joannanewsomtruisms

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ok ok ok so box office tickets added the ticket price too!!! pleaaaaaaaase this HAS TO BE REAL please

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Joanna Newsom in 2023

+ a non visual but descriptive bonus

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I just think Joanna Newsom would absolutely crush it in Celebrity Jeopardy

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It’s officially official!!! JOANNA NEWSOM IS COMING BACK!!!

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something else super interesting, here’s dragcity’s list of artists CURRENTLY or about to be on tour

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KINGFISHER SOUND THE ALARM 🚨🚨🚨JOANNA NEWSOM AT A FESTIVAL

#👁️👃🏾👁️

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can you share some of your favorite joanna facts? random little things that most of us don't know? 🥺

It's hard to think of what you might know or not know haha so I'll share some fun random facts Joanna shared that i haven't seen much talked about (I'm sure to some of you some of these or all of them might be old news but maybe to some of you it'll be fun anyway)

Joanna's first crush/love was a boy that played piano for her class in 2nd grade. She said when she first saw him, he was "a sweet little shoeless homeschooled forest-kid". She liked him because he wrote his own songs and she did too.

She once referred to her real self as "some Mae West-type broad" (she is so funny lmao, and definitely needs more credit to how witty and hilarious she can be)

She's very technology averse. She once said, "when the internet isn’t working in our house my husband will make me stand away from him so he can send an email."

When she was a kid she was very into Shakespeare and went to Shakespeare camp and even went to England to have classes at the Royal Academy in ninth grade

She sang karaoke of "We Are The World" with Andy and her friends in Japan (I can only imagine that must've been the most fun party)

Joanna was pen pals with Marie Lattimore.

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KINGFISHER SOUND THE ALARM 🚨🚨🚨JOANNA NEWSOM AT A FESTIVAL

#woah…………

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Happy Ys Day!!!!

May you be dumbstruck with the sweetness of being, till we don’t be, and may your heart be a furnace full of love that is just, and earnest. May your terrors cease for you deserve to know light and grow evermore lighter and lighter. So, release your precious heart to its feast, for precious hearts, and scrape your knee: it is only skin. I love you truly or I love no-one.

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Benjamin A. Vierling’s painting was used to adorn the cover of Joanna Newsom’s critically acclaimed studio album, Ys, released by Drag City in 2006. Now residing in the permanent collection of Joanna Newsom and Andy Samberg.

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Could we share some appreciation for this stellar live performance of Colleen from 2007? (Incredible!)

#joanna newsom #colleen #Youtube

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Imagine a Joanna Newsom Halloween party where you could come dressed as Lola Montez, an angry goose, Francoise de Moriere, a sybil sea cow all done up in a bow, Dick Turpin, Ursula, a bridge plus a balloon, a sprout plus a bean, autumn driven through by her own sword, a little white dove made with love, the queen of the rodeo, Ys album artwork, a diver, in jacquard and cashmere, an owlet in his greenery… So many possibilities…

#who would you choose?

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Newsomberg Facts - 10th Anniversary Countdown Edition #10:

On March 22 of this year, Joanna allowed the world to know joy for the first time in 8 years when she performed a stunning selection of new music, as the surprise guest at Fleet Foxes' 'Spring Recital' show.

One of the songs she debuted was 'Marie at the Mill', an intricate and masterful ballad exploring the life of Marie Russak Hotchener who, among other things, designed the breathtaking 'Moorcrest' estate that the Newsombergs now call home.

The most significant detail of Russak Hotchener's life, in terms of Andy and Joanna's enduring love, is the fact that Marie, a firm believer in reincarnation, was survived by her husband Henry who, at the time of her death said:

"Marie's passing was natural and beautiful - like her. We have so long been unified in our three bodies - that there was no wrench, no sense of separation. She and I remain one and go on together. I feel a glorious exaltation that she is going on to higher work and then to get a new body when I hope to woo and win her again - honor beyond belief!"

In 'Marie at the Mill', Joanna translates this sentiment into characteristically captivating lyrics:

"And when my work here is through,

Henry, will you find me anew

a little stranger,

my old friend,

hold me and win me

again and again and again,

all over again,

all over again,

all over again"

The fated quality of the Newsombergs finding their way to one another, and then to a home desgined by a woman whose life shared so many parallels with Joanna's (performer, Nevada City resident, Mills College attendee, etc.), is weaved into the song, picking up on themes of love, death, and rebirth that also permeate so much of her earlier work - especially 'Divers', a record which she has explicitly linked with her feelings about her marriage.

Whilst the thought of Andy being Joanna's 'Henry' - 'wooing and winning' her across multiple lifetimes - may seem a little far-fetched, he put it best himself when he said (during his 'You made it Weird' podcast appearance) "There's things like that, all the time, that I just let myself think because [...] I might as well believe that my life is magical and meant to be wonderful."

I guess it would be tough to be married to Joanna and not feel that way!

