I selected Jewel for the Blogging-on-a-Blogger-Blogging-Thing. I’m a little late on this project because I was thinning mints all Thursday at the plant and things got out of control.
Jewel blogs here with her usual fierce honesty and only a little bitterness about the nuclear winter of her music career and the generally negative reviews (of those that would review it at all) of her book of poetry, A Night Without Armor.
I caught up with jewel at a Chinese Chicken Salad kiosk. She was wearing torn jeans and had just had her hair disheveled at the local hipster boutique. Needless to say, she looked stunning. Her voice was a bit rough from a recent concert at a local mall (and the heroin).
Sean (I wore a yellow cardigan, with crocs): So, I guess a lot of people really liked that living out of your car story. Maybe we could start there?
J: I lived out of my car, just with a guitar and some ketchup sandwiches. It was Heinz, man. I had this old guitar, an old beat up six string–that’s what I’d call it, “Ol’ Beat Up Six String!” (laughs here–like a thrown child, this really genuine laugh) In fact, I’m doing that again. Just living out of my hunter green Explorer over there. I find it liberates the artistic congressness..I mean that’s what I meant in the book, when I wrote those lines: I want to fly from here! I want to fly from here! I want to fly from here! I want to fly from here! I want to fly from here! I want to fly from here!
S: I loved those lines!
J: Yeh, me too.
(Her snaggle-tooth coruscates in the wind. really sexy.)
S: I though the pun in the title of your book, A Night Without Armor was amazing. Most critics seemed to miss that entirely and just focus on the words inside the front and back covers. Why is that?
J: Look, as a poet, you do and see and say things others will never understand. I mean have you ever seen a robin, or like Alaska? It’s like when they hung Mozart. I mean he signs the album for the dude and bam! But that’s how it is, man. I would just play in coffee shops, selling records from my car. The back part of the car. And I’d see all kinds of things, once, twice a week. And you know once you go there…
S: Right, right…So, do you mind if I just throw out a couple lines, and you maybe discuss them. I have your book right here.
J: Oh no problem. My fans do that. They’ll sing right along with me too. Sometimes they even play the guitar with me. Or have me put my name inside there. You know, back when I played…crowds.
S: Ok, can you kind of give us some insight on the wonderfully titled Faith Poem:
I look in the mirror/and I see filth/Who is that?/Where did the Angel go?
J: Oh man! You know what, I’m going to give you a scoop here. This will make your bog explode with people hitting it! My MOM wrote that! (laughs here, really genuine, like a dog that’s just realized it is going to live the rest of its days on this earth in the servitude of Man). She’s clinically depressed and those lines were about how Zoloft destroys your sex life and makes you gain water weight.
S: No way! Wow. Just wow. And it’s a blog, not a bog. Ok. I’m sensitive about that, actually.
J: Right, a bong.
S: A blog. Say it, blog. I mean you’re a blogger so you should know the term.
J: A blog.
S: Ok, good. Well, what about this one from Lost:
Alone is a reminder/of how far your acceptance is/from your understanding.
Can you talk about the imagery here?
J: The who? Hey man, do you have a lighter?
S: Uh, no.
J: Citric acid?
J: Well, then FUCK YOU!
Jewel runs off at this point, and climbs into her SUV. Peels out like an orange, and I’m left holding a pint of Chinese chicken salad and her book of poetry.