My Years With Proust - Day 461

   Often, when M. de Cambremer hailed me from the station, I had just been taking advantage of the darkness with Albertine, not without some difficulty as she had struggled a little, fearing that it was not dark enough.  "You know, I'm sure Cottard saw us; anyhow, if he didn't, he must have noticed your breathless voice, just when they were talking about your other kind of breathlessness,' Albertine said to me when we arrived at Douville station where we took the little train home.  But if this return journey, like the outward one, by giving me a certain impression of poetry, awakened in me the desire to travel, to lead a new life, and so made me want to abandon any intention of marrying Albertine, and even to break off our relations for good, it also, by the very face of their contradictory nature, made this breach easier.   For, on the homeward journey just as much as on the other, at every station we were joined in the train or greeted from the platform by people whom we knew; the furtive pleasures of the imagination were overshadowed by those other, continual pleasures of sociability which are so soothing, soporific.  Already, before the stations themselves, their names (which had so fired my imagination ever since the day I had first heard them, that first evening when I had travelled down to Balbec with my grandmother) had become humanised, had lost their strangeness since the evening when Brichot, at Albertine's request, had given us a more complete account of their etymology.

Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, pp. 1134-1135

A couple different times, I think, we've discussed the shorthand (phrasing) that couples have for sex.  There's that point in the early over-heated days of a relationship where one partner will say to the other something like, "Look, we really need to fuck now!" and some office or stairwell or elevator or public restroom or park bench will be appropriately defiled/sanctified in short order.  However, after that point, and rather organically, the command/request takes on a more personal and prosaic terminology that reflects a shared intimacy and history.  "Let's get lost" is still one of my favorites, an homage to the Chet Baker classic but also to removing yourself from the mundane and appropriate and seeking out the transcendent and gloriously inappropriate; in fact, it might still work with me today, even though I am, as we all know, free of the carnal whirlwind..It is easy to see how "taking advantage of the darkness" could easily be transformed into essential couple shorthand.

Now, more importantly (as if anything is more important than "taking advantage of the darkness"), I am drawn to this passage: "But if this return journey, like the outward one, by giving me a certain impression of poetry, awakened in me the desire to travel, to lead a new life . . ." Yes, I've just returned from a week and a half out of the country, and I'm already in the mood to travel again.  My friend Steve will often opine that I'm the only person he knows wherein wanderlust is an actual physical condition.  It seems to me that the key line here is how the journey was giving Marcel "a certain impression of poetry." I've often told students that often poetry can say more in a few quatrains than prose can in a few hundred pages, but why is this so?  Maybe it is something as simple as the fact that poetry hints at things as compared to spelling them out, and that forces us to fill in the blanks by bringing ourselves into the discussion.  It brings us out of ourselves and into the world, and maybe this is what travel does.  I've often told students that they will one day have that travel experience from which they will never return, in which, to paraphrase Proust here, we will get lost in the poetry.

Waiting out the Monsoon

For years I never posted pictures of myself, and I find that I do it more often now, which I suspect is actually, oddly, a reflection of the ravages of time.  Whenever there's a picture wherein I don't look like a reanimated corpse I feel inspired to post it.  My friend Steve snapped this picture of me hiding under an overhang during the early monsoon dominated days of our recent trip to Zanzibar.

If nothing else it is another amazing Zanzibar door; it's too bad so much of  it's blocked by that oaf.

My Years With Proust - Day 460

   I saw his wife once again, as a matter of fact, because she had said that my "cousin" behaved rather weirdly, and I wished to know what she meant by this.  She denied having said it, but at length admitted that she had been speaking of a person whom she thought she had seen with my cousin. She did not know the person's name and said finally that, if she was not mistaken, it was the wife of a banker, who was called Lina, Linette, Lisette, Lia, anyhow something like that.  I felt that "wife of a banker" was inserted merely to put me off the scent.  I wanted to ask Albertine whether it was true.  But I preferred to give the impression of knowing rather than inquiring. Besides, Albertine would not have answered me at all, or would have answered me only with a "no" of which the "n" would have been to hesitant and the "o" to emphatic.  Albertine never related facts that were damaging to her, but always other facts which could be explained only by the former, the truth being rather a current which flows from what people say to us, and which we pick up, invisible though it is, than the actual things they have said. Thus, when I assured her that a woman whom she had known as Vichy was disreputable, she swore to me that this woman was not at all what I supposed and had never attempted to make her do anything improper.  But she added, another day, when I was speaking of my curiosity as to people of what sort, that the Vichy lady had a friend too, whom she, Albertine, did not know, but whom the lady had "promised to introduce to her." That she should have promised her this could only mean that Albertine wished it, or that the lady had known that by offering the introduction she would be giving her pleasure.  But if I had pointed this out to Albertine, I should have given the impression that my revelations came exclusively from her; I should have put a stop to them at once, never having learned anything more, and ceased to make myself feared.  Besides, we were at Balbec, and the Vichy lady was her friend lived at Menton; the remoteness, the impossibility of the danger made short work of my suspicions.

Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, pp. 1133-1134

Marcel's suspicions of Albertine continue unabated, and he sees potential lovers for her everywhere.  I suppose I should be getting sick of Marcel's endless jealousy, but somehow, in peeling away new layers of the onion, Proust is able to reveal more aspects of complexity of human nature.  With that in mind, a couple things jump to mind.

When my friend Steve and I were bumming around on the recent trip to Zanzibar, as part of a broader discussion of white privilege (and, yes, that very statement reeks of white privilege), I brought up the notion of how even easy to consume food is a mark of privilege.  We were picking the bones out of a delicious fish dinner in Stone Town, and discussing about how some of our students would have whined about it, and I opined that one typically un-examined aspect of privilege is having food prepared in such a way that it was easy (and fast) to eat (and, of course, and metaphorically appropriate, less interesting and delicious).  This makes me think about so many of Marcel's comments.  Is the ability to mope endlessly about a love gone wrong or to immerse yourself fully into a jealous rage a product of a certain type or privilege?  Proust writes, when discussing the folly of asking Albertine about his suspicions, "Besides, Albertine would not have answered me at all, or would have answered me only with a "no" of which the "n" would have been to hesitant and the "o" to emphatic." Heartbreak certainly transcends class differences, but I think I would argue that our willingness, or ability, to revel in it endlessly speaks to an existence where you are cut off from many of the day to day demands of real life.

Now, the other side of privilege is his simple privilege as a man, which we've discussed several time so I don't think it's necessary to go into it in great detail here.  That said, Proust points out that, "But if I had pointed this out to Albertine, I should have given the impression that my revelations came exclusively from her; I should have put a stop to them at once, never having learned anything more, and ceased to make myself feared." The few simple words at the end, "and ceased to make myself feared" speaks volumes about the difference in power dynamics in any relationship.

I'm also really intrigued by this statement: "Albertine never related facts that were damaging to her, but always other facts which could be explained only by the former, the truth being rather a current which flows from what people say to us, and which we pick up, invisible though it is, than the actual things they have said." Maybe I'm over-reacting to these words because of the farcical "post-truth" age in which we live, but I think his words express never-ending role of perception and the fluidity of truth.

In Memory of Oscar Scudder

In honor of Memorial Day I wanted to post a picture of the grave of my great uncle Oscar Scudder, my grandfather Herbert's older brother, who was one of the last Americans killed in World War I.  My nephew Pat was kind enough to send it my way.

I have a bit of a tortured relationship with Memorial Day or Veterans Day, not because I am not appreciative of the sacrifice of way too many American servicemen and servicewomen, but because of our government's attempt to conflate appreciating the efforts of the dead with unquestioning loyalty to the state, which is certainly not what they fought and died for.

Monsoon in Zanzibar

And, no, I'm not talking about the impact of Steve Wehmeyer and yours truly arriving in Zanzibar, but rather that we arrived in Zanzibar during the tail end of the monsoon season.  The summer I spent teaching in India overlapped with the monsoon season so I've seen some pretty crazy reasons, but Zanzibar's monsoon doesn't have to take a backseat to anyone.  We arrived on the ferry on just about the hardest sustained rain I can ever remember; the kind of rain where you think it can't possibly rain any harder, and then it kicks into an even greater torrential downpour, and it keeps up for hours.  Arriving into the port at Zanzibar is always a madhouse, but it was definitely kicked up a notch during the apocalyptic rain.  Happily we were met by the excellent Kombo Bakar's team so we didn't have to walk (swim) all the way to the Flamingo Guest House.  Because of the weather Kombo's team was delayed a few minutes so Steve and I pushed through the army of touts and found a relatively dry safe spot under an overhang.  A guy, who was also doubtless looking to give us a ride, was still nice enough to loan us his phone several times so that we could call Kombo.  Eventually we made it safe and sound and soaked to the Flamingo and then walked through the flooded streets of Stone Town to Lukmaan's for the first of several great meals (more on that later).

The view as we pulled into Stone Town. Despite the downpour the trip from Dar to Zanzibar was smooth, unlike the roller coaster ride back.

The relative chaos of the Zanzibar port (I say relative because the madness of the Dar Es Salaam port puts it to shame).

The luggage coming off the ship.  I'll have to find a way to post the video I took.  Two guy push the luggage cage out of the ship and another guy rides it down backwards, in this case a slick ride with the rain.  It picks up speed until it is caught by a ship rope laying on the ground, shortly before it would have toppled out into the water on the other side of the dock.

Relative sanctuary from the rain as we waited for Kombo.

You can get a little better sense of the rain, but, truthfully, the picture just doesn't do it justice.

The walk to Lukmaan's after we dropped our bags at the Flamingo.  You can see Steve and Kombo on the left on what passes for a sidewalk in Stone Town.  I was wearing sandals and was already soaked, so I just waded through the rushing water.

And a river ran through it, at least temporarily.

My Years With Proust - Day 459

Once we were in the carriages which had come to meet us, we no longer had any idea where we were; the roads were not lighted; we could tell by the louder noise of the wheels that we were passing through a village, we thought we had arrived, we found ourselves once more in the open country, we heard bells in the distance, we forgot that we were in evening dress, and we had almost fallen asleep when, at the end of this long stretch of darkness which, what with the distance we had travelled and the hitches and delays inseparable from railway journeys, seems to have carried us on to a late hour of the night and almost half-way back to Paris, suddenly, after the crunching of the carriage wheels over a finer gravel had revealed to us that we had turned into the drive, there burst forth, reintroducing us into a social existence, the dazzling lights of the drawing-room, then of the dining-room where we were suddenly taken aback by hearing eight o'clock strike when we imagined we were long since past it, while the endless dishes and vintage wines would circulate among the men in black and the women with bare arms, at a dinner glittering with light like a real metropolitan dinner-party but surrounded, and thereby changed in character, by the strange and sombre double veil which, diverted from their primal solemnity, the nocturnal rural, maritime hours of the journey there and back had woven for it. Soon indeed the return journey obliged us to leave the radiant and quickly forgotten splendour of the lights drawing-room for the carriages, in which I arranged to be with Albertine so that she should not be alone with other people, and often for another reason as well, which was that we could both do many things in a dark carriage, in which the jolts of the downward drive would moreover give us an excuse, should a sudden ray of light fall upon us, for clinging to one another.

Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, pp. 1132-1133

Proust describes, in very Proustian lush detail, the trip to and from a dinner party, and managed to convey the sense of confusion when you are travelling and have completely lost track of time and space.  I love the intricate and intimate description, which in the end makes his earthy comment that "we could both do many things in a dark carriage" all the more carnal.  In literature and in cinema success is so often tied to pacing.  One killing after another in a slasher film becomes surprisingly tedious very quickly, but if you divide it up with humorous or sexual scenes the action is that much more vibrant.  Here Proust has managed to do something similar, but makes that one line jump off the page after the rich detail of the description of the trip and the party. Now that we're over a couple thousand pages into Remembrance of Things Past I had just about convinced myself that while Marcel was a very jealous lover, he wasn't a particularly passionate one.  This makes me think that there may be more to Marcel than meets the eye.

My Years With Proust - Day 458

"What, you didn't notice how distressed he became when you mentioned her," went on M. de Charlus, who liked to show that he had experience of women, and spoke of the sentiment they inspire as naturally as if it was what he himself habitually felt.  But a certain equivocally paternal tone in addressing all young men - in spite of his exclusive affection for Morel - gave the lie to the womanizing views which he expressed.  "Oh! these children," he said in a shrill, mincing, sing-song voice, "one has to teach them everything, they're as innocent as newborn babes, they can't even tell when a man is in love with a woman.  I was more fly than that at your age," he added, for he liked to use the expressions of the underworld, perhaps because they appeared to him, perhaps so as not to appear, by avoiding them, to admit that he consorted with people whose current vocabulary they were.

Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, p. 1127

I culled out this section for two simple and pretty superficial reasons.  First off, it's another example of M. de Charlus struggling with societal expectations of sexuality, but also clearly increasingly letting down his guard around friends. And I have to admit that I laughed at his statement that "I was more fly than that at your age."  And I will avoid the obvious popular culture reference joke.  I am interested in how that managed to be one of "the expressions of the underworld." More research necessary.

My Years With Proust - Day 457

The five minutes stretched to an hour, after which Noemie came and escorted an enraged Charlus and a disconsolate Jupien on tiptoe to a door which stood ajar, telling them: "You'll see splendidly from here.  However, it's not very interesting just as present.  He's with three ladies, and he's telling them about his army life." At length the Baron was able to see through the cleft of the door and also the reflexion in the mirrors beyond.  But a mortal terror forced him to lean back against the wall.  It was indeed Morel that he saw before him, but, as though the pagan mysteries and magic spells still existed, it was rather the shade of Morel, Morel embalmed, not even Morel restored to like like Lazarus, an apparition of Morel, a phantom of Morel, Morel "walking" or "called up" in this room (in which the walls and couches everywhere repeated the emblems of sorcery), that was visible a few feet away from him, in profile.  Morel had, as happens to the dead, lost all his colour; among these women, with whom one might have expected him to be making merry, he remained livid, fixed in an artificial immobility; to drink the glass of champagne that stood before him, his listless arm tried in vain to reach out, and dropped back again.  One had the impression of that ambiguous state implied by a religion which speaks of immortality but means thereby something that does not exclude extinction.  The women were plying him with questions: "You see," Mlle Noemie whispered to the Baron, "they're talking to him about his army life.  It's amusing, isn't it?" - here she laughed - "You're glad you came?  He's calm, isn't he," she added, as though she were speaking of a dying man.  The women's questions came thick and fast, but Morel, inanimate, had not the strength to answer them.  Even the miracle of a whispered word did not occur.  M. de Charlus hesitated for barely a moment before he grasped what had really happened,namely that - whether from clumsiness on Jupien's part when he had called to make the arrangements, or from the expansive power of secrets once confided which ensures that they are never kept, or from the natural indiscretion of these women, or from their fear of the police - Morel had been told that two gentlemen had paid a large sum to be allowed to spy on him, unseen hands had spirited the Prince de Guermantes, metamorphosed into three women, and the unhappy Morel had been placed, trembling, paralysed with fear, in such a position that if M. de Charlus could scarcely see him, he, terrified, speechless, not daring to lift his glass for fear of letting it fall, had a perfect view of the Baron.

Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, pp. 1116-1117

The plot of M. de Charlus and Jupien comes to nothing because all they discover in the room is Morel and three women, in a very staged performance with the women asking him questions about his army life.  The mistress of the brothel asks the Baron, "You're glad you came?"  M. de Charlus quickly figures out that somehow their secret plan was discovered, and "unseen hands had spirited the Prince de Guermantes, metamorphosed into three women. . ."  Proust's description of the Morel that the Baron saw through the cleft of the door is brilliantly otherworldly: "But a mortal terror forced him to lean back against the wall.  It was indeed Morel that he saw before him, but, as though the pagan mysteries and magic spells still existed, it was rather the shade of Morel, Morel embalmed, not even Morel restored to like like Lazarus, an apparition of Morel, a phantom of Morel, Morel "walking" or "called up" in this room (in which the walls and couches everywhere repeated the emblems of sorcery), that was visible a few feet away from him, in profile.  Morel had, as happens to the dead, lost all his colour. . ."  I think the description is both metaphoric and realistic.  It is a fitting metaphor for a Morel who was now all but dead to the Baron, but it was also an accurate description of a terrified Morel who was almost caught. I can't help but wonder if the Baron's "mortal terror" had less to do with Morel's infidelity or his time spent with women or the fact that M. de Charlus realized how terribly old and foolish he was. As a man who is increasingly old and foolish I'm leaning to that possibility.

My Years With Proust - Day 456

   The incident that concerns Morel was of a more highly specialised order.  There were others, but I confine myself at present, as the little train halts and the porter calls out "Doncieres," "Grattevast," "Maineville" etc., to noting down the particular memory that the water-place of garrison town recalls to me.  I have already mentioned Maineville (media villa) and the importance that it had acquired from that luxurious house of prostitution which had recently been built there, not without arousing futile protests from the local mothers. . .

   In any case Morel, whatever objection might be made, reserved certain evening hours, whether for algebra or for the violin.  On one occasion it was for neither, but for the Prince de Guermantes who, having come down for a few days to that part of the coast to pay the Princesse de Luxembourg a visit, met the musician without knowing who he was or being known to him either, and offered him fifty francs to spend the night with him in the brothel at Maineville; a twofold pleasure for Morel, in the remuneration received from M. de Guermantes and in the delight of being surrounded by women who would flaunt their tawny breasts uncovered.  In some way or other M. de Charlus got wind of what had occurred and of the place appointed, but did not discover the name of the seducer.  Mad with jealousy, and in the hope of identifying the latter, he telegraphed to Jupien, who arrived two days later, and when, early the following week, Morel announced that he would again be absent, he Baron asked Jupien if he would undertake to bribe the woman who the establishment to hide them in some place where they could witness what occurred. "That's all right, I'll see to it, dearer," Jupien assured the Baron.  It is hard to imagine the extent to which this anxiety agitated the Baron's mind, and by the very fact of doing so had momentarily enriched it.  Love can thus be responsible for veritable geological upheavals of the mind.  In that of M. de Charlus, which a few days earlier had resembled a plain so uniform that as far as the eye could reach it would have been impossible to make out an idea rising above the level surface, there had suddenly sprung into being, hard as stone, a range of mountains, but mountains as elaborately carved as if some sculptor, instead of quarrying and carting away the marble, had chiselled it on the spot, in which there writhed in vast titanic groups Fury, Jealousy, Curiosity, Envy, Hatred, Suffering, Pride, Terror and Love.

Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, pp. 1112-1114

I'm beginning to think that Proust should have entitled this work Remembrance of Jealousy Past, as we have another example of one of the characters being driven to mad distraction by jealousy.  In this case it is once again M. de Charlus.  Proust makes uses of an extended geological metaphor to explain the calamity.  We are told, In that of M. de Charlus, which a few days earlier had resembled a plain so uniform that as far as the eye could reach it would have been impossible to make out an idea rising above the level surface . . ." But then we are told that he hears a rumor and "there had suddenly sprung into being, hard as stone, a range of mountains, but mountains as elaborately carved as if some sculptor, instead of quarrying and carting away the marble, had chiselled it on the spot, in which there writhed in vast titanic groups Fury, Jealousy, Curiosity, Envy, Hatred, Suffering, Pride, Terror and Love."  Now, to be fair, is is a pretty spectacular rumor.  The Baron hears that Morel is planning to meet an unnamed lover at the brothel at Maineville.  In this case the rumor had substance because Morel had run into the Prince de Guermantes who had offered him fifty francs to spend the night with him.  Not surprisingly, M. de Charlus flies into a rage.  What I find surprising is that the Baron wires his older lover Jupien and asks for help, and not only does Jupien reply in the affirmative but volunteers to bribe the mistress of the brothel to allow them to spy.  Knowing how self-centered the Baron is I guess I'm not that shocked that he had the temerity to contact Jupien.  Rather, I'm somewhat surprised that Jupien didn't tell him to get stuffed, unless, of course, he thinks that this discovery will drive the Baron back into his arms.

As Proust reminds us, "Love can thus be responsible for veritable geological upheavals of the mind."

My Years With Proust - Day 455

"You would do wrong to apply in this case the proverbial 'spare the rod and spoil the child,' for you were the child in question, and I do not intend to spare the rod, even after our quarrel, for those who have base sought to do you injury. Until now, in response to their inquisitive insinuation s, when they dared to ask me how a man like myself could associate with a gigolo of your sort, sprung form the gutter, I have answered only in the words of the motto of my La Rochefourcauld cousins: 'It is my pleasure.' I have indeed pointed out to you more than once that this pleasure was capable of becoming my chieftest pleasure, without there resulting from your arbitrary elevation any debasement of myself." And in an impulse of almost insane pride he exclaimed, raising his arms in the air: "Tantus ab uno splendor! To condescend is not to descend," he added in a calmer tone, after this delirious outburst of pride and joy. "I hope at least that my two adversaries, notwithstanding their inferior rank, are of a blood that I can shed without reproach.  I have made certain discreet inquiries in that direction which have reassured me.  If you retained a shred of gratitude towards me, you ought on the contrary to be proud to see me that for your sake I am reviving the bellicose humour of my ancestors, saying like them, in the event of a fatal outcome, now that I have learned what a little rascal you are: 'Death to me is life.'"

Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, pp. 1104-1105

Somewhere along the way M. de Charlus has become one of those Dickensian characters designed to express pomposity and class arrogance, which was maybe always Proust's intention.  He's won this round with Morel, and the victory only makes him more arrogant.  He even goes so far to proclaim, quite loudly, "Tantus ab uno splendor!" which I think translates out as "So much brilliance coming from one person."

The Baron throws in one last pompostic exclamation: "If you retained a shred of gratitude towards me, you ought on the contrary to be proud to see me that for your sake I am reviving the bellicose humour of my ancestors, saying like them, in the event of a fatal outcome, now that I have learned what a little rascal you are: 'Death to me is life." Now, is this just the Baron showing off, again, or is there a darker meaning in that statement that "Death to me is life."

My Years With Proust - Day 454

   "What are you doing here?" he said to him.  "And you?" he added, looking at me, "I told you, whatever you did, not to bring him back with you."

   "He didn't want to bring me," said Morel, turning upon M. de Charlus, in the artlessness of his coquetry, a conventionally mournful and languorously old-fashioned gaze which he doubtless thought irresistible, and looking as though he wanted to kiss the Baron and to burst into tears.  "It was I who insisted on coming in spite of him.  I come, in the name of our friendship, to implore you on my bended knees not to commit this rash act."

