To paraphrase my friend Eric Esckilsen, there was serious talk among serious individuals about a Discography about the current situation wherein we are, or should be, hunkered down in our homes or at least houses. So, after a series of low level meetings, the decision was made to put together a limited edition, two part Discography. Why two parts? Well, I didn't want to just do something on isolation, because, well, hell, that's depressing as hell. Plus, there will be an end to this, and someday we will walk out among the living again. So, with that preamble in mind, Week 1 will be songs of isolation/sadness/loneliness and Week 2 will be songs of friendship/joy/community.
Kathy Seiler
I
was a microbiology major in college and then studied infectious disease for my
Ph.D. work. LITERALLY my worst nightmare as someone trained in
this field is now happening: a global pandemic of a novel respiratory virus
that is highly contagious. Even if it had been influenza I would have felt
better, but we didn't get that lucky. Put an idiotic government and a society
that mostly cares only for the individual and not the collective on top of it,
and I'm doing my best not to lose my mind.
On
my walk this morning with the dog, this song came on my headphones. And I
realized there were never more accurate lyrics for a college professor during a
pandemic because of a killer respiratory virus. When WILL I begin again?
There
are papers surrounding me
Keeping me buried
Beneath a sea
These
are the things weighing me down
Not letting me breathe
Or make a sound
But
it's not too late to start anew
I need some help
Show me what to do
But
when will I begin?
When will I begin?
When will I begin to be free?
When will I begin?
When will I begin?
When will I begin to be free? Oh be free
Will
you walk with me?
Will you talk with me?
Will you say all the things I need you to say?
And I, I'll come running
Then
we'll laugh in the rain
And we'll crash through the waves
And we'll sing each refrain so sweetly
Know
I will lay down and die
Oh Lord, if you lie
All the air in the world would be leaving
Will
you hold me close?
Like the holy ghost
Say the things I need the most
And I, I'll come running
Then
we'll laugh in the rain
And we'll crash through the waves
And we'll sing each refrain so sweetly
And we'll hold on till the end
I know you're always gonna be my friend
All the weight in the world is leaving
So when will I begin?
When will I begin?
When will I begin to be free?
When will I begin?
Cindy Morgan
When
I started poking around in this theme the VAST majority of songs I found were
about heartbreak--and while we are all certainly heartbroken to not be in the
classroom with our students doing what we love, or at home with our spawn (I
mean our truly amazing offspring)--these just didn't seem appropriate for the
moment. Even a trip down the 1980s British synth-pop memory lane didn't turn up
much "I'm trapped inside my house writing depressing songs about the
experience" material. Apropos of this were really only two Ramones songs:
"I Want to be Sedated" and "Beat on the Brat," depending on
how far into your homeschooling while trying to work day you are.
So
I turned instead to my course material for inspiration. The truly amazing Alice
Neiley passed off her EHS course Reading and Writing Fiction to me this
semester, far more confident in my abilities than I am, and though I was
excited I realized I had never read deeply in the short story genre. Oh, I knew
my Chopin, my "To Build a Fire" and some Borges, but my experience
with them was very unfocused. So I spent December and early January reading
short stories. A lot of short stories. About three days into this endeavor I
think I sent her a message that said something like "WHAT DID YOU MAKE ME
DO???" There might have been an expletive in there too. Because, I'm not
sure if you all are up on this genre, but it is depressing AF. Like just TRY to
find a short story with an actual happy ending. I mean, it's hard to find one
with even an IRONIC happy ending. I'm not saying I need everything to be all
happiness and light, and unicorns and participation trophies, but an occasional
work that didn't have me contemplating going back on
anti-depressants would have been nice. OK there's actually one, ONE truly
amazingly funny story that I found about a stable full of horses who are actually
US presidents who have been reincarnated--the narrator is Rutherford B Hayes.
I'll give you the link here. If you read it instead of the rest of this, you'll
thank me. https://granta.com/the-barn-at-the-end-of-our-term/
Mostly
what irritates me about the genre though is what I call "THE. BIG. DEEP.
