I always breathe a big sigh of relief when Election Day is over, even if all of my candidates didn’t win. KKafa offered up a song commemorating FDR’s 1936 visit to Trinidad. That got me thinking about a song recorded by Billy Cox one week after the election in that same year. “We've Got Franklin D. Roosevelt Back Again” was also recorded by the New Lost City Ramblers on their “Songs from the Depression” album. On there, it’s titled “Franklin Roosevelt's Back Again.”
For this exercise, I’m linking to an old video from a Norman and Nancy Blake concert. I don’t know if they ever put this song out on an LP or CD. If you like the music of Norman and Nancy, here’s even another song they wrote and sang with a political message called “Don’t Be Afraid of the NeoCons.”
I was wondering why some of our elected officials end up
being well-remembered by their initials. You don’t have to be a great historian
to know who JFK, LBJ or FDR are, but no one knows Lincoln (arguably equally well-known)
as AL. You may well know Bush senior as George H.W. Bush, but you’d be among
the elite who could tell us what both the H and W stand for, I suspect.
Name-“plays” related to my posting this week don’t end there.
My choice of song this week is a song originally composed by a Fizt MacLean (and
that is not a typo). You would be forgiven for wanting to go searching for a “Fritz”.
In fact, there is a YouTube take of the great musicologist Ry Cooder getting
the name wrong just before he performs one of MacLean’s songs with David
Lindley. [after the fact edit: it wasnt Ry with D Lindley and it wasnt Fizt Maclean: It was "Fizz" Fuller and Jackson Browne with David Lindley, but the FDR info appears to remain correct. Sorry.]
Ry Cooder performed the first version I ever heard of my choice of song
this week on “Into the Purple Valley”, and other sources indicate that, among
others, Van Dyke Parks has also done the song. However, Attila the Hun (nee
Raymond Quevedo), calypso musician from Trinidad, first popularized the song in order to
commemorate FDR’s 1936 visit to Trinidad. Wikipedia tells us that Attila the
Hun championed the poor and eventually made it into politics in Trinadad. It isn’t
too hard to see from the lyrics of the song why Quevedo might have latched on:
(for the suffering humanity) and attention from the foremost republic espousing
it (to make the world safe for democracy).
Bad officials are the ones elected by good citizens who do not vote.
George Jean Nathan
It would have been punk for The Move to have released "Vote For Me" in 1967, the year it was recorded. The band had just been sued for libel by Prime Minister Harold Wilson for producing a cartoon showing Wilson in bed with his secretary in a promotional postcard for their hit single "Flowers In The Rain".
Prime Minister Harold Wilson
The band lost in court. Badly. Every penny they made off the UK #2 single went to the charities of Mr. Wilson's choice. The band probably lost millions of pounds.
Again it was 1967. Not 1977. So in a manner that could hardly be considered punk, The Move shelved this delightfully edgy pop tune until it appeared on a compilation in 1997.
The Del McCoury Band released their 2008 “Moneyland” album with only one intention in mind – to send a clear message to Washington’s politicians. “Over the last couple of decades, you have turned Rural America into a scene of devastation which can best be described as 'Forgotten America.' Not only do we believe it 'un-American' for Washington to be blind to the problems of small towns and rural America, we believe it immoral ... and there are an ever-growing number of us out here who are ready to stand up against this corrupt neglect of our culture and people."
McCoury’s album opens with an excerpt from one of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Depression-era fireside chats espousing a "broader definition of liberty" that allows more freedom and security for the average man than ever known before. Then, the advice in Bernard "Slim" Smith's 1932 rendition of "Bread Line Blues" is to “Vote away those blues, the bread line blues.” It’s great advice, and we have until next Tuesday to have our say on which direction we take for the next four years.
Think about what it was like in the 1920s and 30s. Following the 20s’ economic boom, our country experienced the Great Depression. As many rural Americans hadn’t exactly prospered during the boom years, they’d been hit with a double whammy. In this day and age a century later, it’s fun to relate to those songs recorded before and after the 1929 market crash. In many cases, their messages are still relevant. You certainly don’t need to wear a size-8 hat to understand straightforward lyrics like:
The mule said, “Elephant, it ain’t no joke.
We gotta do somethin' or we're all gonna croak.”
Ain’t got nothin' but a car load of tax,
And the doggone load is just breakin’ our backs.
We got the blues, the bread line blues.
Songs like “Bread Line Blues” don’t deserve to be relegated to historical musical archives full of wax and cylinders. That’s exactly why groups like the New Lost City Ramblers and Del McCoury Band have recorded this kind of material in more recent times. McCoury’s 2008 remake also featured Mac Wiseman, Tim O'Brien, Gillian Welch and David Rawlings along with additional lyrics.
After listening to the newer remake of "Breadline Blues 2008," we’re still left wondering about various moral dilemmas and whether there are any clear-cut answers. Some folks despair and remain pessimistic, but I’d just say that songs like “Bread Line Blues” are a call to action. Tongue-in-cheek social commentary of "Bread Line Blues" between the long-eared mule and the big-mouthed elephant is still relevant today. The message to all politicians is clarion. Start talking, collaborating, compromising and working on our Nation’s problems. Whether you’re "red" or "blue," think about the current state of all Americans, their communities, and their livelihoods. We need more than corn that’s “all cob.” FDR was optimistic, and we should be too. Still timely today, FDR's advice was to overcome our arduous burdens and economic calamities by retaining our faith in our ability to master our own destiny.
As politicians tout their respective visions for America, most of us just want a small piece of opportunity to achieve the American dream. By getting to the ballot box, you’ll help the country determine the way ahead. As the original "Bread Line Blues" stated so profoundly eighty years ago, "And when you place your vote / Please don't vote wrong / Vote away those blues / The bread line blues." Moreover, when the general election is all over and done with, I look forward to that time again when we can “all have fun and better home brew.”
Link removed at the request of the copyright owner.
I’m sitting here in my house in suburban New York, unable to get to work because the trains aren’t running. It’s raining and windy and I’m watching the President of the United States addressing emergency issues sharing a split screen with a video of churning waves. So far, things are OK here, but it is early in what is supposed to be a massive, long lasting and dangerous storm. I’m working remotely today, but am taking a break to post.
