The day started poorly, but has improved some. As happens every year, we were taken by surprise by the first cold night. Heather woke me at 5:30 to announce that the pipes had frozen. We got the water running just in time for the kids to brush their teeth before school. I have that tingly pink-around-the-edges of my field of vision thing I get when I don’t get nearly enough sleep, but I opted for coffee instead of getting back under the covers.
I have a nice fire blazing now, and have just paid a visit to the herd, which is some distance away in a pasture I don’t usually use. My boots crunched brightly as I ambled out there, and was pleased to be accompanied by Marshmallow, our most sociable tomcat. He enjoys my company, I think, and I am sure he really loves the attention he gets from the calves, who get so excited when chasing him they get into that crazy bucking and kicking sideways mode.
The WW Norton tumblr posted the Paul Simon video above today, the anniversary of John Lennon’s death. I was familiar with the song, but it never really registered. Until now.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been reading about Mr. Ace, or maybe because during the 1981 Central Park performance of this song Simon is accosted by a crazed fan (“I gotta talk to you, I gotta talk to you”), a heart-stopping echo of Lennon’s death, but this video clip hit me pretty hard.
And maybe there are more personal reasons, having to do with my own losses over the years–of family members and close friends. Maybe that’s what’s at the root of the sometimes over-the-top public mourning of a famous person–a JFK, a John Lennon, a Lady Di or Michael Jackson. Or even a more subdued sadness at the demise of an almost famous person … such as the late great Johnny Ace. I can’t really say. But today I think this is a great song.
On a cold December evening
I was walking through the Christmas tide
When a stranger came up and asked me
If I’d heard John Lennon had died
And the two of us went to this bar
And we stayed to close the place
And every song we played
Was for The Late Great Johnny Ace, yeah
“I have my own army in the NYPD, which is the seventh biggest army in the world.”
–Mayor Mike. See also this
“No one is arguing for rule of law as we once knew it. Rather, it’s a fight between those espousing martial rule of law and those espousing unilateral intelligence ops.”
–Marcy Wheeler, The Rule of Martial Law Vs. the Unitary Spookery
According to the study’s authors, the United States’ poor performance and relatively slow improvement compared with other nations may be attributable to “the lack of universal coverage and high costs of care.”
—U.S. Ranks Last Among High-Income Nations on Preventable Deaths
“Still, the world is watching a geopolitical game of chicken: Western powers are raising the stakes, threatening economic warfare and even kinetic military action unless Iran backs down; Iran believes it can withstand whatever the West and Israel is plausibly going to throw at it, and is firing symbolic warning shots of its own. To avoid an escalation that could lead to war, both sides would have to be offered acceptable off-ramps. But that takes diplomacy, which isn’t exactly in vogue in Western relations with Iran, right now.”
–Tony Karon, After the Embassy Attack: Are Iran and the West Lurching Toward War?
Have been immersed lately in Preston Lauterbach’s The Chitlin’ Circuit, And the Road to Rock ‘n’ Roll. Yesterday afternoon, I grabbed it off the “new nonfiction” shelf and flipped through while the kids played on the Boyle County Library computers; kept reading last night; and woke up at 5 a.m. to stoke the wood stove and finish the book. It’s terrific. Can’t recommend it highly enough.
Google around for summaries and reviews. Robert Christgau has a good one here. I just wanted to share this excerpt, which was shocking and amazing to me, about the early days of Little Richard’s and James Brown’s careers, in and around Macon, Georgia. The two were close. Despite being upstaged dramatically one night by James and the Famous Flames (after which Richard conceded, “You’re the onliest man I’ve seen who has everything”), Richard’s career would be the first to take off, and led to Brown actually performing AS Little Richard!
Little Richard’s abrupt departure for the West Coast after the “Tutti Frutti” session left [Legendary Chitlin’ Circuit promoter Clint] Brantley with a problem, namely, unfulfilled bookings. So for a few weeks during the Fall of 1955 around Georgia, you could see James Brown as Little Richard, and Bobby Byrd as James Brown with the Flames. Brantley plugged James right into Richard’s gigs, touring with Richard’s Upsetters, traveling in a station wagon adorned with Richard’s name and song titles. James took it in stride, teasing about Richard’s magical ability to perform in two places at the same time. Emcee Luke Gonder worked the joke into his nightly introduction of the band on stage. After rattling through the lineup, he reached the star of the show.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the hardest-working man in show business today–Little Richard.”
Well, at least JB got a pretty good nickname out of his tribute band gig.
Later, apparently, as per Wikipedia, James again took Richard’s tour slots when the architect of rock n roll turned to preaching in 1957. Their careers were so intertwined, it’s sort of surprising that there are few images of them together. The screen capture of their appearance on Wheel of Fortune was the best Google Images could come up with….. which fact alone makes me want to smile and weep at the same time.
Were you familiar with Ole Rasmussen and His Nebraska Cornhuskers? I was not, not really.