   M. de Charlus was wild with joy.  The reaction was almost too much for his nerves; he managed, however, to control them.

   "The friendship which you somewhat inopportunely invoke," he replied curtly, "ought, on the contrary, to make you give me your approval when I decide that I cannot allow the impertinences of a fool to pass unheeded. Besides, even if I chose to yield to the entreaties of an affection which I have known better inspired, I should no longer be in a position to do so, since my letters to my seconds have been dispatched and I have no doubt of their acceptance.  You have always behaved towards me like a young idiot and, instead of priding yourself, as you had every right to do, upon the predilection which I had known for you, instead of making known to the rabble of sergeants or servants among whom the law of military service compels you to live, what a source of incomparable pride friendship such as mine was to you, you have sought to apologise for it, almost to make an idiotic merit of not being grateful enough.  I know that in so doing," he went on, in order not to let it appear how deeply certain scenes had humiliated him, "you are guilty of having let yourself be carried away by the jealousy of others.  But how is it that at your age you are childish enough (and ill-bred enough) not to have seen at once that your election by myself and all the advantages that must accrue from it were bound to excited jealousies, that all your comrades, while inciting you to quarrel with me, plotting to take your place? I did not thin it advisable to warn you of the letters I have received in that connexion from all those in whom you place most trust.  I scorn the overtures of those flunkeys as I scorn their ineffectual mockery.  The only person for whom I care is yourself, since I am fond of you, but affection has its limits and you ought to have guessed as much."

Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, pp. 1103-1104

Morel has shown up and is trying to beg M. de Charlus to call off the duel.  It's a pretty amazing performance, made all the more farcical by the Baron critiquing someone else for being jealous and childish. To make this work the Baron also has to criticize Marcel ("I told you, whatever you did, not to bring him back with you.") for doing exactly what he begged him to do.

However, M. de Charlus also pretty dramatically overplays his hand, as his desire to get Morel to come to him also provides him an opportunity to lecture his young lover on his ingratitude.  In the end his own vanity is never far away. Proust reports, "The friendship which you somewhat inopportunely invoke," he replied curtly, "ought, on the contrary, to make you give me your approval when I decide that I cannot allow the impertinences of a fool to pass unheeded." He even goes so far as to point out that there were other soldiers in Morel's own regiment who wrote to the Baron begging to take the young man's place, even though, the older man affirms, "I scorn the overtures of those flunkeys as I scorn their ineffectual mockery."  Still, one can't help wondering if this clumsily staged performance, due to its public nature, will not have disastrous consequences down the road.

If nothing else, I hope the Baron and Morel had great make-up sex.



   

My Years With Proust - Day 453

Being in a mood not to be deprived of Morel's company that evening, he had pretended to have been informed that two officers of the regiment had spoken ill of him on connexion with the violinist and that he was going to send his seconds to call upon them.  Morel had foreseen the scandal - his life in the regiment made impossible - and had come at once.  In doing which he had not been altogether wrong.  For to make this lie more plausible, M. de Charlus had already written to two friends (one was Cottard) asking them to be his seconds.  And if the violinist had not appeared, we may be certain that, mad as he was (and in order to change his sorrow into rage), M. de Charlus would have sent them with a challenge to some officer or some other with whom it would have been relief to him to fight.  In the meantime M. de Charlus, remembering that he came of a race that was of purer blood than the House of France, told himself that it was really very good of him to make such a fuss about the son of a butler whose employer he would not have condescend to know.

Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, p. 1102

The Baron's charade grows both more absurd but also more serious.  Not to drag Presidential politics into this, but, as always, it's the mad cover-up for an earlier indiscretion, which might have been serious, but might also have just been spontaneously foolish (and thus utterly human).  In this case the need of M. de Charlus to control Morel is making this silly incident spin out of control and he's now dragging other into the vortex. And, if Proust is to believed, it is possible that the Baron have actually undertaken this mock duel, both to win back his beloved but also because of his own honor: "And if the violinist had not appeared, we may be certain that, mad as he was (and in order to change his sorrow into rage), M. de Charlus would have sent them with a challenge to some officer or some other with whom it would have been relief to him to fight." I'm thinking about Sei Shonagon's The Pillow Book and her section on "Things That Have Lost Their Power" (which I think we've discussed before).  In addition to items like a boat that has been beached by the receding tide she also includes lovers who have stormed off, but then forced to come home with their tails between their legs because their lovers has called their bluff.  Both M. de Charlus and Morel are in the danger of being that disgraced lover in this farce.

My Years With Proust - Day 452

   "Wouldn't it be better to open it? I suspect it's something serious."

   "Not on your life.  You've no idea what lies, what internal tricks that old scoundrel gets up to.  It's a dodge to make me go and see him.  Well, I'm not going.  I want to spend the evening in peace."

   "But isn't there going to be a duel to-morrow?" I asked him, having assumed that he was in the know.

   "A duel?" he repeated with an air of stupefaction, "I never heard a word about it.  Anyhow, I don't give a damn - the dirty old beast can go and get plugged in the guts if he likes.  But wait a minute, this is interesting.  I'd better look at his letter after all.  You can tell him you left it here for me, in case I should come in."

   While Morel was speaking, I looked with amazement at the beautiful books which M. de Charlus had given him and which littered his room.  The violinist having refused to accept those labelled: "I belong to the Baron" etc., a device which he felt to be insulting to himself, as a mark of vassalage, the Baron, with the sentimental ingenuity in which his ill-starred love abounded, had substituted others, borrowed from his ancestors, but ordered from the binder according to the circumstances of a melancholy friendship. . . .

   . . . If M. de Charlus, in dashing this letter down upon paper, had seemed to be carried away by the daemon that was inspiring his flying pen, as soon as Morel had broken the seal (a leopard between two roses gules, with the motto: Atavis et armis) he began to read the letter as feverishly as M. de Charlus had written it, and over those pages covered at breakneck speed his eye ran no less swiftly than the Baron's pen.  "Good God!" he exclaimed, "this is the last straw!  But where am I to find him? Heaven only knows where he is now."

Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, pp. 1100-1101

Marcel delivers the hastily - well, it was eight pages, so I guess not that hastily - written note from M. de Charlus to Morel.  While the plot - that is, the Baron being involved in a duel - seems painfully foolish and patently unbelievable, it appears to have achieved its purpose as Morel, after initially feigning indifference, is immediately drawn into the adventure. Morel, in the face of the absurd news of the Baron's impending duel, nevertheless exclaims, "Good God!" he exclaimed, "this is the last straw!  But where am I to find him? Heaven only knows where he is now."  Keep in mind that this is about two minutes after he informed Marcel, "You've no idea what lies, what internal tricks that old scoundrel gets up to.  It's a dodge to make me go and see him." Every relationship has its own internal logic, and sometimes that internal logic is decidedly illogical.  One would suppose that the partnership of M. de Charlus and Morel was defined by and fueled by high drama.

My Years With Proust - Day 451

   When he had written eight pages: "May I ask you to do me a great service?" he said to me. "You will excuse my sailing this note.  But I must.  You will take a carriage, a motor-car if you can find one, to get there as quickly as possible.  You are certain to find Morel in his quarters, where he has gone to change.  Poor boy, he tried to bluster a little when we parted, but you may be sure that his heart is heavier than mine.  You will give him this note, and, if he asks you where you saw me, you will tell him that you stopped at Doncieres (which, for that matter, is the truth) to see Robert, which is not quite the truth perhaps, but that you met me with a person whom you did not know, that I seemed to be extremely angry, that you thought you heard something about sending seconds (I am in fact fighting a duel tom-morrow).  Whatever you do, don't say that I'm asking for him, don't make any effort to bring him here, but if he wishes to come with you, don't prevent him from doing so.  Go, my boy, it is for his own good, you may the means of averting a great tragedy.  While you are away, I shall write to my seconds."

Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, p. 1099

Here we have one of the most absurd, and amusing, passages in Remembrance of Things Past, and one that proves, if, indeed, we needed more proof (to quote the excellent Sanford Zale), that when we are in love we are little more than idiots.  M. de Charlus and Morel have a lover's spat and the younger man leaves in a huff.  The Baron then, in a scheme worthy of an old I Love Lucy episode, pretends to be involved in an upcoming duel to get him back. I now have a plan in place for my next fight with my girlfriend.

Now, on the one hand it is pretty funny, and we'll spend the next few days revealing the almost slapstick nature of the plan, but on the other hand I have a feeling that it is going to play a role a much darker role in the Baron's future because it is bringing him more and more into the limelight (now, truthfully, I haven't read that far ahead in my note-taking reading, but I just have a feeling that this will have great ramifications).

My Years With Proust - Day 450

And yet, painful as these scenes came to be, it must be acknowledged that in the early days the genius of the Frenchman of the people instinctively invested Morel with charming forms of simplicity, of apparent candour, even of an independent pride which seemed to be inspired by disinterestedness.  This was not the case, but the advantage of this attitude was all the more of Morel's side in that, whereas the person who is in love is continually forced to return to the charge, to go one better, it is on the other hand easy for the person who is not in love to proceed along a straight line, inflexible and dignified.

Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, pp. 1095-1096

A brief, but insightful, commentary on Morel's charms from Proust.  One of the young violinist's chief charms is his "disinterestedness."  Naturally, I'm flashing back to the scene from Swingers where they discuss the essential three day waiting period after you've acquired the digits (or six days if you're truly money).  Proust writes, "This was not the case, but the advantage of this attitude was all the more of Morel's side in that, whereas the person who is in love is continually forced to return to the charge, to go one better, it is on the other hand easy for the person who is not in love to proceed along a straight line, inflexible and dignified."  This brings up the eternal question, which we've discussed before, of whether it is harder to be the lover or the beloved.  In the past I've tended to come down on the side of the beloved, but that may just be the contrarian in me.  I'm suddenly thinking of the Indigo Girls, who responded to the question of whether the glass is half-full or half-empty by pointing out that it doesn't matter because eventually you're going to spill it.  So, I guess the answer is it doesn't matter whether you're the lover or the beloved, you're doomed either way.

Off Again

I'm rushing around like a lunatic getting ready to head back to Zanzibar with the esteemed Steve Wehmeyer as we do extra prep for next year's innovative year-long linked course featuring a two week trip to Zanzibar.  We've discovered a number of new folks and opportunities and adventures, so this should be a great trip and make the upcoming student trip even more amazing.  Of course, this didn't keep me from swinging by the blog to say bye to folks who pop by on a regular basis.  Doubtless I'll post more pictures and stories soon, and in the meantime, thanks to the magical gnomes behind the scenes, there will be a new Proust commentary every day. In the meantime, off to Montreal then Zurich then Nairobi then Dar Es Salaam, and then finally a ferry out to Zanzibar.  See you soon.

My excellent friend Kathy Seiler sent this picture along: a flying fox next to a regular size bat.  I think she's angling for the next Zanzibar trip.  Come on, Dave Kelley, you know you want to go to Zanzibar!!

