Showing posts with label Music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Music. Show all posts
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Greenville to Baton Rouge ...
... 30 years ago today, the real Day the Music Died. Obligatory story from the hometown paper.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Ears of gold
Read here about Rick Rubin, the producer who's basically responsible for saving what's left of the music industry. He has this radical idea that the music industry might be in better shape if it was turning out, you know, better music. The main thing I took note of: He likes The Gossip. I liked The Gossip two years ago. Rubin, of course, is also responsible for turning two of the greatest challenges in modern music history into successes, those being the Dixie Chicks' post-Natalie Outburst album and the last years of Johnny Cash. Evidence that a good ear far outweighs "technical skill."
Saturday, March 10, 2007
It's been a long time
1984: We're driving from school to my house in J.T.'s 1973 Dodge Dart. This Dart was sharp as hell; 360 V8, Centerline wheels, shackled up in the back just enough to look cool. J.T. had laid significant amounts of rubber on the way home, including a donut in the Fassnight Park parking lot. On the stereo was what I thought was typical late-'70s classic rock. "Listen to this guy hold this note," J.T. said. J.T. was a musician of some renown; he was a saxophone player in the school marching band, and he was probably the person from whom I learned the most about playing guitar. He had an appreciation for good music. The song was "Peace of Mind." The band was Boston. I was stunned by this guy's vocal power. That was the missing piece; that was the thing that Boston had that the other Camaro-rock (or, in this case, Dart-rock) bands had. I was hooked right there. I borrowed the tape, copied it, and played it over. And over. And over.
1986: Boston had not put out a new album since 1978. The Rock 99 morning jock was hyping the new single. "We're playing it at 8:15," he said. Damn. My first class was at 8. I decided, "Not today." I drove around campus, waiting for the song. As I heard the first few chords of "Amanda," I said, "Yeah, that's Boston."
1987: Rock 99 is giving away tickets to the Boston tour. Unfortunately, the closest stop to Anytown is more than 1,000 miles away. We didn't win, but we went anyway. I had a friend who lived near the Alpine Valley venue in Wisconsin. F. had a relative who lived nearby. M. had, well, a few days off. I had some friends who lived up there who could hook us up with a party. We packed up my 1980 Citation and pointed it north. The odometer showed "21245" or something like that when we left. That was back in the days where cars didn't usually last long enough to necessitate the "1" that should have been the first digit of that six-digit number. The car miraculously held up for the trip. It fell apart soon thereafter. The show was incredible; outdoors, fourth of four nights, more than 45,000 at the venue.
1989: Headed home after a night of abusing various substances. In the passenger seat of Mickey's 1988 Daytona Shelby. Trying to hold it together and not throw up all over said Daytona. Mickey's worried about my health (or, more likely, his upholstery.) He pops in a tape. I hear "Rock 'n' Roll Band." I breathe easier, and relax a bit in the seat. The urge to yak has passed. Mickey says, "I knew that would make you feel better."
I like a lot of different types of music. Some of these types leave me open to ridicule. I'm OK with that. I love Boston. It has been the one constant through nearly 25 years of my personal evolution. It still makes me feel better whenever I hear a Boston song, just like it did that night in Mickey's car. "Don't Look Back" is my personal transition song, the first song played when I start some new job or new thing. I hope they play "Long Time" and "Party" at my funeral.
And yes, the two albums they did after "Third Stage" sucked. I'm aware of that.
I'm very saddened by Brad Delp's too-soon departure; saddened in a way I don't remember feeling since hearing that Stevie Ray Vaughan's helicopter had crashed (oddly, it crashed leaving the same venue at which we saw Boston in 1987.)
From the Boston Globe's appreciation: "Brad always signed everything that people brought him,'' said [Sean] Sturgess [general manager of the club where Delp's band Beatlejuice, a Beatles tribute band, was supposed to have played tonight]. "Some bands just draw 45 people and you can't get them to stay around to greet their fans. Brad often stayed until the end of the night. We'd even have to tell him to leave sometimes because it was getting late.''
