Music on the farm
September 29, 2014
I was shot into nostalgia a couple of nights ago when my friend posted this picture of his kid sitting, entranced, in front of Grandma’s CD boombox. Albert is three and a bit. I was fourteen or so when I sat in a similar position in front of my great aunt’s all-in-one record player. I don’t have a photo of it which is why you’re seeing Albert. The essence is the same.
It would have been mid-1977, maybe more toward the end of the year, putting me at 14 years of age or so. Give me a minute, it’s all coming back to me. That was thirty-seven years ago. It would have been while we were still living in Ohio, which would mean this tale took place during a trip to visit my grandparents in Wisconsin. My great-aunt lived 100 miles (161 km) south-southeast of my grandparents.
The difference between Albert and me is that I knew perfectly well what a record player was. I was entranced because I had two new LPs to listen to. You kids probably know them better as vinyl, if you know of them at all. Between Ohio and Wisconsin, we would have detoured down to Bloomington, Indiana, where my dad attended Indiana University in his attempt to earn a PhD (denied). Incidentally, Bloomington was where I had my only live experiencing of an earthquake. If I reread this before I post and jog my memory, I’ll find a link to a report about that mid-continental oddity. I was closer to Albert’s age when that happened and was actually sitting in the back of a lecture auditorium in class with my dad. Isn’t it funny the things you remember? I have only fond memories of our summers (and one full year) in Bloomington.
But I digress.
We called in on Bloomington on our way to Wisconsin. I can remember a lot about my time there as a three- to six-year-old. About this pass-through visit, I can only remember that I dragged my parents upstairs to a second-floor record store, because by the time I was fourteen I had been obsessed with music for a good year. I had always enjoyed music on the radio, from the time John Denver and Neil Sedaka were warbling and falsettoing their biggest hits, and Olivia Newton-John was whispering “I honestly love you.” But I had begun to possess my own copies of music because I had begun receiving an allowance. Don’t get excited. It was meted out in coins, not bills, and certainly not credit cards or iPhones. Also, this was way, WAY before you could steal for free and (largely) without ramification off the internet.
I wasn’t flush with cash, so I could only purchase two of the three albums I was interested in. The one I didn’t buy was Al Stewart’s “Year of the Cat. The two I did acquire were Queen’s “A Day at the Races” and Styx’s “The Grand Illusion. I make no apologies for my choices, or that I still, thirty-five years later, love these musics.
We walked back down the stairs. Fast-forward 350 miles (565 km) to my great-aunt’s side room.
Gosh, I could digress to another tangent about how I fond I was of my aunt and her farmhouse. To this day, I am confident in saying that I would be perfectly content living in that house on that land. If only I had been more mature and financially stable when I would have had the opportunity to make that happen.
Aunt Irma was a great lady. She married well the second time around (first husband, deceased); I’m certain the house and farm were already hers, though I know her subsequent step-children ended up living in a house on the hill above the farm. We had family reunions in her side yard. She had a Collie dog named Sage. I inherited her airline-approved, sturdy cat carrier.
I guess I did digress.
Aunt Irma’s record player was a lot like this one. As I recall, hers had a faux woodgrain finish.
My parents slept in one of the extra bedrooms upstairs. I always found the stairs intimidating. They were very steep, and I feel like I remember one time as a tot actually falling down them a little bit. Maybe that’s why I usually was stationed on the couch in the side room. And that’s where the record player was!
I drove everyone nuts playing and replaying my two new albums for the duration of the couple days we were there. More than once, the doors to the room were closed. This was, I might add, in the days when you listened to an album all the way through, or at least the entire side. Record albums are ROM — read-only melting. You had to buy the whole thing, not just the one song you liked. With records, if you only wanted one song, you could hope that it would be released as a single, also known as a 45. But if it wasn’t, you had to get the album. I remember that I ended up with a scratch in the beginning of “Castle Walls” on the Styx album. I know I played each album at least five times over, front and back.
There’s really not much more to my Albert-inspired memory than that.
Credits:
Photo of Albert by his mom, Jennifer S. Used with permission.
Photo of record player from here, though I saw it on many other sites, too, so who knows who the original publisher is. Used with best intentions.
Aliens in a Buick ate my pi??a colada in the rain
July 29, 2011
I was all set to write a lame entry in which I whined about how my current cats snuggle only fifty percent as much as my former cats, and that neither of the newbies sleep on my head like both of the oldsters did. But that about covers it.
Let’s move on to “The Piña Colada Song.”
