Reblogged from sofresh  14 notes

Hot Knife | Fiona Apple

You can
You can
You can relax around me

Fiona teams up with her ex boyfriend (and my favorite director) Paul Thomas Anderson for what’s probably my (big surprise here) favorite video of the year so far (but let’s face it, I’m biased — I mean, I wrote a paper my freshman year of college about him and her and Jon Brion and Aimee Mann).

Fiona Apple cancels the South American leg of her tour — here’s why (steel yourself):

It’s 6pm on Friday,and I’m writing to a few thousand friends I have not met yet. I am writing to ask them to change our plans and meet a little while later. Here’s the thing. I have a dog Janet, and she’s been ill for almost two years now, as a tumor has been idling in her chest, growing ever so slowly. She’s almost 14 years old now.I got her when she was 4 months old. I was 21 then, an adult officially - and she was my child. She is a pitbull, and was found in Echo Park, with a rope around her neck, and bites all over her ears and face. She was the one the dogfighters use to puff up the confidence of the contenders. She’s almost 14 and I’ve never seen her start a fight, or bite, or even growl, so I can understand why they chose her for that awful role. She’s a pacifist.
Janet has been the most consistent relationship of my adult life, and that is just a fact. We’ve lived in numerous houses, and jumped a few make shift families, but it’s always really been the two of us. She slept in bed with me, her head on the pillow, and she accepted my hysterical, tearful face into her chest, with her paws around me, every time I was heartbroken, or spirit-broken, or just lost, and as years went by, she let me take the role of her child, as I fell asleep, with her chin resting above my head. She sat next to me when I wrote songs, and barked any time I tried to record something, and she was with me in the studio, all the time we recorded the last album. The last time I came back from tour, she was spry as ever, and she’s used to me being gone for a few weeks every 6 or 7 years.
She has Addison’s Disease,which makes it dangerous for her to go on the road with me, since she needs regular injections of Cortisol, because she reacts to stress and to excitement without the physiological tools which keep most of us from literally panicking to death. Despite all of this, she’s effortlessly joyful and playful, and only stopped acting like a puppy about 3 years ago. She’s my best friend and my mother and my daughter, and my benefactor, and she’s the one who taught me what love is.I can’t come to South America. Not now. When I got back from the last leg of the US tour, there was a big, big difference. She doesn’t even want to go for walks anymore. I know that she’s not sad about aging or dying. Animals may well have a survival instinct,but a sense of mortality and vanity, they do not. That’s why they are so much more present then most people.
But I know that she is coming close to point where she will stop being a dog, and instead,be part of everything.S he’ll be in the wind,and in the soil, and the snow, and in me, wherever I go. I can’t leave her now, please understand. If I go away again, I’m afraid she’ll die and I won’t have the honor of singing her to sleep, of escorting her out. —Maybe she’ll fool me, and live for a couple more years —maybe I’ll lose my potential friends, in places I feel a longing to know.
Sometimes it takes me 20 minutes to pick which socks to wear to bed. But this decision is instant. These are the choices we make, which define us. I am not the woman who puts her career ahead of love and friendship. I’m the woman who stays home, and bakes Tilapia for my dearest, oldest friend. And helps her be comfortable, and comforted, and safe, and important. Many of us these days, we dread the ‘death’ of a loved one. It is the ugly truth of life, that leaves us feeling terrified and alone. I wish we could also appreciate the time that lies right beside the end of time.
I know that I will feel the most overwhelming knowledge of her, and of her life, and of my love for her, in the last moments. I need to do my damnedest to be there for that. Because it will be the most beautiful,the most intense,the most enriching experience of life I’ve ever known. When she dies.
So I am staying home,and I am listening to her snore and wheeze,and reveling in the swampiest,most awful breath that ever emanated from an angel. And I am asking for your blessing.
I’ll be seeing you. Love,Fiona

Fiona Apple cancels the South American leg of her tour — here’s why (steel yourself):

It’s 6pm on Friday,and I’m writing to a few thousand friends I have not met yet. I am writing to ask them to change our plans and meet a little while later. Here’s the thing. I have a dog Janet, and she’s been ill for almost two years now, as a tumor has been idling in her chest, growing ever so slowly. She’s almost 14 years old now.I got her when she was 4 months old. I was 21 then, an adult officially - and she was my child. She is a pitbull, and was found in Echo Park, with a rope around her neck, and bites all over her ears and face. She was the one the dogfighters use to puff up the confidence of the contenders. She’s almost 14 and I’ve never seen her start a fight, or bite, or even growl, so I can understand why they chose her for that awful role. She’s a pacifist.

