Mercury Rev :: Something for Joey
Finally again the nights are warm and still. Some nights Cort and I will inevitably ride our bikes half-drunk down Damen, on our way home from some $5 movie, or a friendly back porch, or, perhaps, a show at the Bottle.
Everything that was kicked up by to-and-fro’ers, ourselves, awesome peelouts, ballgames, and street vendors during the day settles; the air instead holds pollens, and that shit they dump in the river to make it smell like cinnamon. Which, by the way, I hope is cinnamon. Which, by the way, I kinda like.
Of course, we’ll cut over to Ravenswood. That street is ours! No traffic. We can go against the one-way or make figure 8s. Sometimes I’ll close my eyes and try to count to five. Once I counted to forty-two. But I opened my eyes at, like, two-and-a-half.
Soon we’ll find home, hardly having seen any cars, lock-up our bikes and hit the sack.
Something for Joey
Mercury Rev (wikipedia)
Gene Pitney :: (The Man Who Shot) Liberty Valance
Without question, rugged dudes beset with a wide range of military, political, economic, and cultural conflicts have come to epitomize both the history and myth of the Wild West. The most influential literary depiction of frontier manhood under duress originates from Owen Wister’s fictional work The Virginian, which was published in 1902. In this seminal novel, the Virginian is a transplanted ‘Southern gentleman’ who enters an industrializing and consequently disordered Old West. As he faces challenges and threats unique to this nebulous environment, he discovers that preserving dignity and defending wealth are challenges best met by enacting equal measures of prudence and aggression. In this emergent survivor, this dual-natured manly man, Wister arguably fashioned the very first in a long line of ‘good’ cowboy heroes. This particular brand of hero is one whose ethos translates roughly to an uneasy marriage of virility and virtue. Broadly speaking, one can ague that American foreign policy in no small way continues to bear this paradigm’s indelible mark. But when it comes to the lore of Manifest Destiny, masculinity remains a convenient distraction that recasts the frontier’s violent seizure as some kind of valiant civilizing crusade.
In this vein, some form of the Virginian - the quintessential arbiter of masculine progress and power - recurs throughout a manly bounty of both fictional and factual Western texts. In a more recent phase of this expansive tradition, we find John Ford’s The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962) celebrating brave and principled men, eulogizing an Old West unspoiled and, at the same time, begrudgingly endorsing the modernizing process that killed it. As Ford’s final Western, the film is set in the generic boomtown of Shinbone, where the dastardly Valence, played masterfully by Lee Marven, terrorizes the good-natured locals as they endeavor to obtain statehood. Valance is not the Wisterian version of a noble cowboy; he is the prototypical ‘bad’ cowboy: a man without honor, an uncivilized thug. In a surprising narrative twist, Valance’s nemesis is not the local Virginianesque rancher called Tom Doniphan. The chief rival is instead the newly arrived, bookish lawyer Ransom Stoddard, played by the venerable Jimmy Stewart. Riding in on stagecoach, Stoddard wields nobly the scepter of democratic order and feels its power greatly outweighs that of an obsolete pistol. But after Valence robs Stoddard and beats him to a bloody pulp, Stoddard realizes that “with force threatening, talk is no good anymore.” As such, realizing the sheer impotence of the law forces Stoddard to accept Valence’s challenge to meet in a good old-fashioned duel after which “only one man comes home.”
Of course, when Stoddard enters the contest and quickly finds himself on the verge of a humiliating defeat, the ‘truly’ capable Doniphan - a mock-up of the Virginian - emerges from the shadows and smokes Valance. John Wayne plays Doniphan. So in a way, this song is more or less about what John Wayne took himself to be: a just man who remained “the toughest man south of the picket wire.” But in a larger and more important sense, Gene Pitney’s 1962 top-ten hit, which Ford intended to use as the movie’s theme song, is the nearly perfect encapsulation of prevailing Western motifs, tidily arranged in a three minute package. In the context of the film and the song, the frontier’s successful transformation from a lawless libertarian utopia into a regulated democratic civilization requires not only Stoddard’s legal expertise but also Doniphan/Wayne’s calculated brawn. Moreover, the song extols those enduring traits many continue to ascribe consciously and unconsciously to the meaning of manhood. In conclusion, the degree to which one recognizes just how intimately linked conventional masculinity is to the legacy of the Wild West is another dense matter entirely and, quite frankly, a query that is as relevant as ever (see Crawford Ranch).
(The Man Who Shot) Liberty Valance
Gene Pitney (homepage)
(note - Part of what inspired this piece is a NPR feature that discussed the life of Gene Pitney, who passed away recently.)
