Charlie Watts (1941-2021)

Rolling Stone drummer Charlie Watts died on Tuesday at age 80. Along with bass guitarist Bill Wyman, were the “quiet” members of the group, laying down a solid rhythm for frontmen Mick Jagger, Keith Richards and Brian Jones. From the beginning he was a Stone apart—married, an artist, gainfully employed, a very sharp dresser, more jazz than rock and roll and always a first-rate drummer. As a teenage Rolling Stones fan my attention was easily drawn to the more flamboyant members of the group but something about Charlie Watts always caught my eye. He didn’t seem to quite fit into the rock and roll lifestyle. He simply played drums well in what he called his “day job” and pursued his other interests, particularly jazz, as time and the touring schedule allowed. Somehow, he managed to ignore the trappings of celebrity and fame.

Even so, Watts wasn’t entirely able to escape the dangers of his work environment. He developed a heroin addiction in the 1980s that threatened to cost him his career and family. His addiction was bad enough that Keith Richards(!) told him he needed to get help. He did just that and continued to play with the band for the rest of his life. Funny thing about Watts’ drumming is that it stands out without being over dramatic. Listening to the Rolling Stones songs I don’t focus on the drumming—it’s part of a complete package that makes up the song but it’s also essential to the to the song. I’m not well-versed in all of the intricacies that define good drumming but I do know that Watts added heft and authority to the group’s music over six decades.

My interest in the Rolling Stones waned in the 70s and beyond as they became more of an institution and a large scale touring act. I think the last Stones album in my collection is 1973’s “Goat’s Head Soup”. I was much more drawn to their earlier, more hardscrabble music and thought their later music was more derivative than original. Even so, I was aware that the group never lost its appeal and, as the decades rolled on, continued to make outstanding music, completely reinventing the role of aging rockers and never simply falling back on their greatest hits of yesteryear. Those hits remained part of the act but never exclusively so and the Rolling Stones were always contemporary. Mick and Keith may have been out front gathering attention but Charlie was always behind them with a solid, creative beat.

Godspeed, Charlie. It’s been one helluva ride.

21st Subdued Stringband Jamboree

If I were a journalist I would be way behind on deadline but I’m not a journalist and can write on whatever deadline I want. So here’s my report on the 21^st  Subdued Stringband Jamboree that took place August 12-14, 2021 at the Deming Logging Show Fairgrounds east of Bellingham, Washington. This was my second Jamboree—I attended previously in 2018 and always planned to return. I skipped in 2019 and the pandemic forced the event to go virtual in 2020 so I was definitely primed to go when organizers announced that 2021 would be a live event, although considerably reduced in attendance due to the continuing Covid threat. Attending any large event is still risky these days but the reduced crowd size and vaccination requirement seemed like a reasonable accommodation to reality. Besides, I was really craving to hear some live music.

The line-up included more than 20 performers and the music ranged from solo singer-songwriters to classic rock and roll , jug bands, Tejano/Conjunto, Celtic, and reggae. Amplified performances ran throughout the three days on two stages and when the stages shut down around 11:00 pm or so, acoustic music continued well into the night at smaller venues. Many of the acts performed at all three venues so attendees had the chance to catch different versions of each. If that were not enough, workshops offered the opportunity for attendees to play and smaller informal sessions occurred throughout the three days of the Jamboree. Music was literally everywhere.

 

So much music, that I could not catch it all. It did not help that the event took place during one of 2021’s severe heat waves in the Pacific Northwest. Shade was at a premium during the day so attending an afternoon performance required some endurance. I’m sure even more was required of the performers. Evenings were somewhat better but even then warm temperatures persisted until the later acts came on stage when it got noticeably chilly. That’s when I realized that the t-shirt ans shorts that were so comfortable earlier were inadequate.

I did not make note of all the performances I attended—I’m just not that much of a journalist. I can say that I heard only one act that did not particularly appeal to me. A few really grabbed my attention. On Thursday night John Elliot, a singer-songwriter, performed heartfelt songs that addressed topical issues with passion and humor. He introduced one song as a ten minute piece about public transportation which cleverly recounted the history of our addiction to fossil fuel. Another song, “It’s Bad But It Gets Better” lifted our spirits at a time when we could all use a lift. Hot Damn Scandal, a seven- member combo that included trombone, saxophone and saw, played music that ranged from rock to R&B and jazz. I couldn’t make out many of their lyrics but their energy engaged me fully. 

