my games and instruments.It is the biggest and prettiest closet I have ever had. It is very peaceful. It is very pretty.

yeah i came to party, but i dont wanna party witchyoo.

what has happened to jodi robin root the first?
does she still live for discovering new jams?
sweet beats? ramble about lame nobody cares about trend buzz bands?

sorta, kinda. this week at least.

e'rybody knows i heart me some mad slug action. and dang, was i super hella righteously stoked for the family sign. ever since i caught word that sluggo was droppin' a new full length, his follow up to 09's 'when life gives you lemons, you paint that shit gold,' and 'blood makes the blade holy, to all my friends' dual ep effort, i was like WHOA. the first single 'just for show' was bangin' on the nose. total ex-lover 'you dont really want, you dont really want me to goooooo'. that shit was on repeat.

but then that second single, 'she's enough?' sigh. cmon man, you can do better. and then i heard that camping song. and then the over synth dub. and then. . . aw man, where the heck is my lucy ford, god loves ugly, reflections, modern man hustle? well, it ain't on this record. but you know what? just like lemon's, this shit eventually grew on me. there are some pretty tight joints on here.

i wrote a ramble for chirp. a review of sorts (which got chopped down cuz i sorta geeked out a lil.) if you weren't a fan of atmosphere before the family sign, you def won't be after the family sign. but if you were hardcore gangstaaaa like me before, i wouldn't give up just yet. mr. sean daley always has a welcome spot on my iPod, fleckled in bird poop residue or not.

Atmosphere/The Family Sign/Rhymesayers/2011


The last couple Atmosphere records took more than a handful of listens before I was able to fully appreciate the newer direction Slug, aka Sean Daley, aka ½ of the Minnesotan indie hip hop duo Atmosphere, has taken his and Ant’s latest dark grown up style--(And this is coming from Super Atmosphere Mega Fan 10000, for realizes Google image “slug atmosphere” and you’ll see me geeking outs aside him SXSW ‘08 on page 6). Long gone are the days of over honest grit rhymes of slitting throats, bitter tales of self-deprecating love gone awry, groupie invitations and Midwestern binging.

While 2008’s When Life Gives You Lemons took a more story telling turn, The Family Sign continues on a fictional spiel of adulthood, but regardless of slick production and Slug’s conversational speak rap delivery, some of the tracks may leave listeners scratching their heads. The production has never been better, yet numbers like “Became,” (Camping? Wolves? Really Slug? I get this is a metaphor and stuff, but dang . . . gimme Lucy Ford back), and “Bad Bad Daddy” (almost killed the record) are straight up cringe worthy if you pay a millisecond to the lyrical content. Those bummers aside, The Family Sign remains a pretty solid effort. From the opening dreamy guitar/bass strums of album beginner “My Key,” to the synth heavy beds of “Ain’t Nobody, “its apparent fans are taken on a different kinda ride than past Atmosphere efforts. The real treats are hidden amongst the album, including the slow-down gem “Who I’ll Never Be” and the western accordion infused “Ain’t Nobody.” Album closer “My Notes” is a brief (1:39) flirtation to what the album’s got to offer if you want just a taste; while singles “Just for Show” and “She’s Enough” are exactly the banger beats you’d expect outta Daley.

Recommended: 4, 8, 10, 5, 13, 14, 1

said you were an ugly girl, but i like the way you play.

ughldahliejlg,. i like tori amos. and the early 90's. and angsty ferocious estrogen infused fuck you piano rock. this song makes me want to give myself a facial (just did), run really really fast (noway, it's snowy outside and i just inhaled 3 slices of hella greasy meat lovers' pizza) and give everyone in argyle the middle finger.

instead, i'll just ramble and post some dumb youtube vids and yell insissently at a snottynosed molly.

the metamorphosis.

ok. so i'm not exactly a bug or frog or something. but goddang, if i don't feel like i've been through several physical/mental/emotional/whoa-yer-a-different-jode-a-ma-toad-something stages.

i had 2 schlitz's (in a mug). a double cheeseburger (courtesy a co-worker). and one extremely delicious $10 maker's manhattan (my newest vice, but really only at the swanky-slash-shitty-basement-bar in the nbc tower after work).

