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?

Why Memes Were Invented

On our recent camel ride through the Wadi Rum Desert my great friend, colleague and titular little sister Cyndi's camel was the only one who needed to be muzzled.  I don't think I need to say anything more.

We can only dream . . .

Mahmoud

One of the reasons why this last trip to Jordan was such a rousing success was our guide Mahmoud, arranged through Petra Moon Travel.  Mahmoud is a professor in his own right, and Petra Moon calculated (correctly) that this would make him a perfect choice to lead two professors and fifteen university students around.  This was true not simply because of the depth of information that he brought to each day's excursion, but also because he understood students.  He'd give them some fascinating foundational information and then send them off running or climbing somewhere before joining up again.  Mahmoud was also funny and kind, and the students adored him (and a goodly number of them had a major crush on him). So, if you're thinking of heading to Jordan, definitely contact Petra Moon Travel, and most definitely ask for Mahmoud. Oh, and don't think about going to Jordan: go to Jordan.

Here's a picture that I snapped of Mahmoud during our camel ride through the Wadi Rum.  We ended up the tour in Petra, which was serendipitous because that's also Mahmoud's home town.  He glowed when we arrived and whenever he talked about his home.

My Gift

On the recent trip to Jordan we carved off two days in the Wadi Rum (last time it was about 18 hours total because of a travel snafu caused by flooding in Petra), and this proved to be a wonderful decision.  Trust me, there will be a ton of posts about the Wadi Rum in the coming days.  Let me just start off with an event that occurred as we were leaving.  We were having breakfast before grabbing jeeps to head out and make our way to Shobak Castle and then Petra.  The head of the Bedouin camp where we stayed pulled me aside and said, "I have a gift for you."  Now, Jordanians, and especially Bedouins, are famously hospitable and generous, so I wasn't totally surprised, but expected it to be a bottle of wine (which we received from the other Bedouin camp where we stayed three years ago) or maybe a keffiyeh.  Instead, he slipped off his coat and gave it to me.  Yes, he literally gave me the coat off his back.  I was stunned, and, truthfully, was doing my best to not cry in front of everyone (not that I would have minded that much).  It is wonderfully threadbare from years in the Wadi Rum, and who could ask for more than that?

I've brought home a lot of things over the years, some material and some immaterial, but it's difficult to imagine that I will cherish one more than this coat, because it is both material and immaterial/transcendent.  I can't look at it without thinking about the incredible kindness of the Jordanians, but also of my favorite place.  I will be back, although not nearly soon enough.

Ma'a Salama Jordan

I just returned the other day from another trip to Jordan with my truly excellent friend and colleague Cyndi, this time leading fifteen students as part of my Heroines & Heroes class.  We're reading portions of the Arabian Nights, and analyzing the key figures in the stories using different lenses (Narratology, Psychoanalytical, Marxist, Feminist, Campbell's monomyth, etc.), so Jordan seemed like a wonderful fit.  Plus, as everyone knows, it is my favorite overseas location. Actually, that's probably a misleading statement, since I don't think I need to add the descriptor "overseas."  Jordan is almost certainly my favorite place, period.  Expect a ton of pictures and stories.  It was the best student trip I've ever led, and that's saying something.

I have much better pictures of the sun setting over the Wadi Rum, but that's a whole separate post of it's own.  I chose this one because it was our last day in Jordan.  We rewarded the students for the exhausting hike through Petra - and the eight hour camel ride through the Wadi Rum - with a five hour trip to a resort on the Dead Sea.  My fear was that it would feel anti-climatic, but the students appreciated the rest.

Discography Year Two - Week 28

If things go as schedule Cyndi are going to have one of those insane days which defines travel.  We're going to wake up in Petra, probably a little blurry, after two days in the Wadi Rum and then two more exploring Petra.  Then we'll head north, stopping to swim in the Dead Sea, and finally making it back to Amman in the evening for one last meal (at the Al Quds Restaurant if I have any say) before being whisked to the airport for the endless flight back home.  Oh, and we'll see some of you on Monday.

Here's celebrating my valued colleague, dear friend, and titular little sister Cyndi Brandenburg, one part scientist and one mountain goat.

Doubtless the trip to Petra will include at least one adult scholarly beverage at the Cave Bar, which, well, defines itself.

Dave Wallace

Them - It's All Over Now Baby Blue

I'm going through a bit of a Dylan phase, and I probably should post a song by the man himself, but I'm a bit intimidated at the thought of following up on Gary Beatrice's epic post about Dylan in the first year of the blog.  Instead, I'm going with one of my favorite Dylan covers, It's All Over Now, Baby Blue by Them.  Them was Van Morrison's first band before he went on to his wildly-influential solo career.  Not surprisingly, Morrison just kills it on the track, and the atmospheric keyboards are the perfect complement to his vocals.