 

On Friday the Yogoman Burning Band, led by drummer Jordan Rains, played an eclectic mix of rock, reggae and R&B. Their set was very lively with much dancing in front of the stage. The Dusty 45s, a four man rock and roll band , performed a set that covered all of the bases—cars, women and one song that asked “why America never stops to think and wonder why”. They finished their set with an encore mash-up of surf music that segued into a cover of “Secret Agent Man” and ended with the lead singer playing a flaming trumpet while perched on the bass man’s upright bass. Saturday’s line-up included Jolie Holland singing her original songs. I couldn’t make out many of her lyrics but I loved the sound of her voice and music. Winston Jarrett, an 80 year-old reggae legend wrapped up the evening with a lively set accompanied by the Yogoman Burning Band. 

 

In addition to the music, the Bellingham Circus Guild performed a variety of acts on Saturday morning, everything from aerial performances, to silly mime acts, object manipulating and juggling. The Brasscadia Circus Band provided musical accompaniment and sound effects The final act was a juggler who juggled flaming batons while balancing a flaming scythe on his head. It was a fun way to begin the final day’s performances.

 

The many other performers were no doubt equally talented but with the volume of music available I either could not manage to catch them all or remember the details . Aside from the amount of energy required to attend all performances and the blazing heat during the afternoon performances, I missed many of the Saturday afternoon performances while serving as a volunteer in the kitchen washing a never-ending parade of pots and pans as the kitchen crew finished up lunch and prepared dinner. The Jamboree is powered by volunteers who attend for free. In past years that required two four-hour shifts but this year, in order to keep numbers down in response to Covid, volunteers worked three shifts. When I attended in 2018, I worked my two shifts on Sunday doing take-down and grounds clearing and did not miss any music. I couldn’t pull that off this year.

You might think that spending four hours in a hot kitchen on a very hot day would be unpleasant but it wasn’t for me. The work was fast-paced, and I was largely in charge of how I did it. The other kitchen volunteers were helpful when I had a question but otherwise left me on my own. A second volunteer joined me for much of the time which gave me the chance to meet someone whom I would not otherwise meet. We made a good team and coordinated the work fairly efficiently. She also alerted me to the availability of free beer in the walk-in cooler. The beer was nice but just spending time in that cooler was a welcome relief. When I finished my shift and walked into the heat of the day I caught the tail end of Gallowglass performing acoustic Irish music. As hot and tired as I was I stood at the edge of the crowd for their final two songs.

At that point all I wanted to do was lie down in dark of my air-conditioned trailer but the Tejano music of Epi and CruzMartinez was easily audible from my campsite. A slight breeze was blowing and the site was nicely shaded so I ended up sitting outside, enjoying the late afternoon and the music. And the generosity of my next door neighbor who noticed my broken 20 year-old camp chair (it collapsed during the previous night’s performances) and offered me one of their extras.

Getting to meet the neighbors was also a fun part of the event. We were flanked on each side by folks from Bellingham. The neighbor who loaned me the chair had a large trailer (28 feet?) and a pretty sophisticated outside kitchen. On the other side was a small retro trailer that had been substantially rebuilt by its owner. I was particularly impressed with the creative plumbing for their water hook-up. Their campsite was set up as a theme, complete with patio furniture, an inflatable kiddie pool and a faux cardboard campfire. My Sunday volunteer shift was also a chance to meet other Stringband fans, all of whom were from Bellingham and regular attendees. We spent the day dismantling tents, removing signage, loading gear into trailers and doing general clean-up. Temperatures were lower that day but it was still hot work in the sun. Our crew leader wisely set up under the shade of a large cedar and we sheltered in that (relative) coolness whenever we could. Like the previous day’s shift, it was tiring work but in good company. Putting in the volunteer hours gave me a greater sense of connection to the Jamboree, more so than if I had just shown up, listened to the music and left. The free admission and three meals in the Canteen were a bonus but the connection with other attendees and organizers made the whole event that much more fun.

By Sunday night the 21^st Subdued Stringband Jamboree was gone. Only a few tents and campers remained. What had been a lively community full of people and energy seemed to have simply disappeared. Without the crowd, the Deming Logging Show Fairgrounds was a vast empty space. Although I was part of the crew that helped dismantle the whole affair, I was still surprised at the emptiness. Still, sitting in the evening coolness under a partly cloudy sky I could fill that emptiness with the images, sounds and experiences of the previous three days. Those images, sounds and experiences will fade over time but will remain alive in memory for a long time to come.

