Discography Year Two - Week 4

First off, I have to apologize for getting this week's post up and running late this week. As I'll discuss, clumsily, later, I decided at the last moment to change my submission (again), and that threw everything off.  Amazingly we're already a month of the way into the second year of our Discography music discussion. There are a lot of great songs this week, and, per usual, several completely new songs and bands (although, as we know, given my level of profound musical illiteracy this is to be expected).  A few days ago the esteemed Gary Beatrice asked if the first thematic week topic had been revealed.  The answer is, sort of, unofficially, at least to a couple members.  Last year we ran our first thematic week in Week 9, and I was planning on taking the same approach, although, truthfully, I don't know why.  We can run it at anytime, so all I need is your thoughts on it and two weeks notice.

Gary Beatrice

Steely Dan, Your Gold Teeth

"Your Gold Teeth" is another song that simply hits my soul for reasons I can't detect. The lyrics are meaningless, standard early period Steely Dan lyrics that sound like your listening in on a secret multi-layered mystery, with its reference to a women we must know from history or something (Kathy Bavaria). But, on closer examination the lyrics don't mean anything. They are just a tool to help propel the music, the overall sound. And I don't mind that the lyrics don't mean a thing because the overall sound is just fantastic. I particularly enjoy the long piano/keyboard/guitar instrumental break that is the centerpiece of "Your Gold Teeth".

Steely Dan was my favorite band the first three years of high school, at least until Dave Wallace and Scott Stauber made me sit down and really listen to Born To Run and Darkness On the Edge of Town (and later Some Girls). I don't apologize because Steely Dan actually was a very good band through the seventies. I am a bit embarrassed that I also believed and argued that they were also the best rock band ever...but, hey, high school.

And they were most certainly an odd band. By their second album the band was Donald Fagan and the late Walter Becker. Fagan sang virtually every song and wrote most of them, while Becker did , uhhh, actually I don't know what he did. As Becker himself admitted, he often didn't even play on many Steely Dan songs. Instead the music was provided by guests and session musicians. And until they went all soft jazz on us (Hey Nineteen), the crazy approach frequently worked. An interesting and odd tidbit from rock 'n roll history.

Dave Wallace

The Eagles - Already Gone

It's fashionable to bash the Eagles these days, and I get it.  They often epitomized the worst of the "California sound" that produced a lot of crappy music in the '70s.  Plus, their two leaders, Glenn Frey and Don Henley, are major jerks (or was in Frey's case).  But I admit to having a soft spot for a number of their songs.  Maybe it's nostalgia, but they could write a catchy hook and had fantastic harmonies.  Not a bad recipe for success.  "Already Gone" is one of their best, with an absolutely killer guitar riff propelling the song along.

Miranda Tavares

Had a bad cold the last couple of  days, which forced me to stay still. I spent several hours with the blog, checking out every single link and following my favorites down the rabbit hole. I've never been so glad to be a bit under the weather :) I also decided I really want to go to Zanzibar. Maybe someday. Hope all is well with you.

William Elliott Whitmore, Hell or High Water

Nate and I had the excellent fortune to catch this vocal and lyrical genius this past weekend. There is so much soul, power, emotion, sadness, and hope on tracks that, more often than not, are simply him and his acoustic guitar. I found this song in particular extremely moving. It references the ending of a year, and toasting friends. As a result, I had made a note to myself to use this song for my final post of Discography, Year Two. Then I sobered up and thought, you drunken fool, you missed the point of the song. This song is a celebration of friendship, and the best time to celebrate friendship is literally every fucking moment, and in particular this very moment. So, cheers. 

Phillip Seiler

Wye Oak

Holy Holy

This week I decided I really wanted to write about Wye Oak, a Baltimore based indie rock band. Baltimore is not generally known as a musical hotbed but it is, more or less, my home town. And there have been a few gems over the years that have emerged from there. But maybe none more interesting to me than Wye Oak.

A two-piece unit with a fair bit of fuzz and noise used to obscure their melodies, Wye Oak trods ground that has been explored before. And yet, the husky, almost masculine vocals of Jen Wasner, lead guitarist and songwriter, spins the convention and upends the whole endeavor. This song drives through the wall of sound with a relentless pace. I include the full lyrics because they are at once mysterious and yet seem so desirous to know.

Holy, holy, holy
There is no other story
Holy, holy, holy
It is madness seeking mastery

Holy, holy, holy
Would you like to know me?
A tongue without a mouth to feed
And only seeking agony

For the joys and secrets I have stored
Here I lie awaiting our reward
Attention for the blessed, final count
The ties that hold your mind and lock me out

No patience can contain this

All human joy is precious
And I alone should know this
And everyone should notice

Holy, holy, holy
There is no other story
It is madness seeking mastery
We will be who we want to be

For the joys and secrets I have stored
Here I lie awaiting my reward
Attention for the blessed, final count
The ties that hold your mind will not give out

Oh, they will give out

Does she sing holy holy holy or hold me hold me hold me? And really, is there a difference?

