Rocky Mountain Christmas

Yesterday, after having a discussion with my wife about our lack of holiday music, I made a special visit to my local independent music shop - Music Millennium. Every year they dust off their collection of holiday music and make a nice display. In years past, I have generally skipped right over it without so much as a glance.

But this is our 1st Christmas together and I was asked nicely to get some good holiday music. So, I slowly perused the used section to see what gems might be hiding. Immediately, my eyes landed on John Denver's Christmas album, Rocky Mountain Christmas. I grabbed the CD and noticed the price was only $3! That settled it. We were gonna have a John Denver Christmas. I figure, if I have to listen to holiday music, then I get to listen to it my way!

I recall laughing at my aunt for listening to John Denver when I was young. Now, I own several of his early 70s records and I have to say... the man has a great voice! Not only does he have a great voice, but he truly made some great songs!

This 1975 record showcases the range of his voice. He has such a smooth, full, broad and comforting voice. I can see why so many people loved his music. This is a great record to play for relaxing and enjoying the holiday season. You may need to light a fire and drink some mulled wine to get the full effect!

This album has mostly traditional holiday songs, but also has the classic "Please, Daddy (Don't Get Drunk This Christmas)" as well as a Denver original "Aspenglow". "Aspenglow" is a beautiful song that sounds as much like snow falling as actual snow falling. So, regardless of what you think of John Denver, give this record a chance! This is good stuff!

What's In A Name?

Toronto's Tokyo Police Club have a strange name. Their music is frantic and sometimes downright spastic. Their lyrics are jumbled and random. Yet, this young Canadian four-piece is quite entrancing. Their latest album, Elephant Shell from April of this year is on Saddle Creek Records. It isn't even 30 minutes long! Despite being a very short LP, there is so much happening on this record that it takes several listens to get a grip on the chaos!

On the first listen, the songs speed past so fast you aren't really sure what's happening. The only real breaks come with 'The Harrowing Adventures Of...' and ' Listen to the Math'. Though these are only slightly slower songs, they prove that Tokyo Police Club can slow down when they want and still be effective.

These guys are another one of those bands that will have you rambling off random lines from songs you can't even remember for days on end. If you have the patience to sift through the chaos for the beauty beneath the surface, I'm sure you'll dig this record! They seriously rock! And I anticipate that they will for some time to come!

I Thought These Guys Were Dead!

We all have secrets and here is mine, so let it be known: I love pop music! Don't get me wrong, if the lyrics are fluff, I don't buy the stuff. But, when it digs down deep I sing it in my sleep!

In February of this year, a band that I hadn't thought much about since high school, released their latest album, Lucky. Nada Surf moved to Barsuk Records about five years ago and totally reinvented themselves. They have, in my opinion, put a stranglehold on the world of pop music with arresting hooks and catchy riffs as well as thoughtful, intelligent and often witty lyrics.

Their past three albums Let Go, The Weight Is A Gift and Lucky, all on Barsuk, have been major triumphs for a band many people forgot about in the late 90's. Their graceful brand of poppy rock music is far more mature than anything else going at the moment. The music is tight and disciplined and the melodies are jangly, pretty and thrashy.

Lucky starts with the song "See These Bones", which has the catchiness to be a huge single. The standouts are the mellower tracks: "Here Goes Something" and "Are You Lightning?". Nada Surf move in and out of excitement and nervous melancholy on this album and do so without leaving the listener wondering what the hell they're up to. When I first brought the record home I put it into my stereo and it didn't leave for nearly three months! It's perfect pop music for people who hate pop music. (Remember our little secret?)

These guys caught my attention again with their last record, The Weight Is A Gift, but Lucky has a much better flow and gives the impression that they're just getting started! But, the best to date is still Let Go from 2002. Let Go is a proper masterpiece in many respects, but considering that these guys had only made two records in the six years leading up to it, it is truly a masterpiece. In other words, if you dig pop music that is well-crafted and appreciate thoughtful lyrics... it just doesn't get much better than Nada Surf!

Matthew Caws has a strange, hypnotic voice that draws you in regardless of your initial impressions of the music itself. These guys aren't Freshman by any stretch of the imagination! Keep your eye out for them. I don't think we've yet seen what's up their sleeves!

Death Of A Salesman

I learned about music in a variety of ways.