“Disasters” is a good theme for this week. The media and government officials have been talking about the potential dire effects of this storm for days, and in our current environment, if they are right, no one will give anyone credit, and if they overstated the risk, they will be mocked, and the next time, more people will ignore the warnings and put themselves in danger. This morning, I saw a report on the news about people who have ignored “mandatory evacuation orders.” Then, I guess, it really wasn’t mandatory, was it?
I had a bunch of different ideas for this week, from natural disasters—floods, hurricanes, cyclones, to man-made disasters—wars, famine, genocide, to alien and zombie attacks. But, when you come down to it, there is no bigger disaster than the end of the world, as we know it. I’ve been posting here for almost a year without repeating artists, and I did post an R.E.M. cover of Leonard Cohen a couple of weeks ago. But I’m going to argue that the Cohen cover was a “bonus” song, and not the focus of the previous post, so this isn’t a repeat. (As Marshall Eriksen, of How I Met Your Mother would say, “Lawyered!!”)
This is a great song, although the lyrics, in typical R.E.M. style, are difficult to make sense of. But the brilliance of R.E.M., especially in their early-middle periods, was that they were able to convey a mood or emotion without lyrics that were easily understood. Even the lyrics sites on the Internet don’t agree on all of them. I have a vague recollection of seeing this performed on TV once, and Michael Stipe needed to have a music stand with the lyrics available to him, presumably because there are just so damn many of them.
In the summer of 1988, my then-fiancée and her cousin Hilary were driving up to Connecticut to prepare for our wedding. The temperatures in the northeast that week approached those on the surface of Venus, and they drove together, listening to music and singing, including “End of the World,” which was still a pretty new song. Hilary, who was the maid of honor, cleverly worked the song into her toast at the wedding. So, despite the dire message, the song has some very happy connotations to me.
The wind is picking up, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed. I feel fine.
Sandy is barreling down upon us here in the upper East Coast, and our home is quite rural, with a fragile power grid presence; as such, I may not have much time before the lights go out. But after a major post on songs that use the metaphor of the storm over at Cover Lay Down yesterday, I find myself left with a long list of "other" disaster songs just waiting to be shared. And a quick dip into the archives reveals one of my favorites has never been posted here, though its emotional potency easily rivals the more than a dozen songs we've previously shared from its creator.
Richard Shindell's original version of Money For Floods, recorded and released in 1997 on Reunion Hill, may be couched in the floodwaters, but it isn't so much a natural disaster song as it is a rich, layered tale of poverty and underclass desperation, really - a nuanced complaint about how the obvious and media-ready environmental disaster brings a kind of politicized attention to its victims that others desperately need in their daily lives, but never seem to garner. The fluid bass and guitar run through it like the river of its lyrics, smothering the voice of its narrator as she drowns; the combined effect of instrumentation, arrangement, and narrative is powerful, indeed, and it demonstrates aptly just why we post Shindell's work so much here at SMM.
But We're About 9's a capella take is stark and eerie, stripping away that river, and replacing it with the echoing silences of the deserted soul. Its hopelessness and exhaustion may be framed differently, but they are no less real.
And so I pass along Shindell's sentiment in both forms, as a reminder to us all: disaster comes in all types, to all people; those that watch silently when the trucks pass by their houses are no less needy, and no less ours. May those who weather the storm find community and support, in all cases. And may we remember them, when the storm has passed.
On January 2, 2006, an explosion shook the Sago Mine in West Virginia. Thirteen men were trapped. This song is a tribute to the men who perished in that disaster. The credits at the end of the video indicate that the song called “They Were Not Alone” was recorded in Nashville in 2006 by GuyMon & McCann. That song and video were just their own personal way of remembering and honoring everyday guys like those 12 West Virginians: Martin Toler Jr., David Lewis, Marshall Winans, Alva Martin Bennett, Jesse Jones, George 'Junior' Hamner, Tom Anderson, Fred Ware, Terry Helms, Jerry Groves, Jim Bennett, and Jackie Weaver. Randy McCloy was the sole survivor.
I was similarly moved by the tragedy and wrote a song called “Pitch Black by the Ton.” If interested, you can read more about it here. That song tells about the events that unfolded in the miners’ final hours. As the oxygen dwindled, foreman Toler’s last words, scratched on a note, were “Tell all. I see them on the other side. It wasn’t bad. I just went to sleep. I love you.” Just letting their families know that they didn’t suffer was a blessing.
Songs like these pay homage to these hardworking, proud men. Toler’s wife kindly wrote to thank me for my song and said, “Although days may be lonely, I have the secure knowledge that I will see him again.” With improved safety measures in the mines, let’s hope this kind of tragic event never happens again.
How about this saying: One man’s misfortune is another man’s
gain. Agree?
I got started on this train of thought (no pun initially
intended) on account of my choice for a “Disaster” song. Although my current formal
US residence is in the Northwest, I spent a fair amount of time in Greensboro,
NC. There, I imbibed a certain amount of Dixie air, where no small number of US
citizen fly the Confederate flag to this day. As Robbie Robertson (of The Band)
remarked: there is a pain, a sadness there [to this day, about the loss to the
North].
Robertson says he had the music in his mind, and from there
did extensive research about the events he relates in the song. The South had
all but lost the war, and Vergil Caine is telling us about the hardships of
re-supplying the Confederate army by train in “the winter of ‘65”. Suffering?
Certainly. Disaster? Depends on your point of view. For General Robert E. Lee,
despite his defeat, it could have been a lot worse: he is still revered as a
great American – curiously, even in the North, despite his “treason”. For
countless landholders (and young men) of the South, the war and defeat spelled
disaster that has not been forgotten or forgiven to this day.
In this YouTube video, we've got drummer Levon Helm doing the lead vocals. As you ought to know, we lost him to cancer this past spring of 2012. Knowing that he grew up in the South, I can't help but wonder if it didn't play at least some role in the strength and conviction behind his rendition of the song.
To kick off a week of disaster songs, may I present Wilmoth Houdini, the Calyspo King of New York, and his "Trinidad Hurricane". The song seems to be recorded in the days surrounding a big storm's arrival on the Caribbean Island Nation just as we, in Star Maker Machine land, anticipate the onslaught of the US East Coast Frankenstorm "Sandy". While we all hope for the best, there is a certain charm in a calypso song that almost cheerfully recounts the 1933 storm that destroyed hundreds of houses and killed 13 people:
My sympathies to those that are going to eternity
"Trinidad Hurricane" can be found on Roosevelt In Trinidad, a collection of reportorial calypso songs from the 1930's that includes "FDR in Trinidad", a song famously covered by Ry Cooder and Van Dyke Parks.
