I believe I have stumbled upon a Cosmic Coincidence. Although I know now that there are no coincidences. Make of this what you will.
A few years ago, Amanda Fucking Palmer put this joyous piece of propaganda into the world — the Ukulele Anthem. It is compelling, it is infectious, it is humorous, political, and even sad.
This year, I participated in the great Reddit Secret Santa exchange, in which 212,000 people signed up to be secret santas for one another, and send each other surprise gifts.
Much joy could be had even for lurkers, spectators, because part of the fun of the game was posting photos of your received gifts on the exchange page. You can browse for hours, oohing and aahing, laughing and cringing vacariously with the recipients of strange, exotic, and sometimes plain awful gifts.
One thing I noticed this year was a preponderance of ukuleles given as gifts. Strange, because outside of various musical subcultures, one probably does not encounter ukuleles frequently in everyday life. Like accordions, they seem to appear at strange intervals in life, signaling a crossroads of sorts. The warning is clear to all but the booze-muddled and the heroin-soaked: Do not choose the path of the accordion, or you will be doomed.
I submit to you that Amanda Fucking Palmer’s glorious and well-orchestrated propaganda campaign for the ukulele is having its desired effect of spreading temptation globally. Gift-givers, not content on the destruction of their own souls, are sharing their evil payload with innocent Redditors, to ensure that none of them will go down alone.
I wonder what the shipping charge on a uke is, anyway…
Upon finishing up my listen of American Gods, I decided to shift the paradigm just a little bit, and move from delightfully compelling audiobooks to … performance. But just a little bit, as I kept Neil Gaiman in the mix, and added his beautiful, entertaining and sometimes naked wife, Amanda Palmer of the Dresden Dolls.
Maybe it’s just the space I’m in, but I honestly had no idea just how entertaining this would be. Whether I’m listening to Neil’s poems, probably half of which are to or about Amanda, or Amanda’s absolutely captivating songs, I found myself with a grin on my face the entire time.
Especially… ESPECIALLY… “Judy Blume”…
What a joyful confession! Fuck the “decent church-going women, With their mean, pinched, bitter, Evil faces” who work so hard to ban the works of Judy Blume. This all the evidence you need that Judy Blume is vital. Someone needs to tell your kids the things that you’re too afraid to talk about.
Amanda also does a touching version of Death Cab for Cutie’s I Will Follow You Into the Dark, dedicated to Ashlie Gough, who died of an overdose in her sleep at the Occupy Vancouver protests.
To be honest, the marriage of these two is so perfect that I’m not quite sure who to be jealous of.
Anyhow, please go out and buy this beautiful 3-cd set of live performances of the two of them, from their Fall 2001 tour. You won’t regret it, I promise.
Another classic murder ballad, probably the oldest recorded version of this song. I mentioned the Nick Cave updated version in a recent post about watching the film 20,000 Days On Earth. I decided to present the Dick Justice version here for this week.
Also known as Love, Henry, or Young Hunting, or Earl Richard, or The Proud Girl. May slso be related to Young Benjie, Child Waters, and The False Lover Won Back, and may share the same origin. Goes back to the early 1800s in Glasgow, according to one source.
I was just kind of reliving this night, playing Evens audio and videos. I never got to see Ian Mackaye during the days I was going to these shows as a young man. Minor Threat played its last show literally two months before my first, and by the time Fugazi started, I was pretty much enjoying Dead shows, Dead tribute nights, blues and world music with my circle of friends. Guess I was a fickle kid.
I was shocked when I heard that the Evens (Ian on guitar, Amy Farina on drums, and both on vocals) were coming to the Burg. The show was in a tiny little bookstore, Read All Over Bookstore, right smack in the heart of downtown Fredericksburg. No wait. It’s a tiny little store, but it’s large for a tiny bookstore. The show was sponsored by Fredericksburg All Ages, which is appropriate, because Ian has been a tireless advocate for all ages venues.
I spent the whole gig just ten feet from the stage. A kid was crawling around the stage for a while, I’m guessing that was Ian and Amy’s son. A guy was filming the show with what looked like a serious camera. I chatted with him on the sidewalk after the show, he was from OddBox in Fredericksburg. Ever since the show I’ve been hoping to see the footage surface somewhere, but no such luck just yet. There was a real nice version of Mt. Pleasant Isn’t. It’s a favorite due to the sing-along chorus: “THE POLICE WILL NOT BE EXCUSED! THE POLICE WILL NOT BEHAVE!” Here’s a version from some other gig, since I can’t post the one I saw:
I hope I can bring my girls to an upcoming Fredericksburg All Ages show. Problem is, a lot of time they’re held on school nights, and my girls have stacks and stacks of homework, and they’re always so tired so early. They aren’t miscreant ne’er-do-wells like I was, making my way from the suburbs into DC sometimes twice a week to see shows like this at 930, DC Space, Roxy, WUST, Pierce Hall, or wherever they were being held that week.
Somewhere near my home is a fellow Joni fan. I will allow myself a mild case of tunnel vision in assuming this refers to Joni Mitchell. Because to my knowledge, there is no other Joni that can be referred to as simply Joni.