I have previously extolled the virtues of Justin Currie’s (Del Amitri) lyric-writing prowess and I stand by that. He is an amazing conjurer of images. But my friend Kimberly reminded me of one of the great storytellers. She caused a few of us tonight to zoom back to the turn of the 1980s and Rupert Holmes.
I immediately dug out my two Rupert Holmes albums because I was determined to have a bit of nostalgia even though I should really be going to bed. Then I had a major anticlimax when, unlike six months ago when I played the eponymous only album by the British duo Metro, the twenty-year-old belt in my turntable decided that it couldn’t make it up to full speed. I’m pretty easy-going but even I have my limits. Seventy-percent of normal tempo just doesn’t cut it.
Then I remembered that last night I got my Spotify invitation. This afternoon my coworker explained to me that unlike Pandora (which I adore), Spotify lets you choose what you want to listen to, and lets you listen to whole albums. Spotify to the rescue! I’m having my Rupert Holmes fix.
I have never though of Rupert Holmes as a favorite artist, even though I like everything he does. Then, by the end of the first verse of “Escape (The Piña Colada Song)”, I realized that the reason why I like his music is because, by and large, he’s one of those clever weavers of a tale accompanied by the perfect tasty melody. The entire “Partners in Crime” album is like that.
My other example of such an artist is Thomas Dolby, on his “Aliens Ate My Buick” album. Sheer genius, that one is. Every song is a story with an ironic twist that advances the plot. Even if there’s not much of a plot, there’s still some clever turn of phrase that is never in danger of being mundane. Not necessarily subtle, but reasonably clever.
As I write this, I’m realizing that Justin Currie is a great storyteller. What he doesn’t do, that the other two tend to, is thump you over the head with precious self-awareness. Justin Currie is just snarky and cynical—and also clever—but not particularly ironic.
When I was a college English major, in one of my classes we learned to think of “irony” as “a cruel twist of fate.” I don’t mean the above ironic like that. I mean it like Alannis Morrisette’s—you know, “like ray-ee-ain on your wedding day.” Obvious.
Quite a lot of the time, you end up wondering some time later if Justin Currie really meant that, or if he meant the other way you could think of it. Not obvious. If you want the zinger, look up the lyrics to “Plus Ça Change,” which he recorded as The Uncle Devil Show. He’s in a league of his own.
There’s a lot of between-the-lines going on with Justin Currie. Rupert Holmes and Thomas Dolby put it right out there. Honorable mention goes to Dan Wilson (Trip Shakespeare, Semisonic), though he deals more in metaphor and double entendre. Honorable mention also goes to Bernie Taupin (Elton John) and Kate Bush and the kids in Nickel Creek. So on and so forth. I’m not attempting to be all-inclusive. I know there are many others. I’ve lost a little focus.
What all these folks have in common is that they don’t write the simpering “ooh baby you’re so fine I’m glad you’re mine let’s bump and grind” kind of lyrics to the bump and grind kind of beat.
So thanks, Kimberly, I’ve had some fun music memories this evening.
The most interesting man in the world, or not
July 18, 2011
I kind of like finding new music via television commercials. The most recent song that I love is, I have learned, “The Golden Age” by The Asteroids Galaxy Tour, a Danish outfit. The song is featured in a Heineken beer commercial.
Part of the reason why I like the commercial is because of how the main character interacts with each person he comes upon. Then I started thinking about it more. Do I like the commercial in general because I am influenced by loving the song?
No. I like it because it’s well done all the way around. It’s essentially Heineken’s version of Dos Equis’ The Most Interesting Man in the World. Only Heineken got it right. (Links to all videos at the end.)
The problem with the Dos Equis Most Interesting Man in the World is that he just sits there, attempting to exude smugness but coming off as arrogant, as he or the announcer tells you why you should be creaming your pants over this guy.
On the other hand, the dude in the Heineken commercial actually does interesting stuff. Clichés become clichés because there’s some element of truth in them. Actions do speak louder than words. The Heineken guy is doing interesting stuff and the people around him are reacting in a way that lets the viewer know that they adore this fellow. And so do I. Well, I’d at least like to be at that party.
The Most Interesting Man in the World just sits there looking creepy, assuming that the voiceover will convince us that he is. Interesting, that is, not creepy. But creepy he is. I would not like to be one of his arm candies.
I do try to be fair and give credit where credit is due. While watching the Most Interesting Man in the World compilation, I smiled when the voiceover said, “People hang on his every word, even the prepositions.” But that doesn’t make up for the rest of it.
And in the interest of point-counterpoint, as a flute player myself, I do not believe for an instant that the Heineken guy is actually playing that flute. Twirling it perhaps (though most likely computer generated), but not playing it. You can always tell by how they hold it and how unbent their fingers are. The rest of the commercial/video more than makes up for that. Everybody knows actors don’t really play their instruments.