so i guess, sure, i've had a couple beverages or whatever. but dang. walking home, or at least to my public transit to the blue line, i had this crapshoot of an epiphany. i was just strollin', enjoying the spring weather, early/late sunlight, breaking into sunset. 7:15 pm, strolling pseudo-drunkenly past the beggars, walking under trainlines. saw the skyscrapers. the river. the skyline. the, (sigh), downtown chicago cityscape. and naturally, i was listeining to the most random selection on my ipod, and was just digging my grubby lil' unpainted claws into no doubt's '93 release 'tragic kingdom.'

wasn't sure if it was, 'whoa-my-god, i'm not 13 anymore, i think i got my revenge finally' epiphany from the angsty days of 'oh-just-you-wait-argyle, ima bigger and better girl than all ya'll cowdudes', or if it was 'awww man, i miss the days of denying a not-really-but-kinda-i-have-an-8th-grade-crush-on-ryan-wilson (even with his big ears) kinda thing. who cares. i all of a sudden realized 2 things: 1) i'm an adult. like, totally and unescapedly, ima fuckin' adult. i have not just a job, but a grown-up career job. (as i stumbled in my $90 express slacks and non-dry cleaned wrinkly suit jacket). and 2) im not in wisconsin, anymore.

finally gone. and separated. from my (jodi) roots. from my childhood. early adulthood. youth. whatever.

i'm in this purgartory of sorts. but shit ain't all that bad.

still, something about gwen stefani's nasally mall-pop girly vocals (and the sad but still guilty pleasure fact that i knew all the 'super deep men suck' lyrics) just hit me hard.

while i tried to fake stroll in my cheap pay less 'walking' shoes, (because let's face it, while i can rock them 4 incher heels in the office, homegirl cant quite exactly strut down michigan ave at a clipping pace down that subway tunnel), i missed them old days. the days before boys. the days when no doubt and garbage OWNED my cd walkman. when dark blue lipstick from deliah's mail order catalog and long skin tight ankle dress skirts (withOUT bras) was totally in. (or at least according to the wormy unibrowed vision of 14 year old miss jodirobinroot). white mascara. booty shorts. yellow hypercolor platform shoes. doc marten boots. snowboarding. pining after boys from neighboring rural villages. purple/pink lava lamps. feather boas. vinyl vests and pink pleather pants. spencer's fucking gifts.

14 was so fucking cool. and 15? goddamn, i had the courage to chop off all the locks and rock the butch lezzy cut hot. and i didn't fucking care one bit. now? i dream of a cute pixie do. but the best i can do is take misleading facebook profile pics and try to fake out my pals. i mean, fer real? what happened to ballsy jodester. i used to legitimately  not give a fuck. sure, i was clueless. but shit was real.

so yeah, i got down to some spiderwebs. im just a fucking girl, dawg. did i silently sing all the words to 'happy now?' spitefully in my head to every ex-makeout/bf/not-really-love-interest in my head on the cta? hell yes i did. walk into my apartment, peeing full stream and glaring at my pay less kicks, i totally drunkenly let loose to some tone def shout singing of 'don't speak,' much to miss molly's dismay. sunday morning? kel-nik, can't miss you damn homegirls enough. r.i.p. east wash and jt's friendly fucking tavern. (not to mention, jodi discovering her womanly curves at much too late of an age, awkwardly sucked into a skintight gadzooks' floral tan mini dress that belonged to one miss kelly blanke while coffeetabletop jukin' to some kanye's workout plan).

the dells. river falls. argyle/oakley. minnesota. argyle, mother fuckin' wisconsin. i love my girlfriends. i loved me. being all awkward and cute as fuck. without having the slightest clue.

so here i am, 8:30 pm. sitting in my bright ass rainbow afghan, cat calmly chillin' at my feet. too apathetic for productivity, (although i feel like finally i'm an official chirpette! 7 months in and i'm on-air, a member of the music & promotions dept, and have a realzies chirp email address). loving that i'm living my dream. community radio. cat lady. city girl. and i guess, a 'corporate animal,' (at least according to one of my physician colleagues, that is).

oh, and i happen to be dating the man of my dreams - is that a bonus too?

now, if only no doubt wasn't lame and the blue lipstick/white mascara/short-boy-haircut/no bra look would make a comeback. . . .

dang.