ENDING." The family all getting shot in "A Good Man is Hard to
Find" (a story that opened with PLENTY of comedic gold btw); the
calculated cold-blooded entombing of Fortunato in "The Cask of
Amontillado"; the true descent into madness of the narrator in "The
Yellow Wallpaper." It's like they each had to write a bigger deeper, LESS
CREDIBLE ending than the last. Like we lived in this hyper realistic world for
6 or seven or twelve pages but then we get the most cliched unrealistic ending.
The story I use as the whipping boy (story?) in my class is "A Rose for
Emily." Because honestly, it is everything I hate about the genre. An absolutely
fabulous voice, the humor, and diction so impressive you never even want to try
to write a short story. And then. The ending. Not just that he was dead. But
dead in her bed. And not just dead in her bed, but that she slept next to him.
And not just that she slept next to him but that she slept next to him for
decades. Too much you say? YES!! TOO FUCKING MUCH. I digress. So it's a story I
don't teach (obviously) but to use as a foil. Which is why I was thrilled, nay,
delighted, when a few years ago The Zombies used the story as subject matter
for their song by the same name. It is an ABSOLUTE DELIGHT. They found what was
at the heart of the story: a woman who was desperately lonely, an outcast in
her town, a spinster who finally finds love (we think) but who loses it (we
also think--though we're not sure how). The story of the song is that we should
feel sorry for her, instead of how Faulkner makes us feel, which is merely
disdain and revulsion. And the song is just so whimsical with the high pitch and
very basic piano. It is ridiculously catchy--no doubt why the producers of the
podcast S-town wanted to use it as the theme song. It makes me want to like the
story more. But honestly I'll just stick with their version--it's a sad story
about a lonely woman but told with love and empathy.
Bob Craigmile
This takes me back to a time
around 1999 or 2000. I and my (then) spouse were trying to rebuild our
lives with two little kids, after both losing our jobs within a month. We
lived in southern Oregon and the economy there never is that great. The
logging industry (and other agriculture) dominates and seem to hit bad times on
a regular basis. Everyone it seemed had two or three jobs and we did the
same. I took gigs teaching computer courses at the local MicroAge
computer center, and did help desk for an ISP. I'd come home at night to
kids playing and I'd retreat to my computer and play "Thief: the Dark
Project" or look at fark.com to distract me from the mess.
My addiction to sad songs was a
blessing and a curse then and this song was one I pirated from Napster or some
such at the time. I'd been listening to Greg Brown for several years, after
having lived in Minnesota. He was a favorite on Prairie Home Companion in the
80's and 90's. We saw him once in Oregon and then later in Atlanta.
He is the real deal.
"Sorrow is as thin, as an
electric mandolin,
and the moon is as round as a
banjo".
How is sorrow thin? Is it brief,
or an illusion somehow? What does an electric mandolin sound like? The image of
the moon as a banjo is just perfect. Why do sorrow and moonlight go together so
well?
I felt a lot of sorrow then for
letting down my family and facing a real sense of how thin a knife edge we live
on. I collected unemployment and took xanax and trazadone. It was overwhelming,
my sorrow. It made me different, more fragile. I questioned what I'd done with
my life and what could possibly come after.
In time we all suffer
disconnection from jobs, lovers and love. It isn't permanent. Nothing is.
The mandolin notes end. The moon soldiers on, no longer rotating but still
bound with the earth. It's our banjo, waiting to play the next love song.
Jack Schultz
Shineyribs
is on the short list of bands I haven’t yet seen, but would like to. This is
the easiest selection for me in the history of discography. Be
careful—this refrain can make you crazy.
Mike Kelly
Bars
are fun. Getting a drunk hug from a friend would be pretty tremendous right
now, but now we're as socially distant as the narrator in this JI song.
