Discography Year Two - Week 30

What?!?! It's Week 30 already?  That means that there are only twenty-two weeks left before the second year of our eminently excellent Discography music discussion draws to a close.  Some people - could be anyone - but in this case Cyndi Brandenburg (a woman of immense intellectual gifts but little faith) has proposed that the Discography has played itself out and no one cares any more.  That said, I (a man of decidedly limited intellectual gifts but a marginally impressive amount of faith) disagree. While we should probably burn Cyndi at the stake for her lack of faith (or at least attach a carrot to her nose) I've decided upon a different approach.  In the last week I've been asked to serve on the Constitution Committee at my local masjid - and have been called to jury duty - both events, happening simultaneously, speak to my Solomon-esque wisdom and sense of justice.  Consequently, Cyndi is responsible for choosing the theme for our next Theme Week, which is Week 32.

And, huzzah, here is said theme from the truly excellent CB:

"For the next thematic week, each of you will have to revisit the dark
recesses of your early adolescent brains.  As you enter those green
grimy walls hung with cobwebs, try to ignore the possibility that this
is what eternity looks like, and instead  focus on the treasure hunt
task at hand. Here is what you are looking for:

What were among the very first albums that you personally purchased
for yourself, probably in middle school or high school and in the form
of vinyl or CD?  What popular song(s) compelled you to make said
choices? And most importantly, what unknown song did you discover as a
result, as a cut buried deep, that proved to be the kind of hidden gem
that redeems your naive choice in ways that still make you happy?"

Kevin Andrews

I came across this great quote about Joe Pass from New York Magazine in 1997, "Joe Pass looks like somebody's uncle and plays guitar like nobody's business. He's called 'the world's greatest' and often compared to Paganini for his virtuosity. There is a certain purity to his sound that makes him stand out easily from other first-rate jazz guitarists." (I found it in Wikipedia for those of you into citations.) There are only a handful of jazz guitarist of this caliber; Wes Montgomery, maybe George Benson. He makes this look so effortless. 

The list of people he’s played with is as good as it gets. Here he is with Ella Fitzgerald and on Oscar Peterson’s BBC show  The YouTube has some vids of Oscar and Joe together too.

Dave Kelley

Amy Winehouse. "Someone to Watch Over Me"

One of the best tunes in the American songbook covered by the greatest female voice of her generation.  What makes this so tragic is that she is dead partially because she lacked someone to watch over her.

Bonus track

Amy Winehouse. "I Love You More Than You'll EverKnow"

What a loss.

Gary Scudder

Sturgill Simpson, Turtles All The Way Down

One of these days I should really compile a list of all the new music that you folks have introduced me to on the Discography, some of which has become favorites.  A great example would be Sturgill Simpson, who I knew nothing about.  I recently downloaded his second album, Metramodern Sounds in Country Music and I'm hooked.  I think you're the very definition of alt-country when your songs borrow passages from Stephen Hawking.  In his A Brief History of Time Hawking recounts this story:

"A well-known scientist (some say it was Bertrand Russell) once gave a public lecture on astronomy.  He described how the earth orbits around the sun and how the sun, in turn, orbits around the center of a vast collection of stars called our galaxy.  At the end of the lecture, a little old lady at the back of the room got up and said: 'What you have told us is rubbish.  The world is really a flat plate supported on the back of a giant tortoise.' The scientist gave superior smile before replying, 'What is the tortoise standing on?' 'You're very clever, young man, very clever,' said the old lady. 'But it's turtles all the way down!'"

When talking about the song Simpson said:

"I just reached a point where the thought of writing and singing any more songs about heartache and drinking made me feel incredibly bored with music.  It's just not a headspace I occupy much these days.  Nighttime reading about theology, cosmolology, and breakthroughs in modern physics and their relationship to a few personal experiences I've had led to most of the songs on the album . . . I expected to be labeled the 'acid country guy,' but it's not something I dwell on.  I would urge anyone that gets hung up on the song being about drugs to give another lesson . . . To me 'Turtles' is about giving your heart to love and treating everyone with compassion and respect no matter what you do or don't believe."

