Thankful

By the times the nano overlords release this post it will be the last day of the year, and I'll be, inshallah, in Zanzibar.  I'm putting off some much needed last minute travel activities to get caught up on some blogging, and in the process also clear up some space on my phone for even more pictures and videos. As should be the case as the year draws to a close I get even more reflective. It's been a long year, and in many ways I won't mourn its passing.  It began with problems in Zanzibar that coincided with the death of my great friend Gary Beatrice, but there were also many wonderful moments along the way. As always I'm most thankful for having my son in my life.  He's a blessing that I know I've never earned.  It was a tough year for him, but also a year where he faced down some challenges and came through even stronger.  He's a much saner, balanced person at thirty than I ever was at that age.  We were able to carve off time on Thanksgiving to get together before he left for work.  I asked him if he wanted to go get a turkey dinner, or whether he'd like a goetta-fueled breakfast or my homage to my mom's faux-Cincinnati chili.  Being Gary, he decided he wanted goetta chili dogs, which are now going to be a tradition. Like his father, apparently he has a talent for creating traditions (thinking back on his invention of Boy's Day when he was a small lad). I love him with all my heart.

And here he is putting the final touches on it: spaghetti on top of the hot dog, and then goetta chili and cheese.  It was not for the weak at heart.

Campo Pequeno

As I am wont to opine, the best travel moments are the most spontaneous and unplanned.  With the obvious exception of seeing my friend Tony on my recent trip to Portugal, the best moment was stumbling across the Campo Pequeno.  I had read about it, of course, but I was busy and didn't put two and two together.  It's the famous, and beautiful, bullfighting ring in Lisbon, and, by sheer happenstance, it was across the street from the conference where I was presenting.  After stopping by the afternoon before the main session to register I was walking back to the, naturally, Campo Pequeno metro station when I spied a building across the street, that looked much like a mosque but also dramatically not much like a mosque, and I crossed the street to investigate.  The building is the Campo Pequeno, the bullfighting ring, and the "look" was not an accident, but rather a reflection of Neo-Arabic architecture that was popular for a while in Portugal in the 19th century. It is still used for bull fights today, although when I was there it was the off-season, but it was open for tours (and it was one of the best 3 euros I ever spent). There are only thirteen bull fights a year there, always on a Thursday evening, and during the off-time they put down a floor and hold concerts or other events.  They can also open the roof. In the basement there's a very posh mall and movie theater, so it's bustling most of the time. Despite my fearsome temper I'm actually a non-violent soul and I don't know if I'd ever attend a bullfighting match, but I suppose you'd have to ask me at that moment. I know I heartily recommend visiting the Campo Pequeno on your next trip to Lisbon.

A classic example of Neo-Arabic architecture, which is what drew me there in the first place.

Christine, my tour guide, who pushed through a nasty cold to give me a first rate tour of the place. I told her about Pemban bullfighting, a distant shadow introduced by the Portuguese, and she was so interested that she googled it during the tour.

This also included taking advantage of the quiet afternoon to take a few swipes at me with the practice bull so that I would work on my craft.

This was the padding on top of the practice bull where initiates learned to avoid the bull while also stabbing it in the hump.

Some of the banderillas on display at the museum.

Here you can get a sense of why the banderilla doesn't come out of the bull.  Interestingly, Christina referred to Portuguese bullfighting as bloodless, and by that she meant that the bulls were not intentionally killed (at least not since 1928) but it's not bloodless like Pemban bullfighting is bloodless.

It all started so well but then the bull got the jump on me and my beautiful day at Campo Pequeno ended, as fitting my life, clumsily.

The museum had a collection of posters promoting decades of bullfighting.

I was fascinated by the furcado who had the job of distracting the bull at the end of the performance.  While there are only about fifty bullfighters in Portugal, about 90% male, there are furcado clubs all over the country.

The furcado are named by, well, the furcado, which is the instrument they use to hold back the bull.

A picture of a furcado in action - and also a metaphor of my decades-long relationship with administration.

