Category: Music

Dreamin’ Songs – “Cherish” By Madonna

Editors note, I wrote this some 15 years ago.  This is a little embarrassing to read now, but as I wrote in a more recent post, I’ve got to own up to who I was, warts and all.

I admit it. I liked Madonna when I was a boy. I’ll even admit I had something of a boyhood crush on her. Or maybe it was boyhood lust, I don’t know.

This was pre-married to that Brit who used to make interesting, funny, violent films until he got married to an aging pop star and dropped completely off the map. This was pre- way over the top kinky sex Madonna. This was even mostly pre- pushed the envelope way too far with a big, expensive photo book that everyone talked about but no one bought Madonna.

No this was when Madonna was mostly known for her excellent pop music and her pushing the envelope (but not too far) videos. As a kid, I dug her catchy singles and her risqué (but not too risqué) profile.

“Cherish” came in the latter part of my favorite period Madonna (her next album would be the too kinky, too weird, not very interesting Erotica where I lost all interest.) It is a decent, if not all that memorable little tune, but one I still keep on the dial when I find it on the radio.

It is the video, however, that I remember most. It was shot in beautiful black and white by glamor photographer Herb Ritz. It is essentially Madonna dressed in a low-cut, short black dress cavorting in the ocean with a little mer-kid. She looks stunningly gorgeous and appears to be having a great deal of fun. Mainly though I liked the low-cut, short dress in the ocean part. Madonna was always good at showing some skin in those days, and as a pubescent boy, I was always willing to watch.

I don’t have the slightest idea why this song popped into my head this morning. I don’t believe I have heard it recently and lawd knows I don’t really listen to Madonna anymore, but there it was, and here it is.

The Listening Room: “Rocky Top”

I once drove from Knoxville Tennessee to Bloomington Indiana (well, OK, I actually made that drive like 95,000 times, when I was dating the girl who would become my wife and we lived in those two cities.) It was a Friday and it was the day before the University of Tennessee had its opening football game.

If you have ever lived in East Tennessee or known someone from the area it will be impossible to understand exactly what that means. Tennesseans are crazy about many things, but they are plain bonkers about college football.

To start the drive, I listened to a local Tennessee radio station. This particular station decided that the best way to celebrate the opening game was to play the team’s theme song “Rocky Top” about a million times in a row. Well, to be more precise they played every version of the song they could get their hands on. There were reggae versions, hard rock versions, marching band versions, and lot and lots of bluegrass versions.

The thing is, I listened to every single one. All the way through. And I might have been the happiest I’ve ever been doing it.

My father is from Maryville Tennessee which is right there in East Tennessee on the cusp of the Great Smokey Mountains. Though I grew up in Oklahoma we always spent some of the summers out there visiting grandma and grandpa and I came to cherish that little part of the country. I lived there for about a year sometime after college and it is still my very favorite place on this earth.

To live there is to love their football team, whether or not you actually care about the game. I could care less about football, but I love the Volunteers. This event also occurred during a time in my life when I wasn’t exactly the happiest chap in the world. Truth is I was pretty stinking depressed. You see I had not long ago dropped out of graduate school and learned that a BA in English doesn’t go very far in getting you anywhere.

This was also after having worked at a high-stress-funded-by-government job where upon we were also raided by the FBI and told to sit down, shut up, and don’t move one fine sunny day. Which was followed up by what I thought would be a stress-free mail room job that turned into the job from H-E-L-L.

All of this is to say I wasn’t exactly in the happiest of states during this time in my life. The one ray of light was my dear girlfriend. As she lived in Indiana, I gladly trekked the 350 miles to see her every few weeks.

And here we are back to that song. I don’t know what it is about “Rocky Top” that makes me so happy, but it does. It has the nostalgic appeal of reminding me of my childhood. It has the enthusiasm of an entire state (and one that I dearly love) behind it. And it is a silly, fun, entirely upbeat little bluegrass number.

What’s not to love?

So there I went listening to every conceivable version of it for a couple of hours. I actually made it to the end of their broadcast before the station died from me driving too far away. I don’t suspect I would ever do that again, as my circumstances are much different (Indiana doesn’t have nearly that same enthusiasm.) As I listened to the song moments ago, it was lovely but mostly forgettable.

But on that long ride, there was nothing better.

