The Music of Christmas

'Tis the season and today's the day, Christmas 2007. Every year we hear the same songs, all reminders of the days when Christmas was young and so was I. Pretty much all the songs fell into one of two categories: stuff that was religious and stuff that wasn't.

For me, the religious fare always seemed dated and overly serious. Take "Hark!
The Herald Angels Sing", for example. Who says "hark" anyway? And what's a herald angel and how is it different than an ordinary angel? So many of my church questions were never satisfactorily answered.

Christmas was supposed to be a fun, festive time but the part that involved sitting on hard church pews wasn't fun for this restless child. That's why religious Christmas songs remind me too much of temporary imprisonment and discomfort in the butt. I always found running around on the Oregon beach, even in a windy rainstorm, much more pleasant than sitting in church.

Naturally I always preferred the Christmas songs that didn't sound like church hymns, songs like "Jingle Bells", "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" and "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town", later covered so well by Bruce Springsteen. I must admit, though, that years of overexposure to this music, serving as the annual musical backdrop to Christmas, a season patina of sound you can't escape if you try, has diminished my enthusiasm for these tunes.

Ah, but then there's "The Holly and the Ivy" which never fails to coax sentimental tears from my eyes as I remember the sweet voice of my firstborn singing his first Christmas carol. The very thought of it chokes me up still.

Consider how little the artists of the past few generations have contributed to our Christmas musical inventory. There are, of course, countless Christmas albums released by big-time artists in an effort to boost sales and chip away at their contractual obligations to their labels. Some of them manage to squeeze new juice from the well-used fruits of Christmases past but mostly they just recycle the fruitcake.

Do you have a favorite new Christmas song, and in this case, by "new" I mean something released within the last thirty or forty years? For me, the hands down winner is John Lennon's "Happy Xmas (War Is Over)". Capturing the mood of "Imagine" (which stands high on my short list of the greatest songs of all time), Lennon manages to fuse wistful, uplifting Christmas sentiment with an implied plea for everyone to care more about one another and to strive to find common ground with others despite our differences. Thank you John for delivering an eternal message:

"A very Merry Christmas,
And happy New Year,
I hope it's a good one,
Without any fear."

No way I can improve on that. Happy holidays, one and all.

Ellen Is Eighty

Other people call her Ellen. I call her Mom. She just turned eighty. What better occasion for a surprise birthday party? Most folks have to wait until they're dead before their family and friends gather to say wonderful things about them. To me, that seems a tad late.
My mother is an amazing person. Everyone who knows her says so. I'll start with the obvious---she treats everyone with tremendous dignity and respect. Her personal dignity would blow the doors off the bell-shaped curve (pardon the metaphor mixing). She looks as dignified and lovely as she acts.
She never swears. Unlike some of the "never swear" people, she is self-effacing, good humored and best of all, generally quite tolerant of those whose verbal style includes the liberal sprinkling of off-color language. Which is a good thing since none of the other members of our family hold back---much---in her serene presence.
Mom was a high school teacher for over thirty years. She was one of those rare teachers who was loved and admired by her students. Mom was an excellent pianist, the only female in a touring big band. In her retirement, she works tirelessly for community organizations that provide clothing, support and educational opportunities for the needy. I can't imagine a more perfect mother.
Unlike many surprise parties, this one actually succeeded in surprising the guest of honor, big time. I learned several interesting new things about Mom during the many tributes given in her honor. For example, I learned she had a close-up encounter with her childhood idle, Shirley Temple, when she was 7 years old.
I learned that my dad decided that he wanted to marry her on their second date. Funny thing---Mom didn't know this either until the surprise party and they have been happily married, and in good communication with one another, for almost sixty years.
I learned that my dad, a WW2 vet and a rugged, handsome, big college athlete, didn't attempt so much as a kiss until they had dated many times (seemingly to the surprise and disappointment of my mother---though I wasn't inclined to explore specifics).
The night's entertainment was capped off with a new song I wrote for the occasion entitled "Ellen Is Eighty". In my songwriting, I try to avoid schmaltz at all costs. Songs like "Wonderful Tonight" make me cringe because, well, I just find the schmaltziness overbearing even though I am certainly a sentimental guy at heart.
For the verses and the bridge of "Ellen Is Eighty", I included funny biographical details spanning her life but for the chorus I couldn't help myself---schmaltz reigned supreme. And why not? There's a time and place for opening up and in that perfect context, I held nothing back.
Mom says that her surprise party was the best birthday of her long life and I must say that her memory is well-intact, impressively so. Better than that, before her birthday she insisted that there be no party because she didn't want people to know she had reached that age. Now she says she feels great about it. I think her 80th birthday was the best birthday of my life too.