The earliest and most obvious source was my father. He was a drummer and is into music from a creative standpoint. He understands changes, rhythm, tempo and everything else that goes into the blueprint of a song. Over countless afternoons and evenings of sitting in a soundproof room watching him bang the drums and explain when things happen and why they happen I slowly learned the vital parts of music. My father was the guy who would challenge me to guess the band on the radio after one lick... when I was five! He knows just about everything there is to know about 50s, 60s & 70s rock music. I remember him handing me Zeppelin's 2nd album when I was about thirteen saying, "Just go listen to it". That was his response to my question of what the best song on the album was. I intended to play that one song and chuck it under the bed. What better way is there to answer the question of what song to listen to on Zep II than to say, "Just go listen to it"? Oh, I listened to it. I stared at the album cover and listened to it until I knew every single sound on the record. My dad had other things too like "Swlabr" by Cream and "First I Look At the Purse" by the J. Geils Band ...

The next source of inspiration was my closest brother in age. He's nine years older than me. Some of my earliest memories are of flipping through his records in his room in the basement. He had things like The Psychedelic Furs, XTC, The Smiths and R.E.M. I used to just stare at the wild names and weird cover art wondering what they must have sounded like. When I got a bit older, his records moved into my room and the sounds of "Killing An Arab" could be heard from my room at any given hour of any given day. I was ten!

For several consecutive years during middle school he bought me new independent and underground music, which he called Progressive. The first thing he bought me was Smashing Pumpkins first album Gish. Say what you want about The Pumpkins these days, but when I first turned on that album it went from medium volume to full blast in a matter of milliseconds. "I Am One" starts in one ear and moves to the other then literally tears the skin off your face if you stand close enough to the speaker. It's arty, yet abrasive!

The other source is extremely important and one that has many faces and incarnations. It does not have one name. It does not live in one place. Depending on what part of the country you're from, It may know certain bands and not others. The one constant is that It has been there for me. It understands me. It will never leave me. This was something I used to know.

However, these days the places that were once my homes-away-from-home are all but gone. The ones that still remain are compromised to the point of ineffectiveness. Today, we're witnessing the slow, painful death of the independent music shops of North America.

For me, it's like losing a family member. A trusted, dependable, reliable source of inspiration, information, hope and glee. A place where I always felt comfortable whether I spoke to anyone else that was sharing that special space with me or not. A place where I could talk about things that mattered to me with people who, whether they agreed or not, would have a sensible discussion about it and provide useful commentary. A place where I actually wanted to speak to the salesperson.

I have come to associate the livability of a city by the access to eclectic music shops. I have been looking all over the country for the previous fifteen years for the perfect music shop. Or, at the very least, the city with the most near misses.

Upon visiting Portland, Oregon I could literally feel the music in the air. Upon moving here, I went straight to the yellow pages and tore out page 309 (Compact discs, tapes, records). One by one, I walked to the music shops listed. By the 2nd one, I was blown away! I had bought about eleven new cd's and decided that I'd had to have spent too much money. I went home and began drooling over the history yet to be learned that was now scattered all around me. I picked up a random album, carefully detached it from its plastic prongs and pushed play.

It wasn't until a few hours later that I realized I'd only spent about $40. $40 on eleven cd's! This wasn't just one-hit-wonder garbage! These were classic albums of significant historical importance. By the end of the week, I'd hit these two shops separately about twice each. When I decided I needed to begin to wean myself of of them, I asked the guy at the cash register why he sold tunes so cheap and he said, "Music is too important to be too expensive."

I heard that! I just hope the folks who make it can continue eating as our world goes digital. Technology has changed the nature of music and the nature of the music business. In some ways, it's enhanced it. In some ways, it's improved it. In some ways, it's marginalized it. In some ways, it's sucked the life out of it.

There's something to be said about learning about music from grungy, smoky old stores in crumbling buildings on the wrong side of town with odd pasty clerks who act like they wrote every seminal song in musical history. Because, in some ways... they did! Those types of folks have been instrumental in the success of the music industry and in many ways were the music industry.

The loss of independent music shops means the end of a unique type of storytelling that our country is famous for. Half of the music recorded prior to WWII was essentially American and British folklore being passed from one generation to the next. When it ceases to be recorded, it fades from view. This current path signals a new turning point in the constantly changing American cultural fabric.