John Prine (1946-2020)

Wow.  John Prine is dead from Corvid19.  That's the closest the pandemic has come--so far--to taking a close friend.  Not that he and I were close friends but as anyone who appreciates John Prine's music understands, his songs make a deeply personal connection.  For me, that connection began in the spring of 1972 when I heard "Your Flag Decal Won't Get you Into Heaven Any More".  I was just back from a year in Vietnam  and the song certainly captured my thoughts and feelings.   Even so it was a funny song, especially in the way he performed it.  I had just spent a year using black humor to mask the reality of my war and here was a singer-songwriter who was doing much the same.  I could easily relate to that.

Needless to say, I got a copy of Prine's debut album and was further struck by his talent.  With so many of Prine's (now) classic songs, that album has to be one of the greatest debuts ever.  I was hooked from then on.  I had a chance to see him in concert a few times--at The Mosque in 1975 when I lived in Richmond and at the Celebrity Theater (with its revolving stage) in Phoenix in the mid-1980s--and follow the ups and downs of his career as he figured out how to navigate the music industry without losing the integrity of his music.  He never attained widespread popularity but the quality and honesty of his work certainly ranks him as one of the great talents of his time.

Godspeed, John.  You've been welcome company for many years.

Subdued Musings

What impressed me most about the 2018 Subdued Stringband Jamboree was its professionalism, musical diversity and relaxed ambiance. For an all-volunteer effort, the Jamboree was well-organized to host and entertain some 2,000 people. Tent's, RVs and various other structures filled the campground at the Deming Logging Show (essentially a fairground and campground dedicated to all things logging) along with two performance stages, some smaller performance spaces where music continued into the wee hours after the stage amplifiers went quiet, food vendors, information booth, merchandise tent and a first aid station.

All of that was simply the infrastructure that allowed the music to go on. And go on it did. The music began at 5:00 pm Thursday and went on through the night, only shutting down near dawn and beginning again later on Friday morning. Friday was much the same and rolled into a 9:00 am opening on Saturday that featured performances by the Bellingham Circus Guild before continuing into another full day—and late night—of music. More music than I could sit and listen to but even if I wasn't directly watching the stages, I could always hear the sound. It was pervasive and engaging even at a distance.

The Subdued Stringband Jamboree had plenty of strings and traditional music but the program was far more diverse than the name implies. I heard everything from the hard-edged rock of Kitty and the Rooster to the divine three-part vocals of the Hothouse Jazz Band, the amazing guitar-accordion work of the Ditrani Brothers and Alexis P. Suter's gospel-blues. Other bands and individuals I noted included the Louis Ledford, Kenny Roby, the Crow Quill Night Owls, Petunia, Robert Sarazin Blake, Sabine Shannon, the Sweet Goodbyes, Baby Gramps, the Sons of Rainer, Corwin Bolt and the Wingnuts, and the Hot Jazz Scandal. Along with the usual guitars, fiddles, mandolins and there were trumpets, trombones, tubas, saxophones, clarinets, washboards and keyboards.

Most of the musicians were from near by Bellingham, Washington and other parts of the Pacific Northwest. A few came from other parts of the country. One thing all of the musicians had in common was their profieciency and professionalism. None were well-known (to me, at least, but all knew how to put on a good show. From the laconic to the exuberant, they played and sang like seasoned performers, even as they changed line-ups and joined other performers for a set. I was amazed at their ability to simply sit down with another band and play seamlessly with them. Some of that may be due to familiarity; most have known each other for years in the region but even so, the musical interplay was impressive.

The professionalism was enhanced by a fine sound system on both the Flat Stage and the adjacent Slanted Stage. Instruments and vocals sounded clear and crisp throughout the viewing area. Right in front of the stage the sound was and all-encompassing presence that shut out the rest of the world and, as noted earlier, the sound carried across the entire campground.

The Flat Stage was the main stage venue for the Jamboree. It was spacious and well-lit. The speakers were hung from towers on either side of the stage and hidden behind fabric. Just below the stage was an elevated walkway that allowed kids (of which there were plenty) to get up close to the music and the musicians. Occasionally one would steal the show for a few moments. The Slanted Stage was just to the left of the Flat Stage and was the venue for acts while crews changed out gear and did sound checks on the Flat Stage. The Slanted Stage—so named due to its slanted roof—was a much smaller structure and a tight fit for a few acts but the sound was no less than the Flat Stage.

The whole affair was relaxed an informal with few barriers between musicians and the crowd. I could wander into crowd standing in front of the stage to see and hear the musicians up close and let the sound wash over me. Or I could place my chair higher up on the hill to watch from a less ear-splitting distance. Over the three-day event I had the opportunity to meet and talk to the musicians. One was camped next door, another group was a few spaces away. As a rule, I stay away from crowds but at the Jamboree I mingled and met many people. We were all connected by the music, the shared experience of creating an ephemeral community on a hot August weekend. I can't remember ever feeling so at ease in such a large crowd as I was at the Jamboree.

