Amaze: I'm Amazed

Purchase My Morning Jacket's "I'm Amazed"

I have to be honest: I don't really get My Morning Jacket. I like what they do; I appreciate the wide-ranging canvas they use and the infinite mixture of texture, sounds and compositions they spread across it. But, I've never been able to pin down who they are, or more distinctly, what kind of band My Morning Jacket actually can be labeled as or named. Are they folk, are they rock--no, too simple. Are they a jam-band? Are they progressive? Are they...I don't know what to call them.

Then, someone told me: "Man, MMJ is neo-psychedelic. That's all you need to know."

This bit of information came during the lead up to a Pearl Jam gig in Camden, back in 2008. Outside the show, gathering with the faithful in the parking lot, someone was playing MMJ and rather then wonder why he wasn't playing Pearl Jam, my curiosity was piqued. The sound was interesting, the descriptor, more so.

I can agree with that classification. And, strangely, I have since listened to MMJ with a lot more understanding. Neo-psychedelic is a freeing idea, and trying to define what doesn't fit into my readily categorized listening ideals (punk, hard-core, pop-country, metal, hair-metal, etc...) can be more rendered, annotated and analyzed with the addition of that all-encompassing and opportunistic prefix, neo. Attributing the unknowable or category-defying with the label of neo helps the sound make sense, essentially blending the  misunderstood into the realm of "hard to figure but still cool, because, you know, it's "Neo, man. You don't need to understand it; just go with what you feel." And remember, because it's new, it doesn't need to make sense.

Or something along those lines. There's a freedom that comes from ignoring definitions and genre. Music can be tribal, just like politics, fetishes, area codes or passports. It's fun to defy boundaries and traditions, even if the results are confusing. But with music, sometimes confusion leads to the delight of discovery. Or, amazement. As in: amazement at new sounds and the way a band creates a fresh, aural landscape, unlike you've ever traveled through.

I'll admit again, I'm very light on knowledge of MMJ. I haven't gone over the brochures or read the maps closely yet. I'm an unseasoned traveler. And those of you who count yourselves among their (very, very) faithful, I'm probably coming across as a bit of an apostate. My apologies; I'll get there, I promise. There's a lot of ground to cover, so give me some time.

Yet,  as undereducated as I am, I do love MMJ's "I'm Amazed", off their 2008 release, Evil Urges. I saw them perform this on Letterman and was...amazed by the song. There was a great energy to the song, anthemic and urgent, stadium-ready. Up until then, I'd only known one thing about MMJ: they had done an epic cover of the Who's own mini-epic, "A Quick One While He's Away" while touring with Pearl Jam. That version, recorded live in Italy, with Eddie Vedder sharing vocals with MMJ's Jim James, was fervent and faithful to the original and glorious in its celebration of sound, rhythm and movement. When I told a friend (ever allegiant to The Who, as one should be) that I thought MMJ's version of "A Quick One" was actually superior to the original, he refused to pay for the beer he had just said he'd buy me. I admire him for his loyalty, and for sticking to his principles.

There's a familiar sort of giddiness to "I'm Amazed" and the soaring chorus, and equally angelic vocal delivery that revels in the highs and joyful proclamations, down to the vigorous power chords and church organ melody line. It's a great song, the kind that needs to be turned up loud, equally brilliant on the car stereo as it would be live and loud. And what makes the song all the more brilliant is the irony of the lyrics. While the huge-tempo, upbeat major chords would lend a natural happiness to your head bobbing and foot stomping, the song is really about being amazed by the frustrating behaviors of others: the lies we take in without thinking for ourselves, the hypocrisy we swallow from our leaders; the division of our united nation; our misguided devotions and "the lack of faith" and the "love that we're rejectin'." The song traffics in disbelief and incredulity more than the traditional joyousness of amazement. MMJ is using irony of connotation and like the best writing, the title tricks us towards one belief, but  asks the listener to accept a truth that might not be as easily accepted. For a song that came out 10 years ago, it not only sounds fresh, but the sentiment of disbelief at our national discourse and seeming inability to ease our grip on the ideas (anger) we cling to and allow to separate us, is more than pertinent. A simple sentiment, delivered with a deceptively joyful sound.  But sometimes simple is what you need.

Music Festivals: Newport Folk Festival 2012-Dawes

Dawes: A Little Bit of Everything (Live from Newport 2012)
[purchase the album that this song is on]

I have written about the trip that my wife and I took to the Newport Folk Festival back in 2012 a few times. It was our first time there, and it was a great experience, despite the fact that we got rained on both days. At a festival often identified with Bob Dylan, it was fitting that a hard rain did fall, and we unsuccessfully sought shelter from the storm, as we waited for our ship to come in and take us back to our hotel.

But I haven’t written about the moment at the festival that I remember most strongly. It was not a pleasant moment, and I’m willing to bet that my wife will be surprised when she reads this.

I’ve been a lawyer for a long time, and for a while before our Newport trip, I had not been happy at my job. Despite that, I stuck through it, because the pay wasn’t bad, and I had settled into somewhat of a rut—sort of like the one that Nick Lowe wrote about in “Rocky Road” (“The rut I was in had once been a groove”). By the time we went to Newport, the end was in sight, and I was looking for a new gig. I actually spent a good portion of my post-festival Newport vacation reviewing deposition transcripts using the Panera Bread’s free wi-fi (which was better than the hotel’s) for a summary judgment motion to try to stay in the senior partner’s good graces, to keep the paychecks coming in. I did a good job, I think, and I ended up creating a 45 page statement of undisputed facts from my Newport work. We lost the motion, and the trial (which I helped prepare for, but which took place as I was basically out the door.) So, as we were enjoying our time in Newport, I was very uneasy, because I didn’t know how long I would be staying at the firm, and had no alternatives, other than the risk of starting my own law practice.