Janet has been the most consistent relationship of my adult life, and that is just a fact. We’ve lived in numerous houses, and jumped a few make shift families, but it’s always really been the two of us. She slept in bed with me, her head on the pillow, and she accepted my hysterical, tearful face into her chest, with her paws around me, every time I was heartbroken, or spirit-broken, or just lost, and as years went by, she let me take the role of her child, as I fell asleep, with her chin resting above my head. She sat next to me when I wrote songs, and barked any time I tried to record something, and she was with me in the studio, all the time we recorded the last album. The last time I came back from tour, she was spry as ever, and she’s used to me being gone for a few weeks every 6 or 7 years.

She has Addison’s Disease,which makes it dangerous for her to go on the road with me, since she needs regular injections of Cortisol, because she reacts to stress and to excitement without the physiological tools which keep most of us from literally panicking to death. Despite all of this, she’s effortlessly joyful and playful, and only stopped acting like a puppy about 3 years ago. She’s my best friend and my mother and my daughter, and my benefactor, and she’s the one who taught me what love is.

I can’t come to South America. Not now. When I got back from the last leg of the US tour, there was a big, big difference. She doesn’t even want to go for walks anymore. I know that she’s not sad about aging or dying. Animals may well have a survival instinct,but a sense of mortality and vanity, they do not. That’s why they are so much more present then most people.

But I know that she is coming close to point where she will stop being a dog, and instead,be part of everything.S he’ll be in the wind,and in the soil, and the snow, and in me, wherever I go. I can’t leave her now, please understand. If I go away again, I’m afraid she’ll die and I won’t have the honor of singing her to sleep, of escorting her out. —Maybe she’ll fool me, and live for a couple more years —maybe I’ll lose my potential friends, in places I feel a longing to know.

Sometimes it takes me 20 minutes to pick which socks to wear to bed. But this decision is instant. These are the choices we make, which define us. I am not the woman who puts her career ahead of love and friendship. I’m the woman who stays home, and bakes Tilapia for my dearest, oldest friend. And helps her be comfortable, and comforted, and safe, and important. Many of us these days, we dread the ‘death’ of a loved one. It is the ugly truth of life, that leaves us feeling terrified and alone. I wish we could also appreciate the time that lies right beside the end of time.

I know that I will feel the most overwhelming knowledge of her, and of her life, and of my love for her, in the last moments. I need to do my damnedest to be there for that. Because it will be the most beautiful,the most intense,the most enriching experience of life I’ve ever known. When she dies.

So I am staying home,and I am listening to her snore and wheeze,and reveling in the swampiest,most awful breath that ever emanated from an angel. And I am asking for your blessing.

