Meredith Graves is a musician and writer. She also runs a small record label called Honor Press. You can follow her on Twitter here and on Instagram here.
Coming at you live from the files of Seriously What Even Is My Life, I Mean, Come On, Really?:
This Wednesday, March 9, I’ll be recording a live Talkhouse Podcast with the incomparable Rose McGowan at the new Samsung 837 space over in New York City’s Meatpacking District (837 Washington Street). From, like, 2 p.m. until 4 p.m., nonetheless.
If I may:
Rose.
McGowan.
Doom Generation-Grindhouse-JAWBREAKER Rose McGowan: actress, fellow short-hair devotee, agitator. Rose McGowan, who says and does what I lovingly typify as “some shit.”
I mean, I’d definitely drink milkshakes with her and talk about all our ex-boyfriends for many hours if given the opportunity, don’t get me wrong — and maybe, if we hit it off, I’ll be able to do that eventually. But no, I’m gonna ask her about her upcoming film and musical projects and it’s gonna be awesome.
For now, I just want everyone who hated me in high school to know that I am hanging out with Rose McGowan, fellow head-shaver, who wore a see-through dress to the MTV VMAs once, and who says bad words on Twitter, which is my favorite thing to see and do.
This will be part of the Talkhouse’s ongoing podcast series — listen to one I was lucky enough to do with mind-blowing genius empath and Sleater-Kinney drummer Janet Weiss below — so you should show up and give the people working hard on this project a reason to keep going. You should want to be as informed as humanly possible in today’s cultural climate, eating the media available to you like Pac-Man eats pac-dots — bloop, bloop, bloop — taking in whatever you can get your greedy 8-bit mouth around. You should want to hear a diversity of voices and opinions, even those you don’t agree with, because it makes you smarter and sharper and better in conversations with gun nuts, warmongers and Drumpf fanatics.
But that is neither here nor there.
Here (proper): Samsung 837 at 837 Washington St. in the Meatpacking District
There: Some umami amalgam of “Wu-tang-is-for-the-children” meets “your-auntie-burned-her-bra-once-by-accident-at-a-bonfire-at-the-rock-quarry” meets “it will be fun to watch me cry meeting a childhood hero” to “I’m still not convinced she’s not an actual witch, and if she turns me into a toad after I ask her a question she doesn’t like, can someone spritz me down with a water mister, preferably high quality French micellar water, and get me safely to an aquarium?” etc.
When: See you Wednesday at 2 p.m.