Clearly Sturgill Simpson has to become the favorite singer/songwriter for Cyndi B and Kathy S immediately.  I expected a large crowd when Simpson comes to Burlington this summer.  Kevin and I are already investigating tickets.

Stories

You know, if you're travelling to Jordan to study the Arabian Nights, then you'd better set aside some time while there to read the stories.  The stories themselves came up a lot in the course of the trip, often, happily for the professors, initiated by the students.  The most memorable time was planned, and, unlike most of my mad schemes, it could not have come off better.  On the day of our eight hour camel ride through the Wadi Rum (much more on that later) the students were exhausted so I figured they would try and beg out of the scheduled reading, but they were insistent.  So, we left the camp and walked out into the desert.  After the truly excellent Mahmoud lit candles we arranged ourselves in a circle and took turns reading from Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.  At a certain point the students determined that Ali Baba wasn't actually the hero of his own story, and that, instead, it was his female servant Marjana; and another teachable moment arrived, and their upcoming Feminist literary criticism paper wrote itself.  We didn't actually finish the story because two of the students fell asleep in the sand, but I can't imagine a better story.  Plus, now they have to finish the story on their own for their papers (win/win).

The crew having a great time before we even started reading.  I've never led a group overseas who were more routinely and consistently happy and enthusiastic and engaged every single day.  A complete joy.

Rebecca, Emma and Liza locked in.

Hannah scrunched over and reading our copy of the Arabian Nights (we passed around a little flashlight or some students used the flashlights on their phones).  Nik is focused in and preparing for her turn.

King Abdullah Masjid

Our first visit (other than Shwarma World, more on that later) on our recent wildly successful student trip to Jordan (seriously, I've never led a trip where the students were more uniformly happy and engaged every single day) was to the King Abdullah Masjid (masjid usually gets transformed into mosque) in downtown Amman. As we've discussed before, in most Muslim countries there is at least one masjid which is set aside for non-Muslims to visit during non-prayer times.  Our little masjid here in Vermont, the Islamic Society of Vermont, being very Vermonty, also happily welcomes people to visit during Friday Jummah prayer.  In Jordan the masjid where non-Muslims visit is the beautiful King Abdullah Masjid, and we stopped there on our way downtown on our first full day in country.  I've been in many masjids, but in many ways the King Abdullah Masjid has remained my favorite.  I suppose it relates, naturally, to the fact that Jordan is my favorite place, and thus it seems like a fitting symbol of that love.  It's also the first, I think, masjid that I ever entered.  Plus, I just think it has a lovely balance between soaring beauty and also essential simplicity.  I liked the Sheikh Zayed Masjid in Abu Dhabi, and part of that also relates to the fact that I lived there, but it's also so insanely ornate (it is in the UAE after all) that I find it distracting.  The students really enjoyed the visit, and the serenity of the experience - and how graciously they were welcomed by everyone - set a nice tone for the trip.  The faith and the country were not what the western media and popular culture told them they would be.

The exterior of the King Abdullah Masjid.  It's a large masjid, although not massive, and it has a very fine small museum attached to it with models of other masjids and also Qurans.

And right across the street is a massive Christian church, which also gave the students a sense of the religious complexity of the country and the region.

The inside of the masjid.  Yes, it's beautiful, but also in many ways it's very understated.  After the students finished looking around I was able to spirit myself back in and pray.  I always do my best to separate my personal faith from my classes and from these trips, so it's always wonderful when I get a chance to visit a masjid for a little private time.