I Might Have To Rethink Tom Waits

My brother: “You ever heard of Tom Waits?”

Me: “Yeah, he’s a good song writer, but I just can’t get past that voice.”

Brother: “I know, it is like a sick hippopotamus gurgling Castor oil. A friend of mine swears by him, but I just can’t take it. I’d rather listen to a three-headed cat fight with the odd head.”

My brother and I have had this conversation at least twice. Which is odd because we usually converse about movies and steer clear of music, since our tastes in music are far and wide and different. It isn’t like Mr. Waits comes on the radio or anything either. But there it is, us talking about him.

For my part, I am not as adamant as my brother and I mean what I said. When I hear his songs I typically think the songcraft is really interesting, but his voice just tears out my lungs. I have several of his albums and try as I might to get through them I usually stop short somewhere just before the end.

Sitting here in the library, scanning documents for my wife so that she can take some things with her to China in the digital medium of her choice, rather than bulky books, I plugged into some live Waits from 1977 (a year that looms large in the live bootleg world, at least for me anyway.) I suppose you could ask why I downloaded a show from a man of whom I can’t make it through a single album.

It would be a good question, were you to ask it. But since I am alone, writing a wee blog post and you shall not read it until I answer, I shall answer. The critics love Tom Waits, and more importantly, my musical friends love Tom Waits. As I already said (twice now I think) I find Tom Waits to be a good writer with a miserable voice. As such, I keep wanting to fall in love with him. Like a spouse who overlooks his lover’s strange birthmark in the shape of Jesse Jackson, or a third nipple, I keep hoping I will be able to overlook and even enjoy Wait’s voice. Ok, maybe enjoy is a little much, but I keep thinking I can get used to it.

Also, downloading bootlegs is what I do. The more obscure the better. The fewer times I’ve seen bootlegs by an artist, the better. The less I have in my collection the more I want it.

But yeah, listening to this bootleg I began to see why he was so praised by so many. Here I began to see him as not so much a singer, but as a carnival barker. As the old, perverted drunk of an uncle that no longer gets invited for Christmas dinner.

There were times when he was talking to the audience when I couldn’t tell if it was part of a song, or just him talking. That voice isn’t there for the singing, but as something larger, something deeper, something less understandable. I once listened to an interview with Waits where he talked about how he had intentionally strained his voice early on to creat that distinct growl. His songs aren’t meant to be pretty, and neither is his voice.

I get that now.

Even so, I still must admit that I struggled to get through the entire show. After an hour or so, I was ready for it to end. I was ready for something more readily understood as much. I was ready for a couple of chords and a guitar solo.

No, I wouldn’t put myself strongly into that corner labeled “fan” just yet, but I’ve moved a lot closer to understanding the sideshow that is Tom Wait.

I think I like it.

Dreamin’ Songs – “World Leader Pretend” By R.E.M.

Our air conditioner is broken again, and as it was 86 degrees inside our home last night, the wife and I decided to take a trip to some fine air-conditioned air in the local Barnes and Noble. As most of our CDs are now locked inside cardboard boxes we were limited in our music choices for the drive.

We wound up choosing REMs major label debut, Green. I say we, but it should be noted that in fact, the decision was really nothing but my wife putting it in the CD player. I make that distinction as I probably would not have chosen that particular album. It turned out to be a good choice, as it is an excellent album. A fact I tend to forget.

I say all this to point out the sheer simplicity of understanding why “World Leader Pretend” floated back into my brain this early morning.

It is what I would call an underrated classic.“Pop Song” and “Stand” tend to get the glory from this album, or even the beautiful “You Are Everything” but “WLP” should get high praise as well.

Musically it is a little mid-tempo number with lilting guitars and a bit of a cadence on the drums. It sounds a little military – well military with background vocals by Mike Mills. The sound fits the lyrics which use a great deal of military language to discuss deeper, personal ideas.

It juxtaposes the concept of governments raising walls and preparing their defenses with the singer’s own emotional walls and defenses, proclaiming at last that he raised these walls and he will have to be “the one to knock it down.”

That’s a pretty universal sentiment and one that has struck large chords with me at various times in my own life when I raised my own defenses.

It is also, I believe, the only time REM has printed the lyrics of a song in their liner notes.