So check them both out and tell me what you think.
Oh, and I do know that when I’m finished posting this, I’m running right to iTunes to buy everything The Asteroids Galaxy Tour have for sale. You should, too, says I!
The Asteroids Galaxy Tour/Heineken full-length video
Heineken commercial (1:30 version)
Dos Equis The Most Interesting Man in the World compilation
photo by The Asteroids Galaxy Tour (Facebook)
Come on baby, cover me
May 28, 2011
Tonight my friend Lauren asked about cover songs that are better than the original. The first one that came to mind was the Smiths “How Soon Is Now” covered by ????????. I know there will be those who question whether the cover is better than the original. Maybe not. But it’s at least as good. ???????? is my guilty pleasure act.
Then after a few minutes, I remembered a cover that I’m in love with because it actually does blow the original away, like a summer breeze. Oh wait. The Isley Brothers’ version of Seals and Crofts’ “Summer Breeze” is amazing. The original takes me back to my childhood, in a good way. But the cover makes me feel all funky and groovy and mellow. It’s out of this world.
I present them both below for your listening pleasure.
???????? “How Soon Is Now”—buy it here
Isley Brothers “Summer Breeze”—buy it here
I won???t take the blame
January 4, 2011
“And the steps of this old church are peppered with confetti hearts
Like a million little love affairs waiting to fall apart”
Ah, Justin Currie, wordsmith to the cynics. This has always been one of my favorite Del Amitri lyrics, perhaps because I myself am cynical and largely uninterested when it comes to relationships. I can probably trace that back to interactions that happened during my formative years, between me, my parents, and my first two boyfriends in high school. And sorry, I’m going to leave you hanging on the details.
I was set on a course of believing that no boyfriend would measure up to other people’s expectations which were established early on. I didn’t realize this for a long time and spent many years having short relationships that went nowhere. I did have two engagements in my early twenties but broke those off. The first one never stood a chance, which fortunately I recognized. The second one might have lasted for a while, but by then I was completely flakey about relationships, unbeknownst to myself.
Over time, there were longer and longer spans between boyfriends. I said (and still say) that I wasn’t actively looking but that if something presented itself, I’d always be open to the possibility. I had a friend in my college dorm whose whole existence was wrapped up in having a boyfriend. If she didn’t, it was a panic situation. I was never like that. One of the byproducts of my parents raising an only child to be independent and self-sufficient is that I’m independent and self-sufficient. Of course sometimes I think it would be nice to have someone to cuddle with, but not that often. Not often enough to make being in a relationship overridingly important.
As the gaps between associations got longer and longer, I have gotten more and more used to being on my own, to the point where now I strongly prefer it. The level of excellence required to turn my head goes up, up, up. I’ve had a good experience in the last few years, but I’m more and more reluctant to relinquish my independence. I have a hard time thinking I’d want to have to take someone else into consideration all the time. Yes, I’m selfish. I want myself all to myself.
So when I hear Justin Currie’s lyrics about the perils of love, I smile wryly and nod my head. I know what you mean, sir.
“I Won’t Take the Blame” © Del Amitri
Yesterday you talked of love and now you want to leave
But don’t expect me to stand in your way
I am powerless to alter any action you might take And I won’t take the blame
I was not the one who played the joker in this game
I was not the one who feels nothing anymore
So if you walk out that door, I won’t take the blame And as I look at the girl I once adored
You tell me that I hold you back you tell me that you’re bored
So like a pair of clowns we stand around and fight
Why can’t you get it over with and walk out of my life? And I won’t take the blame
I was not the one who played the joker in this game
I was not the one who feels nothing anymore
So if you walk out that door, I won’t take the blame And the steps of this old church are peppered with confetti hearts
Like a million little love affairs waiting to fall apart
Watch this
December 6, 2010
I only just recently watched the video for “Walk Like a Panther” for the first time, even though I’ve loved the song since the first time I heard it on London’s XFM. I’m trying to figure out why I love the video so much. I think there are three reasons.
Tony Christie. The main one might be the guest vocalist. I knew that All Seeing I makes use of guest vocalists and for some reason, I thought the main voice on the “Pickled Eggs & Sherbert” album was Jarvis Cocker of Pulp. I guess he did a version of the song with All See I, too, but the radio and album version turned out to be Tony Christie, as I learned from the video. I think I’m charmed that he’s an old guy, relatively speaking. It would be kind of like Tony Bennet singing with Gorillaz or something. And he’s being such a good sport with the acting that he has to do for it, even though, here and there, he looks just a trifle exasperated.