My Years With Proust - Day 449

   The melancholy air which M. de Charlus had assumed in speaking of the Princesse de Cadignan left me in no doubt that the tale in question had not reminded him only of the little garden of a cousin to whom he was not particularly attached.  He became lost in thought, and as though he were talking to himself: "The Secrets of the Princesse de Cadignan!" he exclaimed, "what a masterpiece! How profound, how heartrending the evil reputation of Diane, who is afraid that the man she loves may hear of it.  What an eternal truth, and more universal than it might appear! How far-reaching it is!" He uttered these words with a sadness in which one nevertheless felt that he found a certain charm. Certainly M. de Charlus, unaware to what extent precisely his proclivities were or were not known, had been trembling for some time past at the thought that when he returned to Paris and was seen there in Morel's company, the latter's family might intervene and so his future happiness be jeopardised.  This eventuality had probably not appeared to him hitherto save as something profoundly disagreeable and painful. But the Baron was an artist to his finger-tips.  And now that he had suddenly begun to identify his own situation with that described by Balzac, he took refuge, as it were, in the story, and for the calamity which was perhaps in store for him and which he certainly feared, he had the consolation of finding in his own anxiety what Swann and also Saint-Loup would have called something "very Balzacian." This identification of himself with the Princesse de Cardignan had been made easier for M. de Charlus by virtue of the mental transposition which was becoming habitual with him and of which he had already given several examples.  It sufficed, moreover, to make the mere conversion of a woman, as the beloved object, into a young man immediately set in motion around him the whole sequence of social complications which develop round a normal love affair.

Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, pp. 1092-1093

Proust is certainly building the suspense in regards to the eventual fate of M. de Charlus.  We are told, "Certainly M. de Charlus, unaware to what extent precisely his proclivities were or were not known, had been trembling for some time past at the thought that when he returned to Paris and was seen there in Morel's company, the latter's family might intervene and so his future happiness be jeopardised."  As we'll see soon the Baron gets precipitates a very foolish adventure will calls more attention to his "proclivities" (now I'm as guilty as Proust for dropping hints).

One of the subjects that we discuss in Heroines & Heroes is whether it is either for a man to write a female character or a woman to write a male character.  This comes up in our discussion of Feminist literary criticism and most students, fueled by Simone de Beauvoir's notion of man as "the One" and woman as "the Other" would propose that it's easier for a women to write a male character simply because he is the "default" setting (keeping in mind that de Beauvoir is not saying it should be this way, obviously, but that sadly it is).  As much as I love Dickens his female characters, most notably Ester Summerson in Bleak House (arguably his best novel), are pretty one-dimensional. [As a side note, I'll usually then ask if it is still true today, and the men uniformly say no and the women almost uniformly say yes.] Proust tells us that, in his melancholy, M. de Charlus identifies with the Princesse de Cadignan. The Baron exclaims, "The Secrets of the Princesse de Cadignan!" he exclaimed, "what a masterpiece! How profound, how heartrending the evil reputation of Diane, who is afraid that the man she loves may hear of it.  What an eternal truth, and more universal than it might appear! How far-reaching it is!" This leads Proust to observe: "This identification of himself with the Princesse de Cardignan had been made easier for M. de Charlus by virtue of the mental transposition which was becoming habitual with him and of which he had already given several examples.  It sufficed, moreover, to make the mere conversion of a woman, as the beloved object, into a young man immediately set in motion around him the whole sequence of social complications which develop round a normal love affair."   This also made me think of the issue of identifying with characters from literature or cinema who are the opposite sex (and, yes, I know that phrasing the question that way speaks to the face that I grew up in an age that was not as sophisticated in its understanding of gender fluidity).  So, I've set myself the challenge of coming up with that list.  Stupid Proust - he wears me out with all of his assignments . . .

Discography Archives - Gary Beatrice

I've decided to dip into the Discography archives, which sort of makes me feel like Neil Young occasionally releasing some older or unfairly ignored material.  In this case the material is neither old nor ignored, but I still thought it would be interesting to revisit the music and related commentary of one person for an entire year, in this case the esteemed Gary Beatrice.  Over the course of the year I dumped all the blog posts, sent along via email, into one word document and at the end it was 244 pages (and that didn't even include my lengthy and inane posts because I wrote them here at the website).  I'm starting with Beatrice and I'll release another batch every couple months.  Your job is to come up with the appropriate title, based on an existing album title, to describe the collection - and you can't use my choice: Everybody Digs Gary Beatrice.

If you've thrown out the first pitch at a Reds game, not once, but twice, you're far cooler than I will ever be.  The picture itself is pretty metaphoric, and I imagine myself at the plate being dusted as Beatrice rips me off once again in another Irrational League trade.

Week 1

Guy Clark, Texas 1947

Initially I thought I'd send a Merle Haggard song but this Guy Clark song better captures my love for classic country music. This song has an infectious melody and is exquisitely sung, but it's all about the remarkable songwriting. Guy wonderfully captures the singer's innocence and youthful excitement, but more amazingly he manages to fully create a whole cast of villagers with simple throw-away lines around a simple event that must have seemed like a miracle in Texas circa 1947.

Week 2

Prince, 1999


I haven't paid much attention to his recent music, but I still find it very sad to think about a world that does not include Prince. His music, his look, the whole package was intoxicating, and most of it sounds and looks every bit as great as it did when he recorded it. For my money, Prince's best is the first single to bring him massive crossover success 1999.
Life is just a party and parties aren't meant to last. Prince has passed but his music is eternal.

Week 3

Ray Wylie Hubbard, Mother Blues

Ray Wylie Hubbard is a swampy styled blues guitarist from Texas who wrote "Up Against The Wall Redneck Mother" for Jerry Jeff Walker decades ago, a fun, but insubstantial hit which doesn't come close to capturing his style or his wry, witty observations, but still pays his bills. Those interested could better scratch the surface of his substantial body of work checking out songs like "Loose", "Rabbit", "Snake Farm" and "Screw You, We're From Texas". My personal favorite is "Mother Blues" an autobiographical tune which is a bit more restrained than his typical song, but every bit as brilliant.
While "Mother Blues" is thoroughly entertaining in its twists, turns and surprises, what makes it so unique to my ears is how in its final moment it clearly and without any irony celebrates a theme that is rare in popular music, especially in blues: his gratitude for the wonders of his life.
   When I keep my gratitude higher then my expectations

   Well, I have very good days.

Week 4

Lucinda Williams, Blessed


Lucinda Williams is the best songwriter since Bob Dylan, and I don't know that there is anybody else even in the conversation. She may never top her brilliant back to back to back albums, Lucinda Williams, Sweet Old World, and Car Wheels On A Gravel Road, but if anything her career has become more interesting in the past decade plus as she's become more prolific and apparently more confident of her art. Many of the post Car Wheels albums have slow spots, songs that don't work, some albums I rarely return to at all.  But I find even her swings and misses fascinating.

The title track to this underrated album has her at the top of her game and it ought to be played during every Sunday religious service. We are blessed by those around us, the saints, the sinners, those who we barely notice. God is everywhere. Let her voice and music wash over you and you'll believe.

Week 5

Justin Timberlake, SexyBack 

Justin Timberlake, guilty pleasure? Hell no. This motherfucker knows how to act.

My daughter came of age during the great boy band era and we frequently argued the merits of N'Synch versus the Beatles. Ultimately I won that battle (and yes I took the Beatles) but mostly because I could send her to bed without desert. Oddly enough now that Margie and I think JT rocks, Jessica will have nothing to do with him. Such is life.

At any rate, you will never convince me that this song doesn't kick ass. Take it to the bridge.

Week 6

Outkast, Hey Ya

I was delighted by our group submitting two Nirvana covers in the same week. For one thing, I didn't know two Nirvana covers existed.

Nirvana was always a touchstone for me. I had always prided myself as somebody who had a firm grasp at what was going on in popular music, both on the charts and around the edges where the cool folks flourished. I even fancied myself as somebody who gravitated towards music a bit before it became popular and introduced it to others. And I loved the occasions when it felt like everybody who was anybody was listening to something really cool and we all listened together. But when Curt Cobain shot himself, besides grieving the obvious heartbreaking loss of his life and talent, I had to come to terms with the fact that I was old, at least at it applied to music. I would never again have an appreciation for much on the charts. I wouldn't have any idea what the cool people listened to, and if I heard popular music, chances are I had no interest in it.

But for one glorious summer it happened again. Everybody who had any serious interest in music was jamming to OutKast and their hits The Way You Move, Roses, and my personal favorite Hey Ya. I can't claim that I discovered them or introduced them to anybody, and as a rap act I am embarrassed to say I wouldn't even have given OutKast a listen if Hey Ya weren't so instantly damn catchy. But my dear Lord what a soulful, funky fun slice of pop heaven.

Week 7

Jamey Johnson, Macon



I am as big a fan of Jason Isbell, Chris Stapleton and Sturgill Simpson as anybody. Each of them are mining classic country but bringing their own passion, sensibility and personality to what they do. Their popularity gives me hope for the future of country music.

But for my tastes I'll take Jamey Johnson over each of them.

Johnson's recording career began in a more popular country vein, but he was obviously a Cash, Jennings fan who featured song writing chops and an incredible voice. By 2010's double album The Guitar Song, he was full bore alt country / Americana. I find the album riveting, compelling listening, and I am certain I've listened to it more than any other set released this decade.

The album includes about half dozen immediate classics, but to me Macon is the standout, primarily because of his voice and his powerhouse guitar climax.

Week 8

Alabama Shakes, Hold On

I know there are better music services than I Tunes, but they were the first I discovered and I stuck with them. For many years they provided as many as a dozen free new songs weekly and I'd download every one of them. I would quickly delete the majority of the songs but a surprising number of them were quite good. This was how I first found Alabama Shakes and Hold On, and I found myself blown away almost as soon as Brittany Howard begin singing. I listened to the song a half dozen times in a row before I googled them, and until I did so I sincerely thought the lead singer was an African American man. Dave Kelley knew about them, apparently Patterson Hood had been praising them for sometime, and no wonder at that, with their strong Mussel Shoals sound that the Drive By Truckers were mining as well.


Dave Wallace argues that Howard needs a better band to reach her full potential, and that is probably a valid criticism. But she sure inspired them to soulful heights on this gem.

Week 9

[editor's note: thematic week - covers better than the original]

Willie Nelson, Marie 

Steve Earle famously said that Townes Van Zandt was the greatest songwriter ever and Earle would stand on Bob Dylan's coffee table in his cowboy boots and scream that. Of course the fact that he named his son Townes tells you something as well.

Personally I'd take Dylan, but there is no denying Towne's songwriting brilliance.

The problem was that Van Zandt had severe mental health and addiction issues, which likely contributed to his notorious impatience with the recording process. A notorious wanderer, Townes had little interest in surrounding himself with a talented band or producer and even less interest in multiple takes of his performances. In his youth he had an interesting though limited voice, but as he aged hard living took that from him as well.

But he still had his songwriting right up until his death. And "Marie", one of the saddest songs I ever heard, about a down on their luck homeless couple and their unborn child, may be his very best song. But Townes' own version was so rough that I barely noticed it until the incomparable Willie Nelson brought his voice and personality to the tune giving it the performance it deserved.

Frankly I am surprised there aren't more TVZ covers. Most of the best known covers, including the entire Steve Earle "Townes" release, are of Van Zandt's best known songs, songs that he has at least some credible performances of. But there are some deep tracks like "Marie" that could make some careers.