How American Is Americana?

America has a bit of a security complex when it comes to the arts. This is not a new thing. Remember studying literature in school? For many of us, our introduction to the formal study of literature came in a class entitled “English Literature”. Only later were we exposed to literature’s poor stepchild, American literature. And what do you know, it seemed that our first literary successes were writers who had mastered the English style of writing.
Later, as the United States began to establish a separate cultural identity, writers such as Mark Twain forged a uniquely American form of writing.
A similar pattern emerged in the visual arts. Artistic innovation was always led by the Europeans and it wasn’t until the 20th century that much of anything remotely meaningful could be labeled American art.
Ah, but then there’s music. For some reason, American artists have succeeded in creating many musical genres over the years. Blues? Definitely American. Jazz? American. Country? American. Rock ‘n’ Roll. American.
Let’s not forget, of course, the father of American music: Stephen Foster. And how about the march? Europeans were always great with orchestras but nobody ever did marches like John Phillip Sousa.
One problem with some of new musical genres created in America is that foreign competition quickly recognized that we had something good going and they appropriated our musical invention to their benefit. Rock ‘n’ roll is probably the best example. How long did it take the British to deliver rock music to new heights? The emergence of rock in 1956 as a truly, uniquely American art form (ignoring the British argument that skiffle also falls in that category, which it does) started a cultural revolution. But in 1964, the Brits claimed, if not ownership, at least clear dominance of rock music, a dominance which continued for years.
But then there’s Americana, my personal favorite. Recognized as a category unto itself for the past 15 years, Americana must, by definition, be regarded as a truly American art form with no room for foreign pretenders. Really, Americana started with Stephen Foster. And isn’t Woody Guthrie best described as an Americana artist---to me, his voice and message embodied so much more than folk music.
So Americana music has been around a long time and is only now getting its just due as a category unto itself. And for what it’s worth, it’s almost 100% American. I say almost because at least one foreign artist, Mark Knopfler, has mastered the form.
Personally, I tip my cap to Knopfler---he seems to have studied plenty of American history and has a knack for capturing the spirit of the old west in some of his songs. Knopfler notwithstanding, Americana music is dominated more than any other genre by American artists.
I’m not one to bang the patriotic drum, but it feels good to have a musical form which, in a way, defines our national identity (and as a bonus, does so outside the odious confines of country music). For me, Americana music feels as good as it sounds. It’s straightforward and honest, and in that way resonates with our common view of what Americans (our current president and his cronies notwithstanding) should be.
Best of all, Americana music springs from all parts of America. Like America itself, Americana is a genre which is a little bit of lots of things---rock, folk, blues, country---and thus it possesses a diversity all its own. God bless Americana, the music from the land that I love.

A Musician´s Santa Claus

Name a society in which artists as a class are richly rewarded for their artistic achievements. I didn´t think you could. I can´t either. Of course, once artists achive a high level of popularity, material rewards follow. But for most artists, material rewards are meager at best.

This isn´t a complaint. It´s just a statement about how it is. And in light of that, this seems like an appropriate time to thank those who contribute generously in support of the arts. Thanksgiving is just behind us and Christmas is, as they say, just a few shopping days ahead. There are Santa Clauses in our midst and they don´t get the recognition they deserve.

I´m talking about the patrons of the arts. Of course, the seekers of profit also do their bit to support the arts but their motive is clear. And I think it´s a good thing, an obviously indispensable thing that our society includes those willing to risk their own capital with the hope that the public will support the arts and that their will be enough money remaining afterward to pay the artist AND the person willing to put his capital on the line to make it all happen.

The patrons of the arts, on the other hand, have huge hearts. They are willing to give their money away in furtherance of the arts.