First Thoughts On The White Stripes’ Icky Thump

icky thump

I finally, um, obtained the new White Stripes album, Icky Thump. There has been some weird championing of it since it is (mostly) a return to their loud, blues/garage rock roots after moving into a lighter, more layered soundscape with their last album, Get Behind Me Satan. I say it is weird because when Get Behind Me Satan was slathered with a lot of high praise, but now it seems everyone has forgotten how much they loved that album and want nothing more than loud guitars.

Whatever, I really liked GBMS, and while I’m  not the world’s biggest White Stripes fan, I tend to listen to it more than others. I’ve mentioned before how my middle-agedness has turned me a lot more mellow and thus the music I tend to listen to has much softer edges than the grunge/punk/alternative stuff I dug in my youth. While I dig the older, Rockin albums of the White Stripes, I really dug how they created a fuller, more rich sound with Satan.

With Icky Thump they have returned to a louder, more guitar-based sound (mostly as songs like “prickly thorn, but sweetly worn” are softer and more cuddly.) I’ve only given it a listen and a half, so I can’t really give it a full review, but I’m liking what I’m hearing.

Even in middle age I still like a little edgy guitar riff to throw my (ever-thinning) head about. As usual, Jack and Meg have put together a turn-to-eleven, slam up against each other rock fest. I dig Jack’s periodic talking blues pieces, even if I’m not exactly sure what the crap he’s talking about, and I like the more experimental sound collages.

I don’t think this will be replacing GBMS anytime soon, but it is a nice album to put on, crank up and pack my house to.

Poison Covering Justin Timberlake’s “Sexyback”

Seriously. The 80’s hair metal messiahs have released a new album full of unusual covers, including the recent Timberlake hit. I liked Poison in their hay day. Ok, I loved them and all their hair. But I was like 13 and hair metal was a big deal. I still like them for their cheesy nostalgic bliss, but dear gawd, I don’t need them to release new material.

Just tour on the greatest hits package boys.

I’m not a fan by any means of Timberlake, though if pushed I will admit he has the best sound of any of his contemporary boy band mates. He at least gets out some interesting beats. But one thing this song didn’t need, was more bad metal guitar. Whatever, here is a video of the song not made by the band (but by a fan) but it apparently now has the approval of the band.

Concert Review: Wilco – Murat Theatre, Indianapolis, IN (06/15/07)

We had three tickets to see Wilco and only two people to go. A friend who belonged to the other ticket had to cancel at the last moment. I had posted to message boards and asked friends to come, but no one responded.

Free tickets to see one of the greatest live bands playing today and no one responded. I think I need to find new friends.

So we arrived at the venue early, hoping we might find some hapless soul willing to buy the one ticket. Almost immediately we found some guys on bikes with signs saying they were buying tickets. There was a little haggling, and I found myself on the losing end of that. Ten bucks and I was free one ticket. That’s a lot less than I paid, but a little more than nothing.

The Murat is a beautiful old theatre in downtown Indianapolis. Having arrived early to unload the ticket and having already done such, we walked into the entryway of the theatre to await the doors to open. Many folks were already there. An odd thing this was to me as we had assigned seats so there was literally no reason to arrive so early, but there we were.

Our earliness was paid off as a young man came out stating that the band had asked him take fan requests. My mind went racing. I was dying to come up with something obscure and unique – something that the band would see and love and no doubt talk about from the stage. Maybe even ask me to come on down and sing it with them.

Instead, I came up with something off the new album, something they would undoubtedly play even without my request. “Hate it Here” is possibly my favorite song off of Sky Blue Sky, and I was most anxious to hear those Stones riffs live.

Sitting back down I encouraged my wife to choose something but she’s shy about these things, and couldn’t come up with anything. I suggested “Outtasite (Outta mind)” off of an older album, Being There, and she stood up to make the request.

“No, wait,” I said, “pick something off of the Woody Guthrie tribute.” “What’s the name of the one with the repeat? Oh yes, it’s ‘Walt Whitman’s Niece,’ choose that one.”

Yes, I know that’s one that Billy Bragg sang lead on, but Wilco played most of the music and they did the backup parts, which would be awesome live with all the audience singing the repeat.

The wife goes and makes the request coming back with a puzzled look. A few minutes later she begins cursing herself, when I ask why she says, “Walt Whitman’s Knees.”