The two times I saw Boston play, Delp seemed to be very much enjoying himself, and very much in tune with what the band's fans wanted to hear. He certainly was in tune with what I wanted to hear.
A few words I hear in my head whenever I start to overdo on the job-stress thing:
Now you're climbing to the top of the company ladder
Hope it doesn't take too long
Can't you see there'll come a day when it won't matter
Come a day when you'll be gone ...
Brad Delp is gone. The music still matters. Thanks, man, and RIP.
1986: Boston had not put out a new album since 1978. The Rock 99 morning jock was hyping the new single. "We're playing it at 8:15," he said. Damn. My first class was at 8. I decided, "Not today." I drove around campus, waiting for the song. As I heard the first few chords of "Amanda," I said, "Yeah, that's Boston."
1987: Rock 99 is giving away tickets to the Boston tour. Unfortunately, the closest stop to Anytown is more than 1,000 miles away. We didn't win, but we went anyway. I had a friend who lived near the Alpine Valley venue in Wisconsin. F. had a relative who lived nearby. M. had, well, a few days off. I had some friends who lived up there who could hook us up with a party. We packed up my 1980 Citation and pointed it north. The odometer showed "21245" or something like that when we left. That was back in the days where cars didn't usually last long enough to necessitate the "1" that should have been the first digit of that six-digit number. The car miraculously held up for the trip. It fell apart soon thereafter. The show was incredible; outdoors, fourth of four nights, more than 45,000 at the venue.
1989: Headed home after a night of abusing various substances. In the passenger seat of Mickey's 1988 Daytona Shelby. Trying to hold it together and not throw up all over said Daytona. Mickey's worried about my health (or, more likely, his upholstery.) He pops in a tape. I hear "Rock 'n' Roll Band." I breathe easier, and relax a bit in the seat. The urge to yak has passed. Mickey says, "I knew that would make you feel better."
I like a lot of different types of music. Some of these types leave me open to ridicule. I'm OK with that. I love Boston. It has been the one constant through nearly 25 years of my personal evolution. It still makes me feel better whenever I hear a Boston song, just like it did that night in Mickey's car. "Don't Look Back" is my personal transition song, the first song played when I start some new job or new thing. I hope they play "Long Time" and "Party" at my funeral.
And yes, the two albums they did after "Third Stage" sucked. I'm aware of that.
I'm very saddened by Brad Delp's too-soon departure; saddened in a way I don't remember feeling since hearing that Stevie Ray Vaughan's helicopter had crashed (oddly, it crashed leaving the same venue at which we saw Boston in 1987.)
From the Boston Globe's appreciation: "Brad always signed everything that people brought him,'' said [Sean] Sturgess [general manager of the club where Delp's band Beatlejuice, a Beatles tribute band, was supposed to have played tonight]. "Some bands just draw 45 people and you can't get them to stay around to greet their fans. Brad often stayed until the end of the night. We'd even have to tell him to leave sometimes because it was getting late.''
The two times I saw Boston play, Delp seemed to be very much enjoying himself, and very much in tune with what the band's fans wanted to hear. He certainly was in tune with what I wanted to hear.
A few words I hear in my head whenever I start to overdo on the job-stress thing:
Now you're climbing to the top of the company ladder
Hope it doesn't take too long
Can't you see there'll come a day when it won't matter
Come a day when you'll be gone ...
Brad Delp is gone. The music still matters. Thanks, man, and RIP.
Brad Delp, 1951-2007
The voice that made Boston unique among the Camaro-rock bands of the late '70s died last night in his southern New Hampshire home. He was 55. More from the Boston Globe here. More from me later.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
No greater love
Back in the late '80s, the high-school girl who would become my wife was simply a tall, skinny girl named N, who was around our house a lot, a friend of my little sister. N and my sister were part of a larger group of girls, whose main recreational activity during their junior year in high school involved driving around in somebody's 1965 Mustang and teasing fraternity boys at college parties.