In my home town of Eugene, Oregon, we are blessed with many individuals willing to contribute generously in support of the arts. For example, Jim and Ginevra Ralph started The Shedd Institute for the Arts by purchasing a beautiful downtown church from the Baptists and converting it to a combination performing arts hall and center for teaching music. The results have been impressive, both in terms of community enrichment by offering dozens of shows by international artists and by teaching hundreds of people, mostly school age children, more about music.

They didn´t do it by themselves but they were the leaders of the Shedd. They contribute time and money in a very big way.

Most communities have benefactors such as the Ralphs but few are fortunate enough to receive such large scale generosity and support. That´s why the real Santa Clauses for the arts, especially the musical arts, are people like the Ralphs. So to all the many Ralphs out there, thank you very much. Without you, music would not get the exposure it deserves and from which communities benefit so much.

Mexican Musical Madness

Everything's a ittle out of whack here in Mexico at the moment. Computer access is proving a bigger challenge than anticipated and music is everywhere. Sometimes you can't get rid of it. The incessant throbbing of disco, for example, is for
me an unwelcome sound, an insidious form of noise pollution, not the least bit helped by the nagging presence of a hangover.
Then there's the kareoke. Ouch, another assault on the ears and another speedy getaway. Escape routes fail to present themself quickly enough. What to do? Another margerita perhaps? Join in? Neither option sounds particularly appealing at the moment. Not that I'm looking for sympathy I know I won't get, I am in Mexico after all.
Do bar bands sound the same everywhere? No, but they do seem to share a common set list. Some young edgy looking Mexican musicans did a surprisingly good job of belting out the usual fare, albeit with some interesting lyrics evidently lost in translation. For example, "Old Time Rock 'N' Roll" began with the words "Just put the old sausage on the shelf." And I don't think the lead singer was attempting some clever secondary meaning. I'll give them their due though---they played with good energy and skill. I'd like to hear them play something original.
I had my moments performing my Americana music in Mexico and folks from all over the place seemed to share my enthusiasm, thank you very much. I'm not sure when I'll make it back here but when I do, I plan on bringing better ear protection in case of emergency.

BiPolar Express

BiPolar Express

How does a musician know when he’s connecting with his audience? Nothing screams audience approval like good old fashioned applause, especially the raucous, spontaneous kind. And then, well, there's always panty throwing of which my personal experience includes none and I’m okay with that.. For me, when someone comes after a show and says, “Hey, you know that song you did about……? That song could’ve been written about my ……” At that moment, you know you're song really struck an emotional chord. Establishing that kind of connection means everything to a musician.

One song that seems to generate this reaction in nearly every show I play is called “BiPolar Express” which is a song about the plight of those who suffer from bipolar disorder, of whom there are many.
I first became aware of bipolar disorder in my work as a public defender. My initial brushes with those who said they were bipolar led me to the erroneous conclusion that some people gave themselves this label to dodge responsibility for their actions. Hopefully I never let them see my inner skepticism and if I did, I am truly sorry now. Years of experience with bipolar suffers has taught me a great deal about the unique problems such folks face.

“Don’t forget your medication

To stabilize your mood,

And don’t forget your hygiene

Fight the impulse to be rude

Do not lock yourself in closets

Keep the weapons out of sight

A bit of exercise will help you

Sleep through the night.”

Exactly one year ago while I was recording BiPolar Express in LA, a tragic death occurred in my hometown, Eugene, Oregon. A 19 year old suffering from bipolar disorder was behaving in a frighteningly irrational, threatening manner with his parents who called the police, and when the young man refused to put down a knife and advanced on the police, he was shot to death. His parents do not blame the police.

My own family includes one member who has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Sometimes he stays out of touch for long periods of time and doesn’t respond to attempts at contact. He is only four years older than the young man who died in Eugene. His father has tried for years to help his son deal with the symptoms of this disease. The results are far from encouraging.

“Labels like weird and psycho

Tend to get you so upset,

But there’s no need for violence,

What’s a little disrespect?

Have a drink and check your dosage

Might be time to take a pill.

Pretty soon you’re neutral,

A blissful empty chill.”