What?” I ask.

“I wrote the song down as ‘Walt Whitman’s Knees.’ I knew that wasn’t right when I wrote it but I couldn’t think of the right name.”

We laughed and laughed at that. I hoped, I prayed Tweedy would see it and laugh with the band and say something about my silly wife from the stage.

We had quite literally the last seats in the house – upper balcony, last row, very last seats stage left. My view was a little obstructed by an archway, but overall the stage was quite visible.

A band I had never heard of, Low, opened. I won’t say they were bad, but I won’t deny it either. I normally do my best to dig an opening band. I usually get very angry at the crowd when they talk through the opening act. This time, I was kind of with them.

It isn’t that the music wasn’t any good, it was they were in the wrong venue, opening for the wrong band. They had a very relaxed, ethereal feel – think Mazzy Star or Luna and you’ll come close. For the wide-open acoustics of the Murat, they sounded too muddled. When we’re all jazzed to hear the loud, ruckus of Wilco, relaxed and ethereal is not what we want, or not what I wanted anyway.

Luckily their set was short and Wilco came out with a fury. I tried writing down their setlist, but it was so dark in my little corner that I quickly realized there is no way I would be able to read my scratchings. And looking at them now, they are all a mess.

This is the tightest band in show business. Even though half the members have only been with the band a few short years, they play like a well-oiled machine. Nells Cline, the guitarist, is especially amazingly awesome. The guy simply tore it up. The roof was on fire, let me tell you.

They stuck primarily to songs off of their last three albums. I don’t know if this was because Tweedy likes his newer stuff more, of that most of the band hasn’t been on board for longer than those albums, or these are just the songs the fans prefer to hear. This fan would have appreciated some more older stuff, but I take what I can get.

From our in-the-rafter seats the sound was a little less than spectacular and I struggled to differentiate between some of the instruments, but the band was playing like Moses on fire. Enthusiasm oozed from everybody as they jumped and shook and moved like a giant, twitching snake.

About mid-show they played “Hate It Here” and I had to poke my wife with a little “they’re playing this for me” even though most likely they would have played it without my request. Still, it added a fun element to the show, which I would guess is the very reason they do the requests.

It was a darn fine version too, what with the big sing-along chorus and the fun lyrics about washing clothes and what-not. The whole show was filled with a nice little moment and fun sing-alongs. Although, every time I see Wilco I am reminded of how few of their lyrics I actually know.

I’m just not a lyrics guy. I have a terrible short-term memory and as such, I have difficulty remembering lyrics past the moment they are sung. Instead, I concentrate on the music and turn into one of those flailing arms to the beat of the guitar riff guys.

There was a lot of arm pumping this night. After a double encore with the surprise old album shot of “Outtasite (Outta Mind)” we went home happy.

They never did play “Walt Whitman’s Niece” and no one but me made fun of my wife’s mistake, but even so it was a darn fine night of music.

Setlist:

1. A Shot In The Arm
2. Side With The Seeds
3. You Are My Face
4. I Am Trying To Break Your Heart
5. Kamera
6. Handshake Drugs
7. War On War
8. Impossible Germany
9. Sky Blue Sky
10. Jesus, Etc.
11. Hate It Here
12. Walken
13. Shake It Off
14. I’m The Man Who Loves You
15. Hummingbird

Encore 1:
16. Sunken Treasure
17. Spiders (Kidsmoke)

Encore 2:
18. Heavy Metal Drummer
19. Outtasite (Outta Mind)
20. California Stars

Thanks to Wilcobase for the setlist.

Concert Review: Bill Monroe Bluegrass Festival Featuring IIIrd Tyme Out And Ralph Stanley, 2007

My wife and I have lived in Bloomington Indiana now for the last five years or so. While living here there are several things we have always planned to do: see an IU football game, not for the game (for no one wants to see the Hoosiers play football) but because my wife is a band geek, and she’d like to see the marching band perform. We’d like to go to a basketball game, as basketball is the one sport IU consistently does well. We feel we ought to see the Indy 500 and the Kentucky Derby just once, though neither of us can gather up any kind of excitement for that. And we always plan to attend the Bill Monroe bluegrass festival.