Maybe I’m guilty of being sentimental, but stumbling upon something like this, a shit-hot version of “Stay a little longer” by a band I had never heard of, except an accidental glance at the liner notes on the Swing West! compilation I borrowed from the library, ripped, and then forgot about…. well, it just makes me think that there was a time in America when there were acts this good playing in bars and nightclubs across the country, in small towns and medium-sized meccas like Bakersfield. Once upon a time, America really rocked, and there were dozens if not hundreds of regional scenes. All featuring musicians with major choppage.
Now, by way of contrast,I present to you Exhibit B, the great Willie sharing the stage with a pair of, shall we say, lesser talents. I think a case can be made for Mr. Keith, but the other guy…. check out from 1:00 to 1:10 and, well, that’s just how far we’ve fallen….
This whole Best of the Year thing strikes me as a little contrived.
As with any year, my ITunes was as likely to be playing Serge Gainsbourg or June Christie, Johnny Burnett or Wynn Stewart, as anything released in the current year. But for some reason, in 2010 I got to sample what Everyone Was Talking About. Thank the Internet, my Emusic subscription (still *this* close to canceling – as ever), worthwhile music sites like Stereogum and Music For Ants mixtapes, not to mention Amazon’s selling many of the year’s top albums for $3.99 or less for a few weeks before Christmas. (For that last counterintuitive marketing ploy, thanks and praise to the vanity of musicians obsessing over units sold, regardless of price).
Anyway … no! I am not a professional music critic, if such a profession still exists–nor do I play one on TV. But here are 10 or so good songs and/or albums, just in case you’ve run out of lists to scan.
This is the first time I’ve compiled such a list. And attention, Jezebel editors! Nearly all of my picks feature women! Either as singers, distaff halves of duets (not sure I used “distaff” right there), or … um … bands with girl bass players. I mean nothing by this, or I don’t think I do. (And my record collection in high school was, like, ALL dudes. So maybe I’m evolving.)
Herewith, in no particular order, a mix of song choices and album choices with a couple of just-because-they’re-cool-videos at the end.
PJ Harvey, The Last Living Rose. I love the video as much as the song, ever so English and elegaic. Another new direction for the mercurial Polly.
Cradle, The first of two in my series featuring Welsh women of song, from the aptly named Joy Formidable!
… and the second, Marina and the Diamonds. This is probably the least watched of Marina’s many videos this year, and perhaps not the best song from her altogether amazing album … but this video! Lingerie! Zombies! Thriller homage!
Matt & Kim, AM/FM Sound. I very much enjoyed the Lessons Learned video, where they frolicked naked through Times Square. (“Tourists walk through Times Square inappropriately dressed for the weather.”) Just in case they are stuck for ideas: DO THAT ONE AGAIN!
Best Coast, I Wish I Was Your Boyfriend. I liked some other songs from Crazy for You better, but what a sweet video! The album is great top to bottom, and for me stayed that way for many months after I first heard it. Very high concept, though. As with Sleigh Bells, I imagine there will be whisperings about what they will do for an encore. As with Sleigh Bells, I think it will be something terrific.
Arcade Fire, Sprawl II Mountains Beyond Mountains. OK. Everyone liked this one, but occasionally everyone gets it right.
Superchunk, Digging for Something. Liked ’em, but didn’t love ’em in their heyday, but I played this song more times in my 1995 Camry Wagon this summer than any other except for Rill Rill. Seriously LOL video.
Cults, Go Outside. Ew, that icky Jim Jones intro–what is the point of that?–but what a beautiful tune. More cowbell? Nay! More GLOCKENSPIEL!
‘Allo Darlin’ – I adore the self-titled album as a whole more than this, or any, particular song. Unashamedly emotion-laden, a tad on the twee side, and wise beyond their years. I am also in love with the singer’s Queensland inflections. Lips. Silly. Telephone. Teddy Bear. Bondi Beach and Coogee Bay. (“I like the sound of their names”). I also turn slightly morose at an earlier song of theirs, a simple uke-strumalong called Tallulah. “I’m wondering if/I’ve already heard /All the songs that’ll mean something.”
You should not be thinking such thoughts at such a young age. And the answer is no.
Lykke Li, Get Some. At first underwhelmed by the line “I’m your prostitute. You’re gonna get some.” But then just gave in to the thumping drive of this song, her awkward yet intense body language, and the way she bites her lip with such determination. This girl is scary talented. A whole album coming this year!
Sleigh Bells, Infinity Guitars. I’ve seen a few reviews stating that the Sleigh Bells sound is not a lot more than an audacious, jokey gimmick, but the staying power of that sound is impossible to overstate. Favorite album of the year.
Weepies, Please Speak Well of Me. Special guest appearance by a pair of grownups. Gorgeously understated, modest in scope and sentiment, this song resonated hugely with me in a year where I had to deal with some major people in my life not being there anymore. That might not entirely be what it’s about, but I took it that way….
Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffitti, Round and Round. The only dude singer in this whole bunch, and it would have to be a guy who elsewhere sings “Make me maternal, fertile woman/Make me menstrual, menopause man/Rape me, castrate me, make me gay/Lady, I’m a lady from today.” This song diddles around for nearly two minutes, then becomes a thing of beauty. The two-minute mark is also where this inspired unofficial vid kicks into high gear.
