SHELTER: ME (LORD)

 At times of terror and turbulence we, as humans, often seek solace or succour from a higher power, quite whatever that might be. And, no, this isn't extending a troll to the many millions who hold dear such an idea, certain of the reality. I get the need, sure, I get the need, even often wishing I could accept what I can't fully embrace. But I don't believe, arguably more agnostic than atheist, but fully respect the want of others to have a faith. So much so that I can absolutely love the musical convictions offered by those with belief and surety. Religious music can move me to tears and frequently does. Here, as the ravages rained down upon Ukraine fill our 24 hour rolling news channels, I feel sure, were I in the maelstrom of Mariupol, that it would be songs like this that would be filling my head.

One could easily assume the above, as performed by Louisiana bluesman Tab Benoit, to be an ancient spiritual, handed down from generation to generation, even brought over on the slave ships, so earthy, rugged and real the entreaty. I certainly assumed so, Benoit having the knack of uprooting the overlooked and arcane to cover for his repertoire of authentic sounding country blues from the bayous. Having a voice like an earthquake and adept workmanlike precision on his guitar certainly hinders little. Hell, if you forgive the use of the word in this context, he just makes you want to believe in his God. (Or, at least, to take the Marc Cohn option, "Ma'am, I am tonight!")

But it isn't an old hymn, as I discovered, coming from a much more recent source. Here, above, is the original version, as appearing on Buddy Miller's 2004 album, Universal House of Prayer. I sometimes feel an overt Christian faith is deemed as disadvantageous in the world of rock and roll, not least as the Devil is said to have the best songs. Well, if that is the case, someone forgot to tell Buddy Miller, hotshot guitarist and record producer, who has played alongside both Robert Plant and Emmylou Harris, and produced, amongst others, Richard Thompson and Patty Griffin. This is as well as having his own solo career and that as a duet, with his wife, Julie, who actually wrote the song featured. Below is a live version, Buddy with three of his famous friends, Emmylou, Patty and, also a recipient of his production work, Shawn Colvin.

Quite apart from the couldn't be clearer lyrical thrust, is the odd fact that this self same song was used as the theme of a TV reality show in the U.S. Named Sons of Guns, it was about the life and business of a gun dealership. Which sorta sits uncomfortably. So, get rid the thought of it selling guns, and concentrate on applying it to losing the guns, and tanks, and bombs, from Ukraine, or, at least, from the hands of Putin's "military exercise". Maybe offered up as a prayer?

Have a last version, this time from Canada's excellent Blackie and the Rodeo Kings, joined here by no less than Mrs Springsteen herself, Patti Scialfa:

Shelter Tab, Buddy and Blackie's.

Prison: Prisoners of Their Hairdos

Christine Lavin: Prisoners of Their Hairdos
[purchase]

My recent run of television-related posts would suggest a discussion of The Prisoner, one of the great TV shows of the 1960s, and one of the first shows designed to blow the viewers’ minds, and I still might, but while it had a theme song (with a great credit sequence), it really wasn’t a music based show.

I’ve also recently written elsewhere about Jason Isbell’s cover of Thin Lizzy’s “Jailbreak,” so that’s out. As I perused my music library, I came across this song, which I hadn’t listened to in years, and which reminded me that you don’t need to be in a cell to be a prisoner.

Christine Lavin has been on the folk scene since the 1980s, and while she has had a long, successful career as a singer-songwriter, she never had the sort of national breakout that some of her contemporaries like Suzanne Vega, Tracy Chapman or Shawn Colvin, although she is incredibly well respected in the folk music world. Lavin writes mostly about relationships, and while she can write seriously, she is probably best known for her sense of humor. Many of her songs are laugh out loud funny. I sometimes wonder if her lack of fame stems from the fact that women folk singers are stereotypically supposed to be sad, tortured souls, and Lavin’s humor prevents her from being taken seriously. But that’s really too bad, because she has consistently written and performed great songs, not all of which are jokey.