The bullring itself.  It hold around 7000 people, with the front row seats running for around 75 euros.  Here the flooring is down in preparation for a Christmas concert.

What Christina referred to as the "nosebleed" seats, which were around 20 euros a piece.  There were also the equivalent of luxury boxes, which housed four to eight people, and are named after famous bullfighters.

The entrance to the posh mall beneath the Campo Pequeno.  Somehow this just seemed to sum up Portugal's complex relationship with its Islamic past.

Tavira

During the Portugal trip I arrived on Friday afternoon (after suffering through a wretched Canada Air Rouge flight and and a hour and a half wait at Customs in Lisbon).  Early the next morning I made my way to the Metro station to begin my journey south to see my friend Tony. They kindly invited me to stay at their lovely home before I took the train back on Sunday afternoon.  On Saturday night we went into the nearby historic town of Tavira which was so beautiful. As I mentioned in the previous post, I have such admiration for Tony and Kathy.  They live such a sane, balanced, purposeful life.

One of the many charming squares in Tavira.

Tony told me that you have to be very careful when you stuck digging in your garden in the area because you never know what you're going to dig up: in this case ruins, some of them centuries old Muslim house and some of them thousands of years old Phoenician buildings.

I took several shots looking from what is called the "Roman Bridge". It's not Roman, but it is very old.  A lovely picture, and I don't even think it's the most beautiful one I took, but this one shows the Christmas decorations in the trees.

The Roman Bridge, replete with Christmas lights.

This picture never quite came together like I wanted it to, but it's still lovely.

A Friend in Portugal

Before I left for my recent trip to Portugal I was talking to someone about my plans, including pointing out that the five days in Lisbon weren't really five days at all because I was going to be heading south. In response to a question of why, I told them that I have a friend in Portugal.  He replied, "Of course you have a friend in Portugal." My rejoinder was the obvious one: "Doesn't everybody have a friend in Portugal?" Everyone should have a friend in Portugal because the Portuguese themselves are such warm and inviting folks, but in this case I have a friend in Portugal because we worked together in Abu Dhabi during my year at Zayed University. We've been casual friends on Facebook for years and when I found out about the Lisbon conference I reached out to him, and he graciously invited me down for a visit. I had to figure out the Portugal Rail website, and kept getting timed out and struggling with my credit cards (including having my absurdly bad local Vermont credit union debit card being shut down), but I persevered and arranged the three and a hour half train ride from Lisbon to Faro in the south. As always, whenever I travel on the European rail system I'm envious of a more civilized society than we have here in the US. It was a wonderful, although much too brief, visit.  I almost missed the return train because we were sitting on his couch gabbing.  His lovely wife Kathy suddenly said, "You know it's 13:08, don't you?" Tony replied, "It can't be!" but of course it was, and my train left at 13:54.  However, despite the mad dash, I made it with a few minutes to spare.  I'm definitely hoping to visit him again sometime soon. Neither of us could believe that we hadn't seen each other in over seven years.

I had never met Tony's wife Kathy before.  She has her own long history in the Middle East so we had a lot to talk about, including remembrances of Yemen and Oman. The house and the grounds are beautiful, which Tony attributes entirely to Kathy's hard work. 

Tony and Kathy refer to their place as the House that Dubai built.   It was a lovely stay, but also a bit of an elegiac one because it reminded me of paths not taken. When I was engaged to the LBG we were looking at places in Croatia with the thought that we'd use our UAE/Hong Kong money to buy a place. Tony is a dear friend of the LBG from their years together in Abu Dhabi so we had a lot of memories to share.

Tony and Kathy own several acres, which are full of olive, almond and orange trees.  Every day starts with a walk around the garden, accompanied by the dog and cats. The dog, Rea, is, quite appropriately, a Portuguese Water Dog.

After the warm-up walk around the garden they drive (this time the dog get some alone time with Tony and Kathy) to one of several parks, in this case a marsh along the ocean.  It was a lovely walk.  I'm so happy for the two of them.  They lead a simple, contented life that all of us should aspire to.