I’ll be seeing you. 
Love,
Fiona

Extraordinary Macing This past weekend, as anyone following me on various social media platforms will know, Danny and I went up to San Francisco for Fiona Apple’s concert at the Fox Theater in Oakland. We arrived during the opening act, quickly got a drink and took our seats up in the balcony. There was about a half hour before Fiona took the stage, during which the crowd downstairs did the usual thing of getting understandably excited anytime one of the theater’s “hold music” songs would end thinking she’d be coming out. So did the two guys sitting immediately behind us. I never got a good look at them, but Danny described them as “homo-thug” types.
Once the show started, their level of enthusiasm grew tenfold. Now, I’m not knocking being excited about seeing someone play live — heck, I was, too — but I paid (okay, fine, Danny did) good money to hear her sing. Not to listen to these two drunk guys warble into my ears. I was tempted to tell them as much, but in retrospect it’s a good idea that I didn’t.
One of the main differences between this concert and the one I saw in Central Park during her last tour was that the arrangements of the songs and the instrumental breaks were put into the spotlight. It was during one of these (Werewolf, probably) that the guys decided to start screaming, “Carry on, Fiona! Carry on!” It wasn’t their first outburst: they’d been yelling song requests (again, from the balcony) earlier, which was a little much given that a) she couldn’t hear them and b) if you’re a Fiona Apple fan — and given their fervor, they seemed to be dyed in the wool — you know better than to try and get her to do what you want. She’s not your monkey.
Anyways, at this point a man on the other side of the aisle from us had had enough and told them to shut up, which they did, some muffled grumbling aside. We all thought that we’d be able to enjoy the rest of the show in peace. Not quite. A couple songs later, I heard a commotion behind me and turned to see that they had decided to stand up, blocking the view of the women seated behind them. When the guys refused (saying that if they didn’t like it they could stand up themselves) and created even more of a scene, an usher came over and told them that they were going to have to leave. Guy #1 put up a little bit of a fight (not physically, thankfully), but Guy #2 sat down. The usher motioned for both of them to come with him, but only made sure Guy #1 left. Oops.
Fiona started playing I Know while I was sharing a “good riddance” smirk with the older woman seated next to me and the girls whose view had been blocked were — I’m assuming — doing the same in a more vocal fashion. About a minute into the song I noticed Guy #2 slowly walking down the aisle on the far side of my section and about a split second later heard shrieks behind me as one girl chased after him screaming, “Stop him!” I glanced back and told Danny I thought that he might have punched one of the girls in the face.
A few seconds later we figured it out when we started coughing as a cloud of pepper spray floated down, burning our noses and throats. It wasn’t fun, and our whole section emptied out. Thankfully most of us weren’t terribly affected and were able to make our way back to our seats once the air cleared. Some people didn’t come back, including the pregnant woman who’d been sitting in front of us. Fortunately, none of the hubbub disrupted the show itself and Fiona was able to wrap things up none the wiser.

Extraordinary Macing
This past weekend, as anyone following me on various social media platforms will know, Danny and I went up to San Francisco for Fiona Apple’s concert at the Fox Theater in Oakland. We arrived during the opening act, quickly got a drink and took our seats up in the balcony. There was about a half hour before Fiona took the stage, during which the crowd downstairs did the usual thing of getting understandably excited anytime one of the theater’s “hold music” songs would end thinking she’d be coming out. So did the two guys sitting immediately behind us. I never got a good look at them, but Danny described them as “homo-thug” types.

Once the show started, their level of enthusiasm grew tenfold. Now, I’m not knocking being excited about seeing someone play live — heck, I was, too — but I paid (okay, fine, Danny did) good money to hear her sing. Not to listen to these two drunk guys warble into my ears. I was tempted to tell them as much, but in retrospect it’s a good idea that I didn’t.

One of the main differences between this concert and the one I saw in Central Park during her last tour was that the arrangements of the songs and the instrumental breaks were put into the spotlight. It was during one of these (Werewolf, probably) that the guys decided to start screaming, “Carry on, Fiona! Carry on!” It wasn’t their first outburst: they’d been yelling song requests (again, from the balcony) earlier, which was a little much given that a) she couldn’t hear them and b) if you’re a Fiona Apple fan — and given their fervor, they seemed to be dyed in the wool — you know better than to try and get her to do what you want. She’s not your monkey.

Anyways, at this point a man on the other side of the aisle from us had had enough and told them to shut up, which they did, some muffled grumbling aside. We all thought that we’d be able to enjoy the rest of the show in peace. Not quite. A couple songs later, I heard a commotion behind me and turned to see that they had decided to stand up, blocking the view of the women seated behind them. When the guys refused (saying that if they didn’t like it they could stand up themselves) and created even more of a scene, an usher came over and told them that they were going to have to leave. Guy #1 put up a little bit of a fight (not physically, thankfully), but Guy #2 sat down. The usher motioned for both of them to come with him, but only made sure Guy #1 left. Oops.

Fiona started playing I Know while I was sharing a “good riddance” smirk with the older woman seated next to me and the girls whose view had been blocked were — I’m assuming — doing the same in a more vocal fashion. About a minute into the song I noticed Guy #2 slowly walking down the aisle on the far side of my section and about a split second later heard shrieks behind me as one girl chased after him screaming, “Stop him!” I glanced back and told Danny I thought that he might have punched one of the girls in the face.

A few seconds later we figured it out when we started coughing as a cloud of pepper spray floated down, burning our noses and throats. It wasn’t fun, and our whole section emptied out. Thankfully most of us weren’t terribly affected and were able to make our way back to our seats once the air cleared. Some people didn’t come back, including the pregnant woman who’d been sitting in front of us. Fortunately, none of the hubbub disrupted the show itself and Fiona was able to wrap things up none the wiser.