Tilly & the Wall :: Nights of the Living Dead
Nights of the Living Dead is like the voice of my teenage ghost. The allure of this song is its candid account of the chaos of high school years and the sweet supposition that rebellion is routine. “God put down your gun, can’t you see we’re dead” isn’t a plea for help nor a collective lament about some greater existential plight, its more like ‘duh’. “That’s the way it is that’s the way it’s always been.” Granted, for me, ‘reckless’ was nights of contraband wine coolers and petty vandalism, but let’s suppose sentiment is more important than degree. Propelling yourself into the night on the motivation that you were ‘up to no good’ was vital and defining and really, really fun: bottomless. Nowadays, ‘reckless’ has been compartmentalized into manageable, quantum actions that won’t disrupt those everyday responsibilities: order a shot, order dessert, make out, whatever, there are no more deep waters to test. So while I can really see and hear this song, I have to admit it’s through the foggy glasses of nostalgia and from the comfort of my driver’s seat on my commute to work in the morning. “All the high school kids they’re all fucked up” and frankly, I’m a little worried about them.
Nights of the Living Dead
Tilly & the Wall (homepage)
(note — A different version appears on the album Wild Like Children in 2004.)
Matthew Herbert :: Brother, Where Are You?
A few years ago I started working jobs that require me to use my brain. Whilst this is mostly a good thing, it did have an unfortunate side effect: for at least 40 hours a week, I can no longer listen to music that demands to be listened to. Instead I’ve acquired an appallingly large library of trip hop and cocktail-party jazz. And some of the library counts as both. Enter Verve Remixed, et al.
I’d imagine most of you, dear readers, have frequented the occasional cafe or boutique that plays these remix albums, which pair an old jazz standard with a contemporary DJ. I’ll be the first one to admit that these albums contain their fair share of travesties. By travesty I mean that a goddesses of jazz is trying to sing us heartsore — except some poor fool has over-sampled the auditory equivalent of children blowing bubbles naked in the sun.
But every once in a while there is a gem. This song is one.
Matthew Herbert is, in my humble opinion, one of the geniuses of electronica. As an added bonus, the man just gets jazz, blues, and big band. I love him. I also love Oscar Brown, Jr.
The version of Brother, Where Are You? remixed by Matthew Herbert appeared on Brown’s live album Mr. Oscar Brown Jr. Goes to Washington. It is lovely and a little bit hollow. You can just feel the singer wandering city streets, on a rainy autumn night, in a solitary search for his brother.
Herbert’s version retains all the longing and character of the original while making the song rounder fuller, and just more populated. It becomes about more than one solitary man searching for his brother, and it gives me hope. In strange and inexplicable ways, it becomes about all the brothers America has lost—to prison, to gun violence. Somehow it makes me feel like there’s almost enough of us, and he’s always just around the next corner.
Brother, Where Are You?
Matthew Herbert (homepage)
the Four Tops :: It’s All in the Game
One day I listened to this record that I have three copies of because I heard the Four Tops mentioned on an episode of television’s hit sitcom Martin. I was expecting nothing, but low and behold, I discovered this little beauty. I was 19 at the time… my first guilty pleasure. It’s now my secret weapon. Do do do do…do do. Wait for it…
It’s All In The Game
the Four Tops (wikipedia)
Caetano Veloso :: Tropicália
This song gave name to a genre. This song bears the name of a phoenix. It wails out of the darkness; it sings with the abandon of youth; it is a testament and it is a memorial.
I’ve been planning on posting Tropicália for a while. After reading Melissa’s last post I was floored by how similar these two musician’s stories are. As sad as that is I can’t help but feel like the atrocities that surrounded these people are somehow transcended by the beauty and power of the music they created. Those who died soon after hearing these tunes first broadcasts are remembered every time someone hears them for the first time, lives to talk about them, and sing along with them.
Please listen to this song and remember the ghosts that listened before us.
Tropicália
Caetano Veloso (wikipedia)
Harry Nilsson :: Me and My Arrow
How completely impossible it is to choose a favorite song by one of my most beloved artists of all time, Harry Nilsson. Believe me, it’s at least a three-way tie, but I can only mention one at a time here. My mother introduced me to his unbelievable voice a few years ago, and there was no turning back. Forget about the seven children he left behind; ignore the depressing circumstances leading up to his untimely death at the age of 52. It’s springtime again, and I only have eyes for Nilsson.
Me and My Arrow was the hit single off the 1971 soundtrack to the animated movie the Point. Having watched the Point within the past year, I can honestly attest that the only misstep is Alan Thicke’s cheesy narration. Otherwise, it’s a good moral lesson for the kids, funny enough for adults, and it wouldn’t be complete without the story of a boy and his best friend: a faithful dog named Arrow.
Nilsson’s excellent pop sensibilities and timing add up to a wonderful film score that I have no trouble losing myself in (much like most of his material), but this song has always been the one for me: two minutes and eight seconds of bouncy perfection. He has a way of weaving little nuances of misfortune into even the most upbeat of tunes and making it sound natural — I mean, what does a breakup have to do with man’s best friend? No matter, he’ll carry on.