I can’t imagine you don’t know Jose Feliciano. Most famous
(perhaps) for“Rain” (listen to the
falling rain…) or maybe to you, for “Light My Fire” (c’mon baby light my fire),
he hails from Puerto Rico, sings in Spanish, and (for better or worse), is
known for being blind, in addition to his guitar chops.
As for this week’s topic, I would be hard-pressed to come up
with another musician with credentials that pushed further beyond the subject
of masks: who better to perceive beyond the masks we wear everyday than someone
who cannot see those masks anyway?
To get to the point of this week’s postings, “Behind the
Mask” is a Feliciano work very much in the Santana style to accompany the (short-lived)
2000 TV production of “Queen of Swords”. One YouTube commentator notes, in response
to his affability in acting for the video: he is so easy to work with that he even
willingly rides a horse – blind!
As for the mask song, there are both English and Spanish
versions available online at YouTube. Regardless of the language, what shines
through in each is the unique Feliciano vocal skills: 30 years down the line, this
is clearly the same vocal powerhouse that belted out the original versions of “Rain”
and “Light My Fire”
I don’t care a whole lot for witches (except when singing along at the top of my lungs with the Eagles’ “Witchy Woman”). If you believe that “spirits walk beside you, can make you cursed, can make you bleed,” then you may also think that a real witch could curse, haunt and trouble you.
Whenever I see a witch in costume at my door on Halloween, I wonder if they’re real and am reminded of the Bell Witch legend. In a story that documents a terrifying, supernatural event in the 1800s, the Bell Witch ("Kate") haunted a pioneer family, murdered patriarch John Bell, and inflicted a reign of terror throughout the Tennessee countryside.
Bell Witch (the movie) premiered on September 24, 2005 at Nashville’s Ryman Auditorium. The soundtrack showcases bluegrass and old-time music from many artists associated with Tennessee’s Bell Buckle record label: Jimbo Whaley, Valerie Smith and Liberty Pike, Jeannette Williams Band, Jeff and Vida Band, Wells Family, and Becky Buller. The movie's premiere was broadcast in high-def via satellite to over 80 theaters throughout the U.S., definitely a first for bluegrass music.
The soundtrack for Bell Witch (the movie) emphasizes songs that bring plenty of apparitions to life. About a month ago, I used one of fiddler/singer/songwriter Becky Buller’s tunes for the birthstones theme. In the Bell Witch movie, she contributed five compositions. She (along with Valerie Smith and Kraig Smith) wrote the song, “Ole John Bell (The Witch’s Curse)” featured here today. Witch Kate's theme is presented in lean, rawboned fashion with only Valerie’s vocals and Becky’s fiddle as the ghost comes to curse, claim and torment Bell's “worthless soul.”
Back in 2005, Kraig Smith speculated that the movie premier was somewhat like “a duck on a pond, cruising serenely on the surface, but paddling like heck underwater.” The Bell Witch movie soundtrack was a big coup for these artists. It may not have had the same impact as “Deliverance,” “Bonnie and Clyde,” “The Beverly Hillbillies,” or “O Brother, Where Art Thou,” but it certainly shows that bluegrass and old-time music belong in the movies on a much more regular basis.
One of the themes that I seem to regularly come back to is whether there is objectively good music or not—why do some people think a song or artist is great, and others are crap. In general, as I have said before, I’ve come to believe that all art is appreciated subjectively, so I try to avoid making pronouncements that something is good or bad. That being said, the comedy routine at issue today, “The Moose,” by Woody Allen, is undeniably funny, and I will brook no dispute on this matter.
I know this isn’t a song, which pretty much puts it outside of the general universe that this blog lives in, but it was the first thing I thought of when I read the theme, and it is, I believe I have mentioned, very funny.
Most people today may think of Woody Allen as a director of films that range from pretty good to not so great, but there was a time that he created some of the best and funniest American films ever. And a time before that when he was a writer of hysterical comedy pieces. And a time before that when he was a standup comedian. And a time before that when he wrote jokes for early TV shows. And he is also an accomplished jazz clarinetist, so this post isn't completely lacking in music content.
Allen’s persona was at the time, and for years after that, a nebbishy, unathletic city guy, focusing heavily on his stereotypical New York Jewishness, making the premise of “The Moose” funny at the start—that he had actually gone into the woods and shot a moose. Of course, in his later work and life Allen tried to recreate himself—dating and marrying beautiful women and casting himself as a romantic leading man, until it became almost ludicrous. But that came long after “The Moose,” which was performed and recorded in the early 1960’s, at a time when overtly Jewish humor was infiltrating the mainstream, so that simply referring to the moose as “the Solomons” would get laughs. And when the moose locks horns at the party with a married couple dressed as a moose, they are, of course, the “Berkowitzes.”
I won’t spoil the finale, but suffice to say, it also addresses a Jewish issue that was relevant then, if not so overtly now. The video above is slightly different from the version I first heard on record (recorded in New York) in which Allen refers to an actual New York institution, rather than the fictional one in the video, from a performance in England. Maybe he thought that the English audience wouldn’t get the joke the same way that a New York audience would, much as Monty Python changed a reference in their “Nudge Nudge” sketch from Purley to Scarsdale when they performed it in New York.
I strongly recommend tracking down a copy of the vinyl, or the two CD set that contains the full version of the routines (linked to above). I guarantee that you will laugh many, many times. And I think you will agree that “The Moose” is objectively funny.
We’re celebrating Halloween a week early here this week. This way, anyone who still doesn’t know what to dress up as can benefit from our suggestions. Seriously, Halloween, at least as observed here in the United States, is the time when we give into the urge for a short time to become someone or something else. That urge may be motivated by a desire for secrecy or concealment. Or, it may be a way of projecting a different identity onto someone else. The whole question of identity is rich ground for songwriters, and costumes and masks are a fine way to express that.
That said, our first example is not the finest display of deep songwriting you will ever hear. The Lone Teen Ranger is a 1950’s pop song about jealousy. The masked man in the title is a metaphor for a rival who probably doesn’t wear a mask as he walks the halls of his high school. The song is sometimes credited to Jerry Landis by himself, and sometimes to his group Tom & Jerry. This is itself a disguise for a duo that would later become much better known as Simon and Garfunkle. Landis is Paul Simon, whose songwriting under his own name is of a very different quality than this.