Yeasayer, Madder Red. This will gross you out a little, and might make you cry. It also might give you newfound admiration for Kristen Bell’s acting chops.
Trying to catch up on the myriad “Best Of” lists for 2010. I’ve found at least one silver lining from this sustained, soul-crushing recession: There are a lot of smart, tasteful people who stay at home listening to music a lot, and writing about it on their blogs.
My favorite source for the past three or four months has been Music For Ants . They do lovely mp3 mixes, some seasonal, others thematic (one dedicated to the iconic Boom! Boom boom, cha! drumbeat). They are terrific curators, amateurs in the good, French sense of the word. And they are apparently heavily into a Zoolander cult of some sort. Which is also good.
Below, a video from Phantogram, a duo based in Saratoga Springs, New York, one of the many revelations from Music For Ants’ 50 Songs for 2010 list.
Amy Rigby has been the source of much musical joy for me since I discovered her, way too late, about a decade ago. “Knapsack,” “Dancing with Joey Ramone,” “Keep It to Yourself,” “Like Rasputin,” “Balls,” “The Summer of My Wasted Youth.” Any of these would be a career-defining achievement for a singer-songwriter, but she has dozens more.
Born in Pittsburgh, Amy spent much of her career in the New York music scene, and now resides in a hickish region of la belle France. I know it is hickish because I read Amy’s blog, where her brainy, cynical (and yet romantic) wit is in evidence in every entry.
She writes of the joys and frustrations of being a musical act of a certain age, of living in rural France, dealing with rude bureaucrats and check-out girls. In one entry she lends her unique perspective to some subtle distinctions of French life
It’s comprehending the difference between “péypère” – sort of semi-retired, laidback, easygoing (masculin) and “mémère” slovenly, letting-it-all-go, sluttish, bad-humored (feminin) and ideally, straddling the two because going in the one direction is boring and going too far in the other direction is depressing.
Of course, she is still a working musician, and much of the blog deals with touring … typically in unreliable vehicles, and always nowadays with her current love and musical partner, Stiff Records legend Wreckless Eric. In her latest entry, she tells of having to conduct a phone interview with Herald Scotland while broken down on the A1. Trucks whizzing by. “Cannae you talk now?”
Most musicians, confronted with the fact that their audience, loyal and discerning as it is, will never grow large enough to make them rich and famous, or even financially secure, decide at some point to call it a day. Amy’s blog is a beautiful account of the highs and lows of keeping at it into your fifties, of saying “fuck that. There is nothing else I’d rather be doing.”
I will now refrain from saying how great her blog is and just let the reader sample for his or her damn self:
Wish we could’ve hung around in Scotland – in between Glasgow or Edinburgh, two of my favorite cities. Instead we had to head on down to Hyde. The promoter called and said the pub had been broken into the night before. He jokingly said maybe that would bring more people out, so they could get a look at the crime scene. We should have known right there it was going to be a tough night. From the barbed wire and old tires around the junkyard entrance next door, to the dogshit scattered across the astro-turfed pub “garden”, to the load-in up a wet metal fire escape because the police were busy dusting the inside stairs for fingerprints, to the leftover scraps of astroturf covering the surface of the stage, to the panicky soundman, to the greasy yet sticky surface of everything in the place – it was hard not to feel depressed. You know you’re in trouble when you look to the resident heckler for affirmation.
But next night was wonderful, Kitchen Garden Cafe in Birmingham – like being in a weird aunt’s living room. Odd garden furniture, slate on the floor and a relaxed feeling. We’d played there once before and saw familiar faces this time. It felt like everyone was on our side. The only thing that had changed was that the copy of Tim Rice’s autobiography, a massive tome I’d used as a keyboard bench booster seat last time, was missing from the bookshelf. I had to make do with a hardback copy of Beach Music.
Now we’re in the Norfolk countryside, taking a rest until Brighton, London and Manchester – tomorrow, Friday and Saturday (and Winchester on Tuesday). I often feel like Bonnie and Clyde where they hole up at CW Moss’s dad’s place when we stop for a few days out on the road. A couple of steps ahead of the law, somewhere on the sliding scale between doomed and most wanted.
Marina had me with her funny, pitch perfect “OH MY GOD, You look just like Shakira, No no, you’re Katherine-Zeta…..” schtick on “Hollywood.” And “Hollywood infected your brain/You want to kiss it in the rain” is a terrific line, too.
And that crazy voice. Hyperactive, whoopy, insane range. “What a pair of lungs! She shrieked as I imagined an eagle would shriek. It felt wonderful to be alive to hear it! I’ve gone looking for that feeling everywhere.” (That’s Denis Johnson in an entirely different, but applicable, context.)
Her songwriting can be a bit Big Statement-y, but she’s young. Let it pass. If all divas were this funny and clever, and had such great songs, the world would be a better place.
This video for “Shampain” makes it five official videos and counting for her first album. It’s got zombies in sexy party frocks doing a spazzy dance routine that owes at least a little bit to Thriller. What is not to like?