One of the bands that I was excited to see at the festival was Dawes, a band that seems to have recently evolved into essentially the Newport Festival house band—supporting other musicians who don’t always travel with backup musicians, and often having other performers sit in with them. In fact, that is one big way that Newport differs from the other festival that we have gone to (and which I have written about), the hopefully-returning-in-2017 Clearwater Great Hudson River Revival. Although it does happen at Clearwater (seeing Jason Isbell and Patterson Hood sit in during each other’s solo set was a highlight, and there are other examples), it seems like more of a regular thing at Newport for people to play with each other. This adds a feeling of camaraderie and friendship to the music, and you get to hear interesting, often unique, combinations (like this great version of The Band’s “It Makes No Difference” by My Morning Jacket, with Brittany Howard of Alabama Shakes, from the 2012 festival, that I missed waiting for a ferry to get us out of the rain).

Dawes’ sound is often compared to the Laurel Canyon sound of the 1970s—CSNY, Joni Mitchell, The Byrds, etc., with a bit of Band thrown it. And I also have to believe that they also were influenced by the Uncle Tupelo/Wilco/Son Volt/Jayhawks alt-country sound and artists like Ryan Adams. In keeping with their debt to the great confessional singer-songwriters, their lyrics often plumb emotional topics, which is certainly true about one of my favorite Dawes songs, “A Little Bit of Everything.” The song has three vignettes: the first, focusing on a man planning to jump from a bridge, not for any one reason, but for an accumulation of things, the second about an older man in a buffet line, musing over his life’s disappointments while deciding what to eat, and the third features a woman writing invitations to her wedding, and explaining to her fiancé why she was working so apparently humorlessly on the wedding planning. As the song’s writer, Taylor Goldsmith, explained in an interview, “each verse would provide the phrase with new meaning. In the first verse, it’s used to describe why life’s unlivable, in the second, what it takes to forget, and finally, what matters most about love.”

So, I’m sitting there, watching Dawes, getting toward the end of a great first Newport day, very much enjoying their set, when they launch into “A Little Bit of Everything,” in the version you can hear above. And the next thing I know, tears are streaming down my face. Was I identifying with the suicidal guy who was feeling overwhelmed? With the old guy at the buffet thinking about “when his bright future had left him”? Or the woman who reassured her fiancé about the power of finding the person you truly love? Clearly, it was a little bit of everything, but it affected me so profoundly.

I recovered, though, both at the festival, where we went on to see Amy Helm, Patty Griffin and the beginning of My Morning Jacket before we evacuated, but also professionally. I played out the string at my old job, and in March of 2013, I opened up my own practice. It hasn’t been easy, and there have been struggles, but I’ve learned an enormous amount and have never enjoyed being a lawyer as much.

That all being said, I still get emotional when I hear this song, which, I guess, shows that Mr. Goldsmith knows what he is doing.

Hot: Hot Fun in the Summertime

My Morning Jacket: Hot Fun in the Summertime

[purchase link - free Creative Commons download at archive.org]

Here's a 4-5 year old version of a song originally recorded by Sly and the Family Stone back in '69. The band performing this version is My Morning Jacket and it's a live version from (once again) the Creative Commons servers at archive.org.

This is just one of about 20 songs from what appears to have been a legendary set from this band out of Kentucky (you can check out the rest of the set via the "purchase" link above).

Hell Week: I Think I'm Going to Hell

My Morning Jacket: I Think I'm Going to Hell

[purchase]

I've got My Morning Jacket on the brain today, so it seems apt that I should throw this one up now—the dramatic closer to Jim James & Co.'s excellent debut album from nine years back. This album blew my mind when it came out way back when. I was working in a record store and was bored to no end of all the new stuff surrounding me. I threw this album on with no expectations—actually, since it was on Darla Records, I expected it to be really twee—and subsequently listened to it two or three times daily for about three months. I lived and breathed this album when it came out.

It's strange to listen to The Tennessee Fire now, five albums into MMJ's career. The debut sounds so like yet unlike the rest of the band's output. I remember back in 1999 or 2000, they were on tour and they played the tiny little club I ran in downtown Phoenix; it served no alcohol, held 150 people packed, and doubled as an art gallery. Expecting a folky performance, I added a bunch of mellow bands to the bill—including me! pays to know the promoter, kids. Before they went on, Jim James handed me a copy of Black Sabbath's We Sold Our Souls for Rock and Roll to play over the soundsystem before they went on. Then I saw him pull out the flying V guitar. I knew I and the forty other people there were in for something we weren't expecting. It's so funny think that there might have been a time when you didn't expect My Morning Jacket to rock.

I'm getting off on a tangent as far as "I Think I'm Going to Hell" goes, but since I'm talking about that show: the best part, despite all the rocking, was when James walked off the stage and into the middle of the room—the show was the epitome of intimate, in a small room less than half full—and sang "I Will Be There When You Die" sans band, microphone, or amplification. One of the best concert moments of my life.

Final indulgent tangent: that night the band came to stay with my wife and I in our tiny little house. Our house was so small that one guy slept in their van, as there was literally no room on the living room floor. In the morning, the band was gone and two things were left behind: a tiny little thank-you note stuck to our refrigerator from "My Morning Crack Hit", and a pair of dirty—purple!—underwear on our bathroom floor. If only I had held onto that underwear... coulda made a mint on eBay.