Week 10

X, The Have Nots

Dave Wallace has exceptional musical taste and he has turned me on to a ton of great music. We don't often disagree about music, but we disagree about X.

X was the third best band of the punk era behind only The Clash and The Ramones. Not only were they criminally underrated as a punk band, they remain one of the great underrated American bands of any genre. Four of their first five albums are well worth listening to, but I'd refer the uninitiated to their great two disk compilation Back to the Base.

What makes X so compelling is not just John Doe's songwriting, and the way he and Exene Cervenka traded vocals in such an unorthodox but hypnotic manner, but the tight, driving rhythm section with Doe on base and Bonebreaker on drums, and Billy Zoom's driving guitar work. Back to the Base includes an instrumental version of The Hungry Wolf and it is as powerful a rock anthem as you will hear, even without the great vocals and lyrics that the more well known version of the song features.

"The Have Nots" captures X with one of their best performances and also at a lyrical peak, emphasizing two of their common themes: the plight of the working poor (This is the game that moves as you play) and the Los Angeles music scene. Rock 'n' roll at its finest.

Week 11

Old 97s, Four Leaf Clover

The Old 97s put the alternative in alternative country. That's not to say they aren't country. Hell, they're named after an old country classic "The Wreck of the Old 97". The wreck of the old 97 is a tale about a train wreck, and that train wreck imagery may tell you much of what you need to know about the band: in their best studio and live performances they teeter on the edge of spinning out of control into a massive train wreck without ever quite getting there.

If you like the Talking Heads or the Replacements and you also enjoy a little twang, you kinda haveta love the Old 97's.

They've been rocking for a quarter century and every album they've released has a song or two that is brilliant, but I believe their best material came from their second album "Too Far to Care" and it's rocking finale "Four Leaf Clover". I love how the drums drive this tune, seemingly speeding up as Rhett Miller and X vocalist Exene Cervenka sink into an endless depth of misery. Like so many of their best songs, the theme is the hellish, loveless life that Rhett's character experiences (which is itself hilarious given his voice, his looks and the way he shakes his ass). And like so many great Old 97 songs, the humor in "Four Leaf Clover" matches the music.

Just try to sit still while you listen to this. It can't be done.

Week 12

Bob Dylan, Tangled Up In Blue



My favorite Bob Dylan song remains Tangled Up In Blue, and oddly enough considering his catalogue that's pretty much been the case for 35 years. I could not find the original studio version on You Tube, but you've probably all heard it. This is an excellent acoustic version with several different verses off of his highly recommended Biograph collection. My second favorite song is Visions of Johanna. After those two I have a tough time ranking his songs so I've decided to order these chronologically. In part I've organized it this way because several of you were looking for places to jump into his music, but mostly I've done it this way to make it easier on myself to identify the songs and comment on them where appropriate.

This helped me make a couple observations about Dylan's music and my tastes.

1) Although I consider Dylan the best songwriter of my lifetime, my favorites of his are based upon the sound of the songs more than the lyrics. This is most apparent by the nearly complete absence of his folk and protest music from my list. Blowing In the Wind, Times They Are Changing, A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall, are all clearly among his best songs, but I just don't listen to them because I don't find them musical enough.

2) Despite the fact that he had numerous great albums, a boatload of his best songs were never on traditional albums, but were singles, b-sides or songs never released outside of compilations. I don't think this is me choosing obscurities, I think it is more the fickle nature of Bob Dylan.

3) Dylan's comeback starting with 1997's Time Out Of Mind and continuing to a lesser extent through 2016, was almost unbelievable, especially in view of the garbage he released for more than a decade before that.

So:

From Biograph (the best greatest hits collection I've heard by the way, combining three disks of must haves, alternate takes, unreleased classics all organized thematically- a great jumping in set): Percy's Song, my only folk selection,

From Bringing It All Back Home: It's Alright Ma (I'm Only Bleeding) and Maggie's Farm. BABH is considered by most critics to be one of his bests but I see it more as a transition album that doesn't flow the way his next several do. Bleeding captures the anger and pointedness of his protest music without sounding dated, and Maggie is a protest song that rocks and shows a sense of humor. The best version of Maggie is from an otherwise mediocre live album, Hard Rain.

From Highway 61: Like A Rolling Stone; Desperation Row; Highway 61 Revisited; It Takes A Lot To Laugh, It Takes A Train To Cry, Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues. A must own album, rational minds could favor the other four songs that I didn't select. Each song finds Dylan at a creative peak lyrically (I bet there are nearly a dozen phrases from this album that are now common to people who have no clue who Dylan is) and musically, with styles that range all over the roots map. The title track features a police whistle which somehow works.

Singles (can be found on Biograph and elsewhere: Positively Fourth Street, Can You Please Crawl Out My Window. Bob decided these songs didn't fit on 61 or Blonde. Maybe they don't, but either would have served as the best song in the entire catalog of several artists I love.

Blonde On Blonde: Visions of Johnanna, Stuck Inside of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again. Blonde is also essential rock music, every bit as creative but a bit less manic than 61, perhaps because it was recorded with some brilliant Nashville session musicians.

The Basement Tapes: Crash On The Levee, You Ain't Goin' Nowhere, Please Mrs. Henry, Clothes Line Saga. Basement was recorded in secret with The Band and not released until the mid seventies (and then released a couple years ago as a six disk set as part of the Bootleg series). Each of these songs find Dylan and The Band having the time of their life playing dozens of old time instruments and styles on songs that are mostly warm and funny but sometimes apocalyptic (Levee). Basement was the polar opposite of the Sgt. Pepper era music released at the time and miles better. You can make a compelling argument that it influenced more alternative country music than anything released since it.

John Wesley Harding: I Dreamed I Saw St. Augestine, All Along the Watchtower. His most underrated album, JWH sounds similar but a bit more polished than Blonde with a series of shorter straight forward songs, several with strong biblical themes. Again, not much like late sixties radio.

Nashville Skyline: Girl From The North Country. A lot of critics praise this straight country album but I find it somewhat slight. I love this duet with Johnny Cash, however, and their voices work great together.

Self Portrait: Minstrel Boy (The Bootleg Series re-release). Minstrel Boy is, of all things, a vocal track with the Band and their voices somehow sound great in this context.

Greatest Hits Volume 2: Quinn The Eskimo. Basement tapes classics beginning to leak out. Again great but unorthodox Dylan/Band vocals

New Morning: Went to See the Gypsy, Day of the Locusts. At the time this was considered his first comeback album, he hadn't sold much since Blonde and he hadn't had much critical praise since Harding, but I see this as a decent album that happens to feature a couple great forgotten songs about Elvis and about Dylan's refusal to accept an honorary degree.

Pat Garrett and Billy The Kid: Knocking on Heavens Door. I'm not sure if this his most covered song, and there are some good versions out there including Warren Zevon's. But nobody's surpassed the original.

Blood On The Tracks: Tangled Up In Blue; Shelter From The Storm; If You See Her, Say Hello, Idiot Wind, Buckets of Rain. Blood was the great comeback, and for my money it is his best album, too. These are some of the most heart wrenching break-up songs ever put to music, all exquisitely recorded. As with Highway 61, you can prefer the other tracks on this set and I'd have no argument.

Desire: Isis (the live track from Biograph is even better). One of Bob's long standing songwriting technique is to take a historic or biblical character or image and turn it into his own historic fiction and he returns to that with pretty good effect on Desire.

Street Legal: Changing of the Guards. I think this was an unfairly ignored album. I suspect listeners were put off by the strong gospel style background vocals which foresaw

The Christian Era Bob Dylan

Dylan had obviously read the bible but I sure didn't see a literal interpretation of it coming. Here's the weird thing. The three albums, Slow Train Coming, Saved, and Shot of Love, were mostly lousy, even though they sometimes featured some crack musicians. But somehow a number of unquestionably great songs emerged from this bizarre phase. Check out Every Grain of Sand, Groom Still Waiting At The Alter (which, in classic Bob style, didn't qualify for inclusion among these wretched albums until later pressings), Heart of Mine, I Believe in You, Solid Rock.

Infidels: Jokerman, Neighborhood Bully. These are two exceptional songs from one of the very few good albums he released between 1976's Desire and 1997's Time Out Of Mind. And it isn't a great album, it's just enjoyable and features these tracks which I consider to be among his best.

Oh Mercy: Everything Is Broken. Somehow in the midst of two lost decades Dylan recorded a great rock tune.

Lost track: Series of Dreams (can be found on Bootleg 8). Somehow in the midst of two lost decades Dylan recorded an even better rock song. And he decided not to release it.

Time Out of Mind: Not Dark Yet, Trying to Get to Heaven, Standing In The Doorway, Million Miles.
Love & Theft: High Water (For Charley Patton), Summer Days, Mississippi
Modern Times: Thunder on the Mountain, Working Man's Blues #2
Tempest: Pay In Blood, Roll On John, Duquesne Whistle, Tempest

And then he found his muse. Legendary musicians tend to get undue praise even when releasing adequate material. This is decidedly not the case with Dylan's return to prominence. The best of his turn of the century original material is every bit as compelling as the music he released when he was in his twenties, and if anything it benefits from his age, wisdom, and awareness of his own mortality.

There you go. I think that's 52 songs (with only one link).

Week 13

Tom Waits, Picture in a Frame



I am a sucker for a great love song, a song that unapologetically exposes the character's passion  in no uncertain terms. When the love song is sung by one of popular music's most unique vocalists, Tom Waits, who at times sings with naked, raw emotion, the results are transcendent.

Frankly, Picture In A Frame, is an incredibly simple song with only a few lyrics, but as you'd expect from Waits, those few lyrics present love in a unique but universally understandable way. The character takes the brazen step of framing the photo of his love interest and suddenly the world is different. The world is better, even the sunrise has changed.

I simply can't listen to this song without responding emotionally.

Week 14

John Prine, In Spite of Ourselves



The first time I heard "In Spite of Ourselves" I thought it was an enjoyable novelty song. The humorous observations this couple makes about each other are over-the-top, bawdy and quite funny, especially since the female lead is the wonderful but deadly serious Iris DeMent. But the slapstick humor is only part of the story. This is a love song that captures the passion between a long time married couple better than most any "serious" love song I've heard. Over time each other's quirks only serve to strengthen their bond. In spite of ourselves, we're the real door prize.  Indeed!

Week 15

Amy Winehouse, You Know I'm No Good


Amy Winehouse was the first musician that I was a big fan of at the time who died at the peak of her powers. I was too young to appreciate the sixties legends at the time, and there have been a slew of my favorites who've passed on since then, but to the best of my recollection each of them had peaked. Winehouse left us some great music and performances, but I believe she could have been a giant. To me she sounded like a 21st century version of a rat pack vocalist fully immersed in the music and the themes of modern life.

I love "You Know I'm No Good" and it also makes me terribly uncomfortable. Lyrically and vocally Winehouse spews self hatred and anger, and if I sent the correct version the rapping at the instrumental break that break only serves to intensify those feelings.

It may be better to burn out than it is to rust, but not at 27.