Hand gestures. When I watched this video for the second time, I realized that what I first thought was an homage to the zombie dance in Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” video was really customized gestures to go along with the chorus lyrics of “Walk Like a Panther”: fly like an eagle, prowl like a lion, leap like a salmon, keep up with me, and walk like a panther. Video actors one and all, young and old, move in weirdo almost-synchronization.
Sci-fi style. What makes it all come together is what I think of as the science-fiction style of videography. It’s shot through a robot-eye-shaped frame in the herky-jerky style, the frames go forward and backward to make that fake in-time-with-the-music impression, and it has wonderful 1970s faded photograph colors. Top that off with the location which to me seems like some anonymous Underground station complex in London.
It all just works.
My career as a rock star
December 1, 2010
When I was an early teen, I wanted to be John Deacon—not the man, but the bass player in a rock band.
I don’t recall any career aspirations from small childhood. I was always drawing pictures, or writing little things, or playing with invisible Harlem Globetrotters in the giant box from our new washer. But none of that transmogrified into a life path. It wasn’t until I was about twelve or thirteen my inner bass player began to make herself known.
Now, I never took bass lessons, electric or otherwise. Every now and then I’d pick up my dad’s old Gibson archtop guitar and relearn the same three or four chords. But that was as far as any learning of a stringed instrument went. But still, I fantasized about being a rock and roll bass player. I remember that it manifested itself mainly at Saturday morning bowling when we’d play “New Kid in Town” (Eagles) and “Slow Ride” (Foghat) on the jukebox and I’d really get into the last chorus.
I started taking piano lessons when I was seven and that became the more practical skill in my rock musician efforts. When I was in high school, I was invited to play a monophonic synthesizer in my boyfriend’s friends’ basement band. We got together pretty regularly for a couple of years. I often didn’t have much to do, as it’s hard to contribute much monophonically in songs like “Cinnamon Girl” (Neil Young) or “Hold on Loosely” (38 Special).
At each practice, I bided my time until we got to the songs during which I could really make that synthesizer hum—“Too Much Time on My Hands” (Styx) and my pièce de résistance, “Never Been Any Reason” (Head East) with that kick-ass synth solo in the middle.
We only ever played in public twice—two summers in a row at the church camp where the mother of two of the band members was a counsellor. At the end of one performance, one little girl breathlessly asked me if I was Joan Jett. I let her down easy.
The other thing thing that I did in high school that I suppose could have been a career path was work at a couple of local radio stations, though I don’t remember ever thinking of it that way while I was doing it.
My high school had an in-house, closed circuit student radio station. I got involved, and that led to the opportunity of filling in at the university radio station one Christmas break. I started out reading the news but soon had a weekly, three-hour shift. One of the highlights off my time there was meeting the members of Head East, who were in town for a show and who swung by for an interview. I didn’t conduct it, but I was present and snapped lots of photos (see below). I must have told them that I used to rock their song.
From the campus radio station, I then had a job at the AM (medium wave) country station in town. My main task was to play various prerecorded programs on Sunday mornings, but in the summer when there was longer daylight, I also got the last couple of hours of the day before it got dark and the station ceased broadcasting for the day. This is where I acquired my surprising-to-some-people knowledge of country music.
Such was the extent of my music-related activities. When I graduated with my commercial art degree, my parents gave me a digital piano. I took that over to a friend’s house a few times where I joined him and his friend. They played acoustic guitar and Dobro. The one song that we tried to work up was “You Really Got a Hold on Me.”
Maybe all of this is why I love to sing karaoke so much.
Photo of John Deacon, top, taken at the “New of the World” concert that I attended.
Opposites attract ??? going for baroque
September 15, 2010
We all like lots of things. If you thought about your musical tastes, I’m sure it wouldn’t take too long to think of two entities that were quite diverse but which you loved equally. One such pair for me is Antonio Vivaldi and Sergei Rachmaninoff.
If you are just a casual fan of classical music or not at all a fan of classical music, maybe you’re thinking, but they’re both classical composers, they aren’t that different. But those of us who have more than a passing interest know that they are quite different. Vivaldi is Baroque and precise. Rachmaninoff is (late) Romantic and organic.
My overall favorite genre of classical music is Baroque, and Vivaldi is my favorite classical composer of any ilk. You’re probably most familiar with his Four Seasons, and that’s an amazing piece of music. My fondest memory of it was watching ice dancers Maya Usova and Aleksandr Zhulin skate to it in the 1992 Winter Olympics, especially the moves at about 4:30. It still sends chills up my spine!