As online shopping grows cheaper and becomes the knee-jerk reaction for retail needs, these special institutions - in many cases they really are institutions - begin to fade from the American landscape. Technology has its place and sometimes is quite cool, but I hope we can manage to hang onto the places that made us what we are.

I learned as much about our culture & history from independent music shops as I did from books. As they close their doors from coast to coast, a chapter in American history closes with them. I will be there to the end doing my part to keep a treasured American pastime functioning as best it can. This is an ode to the independent spirit of the musicians, fans and historians that have been haunting the creaky, dusty, rooms of these great shops for decades. Here's to having a place to haunt for decades to come!

From the Corner to the Cornerstone

Without a doubt, the current musical craze is Hip-Hop. People from all walks of life love Hip-Hop. We have been moving this direction for a couple generations. That said, few people know the progenitors of Hip-Hop. I'm not talking about The Sugarhill Gang, Grandmaster Flash or Afrika Bambaataa. Neither am I talking about Run DMC, EPMD, BDP or PE.

I'm talking about The Last Poets. There were others like The Watts Prophets and Gil Scott-Heron, but my focus here is on The Last Poets.

They put out some of the bravest stuff I've ever heard on wax. These guys got going in 1969 in Harlem and said things that even some black folks didn't want to hear especially in songs like "Niggers Are Scared of Revolution". They said stuff that was incendiary and they intended to get a reaction from it. They had no fear. They got down to the bottom of things in an uncompromising way!

The first album of theirs that I heard was called Chastisement from 1972. This album is not as widely known as their earliest records. Despite being somewhat more accessible thematically, it is no less forthright and abrasive (when it needs to be). The final track is dedicated to the inimitable black American enterprise of 'Jazz'. "Bird's Word" drops just about every name in 'Jazz' history. Perfect rhymes and beats along with a wailing saxophone are present. There are also several breaks where the song hovers in a somewhat haunting aural space. For example,  Cannonball Adderley's 1966 album Mercy, Mercy, Mercy is referenced by shouting the three words slowly in an empty, echoey fuzz. Then the voice trails off into the depths before the song kicks back in.

The album starts with a jazzy instrumental track backed by a rolling collection of drum beats and African lyrics chanted all the way through. It's titled Obabi (Ogun). Ogun or Ogoun is a machete-wielding spirit from Yoruba mythology. The Yoruba are one of the largest ethnic groups in west Africa centered mostly in Nigeria, but the spirit also appears in some parts of the Caribbean. This song, which is over 10 minutes long is absolutely spell-binding!

The bass, drums, chanting and saxophones combine to make this one of my favorite tracks in all of music. It speaks volumes about the depth of The Last Poets interest in all things black. This story is mainly from Caribbean voodoo in Haiti. Ogun is the spirit of fire, iron, hunting, politics and war. Perhaps they were trying to summon his powers to manipulate the overbearing inequity of the American landscape?

No matter how you cut the cake, with lyrics like, "And so the power's in the hands of the ruling classes/Playing God with the fate of all the masses/So the people don't get any in the land of the plenty/Cos' E Pluribus Unum means One Out Of Many!" and song titles like 'Before The White Man Came' it's evident that these guys were not trying to fly under the radar.

They were not only seminal artists in the creation of Hip-Hop, they were important voices of the collective experiences of Black America. Surrounded by permanent displays of opulence as young people in New York and recognizing that that opulence was out of their reach, their outlook was grim and their music reflected it. Their music was deeply Afro-centric and at times bordered on what some consider racist, but it was always prescient. I have never heard anything like The Last Poets.

If you have never listened to or heard of The Last Poets and you are a fan of Hip-Hop... I implore you to seek them out. Again, Gil Scott-Heron is not to be overlooked either. His early record Small Talk at 125th and Lenox is just as inflammatory and significant. Particularly the songs "The Revolution Will Not Be Televised" and "Enough".

True fans of Hip-Hop, study up!