Week 16

The Gourds, Gin and Juice

Ok, I admit that Gin and Juice is offensive in every way. I generally do not care for songs that reference bitches and hos, nor do I love the genre of bluegrass versions of rock songs. But damn this song rocks, and I do not view it as a parody of the original as much as a tribute (although the Gourds surely knew this was funny, especially since they maintained the references to Snoop Dogg, Dr. Dre and Compton). And these two points constitute my entire justification for including  it in this blog. Actually point three: I love the line "Got my mind on my money and my money on my mind."

Week 17

[editor's note: thematic week - guilty pleasures]

Alicia Keys, No One

Her first couple disks were somewhat soulful. She is incredibly attractive. Bob Dylan references her in a recent song.

OK, I'm just making excuses. I have no logical explanation for it but I love Alicia Keys.

And it isn't just the somewhat creative, Prince-covering Alicia Keys when she first came to prominence. I mean, when she went pure pop, diva mode with As I Am, I went right with her, perhaps deeper than ever. I can recall no time in my past when I fell so hard for somebody whose claim to fame is that she makes pleasant pop, but there you have it.

 There was a time when I had dozens of artists whose disks I bought immediately, without regards to reviews or advance notice. Today I am an old conservative cheap fart, and I only act rashly with regards to acts like Lucinda Williams, Beck, My Morning Jacket, Wilco, Jack White, Gillian Welch, and, of course, Alicia Keys.

Week 18

Muddy Waters, Mannish Boy


Like a whole slew of Caucasian men in their mid-fifties I found and fell in love with the great Chicago blues men and their music through the Rolling Stones. I was, and remain, a huge fan of the Stones in their prime, and I even enjoy some of their post Some Girls music. I specifically remember being mesmerized by side three of their fine "Love You Live" album, in which they did solid covers of three blues and a Chuck Berry classic live in a small bar.  It was my first exposure to Mannish Boy and I was blown away. Blown away enough to trace it back. And, damn, was that worthwhile.

Mannish Boy has shown up in enough generic settings that there are probably generations of folks that don't recognize the incredible power behind the Muddy Waters version. That is a shame. Seventy years after its recording it remains the most outrageous sexually braggadocio recording I've ever heard. There probably weren't a ton of white Americans exposed to Muddy or Howling Wolf when their best tunes were recorded, but those who heard them sure as hell understood that these men were no b-o-y-s, and that had to be terrifying.

And yes, as Gary Scudder knows well, Margie and I were able to get our oldest child to eat his strained vegetables by convincing him that Muddy Waters ate his carrots.

Week 19

James Brown, Sex Machine

Any serious music fan recognizes James Brown's brilliance and his influence. I can't imagine what soul or R&B would sound like without Brown, and his influence on rap and hip hop is obvious by the frequency in which his music is sampled. People my age who were young adults when Prince and Michael Jackson were dominating the air waves, surely recognized that JB not only influenced the two of them musically but visually as well.

James Brown is not underrated by any means. But I find it odd that people don't play his music today.

To my ears the best of his studio recordings aren't dated in the least and still sound phenomenal. Songs like Sex Machine would fit right into urban, classic rock, and even roots/NPR formats. I suspect that Brown is remembered as such a visual musician that his studio recordings are roundly ignored or forgotten, which is why I intentionally included a non-video You Tube clip of this song. You can't possibly listen to this without seriously elevating your mood. And you only need your ears although I suspect your entire body will react.

Week 20

Bottle Rockets, Welfare Music

I love The Drive-By Truckers and Uncle Tupelo and debating which band is better and which was more responsible for the advent of alt.country, Americana, roots rock, No Depression, whatever it is... But there is a third band that should absolutely be in that conversation: the pride of Festus, Missouri, the Bottle Rockets.

Part of the reason that The Bottle Rockets are criminally overlooked is that their albums tend to have their share of filler. I'd stack "The Brooklyn Side" up against anything in the genre, but even it has three or four songs that I never need to hear again, unlike, say "Anodyne". On the other hand, a playlist of the Bottle Rockets 15-20 best songs would stand up with any band's over the past couple decades.

Fans and critics credit the band for their ability to channel Merle Haggard one moment and Crazy Horse the next, but I believe Brian Henneman isn't given enough credit for his song writing. His style is very direct story-telling, and in many ways it reminds me of Tom T Hall, another vastly underrated song writer. Henneman's forte, and he displays it best in Welfare Music, is twofold: first he has the ability to establish characters that listeners to relate to with just  a lyric or two. Secondly he can present the characters, warts and all, and typically still leaves the listener sympathizing with these flawed, but real Americans.

John Hiatt has covered Welfare Music. If that doesn't convince you that Henneman's a great songwriter than nothing ever will.

Week 21

Wilco, At Least That’s What You Said

Cyndi and I have something in common. I am a Wilco boy. And I've got it bad.

I may have lost some alt.country cred last week when I argued that the Bottle Rockets are at least as good as Uncle Tupelo. Well Gary may kick me off the blog today.

Jeff Tweedy and Wilco have far exceeded the music of Sun Volt and Jay Farrer in his numerous post Uncle Tupelo incarnations. And, in fact, alt.country or not, Wilco's music is better than Uncle Tupelo's. Maybe not more important, certainly not more influential. But better.

I've read the lyrics to At Least That's What You Said, and the best I can tell they don't mean a thing. And that is fine by me. This is all about a great band stretching out and sounding outstanding. Like Cyndi, this is one of many Wilco songs that never fails to put me in a good mood.

Week 22

Son Volt, Windfall

Part of the reason I've been disappointed with Jay Farrar's post Uncle Tupelo output is quite unfair to him. In my opinion he peaked with the very first song from his very first album.

Son Volt sounds fantastic on Windfall, and Farrar's voice, which I am not always wild about, works perfectly with this melody. I can't help but feel I am sitting next to him as he hits the next time zone while switching over to the AM dial.

More than anything though, I love the chorus. I do not know a song that has a more genuinely sincere and caring sentiment than "May the Wind Take Your Troubles Away".

Week 23

Iggy Pop, Lust for Life

I was and I remain a tremendous David Bowie fan. But I was surprised and puzzled by the outpouring of grief at his death. Dave Wallace and I had a conversation about it, my point being that I didn't think he was tremendously popular, and I certainly didn't think he was as influential as, say, Lou Reed. Dave made the points, ones that I believe were accurate, that Bowie hit so many styles that his influence was broader than his sales reflect, and perhaps more importantly, he was a good, friendly, giving man, and so his musician friends truly grieved his surprising passing.

To Dave's point, very early in his career, before he had a ton of success and money of his own, Bowie made tremendous contributions to the careers of Ian Hunter, Iggy Pop, and, yes, Lou Reed.

But I am posting about Iggy Pop.

As much as I love the music of Iggy and the Stooges (and I believe it was Dave Marsh who said that the Stooges made punk rock for fans who found The Sex Pistols and The Clash to be a bit too mellow), my favorite Iggy Pop music came from his Bowie albums, and nothing more so than the dynamic Lust For Life.

Lust For Life has the driving drum driven sound that glam era Bowie frequently featured, but it is very true to Pop ("hypnotizing chickens"?  "of course I've had it in my ear before"?).

 Has there ever been a song whose title better describes the song itself? How many hours will it take you to get this riff out of your head? Why would you ever want to?

Week 24

The Feelies, Real Cool Time

Dave Wallace and Dave Kelley have introduced me to tons of great music over the years. On most of these occasions, they helped me appreciate acts I had some familiarity with but hadn't given a fair shake. Sometimes they recommended acts I'd read about but never listened to. When Dave Wallace introduced me to The Feelies I'd never even heard their name. I instantly loved them and never stopped. And as I recall, Dave introduced them because they were Lou Reed's opening act at a show we were attending, and Dave's review of them was positive but not overwhelming.

The Feelies have one trick, but by god it's a beauty. Their first album was titled "Crazy Rhythms" and their five piece, two drum band builds every song around crazy driving drum/guitar sounds. Lyrics don't matter, vocals are muffled, but the music explodes, and never more so than on this cover of an Iggy and The Stooges song. I don't know how a band can be so brilliant and so unknown, but I sure am happy Dave introduced them to me.

Week 25

[editor's note: thematic week - best use of a song in a movie or TV]

U2, All I Want Is You

U2 was less than a decade into their existence when they were arguably the best band in rock music. But I found it very distasteful that they decided to make that argument themselves. And that's what I took away from the Rattle and Hum movie, that U2 was important and Bono was incredibly important. All of the Bono-isms that cause some people to hate him (and some people, like me, to both hate him and love him) can be traced back to this movie and soundtrack. "Charles Manson stole this song from the Beatles now we're stealing it back." "Am I bugging you? I don't mean to be bugging you."

Even worse Rattle and Hum was one mess of a movie, with several live performances that just didn't work.

But much of the studio work on the Rattle and Hum soundtrack stands among their best music, which is saying something. In my opinion nothing shows U2 in all its glory than the simple love song that closes the soundtrack and plays over the movie credits "All I Want Is You". The song peaks beautifully around a spectacular performance by The Edge and one of my favorite string sections in rock music. They could have skipped the movie and most of the live music on the soundtrack, and let the rest of the world recognize them as the best band in rock of their era.

Week 26

Violent Femmes, Blister in the Sun, and Kool and the Gang, Jungle Boogie

About ten years ago my wife Margie and her sisters Myra and Linda threw a 50th anniversary party for their parents. To no surprise to those of you that know any of them, the party was spectacular and my in-laws loved it. They rented a hall in Covington, invited family and their parents' friends, served great food and drink, and hired a disk jockey. The DJ was great. He was respectful and fun when making announcements and introducing Margie's parents and her family, and he played music that the vast majority of the guests would enjoy: Sinatra, Elvis, Patsy Kline, Motown and so on.

By 11:00 or so many of the older guests left. Margie and I and her sisters were cleaning up and my four children, my nephews and their teenage friends were making musical requests. The disk jockey started playing bland current "alternative" music which was even more formulaic than the pop music for which it served as an alternative. Then to my astonishment I heard the unmistakable opening notes to the Violent Femmes "Blister In The Sun". I am certain that neither Dave is surprised to hear that I made a beeline to the dance floor where my children, my nephews and their friends were doing some type of jumping up and down on a pogo stick dance. Of course, I joined right in singing every word at the top of my lungs and pogo sticking like an idiot. And for two minutes and twenty five seconds my nephews and their friends looked at me in awe recognizing that I was far cooler than their parents and quite possibly far cooler than any other forty five year old they'd ever met.

In a brilliant musical segue, "Blister In The Sun" became Kool and the Gang's "Jungle Boogie". I love "Jungle Boogie" and Kool and the Gang! The beat, the chants, it's early disco at its best.

Being Pulp Fiction fans my children appreciated "Jungle Boogie" and the five of us chanted, screamed along, and played air trumpet with our invisible trunks.

Suddenly I noticed that we were the only ones on the dance floor. Some of my nephews were clutching their parents, thankful for their bloodlines. Others were insisting to their friends that they had no idea who I was. I am pretty certain I heard a cock crow three times.

"Jungle Boogie" is played at every Bengals' home game and it fits their jungle motif very well,and sounds great on the stadium loud speakers. What you may not know, and I am not making this up, is that for the last couple seasons the Reds' organist plays "Blister In The Sun" at many home games. I wish I had been there for that conversation.

Reds organist: "Charge" is a classic but fans are getting tired of it and it no longer seems to motivate the players.

Reds organist's assistant: I've always liked "Blister In The Sun". That should inspire the team.