The task of managing bipolarity is tricky. Prescriptive meds work wonders once a winning combination is found but finding the right drug or combination of drugs isn’t easy. To compound the challenge, identifying the optimum dose is a trial and error proposition. Then there’s the problem of taking the medication---folks with bipolar have a tendency to forget and some don’t like taking it. Left unmedicated, bipolar sufferers tend to engage on all sorts of negative behaviors.

“Take the BiPolar Express to parallel land,

Where everything is perfect

But it’s all made out of sand.

Colors bright and faces smilin’

On every sunny day,

In comes a little rain, it all goes away.”

To the friends and family members who have told me that this song captures their personal experience with bipolar and means something special to them, I can tell you this: it means something special to me to.

Music, at its best, can have a magical healing quality. Sometimes we find comfort in the knowledge that our personal suffering is shared by others. And sometimes music is the bridge which transports us to that awareness.

check out this guy's guitar work

Three Days in L.A.

Three Days In LA

Three long days in LA just went by very fast. I return with a maze of contradictions swirling inside my confused brain. I went to LA to attend an event called the Taxi Road Rally, an annual convention sponsored by, you guessed it, Taxi, which calls itself “The World’s Leading Independent A&R Company”. Taxi members, of which there are over 11,000 including me, may attend the convention free, not counting transportation, lodging at the Westin, food, etc. Why attend? For specialized seminars put on by industry insiders willing to reveal the 6 secrets of this, the 10 secrets of that and the secret handshake too, all of which is pretty much guaranteed to catapult you to a higher tier of the musical food chain. I couldn’t resist.

Any Taxi member in attendance might, if chosen at random, have the opportunity to perform live on a big stage before hundreds of fellow musicians with the tantalizing possibility that one or two actual industry insiders might be in the room. Lucky me, I got to perform and it was the high point of my experience. But it didn’t come easily. In order to play, you had to be present when they pull your name out of a hat. In my case, that happened so late on Friday night that only twenty some folks were still in the auditorium---not exactly prime time---and this was, oddly, the best thing that could have happened. Why? Well, strangely, the next thing that happened was that they closed for the night without putting me on stage. The guy running the show felt so badly about this that he promised me a showcase opportunity on Saturday night.

Sure enough, he put me on-stage Saturday night when things were at their peak. I performed my song “Crawford”, a political rocker which takes some well-earned jabs at the Current Occupant of the White House, and received a rousing ovation. In fact, the crowd liked the message so much that during the course of the song, I received loud applause three different times. Moments such as this explain why I love being a musician. It doesn’t get much better than that.

Not to suggest that it was all nirvana and bliss in LA. Far from it. Which gets me back to the confusion and contradictions. While attending many seminar presentations at the convention, it became evident that the presenters don’t see things in their industry the same way.

Contradiction #1: “Great songs will always be recognized as such and will somehow find their way to a mass audience” vs. “No matter how great a song is, the only realistic chance for it to gain a mass audience is by first having massive exposure”.

Contradiction #2: “Hit songs require mass audience appeal; great songs appeal to the masses by avoiding controversial topics and using family-friendly lyrics with traditional song structure, i.e. verse/chorus/bridge” vs. “You greatly increase your chance of recognition and success as an indie artist if you take a unique or better yet weird approach and appeal to a niche audience”. I could go on. But trust me---nobody really knows what works and why, and anybody who says that there’s a guaranteed way to create is hit is nuttier than Mr. Hanky’s unfortunate son. Howdy ho.

And so it went. The industry insiders can’t seem to agree on many basic tenets of how the industry actually works. Then there were the Listening Panels. Musicians had the opportunity to submit songs which were then reviewed by panels of 4 or 5 A&R bigshots in front of hundreds of attendees. There were a few problems. First, so many songs were submitted that the mathematical chance that my song would be played at a session was approximately one in forty three.

Second, the average song was played for less than forty three seconds.

Third, if your song was actually played, the panel either liked it or didn’t or they couldn’t agree, and either way, it didn’t mean a thing. Some of the material was truly awful and the panelists generally found nice ways to say so. Other times the material was quite good but it’s not like any panelist was ever gushing with “I want to sign this artist now” enthusiasm.