I may be pushing the limits that define “conversation”, but here goes: Many is the live song that includes some form of dialog(ue) between the artist and the audience. In that a “conversation” is defined as a spoken exchange of thoughts and opinions, this leaves our weekly topic open to various interpretations.
I first thought of the Ry Cooder-type of dialogue. Ry manages to embed dialog in many songs; for example, wherein he and his vocalist exchange opinions. Cf: Down In Hollywood, where the dialog includes:
“"Hey, bud. Come here, let me talk to you for a second …”
Or in the back and forth in “Crazy ‘Bout An Automobile”:
“I’ll tell you why.”
“Please tell me why.”
But then my thoughts went back to my original idea: the on-stage dialog between artist and audience. And while there are certainly numerous prior pivotal/historical instances, it occurred to me that one in particular needed our “refreshment” this week. So … back to our hippie days, the Cold War (want some serious perspective?), and the era of protest movements.
In this clip, live at Woodstock back in’69, Country Joe McDonald is at his peak. As many as half a million in the audience join him in voicing/responding, and thus conversing: their opinions about the Vietnam War. Gimme an “F”.
There’s something about Richard Shindell’s voice that just grabs me. I’m not sure where or when I first heard him, but WFUV is probably a pretty good bet. And it isn’t only the voice, it is the quality of the songwriting—deeply personal and complex songs, often written from unusual perspectives, like truck drivers, or kids who ran away to fight in the Civil War.
It turns out that Shindell and my good friend David went to college together. I don’t remember whether they knew each other personally, but I know that David was a big fan. A few years ago, when my friend turned 40, his wife Melissa decided to surprise him with a private concert by Shindell at a bar in New York. But because of his touring schedule, he wasn’t available near David’s birthday, so she tentatively booked the party for January 28, 2001. Melissa asked me whether it would be a problem, because it was Super Bowl Sunday. When she called, my team, the Giants, were fading, and Jim Fassel had made what we all thought was a ridiculous “guarantee” that they would make the playoffs. I told Melissa not to worry, and plan the party.
Of course, the Giants caught fire, and not only made the playoffs, but the Super Bowl. So, I was looking forward to seeing Richard Shindell up close and personal, but kind of annoyed that I was going to miss the Giants in the Super Bowl. The bar, though, had TVs, and the game was showing before the music started. Unfortunately for me, and my fellow Giants fans, the Ravens blew us out, and I was ultimately very glad not to have to watch the game and instead see a great show from Shindell, who was friendly, and, not surprisingly, wonderful.
None of which has anything to do with today’s theme, but I like the story. And I really like this song. There are some songs that are like perfect short stories in miniature. The songwriter quickly outlines the characters, the plot and the resolution, all in a few minutes. Richard Thompson’s “1952 Vincent Black Lightning” is an example. Jason Isbell’s “Dress Blues,” is another. And “Fishing” is in this class.
It starts out as a very one-sided conversation, between an immigration agent and a Latino immigrant. The agent is trying to get the immigrant to turn on others—maybe the people who brought him to the country, or other undocumented immigrants. The agent uses the fact that his prisoner is a fisherman to try to forge common ground by sharing (symbolically loaded) fishing stories, while, at the same time trying to get him to “bite” on the bait that the agent has cast—the ability to stay in the country and protection for his “next of kin”—in exchange for cooperation.
Finally, the agent says, ostensibly talking about fishing, but really not:
Anyway, it's easy to bite. You just take the bait Can't snap the line Don’t fight the hook Hurts less if you don't try to dive.
In the last stanza, the fisherman finally responds, deciding to take his punishment rather than be a rat:
Señor, as you know I was a fisherman And how full the nets came in We hauled them up by hand But when we fled, I left them just out past the coral reefs They're waiting there for me Running deep
The fisherman’s nobility contrasts with the agent’s manipulativeness, and leaves little doubt where Shindell’s sympathies lie. This song gives me chills every time I hear it. Joan Baez does a good cover, too, on her Gone From Danger album.
With Halloween approaching, I’ll offer Ellis Paul’s haunting “Conversation with a Ghost.” In the linked video, he provides an interesting narrative about the song and the ghost named Margaret “Pug” Putnam, a nurse during the Civil War. When jilted, perhaps a Ouija board (and a few letters from Margaret) are the only way to get answers. Or perhaps the song is an emotional tribute to a departed love who has fought a losing battle with illness or disease. The second video (with Susan Werner also on piano) makes the conversation all the more poignant, especially when she asks “Hey, are all those things you told me once still true?”
Ellis Paul’s 2006 double album “Essentials” (released on the reputable Rounder Records label) provides a great historical overview of Ellis Paul' songwriting for the past twenty years. He has many many kinds of songs over the years - folk, love, pop, story, rock, and even novelty songs. The two and one-half hours of music on “Essentials” deserves close listening and analysis of melodies, lyrics, messages, and arrangements. He's worked with seven producers over the years and many more musicians.
Paul attributes "Conversation With A Ghost" (released in 1992) as the first song that brought people out to the clubs of Boston to hear him play. Folksinger Bill Morrissey was producing his music back then. More recently, in 2012, Paul has released a brand new family album entitled “The Hero in You,” with original songs about the great impact that several free thinkers, risk takers and innovators have had on American culture and history.
From the stock of Maine potato farmers, Ellis Paul moved to Boston, studied music, connected with the roots of the folk genre, then proceeded to develop a signature singer/songwriter sound that now incorporates pop, rock and contemporary sensibilities. Ellis Paul's wise perceptiveness and charisma have built him a strong fan base. He's also a hardworking, resilient touring artist who has garnered numerous awards for about a dozen album releases and music, some of which has been featured in film soundtracks.
Ellis Paul's voice has character, and his songs understand the bond between land, life, heart and soul as he creates feelings of intimacy and familiarity. The masterful singer/songwriter’s messages are profound, and they make us think. As with “Conversation with a Ghost,” Ellis Paul's imagination and skill are both polished and fanciful all in one.
In this season of speeches and debates, I find myself thinking about verbal communication. Words can clarify or obscure, with or without intent. I am fond of saying that the internet has no tone of voice, but that doesn’t mean that hearing a voice with the words clarifies everything. There are times when a person hears words and meaning they have waited for for a long time, but also other times when the right words will not come. For songwriters, who after all live by finding the right words, all of these possibilities are potential subjects for their art. This week, then, we will be looking at songs that explore words said and unsaid.