Among this group of girls was a girl we'll call Marie (not at all her name, but it's better than a pronoun.) Marie was a bit spoiled, and she knew it, and she was OK with it, best I could tell. I didn't know Marie as well as I knew my sister's other friends, but what little I knew of her suggested she was the one of that group with the "reputation."
She was also the one who ended up pregnant that year.
Marie was by no means the only person I knew in high school who became pregnant. She was the only person, however, who ever showed a visible sign of it. Marie chose to carry the child the term.
I can't imagine this was an easy decision, even for a girl who herself was adopted. She had to put up with the stares and the pointing and the ostracism and the talk of those who simply said it confirmed her "reputation." None of that mattered to her.
As the rest of the group drifted away from Marie, N stuck by her. This foreshadowed the adult N, by the way; the girl who stuck by her friend in a tough situation became an intensely loyal woman, a woman who people can depend on no matter what. This is cool, and is one of the things I love about my wife. Back in 1987, though, she was just a girl who was trying to do the right thing.
Marie's child was born on N's 17th birthday. N was there for her at the hospital. I'm pretty sure he was the first newborn boy she ever held.
A few days later, Marie's child was headed home, home with his new parents. Marie went home, too, back to her parents. She was back in school a few weeks later.
Even at 17, a girl has maternal instinct, and that instinct would rebel mightily against separation. Marie had to be convinced that he was going to a better place, a place with people more qualified than she was to provide what that baby needed. I can imagine nothing more beautiful, and more painful.
Life went on. Marie never quite reconnected with that group of girls; she had been forced into adulthood, and acted accordingly. She and Natalie were still close, sort of, but nobody would ever fully grasp what Marie had been through, and it probably didn't matter to Marie if they did. They all graduated from high school a year later and went their separate ways.
Marie contacted my wife by e-mail several years ago. The electronic reunion was brief; a couple of messages exchanged, then life moving on.
Natalie still mentioned Marie's boy on his birthday the first few years we were married, but hadn't for many years. As I was giving the new Dixie Chicks album its 249th spin on my iPod, I gave a close listen to "Voice Inside My Head," a heart-shredding song from the perspective of a woman who gave a child up for adoption.
Immediately I thought of Marie, a person who I hadn't thought of since we received that e-mail four computers ago. I did some quick math, and I said to Natalie: "Remember Marie's baby?" She said, "Yeah, he was born on my birthday."
I said, "Yeah. He would have just graduated from high school a few weeks ago."
"Oh. My. God."
My wife has recently developed excellent research skills. If your name has ever been snared by Google's spiderbots, she'll find it. She found Marie. Marie is now living in a large East Coast city; she married exceedingly well, has two little girls and by all accounts wants for absolutely nothing. They're exchanging e-mails again.
That little baby boy that N held is off to college, or a job, or the military, or whatever. We'll probably never know. Life went on, and it went on very well for Marie, which is as it should be.
Marie called upon some serious strength that day 18 years ago, and that strength is having to carry her through the rest of her life. I admire her, and other women who made the same decision. Unplanned pregnancy brings up complex questions that can't be answered the same way for every person. They most definitely cannot be answered politically, or through legislation.
The 16-year-old Marie, even though she likely didn't know it at the time, came up with the right answer for her situation. Things worked out for her. Hopefully they worked for that little boy, too.
I still have to think that no matter how gilded your life is, though, that's gotta be a hard memory to carry with you, and that you wouldn't be able to help but wonder how things might have been different if ...
Among this group of girls was a girl we'll call Marie (not at all her name, but it's better than a pronoun.) Marie was a bit spoiled, and she knew it, and she was OK with it, best I could tell. I didn't know Marie as well as I knew my sister's other friends, but what little I knew of her suggested she was the one of that group with the "reputation."
She was also the one who ended up pregnant that year.