Reds organist: (puzzled) Should I sing "When I'm out walking I strut my stuff and I'm so strung out. I'm high as a kite I just might stop to check you out" or should I go with "Body and beats I stain my sheets I don't even know why. My girlfriend she's at the end, she is starting to cry."

Reds organist's assistant: Just play the music.

And so they do, almost every game, while old couples and young children innocently clap along.

God, I love Cincinnati.

Week 27

Charlie Rich, Life's Little Ups and Downs


If Charlie Rich is remembered today it's for the mid-seventies MOR country pop like The Most Beautiful Girl In The World, which is a shame, because he made some fantastic songs on Sun Records.

Listen to Rich's vocals on this deceptively simple song and hear how well he captures the complex emotions that I never would have thought could be captured in a song. The singer expected a promotion and he and his wife, who had barely been getting by, had big plans. But he didn't get it and now he deals with the guilt and the heartbreak of knowing that he let her down and he has to be the one to break that news to her. And her answer? A very sincere, it's ok, no one wins the brass ring every time.

What a relationship, what a whirlwind of emotions, and it's all captured in a beautiful three and a half minute song.

Week 28

Velvet Underground, Sweet Jane and Bruce Springsteen, Born to Run

I am a registered republican and I've voted for the republican candidate for president for 32 years even when I've had to hold my nose (I'm looking at you George W.). I am not voting for Donald Trump.

I agree with everything Miranda said about his sexual assault on women and the way in which he and his supporters have tried to spin it as just the use of dirty words. But I'd made up my mind before that. It's also not because he is clearly not pro-small business like I am. It's also not because he has no domestic or foreign policy besides a few catchy but meaningless slogans. It's not because he is an awful human being, although all of these are contributing factors.

I am not voting for Trump because he is full of hatred and bigotry, because instead of being the inclusive person that the Republican Party and candidate needs to be, he embodies all of the stereotypes that the worst elements of the party need to abandon. Hopefully his disastrous campaign causes the party to reform around economic stability, reduced regulation, and a more inclusive and liberal social agenda.

Here are my two favorite songs. I hope you enjoy them and they take your mind off of the election.

Week 29

Whiskeytown, Dancing With the Women at the Bar


Bruce Springsteen has recorded several exceptional songs about his difficult relationship with his father, and the reviews that I've read about his book make it sound that their relationship is also a theme of the book. I have no idea if Ryan Adams had challenges with his father, but the character in Dancing With The Women At The Bar sure does. Even worse, the protagonist seems to have inherited the sins of his father, "dancing" (and surely much more) just like dear old Dad.

But what makes this song hit me so hard is Adam's vocals. When he sings the refrain he captures such a wide range of conflicting emotions, the thrill involved in his behavior, the remorse for what he is doing, the anger at his father.

Ryan Adams has a number of exceptional solo albums, but the first true Whiskeytown album, Strangers' Almanac, from which this song comes, is as good as any of them.

Week 30

Steve Earle, Someday

Steve Earle is one of our greatest songwriters, and the deceptively simple "Someday" may be his best written song. It is certainly his saddest.

As Gary Scudder pointed out many weeks ago there are tons of great songs about one's home and hometown. Bruce Springsteen could probably release a great album of past tracks broaching the subject matter. But Earle's character doesn't even live in an area you'd find on a map or ever intentionally visit. I think of all the empty, virtually nameless places along I-75 in Kentucky and Tennessee where the protagonist has the best job available in town, the job pumping gas at the station off the interstate. When the most exciting activity at home is to "drive down to the lake and then turn back around" is there any wonder that the people who stop for gas "don't even know there's a town around here"?

So what is Earle's poor, lonely, likely uneducated character going to do? Unlike many of Springsteen's characters he doesn't have the knowledge or experience to make big plans. He doesn't have the self confidence to leave this town full of losers as a winner. He likely can't even find a Wendy nearby to share his dreams and visions.

Week 31

Staple Singers, I’ll TakeYou There


If his girls didn't know it, Pops Staples had to realize that "I'll Take You There" could and would be interpreted romantically and sexually. I don't think it was more than fifteen or twenty years ago that I realized the Staple Singers were gospel singers and this song was religious. That just gave me another reason to love it. Between the great bass line, Mavis' singing and the sisters' harmonies, "I'll Take You There" can't help but raise my spirits.

Week 32

Graham Parker, Don’t Get Excited

I've mentioned this before but I love songs that sound like they are about to spin out of control. This guitar driven song goes beyond that. "Don't Get Excited" sounds like a train whose breaks gave out and which is about to go careening off the tracks.  But it's not just the Rumour who barely seems able to control themselves. Graham Parker, while ordering us not to get excited, loses all self control with the "Don't get excited!" he screams right before the instrumental break.    This is a brilliant finale to their fantastic album Squeezing Out Sparks.

Week 33

[editor's note: thematic week - favorite holiday songs]

Blind Boys of Alabama and Mavis Staples, Born in Bethlehem

I love Christmas but I generally don't listen to a ton of Christmas music. Typically I don't pull out our collection until the week before the holiday.

For the past decade or so I've strongly preferred the old Christmas classics from the pre-rock era, especially if it's broadcast on an AM radio (searching for a truer sound). Chief among this is Sinatra's I'll Be Home For Christmas. The sentiment always got to me, presumably a young man serving his country, missing his sweetheart at holiday time. He will be home, but then the crushing reality "if only in my dreams".

But I'm not completely immune to Christmas music performed in a modern style. Perhaps because The Blind Boys of Alabama and Mavis Staples are both artists who perform spiritual music year round, I find their Christmas music especially compelling. "Born In Bethlehem " rocks the house down, and would be the highlight of a Blind Boys live performance even in mid July.

Week 34

Old Crow Medicine Show, 8 Dogs 8 Banjos

I understand and share everybody's concern about the presidential election. But you can't stay down. I tried lifting your spirits with gospel songs, I tried raising you up with fast songs. By God, if you can't get your toes tapping and your body bouncing with this bawdy, rocking number from the world's most rocking and best live bluegrass band, Old Crowe Medicine Show, then there isn't anything I can do to help you.

If nothing else I bet I made Dave Kelley feel pretty good for three minutes.

Week 35

The Replacements, Little Mascara

Thirty years after its release and I still think The Replacements' "Tim" is as brilliant as a rock album is going to get. It is the album in which The Replacements transitioned from speed/thrash/punk to a top notch guitar and lyric driven alternative band. If you listen to the four albums that preceded "Tim" you might consider Paul Westerberg a decent songwriter but nobody could have anticipated the songwriting leap he would make here, a leap that, if anything, enhanced the band's musical energy, at least for a short time. "Little Mascara" is both the band and Westerberg at their best.

"Little Mascara" is about a young divorcing couple, and surprisingly given The Mats almost complete lack of interaction with women at this time, the song sympathizes with the young mom

               For the moon you keep shooting
                Throw your rope up in the air
                For the kids you stay together
                You nap 'em then you slap 'em in a highchair.

And I love how in the first two verses the crying protagonist (with a little mascara left to dry) is presented somewhat meekly:
"All you ever wanted was someone to take care of you"

But the final verse is likely closer to the truth
"All you ever wanted is someone Daddy's scared of."

I highly recommend Trouble Boys, a band bio released earlier this year, for anyone interested in The Replacements. It is not a feel good book; it argues, reasonably in my opinion, that The Replacements would have rivaled REM if not for their aggressive self-destructive ways, not just in their alcohol and drug abuse but in their rampant mental illnesses.

Week 36

Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Hysteric

Karen O is the vocalist, pianist, and face of Yeah Yeah Yeahs, in my opinion one of the best rock bands of the 21st century. The band made a series of loud, rollicking records and EPs that could be categorized as garage or alternative depending upon who was doing the categorizing. Then they made the unorthodox decision of releasing It's Blitz, a record which was somewhat softer and more melodic, highlighting Karen O's voice. I think it worked like a charm, and It's Blitz remains one of my favorite albums since Y2K.

"Hysteric" in particular finds her in fine form. Her vocals, the humming and whistling, and the evocative lyric "You suddenly complete me" makes for a beautiful, sensuous song.

Week 37

Beck, Debra

Sometimes I get inspired and send G a whole bunch of songs in a short period of time. I did that not too long ago and as a result you got Yeah Yeah Yeahs on Christmas Eve and they aren't the slightest bit related. I've intentionally sent Beck's Debra on the last day of 2016 as a nod to dearly departed Prince.

One of the many things that make Beck so brilliant is his ability to take so many different influences in so many genres and mash them into a unique sound. Debra is one of the few songs in which he doesn't do that. I hear Debra as a straight Prince tribute / send up, from the funky and sensual organ to the falsetto vocals, to the funny and naughty lyrics. Who but Prince would begin a song

            I met you at JC Penny. I think your name tag said "Jenny".

Or better yet

            Cause when our eyes did meet, girl you could tell I was packing heat. Ain't no use in wasting time getting to know each other.

But best of all is the chorus punch line, one that only Prince could pull off:

            I want to get with you
            And your sister
            I think her name's Debra.

I hope you all have a wonderful 2017.

Week 38

Three songs, three father/son relationships. Actually, three healthy and positive father/son relationships. Even the healthiest of them are filled with challenge.

Mike Cooley is my third favorite Drive-By-Trucker songwriter but he nails it in Daddy's Cup. Superficially about auto racing, Daddy's Cup is all about the driving need for a child to make his father proud. After a poor debut dad tells son that if he quits now it will haunt him all his life. But does Dad say that, or is that the son hearing what is "expected" of him? After all the cup he wants to win is Daddy's cup.

In Outfit, Jason Isbell reveals how difficult, and important, the father and son relationship is from Dad's perspective. Son is leaving for the hope of a better life, and Dad just can't help but give him some final (southern) advice, the real point of which is, you better not give it away, you better not paint the homes of rich folk like I do. Tinged with regret, Outfit has to be the best father/son relationship song I've heard from the father's perspective, and how old was Isbell when he wrote it?  Maybe 28 or so? Not yet a father.

But Hiatt, in his simple, understated style, may capture it all the best in his Your Dad Did. He may be losing his job, spending more than he has, quietly laughing while Mom disciplines their children, but when it comes right down to it he's done what his father has and nothing much more. But then, Hiatt's character realizes, that ain't all bad. After all, he loves his wife and kids. Just like his Dad did.

Week 39

Patty Smith, Piss Factory

Is there a better and more influential musician than Patti Smith who is not in the Rock N Roll Hall of Fame? I can't think of any.

"Piss Factory" is nothing less than brilliant social commentary skewering the left (it isn't exactly pro-Union) and the right (Patti has no idea what her employer manufactures, piss she supposes).

The brilliance of the song extends beyond the lyrics, which angrily captures the discontent and hopelessness of the working poor, into the musical and vocal presentation. Smith uses a style that is closer to spoken word than singing, but it is hypnotically beautiful, and forces you to listen.

Now that she is an acclaimed writer and Bob Dylan selected her to accept his Nobel Prize her music will get the attention it deserves.

Week 40

Rolling Stones, Dead Flowers

"Dead Flowers" may not be the best Rolling Stones song ("Gimme Shelter" is), but it is one of their best. Likewise "Dead Flowers" may not be their most influential song (maybe "Satisfaction"?), but it is one of their most influential. It also, I bet, is their most covered song. Not bad for a song that was not one of their sixty or so singles, and one they rarely played live.