In addition, she has long been an incredible supporter of other musicians, playing them on the radio, and working with them. I remember listening to her as the first host of WFUV’s Sunday Breakfast, playing music by artists she liked, sometimes even unreleased tracks. Even after friend (and fellow former WPRB Program Director John Platt) took over the show, Lavin would send him music to play, and she occasionally would sub for him. As much as I loved listening to John, which I don’t get to do as much since the station, in a bad move, pushed him to Sunday evening, when sports, TV, life and dinner usually take precedence (sorry!), it was fun to hear Lavin’s unique style every once in a while.

“Prisoners of Their Hairdos” is on the funny side of Lavin’s musical spectrum, and points out that some people’s coiffures are so distinctive that:

If they changed the way they combed their hair 
They'd never be recognized anywhere 
They're prisoners 

Lavin lists Crystal Gayle, Dorothy Hamill, Don King, Lyle Lovett, Gloria Steinem, Stevie Nicks Leon Redbone, Pee Wee Herman, Tom Wolfe, Pope John Paul, Ted Koppel, and Mary Travers as hairdo prisoners, and I’m sure we could think of more recent ones, since the song was released in 1991. An amateur golfer/more amateur president comes to mind…..

The song points out that ZZ Top are, similarly, prisoners of their beards, and Dolly Parton is a prisoner of her…….wigs. But, on the other hand, the B-52’s beehives, she suggests, are prisoners of the band.

There was a time where I had a great deal of hair, but time and genetics has rendered me almost bald, and now I keep my hair short, for ease of care. Typically, when I go to the barber, she asks me, “what do you want to do?” And my response is usually, “there really isn’t much you can do.” My daughter’s father-in-law (English really needs a word like machatenester or consuegro) shaves his head daily, and has tried to convince me to do the same. I’ve declined, because I don’t want to become a prisoner of my baldness.

Tom Waits Covers: (Looking For) The Heart of Saturday Night

Shawn Colvin: (Looking For) The Heart of Saturday Night
[purchase]

Madeleine Peyroux: (Looking For) The Heart of Saturday Night

[purchase]

Shawn Colvin's mostly-live 1994 covers album Cover Girl marked a key moment in my evolution as a cover fan; it also introduced me to one of Tom Waits' most hopeful, beautiful songs. It's not the strongest cut on the album - a privilege shared by songs originally by The Band, John Prine, Talking Heads and others - but I found Colvin's version of Looking For The Heart Of Saturday Night a gem nonetheless, with that little girl voice and a light acoustic swing offering a nuanced, wistful exploration of the eternal pursuit of the nirvana moment, the perfect meeting of place and time and company of which every barfly dreams.


Then, in 2006, Madeleine Peyroux released her own version - a slow, low cowboy ballad of a song, utterly gorgeous and dripping with late-night drowsiness - and my life was transformed again. And so we see through this, and a thousand other takes from a thousand other jazz-bent female vocalists, how Tom Waits compositions translate so well to the female chanteuse. Writ large, it is a near-universal truth of musical performance: the inevitable feminine counterpart to gruff and gravely was, is, and always has been sultry and smooth. But nowhere does this play out better than in Tom Waits coverage, in this coverblogger's opinion.

Trouble: Trouble (x3)

So many songs are just called "Trouble" - seems the word itself is sufficient to set the stage for artists aching to address the challenges and pain of life. We started the week with a cover of the Little Feet song of the same name; as we come to the end of our theme, here's three more favorites, none of them in their original form, all of them relatively rare and hard to find, even as their original versions are likely familiar to the average audiophile.

Shawn Colvin: Trouble (live)

[out of print; purchase used]

According to chart data and Amazon, Shawn Colvin's 1996 popfolk opus A Few Small Repairs is her best-selling album; it spawned her highest charting single, and garnered two Grammys, for Song and Album of the Year, two years after its relese. But I saw Shawn long before the world saw her coming, on a small stage in a cramped Cambridge coffeehouse, and to me, her best songs have always been the delicate ones, where her little-girl voice and the raw lyrical distance she draws from a portrayed world of pain shine through in their simplest form.