Joni Mitchell’s song Conversation is an obvious starting point. Her narrator could be said to be having an affair. However, all they do is talk. The narrator is a sounding board for a man in an unhappy relationship. Mitchell creates a contrast between how easily the conversation flows between them and how broken the lines of communication are between this man and “his lady”. Even so, there are words that cannot be spoken in this situation. Conversation appeared on Mitchell’s album Ladies of the Canyon in 1970. Three years earlier, Mitchell sang the song at a club called the 2nd Fret with a different set of words at the end of the song: He's acted down all evening Maybe it's over now Maybe she's finally leaving I'd like to show her now.
But friends are friends forever
So hard to change their role
Laugh with him, cry together
A friend feels so old.
Hey friend, it feels so whole But you keep your feelings deep inside
You talk of them and think of pride
Now is the wrong time
But maybe if a dozen days are warm and right
You'll hear him say "I've wanted you baby for such a long time."
He comes for conversation
I comfort him sometimes
Comfort and consultation
He knows that's what he'll find.
Especially for Joni Mitchell at that time, this would have given the song an impossible fairy tale ending. But the final version of the song still contains these words as an implied wish. Mitchell never sings them, but her voice tells you that her narrator would like them to come true. In a haven where words flow freely, there are still things which must remain unsaid.
By the way, I would gladly have posted this song as an mp3 if I had hosting. Barring that, I would have liked to post an “official“ video, or at least a concert performance. Alas, I could find any such thing. The song is still important enough to me that I wanted to share it somehow, and I was happy to at least find a video that was artfully made. I hope nobody minds.
Leonard Cohen says he now regrets linking his affair with Janis Joplin to this song. "The sole indiscretion in my private life" says this Ladies Man. Cohen's version is slow and funereal.
In his cover for 1991's I'm Your Fan tribute, Lloyd Cole speeds up the tune and brings in the hot band that supported him on those terrific early 90's albums: former Voidoids drummer Fred Mahar and the late Voidoids guitarist Robert Quine. There's a wistfulness there but not nearly as much regret. I like it better.
I'll jump on the SMM bandwagon with the other weekly posters: I love Leonard Cohen covers but I don't particularly care for the originals. As a songwriter, he's pretty unparalleled, though.
Here, Teddy Thompson, son of British folk-rockers Richard and Linda Thompson, turns Cohen's look into the future into an upbeat ode to dystopia. This horn- and chorus-filled live version was released on the 2006 tribute album "Leonard Cohen: I'm Your Man."
When I was young and knew everything, I knew that there was good music and bad music, just as there were good movies and bad movies, good paintings and bad paintings and good books and bad books. Now that I am older, I’m not sure anymore. I’ve come to the point where I think that there is some art that grabs you, emotionally, intellectually or in some other way, and others that just don’t. So, even if you can understand why critics or other people that you respect really like something, sometimes it just doesn’t resonate in the same way.
That’s the way I feel about the music of Leonard Cohen, and it is one of the reasons why I didn’t post early on Sunday, as has been my recent habit. I can recognize that he is a great songwriter and understand that he is a compelling performer. I understand that many artists that I really like, and people whose musical taste I hold in high regard, love the guy, but I can’t ever imagine deciding one day that I have to listen to Leonard Cohen. Which is not to say that if I decided to immerse myself in his substantial body of work, I wouldn’t emerge with a love of his music. But I don’t see myself being motivated to do that. I’m sure I’m missing out, but there is enough other good music out there to keep me occupied.
“First We Take Manhattan” is one of the Leonard Cohen songs that I like-there is a certain foreboding to its lyrics, supposedly about a German terrorist group. Jennifer Warnes, who I always sort of dismissed as a schlocky, film theme singing vocalist, until I noticed that she was actually quite talented (probably first when she sang on an Alejandro Escovedo album that I love), released the song before Cohen, in an excellent version featuring the late and lamented Stevie Ray Vaughan on guitar. You can see him in the attached video. The later-released Cohen version has a synthy sound to it that I find a bit off-putting.
My wife and I were discussing situations where the cover was better than the original (“All Along The Watchtower,” for example). Here, although the “original” is a cover, I like Warnes’ version much better, and I apologize for not appreciating her.
I’ve also attached a version by R.E.M., which is also pretty good, from a Cohen tribute album.
Your moderator, Darius, and I appear to have similar tastes:
I really do not care much for Leonard Cohen. I have the utmost respect for him
as an artist/songwriter, but, despite my “better half’s” quarter century
efforts, I can’t get into his stuff. I find his music too soft and dark. Funny:
Tom Waits is dark, but I like his music. And I have nothing against “soft” per
se. But Cohen … sorry. Adding insult to injury, for the last few years, the man
has decided to add Istanbul to his regular tour itinerary, so I face a yearly
request to purchase tickets to a show I don’t care to see.
In fact, considering my aversion, I had resolved to sit this
week out. But then, I couldn’t. Hope you’re glad I didn’t.
What I found is a version of “Who by Fire” from musicians
that I cannot locate a lot of information about. Schonwald have an online presence
at various music-related sites, but there is a paucity of personal detail. They
appear to have been making music for several years (albums dating back to 2006
at least) and their online work includes YouTube videos that include a version of this song. But as for details about who, what and where …. virtually nothing.
So, once again, here is your chance to show me up: let us know in the comments
what you know about these musicians. The YouTube clips depict them as a M/F combo
who primarily focus on studio work.
Part of what pushed me to go ahead with a Cohen post is the “drive”
behind this version. Whereas Cohen takes it relatively easy in his renditions, these folks
veer towards the harder side – edgier and, as a result, much more to my liking.
Does everybody really know? One thing for certain is that The Duhks kick butt with this Leonard Cohen cover. Their highly-arranged Americana music draws inspiration from various genres. The Winnipeg quintet complemented its 2005 self-titled CD with several well-known guest artists (Paul Brady, Bela Fleck, Edgar Meyer, Abigail Washburn, Victor Wooten). The result was a tightly crafted, innovative mix of songs with haunting vocals and striking guitar, banjo, bass, fiddle and percussion. Even some low whistle and Uilleann pipes found their way into the caldron.