Djinn Blocks

Here is a brief story that reminds me of my famous Nairobi djinn story from 2008 (really, was that ten years ago already?).  As you walk into Petra, out before you ever enter the Siq itself, you see all sorts of fascinating Nabataean architecture that most people don't ever stop to peruse, because on the way in you're way too excited about getting to the Siq and on the way out it's inevitably getting dark and you're exhausted.  One of the most interesting architectural treasures is referred to as the Djinn Blocks, even though they're actually just funerary structures.  Apparently people routinely hear strange noises there at night and thus it is associated with the djinn.  Ines, Liza, Cyndi and I were walking/stumbling out of Petra in the gloaming when we approached the Djinn Blocks.  I said something about the djinn as we approached the blocks and Ines and Liza walked a little closer.  At that point a cat jumped up out of a trashcan and gave them a good scare (someone may have thrown a rock over by the Djinn Blocks to cause mischief but there is no proof to that scandalous accusation).  Liza snapped a quick picture of Ines walking past the blocks and had a second scare: in the picture Ines doesn't have a head.  Doubtless, it is some sort of remarkably odd technical glitch . . .

The excellent Mahmoud stopping on the way in to explain the Djinn Blocks, but also, as was typical of his normal great job, of explaining that the blocks didn't really have anything to do with the djinn at all. He gave  a fascinating short talk on the significance of the cube shape itself, and how it is reflected in the Kaaba in Mecca.

And the famous/infamous picture of headless Ines.  I would think that the entire thing is photoshopped, except that I was standing there when the picture was taken and heard Liza's initial shock at seeing the picture on her phone.

When I was teaching in Abu Dhabi I would occasionally make some djinn reference when the lights or internet would go screwy; half the students would roll their eyes and the other half would get a very nervous look on their faces.  Islam teaches us to belief in the seen and the unseen, and the djinn fall into the latter category.They're not truly evil, sometimes mischievous but usually just morally neutral.  Steve Wehmeyer and I did some brief research on this and apparently if you dream of a headless djinn it means that you're not very bright, and you can imagine that Ines took for that revelation.  However, Ines wasn't dreaming of headless djinn so we're still investigating this one.

Oh, and here's a happy family picture before the tragic djinn-devised beheading.  Left to right: Ines, Cyndi, and Liza.  While we were walking out together a couple people told Cyndi and I that we had nice daughters.  We told them that they had no idea how the girls had aged us.

Zen at Petra

I've been blessed beyond all measures to have gone to Petra more times than I can accurately count.  It's either six or seven (eight?) times, and if you're not quite certain how many times you've visited Petra you've lived a life marked by more good fortune than you've earned (as I often opine, Allah looks after the feeble-minded).  Still, I think I should mark the occasion, especially since this last trip was so amazing.  So, I think I'm just going to post some pictures with more random themes.  With that in mind, here are a couple pictures which just speak to a sense of bliss and awe in the midst of the beauty and chaos and physical exertion.

Cat, Liza and Cyndi as they collapsed at the souvenir shop at the end of the world.  Something about their three postures/expressions sums up the entire experience.

My student Brandon checking out one of the cliffs up above the Monastery.  I walked out to the end of my own cliff to snap this shot, and I yelled over to him, "You do know that if I post this picture your mother is going to kill us both!"

Discography Year Two - Week 29

The esteemed Cyndi B. and I returned from Jordan less than a week ago.  It was an extraordinary trip, the best one I've ever run, for any number of reasons.  If you follow this blog along its non-musical paths you'll eventually get more Jordan than you can handle.  It is my favorite place,  not simply my favorite overseas location, but my favorite spot here on Allah's green earth (although there's not a lot of green there).  While we were exploring the northern city of Jerash (home of the best-preserved Roman ruins in the world) we stumbled across a family of Syrian refugees from the city of Alleppo.  Our most excellent guide Mahmoud arranged for us to talk to them.  The discussion started off with the Syrian mother, through translation, telling us that some westerner walking around the ruins have given her daughter money and she wanted to know if it was us.  We had to tell her no.  She wanted to know because she was insistent on giving the money back.  It was important to her - and her mind important for us to know - that they weren't there in Jordan not because they were looking for a handout, but simply because they didn't want to be slaughtered.  We talked for a goodly amount of time, and as we were leaving the mother said to us, without a hint of irony, "Do you have Syrian refugees in America?"  The students grew very quiet.  As we were walking down a Roman road in the gloaming one of the students came up to me and said, "You know, we just suck as a country.  Seriously, we suck."  As I am wont to opine. trips are planned on epic adventures but determined by small moments; this was one of those moments that the students will never forget.