Country Bluegrass & Blues

I just glanced at one of those magazines full of celebrity gossip in the checkout line at my grocery store. Hey, the guy was taking forever! Anyway, I flipped right to a page where some new,  young television heartthrob that I've never heard of was being interviewed. I didn't read the article I just glanced at his photo. He was draped over the back of a chair wearing slightly torn jeans, not the kind that look like they've been around for a decade, but the kind that come pre-torn from a factory in Southeast Asia. He was also wearing a CBGB shirt. He couldn't have been over eighteen years old! For some reason, I just didn't buy his getup. It seemed like he was wearing a uniform.

During college I saw plenty of spikey-haired frat boys wearing CBGB shirts. I used to go out of my way to engage them in conversation. I was curious to know which bands from New York's renowned Bowery club these young fellas were interested in. I was aware that several trendy shops in the mall, and every mall across the US for that matter, were then stocking CBGB shirts. I suppose you could say I was generally sarcastic and rude, yet as I clearly knew what I was talking about I was never called on it.

I would say things like: "Do you like Marquee Moon or Adventure better?" Or, "I wish I could have seen The Heads in the early days when they were cutting songs like "Sugar On My Tongue", You know?" I tried to come up with things that they had no chance of understanding like, "You ever listen to Radio Ethiopia?" Then I'd ease back and hope for a look of bewilderment or fear. What can I say? Generally they responded that they didn't know what it meant, they just thought it was a cool shirt or that a friend had one and they liked it!

I just couldn't help myself. There was such a unique assortment of well-thought-out classic proto- and post-punk bands that sweated and gyrated on that stage and left an indelible mark on the world of music. Several of them made a major impact on me growing up too. I just couldn't let it go unnoticed.

The big three for me would have to be Television, Talking Heads and Patti Smith. Television didn't sound all that different, yet no one else ever sounded like them. Talking Heads had so many different sounds. On their second album they covered an Al Green song, "Take Me to the River". That is a tough job for anybody, let alone a scraggly mix of New York art-rockers! And Patti Smith just didn't give a damn what people thought about how she sounded, though it was as unique a sound as the underground music world had known to date!

It just cheapens the history of such an American musical landmark to see myriad chuckleheads walking around wearing something they don't even understand. They just grab a black shirt that they think looks tough off the rack at some 'mall theme shop' and make sure it's a size too small to ensure that their muscles can contend for space in the sleeves.

Levi Strauss never intended for his invention to become the symbol of the American badboy either, but this is totally different. I guess what I'm saying is: If you're going to wear something to make a statement, make sure you know what the statement is!

Pete Seeger: The Last of a Dying Breed

Pete Seeger was born in 1919. Pete Seeger is an iconic American musician. He is irreplaceable. Throughout his career, he not only added timeless classics of unparalleled vision and depth to the American musical tapestry, he traveled the road of time with other eternal figures in our rich musical history. Pete's road buddies included: Leadbelly, Woody Guthrie, Josh White, Sonny Terry, Brownie McGhee, Burl Ives, Bob Dylan and Joan Baez.

He was political. He was uncompromising (even when he was blacklisted during the height of McCarthyism). He was honest. He was sincere. He was a father and he loved children. Most of all, he was positive that music could change the world!

I became a fan of him and his music because all these things are evident in his music.

Most people don't think of Pete Seeger when they hum "Turn, Turn, Turn (To Everything There Is A Season)". They think of the Byrds. Many don't realize that the universally recognized anthem of the American Civil Rights Movement, "We Shall Overcome", is credited to him. He reworked an old spiritual and put it to different music. It has since been sung by countless people worldwide in their own struggles for equality.

Pete Seeger has fought to clean up the environment, particularly the once poisoned Hudson River in his native New York. He has fought for unions. He fought against the broken vision of the Vietnam War with a song called "Waist Deep in the Big Muddy", which is a song that rattled my bones the first time I heard it.

Next year Pete turns 90! That is an inspiring feat for anyone, let alone a musical legend. I just heard The Byrds' version of "Turn, Turn, Turn" on the radio. I have to say, that version was the first one I ever knew, but once I heard Pete's version I could never go back. There was something too perfect about The Byrds' version. Too much sparkling harmony! Pete just lays it down matter-of-factly. You don't have candy-coated visions of rosy-cheeked children dancing when you hear him sing it.

Pete is a towering figure of hope and peace that the world will one day miss greatly. Like his banjo used to say: "This machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender."

America loves you, Pete!

A Reason To Go To Oklahoma?