Alice Neiley

Aimee Mann, Autumn

Let me just say, I’ve been waiting for these cooler temperatures for weeks. I’m naturally hot-blooded; the humid weather and I aren’t buddies. So when I woke up shivering a little yesterday, I thought: “YES!” and “It’s Aimee Mann season!”

In truth, I listen to Aimee Mann’s music all year long, but I straight-up crave it in the fall. Initially I figured this was because, when I lived in Provincetown, MA year-round, things finally slowed down in September, after the tourist insanity. The clothing store where I worked was still open for business, but there were rarely people around to shop. I’d unlock the store around 10am every day, turn on the space heater, line up my hot coffee and ice water on the counter, and choose a playlist. It was often Aimee Mann. Her scrappy, clear alto voice (and her magnetic chord progressions) mirrored the cool air—the seasonally darkening ocean, too—that had surrounded my walk on the busted up side streets earlier.  

Only just tonight did it occur to me there might be another reason I always chose her music for the store in fall, other than simple awesomeness. When “Ghost World” popped up on the iPod during my drive back to Canada, I remembered, Though that’s not my favorite Aimee Mann song anymore, it used to be when I was 20 years old and had just transferred from Kenyon College to UVM. Even with good friends, I’d always been a bit of a loner, so these lyrics especially hit home:

Everyone I know is acting weird
Or way too cool
They hang out by the pool
So I just read a lot and ride my bike
Around the school

But at that time, I was a lost loner, generally. Anorexic, specifically. Full of needs I didn’t know how to meet--couldn’t even name—I tried to need nothing. It seemed logical. “Ghost World” expressed what I couldn’t -- the emotional landscape unique to most people’s early 20s: loneliness, desire for power/escape, and the only tolerable versions of those feelings that ambivalence seems to provide. But it also included that layer of secret desperation:

And all that I need now is someone
With the brains and the know-how
To tell me what I want anyhow.

Slight tangent, bear with me: there’s this “I Remember” writing exercise I sometimes do to get unstuck, and often assign to students, based on a long poem by artist Joe Brainard, in which every sentence begins with “I remember.” What most interests me about it is  how inevitably the cumulative result illustrates the state of mind/body someone was in (at a particular moment/time when I first heard Aimee Mann, for example), more through concrete specifics that surrounded it than description of the moment itself.

In any case, drumming away on the steering wheel tonight, “I remember” sequences essentially kept pummeling through my head, completely unbidden. So, I pulled over and wrote a few on a notecard:

I remember the stone path to my uncle’s big, empty house.

I remember my uncle’s taste in poetry: Frost.

I remember sucking mustard out of Gulden’s packets. 

I remember a shot glass of granola before bed.

I remember T.V. remotes and a couch covered with a white sheet.

I remember Bachelor No. 2 in its case on top of his stereo. I slid it in and played it on a loop for 3 weeks--Ghost World, How am I Different, Deathly--even while I attended Essex treatment center in the afternoons, even while sleeping.

I remember singing in every room.

I remember sit-ups in every room.

I remember the wet leaves smell,

Sony wrap-around headphones,

those strong, opening guitars.

I remember the stone path was too hard for sit-ups, even with a folded towel. I remember lying down--my back cooled, heavy, unfolded.  

Dave Mills

Song: Graveclothes

Band: Birdtalker

My song this week is from the debut EP of Birdtalker, an alt-folk (if such labels mean anything) band from Nashville, named for St. Francis of Assisi and his impulse to talk to animals in recognition of the inherent value and dignity of all things. I just stumbled across this last month, about a year after its release. The song "Graveclothes" (main lyric: shake your graveclothes off) is a whimsical celebration of joy and dancing. Honestly, I haven't paid close attention to the lyrics of the verses. There seems to be a line about growing a garden out of the top of your head, which I'm hoping is a metaphor, since there's little I can grow on the top of my head these days. But the refrain of the chorus, coupled with the contagiously danceable tune, are enough for me. Without minimizing the seriousness off so many of today's headlines, it's still necessary that we remember how to dance and find joy rather than wallow in sadness and powerlessness. The video, linked here, is an invigorating montage of found footage (mostly of dancing) set to the music. Enjoy, and, perhaps, find joy this week.

Cyndi Brandenburg

Mindy Smith, Tennessee 

As usual, I waited until the last minute to realize I had something I
wanted to post this week, but this song managed to infiltrate my
consciousness at just the right time.  Last week, I was lucky enough
to hang out for a few days in Tennessee.  I grew up in Pittsburgh,
Buffalo, and Denver, was raised by a couple of true Midwesterners
(okay, sort of, but that's a long story), and generally think of
myself as a New Englander for whom the South has little appeal. And
yet, I can also see all the ways that my perspectives and assumptions
might be wrong. Which is just an overly complicated way of noting that
there are infinite possibilities for what can actually work.  Maybe
there's a tattoo design for that?

Kathy Seiler

I'm short on commentary this week, but I'm short on just about everything, as we all know. 

----

The Lone Bellow and Blind Boys of Alabama “WatchOver Us”

The music just plain speaks for itself, both the singing and the lyrics of the song - so soulful. We all need some watching over right now, whether we are in Vermont, Ohio, Puerto Rico, Florida, the Virgin Islands, Houston, Myanmar, or Yemen.