First of all, as with most everything on their brilliant four studio album run, Beggar's Banquet, Let It Bleed, Sticky Fingers, and Exile on Main Street, the band is in top form, particularly the Watts/Wyman rhythm section. But significantly, and perhaps because of Gram Parson's influence, when Keith Richards brought this country song to Mick Jagger, Mick sang it straight and not tongue in cheek as he did on several other country songs.

Today "Dead Flowers" is considered a cornerstone in the ultimate Americana / alt.country playlist. Likewise the Stones are recognized as one of the rock acts that helped to make country music (and, sadly, heroin, the dead flower in the song) cool. But all of that is secondary to the fact that this is simply a killer song.

Week 41

[editor's note: thematic week - best guitar song or guitar solo]

The White Stripes, Blue Orchid 

Television, Marquee Moon 

Billy Joe Shaver, Georgia On a Fast Train 

I was a bit nervous when I saw that we were having a guitar week theme. I love guitars, but I've never really worshiped at the altar of the acknowledged guitar gods. I enjoy Jimi Hendrix and Eric Clapton et al, but not as much as others do. For the most part guitar solos kind of bore me. Please don't take my rock n roll critic credentials away.

But I am pretty sure the theme includes guitar driven music and I can do that. Hell I love that!

I never seriously played any instrument so I have no idea if Tom Verlaine and Jack White are skilled guitarists or if they are playing the way I type (with two fingers). But I know they sound cool as hell. Television came out of the 70s New York punk scene with Talking Heads, Blondie, Ramones, etc. (for more read Love = Buildings On Fire, thank you Dave W), and Jack White came out of the seminary with his sister Meg (Get Behind Me Satan!). Or so he says. At any rate, these are somewhat traditional guitar driven songs, songs that get stuck in my craw for days at a time, but pleasantly so.

Georgia On A Fast Train is a different story. 

B J Shaver is a renowned songwriter, writing dozens of country tunes for Waylon Jennings, Johnny Cash, and others among the stalwarts of traditional country music. But his son, Eddie, grew up in the 80's and found himself gravitating towards the guitar monsters of that time frame, particularly Eddie Van Halen (whom he was not named after).  Dad and son played together and the result was this perfect country song that rocks to high heaven.

Soon after this recording Eddie Shaver died of a heroin overdose.

Let's not let this happen to our children.

Week 42

The New Pornographers, Bleeding Heart Show

So, The New Pornographers are some kind of modern music, alternative rock super group. Frankly, I only know the amazing Neko Case, and I think of them as Case fronting a rock band. But even at that, she doesn't really front them.

I have no idea what this song means, and the song is enjoyable, but suddenly and unexpectedly it becomes frickin' great in the last minute or do when Case leads the "Hey Ya" chorus. At that time it becomes the greatest, most pleasant ear worm in many years, maybe decades.

The New Pornographers are named after the famous Frank Sinatra quote "Rock 'N Roll is the new pornography".

Listen at your own peril, because this will stick in your craw for days. But in a good way.

Week 43

Elizabeth Cook, Heroin Addict Sister

Emmylou Harris, Goodbye

I am also reading Dreamland (thank you Dave W) and the heroin crisis is on my mind, as it was when I submitted Dead Flowers a couple weeks ago.

Elizabeth Cook is my favorite disk jockey with her show "Apron Strings" on Sirius XM's Outlaw Country. She became a minor celebrity due to fan David Letterman who featured her on his show several times. However I think her oversized persona, her beautiful Florida accent and her good looks have caused people to overlook what a great musician she is.

"Heroin Addict Sister" is the most painful song I've heard about the killer drug. In just a handful of lyrics Cook creates a fully formed character who is brilliant (an underwater welder), and hopefully addicted despite multiple rounds of rehab, whether formal or home remedied. The lyrics and the delivery betray the obvious sadness in the situation, but perhaps even more painfully, the delivery and the lyrics display the singer's resignation to a situation that just isn't going to get any better. The best sentiment she can express is thank God their mother has passed and doesn't need to go through this any longer.

Yes, the addict is a victim of this awful drug, but so is the addict's family.

So perhaps "Goodbye" provides just a bit of hope.

On its surface "Goodbye", which is the first song Steve Earle wrote after his stay in prison for heroin possession, is the touching heart-wrenching memory of a jilted lover. And the song would be a classic if that was all it was. But Earle also meant the tune as his kiss off to heroin ("And I recall all of those nights down in Mexico / That's one place I'll never go / in my life again"). By all accounts after drying out in prison Earle has been drug free, and if anything his music has been even better.

As great as Earle's version is, the amazing Emmylou Harris outdoes him in this cover,  which is the highlight of her brilliant Wrecking Ball album. Perhaps while singing Emmylou is remembering  her mentor and musical partner Gram Parsons, who died of a heroin overdose.

Week 44

My Morning Jacket, Evil Urges

"It ain't evil if it don't hurt anybody."

Is Jim James a hippy or a libertarian?

I don't know and I don't care, at least 2/3 of the way through when James' falsetto gives way to the fantastic instrumental break / speed up. To me MMJ is all about the sound. And "Evil Urges", with its funk/ soft rock / disco/ rock 'n roll mash up, delivers.

Week 45

Johnny Cash, I Hung My Head
I'm going to let your collective bad moods effect me one more time but I'm telling you that, in the immortal words of Elvis Costello, next week I Get Happy.

I am taking a risk listing an American Records era Johnny Cash song because I can't possibly write comments as insightful as Dave Mills did with Hurt. Ultimately, however, I could not go a year without recognizing I Hung My Head.

Folsom Prison is classic Cash. One of my favorites, one of everybody's favorites. But even though Cash shot a man just to watch him die, and then he hangs his head to cry, his voice betrays that he is still a man of defiance and swagger. Not so on l Hung My Head. Here when he shoots down a lone rider, again for no apparent reason, he lives out his remaining dies with horrifying guilt. I submit that this is what regret sounds like.

Week 46

Isley Brothers, Who’s That Lady?

Every once in a great while The Isley Brothers show up on the radio and when they do I stop what I am doing and tune in. They made several fantastic songs but to me Who's That Lady tops them all. Funky as hell but with a fantastic fuzzy lead guitar, the call and response vocals, catchy if meaningless lyrics. One of the great things about the sixties and seventies was that radio made no distinction between funk and rock. Sadly today radio is as segregated as we are and if there are bands like the Isley Brothers in 2017 I am very unlikely to know about them.

Week 47

Elton John, Madman Across the Water

At his peak in the early and mid seventies Elton John was a very good pop artist. We tend to forget that because of the crap he's made since and because that time period was dominated by some rock artists who never made the AM radio, which was what most of us young folks listened to in the day. He didn't do much that qualified as "great" but his early music is no guilty pleasure either.

A few years ago he re-released my favorite of his albums, Tumbleweed Connection, and to my surprise it included an extended version of Madman Across the Water which is amazingly powerful. John has a limited vocal range but he and the guitar and base drive a sinister feel that was only hinted at in the second version, which was the only one known for forty years.

Invest nine minutes in this and you may have a higher opinion of Elton John.

Week 48

Ike and Tina Turner, Proud Mary

You know, every so often I think you'd like me to write about a song that's nice and easy. Well this ain't the week for that.

Ike and Tina take a classic Credence song and make it their own. It's Ike and his great baritone, the funky horns, and most importantly Tina Turner's vocals. Many have tried to perform Proud Mary the way Ike and Tina did, but nobody has ever come close. Sweet soul music.

Week 49

[editor's note: thematic week - reflection on an earlier posting by another noted musicologist]

The Clash/Vince Taylor and the Playboys, Brand New Cadillac:

In week 37 Dave Kelley wrote eloquently about the Clash's cover of Brand New Cadillac from London Calling (which is, in my humble opinion, the greatest album ever). I agree with everything Dave said and I couldn't have said it any better than he did. But I want to add a couple points.

First of all, as Dave and I commented previously, one of the wonderful ironies of the song, made especially clear in Joe Strummer's shout "Jesus Christ! Where did you get that Cadillac?", is that the car means more to singer and girlfriend than their relationship ever did.

But the second point I want to make is that this: like the Clash's earlier brilliant cover of "I Fought The Law", this is a cover of a rockabilly song. Listen to the original, which is damn good. I've never heard it discussed but somebody in the Clash was a roots rock fan. I don't know if young Clash fans went back and discovered country music through their covers, as young Stones fans discovered the blues through Stones covers, but given how many alt country and Americana fans claim the Clash as an influence, it is possible. At the very least this English punk band helped to make country music safe for future rockers, which is yet another testament to this band's brilliance.

Week 50

Modern Lovers, Roadrunner

Some argue that The Modern Lovers' "Roadrunner" is the first punk rock song, and the Sex Pistols clearly stole the "Bye-Bye" ending. And while this sounds much different than anything I remember listening to in 1972, I find it to be the antithesis of punk. It's downright joyous.

"Roadrunner" features a driving jangly lead guitar that I am always a fool for (Tom Petty, REM, The Byrds, Waylon Jennings, early Talking Heads), and like so many great songs, it's about the radio.

I don't care what the government is doing. If you're driving around with the AM radio on and this song comes over your speakers, you'll be in love with the modern world, too.

Week 51

Guy Clark, Old Friends

Lyle Lovette, Step Inside This House

In the second last week of this fantastic musical journey I am returning to where I began: with the late great Guy Clark.

Lyle Lovett is one hell of a song writer, although he isn't given enough credit for being so because of his sense of humor and his quirkiness. Lovett trained under Guy Clark and the two remained close until Clark's death. When Lovett recorded a brilliant double set of covers of Texas songwriters (with several Clark and Townes Van Zandt songs), he named it after a Guy Clark song, the first he ever wrote, "Step Inside This House". Only Clark never recorded it or wrote the music for it, so it sort of works as a collaboration of these two friends.

But I will end my week 51 comments in Guy Clark's own words from "Old Friends"

Old friends, they shine like diamonds
Old friends you can always call
Old friends, you just can't beat them
You know it's old friends after all.

Thank you old friend Gary Scudder for creating this blog and asking me to participate with so many of your excellent friends.

Week 52

Warren Zevon, Keep Me In Your Heart

My mother is a fantastic artist. When I was in my late teens she took up painting and she was outstanding. All of the Beatrice homes have her paintings. About 30 years ago she took up sculpture, and without any doubt that was her calling. She used all type of wood and stone and would frequently spend upwards of six months on a single piece. She sold a few, was commissioned to make more, and won sculpture competitions from New York to Phoenix.

Sadly I did not inherit her artistic skills. If I had I would have used them to write a song. I would have written a beautiful good-bye song to my wife, Margie. It would not have been a sad song, although death and separation are certainly sad. The song would be about love and friendship and be gently hopeful.

Since I can't write or sing a song I am stealing Warren Zevon's good-bye song and dedicating it to my wife and children:

Hold me in your thoughts
Take me in your dreams
Touch me as I fall into view.
When the winter comes
Keep the fires lit
And I will be right next to you.

Sometimes when you're doing simple things around the house
Maybe you'll think of me and smile.
You know I'm tied to you like the buttons on your blouse
Keep me in your heart for a while.