Keepsake (Compass), Elizabeth Ziman’s fourth record, began when her landlord was considering jacking up the rent and she had to move across the street into a tiny apartment, far away from her recording gear and the baby grand piano on which she loved to write. Or it began when she started keeping a dream journal, writing down snippets of visions in the middle of the night, or first thing in the morning on awakening. Or it began when she started leafing through old journals and diaries, little half-finished snatches of lyrics and couplets and freewriting, and tried to see if she could shape them through to some kind of completion. Well, who’s to say where anything begins or ends? But for Ziman, who records as Elizabeth And The Catapult, Keepsake was definitely a milestone record—the end of one thing, and the beginning of something else. Ziman will be guest editing magnetmagazine.com all week. Read our new feature on her.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xrtWCR2AvTs
Ziman: I often feel when watching stand-up that there’s a lack of vulnerability, especially with male comics. Guess it’s the easy and expected route to come out confident, guns blazing, maybe a bit angry and ready to make fun of some shit. (If there’s self deprecating stuff, it’s more for laughs than to make a meaningful point, so there’s not much emotional range.) It’s rarer to find someone who will really expose himself in a serious way. But in 3 Mics, Neal Brennan does just that. He had the brilliant idea to set up three microphones—one for crafted jokes, one for serious stuff, the last for one-liners. His accounts of his depression, his up-and-down career and his relationship with his father laid out a rich emotional backdrop for the rest of his act and was incredibly moving. I’d never seen Neal Brennan before this, and I’m really glad I did.