My Jamboree experience continued into Sunday where I volunteered as part of the clean-up crew. It gave me a real appreciation for the leel of effort and organization needed to pulloff this event. In less than eight hours the campground transformed from a tightly packed community of a few thousand complete with substantial structures and support services to an open field with a few camps still scattered about along with some gear and trash bags awaiting pick-up. The stage that was the center of the community was deconstructed in a few hours. All that remained in that space was the orange boom lift used in the process. By the following day all traces of the 2018 Subdued Jamboree would be gone from the Deming Logging Camp.

And in 2019, it will all happen again.

A Soldier's Tale

Listening to Folk Alley this morning I heard Tim O'Brien's version of "Mick Ryan's Lament", an account of one of the American dead at Little Bighorn.  I had not heard the song before.  The tune is a familiar one--a traditional Irish drinking song -that was adopted as the marching song by various British and American military units, most notably George Custer's 7th Cavalry.  I also recognized the tune's name--"Garryowen".  Garryown was the official tune of the 1st Cavalry Division in which I served in Vietnam.  The division adopted the tune when it was created to consolidate Army cavalry units in 1921.  When the Division left Vietnam in March 1971 it left a separate brigade in Vietnam.  The brigade included one battalion of the 7th Cavalry regiment along with one battalion each from the 5th, 8th (mine) and 12 Cavalry regiments.  The brigade was called the Garryowen Task Force and I saw that name used in various descriptions.

At the time I did not know that "Garryowen" was an official division tune so I thought it unfair to just bundle the other cavalry regiments under the rubric of the 7th Cavalry which incorporated Garryowen into its insignia.  Of course, that was a minor irritation in a war zone and my concern was fleeting.  It did, however, imprint "Garryowen" on my brain so I was all ears when I heard the melody this morning.

"Mick Ryan's Lament" is especially moving for me because the lyrics reflect my own experience in Vietnam.  Like Mick Ryan I was fighting people who were fighting for their homeland.  Like him I "turned into something I hated."  Unlike Ryan I was not killed and carry that memory.  I did not need the song to recall the memory but when the song recalled it, the memory hit hard.

Music for the Hard of Hearing

I spend enough time in front of a computer to enjoy the easy access to alternative music available on the internet.  Since first logging in to Whole Wheat Radio 10 years ago,  my daily computer chores and amusements have usually been accompanied by music less likely to be heard.  These days my appreciation for that music focuses on the sound and feel more than the lyrics.  Even with good speakers and adequate volume my degraded ears cannot make out the words.  Headphones work well enough but I don't like being tethered so mostly I just enjoy what I can hear.  I can always look up the lyrics if something strikes me.

Paying minimal attention to what the songwriter is saying has led me to understand more what I value in music.  I like lively rhythm, female vocals, the interplay of instruments, violins, pianos and banjos.  More than anything I experience the sounds coming out of my speakers as a rich texture and interplay of instruments and voices.  As I write, Folk Alley--my source of choice--is playing "Man in the Moon by The Full English.  It's English traditional with a lilting female vocal backed with a complementary harmony, a viola (I think) and other stringed instruments.  It's livelier than a minuet but has some of the same precision.  Twenty minutes later Roseanne Cash is singing "A Feather's Not A Bird", a haunting ballad with a with hard-edged vocal and sharp electric guitar.  I can't make out the lyrics on either song but what I can hear sounds fine.

Having difficulty making out lyrics is not entirely new.  Even in my youth I often relied on lyric sheets that accompanied most albums.  If no lyrics were available, repeated attentive listens let me figure them out.  That's one reason I was drawn to singer songwriters like Jackson Browne, Warren Zevon, and Kate and Anna McGarrigle--their words and stories were usually clearly stated.  But these days I must listen closely if I want to understand the meaning behind the music.  I don't pay that much attention, especially if I'm working so some of the music zips by without notice.

That occurs less on Folk Alley where much of he music will command my attention (like Emmylou Harris and Rodney Crowell singing "That's All It Took").  I tried Radio Paradise as a pop-rock alternative but while the playlist is far more diverse than Folk Alley much of the music zips by without notice. It's a little too popular at times and much of it doesn't register until I see it on the playlist.  I am even less likely to pick up lyrics if I'm not even noticing the music.  It's an occasional flirtation but Folk Alley is my radio home these days.

Not hearing lyrics means I miss an important part of the song.  Definitely a loss but one than I can accept for accompaniment to working on a computer.  CD's and records--I've purchased CD's of artists introduced via internet--give me plenty of opportunity to enjoy both melody and lyrics.