Until this week, we’ve seen exactly none of those things. Since we are headed to China in August, we finally decided to buckle down and attend the bluegrass festival. Even then, we had plans to attend every night of the eight-day festival, but due to problems of infinite proportions, we were only able to make it Tuesday and Saturday.

You could say bluegrass is in my blood, though I didn’t know it for many years. My great-uncle played with Dolly Parton when she was little, and my cousin plays guitar in Ricky Skaggs band. Most of my dad’s family plays some sort of instrument, and they say family reunions are a sight and sound to behold.

None of this information was actually known to me for many years. I thought we were a pretty boring family for most of my youth. In fact, I can remember my parents deciding to go to a bluegrass festival when I was in my early teens and I had to ask what the heck bluegrass was.

“It’s like country, but faster and with more twang,” Mom told me.

The Bill Monroe Bluegrass Festival is the oldest bluegrass festival in the world. It has been picking and a grinning for the last 41 years. Everyone who is anyone in bluegrass has played this stage. This year over 50 acts played morning, noon, and night for 8 straight days.

On Tuesday we saw Karl Shiflett, Anita Fisher, Bluegrass Strangers and IIIrd Tyme Out. It was a full day of fun, sun, and good music.

There were rows and rows of lawn chairs set up in front of the stage and we couldn’t quite figure out if they were all owned by individual concertgoers, or if they had been set up by the venue. They were all unmatched, but most of them were empty and they were perfectly set up. It seemed strange to me that so many people would have come in and set up their chairs in neat little rows and then abandoned them.

This worked perfectly on Tuesday, and we found great seats just a few rows back from the stage, and right in the middle.

IIIrd Tyme Out was the highlight of Tuesday. Russell Moore has some of the best vocals in bluegrass and the rest of the band can pick right along with him. They can play traditional bluegrass like the old folks, but aren’t afraid to add something new to the mix and update those old sounds. Plus they are a ton of fun to listen to and watch.

Saturday was much fuller than the Tuesday afternoon crowd, and we were all there to see one man, Dr Ralph Stanley. Legend is too small a word for the man. He is the living embodiment of bluegrass music. He is distinguished and incredible. A giant in a little man’s shoes.

We took seats again up close, but after a few songs, someone approached us stating that we were, in fact, in their chairs. Looking around and seeing how full the venue was getting, we decided to pull our own lawn chairs out of the car and sit to the side so as to not miss anything.

We saw very enjoyable performances from Alecia Nugent, Paul Williams, Jim Lauderdale, JD Crowe and of course Dr. Ralph Stanley. As I said though, the crowd was all holding their breath for Ralph Stanley. When the time finally came, and the announcement was made, we all went nuts.

For the first few songs Stanley didn’t sing a note. He allowed his band to play instrumentals and his guitarist sing a tune or two. I began to wonder if the good Dr. hadn’t fallen ill and couldn’t sing, or if he was too old to do much more than joke with the band between songs.

My worries were unfounded, it seems, as Stanley finally took center stage, and enchanted us all with his distinctive voice. His voice is not what I would ever call beautiful, it is certainly original, and it delivers a perfect old-timey sound. It roared and called out to the crowd on this night.

Stanley is a generous performer and spent much of his long set talking about the records his band mates and children have recently put out. Most of the band got to perform at least one song, and in a very sweet moment a little boy from the area came out and nervously belted out an old Stanley Brothers tune.

Even with three encores the crowd screamed and begged for more. Stanley closed with an a capella version of “O Death” that I believe must have stilled the entire state.

We left a little after 11. Kids were still playing ball and freeze tag, the food vendors were still churning out their unique brand of edibles, the stars were still shining brightly, and the music was still playing. But we were hot, covered in dirt and completely exhausted.

You could do worse things on a summer Saturday night in Indiana.

Dreamin’ Songs – “Believe It Or Not” By George Costanza

Yeah, that’s right. The song stuck in my head is the Seinfeld spoof where George’s answering machine is him singing the theme song to the Greatest American Hero with lyrics changed to match an I’m-not-home message.

I loved Greatest American Hero growing up. I don’t really remember much about it except for the red suit and how the guy never could really fly. I picked up season 1 from the library but didn’t get past the first episode.

Some things are better left to nostalgia.

The Seinfeld episode is the one where George’s girlfriend takes him to a ball in a beautiful dress and George thinks this is his one chance to make a great entrance. Of course, George now thinks the girl is trying to break up with him, so he is avoiding her. We hear the answering machine’s outgoing message (one too many times) as he is screening his calls.