Our student Hannah taking the lead talking to the Syrian family.

Dave Wallace

The National - Squalor Victoria

I've already posted about my love for Cincinnati-born, Brooklyn-bred The National, and I'm very excited that they are going to be curating and headlining a two-day festival in Cincinnati at the end of April.  They'll be the closing act both nights and, on the second evening, they'll be playing The Boxer in its entirety.  While High Violet is probably my favorite album by The National, The Boxer is also terrific.  In anticipation of the show, I've chosen Squalor Victoria from that album.

Dave Kelley

"But I ride by night

and I travel in fear

That in this darkness

I might just disappear"

"Stolen Car"  Alternate version  Bruce Springsteen

     Cars are obviously an image used by Bruce many times over the years.  Often the car is a symbol of freedom and endless possibilities.  With the right girl and the right car and an the right stretch of road, everything is possible.  "We're pulling out of here to win."  That metaphor almost became a cliché in his work.  Increasingly though, his references to cars and the open road have become much more somber and melancholy.  In "A Cautious Man" the protagonist who is starting to feel trapped by his marriage leaves his sleeping wife in bed and walks down to the highway in the middle of the night.  Yet when he got there "he didn't find nothing but road."   Bruce put a bullet in the head of the romance of the car in his music right there.

     Isolation is virtually always a very dark and dangerous thing in Bruce world.  In some ways, a motor vehicle is isolation personified.  It can just be you, your bad intentions, and nothing else.  "State Trooper" off of "Nebraska" is just a terrifying song.  The protagonist is a man filled with rage and violence who is hoping that the cop does not pull him over, because that would be a mistake that the officer would not be likely to survive.  Steve Earle once said that if the Townes Van Zant song "Lungs" doesn't scare the shit out of you, you need to listed harder.  I would put State Trooper in that category as well.  The protagonist isn't traveling, he is metastasizing.  

     I have always really liked the version of "Stolen Car" from "The River" record.  However, I much prefer the alternate take released on "The Promise" which came out several years ago.  The singer's marriage has fallen apart, and he spends his nights driving around in stolen cars hoping to be caught.  He is both longing for and terrified of oblivion.  I totally get that dichotomy in my weaker moments.  Plus, any chance to hear Roy Bittan step out on the piano is always a good thing.

     I am not sure what put this song in my head.  Those of us in town who loved the late great Gary Beatrice got together over the weekend to informally celebrate what a fun and funny person he was.  We have all really struggled with what happened to him and continue to do so.  It was very nice to spend a few hours enjoying the companionship of others who share the pain as well as the great memories.  It was quite the opposite of the isolation expressed by the protagonist from "Stolen Car."  Maybe that is what made me choose this song.  As with most things involving my thought process, who the fuck really knows.     

Alice Neiley

Hello fellow blog-contributors! Sorry about my absence last week, but I believe (unlike others, Scudder) that my excuse was legitimate. 

Anyway, I'd planned to continue my 90s shtick this week with the top 5 of what I call the Barely-Rock-and-Rollers (dudes who have great songs, hits even, but songs that can't in any good conscience be called rock, and thus have no real genre), but I'll have to save that for another time. 

Instead, I'm borrowing a page from Scudder's "whatever I'm listening to at the moment inspires my post" book. 

I was driving home to Ottawa this evening, listening a half-completed Spotify playlist I'm working on, and trying to imagine what other songs should be on it, when Spotify did that thing where it starts to offer songs it thinks you might enjoy. I'll be honest, I like only about half their recommendations, but man did the algorithm nail it this time. 

I'm familiar with the band, Joseph, but was not familiar with their song "Honest" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qracGc_Taog, which, if I was in my usual melancholy driving mood, would have probably made me cry. 

 It isn't particularly sad in melody (though it is in a minor key: Em), nor are the lyrics sad, but they're so TRUE. So, if I'd been in my usual mood, I would have likely teared up, once again, because music (especially certain music) has always made me feel so darn understood, more understood than I feel with most people. 