Sure, there’s the flasher Johann Sebastian Bach. As a kid taking piano lessons, I really enjoyed learning piano adaptations of some two- and three-part inventions. Over the years, the book has lost its cover and been nibbled on by my various rabbits. I haven’t played my piano for years. I like Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart just fine as well, but his music always seems a little more clinical in its ultra-precision. (I guess he’s technically considered to be of the Classical era, though there is overlap with Baroque and the stylistic influence is present.)
I would probably say that Georg Friedrich Handel is my second favorite Baroque composer. Every December, I listen to my complete recording of The Messiah, and Watermusik is just charming.
Two-thirds of the way to the other end of the spectrum is Rachmaninoff and his lush romanticism. I’m a big fan of the four piano concerti, especially No. 2 in C Minor, Op.18 (buy). The opening of the first movement is just so … Russian. And in the second movement, astute listeners will hear one of the motifs on which Eric Carmen based his hit song “All by Myself.”
What musical opposites do you like?
All about chemistry
May 16, 2010
Chemistry class in college was not my friend. I squeaked by with a?? D-. ???Chemistry??? by Semisonic, on the other hand, is at the top of the class. When I sort my iPod by Play Count, that song comes out number one.
The other songs from ???All About Chemistry??? round out the rest of the top spots. I still listen to whole albums as a unit most of the time, but I also will put an artist on shuffle. Either way, I do sometimes skip songs I???m not in the mood for. So within this album, the play counts vary from 64 down to 45. I think Dan Wilson is a top songwriter.
After the ???All About Chemistry??? songs, the next most frequent is ???The Slacks??? by Trip Shakespeare, the precursor band to Semisonic. The album is ???Across the Universe.??? Trip Shakespeare also contained Dan Wilson???s brother Matt, and along with John Munson, a masterpiece was created.
Those of you who know me may be wondering, well where???s the Del Amitri and Queen? Del Amitri starts up after ???The Slacks, and begins a rotation with songs from the Trip Shakespeare album with songs from ???Change Everything??? and ???Can You Do Me Good???? The other Del Amitri albums work their way in, along with Justin Currie???s first solo album.
I have to say that now because he just released his second solo album. Dan Wilson seems to be getting recognition and writes for other acts, including the Dixie Chicks. Justin Currie is a completely underrated genius songwriter. With each new album, he only gets better, whether it was for Del Amitri, The Uncle Devil Show, or, now, himself.
At first, I was incredulous that it wasn???t a Del Amitri or Queen album that topped the list, but in a way it makes sense. Semisonic only have three full-length albums and ???All About Chemistry??? is by far my favorite. Del Amitri, Queen, and Elton John have more albums that I like more equally, so the playing gets spread around. But as artists, they probably have the most total plays.
I was a little surprised by the order of who else showed up. After the TripSonicWilson songs (as I fondly refer to the shuffle grouping of Trip Shakespeare, Semisonic, and Dan and Matt Wilson???s solo material) and Del Amitri/Justin Currie, we next have one interloping song by the Doves, ???Catch the Sun,??? then:
Scissor Sisters, Tears For Fears, Brazilian Girls, more Doves, Little River Band, The Adventures, All Seeing I, Cowboy Mouth, Gram Rabbit, Nickel Creek, Gino Vannelli, Cousteau, The Uncle Devil Show, America, Minnie Driver, October Project, Queen (finally, though I have so many albums by them, is it really representative that they???re this far down?), Robbie Williams, Shelby Lynne, Spacehog, Thomas Dolby, Babybird, Rhett Miller, Travis, ABC, Anna Fermin???s Trigger Gospel, The Cars, Chicago, Journey, Coldplay, Duran Duran, Elton John. Then the field gets more crowded, and by now you???re probably bored with the list anyway.
My theme song
April 8, 2010
Of course I have very many songs that I love. But a theme song? I never thought about it. I mean, it’s not like I’m a baseball player going up to bat.
So I thought about it. And I decided on “Don’t Stop Me Now” by Queen from their album “Jazz.” This is for two reasons.
First, I have loved Queen since about 1975. As much as I love Del Amitri, which is a whole lot, Queen is my desert island answer. I can’t explain it. Justin Currie is one of the most best songwriters ever and is a brilliant, brilliant lyricist, but Queen overwhelms Del Amitri in musicianship and innovation. Del Amitri is the most awesome bar band ever. Queen is just awesome.
Second, “Don’t Stop Me Now” comes closest to embodying my personal joie de vivre. Do those of you who know me think otherwise? There are lots of other songs that shiver me timbers more, but for general mood and loose interpretation of the lyrics, this one does just fine.
Don’t Stop Me Now
Kelly’s Unnecessary Blog 