And if you haven’t gotten your tickets to the Lone Bellow concert and you are here in VT…

Go. Get. Them. Now.

Here’s the link.

Watch over us
Watch over us
When my hands are tired
When my strength is gone

Momma, your baby's
Shrouded in sorrow
You've had your time
But who has tomorrow?

Watch over us
Watch over us
Father, your sickness
Lives here in me

I don't need no crown
I don't need no glory
You've had your life
But that ain't my story

Sometimes I'm up
Sometimes I'm down
Sometimes I'm almost
Leveled to the ground

But my baby's sleeping
Sleeping in peace

So watch over us

Dave Kelley

Well, I have been good so far and limited myself to one song per post, but we all knew that was not going to last!!

My songs this week have one thing in common.  They are all tunes that Tom Petty wrote for himself that were ultimately covered by a female artist. 

"Stop Dragging My Heart Around"    Stevie Nicks

Apparently Jimmy Iovine who was producing Petty at the time convinced him it would be a good idea to give this song to Nicks for her upcoming solo album.  He even convinced Petty to sing on the track and have The Heartbreakers serve as the backing band.  What Iovine kept hidden from Petty was that he was secretly dating Nicks.  Petty was pissed when he found out, but by then the song was a hit.  Petty is an amazing songwriter, and he is at the top of his game here.  I love the guitar work, the keyboards, and the vocals.

"Ways to be Wicked"  Lone Justice

Apart from having a huge crush on Maria McKee, the lead singer, during the late eighties/early nineties, I think she has a fantastic voice.  I was convinced that Lone Justice was going to be a huge band.   That was obviously the kiss of death, because they soon faded away.  This is another song with fantastic interplay between guitars and the keyboard.  Love the vocals.  Petty commented that the lines "You ain't afraid to let me have it.  You ain't afraid to stick it in" took on a very unintended connotation when sung by a female.   Just a great tune that I had not thought of in a very long time.

"Changed the Locks"  Lucinda Williams

Lucinda is such a great writer herself that she rarely does covers on her studio records.  She recently made an exception and covered Bruce's "Factory".  I am very glad that she also covered this Petty tune.  The singer is so anxious to get away from a former lover who is clearly no good for her that in succession she:  changes the locks on her front door, the number on her phone, the kind of car she drives, the kind of clothes she wears, the tracks underneath the train, and the name of this town.    The vocals are accompanied by some down and dirty harmonica and guitar work.

Gary Scudder

Sarah Harmer, Dandelions in Bullet Holes

First off, I have to give props to the truly excellent Kevin Andrews for reminding me of Sarah Harmer, and bringing her back to my life's playlist.

As is often the case, this week's song is not my first or my second or even my third choice.  I think one of the reasons why I found it easy to include songs every week last year was that I was perpetually writing blog posts, and then if I thought of another song which seemed a better fit for that week's mood I would simply create a new weekly blog shell and move the original post there to wait. In turn, it might get published in its new location, or it might get moved again; some of the songs and commentaries eventually saw the light of day months later, and some are still waiting.  My current SO says that one of my great strengths is productively using isolated little corners of the day which have the potential to be wasted.

"This call to arms means wrap them around the first person you see."

I came to this song circuitously, which, again, is pretty typical for the world's least productive and least rational thinker.  After being prompted by Kevin, I found myself reflecting upon the perpetual drumbeat of war from our mad king and so many of the GOP chickenhawks.  Obviously, it is wrong for a myriad of reasons: it deliberately distracts people from political scandals and is a form of corporate welfare and it stifles free speech by playing up a frantic, panicked patriotism, but, at least to me, it is most abhorrent because it costs the warmongers absolutely nothing while spreading immense harm. In my faith we are taught that if you kill one person it is as if you had killed everyone on the planet.  Granted, and sadly, there are times when you have to fight, but there has to be a very special place in the Hell of your choice for those who actively promote wars for political or economic profit.  One of the things that has made Trump's Muslim travel ban so especially horrific is that the wars that George W. Bush started in the Middle East have killed somewhere between two and four million people, and in the process helped create the very refugees we're blocking entry.

So, clearly, I was in a mood when I began listening to Sarah Harmer again.  My favorite Harmer song has always been Dandelions in Bullet Holes, and naturally, and magnetically, I was drawn to it again. However, it also took me to a very different place.  As you know years ago, and in a very different personal world, I spent a year living in Abu Dhabi.  I was pretty professionally, and especially, and more importantly, emotionally bruised.  One doesn't normally think about retreating to the desert for redemption and rebirth but it does happen (and not simply for religious prophets).  Unexpectedly, I found myself opening my heart to someone, and the first trip we made as a couple, even an at the time unofficial one, was to Beirut, Lebanon.  The city was damaged and crowded with ghosts, but was also still living, and even the bullet holes spoke of survival.  And I decided to live.  In turn, I decided not to die, and that we have to fight against anyone who promotes death.  In the end I think the song is about the survival of life and love in the face of sorrow and horror.