Not a bad episode, but not a great one either.

I saw that episode not too many days ago and I guess it got recycled in my sleep.

Random Shuffle – The Cure, David Grisman And Smokey Robinson

the cure greatest hits

“Just Like Heaven” – The Cure
From Greatest Hits – Acoustic

Does anyone remember the days of scrambled television? Growing up all the cable stations that we weren’t subscribed to (HBO, Showtime, etc.) and all the pay-per-view movies we had not purchased were scrambled in such a way as to make us not want to watch them. The images came out in negatives, and often the picture was split into pieces. The idea, of course, was that no one in their right mind would actually want to watch television in this manner.

The idea was often wrong. I used to watch all manner of programs in this way. I can specifically remember watching the first 48 Hours in this manner. The audio remained good, so I got most of the jokes and could figure out what was going on, and occasionally the image was unbroken enough to actually see what was happening.

There were also, I must admit, a few late-night fumblings watching some adult pay-per-view. You couldn’t see much, but if you squinted right every now and again you might see a negative of a nipple. For a pubescent teenager, this was sometimes enough.

During the early ’90s, when alternative suddenly became a musical buzzword, The Cure did an acoustic pay-per-view special. To say I was a sullen, depressed teenager seems a little beyond the point because aren’t all teenagers sullen and depressed? The Cure, of course, is the poster band for sullen, depressed teenagers the world over. So, of course, I watched the special. And of course, I watched it in the negative, scrambled version.

It was a darn good show, even if Robert Smith looked like some kind of space alien. Come to think of it, maybe I could see him better than I thought.

“Track 02” – David Grisman Quintet
From 04/11/99

Now “Track 02” isn’t actually the name of this song. I’m sure it has an official, proper name, the thing is, no one seems to know it. The majority of Grisman’s songs do not contain lyrics, so you cannot use words to identify the music. Live, the DGQ uses a lot of improvisation and thus the songs don’t necessarily sound like they do on the studio albums.

The show list on etree.org is also silent in terms of song names. This is a database run by thousands (or tens of thousands) of fans that basically has information on every bootleg of every concert ever played in the last hundred years. The fact that no one has updated the show with a single name says a lot.

I once even contacted some of Grisman’s own people asking if they had any setlist information. They replied that they don’t keep track of the songs played, but that if I wanted to send them a copy of the tapes, they’d be happy to identify them for me.

And there we have it – Track 02.

Whatever you want to call it, this is a fine tune. The David Grisman Quintet has been creating its own mix of “Dawg Music” for several decades. It is an odd mix of bluegrass, folk, country, blues, calypso, and Spanish music that comes out in the strangest and most beautiful of ways. There really is no way to describe how it sounds, but it is always worth checking out. Especially that guitarist. Man, he cooks up something exquisite.

smokey robinson

“I Second That Emotion” – Smokey Robinson and the Miracles
From Songs That Inspired The Motown

I attended exactly one semester of graduate school. I moved to Abilene, Texas for such a thing, and while on the drive there I imagined the entire state rising up to sing me Lyle Lovett’s “That’s Right (You’re Not From Texas,)” but mostly nobody noticed my arrival at all. Texans are a strange brew, and that’s all I’ll say about them.

There was a beautiful, kind woman who worked at my apartment office and we became close friends. Initially, I made up small complaints so I could drop by and talk to her, then I gave up all pretense and just started stopping by the office and sitting for a spell.

She’d invite me to dinner, or to help her make popcorn at the local hockey rink, all the while making sure I understood it was nothing but a friendship kick. I didn’t care, it was someone to talk to and I really needed that.

She had a two-year-old son who was just precious. We also became fast friends and would play together for long hours. Once I had to use her facilities, and I could hear him outside saying, “Matchew, Matchew, where are you?” My heart is still broken.

“I Second That Emotion” became a little two-and-a-half-minute piece of ecstasy during this time. It is a song of impenetrable joy. You simply cannot listen to it and not feel happy. I used to write my little apartment friend sticky notes for fun, and one of them read, “‘I Second That Emotion’ makes Mat the happiest.” And it still does.

Plus, it is great fun to agree with someone by saying “I second that emotion.”