This version of Colvin's Trouble offers the best of both worlds: the song has its origin on A Few Small Repairs, yet here we hear it live, with Colvin's voice able to crackle with the energy of the late-nineties Lilith Fair audience who saw her as both a headline act and an icon of female empowerment. But after all that, it's not so different from the studio version: listen, and you can hear the album arrangement coming through, proving once again how vital the support of Colvin's cowriter, producer, and musical partner John Leventhal is to her commercial success.

The Holmes Brothers: Trouble (Cat Stevens cover)

[purchase]

Everyone knows who Cat Stevens is, though sadly, in a world where religion is a dirty word, many modern audiences know him less as a poetic seeker and more as the seventies artist who converted to Islam after an apocryphal near-death experience and disappeared from the scene for decades. But proud folk artists and others still cover the man's greatest works, most of which date from his delicately textured acoustic period between '69 and '77, and since Trouble was there at the beginning - it's originally found on Mona Bone Jakon, which gets much less in the way of play or props than Stevens' two subsequent discs, Tea For The Tillerman and Teaser and the Firecat - I have several versions of this seminal tune on my hard drive, including this one, featuring the Holmes Brothers' raspy blues harmonies, originally found on the Crossing Jordan soundtrack.

Mutual Admiration Society: Trouble (Jon Brion cover)

[purchase]

Mutual Admiration Society was a one-shot collaboration formed out of LA's Largo, a club which for decades has been a mainstay of the LA singer-songwriter scene. The band's single, self-titled album was rehearsed and recorded in a six day period in 2000, and eventually released in 2004 on bluegrass label Sugar Hill, possibly due to the rising name-brand recognition of the trio of young musicians who play alongside Toad The Wet Sprocket founder and frontman Glen Phillips here - Sara Watkins, Sean Watkins, and Chris Thile, a group you probably know as Nickel Creek.

The album contains two covers, both relevant to our theme this week: a delightfully gypsy-folk take on Harry Nillson's Think About Your Troubles, and this one, originally penned and performed by Jon Brion, arguably the central figure in the Largo scene, and sadly best known outside of that for penning the soundtracks to several films, including Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Magnolia, Boogie Nights, and, embarrassingly, Popeye, starring Shelly Duval and Robin Williams, neither of whom are known for their singing, and for good reason.

Today, of course, Glen, Sean, and Sara still play and record together as part of Works Progress Administration, another on-again off-again collaboration who released their own one-shot album in 2009. And Largo? It still functions as a locus for the likes of Aimee Mann, Brion, Phillips, and others; I'm still hoping to make it out someday, to see the scene at play.

You First: You Ain't Goin' Nowhere

Bob Dylan & The Band: You Ain't Goin' Nowhere

[purchase]

Bob Dylan (with Happy Traum): You Ain't Goin' Nowhere

[purchase]

Nitty Gritty Dirt Band (with Roger McGuinn and Chris Hillman): You Ain't Going Nowhere

[purchase]

Shawn Colvin, Mary Chapin Carpenter, and Roseanne Cash: You Ain't Goin' Nowhere

[purchase]

Cracker (with Adam Duritz and Joan Osborne): You Ain't Going Nowhere

[purchase]

Folks who know me well know that my current favorite pastime is sitting around with other musicians playing and singing songs. In the past few years, I've found several groups of people to play with on a regular or semi-regular basis. With every group, I've brought this old Dylan song. Some people know it, some don't, but it always goes over well. It's easy to play (just three chords), fun to sing, and offers plenty of room for solos.

Dylan first recorded it with what became the Band during his 1967 Woodstock time-out, but the first released version was by the Byrds, who countrified it for their groundbreaking Sweetheart of the Rodeo the following year. Bob's version was eventually released on The Basement Tapes in 1975, but before that, he recorded a radically different version with Happy Traum on banjo for his Greatest Hits, Vol. 2 album (complete with a dig at Roger McGuinn for messing up the lyrics on the Byrds' version).