Marie was by no means the only person I knew in high school who became pregnant. She was the only person, however, who ever showed a visible sign of it. Marie chose to carry the child the term.
I can't imagine this was an easy decision, even for a girl who herself was adopted. She had to put up with the stares and the pointing and the ostracism and the talk of those who simply said it confirmed her "reputation." None of that mattered to her.
As the rest of the group drifted away from Marie, N stuck by her. This foreshadowed the adult N, by the way; the girl who stuck by her friend in a tough situation became an intensely loyal woman, a woman who people can depend on no matter what. This is cool, and is one of the things I love about my wife. Back in 1987, though, she was just a girl who was trying to do the right thing.
Marie's child was born on N's 17th birthday. N was there for her at the hospital. I'm pretty sure he was the first newborn boy she ever held.
A few days later, Marie's child was headed home, home with his new parents. Marie went home, too, back to her parents. She was back in school a few weeks later.
Even at 17, a girl has maternal instinct, and that instinct would rebel mightily against separation. Marie had to be convinced that he was going to a better place, a place with people more qualified than she was to provide what that baby needed. I can imagine nothing more beautiful, and more painful.
Life went on. Marie never quite reconnected with that group of girls; she had been forced into adulthood, and acted accordingly. She and Natalie were still close, sort of, but nobody would ever fully grasp what Marie had been through, and it probably didn't matter to Marie if they did. They all graduated from high school a year later and went their separate ways.
Marie contacted my wife by e-mail several years ago. The electronic reunion was brief; a couple of messages exchanged, then life moving on.
Natalie still mentioned Marie's boy on his birthday the first few years we were married, but hadn't for many years. As I was giving the new Dixie Chicks album its 249th spin on my iPod, I gave a close listen to "Voice Inside My Head," a heart-shredding song from the perspective of a woman who gave a child up for adoption.
Immediately I thought of Marie, a person who I hadn't thought of since we received that e-mail four computers ago. I did some quick math, and I said to Natalie: "Remember Marie's baby?" She said, "Yeah, he was born on my birthday."
I said, "Yeah. He would have just graduated from high school a few weeks ago."
"Oh. My. God."
My wife has recently developed excellent research skills. If your name has ever been snared by Google's spiderbots, she'll find it. She found Marie. Marie is now living in a large East Coast city; she married exceedingly well, has two little girls and by all accounts wants for absolutely nothing. They're exchanging e-mails again.
That little baby boy that N held is off to college, or a job, or the military, or whatever. We'll probably never know. Life went on, and it went on very well for Marie, which is as it should be.
Marie called upon some serious strength that day 18 years ago, and that strength is having to carry her through the rest of her life. I admire her, and other women who made the same decision. Unplanned pregnancy brings up complex questions that can't be answered the same way for every person. They most definitely cannot be answered politically, or through legislation.
The 16-year-old Marie, even though she likely didn't know it at the time, came up with the right answer for her situation. Things worked out for her. Hopefully they worked for that little boy, too.
I still have to think that no matter how gilded your life is, though, that's gotta be a hard memory to carry with you, and that you wouldn't be able to help but wonder how things might have been different if ...
Sunday, May 28, 2006
I was right, I was wrong
SPOT ON: See the post headlined May 23: iTunes downloader ready. I was right; The new Dixie Chicks album is damn good. It's an exquisitely manicured middle finger standing tall against the crap they've had to endure over the last three years.
And it is, thankfully, more than that; it's a nice transition out of the hard-core country world into tunes that cross many lines. "Easy Silence" showcases the voice not of Natalie Maines the Texan, but that of Natalie Maines, the former Berklee student.
All that said, it's hard not to point out that the Chicks have been the top album download on iTunes all week while the president's approval rating struggles to stay above 30 percent. Take that, rednecks.
EATING MY WORDS: I wrote this in February 2002 after the Super Bowl. Musing about the commericals:
Well, maybe, I might have to amend that: Everybody else's CTS is funny-looking. The one that'll be in my driveway for the next 39 months looks pretty cool.
