her harpy majesty

Have you ever seen a class of slightly fatigued kindergartners, hushed with love as their teacher reads them fairy tales? Yeah, that was the Joanna Newsom show. Berbati’s is a Portland venue notorious for its invasive constant din during sets. Last night, even stumbling-in Rose Festival stragglers kept reverent silence, in a way I’ve never seen. You could try to argue that it was simply the folk-music crowd, or true proof of the Joni Mitchell v. II era of serenity and peace-yearning—but everybody started talking again during Devendra Banhart. And you definitely cannot step to this magic: clad in a Snow White-heisted, empire-waisted apron gown, Ms. Newsom opened with an a capella Appalachian hoedown, including crowd-participation handclaps. I kept waiting for her to offer us some pie. (Garrison Keillor better keep his good eye on the dial.)
(I put in my bid as chief choreographer of the musical she will doubtless write, FYI.)
En route to my new home, I’m stopping in Wyoming for a week, for the first time in seven years, during “The Daddy of ‘Em All.” (You wish you were the Daddy of ‘Em All.)
Me + My Mom + George Strait = Narnia HQ West. Seven days of conscious escapism.
Wyoming used to be “The Equality State,” as it was the first state to grant women the right to vote, but their main objective was not suffrage; instead, it was a political move, to encourage suffrage-friendly homesteaders to populate its then-more-barren lands. (Let us not discount the importance of makin’ moves, however, regardless of motive. [Word to Jane and Annie, by the way.])
Now, the Wyo motto is “Like No Place on Earth”—aka the breeding ground of Dick Cheney, Buffalo “slaughter everything/everyone” Bill, and the only place besides New Jersey to name a state park after a sportscaster.