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Details of Joanna Newsom's photoshoot for Rodarte SS24

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AAAAAAAAnd there was a booming above you, that night black airplanes flew over the sea. And they were lowing and shifting like beached whales, shelled snails, as you strained and you squinted to see the retreat of their hairless and blind cavalry. You froze in your sand shoal, prayed for your poor soul; sky seemed a bread roll, soaking in a milk-bowl. And when the bread broke — fell in bricks of wet smoke — my sleeping heart woke, and my waking heart spoke. Then there was a silence you took to mean something: mean, Run, sing, for alive you will evermore be. And the plague of the greasy black engines a-skulking has gone east, while you’re left to explain them to me — released from their hairless and blind cavalry. With your hands in your pockets, stubbily running to where I’m unfresh, undressed and yawning — Well, what is this craziness? This crazy talking? You caught some small death when you were sleepwalking. It was a dark dream, darlin; it’s over. The firebreather is beneath the clover. Beneath his breathing there is cold clay, forever: a toothless hound-dog choking on a feather. But I took my fishing pole (fearing your fever), down to the swimming hole, where there grows a bitter herb that blooms but one day a year, by the riverside — I’d bring it here: Apply it gently to the love you’ve lent me. While the river was twisting and braiding, the bait bobbed and the string sobbed, as it cut through the hustling breeze. And I watched how the water was kneading so neatly, gone treacly, nearly slowed to a stop in this heat; frenzy coiling flush along the muscles beneath. Press on me, we are restless things. Webs of seaweed are swaddling. You call upon the dusk of the musk of a squid: shot full of ink, until you sink into your crib. Rowing along, among the reeds, among the rushes, I heard your song, before my heart had time to hush it! Smell of a stonefruit being cut and being opened. Smell of a low and of a lazy cinder smoking And when the fire moves away, fire moves away, son. Why would you say I was the last one? Scrape your knee: it is only skin. Makes the sound of violins. When I cut your hair, and leave the birds all the trimmings, I am the happiest woman among all women. And the shallow water stretches as far as I can see. Knee deep, trudging along — the seagull weeps ‘so long’ — I’m humming a threshing song — Until the night is over, hold on, hold on; hold your horses back from the fickle dawn. I have got some business out at the edge of town, candy weighing both of my pockets down till I can hardly stay afloat, from the weight of them (and knowing how the commonfolk condemn what it is I do, to you, to keep you warm: Being a woman. Being a woman.) But always up the mountainside you’re clambering, groping blindly, hungry for anything; picking through your pocket linings — well, what is this? Scrap of sassafras, eh Sisyphus? I see the blossoms broke and wet after the rain. Little sister, he will be back again. I have washed a thousand spiders down the drain. Spiders’ ghosts hang, soaked and dangling silently, from all the blooming cherry trees, in tiny nooses, safe from everyone — nothing but a nuisance; gone now, dead and done — Be a woman. Be a woman. Though we felt the spray of the waves, we decided to stay, ‘till the tide rose too far. We weren’t afraid, cause we know what you are; and you know that we know what you are. Awful atoll — O, incalculable indiscreetness and sorrow! Bawl bellow: Sibyl sea-cow, all done up in a bow. Toddle and roll; teethe an impalpable bit of leather, while yarrow, heather and hollyhock awkwardly molt along the shore. Are you mine? My heart? Mine anymore? Stay with me for awhile. That’s an awfully real gun. I know life will lay you down, as the lightning has lately done. Failing this, failing this, follow me, my sweetest friend, to see what you anointed, in pointing your gun there. Lay it down! Nice and slow! There is nowhere to go, save up; up where the light, undiluted, is weaving, in a drunk dream, at the sight of my baby, out back: back on the patio, watching the bats bring night in — while, elsewhere, estuaries of wax-white wend, endlessly, towards seashores unmapped. * Last week, our picture window produced a half-word, heavy and hollow, hit by a brown bird. We stood and watched her gape like a rattlesnake and pant and labor over every intake. I said a sort of prayer for some rare grace, then thought I ought to take her to a higher place. Said, “dog nor vulture nor cat shall toy with you, and though you die, bird, you will have a fine view.” Then in my hot hand, she slumped her sick weight. We tramped through the poison oak, heartbroke and inchoate. The dogs were snapping, so you cuffed their collars while I climbed the tree-house. Then how I hollered! Cause she’d lain, as still as a stone, in my palm, for a lifetime or two; then saw the treetops, cocked her head, and up and flew. (While back in the world that moves, often, according to the hoarding of these clues, dogs still run roughly around little tufts of finch-down.) The cities we passed were a flickering wasteland, but his hand, in my hand, made them hale and harmless. While down in the lowlands, the crops are all coming; we have everything. Life is thundering blissful towards death in a stampede of his fumbling green gentleness. You stopped by; I was all alive. In my doorway, we shucked and jived. And when you wept, I was gone; see, I got gone when I got wise. But I can’t with certainty say we survived. Then down and down and down and down and down and deeper, stoke, without sound, the blameless flames, you endless sleeper. Through fire below, and fire above, and fire within, sleep through the things that couldn’t have been, if you hadn’t have been. And when the fire moves away, fire moves away, son. Why would you say I was the last one? All my bones, they are gone, gone, gone. Take my bones, I don’t need none. Cold, cold cupboard, lord, nothing to chew on! Suck all day on a cherry stone. Dig a little hole not three inches round — Spit your pit in a hole in the ground. Weep upon the spot for the starving of me! Till up grows a fine young cherry tree. When the bough breaks, what’ll you make for me? A little willow cabin to rest on your knee. What’ll I do with a trinket such as this? Think of your woman, who’s gone to the west. But I’m starving and freezing in my measly old bed! Then I’ll crawl across the salt flats, to stroke your sweet head. Come across the desert with no shoes on! I love you truly, or I love no-one. Fire moves away. Fire moves away, son. Why would you say I was the last one? Clear the room! There’s a fire, a fire, a fire. Get going, and I’m going to be right behind you. And if the love of a woman or two, dear, could move you to such heights, then all I can do is do, my darling, right by you.

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and though I LONG TO BELIEVE AS I MUDDY MY SLEEVE, AND I STUDY THE WICKED HAP; though i want to revive, SHE WAS NEVER ALIVE, but by the GRACE, and the WILL, and the WHEEL, and the YEN, and the

WICKEDNESS OF MEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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wow handmade posterrrrrr

to be the ones to have seen ⭐️