I like the way The Duhks blend tradition and individuality to create a signature sound. This juxtaposition of trad and contemporary is most emphasized by their covers from the likes of Leonard Cohen, Jez Lowe, Paul Brady and Sting. Blending genres, do you consider them “crossover” artists?
Creative artistry is built around the ability to free one's muse by building on your own influences and inspirations. The Duhks' approach allows for personal expression without belittling the very traditions they're stretching. Their reinvention of tradition is an amazing feat for these thirty-somethings whose journey takes us through joy, sorrow, inspiration, and even occasional humor.
The Duhks' proficient acousticians are Scott Senior (percussion), Jessica Havey (vocals), Leonard Podolak (banjo, fiddle), Tania Elizabeth (fiddle, mandolin), and Jordan McConnell (guitar, whistle, pipes). Whether serving up a beautiful, spiritual ballad or a rousing medley of reels, they manage to make each a part of greater "Duhkville."
With impressionistic and memorable songs like Cohen’s “Everybody Knows,” their 2005 album was a great showcase for The Duhks' earthy bond between land and soul. From the looks of the video from the 2008 Magnolia Festival in Live Oak, Fl., they went ahead and closed their show with a raucous rendition of “Everybody Knows.” You gotta love their soulful vocals (even if a little loose in the video), slapped skins, wailing fiddle, flowing guitar, and buoyant banjo. With a plan to redefine both folk and pop music, The Duhks are doing it with their acoustic tools. I, for one, appreciate their conscious decision to not rely on electric instruments, synthesizers or drum machines. Everybody knows they won’t fit the vision. That’s how it goes. Everybody knows.
Being the moderator of Star Maker Machine is an honor, but it can sometimes put me in an odd position. Leonard Cohen is an artist who is important to many in a very personal way, and that certainly includes a large number of his fellow musicians. So he certainly deserves to have a week here devoted to his songs. The problem for me is that I never really got into Cohen’s work myself. I would venture to say that I know more of his songs from covers than from his originals, by far. And the original recordings that I have heard have not appealed to me that much. Cohen, it seems to me, often writes from a very dark place, and his performances are often deeply depressing to me. Cover versions of Cohen, however, are another matter entirely. Some are classics, and deservedly so, and we will probably hear some of those this week. But, more generally, it seems to me that many artists who cover Cohen pull away from the darkness somewhat, lightening the mood just enough to make the darkness bearable. Then, we as listeners can approach the songs safely, and the brilliance of the writing is fully revealed.
Which is all very nice, but almost the opposite happens with Elliott Murphy’s version of Diamonds in the Mine. Of course, I couldn’t resist doing a tie-in with last week’s theme when I saw the title of this one. But here, Cohen’s original is an almost joyous anthem, arranged for a full band with a chorus of female vocals. This creates an ironic clash between the arrangement and the lyric, which can be taken as either angry or despairing. Elliott Murphy strips the song down to an almost stark arrangement for just two acoustic guitars and voice. (If anyone knows who the second guitar player and background singer is, could you please tell everyone in the comments? Thanks.) So Murphy’s version brings out the full sadness of the lyric without the irony, but it breathes enough that it doesn’t come off as despairing. There is hurt here, but Murphy also allows the listener to feel hopeful.
Within bluegrass circles, Becky Buller is known as a young woman with impressive talent, musicianship and dedication. Buller fiddles with a buoyant, silky touch of the bow. She also sings with an unmistakable sweetness of tone and wholesome sound. As a songwriter, Buller has been prolific with an enchanting repertoire of engaging compositions. In 2001, she took first place in the bluegrass category of the Chris Austin Songwriting Contest at MerleFest in Wilksboro, N.C. Her material has been recorded by many “big” names (if there are such things) in the bluegrass community.
At age 13, Buller took up fiddle and joined her parents' band (Prairie Grass) in southern Minnesota. In 1996, she became Minnesota's Junior Fiddling Champ. Classical violin lessons and music studies at East Tennessee State University helped her become even more well-rounded. After graduating in 2001 with a degree in public relations, she began performing, touring and recording with Valerie Smith and Liberty Pike. Buller's first solo album, Rest My Weary Feet, in 2003 set the stage for many great things to come.
On her eclectic Little Bird album in 2005, Buller showed that she can write new material with traditional leanings in the style of a 1930s brother duet ("The Master's Garden") or contemporary songs with interpretive twists like "Topaz Moon" and "Save Your Goodbye." Her music delivers plenty to thrill acoustic music fans. I see that she and Valerie Smith also collaborated on a 2011 release entitled Here’s a Little Song, and I need to hear that album one of these days.
From the Midwest, Cedar Hill is an award-winning bluegrass band known for its strong songwriting, vocal and instrumental skills. The group originally was formed in 1967 by mandolinist Frank Ray. They perform Darren Haverstick’s song called “Pearl” on their 2007 album entitled Portrait of a Song: The Drasco Sessions. Cedar Hill features Frank Ray (mandolin, vocals), Mel Besher (guitar, vocals), Lisa Ray (fiddle, vocals), Kenny Cantrell (banjo), Irl Hees (bass, vocals), and Kevin Strain (guitar, banjo). Guests include Ferrell ‘Stobro’ Stowe (resonator guitar, Oahu guitar) and Robert Bowlin (guitar). Following the band’s stellar Stories album, this was their second release on the reputable Hay Holler label that is known for its stalwart advocacy of traditionally-based bluegrass.
Recorded over a three-day period in December, 2005 at Raney Studio in Drasco, Arkansas, the album is also subtitled as The Drasco Sessions. Engineer Jon Raney did a fine job capturing the Cedar Hill sound, charm and mystique. While they have a distinctively traditional stamp, their music’s demeanor emphasizes originality. On the album, 13 of the 15 songs are new originals like “Pearl.”
Cedar Hill has a knack for knowing what it takes to be a great bluegrass song. Their originals have clear messages, smoothly flowing melodies, uncomplicated chord progressions, and lyrics that grab your attention. A few weeks ago, we posted songs on Star Maker Machine that covered storytelling. Ballads with evocative, loving or uplifting statements are some of my favorites. Haverstick’s “Pearl” is a tale of time passing and affection of a man for his hunting dog. In fact, you can see that some folks on You Tube have even uploaded videos with photos of their old family hunting dog to the music of the song.