Call it the inevitable consequences of aging. I'm just happy to be alive and enjoying music

Radio Refugee

Internet radio has been a primary source of music for me for almost a decade now.  I've very much enjoyed the opportunity to discover independent music not available through mainstream media.  Along with many years of enjoyment I've also learned that internet radio stations are not always permanent.  That's been my experience with two very good stations, Whole Wheat Radio and Last FM.

Whole Wheat Radio featured only independent singer-songwriters.  I discovered Danny Schmidt, Girlyman, Emily Kurn, Antje Duvekot, Sloan Wainwright and many others there.  WWR was completely supported by listeners who could rate the music and participate in a chat room.  The site would often recognize logged in members and program a set of their favorite music.  It was all the better because I knew founder Jim Kloss and his partner Esther Golton from my 2003 trip to Alaska and visited the small studio attached to their 12x12 plywood home in Talkeetna.  Shortly after my visit they built a larger space for live performances which WWR webcast to the world.  It was all great and it all came to an end in October 2010.

Before WWR's demise, I recalled Jim talking about the various music services.  He mentioned Last FM as being similar to WWR so I gave it a try.  Last FM allowed me to create radio stations based on artists I identified.  I typed in many of my WWR favorites and found many.  From those selections Last FM would search out and find similar artists and add them to my radio stations.  I could play the stations individually or randomly from all.  The service was free but came with interruptions.  For $3 a month, it was a good deal.  And like WWR, Last FM ended.

Last FM is still out there but I don't listen anymore.  Now for $3 a month, I could get YouTube videos and ads.  The stations for my less commercial artists don't play at all.  If I understand, Last FM was part of CBS which didn't think the format was sufficiently profitable and decided to make the change.  And lose their entire listener base, to judge from the comments in the listener forum.

Fortunately, a glitch with Last FM a while back forced me to look elsewhere on the internet for music and I found Folk Alley, which appeals to one of my primary musical tastes.  Folk Alley has a pretty broad definition of folk music so the playlist is not too limited.  I get a wide range of music that is much to my liking.  It sounds a bit like public radio because they are always asking for support although that doesn't get in the way of the music. What Folk Alley doesn't have is the broad range of music that I got from Last FM.  It does fill the otherwise empty airwaves quite nicely.

I tried Spotify which functions somewhat like Last FM.  The sound was muddy and it seemed that a playlist based on an artist played that artist heavily in favor of other artists.  I didn't stay long.  A better choice is Radio Paradise which has a very diverse playlist.  I've heard music from every decade from the 60's on, although the my impression is that the more recent decades' music gets more play..  Artists heard and remembered include Cowboy Junkies, Decemberists, Miles Davis, Los Lobos, Sam Cooke, Peter Gabriel and  Muddy Waters.  I don't get to program here but what I hear is good.

One problem no internet radio station can cure is my diminished hearing.  No matter how good the broadcast, I have difficulty understanding lyrics if I don't already know them.  My computer has exceptionally good Harmon Kardon speakers.  It's just that my ears don't pick up the finer points of a song.  Also, too, if I am deeply engaged in something else, the music is just so much background.  For that purpose a station's overall sound is important.  Folk Alley and Radio Paradise (so far) fit that bill nicely.

Of the two Folk Alley seems to be more of an enterprise and is affiliated with public radio station WKSU in Kent Ohio.  I suspect they will be around for a while.  Radio Paradise seems to be more in the Whole Wheat Radio mold--a couple of dedicated volunteers on their own.  I hope they make it.

Ephemerality is hardly unique to internet radio.  Or even new. In the past any number of favorite radio stations have changed formats for the worse.  The quirky daylight only AM station WGOE in Richmond anchored my taste for obscure and independent music throughout the 70's before it became a classic rock station in 1980.  KSTM gave my taste home for the first five  years I was in Phoenix before it became something else.

Besides internet, I have acess to traditional radio through KAOS radio broadcasting from The Evergreen State University here in Olympia.  KAOS programming is very diverse, with a couple of good shows on Saturday morning and early afternoon and another on Monday evenings.  KAOS celebrated its 40th anniversary last year.  It has some permanence.

If any of you know of a good internet music service that caters to progressive and independent music takes, leave a link in the comments.  You can be sure I will check it out.

A Local Note in the International News

The BBC paints a decidedly unflattering picture of Aberdeen, Washington on this 20th anniversary of the death the town's most famous son, Kurt Cobain ("Kurt Cobain's hometown no 'nirvana' 20 years after death").  That Cobain left a mixed legacy in his hometown isn't very surprising, given the circumstances of his childhood, the limits of life in a small town, his negative comments about Aberdeen as a celebrity, his drug use and suicide.  Being a dead rock legend doesn't count for a whole lot for many folks in Aberdeen.  If it counts at all, it's for the possibility of tourist dollars.