Holiday Season in Lisbon

Over the years I've ended up travelling through a lot of places during the holiday season. I'm not a Christian, but I've always felt an affinity for the season; I mean, how can you be a Dickens fan and not enjoy Christmas?  I remember on one of my first visits to the UAE and being surprised by the decorations (although that's more a sop thrown to the ex-pats) or how odd it was to be in Australia and looking at Christmas decorations in high summer (although Christmas decorations and beautiful Australian women in summer dresses is highly recommended).  On this last trip Lisbon was definitely in its full Christmas finery.  Here's a few pictures.

Delicious Lisbon

Two days ago I returned from my latest trip overseas, this time to present at a conference in Lisbon, Portugal.  One week from today I'm heading back to Africa with twenty students, so I'll have to do a pretty quick jet lag turnaround.  Oddly, my presentation at the conference was very well received, although it was about international education (and I guess I know at least a little bit about that).   This was my third trip to Portugal and I definitely love it there.  It made me wonder why I haven't led a return student trip there.  I'm in the middle of planning my tenth student trip, and that includes three to Zanzibar, three to India (including one with a side trip to Sri Lanka), three to Jordan, and yet I've never thought about repeating the Spain/Portugal Thanksgiving trip I led two years ago. It was easy to plan, worked brilliantly within the framework of the class (Aesthetic Expressions), and worked seamlessly on the ground.  This last trip inspired me to reconsider that mistake and I've already worked out an itinerary for a Thanksgiving holiday trip to Portugal in November 2020. Why Portugal?  There are so many reasons, and I'll get around to them, but at this point I just wanted to post some pictures and jot down some thoughts before they disappear in the chaos of organizing the next trips (Zanzibar next week and India in March).  For now, food.  I stuffed myself in Lisbon. 

When people think of paella they tend to think of Spain only, but Portugal also makes a mean paella.  I don't normally choose one of those restaurants on the main streets in Lisbon (or anywhere) but it was a beautiful day for lunch and people watching.

But Portuguese food is a hell of a lot more than paella.  I ended up going to a little mom and pop places several times, and they featured an absolutely delicious rice and octopus dish.

And, well, if you're going to have octopus, then you should have octopus.  I ended up in another little place down the same side street and ordered an entire grilled octopus served over potatoes.  Apparently ordering octopus is actually a very Christmas thing to do in Portugal, so it fit.  I posted this picture on Facebook and, naturally but inexplicably, many people were horrified by the thought of eating grilled octopus.  Cretins.  It was delicious.

But after saying all that, one of my best "meals" was the latte that I had on the street on one of my last nights.  I had ended up getting lost - not desperately lost, just estimated poorly where I'd end up when I dropped down the hill - and I plopped down along the street and relaxing.  I'm not the type of person who is going to age gracefully, and it truly bothered me that I tire more quickly than I used to and that I suffer through a lot more pain, but all was forgotten with a delicious latte and soaking in the holiday season on the streets of Lisbon.

Pode Ser

One of the things that I wish I would have done a much better job of in the past is more deliberately and carefully record the names of folks I met on my trips around the world. Sometimes I meant to write down their names and didn't, and other times I did record their names but then lost them.  It's a pity because I've met so many wonderful folks overseas. During my recent trip to Portulgal I met Secil Somer, a professor from Turkey who was also presenting at the conference. After the conference we ended up spending the rest of the day together walking around Lisbon, often through the rain, initially because she wanted to visit a church (and I showed her one; it's strange to end up acting as a tour guide in a city that's not yours), but eventually just exploring and talking.  I especially enjoyed our long chat about faith and what it means to be and not to be a Muslim.

Here we had stopped at a little restaurant on the way walking down the hill from St. George's Castle (where we didn't intend to go in the first place). She was heading off the next day to visit Sintra.  I hope she had a marvelous time.

Notes from an Award-Winning Teacher

It's all about the prompt:

Truthfully, I don't know why I haven't won more teaching awards . . .