Oklahoma is not exactly my idea of a classic vacation destination. When planning vacations, Norman, OK doesn't enter into the conversation. Apart from the Timothy McVeigh incident, there isn't much of a pull towards Oklahoma City either. Regardless, I put my notions of The Dust Bowl State aside recently when I came across a band by the name of Tulsa. The name stood out. It just sounded like something I should hear. Every now and then the mere name of a band draws me in. Sometimes it pays off and sometimes it doesn't.

Historically, most bands that have chosen to name themselves after cities were from those cities. This band, which is actually from 1,600 miles away in Boston, is reminiscent of other current bands (I momentarily thought of Band of Horses), but they deserve to be distinguished as a unique force in the music world.

Their first album, I Was Submerged, was released on the Indie label Park The Van this year. The album, which clocks in at just shy of 30 minutes, is an engaging listen from beginning to end. It has moments of trance-like sweeping brilliance and plenty of rolling echoey madness. I heard the song "Shaker" before I found the whole album and I had to listen to it about four times before it sank in. That said, I knew after 20 seconds that I wanted more.

I'm not saying I'm going to Oklahoma any time soon. I'm just saying that you should check this record out! It rocks and it ponders, it rolls and it wanders! I'm ready for more from these guys!

I Never Thought These Words Would Come Out Of My Mouth!

For the past few years my musical palette has been changing shape. It now responds to different flavors than ever before. I spent most of my adolescence poo-pooing country music all up and down it's bass-ackwards face! I rarely, if ever, had a decent thing to say about the entire genre. I was much more interested in Helmet and the like.

During my high school years in the deep south what I knew to be country music centered on scootin' boots, fried chicken and TV guides. Of course, there were the obligatory tracks about ex's and pick-up trucks. And if they were serious artists they'd throw in one about tractors.

In recent years I began uncovering American masters like Townes Van Zandt and John Prine. Despite being considered by many to be folk artists, both of these guys sound about as country as country can be at various times.

Neither have the voice of a crooner, but they can both send chills up your spine!

My initial infatuation with the lyrics of these two (and others) lead to an interest in the music, which again was somewhere between folk and country. At the very least, they took their country roots into a folk setting.

My new interest in the 'idea' of country music caused me to rediscover Uncle Tupelo, a band I overlooked as a teen, and lead to my discovery of Jay Farrar's current band, Son Volt.

After committing every song either band ever made to memory, I began an earnest search for similar sounds. My search lead me to a newer band called Old Crow Medicine Show. They were good but, last summer I found a sampler disc from Yep Roc Records that featured a song from a band called Chatham County Line.

This was exactly what I was looking for! Their new album IV just came out and is stellar! These guys have only been serious about being together for about five years and this new album proves that they are indeed serious! They all have superior command of their instruments, including the vocals. They have all the sensibilities of classic country with a modern feeling. Rootsy, gutsy, great!

If you like "Alt-Country"... get this record! I love it!

I never thought these words would come out of my mouth: I love country music!

...And No Religion Too!

Today is the anniversary of the murder of John Lennon. That's kind of a strange word to use... anniversary.

Anyway, twenty-eight years ago a crazed fan shot John Lennon right outside of his apartment in The Dakota building on New York's upper west side. I was in New York about eight years ago. I was walking through Central Park and stopped to cool off in the shade. I looked down at my feet, they were killing me, and I realized I was standing right in the center of the imagine mosaic dedicated to him.

I am not one of those that deifies Lennon, nor am I particularly fascinated by him. However, during college a friend of mine brought the song "Working Class Hero" to my attention and it truly changed my opinion of him (and life in general).

That song is well worth any praise it ever got. It's power is immediate and lasting. I probably spent close to forty minutes with the song on repeat sitting mostly in the dark save some softly flickering candles. I had outlasted everyone that had come by for our party that night including my friend who'd brought the album over.

The next day, I was a bit heavy from the introspection and meditation from the night before. I've played that song for dozens since and spoken of it with countless others.

The man certainly had a unique perspective on life. And he made plenty of songs that I don't care for, much less understand, but there are also musical imperatives from the mind of John Lennon.

I woke up today and donned the $5 shirt I bought of him on Madison Avenue several years ago without even realizing it was the anniversary of his death. R.I.P!