Also like the narrator, fortunately, I've been doing better than I usually do
about "having one last double" and calling people back and that's
been a lesson in how to fight loneliness. I think it's true for a lot of us
that having the space to account for all the people we love has never been the
problem, it's always been the time. Zooming and Hangouts has alleviated
some of that this week and that's a plus, but without that face to face, it's
not the real thing. It's made me think of all the little moments that
make up the connections we have with people. That's the composite whole of a
life and it's taken a pandemic to remind me of how such things. "Close
your eyes and remember this. It won't be back again, it's almost gone/Even
times that don't seem like much will be your only crutch when you're
alone." This. Be well everyone.
Dave Kelley
Forgetfulness, sloth,
procrastination, and technological issues all combined to make this post
woefully late.
John Prine has been very much on my
mind of late upon hearing that he was in critical condition after being
infected with the Corona Virus. He is still in the hospital but
apparently doing much better. Prine has kicked cancer's ass several times,
and I have to have faith that he will win this fight as well. Please let
it be so.
He is simply one of the
greatest songwriters of the last fifty years who does not get enough credit
IMHO. This is a beautiful song about the loneliness that often awaits the
elderly. One of the many things that I fear is outliving all of my loved
ones. No one wants to be surrounded by "rank strangers" at the
end of the road.
I trust all of you good people are
well. This musical community sustained me through the 2016 elections and
their aftermath. It also helped me navigate the loss of my dear friend
and brother Gary Beatrice. By the way, our former colleague is who turned
me onto John Prine many years ago.
Alice Neiley
As
usual, I had a very hard time deciding on an isolation tune. This time,
however, the reason is because most of the songs I regularly listen to (other
than my affinity for Motown) have melancholy melodies and a theme of
loneliness, self-reflection, pangs/aches of love, or some combination. I'm not
sure what that says about me, but how about we withhold judgement on
that...?
First
I thought I'd choose "The Rowing Song" by Patty Griffin, but
Scudder's already chosen that one for a previous discography. Then, I
thought I'd choose "Lonely Teardrops" by Jackie Wilson, but as
interesting as that might have been with regards to genre, it's ultimately just
another break up song. Same with "Too Much Time on My Hands" by Styx
-- great, out of character genre choice, but as fun as the tune is, I
just...well...don't like it that much.
Ultimately,
it came down to a fairly rare Amy Winehouse recording called "Long
Day." The tune has a steady, repetitive beat, and the guitar timbre
reverberates and grates on the ears a bit, like "the grind" of a work
day. It's a consistent groove, and while the melody is nothing particularly
special, that seems to be sort of the point. And anyway, Winehouse's voice
makes up for any lack of anything anywhere, as it digs and growls and groans
and soars through each line, and once more with feeling (even if the feeling is
boredom or overall exhaustion).
For
me, isolation is worrisome on a number of levels -- financial, health, mental
health, etc.--but on a daily basis mostly just makes me feel sort of paralyzed:
unmotivated, strange. Every day blends into the next, I'm constantly in my head,
and yet, I'm not USING my head the way I'd like (writing, lesson planning,
being creative). I need a project, and I will create one soon to be sure, but
for the last 5 days at least, the place I've felt most myself is walking our
puppy in the woods for an hour or so. Then I come home, sit on the couch, and
watch re-runs of Greys Anatomy. It's been a tad depressing. On the other hand,
between this discography and the AMAZING soundtrack that accompanies
Greys Anatomy, I might have just been inspired to at LEAST get some new
playlists going! I'm sure a few more creative endeavors are on the horizon as
well...
Phil Seiler
Chameleons UK
Soul in Isolation
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PmXhxAK-000
First, there are the drums, a cascade of rhythm and sound.
Now layer in a hollow guitar riff, absolutely infectious. A couple of bars
later, the bass. Finally a voice: "Soul in isolation / I can hear you
breathing down the hall / Soul in isolation / I can hear you whisper through
the walls."
Oh yes.