Self-Portrait 2018

As we've discussed I'm a big believer in modelling assignments in some of my classes (not behavior, certainly, because no one should act like me, but rather how one might attack an assignment).  It's nothing I would do with upper classmen, but I think it can be useful early in the undergraduate experience.  Thus, in my COR 110, Concepts of the Self, class, which students take the first semester at Champlain, I create my own self-portrait.  In the second year I also create my own version of the Velazquez-Picasso project, partially because, as first semester sophomores they're still reasonably new to college, but also because it's a challenging assignment. For the first year students the self-portrait is a requirement, and I think I emphasize it more than any of my worthy colleagues.  This includes starting every day with a brief examination of a different self-portrait from my monstrous self-portrait folder in ArtStor. Every year I start from scratch and create a new self-portrait, which gives the students a template on how one might approach the assignment - although, truthfully, I think they get more from me presenting my self-portrait, which also sets the bar higher for their own presentations.  I always emphasize to the students that they should choose one thing to focus on.  If they tried to tell me everything about their lives in one image  they would, by definition, produce a very surface level work.  Again, modeling the assignment, I choose a different specific thing every year, and I don't always choose something positive.  To me the self-portrait can also be a tool for self-reflection, so choosing a less laudable aspect of your personality is probably useful.  This year I focused on my famous temper. I was interested less in the moment of the explosion, but rather the isolating consequences. Starting with a picture that my most excellent nephew Garrett took of me in the desert outside Liwa in the UAE as my foundation, I ran off a copy and then burned it on my grill - and snapped a couple dozen shots.  Initially I wanted to then take the remnant and lay it down in an actual fire pit and photograph it again in the ashes, emphasizing the expanding aridity.  That said, I actually like how this turned out, so I stopped here.  The students viewed the grill as prison bars, which somehow made it all work all the better.

You can imagine the memes this has already inspired.

The Greatest Bucket List Quest

OK, so it's probably not actually the Greatest Bucket List Quest of all time, or maybe not even my own Personal Bucket List Quest of my time (mainly because I actually never think of the world or my future in that way). As Vermont's Leading CFL Fan (patent pending) I'm always, usually unsuccessfully, trying to drag my friends to ever more games across the border.  Actually, I think I'm finally winning them over (I mean, the Canadian Thanksgiving Alouettes game is a tradition and we do have an annual Grey Cup party). This summer, as recorded on the blog, Kevin Andrews and I attended a Hamilton Tiger-Cats game and had a great time, and that solidified an idea that I've been playing around with for some time: seeing a game in every CFL stadium.  Now, granted, there are only nine, so it's not the same as visiting every minor league baseball field, but it's a unique challenge nonetheless.  OK, two down, Montreal and Hamilton, and seven to go. My goal for next year will be to knock off Ottawa REDBLACKS and Toronto Argonauts, which shouldn't be too difficult, and then I would have covered the entire Eastern Conference. Then things become more complicated.  Maybe in 2020 I could combine Winnipeg Blue Bombers and Saskatchewan Roughriders games; Winnipeg and REgina aren't really that close, although I guess they're close by Canadian standards.  I could fly into one, rent a car, and travel to the other, which is made easier by the unique CFL schedule wherein they routinely play games on Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. That would leave 2021 for a trip to Edmonton Eskimos and Calgary Stampeders games.  Again, I'd fly into one of the cities, rent a car, and make an Alberta road trip.  Of course, I'd probably not tell fans at either game what I'm doing because the teams are bitter enemies. Unless the CFL decides to add a team in Halifax (there's some talk of it), I would then be able to finish the quest in 2022 with a BC Lions game in Vancouver. My girlfriend thinks I should take my impending sabbatical and knock off all nine in one glorious road trip, which is actually a solid idea.  It would potentially make an interesting book about the relationship between Canada and America and I could interview folks along the way.  Of course, to sell this to the sabbatical committee I really should try and publish a couple articles and flesh out the idea for a  book.  Hmmmm.