I can't speak to Cobain's life, his music or death--I was well into folk and folk-influenced rock and paid only passing attention to Cobain, Nirvana and the grunge movement.  On the other hand, I have been to Aberdeen more than once and can't say that the BBC is too far off the mark.

Among the very first references to Aberdeen I heard from a native Washingtonian was "Aberdump" and while others weren't as overtly negative, most people don't have much good to say about the town which is about 50 miles west of Olympia.  My first view of Aberdeen took me through a downtown that was more remnant of a better economy; I'd passed all of the big box stores on the highway east of town.  Lots of empty retail space.  Houses small and worn looking.  Neighboring Hoquiam looked equally forlorn.  Gray skies only heightened the effect.  The BBC rightly notes that Aberdeen has been hit hard by the decline of logging and it shows in the empty buildings.  On a larger scale, Aberdeen just looks like it's been used hard.  The city's waterfront is extensive and built out for an economy that no longer requires it.

Aberdeen does have a few things to recommend it, though.  The city is located at the head of Grays Harbor Bay at the confluence of the Chehalis, Whiskah and Hoquiam Rivers, all of which make for a dramatic coastal setting.  Most of my experience of Aberdeen has been passing through on my way to the grand places of the Olympic Peninsula; however much the area may be diminished by the "march of progress" it retains much of its innate beauty.  The approach from the east along Route 12 follows the north side of the broad flood plain of the Chehalis River with its many sloughs and wetlands.  Aberdeen is home to Grays Harbor Institute where Maggie and I heard Melissa Harris speak.  Aberdeen is home port for the Lady Washington, Washington's semi-official tall ship.  Three drawbridges span the Whiskah, Chehalis and Hoquiam Rivers.  A ray of local economic hope is the construction of the pontoons for the new floating bridge in Seattle.  I even ate good Mexican food at an Aberdeen restaurant.

If you look closely you can see Aberdeen's positives but you can't ignore it's decline.  For as much as Aberdeen disdains Kurt Cobain, the BBC would not be writing about Aberdeen but for Kurt Cobain.

More Pete Seeger

Dahlia Lithwick has the full transcript of Pete Seeger's testimony before a subcommittee of the House Un-American Activities Committee in 1955 Slate.  Reading it all these years later it almost sounds like a joke although it was anything but back then.

My one memory of Pete Seeger is seeing him with Arlo Guthrie at Arizona State University in the mid-80's.  I can't say that I recall anything specific except that I enjoyed the music and I am pretty sure we sang along and clapped.  A few years earlier I had seen fellow member of The Weavers, Roni Gilbert, when she appeared at ASU with Holly Near.  Between the two shows, it felt like seeing the folk tradition passing from one generation to another.

Along with these personal memories, I and the rest of the world have Pete's music and activist legacy to give us encouragement.

Pete Seeger, 1919-2014

Pete Seeger's life speaks for itself.  So do his words.

“I call them all love songs,” Mr. Seeger once said of his music. “They tell of love of man and woman, and parents and children, love of country, freedom, beauty, mankind, the world, love of searching for truth and other unknowns. But, of course, love alone is not enough.”

In his memory on this day.




Godspeed, Pete.  

Another Watchtower

Posting my recent piece about Jimi Hendrix's death and the video of his version of "All Along the Watchtower" led me to look up a version by Barbara Keith that I remember hearing in the 70'swhen I lived in Richmond, Virginia.  I recall being blown away by her voice but never could locate the album.  The announcer who played it on WGOE said it was hard to come by and after exhausting the options available to me then, I gave up.

Since just about everything is available in some form on the internet, I found it in about 30 seconds.  Listening to Barbara Keith after four decades brought back some memories, certainly enjoyable, even if isn't as dramatically overpowering as I remembered. 



The video lacks much in the way of drama but no one was thinking video in the early 70's.  Besides, I kind of like the soothing revolutions of vinyl on a good turntable.

Once I found Barbara Keith I looked up WGOE which was a progressive rock daylight only radio station for much of the time I lived in Richmond.  Since I had only an AM radio in my car for most of those years, it was a welcome alternative to the Top 40 format that dominated AM radio in those days.  It wasn't quite up to par with WHFS-FM which I could hear when visiting friends in DC but it sure made Richmond that much more enjoyable.

Two Muscians

Today's Washington Post carries obituaries for two musicians, Stephen Simon and Ann Rabson. Their music differs but each expanded our musical heritage.