I appreciate a 7+ minute that can maintain its intensity and
depth and the Chameleons UK achieve that here. A long rambling plea to the
universe that captures our loneliness, separateness, and yes, isolation even in
the midst of our daily connected lives. There is a brilliant poignancy to
singer Mark Burgess talking about the cries of another in isolation and
shutting them out while also addressing his own fears and pain of isolation. I
would also be remiss if I didn't highlight the wonderful skewering of
capitalism as its own form of isolation. "But most of you are much too ill
/ way beyond a surgeon's skill / in bondage to a dollar bill / what more can
you buy buy buy" Indeed. Soul in Isolation is a brooding, complex melody
in a wall of sound that is just everything you want in a post-punk track.
And a final plea, in the end, for relief, for light.
"I'm alive in here!
Turn on the lights"
Cyndi Brandenburg
I will start by taking stock of all this. We still have
jobs, I am surrounded by a whole slew of family, our rural surroundings mean a
step outside leads to a safe space that extends for miles, and the dog has
never seemed happier.
Yet, the way our fulfilled lives often swirl around the
people we spend the bulk of our days with outside the home is a truth we often
fail to notice. Virtual humor and gatherings can only take us so far. Staying
good and grounded as we challenge the unknowns of the next few months means
acknowledging the ghosts of companionship and believing that before we know it,
any loneliness and isolation will pass. Two sides of lonely—one is heart, one
is duty.
I might have chosen this one by The Lone Bellow before,
but now both the song and the video take on a whole new meaning. Stark settings
and haunting harmonies serve as a cold reminder that while normalcy may be
fleeting, the memories will last.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=-Id-sNOhL0I
Gary Scudder
Like a lot of folks, obviously, I've been struggling with this enforced isolation. And like a lot folks, equally obviously, I'm a bit of a conundrum emotionally. Some of my friends will opine that I'm an intensely social person, but at the same time I think I'm, to paraphrase Dickens, as solitary as an oyster. These two aspects of my personality have been warring throughout the weeks of isolation, and I'm sure they will not be any happier with each other in the, I'm afraid, months of isolation to come. Consequently, this themed Discography assignment came at the best and worst of times. Clearly, I'm one of the lucky ones. I have friends who love me and who check up on me, and wage gentle internecine wars to house me during my period of mild homelessness. At the moment the esteemed Phil and Kathy are letting me hunker down in their basement, and for that I'm sincerely grateful. Plus, I have a job that allows me to keep working. Teaching online features few, if any, of the joys of teaching our little lunkheads face to face, but it keeps me fed and insured and even marginally intellectually satisfied. So many others have it so much worse off. I'm not sick, unlike so many others, especially since Trump is determined to sacrifice millions to the rapacious desire and ravenous maw of the Stock Market and the 1%. That said, even trying to balance out the fact that so many others have it so much worse, I've really been struggling with loneliness lately. Forced isolation coming hard on the heels of turning sixty and being summarily dumped has led to an almost crippling sense of the inevitability of being alone. However, there will be an end to all this, and soon, soon, all too soon, we will gather for fantasy football/baseball drafts, four sport triathlons, CFL games, Sundays at Smitty's, etc. All of this brings me, oddly, and maybe not so oddly, to this week's selection, the 6th and last symphony of Tchaikovsky. It's a work that has a life of its own in classical music folklore. It's often attributed to Tchaikovsky's resigned and bitter acceptance of his declining health (he died nine days after conducting its premiere) or essentially a suicide note before he was outed as a homosexual. In fact, neither of these two stories are true, and Tchaikovsky wrote it in good physical and mental health. He did die, unexpectedly, nine days after its introduction of cholera, and the story of a secret noble cabal threatening him is an urban legend. Tchaikovsky was happy with the work and proposed that it was the best thing he ever wrote, and he did break the mold of classic music by replacing the explosive fourth movement with a deeply personal, quiet movement; it would be like Neil Young finishing a concert not with Rockin' in the Free World or Like a Hurricane but instead Soldier or A Man Needs a Maid. Nevertheless, it is an homage to death, a recognition of it, an acceptance of it, in much the same way Gauguin's The Spirit of Death Looks On is. In the end I've come around to the fact that the isolation as a reminder, albeit a grim one, of the beautiful cruel logic of life.