The map is a little misleading because the icon for the REDBLACKS makes it seems like they're in Quebec, when obviously Ottawa is in Ontario, but you can get a sense of the scale of things.  Not since Ibn Battuta will such an unplanned trip turn out so to be so epic. If the CFL ever actually puts that team in Halifax then I'll get to see even more of Canada.

Saying Goodbye to Richard

Sadly, I've reached the point where my friends are starting to shuffle off this mortal coil.  The last few years have witnessed several of them passing, and as I close in on sixty it's hard to imagine that a year will slip away without someone joining that cold fraternity.  Last weekend I drove over to Fairfield, Maine for my friend and ex-colleague Richard Hunt's funeral.  We had taught together for over a decade at Champlain.  He retired a few years ago and had been in poor health.  His cousin Josh contacted me and asked me if I would speak at the funeral, which was an honor but also daunting (I joked during my talk that I had foolishly confided to Richard that I hate public speaking, and that this was his last joke on me).  As with all funerals we never want to go, but then are happy that we worked up the courage because it is such a communal supportive emotional cleansing.  Plus, in my faith we're required to attend the funeral of other adherents, even if we didn't know them, and in this case I'm more than happy to expand that directive.  In my short talk at the funeral I focused on Richard as a teacher (per Josh's request), but also made the point that he lived his teaching like he lived his faith: practically and organically and intentionally, taking every moment to find the best way to be of service to society.  We should all live lives so rich.

Richard was a man of tremendous faith, and served an important role in his church, the Fairfield Center Methodist Church, as he did when he lived here in Burlington, including often giving the sermons.

A very fitting way to honor Richard, and the one that brought me to tears.

The church itself, on an appropriately overcast day.  This was after I mistakenly went to the Fairfield Methodist Church, where the nice lady there told me that I was at the wrong Methodist church, which meant that I was almost late to a funeral wherein I was speaking. It did allow me to turn it into a gentle joke during my talk, which the good folks in the church thought was funny.  GS: "So, the nice lady at the Fairfield Methodist Church came out and asked me if I was there for Richard's funeral, and when I said yes, she said, 'You're not supposed to be here,' and I then thought, 'Wow, you Methodists are tough.'"

Richard nephew Josh said, during his talk, that Richard's dream was to see the church full, and for one day he got his wish.

The New Wixon Trophy

During the recent trip to Michigan to visit Andy and Heidi and the eminently brilliant Sylvie Rose we went into a wonderful little antique shop in Ann Arbor.  The goal was to finally, as we were ready to kick off the sixth season of the Twin Peaks Football League, create a trophy for the winning team.  We've long had the punishment for the loser: the abhorrent My Little Pony sweater that must be worn, and photographed, in a public place. However, we've never had a first place trophy.  Well, we still don't have a first place trophy, but now we have a second artifact associated with "winning" the Wixon for finishing last: a horrible glass clown which has to sit on the desk of the winner/loser for an entire year, as a constant reminder of their shame. It says a lot about our league that we don't have a trophy for winning, let alone a cash award, but we do have two forms of punishment associated with losing.

If this would not make you purchase at least two fantasy football guides and devote several days to preparation then truthfully nothing would.

Back to India? Haan.

The phrase that has dominated so much of my exchanges - and so much of my personal philosophy - is "there's always another trip."  And it is still true today.  I'm in the midst of the chaos of planning the upcoming Zanzibar trip (and apparently one or two summer trips to Zanzibar - more on that later) and a summer trip to Montenegro (much more on that later as well) but I'm also in the process of finalizing planning and negotiating and haggling for this March's return trip to India.  I brought students to India two years ago, as part of a Ramayana-themed Heroines & Heroes course.  This time I'm running a new COR 330 Dar al-Islam: India course - a version of my Dar al-Islam: Yemen course, but tailored to the Muslim experience in India.  Once again I'm working with the truly excellent Inder Singh from Tiger Paws Adventures, so I know it will be a wonderful trip.  Last trip to Mumbai, Nishak and Ellora and then on to Sri Lanka, but this will be exclusively northern India.  The itinerary is in flux, as it always is at this point, but it's shaping up to be a great trip.