I see a comment from the band’s mandolin-player Frank Ray in response to one of the touching videos. “It blesses my heart. That is a beautiful, true song written by a wonderful friend about his dad. They were from my part of the Ozarks.” The songwriter’s brother (Dale Haverstick) also posted a comment: “My brother Darren Haverstick wrote this song that Cedar Hill did an awesome job with. I showed him your video and he thought it was AWESOME! If you look at the CD cover for ‘Portrait of a Song’ … there is a picture of a man and a Walker hound. That is our dad and the real Pearl. Thanks so much for your great video!”
In keeping with their personalized signature sound, Cedar Hill’s Portrait of a Song album emphasizes story songs typically presented with slower to moderate tempos that allow the group to accentuate the messages of their compelling narratives. Their songs paint pictures that dramatically describe life’s ups and downs without dwelling on them. I’ve always appreciated Cedar Hill’s music because their messages resonate with consolation, inspiration, and resolve.
Now … I was ‘round and actively listening to this stuff called
rock (not too far – relatively - from St Petersburg) when this song came out,
and my exposure to it was when I picked up a copy of Between the Buttons in
about ’67. Although many of the songs on the album (is it only me?) call up a (bland)
taste of Herman’s Hermits (cf: Something Happened to Me Yesterday), Ruby
Tuesday has survived the intervening 45 years fairly well.
One source credits Brian Jones as author – reporting that he
(fact) played the tune on a recorder. Other sources tell the story of Keith
Richards’ input. My guess is that Jones conceived the music and Richards took
the next steps. Jagger has clearly said that it isn’t his work, but that he
always loves singing it. It is, like most Stones songs, credited to Jagger and
Richards.
Like the diamond, the red ruby is the subject of this week’s
theme of Birthstones. It is (currently) the birthstone for July, but it hasn’t always
been so: Wikipedia tells us that before the 19th century, it was the
birthstone for December, not July. And in Hindu lore, it equates with the month
of August. I guess the good news is that it has always been special: ruby lips …
What else comes to your mind (aside from the restaurant chain)?
When you think of Roxy Music (if you think of Roxy Music), you probably think about Bryan Ferry’s suave, sultry vocals. Or you may think about the pioneering “treatments” that Brian Eno provided in the band’s early years. The contributions of guitarist Phil Manzanera to Roxy’s sound and success are often overlooked. Manzanera is, however, a brilliant guitarist who was capable of terse, tasteful solos but preferred to use his guitar in layers, processed to create sonic effects and textures.
Manzanera was born in England, of an English father and Colombian mother, and grew up around the world, including Hawaii, Cuba, Columbia and Venezuela, before returning to England for public school. His music incorporates influences from his Latin American experiences, as well as his involvement in the English prog rock world of the 1970’s. His schoolmates and friends included members of Soft Machine, Matching Mole and Pink Floyd.
His first solo album, Diamond Head, was recorded while he was between Roxy Music albums, and includes contributions from Eno, Eddie Jobson, Paul Thompson and Andy Mackay (of Roxy Music, among other bands), Robert Wyatt, John Wetton and members of Quiet Sun, his band while still in school. In fact, while recording Diamond Head, Quiet Sun reunited and released their only album, the quite interesting, jazzy, Mainstream, (which features a song with one of the best titles ever—“Mummy Was an Asteroid, Daddy Was a Small Non-Stick Kitchen Utensil”).
Most reviews of the Diamond Head album take pains to note the lack of ego displayed by Manzanera, who lets his collaborators shine. Manzanera’s live album, 801 Live, released the next year, and featuring some of the Diamond Head players, has gotten more adulation, but Diamond Head is one of the lesser known gems of its era.
The song starts simply, and Manzanera begins to layer on guitar effects, strings, keyboards and drums, all expertly played. As much as I enjoy electric guitar, I am ignorant of what effects he uses, but Manzanera coaxes a number of interesting sounds from his guitar. The solos are fluid and extraordinary, but without being showy. And the song is simply beautiful.
Diamond Head, the volcano, is, of course, the signature sight of Honolulu, a place that I have been once, but quite memorably. The song “Diamond Head,” doesn’t scream “Hawaii” but there is something about it—maybe its calmness and beauty, but also its complexity, that makes the title fitting.
I could have sworn I'd posted something by Baka Beyond sometime in the past, but
no…it's not in the labels yet, so this is the first.I have posted Afro Celt Sound System, though,
which offers a similar combination of African and Celtic music.
Baka
Beyond came about in 1992 when musicians Su Hart and Martin Cradock left home
for the Cameroons to live with the Baka tribe.Ten albums later, the blend of (mostly) African and UK musicians is
still going strong.This song is a cover
of the Gaelic "Mile Marphaisg Air a
Ghaol" (A Thousand Curses on Love), from their East To West release (2002).
Now, I love Celtic music and I love African music, too, so weaving them
together intimately like this, to me, is the utmost brilliance.And sorry for the YouTube post and not the mp3,
but I'm still a little gun-shy these days, and this seems the least likely to
bring down the wrath of Voldemort You-Know Who.
Life goes on. Your favorite music blog may be facing hard
times – but it is still online and it is pumping out new tunes for you to
listen to.Once again, we’ve got a new
topic for you and your bloggers are doing their best in the face of difficult odds
to bring you songs of mixed styles that don’t really fit any genre.
First and foremost in this category for me is Frank Zappa.
Yes, he had a number of songs that made it into the Top/Pop lists, but he
always gave the impression that it didn’t really matter to him whether it was a
hit or not (perhaps better if so, but … what mattered was impact: did it carry
a message?)
His music touched on jazz, folk, and – of course – pop/rock.
And it is with this in mind that I choose Zappa for my “doesn’t fit any genre” posting)
Life goes on. While not an outright fan of Zappa’s
offspring, Iappreciate the fact that
Dweezil and Moon Unit care enough for their father’s legacy that they are
putting time and effort into keeping the flame burning (yes, I am sensitive to
the pecuniary incentives)
Peaches en Regalia, originally from the Mothers’Hot Rats album, combines pop, rock, jazz and
classical genres in one piece. Zappa’s original selection of instrumentation
and notation make this clear.
For my “safe” posting (having been repeatedly burned posting
my own mp3s recently), I am linking to the son’s version of “Peaches”. Dweezil may lack his father’s flamboyant style, appearance
and guitar chops, but the rendition is credibly authentic: the xylophone, the
tempo, the notes could almost be mistaken for a recording by his dad.