Since then, the song has been covered by many, and it's usually the Byrds' version that's followed, and that's the template used by The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band (with Byrds Roger McGuinn and Chris Hillman), Cracker (with Adam Duritz and Joan Osborne) and the trio of Shawn Colvin, Mary Chapin Carpenter, and Roseanne Cash.

Parentheses: This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)

Shawn Colvin: This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)

[purchase]

Home is where you hang your hat. Home is where they have to let you in. Home is where the heart is. Home Sweet Home. There's no place like home...

Home is less a physical location and more a state of mind - home is where you feel comfortable and loved and wanted...

I have left one home in South Florida for another in the hills of New York - I departed with deep kisses and I will arrive to warm hugs (Boyhowdy and Darius and Fil, oh my!), to name but a few I look forward to crossing paths with this weekend...

I still have never heard the original Talking Heads song, but as soon as I listened to Shawn Colvin's version on her Cover Girl CD, it quickly became a favorite - it defines home (i.e. love) as valuable yet vulnerable, faithful yet fleeting, secure yet sensitive...

We who have it, wherever however whoever, realize how lucky we are and how little we can take it for granted - we count our blessings while keeping a vigil...

Home is where I want to be
But I guess I'm already there

All Apologies: I’ll Say I’m Sorry Now

Shawn Colvin: I‘ll Say I‘m Sorry Now

[purchase]

Often, “I’m Sorry” means “I’ll change and try to undo what I have done”. But there also times when it simply means “I wish things had gone differently.” I’ll Say I’m Sorry Now finds Shawn Colvin’s narrator facing the fact that her relationship is doomed. She knows she can’t fix it, but she’s not quite ready to give it up entirely. She wants to apologize while she still can. And she does so beautifully. The arrangement on this one is suitably spare. There is no way to dress up what she has to say, no way to make it easier to take.

Live: The Only Living Boy In New York

Shawn Colvin: The Only Living Boy In New York

[see Shawn on tour]
[purchase Shawn's "official" live albums Cover Girl and Live]

This Simon and Garfunkel cover, recorded at a Philadelphia concert in August of 2001 just a month before the world changed irrevocably in the wake of 9/11, has long been one of my favorite coversongs, hands down. Some of that is the performance - it's hard not to hear the hope and despair, the loneliness and love in this song come together perfectly in Shawn Colvin's sweet, soaring vocals. But some of it is the context, the pure coincidental combination of time and space, my favorite folksinger in the prime of her pre-pop career, the innocence we all felt just before the skies came crumbling down: the plane in the first line, the lonely city of the lyrics, the sentiment of saying that we're all gone half of the time, and we don't know where, but here I am, alive and grounded...

For me, it's personal. I had a friend of sorts on the second plane to hit the World Trade Centers on 9/11 - a fact I only discovered after I had spent the morning watching his soaring coffin smash into an office building over and over and over again on TV, without knowing it was him in that metal and glass. Like so many coworkers, he was one of those friends that was always on the verge of becoming closer, except life kept getting in the way - in fact, we were due to head out for a drink the week afterwards, our first true outing outside of work, but to be honest, we had cancelled a couple of dates in the months before, and there's good chance we might not have made it then, either.

Music hits us funny, sometimes; I have no idea how all this stuff got tangled up in this song, this performance, this moment for me in the first place. But I can say that listening to this song - any version or performance, really, but this one especially - hurts, now. And I'm sorry, in a way, though we need sad songs as much as we need happy ones, perhaps more.

But it will always and forever be my best way of remembering my almost-friend, of thinking about the worlds that could have been. I will forever hear it in my head when I see the towers fall, in photos and on video. And since the world will never forget, I will never forget my friend, either, I guess.

And for that, I offer it back to the world. With thanks for the time we have, though it is never as much as we hope it will be.

We miss you, Chris.