Kevin Andrews

Of course, Duane is Greggs brother. Duane died in a motorcycle accident in 1971, three blocks away from and 13 months before Allman Brothers bassist Berry Oakley died in a motorcycle accident. At least he didn’t live to see his brother marry Cher. Rolling Stone originally rated him #2 in their list of top 100 guitarists. They later moved him to #9. No doubt after complaints from Van Halen fans. I hate those lists.

Before the brothers formed a band, Greg was the go-to studio guitarist in Muscle Shoals, Alabama. He recorded with Aretha Franklin, Wilson Picket, Percy Sledge, and Boz Scaggs among others.  Eric Clapton called his performance with Wilson Picket the best rock guitar on an R and B song he’s ever heard (or something like that). The solo sounds a bit cliche to me, but it was 1969. 

You can easily find his performances with his brother and the band, and they’re excellent. Here he is with Aretha and Wilson.

Phillip Seiler

Ultra Vivid Scene

Staring at the Sun

I seem to be in an early 90s rut but one must follow one's muse and that seems to be where I am now. 

Ultra Vivid Scene is the band name for musician and artist Kurt Ralske that he used in the early 90s. They/He put out a few albums but never really captured enough of an audience to survive. It's a shame as Kurt had great pop sensibilities as one can hear on the track I have shared, Staring at the Sun. Under 3 minutes with a wonderful hook right at the start, Kurt's breathless lyrics, all driven by a solid, insistent drum beat. It's just a beautiful little pop song with enough pieces to make it timeless and yet totally of the time in came from.

Dave Kelley

"Blues is My Business"   Little Steven

Consigliare to Bruce AND Tony Soprano, member of E Street and The Jukes, founder of The Underground Garage, writer and producer of so much great music, and an activist always on the side of the angels.  Not too fucking bad Stevie!

This cover of an old tune written for Etta James is on his last record.  He rarely gets to step out on guitar in E Street, but a listen to this shows the man has serious chops.  Throw in a great band, horns, and a bunch of backup singers and you get something blog worthy.

Gary Scudder

Bill Evans, Time Remembered

Why this was not the official theme of my two years of witless reflections on Proust's Remembrance of Things Past is beyond me.  Time Remembered originally appeared on an album of the same name, which has appeared in a confusing array of forms on album and CD, although this version is from the album Unknown Session (which I think was also the title of my dissertation defense).  In addition, it's also the name of a documentary on Evans.  It's a song I love, and it also seems like a nice selection as CB and I, inshallah, wake up in Petra and begin our long trek back to the unreal world.

A view of the Monastery from the souvenir shop at the end of the world.

Discography Year Two - Week 27

Inshallah the esteemed Cyndi Brandenburg and I are bumming around downtown Amman, Jordan today. We'll be there with a different group of students, but doubtless they'll be just as foolish as this lot.  We'll see if CB gets comped again.  Of course, that's assuming that we even make it there.  We've just lost one student with a broken leg, and we need to make it through a nor'easter to even get to Boston (and that's even assuming a bunch of students who can barely make it to an 8:00 class are going to show up at 6:15 a.m.).  I should have had MK set the over/under on that one.

The excellent CB, herding cats in downtown Amman.

Dave Wallace

Matthew Sweet - Girlfriend

I'm not quite sure how I made it this far without posting Girlfriend by Matthew Sweet to the blog.   The title track for his power pop classic, Girlfriend features killer hooks, crunchy guitar riffs, and dynamic lead by guitar legend Robert Quine.  Fantastic stuff!

Kevin Andrews

This is second of what I think will be five posts on guitarists. These are my favorites, your millage may vary. What appeals to me in these artists is their sense of vocal phrasing or poetry in their playing and not how many notes per second they play, though they can keep up with anyone. They all have an original voice and style.

Through the seventies, Tony Rice was known as a top bluegrass guitarist and vocalist. He played with many musicians who today, like him, are considered Hall of Fame players: Ricky Skaggs (no relation to Boz), David Grisman, Jerry Douglas, Sam Bush, and Bella Fleck – sometimes all at the same time. After establishing his career, he studied jazz, music theory, and improvisation in the late seventies and went on to help establish the burgeoning genre of progressive bluegrass. Sometimes this was called Newgrass or Spacegrass, it was a fusion of Jazz and traditional acoustic music. At the time, this was rather exciting as this was a style never heard before. I’m guessing there may have been some mind-altering substances at work here, either for the musicians, audience or both.

This track, On Green Dolphin Street, was popularized by Miles Davis in 1958 and has been covered too many times to count.  Tony recorded this in 1982 with his band The Tony Rice Unit for the album Backwaters. The album also includes a very Coltrane-esque My Favorite Things from The Sound of Music.

Sadly, he rarely performs these days. After forty years on the road his hands and voice have paid the price. 

