Report on Iron & Wine at the Great Saltair

Iron & Wine last night were wonderful, even though Sam Beam had a cold. Christa and I met up with two of our former London buddies, who told us about being cool Americans at the O2 Wireless Festival this June. Oh, if I only had money!Anyway, Iron & Wine was better in person. Or at least, in person they were so different from the albums that they can't be compared. I was especially entranced by Paul Niehaus on the pedal-steel guitar; he looks like my sorta-uncle Jerry who makes his own mead, and the steel guitar was fascinating. Over all, I felt so folksy that I wanted to burn my bra, wear a kaftan, and go live on a commune. Except that I was born in the eighties, and we don't do that. We have cellphones.
Also featured in my musings last night was the wouldbe faded splendor of the Great Saltair—the Coney Island of the West. In the early twentieth century, it was the greatest attraction west of the Mississippi. When my grandparents went on their first date there, it was a romantic dance spot. Now the interior's stripped and decorated with nineties black paint and blue lights. Bring back the gothic-picturesque ruins celebrated in Carnival of Souls! They would go so well with Iron & Wine's southern gothic music.