A picture I snapped at the Jama Masjid, the oldest mosque in Delhi, which will be prominently featured on the proposed itinerary.

Where Are They Registered?

I was attempting to clean up the desktop on my computer when I found this picture, which I had obviously saved there for just this occasion (and, of course, forgot about it). Obviously, it was snapped during last March's extraordinary trip to Jordan.  Our guide and friend Mahmoud was showing us around Petra - and in the process sharing more information than any guide I ever had on my previous seven trips down the Siq - and he pointed out a little corner which some scholars think was used by the Nabaeteans for wedding.  Here he is demonstrating with the help of my students Ines and Liza, who are clearly having way too much fun. The plan is to head back for a Thanksgiving trip in the fall of 2020 (and if we don't Ines and Liza and about fifteen other students are going to kill me).  Truthfully, I don't know if I can wait that long to get back to Jordan, the place I love the most.

I suspect that Ines and Liza's dream is that somehow the mock wedding ceremony was unintentionally/intentionally valid; they'd both happily be living with Mahmoud in the Wadi Rum . . .

Discography Year Two - Week 52

And so we've reached the end of the Discography.  I want to thank everyone who participated over our two year run, whether it was writing or listening or responding.  I've gone to the trouble of including Gary Beatrice's last post from year one because it pained me to think that he wouldn't be here with us at the end.

Thank you, as always, for being my friends, and I am honored and humbled to know you - and, as Robert Graves opined, good-bye to all that.

OK, so I shamelessly swiped this off of Margie's Facebook page, but I'm sure she won't mind.  Here's the family saying goodbye to GB. For those of you who didn't know him, you missed a rare and gentle soul.

Gary Beatrice

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 steeling 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.

Dave Wallace

Dobie Gray - Drift Away 

I was trying to find the right song to say sayonara to Year Two of this song blog, and I realized that I'd already chosen it back in Year One, Week Fourteen.  So I'm picking it again.  Drift Away by the great Dobie Gray perfectly captures my feelings about music and its power to heal us and take us away from our daily troubles.  I wish everyone happy travels as you continue to drift away on your own musical journeys.

Dave Kelley

"God's Gonna Cut You"    Johnny Cash

The dark specter of Trump's dystopian America has haunted much of the blog, and continues to do so for me.  One of the many things that has been made clear is the hypocrisy and moral midgetry of the religious right.  They despise someone as fundamentally decent as Obama and worship at the feet of someone as despicable and devoid of virtue as Trump.  If Jesus ever does return, those fuckers better have somewhere to hide.  Preach Johnny! 

Kathy Seiler

Emile Sande, "Where I Sleep" 

I know I've been absent from Discography for quite a while, but thought I'd put in a final post to end the year. I'm not sure I ever really recovered from the events of earlier in the year and now that we are back on campus I know it will be just another set of challenges, joys and sorrows, as I begin what feels like the New Year to me.

One of the changes in our life this past year was selling our house and moving into a far too small apartment. It was fun for a bit, but it's made me realize a lot about what I'm ready for and what I'm not ready for... and I'm not quite ready for year round living in a small apartment. I thankfully traveled a lot this summer and have quite a bit of travel in my future, which I'm hoping will help with the waiting until we find our next home. Patience is not my strong point.

In all of these events, this song has been an anchor for me, and a valuable reminder. The reminder is that I am home wherever I am if I have love around me. It reminds me of all that I have and how lucky I am to be anywhere so full of love from my husband, my kids, and my most incredible friends. It also reminds me when I'm away from them that I can still hold on to their love even when I'm away. 

So for everyone who might not be exactly in the place or space they want to be, give this song a listen. Maybe it will speak to you as it did to me.

Phil Seiler

Patty Gurdy

"The Longing"

This wasn't what I intended to write about this final week but life has its twists and turns and at the last moment I was delivered this gem of a performer. I had no idea I needed more hurdy gurdy music in my life but I totally did. One of my favorite things about this song, and Patty herself, is the wonderful amalgam of her accent. She's German but learned English young, spent some time growing up in Scotland and England, and admits to watching too much American YouTube videos. Beauty and joy comes from the unexpected melding of many things. A lesson for our time. (And if you want more evidence of that I recommend watching the original version of this song by her Folk Metal band Storm Seeker. 