For years, my sister has referred to her romantic interests as her “Arrow.” I always wonder if she knows this song is about a dog?
Me and My Arrow
Harry Nilsson (fan site)
Shirley & Company :: Shame Shame Shame
Two margaritas deep on a spring night, Elizabeth, Caroline, and I are driving up Damen after our regular Wednesday dinner. When we reach the stoplight at Division, a beacon of glittering splendor jumps out of the car in front of us. Gene Lee, affectionately nicknamed “Mantease” (or “Manties” for his gold lamé hot pants), is dancing in the intersection, and the smokers outside the Rainbo smirk, even grin.
We fast-forward the Ian Hixxx Disco Mixxx to track 14, and this song spills out our windows. At the Crotch we hit another red, and we wail “shame, shame, shame” as we pile out of the car. Fingers point from the windows of Filter and Swank Frank. Cabbies clap and whistle, pumping fists in the air; kids on all six of the corners are cracking up. Maybe some of them join in, too.
Can’t stop me now. Hear what I say. My feet want to move, so get out the way. I’m gonna have my say. I’m going to every discotheque. I’m gonna dance, dance, dance till the break of day. With spins breezing and hips rolling and heels clicking, we join Gene Lee in that intersection for the dance break of the century. Horns blare affirmation, and stoplights break the laws of time. We dance that song down to the ground.
Hoping for another red light, we drove side by side for a few blocks. Somewhere around Armitage we heard Dancing with Myself coming from his stereo. With a cool point and wink, he took the expressway downtown into a mystical midnight sunset.
Rumors have been flying about Gene Lee. I first heard from a friend that he’d overdosed, and we even talked about replaying this night in memoriam. Recently I heard that the story was a hoax and that he’s been spotted dancing outside Whole Foods in Oakland. Just as this story passes into our memories, Gene Lee passes into a Chicago legend.
Shame Shame Shame
Shirley & Company (wikipedia)
Mr. Bungle :: Ars Moriendi
This song changes parts more than an autumn-waking album. Seriously. Mike Patton is considered sexy by girls, women, men, boys, drag queens, trannies, very small dogs, and himself. He may or may not be. But if talent is sexy (and we know it is), then yes, sure, I would lick him. But I know for a fact he likes supersexy ladies (or dudes that look like ladies) with chainsaws. He’s probably a control freak too, considering how studio-perfect his songs are (listen to this and imagine recording all those tracks!!). He also conducts on stage, but from the front of the stage, and not looking at his band. But enough about him. This is really about Steve Eck.
Richie, the man who will survive after this world goes crazy and attacks itself, is a very great entity and good soul from Louisiana. He built his own house in the worst (best?) part of New Orleans. Inside it looks like Hemingway’s dream. Skins deck the halls, skulls deck the walls, cozy leather chairs invite. The lighting is well-placed and dim, of course. Steve and I sit at midnight surrounded by memories of hunting lodges playing endless games of dominoes and drinking Maker’s Mark on the rocks. California, a Mr. Bungle album, is on for the 400th time for Steve Eck, and the first time for me. However, I am currently kicking his ass with a trillion points after seventeen rounds, and want to concentrate. Then this song comes on.
“Dude,” I said.
“Hm?” He’s still studying his dominoes, squinting through smoke.
“This song is blowing my mind.”
“Yep.” Whiskey is sipped.
We’re playing dominoes because everyone has left town. Many have graduated and left. Others are at home on break. New Orleans is great then, almost empty. Sultry, ripe. We talk about relationships (one of his favorite topics). Jane is talking about visiting and that’s making Casey pretty nervous. Richie’s girlfriend is crazy and, perhaps, getting crazier. Steve Quick has a sugar mama and is doing alright there, so far as anyone can tell. Steve Eck is single, sort of, on and off with Gretchen and some other girls. I don’t really like my boyfriend anymore; I didn’t invite him to dominoes.
“Play that one again,” I request. Instead, we start the album over. It’s as glorious as an opera. Orchestrated like a dream, or a nightmare. We talk about musical geniuses and being the front man of five bands. We can be this hardcore. It’s decided. We drank on it, and so it must be.
Ars Moriendi
Mr. Bungle (fan site, another)
De La Soul :: A Roller Skating Jam Named
Q-Tip cameo?
Check.
Russell Simmons as WRMS DJ?
Check.
Samples of Grease and a Chicago tune?
Check.
Jazz band Young-Holt Unlimited covering Light My Fire?
Check.
There’s not much that would make me want to skate nowadays, but Prince Paul era De La Soul almost do that for me. Instead, I take off my shoes and skate around our house. Then I put my shoes back on and head to the park.
It’s a Saturday.
A Roller Skating Jam Named “Saturdays”
De La Soul (fan site)