Suppose you comment and tell us what the genre is?
Some
music just comes across better live and visually, so I'm taking this chance to
post the YouTube video of my gateway J-rock group, X Japan.This is the 2009 live version of X Japan's
Kurenai, one of their staple hits, slightly reconfigured for added dramatic
flair.The first 5 minutes offers up a
symphonic-electronic duet by Yoshiki on piano and Sugizo (also of Luna Sea) on
violin.Vocalist Toshi steps in for a
bit, then Yoshiki scoots up to his drum kit and Sugizo grabs his guitar for the
speed-metal finale.Reasons that this is
awesome and full of win: -
the competitive Breck-girl hair tossing and dramatic arm swoops
-
the matching lucite piano (Yoshiki's signature Kawai), violin, and drums
-
the over-the-top costuming with liberal applications of leather
-
Toshi so overwhelmed at first that he can hardly sing
-
the video of deceased guitarist and former member Hide throughout the song's second half
-
Toshi and Yoshiki at 7:40 sharing a smile: Toshi had been in a Japanese cult
for the previous 10 years, estranged from his BFF Yoshiki, and they're clearly
glad to be together again.
-
the crowd making the 'X' sign and singing along near the end
-
the unexpected reuniting of one of the most influential Japanese rock bands
after a pretty shocking breakup 10 years earlier, a concert which had been
repeatedly delayed for months.The crowd
is awed and terrifically excited to be there.
I used to have a subscription to Mojo, an English music magazine that epitomizes the rock snobbery that I have to sheepishly admit to sometimes indulging in. I used to love their album reviews, which often seemed to create micro sub genres on the fly—“Oasis influenced post-apocalyptic arena rock” “Neo-Goth industrial grindcore” “Downtempo synth-banjo drone” (OK—I made those up, but the real ones were similar). How to classify music by genre is, as with most things critical, a matter of personal taste.
When I worked at WPRB in college, we had classical, jazz and rock shows, and late at night, we had “specialty” shows—prog rock, punk, avant-garde, etc. And I think most people were comfortable that Mozart was classical, and John Coltrane was jazz, and Led Zeppelin was rock. That Genesis was prog and The Ramones were punk. But could you play a Phillip Glass piece on a jazz or rock show? Or Pat Metheny on a rock show? I know I heard Van Morrison’s “Moondance” on a jazz show. And what the hell were you supposed to do about Brian Eno? Luckily, there was no formal test, although when I was program director, I might have made a call to a DJ who played the Sex Pistols during the classical programming or segued Beethoven from The Police.
When I started using an mp3 player, I was confronted with the “genre” field, and iTunes also allows you to use narrow sub genres—Alternative Rock. Indie Rock. Alternative and Punk. Punk. Not to mention Unclassifiable. I tend to keep things pretty broad—Rock, Jazz, Folk, Blues, etc. But even that can lead to moments of staring at the screen trying to decide the proper genre.
Which brings me to Explosions in the Sky, and “Your Hand in Mine.” The band is usually classified as “post-rock,” a genre which seems to assume that “rock” is over, and we have moved on. This would probably be a surprise to pretty much anyone who listens to rock music. According to Wikipedia, “The term ‘post-rock’ is believed to have been coined by critic Simon Reynolds in his review of Bark Psychosis' album Hex, published in the March 1994 issue of Mojo magazine.” Mojo magazine strikes again!! Reynolds defined the genre as "using rock instrumentation for non-rock purposes, using guitars as facilitators of timbre and textures rather than riffs and power chords."
The original version of “Your Hand in Mine” appears on Explosions in the Sky’s album The Earth Is Not a Cold Dead Place, in an 8:16 version, featuring the four members’ chiming guitars and active drumming. The producer of the movie Friday Night Lights (adapted from the book of the same name) approached the band, and much of the movie soundtrack was Explosions in the Sky music. The version of “Your Hand in Mine” that appeared in the movie was shortened, and strings were added by the arranger David Campbell, who happens to be the father of Beck (someone also familiar with cross-genre music).
The movie Friday Night Lights is very good. It was adapted into one of the great TV series of all time. The theme for the TV version of Friday Night Lights sounds like Explosions in the Sky, but it isn’t. It was written by W.G. Snuffy Walden, a veteran composer of TV themes (including The West Wing, another great TV show). Check out the video:
But it really, really sounds like Explosions in the Sky, whose music was, in fact, used in a few episodes of the show.
So, to sum up, this song was written for an album, adapted for a movie version of a book. The movie was adapted for a TV show, whose theme was influenced by the original music. I think that qualifies as “mixed formats.”
This week’s theme is an experiment. We will be presenting songs in a variety of formats, and I mean that both in terms of the music itself and the way we present it. Some of us still have file hosting and will be sharing mp3s. But others, myself obviously included, will share videos. There may also be some streaming audio. The goal is to present as much music as possible for you, our readers. This mix of audio and visual formats may be how we proceed for a while at least, so I hope you will take the time and use the comments to let us know what you think. Incidentally, the picture on the sidebar this week is by artist Miriam Pinkerton. You can get a better look at it, as well as seeing more a possibly purchasing some of her work here.
Rockit was an MTV sensation in 1983. Probably very few viewers, however, had heard of Herbie Hancock before. Hancock had long before established himself as a jazz master. He was with Miles Davis when Davis invented jazz fusion, and Hancock greatly advanced fusion with his Headhunters band. But Rockit is not jazz, is it? The song combines a funky groove with a lead line on synthesizer with the turntablism of Grandmaster DST. Hancock was finding in the music that would later be called hip-hop the same improvisational spirit he knew so well in jazz, but the song is surely not jazz itself.
Or is it? Here’s Hancock and his band performing the song again, this time live in Los Angeles in 2008:
Now, some connections snap into place. Now, on finding this video, I understand at last how Herbie Hancock could have been responsible for Rockit in the first place. This version of the song makes clear how it relates to Hancock‘s jazz fusion work. It is unquestionably the same song, but this treatment brings it home for me. The band stretches out, and this version is clearly jazz.
Star Maker Machine does not accept music submissions from artists or promoters. However, most of the contributors here do accept submissions for our own blogs, listed below. Please visit our blogs, take the time to listen to what we post, and then feel free to contact us if you feel that your music would be a good fit.