I can’t remember my first exposures to Joni. I was too young. I remember buying The Hissing of Summer Lawns, though, on vinyl at a yard sale in my late teens. I remember it because I also bought a few Jethro Tull albums at the same time. I still have them all, including the version of Stand Up with the band popping out of the album when you open it.
My early exposure to Joni probably included Big Yellow Taxi and Help Me, because I grew up on 70s popular radio. Hissing was the first in-depth exposure to Joni I ever had, and it floored me. I couldn’t believe there were so many great songs I had never heard, all in one place. I listened many, many times. I still know the record by heart. I had never heard anything like The Jungle Line before. Edith and the Kingpin still gives me goosebumps today.
Not having a guide, I explored some of Joni’s other works as I happened upon them. Court and Spark and Ladies of the Canyon, while obviously great albums, never quite resonated with me the way that Hissing did, although I still smile when I hear Joni’s version of Woodstock, which I sometimes prefer to CSNY’s cover. Sometimes. Depends on my energy at the time, I guess.
Then I met Eve, who introduced me to Hejira and reintroduced me to Blue. Blue, which I had heard before and just not given a fair listen. Blue, which I probably just wasn’t mature enough to hear the first time. Blue, which has some of the greatest songs Joni ever wrote. How did I miss that? And Hejira, wow. Hejira had me at the very first listen. By the time I had found Hejira, I had already found Furry Lewis, so Furry Sings the Blues resonated powerfully. Coyote, Amelia, and Black Crow were just icing on the cake. Perfect gems of powerful, lyrical icing. I’d put Hejira on my 10-album desert island list any day.
So thanks, fellow JONI FAN, for making me think of Joni on the way home tonight. Even though I was listening to American Gods, I was thinking of you. Perhaps you too are an American God incarnate.
I’ve got a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. The devil side is Gawker. Those damned Gawker articles. They are compelling, but they are almost always about the worst things that happen. Gawker: Always compelling, rarely uplifting.
The angel is Dangerous Minds. I don’t like the idea of reposting content posted by others, but this time, I’m going to side with the angel, because the angel is in my head and can read my thoughts.
If you’re not following Dangerous Minds, you really, really should. This alone should be enough of a reason to do so.
There’s also an amazing video “newsreel” feature of Leadbelly. If you’ve ever listened to Leadbelly singing Midnight Special, or Rock Island Line, or Gallows Pole, you owe it to yourself to check out these two pieces.
(and a Friday, and a Sunday). My manager came into my office on Friday, and said, “I guess I know what YOU’RE doing on July 4.” I didn’t. I hadn’t heard. I had heard that an announcement was coming, but the ripple effect hadn’t quite reached me yet. “What?” Then he told me the Dead had made their announcement.
One last time, three nights at Soldier Field in Chicago. July 3, 4 and 5 of this year. Then that’s it. No more. Final. Nice way to close out fifty years of playing. Not quite as grueling for the band members, who are getting on in years, as a full tour.
Somehow my passion must be infectious, because I got the go ahead at home, and my ticket requests are in the mail! I had Sabina help me with decorating the envelopes, a decades-old Dead tradition. Did you know that there has been a scholarly paper done on Dead fan envelope art? Fascinating. You can check it out here: Uses for Fan Envelopes from the Grateful Dead Archive as Digital and Traditional Primary Research Sources.
There is a certain “Great Pumpkin” feel to it. You hope that the effort put forth in your envelope decoration will be rewarded with the ticket(s) you seek. The reality is, we don’t know if we’ll get tickets for any of the three nights, much less all three. But today’s the first day for mail-order postmarks, and mine are in there with everyone else’s, so I like to think we’ve at least got a fair shot.
I went, with this same manager, to State College, PA in 2008 to see them at the Change Rocks show. Then I went to two of the shows during the 2009 reunion tour — I took Sophie to see them in Charlottesville, and Eve came up to Philly with me to see them just a few months before the Rectum, errr, Spectrum got demolished.
So yeah. Add that to all the times I saw them in the 80s and 90s (RFK, Cap Centre, Three Rivers Stadium, Madison Square Garden, etc), and yeah. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.
I heard this one for the first time a few months ago on the SiriusXM channel Bluegrass Junction. It has all of the earmarks of an old murder ballad, but it’s relatively recent, written and recorded by Don Humphries in 1997.
Warning – long post. Forgive me, for I have friends who may be interested in a detail level here. Also, please forgive the mixed use of past and present tense. I just don’t care enough to force my thoughts to conform.
I arrived early due to the timing of my day. Parked very close, less than half a block from the door to the club.
The first thing I noticed, after I parked and shut down the vehicle, was a street light going out, about half a block down from where I sat. Amused, I waited. And waited. It came back on, in that way those big streetlights (sodium?) tend to do — starting out white, then yellowing as it slowly grows to full brightness. After a while, it went out again. Then came back on again. Overheating? Delayed solar activation/deactivation due to ambient light? or was it SLI? How should I know, I’m not a scientist OR a paranormal investigator. I’ve got more important things to do than double-blind studies. You decide.