Simon was a leading specialist in the compositions of George Frideric Handel and introduce many of Handel's lesser works to modern audiences.

“Handel — everything you do of his becomes a continual learning process,” he told the New York Times in 1972. “There is a lift in his style that is wonderful.”

Music critics noted Mr. Simon’s ambitious endeavor to animate Handel’s music in non-traditional ways, emphasizing multiple soloists and the personality the soloists brought to the Baroque tradition.

“It’s such irresistible music — blast those trumpets; build that fugue; call out those massed voices; stop on a dime for a grand Handelian pause, the world ringing in your ears — and Simon makes it all seem like so much fun,” music critic Tim Page wrote in The Washington Post of a 1996 concert that included the “Hallelujah” chorus and lesser-known Handel works such as “Semele,” “Samson,” “Saul,” “Solomon” and “Judas Maccabaeus.”

Ann Rabson co-founded Saffire-the Uppity Blues Women, a group that sang of sex, carousing and the mixed pleasures of middle age.

The group’s style harked back to the 1920s and the music of Bessie Smith, Ma Rainey and Sippie Wallace, but Saffire’s music adopted a wry, post-feminist point of view. One of Saffire’s signature wink-and-a-nod tunes was “The Middle Aged Blues Boogie,” which celebrates the sexual vitality of older women:
“I’ll forget about my arthritis / My backache, my lumbago / At the horizontal disco.”
[...]
 “We are absolutely very raunchy people,” Ms. Rabson quipped to The Washington Post in 1994.
[...]
“It’s a wonderful life,” Ms. Rabson said in 1993, describing the career of a musician. “I mean, how many people have jobs that every five to 10 minutes people say, ‘Hey, you’re doing a good job. Yay!’ . . . Music. It’s a painkiller.”

Both had a unique talent and opportunity.  The world is richer through their artistry.

Inaugural Introduction

I clicked on live coverage of the presidential inauguration while Maddy Prior was singing "Scorched Earth" on LastFM.  Biden was coming up for his swearing in with that huge bible.  I much prefer the sound of Maddy Prior's voice to Biden's so I kept her vocal and his visual.  Prior's haunting vocal and music added some needed somber reality to the scene. 

Mike Auldridge, 1938-2012

The man who taught us what the Dobro can do.

Godspeed, Mike. 

The Christmas Song That Speaks to Me

Because at each end of the rifle we are the same.



The story behind the song is here.

Why it speaks to me is here.

Best Message Ever

I recall Leslie Gore's "You Don't Own" me as a powerful song but at 16 didn't quite know why.  It just sounded different somehow from the mainstream pop that was AM radio in 1964.  Leslie Gore's voice stood out prominently among male-dominated popular music.  She was among the first female vocalists I admired.

Which is why Lena Dunham's PSA is so much fun to watch.  




I hope it works.

"Virgil Caine is the name and I served on the Danville train
 'Til Stoneman's cavalry came and tore up the tracks again"

No doubt you heard these lyrics in recent days' stories about Levon Helm's death. That opening line is probably the source of most exposure that my hometown, Danville, Virginia, ever gets even if most pay it no particular mind.

I picked up on the significance immediately. My hometown prided itself on its fleeting role of the Last Capitol of the Confederacy after the Confederate government evacuated Richmond a week before Lee's surrender.  Danville is where the Danville train led.  Jefferson Davis could maintain some hope that Lee would somehow work another miracle.   Then it ended.

Levon Helm delivered those opening words directly and starkly. His voice commands your attention as he begins his story.

Because his story includes a bit of my own geography, I pay close attention.

Update: 

Danville is also noted for the Wreck of the Old 97. The old roadbed for those tracks ran along a ravine just behind houses across the street where my family lived. As kids we used to follow the abandoned grade from the end of our street to a nearby ball field.  A historical marker on nearby Route 58 marks the site but the high embankment and textile mill I saw there as a kid did not look like the pictures I saw.  Years later, it dawned on me that the wide path we followed was the old grade leading to that ill-fated trestle.

When the Music's Over...(2)

Go find some more.

The sudden loss of the fine music stream that was Whole Wheat Radio left an awkward gap in my immediate environment. At some point on WWR I heard some discussion about last.fm so went there to check it out. The site prompted me to create an account and identify some musicians. I put in the names mentioned in my previous post. The resulting playlist was very reminiscent of WWR, many of the same artists, much of the same sound.