Phillip Seiler

Catherine Wheel

Ursa Major Space Station

When Dave Wallace posted about his love for shoegaze and Ride, I knew I needed to join the conversation with one of my favorites of the genre. I was in my early 20s during this phase so a lot of this music hit me right in the sweet spot of leaving an impression. Add in the brooding inherent in shoegaze, as I was in college 600 miles away from my girlfriend of the time, and you have everything I needed in music. Wonder what ever happened to that girl? 

I love so many bands from this era but Catherine Wheel is the one I felt transcended the whole scene and brought it to its zenith. They had all the pop sensibilities of Stone Roses or the Charlatans UK but were not afraid to drive heavy guitar riffs behind the music. Long time readers of my posts know I love bands that capture energy and intensity within a soft, restrained phrase that seems like it will explode at any time from the stress of being contained. Catherine Wheel had this in spades and their song "Crank" is the perfect example of all of this. 

But Ursa Major Space Station is the track that I love most. It has the heavy guitar riffs, the brooding vocals and lyrics (I follow you through time/'til it's not worth living) the wall of sound, and the sci-fi lyrical themes. It is really everything to me and in a just world they would have had more success then they did. 

Cyndi Brandenburg

I am writing this post on the eve of another trip departure with
Scudder and company, and I must acknowledge that once again, and as is
tradition, Lucinda Williams' Side of the Road resonates.
Earlier today, I tried to articulate to bunch of second year college
students how Sindbad the Sailor's questionable "heroics" might be best
understood through the complexity of feeling satisfyingly good and
grounded with life, punctuated by a deeply inexplicable recurring
sense of yearning and discontent.  The need to occasionally step away,
to know the touch of one's own skin against the sun, against the wind,
represents an honest exploration of unforeseen possibilities and a
recognition that there is always more out there than we can truthfully
have.  Unfortunately, my argument, and the Lucinda song reference I
dropped, both fell flat.  Youth is wasted on the young.

So I'll include a different Lucinda song here. Exactly one week from tonight, we'll be staring off towards the western sky, watching the sun set over the Wadi Rum desert, and
reading the Arabian Nights by campfire.  This song (West), slow and
simple as it is, and despite the occasional Karen-Carpenter-esque
feel, captures some essence of how I suspect we might all be feeling
in that moment.

Dave Kelley

"Good to Me as I am to You"  Aretha Franklin

Aretha has one of the greatest and most powerful voices in the history of popular music, and this tune is one of the best examples of her amazing talent.

The bonus is that she is backed on guitar by Clapton at his 1960's peak.  Apparently when he came into the studio his huge white man's afro and hippy clothes made Aretha laugh at him.  The producer told her that once he starts playing, you will stop laughing.  Indeed.

Gary Scudder

Cat Stevens, Father and Son

I've thought of way too many potential theme weeks, and one of them is songs which just seem linked, even if only in our own minds.  With that in mind, I was going to write something up on Father and Son by Cat Stevens and Anchorage by Michelle Shocked.  Now, the two have nothing in common, other than the fact that the songs are from singers whose careers were detailed by statements/views by the artists.  It brings up all sorts of interesting questions: Can you separate out the artist from the art?  What does the artist owe their audience?  Does the listener/viewer/reader owe more to the art or to the artist's views on broader social issues? If you go down the YouTube rabbit hole in a search for a version of Michelle Shocked's Anchorage you'll find a lot of nothing: mainly covers of the song or stories about Shocked's bizarre behavior.  After identifying, or being identified (which is a big distinction), as a bisexual for a decade Shocked, raised a Mormon but later a born again Christian, went on an anti-gay screed at a concert.  Watching a video of her trying to explain the incident is just painful.  The case of Stevens is more well known.  After he converted to Islam he made some remarkably clumsy statements in regards to the infamous Ayatollah Khomeini fatwah calling for the death of Salman Rushdie.  Stevens, now Yusuf Islam, made the classic mistake of many new converts, the dangerous combination of not being confident in your position (he could have pointed out that: a) Khomeini didn't speak for all Muslims, or b) Khomeini didn't speak for him, or c) Khomeini was a grumpy old asshole, or d) all of the above) and wanting to comment on what you have learned (he stated that the Ayatollah was within his right to issue a fatwa).  He tried to make a subtle argument when he needed to make a declarative statement, and in the process he essentially ended his career for decades.  In the last few years he's emerged again because I think people finally stopped to listen to what he said, and he did a better job explaining what he meant, and also because his Small Kindnesses charity has raised millions for good causes. Ironically, I also had a pretty negative response to his conversion, and also my overly simplistic understanding of his statements.  His Father and Son always rang very true with me, although my father used to use Harry Chapin's Cat's in the Cradle to make me feel bad for not coming home enough (I don't think he listened to the lyrics closely).