And it is, thankfully, more than that; it's a nice transition out of the hard-core country world into tunes that cross many lines. "Easy Silence" showcases the voice not of Natalie Maines the Texan, but that of Natalie Maines, the former Berklee student.
All that said, it's hard not to point out that the Chicks have been the top album download on iTunes all week while the president's approval rating struggles to stay above 30 percent. Take that, rednecks.
EATING MY WORDS: I wrote this in February 2002 after the Super Bowl. Musing about the commericals:
Cadillac has finally figured out that its customer base is, like, almost dead. The average age of a new Cadillac buyer is 69. The marketing folks catch a clue: Cadillac cues up the Zeppelin, finds a '59 Eldo, and voila, a star is born. Not crazy about the CTS; it's kind of a funny-looking car.
Well, maybe, I might have to amend that: Everybody else's CTS is funny-looking. The one that'll be in my driveway for the next 39 months looks pretty cool.
Friday, April 07, 2006
Sad and pathetic
A lot of heavy stuff here lately ... time for a chuckle in my most favorite way -- at my own expense.
Funny scene on the streets of suburban Tampa on Friday afternoon:
Guy in a black 2006 Rapidlyagingdudemobile, late 30s, sun shining off his receding hairline, windows down, 7-speaker Bose cranked up to the max, just absolutely rocking out ...
The song? "Behind these Hazel Eyes" by Kelly Clarkson.
Hi.
Funny scene on the streets of suburban Tampa on Friday afternoon:
Guy in a black 2006 Rapidlyagingdudemobile, late 30s, sun shining off his receding hairline, windows down, 7-speaker Bose cranked up to the max, just absolutely rocking out ...
The song? "Behind these Hazel Eyes" by Kelly Clarkson.
Hi.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
My life, brought to you by iTunes
A tremendously fun meme. Simple rules:
1/Get your iTunes library.
2/Set it to shuffle
3/Ask the questions below and hit Play (or next)
4/Whatever song comes up, go with it.
Q) How does the world see you?
A) The Road Goes on Forever / Robert Earl Keen
This is a song about a girl I knew back in Anytown. Several of them, actually. However, the story never ended as well for any of them.
Q) Will I have a happy life?
A) Drinkin' on the Job / The Rainmakers
Now there's an idea.
Q) What do my friends really think of me?
A) Manic Depression / Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble
They could certainly be excused if that's what they thought.
Q) Do people secretly lust after me?
A) Free Bird / Lynyrd Skynyrd
Yeah ... probably not.
Q) How can I make myself happy?
A) A Million Miles Away / The Rainmakers
This song is a really really deep song about a guy who could be recovering from a traumatic experience, drug abuse, or homelessness. I always took it as that he was contemplating suicide, but that might be reading a little bit more into it. It does feature one of Bob Walkenhorst's very cool turns of phrase:
And the landscape in the dark,
it could have been New Zealand
New York, or New Mexico
So what else is new? Jim thought
Q) What should I do with my life?
A) More than a Feeling / Boston
Ah, a great song from the speakers of the Trans Am in the mid-'80s. Not much guidance there, though.
Q) Will I ever have children?
A) I Know My History / Van Zant
My history would suggest that I'd have a big family. By 21st-century standards, I do.
Q) What is some good advice for me?
A) The Three Fine Daughters of Farmer Brown / Eddie from Ohio
Hmm ... nah, that would probably cause trouble.
Q) How will I be remembered?
A) Creepin' In / Norah Jones
That's me, sneaking into places where I don't belong, over and over.
Q) What is my signature song?
A) Small Town Jericho / Sugarland
I always wanted to live in a small town. I never have. And I think it would be too late now. If you weren't born there, you'll never belong.
Q) What do I think my current theme song is?
A) Take Me Down / Kelly Willis
I don't believe the words you're saying
And I know the game you're playing
So it's only just for now
That I will let you take me down
Q) What does everyone else think my current theme song is?