Rock on, good people.

Gary Scudder

Lucinda Williams, World Without Tears
Nicole Atkins, A Dream Without Pain

I'm closing out the Discography with two songs that seem to go together, the first from Lucinda Williams, a singer who has been a mainstay on my playlist for twenty years, and the second, from Nicole Atkins, an artist I only discovered this year.  The two songs seem to go together, at least in my addled mind.  I always wanted to have a theme week based on two songs which we think belong together, even if they're not connected in any way. About the only connection between these two would be, arguably, that they fall into the alt-country category, although Atkins really only ended up in that neighborhood once she moved to Nashville and released her latest album, Goodnight Rhonda Lee (from which A Dream Without Pain is drawn). Lucinda's World Without Tears is from the album of the same name.  Yes, I know it borders on sacrilege, but I've long proposed that World Without Tears is her best album.  Beyond that, the obvious connection is that they are both heartbreaking appeals for a better world, and what better to having playing as we close out the American century in the Trumpian end times.

Discography Year Two - Week 51

We're finishing out the penultimate week in the second year of our Discography music series.  I suspect this will probably be it for the Discography discussion and it's been a great two year run.  Last weekend I was just telling Jack how blessed I feel to have captured so much of GB on the blog, and sometimes I go back and reread his posts. This has been so much fun, and I can't thank all of you enough for participating.   I hope we have a great send-off next week.

Dave Wallace

Peter Gabriel - Sledgehammer

For someone who essentially is an art-rocker and a cult artist, it's hard to remember how big a hit So was for Peter Gabriel.  He had a handful of hits off of it, none bigger than lead single, Sledgehammer.  With a groundbreaking video to accompany it, the song was pretty much everywhere.  And with good reason, it's an awesome slice of faux soul music.

Dave Kelley

So I had originally planned to choose an Aretha Franklin song this week in honor of her passing.  I was going to select her cover of "The Weight" featuring amazing work from Duane Allman and The Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section.  However, I went down in the YouTube rabbit hole listening to some of Duane's other session work and found.....

"Loan Me a Dime" by Box Scaggs

This was recorded in 1969 and is just jaw dropping fucking amazing IMHO.  Great vocals, blistering guitar work from Duane, and the most excellent Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section which included Patterson Hood's dad on bass.  Give this one a full listen.

Cindy Morgan

I have a crazy lady FB friend who lives in Connecticut and routinely gets in the faces of people wearing MAGA hats or with Trump stickers on their cars. After this week's Cohen/Manafort announcements she parked her car outside the house of a Trump signed property in her hometown and played Queen/Bowie "Under Pressure." I applaud her devotion the resistance. But it always strikes me as odd that people choose this song to try to capture that feeling of "we have to get it done, we're under pressure" and especially when it's used in sporting venues. The lyrics of the song are so NOT that, but I think we forget that this is really a song about the people that have been left on the margins of society: the homeless, the needy, the down-trodden and how we as a society need to to better. Maybe that's what crazy resistance lady wanted to convey--that this really is our last chance to love and do better. . .but I think I'm giving her too much credit. Plus: we need to be reminded of those artists we have lost. Plus plus: there is a new Queen movie coming out. Group trip?