Perhaps it feels extra true because we're deep into a discussion of duality in my Heroes and Heroines course, and while the idea of two seemingly contradictory thoughts or emotions being true at once is often a hard thing for me to accept, I know deep down that the moments when that becomes clear represent existence at its finest. 

I know I'm pretending
When I try to have an answer
It's not what I intended
And I don't know what comes after

There's always two thoughts
One after the other:
I'm alone
No you're not
I'm alone no you're not

Those lyrics in combination with the way the song shifts back and forth from gentle to more aggressive instrumentation, and from a haunting single voice to vocal harmonies that have a pulse all their own, well...it's just so...ablaze with humanness. 

(Btw...here's the acoustic version, which might even be better? I can't quite decide. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4eGVGwuNukU)

Gary Scudder

Neil Young, The Restless Consumer

This song is both typically and atypically Neil Young.  It certainly doesn't sound like a NY song, but the theme is classic Young.  Even if you don't like Young you have to admit that few people have provided a more consistent and sincere clarion call for what is right, even if it often left him a very lonely voice in the wilderness.  The Restless Consumer is from the underrated Living With War album.  I don't know if there are truly any great songs on the album, but Young was focused in like a laser in ways that were rare on his later work.   It's an honest to goodness, unabashed anti-war album in an age when not only do we unconsciously live with war, but also consciously and deliberately, and almost priapically, celebrate it.  It's a sad reflection of our age that the album was just viewed as the ranting of an old hippie who didn't understand the changing world.  Living With War, indeed. Essentially, I think this ties back to the comments that started this posting: we suck. It's fifteen years since the start of the disastrous invasion of Iraq that Young raged against in Living With War, and people are still dying because of that vanity project.

My Tent in the Wadi Rum

My students will tell you, universally, that their favorite part of the our recent trip to Jordan was the stay in the Wadi Rum.  I've never led a trip - not to India or Sri Lanka or Spain or Jordan or Portugal - where the students agreed more uniformly on anything.  Truthfully, it was also my favorite part of the last trip as well.  So, expect several more Wadi Rum themed posted. I'll begin with some pictures of my way too posh tent where we stayed.  A couple times in the course of the trip we were upgraded - or poshified - simply because the size of our group got us squeezed out of our initial plan.  Petra Moon Travel just kept upgrading us at no extra cost, which is only one of the reasons why I would only ever consider using them on my trips to Jordan.  As much as my student Michael Manfredi wring our hands over accommodations being too posh I'm not going to complain about this upgrade too bitterly.

Now, before you get to your tent in the Wadi Rum you need to get into the Wadi Rum, which meant clambering out of the bus and switching over to jeeps.  We were hoping to get there earlier, but there were simply too many cool things to do that day so we didn't arrive until dark.  I have to hand it to my students, none of them seemed too nervous about heading off into the darkness of the Wadi Rum with their lunatic professor.

My jeep travelling companions Ines and Isa . . .

. . . and Kally and Rebecca.  It was a little chilly driving along in the back of a jeep in the desert at night but they were more excited than cold.

And, yes, my insanely posh tent.  Three years ago I slept on the floor of the dining hall tent because it had a plug-in next to a solar panel, which allowed me to power my CPAP machine.  I was quite happy then, and equally happy in this tent.  There is some essential life lesson there.

And speaking of my CPAP machine.  This camp powered off a generator which was shut off at 10:00 p.m. every night, which then gave us complete darkness and quiet.  That was wonderful, although if you need a CPAP machine to keep breathing all night it's a bit of a challenge.  Happily, Bedouin ingenuity triumphed and they hooked me up to a car battery for the night.

The view outside my tent.  Extraordinary.

And the view of the camp itself.  It's easy to spot my tent; it's the one with the white truck (and CPAP powering car battery) next to it.  This picture was snapped from the rock cliff above the camp, where I climbed, almost magnetically, early the next morning.

This is also the camp where the Bedouin leader gave me the coat off his back.  How does one even begin to process this experience?