A) Wide Open Spaces / Dixie Chicks
I lived in one place for 25 years. I haven't lived anywhere else for more than three. Might explain a lot about a lot.
Q) What song will play at my funeral?
A) The One That Got Away / The Rainmakers
The old man's lament.
Well I did this and I did that
And I guess I did OK
I did whatever I had to do
And I did it my own way
Whatever hand I drew
Whatever hand I played
From place to place
I come face to face
with the one that got away"
In a lot of ways, that's strangely appropriate. I've never felt I've made the most of the opportunities I've had.
Q) What type of men/women do I like?
A) If I Wanted To / Melissa Etheridge
Odd that she'd pop up in that spot.
Q) What is my day going to be like?
A) Snakedance / The Rainmakers
This is the lion's den ... And yeah, I knew that before I came in.
From largelypro.com (and please note: the fact that the blogger had a close association with a band that popped up repeatedly in the above list had no influence on the content).
1/Get your iTunes library.
2/Set it to shuffle
3/Ask the questions below and hit Play (or next)
4/Whatever song comes up, go with it.
Q) How does the world see you?
A) The Road Goes on Forever / Robert Earl Keen
This is a song about a girl I knew back in Anytown. Several of them, actually. However, the story never ended as well for any of them.
Q) Will I have a happy life?
A) Drinkin' on the Job / The Rainmakers
Now there's an idea.
Q) What do my friends really think of me?
A) Manic Depression / Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble
They could certainly be excused if that's what they thought.
Q) Do people secretly lust after me?
A) Free Bird / Lynyrd Skynyrd
Yeah ... probably not.
Q) How can I make myself happy?
A) A Million Miles Away / The Rainmakers
This song is a really really deep song about a guy who could be recovering from a traumatic experience, drug abuse, or homelessness. I always took it as that he was contemplating suicide, but that might be reading a little bit more into it. It does feature one of Bob Walkenhorst's very cool turns of phrase:
And the landscape in the dark,
it could have been New Zealand
New York, or New Mexico
So what else is new? Jim thought
Q) What should I do with my life?
A) More than a Feeling / Boston
Ah, a great song from the speakers of the Trans Am in the mid-'80s. Not much guidance there, though.
Q) Will I ever have children?
A) I Know My History / Van Zant
My history would suggest that I'd have a big family. By 21st-century standards, I do.
Q) What is some good advice for me?
A) The Three Fine Daughters of Farmer Brown / Eddie from Ohio
Hmm ... nah, that would probably cause trouble.
Q) How will I be remembered?
A) Creepin' In / Norah Jones
That's me, sneaking into places where I don't belong, over and over.
Q) What is my signature song?
A) Small Town Jericho / Sugarland
I always wanted to live in a small town. I never have. And I think it would be too late now. If you weren't born there, you'll never belong.
Q) What do I think my current theme song is?
A) Take Me Down / Kelly Willis
I don't believe the words you're saying
And I know the game you're playing
So it's only just for now
That I will let you take me down
Q) What does everyone else think my current theme song is?
A) Wide Open Spaces / Dixie Chicks
I lived in one place for 25 years. I haven't lived anywhere else for more than three. Might explain a lot about a lot.
Q) What song will play at my funeral?
A) The One That Got Away / The Rainmakers
The old man's lament.
Well I did this and I did that
And I guess I did OK
I did whatever I had to do
And I did it my own way
Whatever hand I drew
Whatever hand I played
From place to place
I come face to face
with the one that got away"
In a lot of ways, that's strangely appropriate. I've never felt I've made the most of the opportunities I've had.
Q) What type of men/women do I like?
A) If I Wanted To / Melissa Etheridge
Odd that she'd pop up in that spot.
Q) What is my day going to be like?
A) Snakedance / The Rainmakers
This is the lion's den ... And yeah, I knew that before I came in.
From largelypro.com (and please note: the fact that the blogger had a close association with a band that popped up repeatedly in the above list had no influence on the content).