"Can't we give ourselves one more chance
Why can't we give love that one more chance
Why can't we give love give love give love give love
Give love give love give love give love give love
'Cause love's such an old fashioned word
And love dares you to care for
The people on the (People on streets) edge of the night
And loves (People on streets) dares you to change our way of
Caring about ourselves
This is our last dance
This is our last dance
This is ourselves
Under pressure
Under pressure
Pressure"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YoDh_gHDvkk

Phil Seiler

Regular contributor Alice Neiley posted a fun little meme to our blog host's wall on the book of face about rock and roll crayon colors. The original meme is pretty standard stuff (Yellow  = Yellow Submarine, Purple = Purple Haze, etc... (And why were brown, black, and purple each used twice?)) Anyway, it prompted me to mine my music library for my version which was certainly different (I also added some colors.). Alice did the same and in checking out her great selections, I fell down some rabbit holes of YouTube. She used "Pale Sun" for pale which I assumed is the beautiful Cowboy Junkies song but pale sun lead to all kinds of other results including a shoe gaze band i did not know of the same name and my selection this week:

Matthew and the Atlas

Pale Sun Rose

I don't know what struck me about this song when I first heard it but it connected to me on some, primordial level. In fact, I am amazed at how much I want to hear it again and again despite not loving his voice very much. Anyway, just a song of longing and the sea for a summer morn as the earth spins toward autumn.

Gary Scudder

Daughter, Youth

Here's another band that I discovered simply because of my odd fascination with the British series Skins.  Daughter is a British indie band, which was initially just Elena Tonra.  Eventually she was joined by guitarist Ignor Haefeli from Switzerland and drummer Remi Aguilella from France to form a true band.  It's sort of an EU wet dream, which hopefully won't be Brexited out of existence.  I think Youth is my favorite song of theirs, and it has popped up several times in movies and TV series (which, knowing my generally contrarian nature, should make me dislike it).  Anyway, it seemed like an appropriate song to kick off another school year.

Discography Year Two - Week 50

By the time the nano overlords release this week's Discography posting I will be somewhere in Miami with the esteemed Jack Schultz: my bets are either spread piecemeal among the bellies of several thankful alligators or trapped, ankle-deep in blood Dexter-like, in some abandoned metal container.  Doubtless, I will have earned either fate, but by then I will have had epic fun with JS and I won't care one way or another.

Me explaining my fears to Jack as we enter the swamp.

Dave Wallace

U2 - Bad 

Not sure how I've made it this far in the blog without including a U2 song.  It's interesting how they've become almost a "love 'em or hate 'em" band, but I'm definitely in the "love 'em" category.  They have an incredibly deep catalogue with a ton of terrific songs.  Bad is one of my favorites.

So the death of Aretha Franklin compels me to add a bonus song for this week:

Aretha Franklin - Old Landmark 

I'd already submitted my blog song for the week, but the passing of Aretha Franklin compels me to send something else along remembering the Queen of Soul.  Clearly the greatest female soul singer ever, and likely the greatest soul singer, regardless of gender, Franklin was a force of nature, and her run of essential songs and albums from the 60's is extraordinary.   While I love all of her classic soul material, Franklin, like many of her contemporaries, started singing in the church, and she was an incredible gospel singer.  One of my favorite Franklin albums is Amazing Grace, a gospel album that she recorded at the peak of her artistic and commercial success.  The whole thing is great, and Old Landmark rocks as hard as anything that you'll ever hear.

Phil Seiler

Aretha Franklin

Misty

Some idiot angry baseball head on twitter wrote the obituary for Aretha for National Review and in it declared her second best as a vocalist to Kelly Clarkson so I happily return to my comfortable position that conservative opinions about everything are trash. RIP Aretha.

Dave Kelley

Amanda Shires. "Eve's Daughter"

I totally agree with all of DW's comments about the new Amanda Shires release.  A really damn fine record.  I could have selected several songs off it but will go with this one.  Some fine guitar work from Mr. Shires.

Gary Scudder

Patty Griffin, Florida

I've been thinking about talking about this song for some time now, so it's not just a celebration of my long-overdue trip to visit the esteemed Jack Schultz in Miami. I've become a huge Patty Griffin fan, and I curse the times I know she passed through Burlington before I knew who she was. One of the things I appreciate most about her song-writing is her beautiful use of imagery. The song is about two young women escaping to Florida.  She gives the night an identity so real its almost tangible: "The night wants to kiss you deep/ and be on his way/ pretend he don't know you the very next day." The song is off the album Impossible Dream, which is highly recommended.