At one point, went looking for Sloan Wainwright, whom I should have added to my earlier list, and created a second music stream or, in the last.fm vernacular, a radio station. "Sloan Wainwright Radio" produces a stream that sounds similar to my original (my "Recommended Radio") but has many different musicians. A couple of nights ago I created my third stream as "Richard Thompson Radio" which created a playlist of fine British folk-rock and its relatives from Steeleye Span all the way to Kate and Anna McGarrigle.

All three palylists introduced me to new artists and new music. Some of that new music was by long favorite artists, both early work that I'd never heard and more contemporary work. It's a stream I can live with.

last.fm lacks WWR's quirkiness and intimate feel. The site is framed with advertisements and the system doesn't like it when I don't show some presence there. If I'm willing to subscribe, they won't keep asking. All of this is okay with me. Someone must pay the bills for the free music I receive. If I continue to like and use the site, I probably will subscribe. Whatever, its drawbacks, last.fm gives me the music I want.

To give myself some variety, I played the Rolling Stones' "Beggar's Banquet" and "Let it Bleed" from the original vinyl. Both albums retain all of their power four decades later. I even understood a reference in one lyric based on experience learned in those four decades.

When the Music's Over...

Whole Wheat Radio and its mission of providing a grassroots, all-volunteer, donation supported website and webcast that competently and without mainstream advertising supports independent musicians and their craft is offline.

With these words founder Jim Kloss ended a musical adventure that made my, and many others' I am sure, days more pleasant. At any hour I could instantly tap into a stream of fine music by a wide, wide array of musicians, songwriters and poets. Some better than others but all interesting. I can barely begin to name the many musicians I heard first and only on WWR: Danny Schmidt, The Clumsy Lovers, Girlyman, John Flynn, Small Potatoes, Three Dead Trolls in a Baggie, Emily Kurn, Kristina Olsen, Trish Murphy,... You get the idea.

House concerts at WWR were a wonderful opportunity to hear live music. Even without video, a house concert was an intimate expereince; I could hear the audience and participate in a live chat. A house concert during the 2005 Winter Solstice was a holilday recital by Talkeetna piano students,a small town community experience shared round the world.

From the listening end, it was great. Probably less great on the operating side, as is evident from Jim's letter of resignation. A work of love turned into a job and as, everybody knows, jobs suck. Work can be energizing, a job rarely so. He made the right call. Jim is now free to open some new doors.

WWR's demise is certainly a loss. Not only for my enjoyment but also for the many artists who found listeners there. I'm sure they have other outlets but few are likely to be as open and independent as WWR. All that said, WWR demonstrated and used the possibilities of the internet to create a lively and dynamic model. One lesson from all that is that grassroots, independent efforts are possible. Maybe other visionaries will build on the experience to create yet another model. Who knows? What I do know is that for over five years I have had access to a LOT of fine music.

My connection to WWR goes beyond my listening experience. My friend Cile (whose blog has lots of links to musicians often heard on WWR)introduced me to WWR in 2003 when she planned her 50th birthday in Talkeetna. Maggie and I were in Alaska then and met her there. Jim and Esther were part of that celebration and I had the opportunity to meet them in their 12 x 12 plywood shack, WWR's original home. By September 2003, they had added a small studio wing but the computer and cables still took about a quarter of their sleeping loft. It was a tight fit. Knowing the people and place behind the webcast made it all that more personal.

Thanks, Jim. I hope you find much joy and wonder when you open those future doors.

Tuli Kupferberg (1923-2010)

Tuli Kupferberg, a founding member of The Fugs, an anarchic band from the 1960's, died Monday. The Fugs didn't get much airplay but they made up for it in attitude. They were probably best known, if known at all, for their song "Kill for Peace".

Myself, I've always been partial to the first song of theirs I ever heard:

WIDE, WIDE RIVER

River of shit
River of shit
Flow on, flow on, river of shit
Right from my toes
On up to my nose
Flow on, flow on, river of shit
I've been swimming
In this river of shit
More than 20 years
And I'm getting tired of it
Don't like swimming
Hope it'll run dry
Got to go on swimming
Cause I don't want to die
Spoken:
Oh I can feel another 1000 years
Of the flapjacks of Sorrow! Unless!
Unless we make 2000 A.D.! 2000 A.D.
Our glorious deadline
A glorious deadline to make the
World a better place!
Or else the flapjacks of sorrow
Are going to slide down our throats
Slide down our throats
For another millenium
Of pain and war and oppression
And all our children's children's children's
Children's children children
Shall have to wade and to swim
In the same grim river
In which we now swim
Sing along with us
Sing sing sing sing sing sing sing sing!
(Repeat first verse)

We didn't quite make that 2000 AD deadline but that's not The Fug's fault. They warned us.

Godspeed, Tuli.