Doors were scheduled to open at 8pm, I had a bit of time to kill. Wandered around the neighborhood looking for suitable attractions. Whoa. A real live RECORD STORE (Som Records). With VINYL. Nope, not gonna do it. But it’s OPEN! Nope. Passing it by. [Hindsight: should have gone in, the way the Universe has been working with me lately, they probably have a mint copy of the Layla Cries album.]
Walked around the corner, and what do I see but a bar called Compass Rose. Is Poseidon himself calling me for pre-event drinks? Nope. Very careful about that. Because of that Los Angeles trip. And because I’m driving.
Okay, now the doors of the club are open. Maker’s on the rocks, quite a generous pour, almost feels like a double, $8. Stabb is down the bar picking up something. Then I’m sitting next to one of the Plurals at the bar, she’s ordering a pitcher of house lager for the band. Another Plural is standing nearby. I can tell by the not-quite-matching blue hair, and the fact that they are communicating with one another.
The evening has turned very tactile. First the sting of my earlobes, as well as the runny nose, because it was so damned cold outside. Then my lips are numb from the bourbon. A lovely kind of medical numbness.
The Plurals go onstage. The taller of the blue-hairs announces that she has forgotten her power cord for her Alesis , and will be simulating her keyboard using her voice. Much laughter is had, but she has the last laugh later, as she does things with her voice that keyboards only wish they could do, in their heart of hearts, in places they don’t talk about at parties.
I enjoyed their set a lot. Especially Look at the Nerds, and Rose Garden. They had some really fun B-52s kind of campy surf-like grooves (but somehow cooler), and “fake keyboard playing girl” had this adorable way of creating modesty with her hand as she bent her knees to retrieve her beer from the stage floor. (Her skirt was quite short). In another song (Rose Garden) she made a really unique “Whoop” sound. At the time I thought it sounded almost electronic, but looking back, you heard it here first, I BET THEY ARE CLOSET JUGGALOS. WHOOP WHOOP! Anyhow, they’re really fun, go see them if you can, you’ll enjoy them.
I spoke with Whoop fake keyboard girl after their set, I think she said she used to do opera.
Next up was the Delarcos, who I saw recently at Iota. Great set by them, I could hear them a little better this time, especially the lead guitar. I’m still trying to search my musical memory banks for things it sounds like. I’m not finding a lot, except the obvious vocal timbre and delivery similarities to Pere Ubu and maybe the Tritonian Nash-Vegas Polyester Complex -era No Trend (Copperhead, for example). They’re unique. I like their sound, their energy, and their understated humor. It’s difficult to hear in a barroom, so the Delarcos have been kind enough to put their lyrics (and chords!) online so that we can all sing (and play!) along. After listening to last night’s show again, I’m starting to feel like Delarcos might be the closest to the ROOTS of “this thing of ours.” I’m digging it. Musically, lyrically, and maybe more. Stabb pointed out during the gig, I think, that Ian Mackaye likened them to the Chumps, and that’s going way back into the DC punk vault:
For more on the Chumps, check out http://ducksbattlesatan.com/category/the-chumps/
Then came History Repeated, the headliner. This is what I came for, for personal reasons. See, History Repeated is fronted byJohn Stabb of Government Issue, who I saw over 31 years ago at my very first concert (bootleg available HERE) — I was just sixteen years old.
I was ecstatic to see that 31 years later, Stabb still has all the energy of a young punk rocker, and still brings it! In fact, he brings it by the case, and gives it all. Still theatrical after all these years, still willing to take injuries in the process. He’s very physical, as if putting everything he has into merely singing the song is not quite enough – as if he’s ADHD, and singing the song just doesn’t engage him enough, so while he’s putting in 100% at the mic, he’s putting in a whole bunch more to keep him occupied – wrapping cords around him, punching himself, falling over, gesturing wildly…
A couple of jump-down-into-the-crowd call and response moments. I missed the first one because I couldn’t hear the words that well. The second one was easy. When it was my turn, Stabb was in my face, with his hand on my shoulder and a mic between us, shouting “PUNK ROCK SONGS” — I replied enthusiastically, “DID NOT CHANGE THE WORLD!” At least I hope that’s what I was supposed to say. They sure changed MY world.
For the last song, Stabb invited Mike (from the Delarcos) on stage to improv some sax. In the middle of the song, Stabb fell onto the dance floor and someone put a chair on top of him.
Ian Mackaye (Teen Idles, Minor Threat, Embrace, Fugazi, The Evens) was spectating sidestage for most of the show. He looked like he was enjoying it. I don’t know if anyone else was hoping for a reason for him to be brought on stage for something, but I kinda was. I never got around to seeing him during the DC heyday, but I was fortunate that The Evens came to Fredericksburg in late 2012 to play a bookstore. Had a really enjoyable time there too.
I got the feeling the light crowd was largely friends of the bands (like me) and veterans of the early DC HC scene, either players or just folks that showed up (back then), also like me.