Being a musician at the indie level is not an easy road. The journey has its highs and lows. This LA experience, for me, included plenty of both. I left safe with the knowledge that I was in good company.

Why “Americana” Dan?

What’s in a name? The problem with names which include descriptive terms, like Americana, is that not everyone knows what “Americana” is supposed to mean. Worse, some folks assume they know what it means but they are wrong. Quite wrong. And since I’m a little worried about that, I’d like to set things straight.

Americana is a musical genre which is recognized as a radio format. Americana is a branch of music which includes rock, folk, country and blues influences and which is technically considered a subspecies of country. For a look at the current R&R Americana chart of the top 50 records, check out http://www.radioandrecords.com/Formats/Charts/Americana_Chart.asp You’ll find artists like Ben Harper, Ryan Adams, John Fogarty, Mark Knopfler, a new release of duets by Robert Plant (yup, the one from Led Zeppelin) and Allison Krause (hmm, kind of an odd combination, don’t you think?) and even Bruce Springsteen. Many artists listed on the Americana charts also appear on the charts of other formats like rock, country and adult album alternative.

I have it on reliable authority that my style of music qualifies me as an Americana artist. Before there was Americana, you never knew quite where to search for certain cross-genre artists in record stores. Take Lucinda Williams as a case in point. Her music could be found in country, rock or folk but it didn’t belong squarely in any of those. So in some ways, Americana is a catch-all category for artists working the creases between the monster categories: rock and country.

I think that’s a good thing, partly for selfish reasons. I prefer for my music to not get stuck in the country bin. There are a few things that really bug me about what country music has become. For example, country artists seem all too eager to drape themselves in the American flag. Many country artists pander so blatantly to their conservative pick-up driving, gay bashing, jingoistic base that they become musical substitutes for Rush Limbaugh. Count me out. Way way out. Which is why I’m just a tad concerned that my blog identity as Americana Dan not be misunderstood.

“Americana” Dan means that I am a musical artist who fits comfortably within the Americana musical genre. It does not mean the same thing as American Dan or Dan the American and certainly not Dan the Super-Patriot. I find it strange that in America today, the flag toting self-declared patriots are those least interested in true democracy because they want to stifle debate. They claim that if you don’t support our government, you are emboldening the terrorists. As far as I’m concerned, true patriots are those with the courage to defend the constitution and the bill of rights. True patriots are willing to put themselves on the line by asking sensible questions and engaging in healthy debate over issues of public policy.

I would be proud to qualify as such a patriot. Whew, that all sounds pretty serious. And when things get too serious, I pull out my guitar.

How The Musician Made The Most of His Inner Lawyer

How the Musician Made The Most of His Inner Lawyer

From Perry Mason to LA Law to Boston Legal, the entertainment media has given plenty of attention to the legal profession. The stereotypes shown on television bear little resemblance to the kind of law I practice as a public defender in Eugene, Oregon. Think of me as the lawyer equivalent of a plumber showing more buttcrack than you care to see.

Public defenders tend to work in the trenches of the law doing the dirty work most attorneys shun. Underpaid and glamorless, public defenders represent the folks many consider the dregs of society. Even worse, they commit themselves to a task many see as despicable and certainly immoral when they try to get people charged with crimes off scott free (have you ever wondered who Scott was and how he evidently became famous for never being found guilty of anything?). Never mind that some of the accused are actually innocent. Or that circumstances largely beyond their own control led them to become involved in some form of crime. Or that the founding fathers embedded in our constitution certain inalienable rights which benefit the accused as much as the accusers. Or that our government at the highest levels seems perversely committed to denial of basic human rights and currently refuses to condemn torture. All of which leads me to conclude one thing: blessed are the public defenders.

At this point in my life, I’m just as passionate about social justice as ever, but I am also determined to write, record and perform my music. And I am thankful as can be that my years as a public defender give me a unique perspective from which to create meaningful songs. For one thing, I’ve met some colorful miscreants, people with bizarre and outlandish attitudes, folks who have said and done things a universe removed from society’s mainstream. Talk about great fodder for storytelling---my work as a public defender has delivered an embarrassment of riches of material I can and do use in developing song ideas.

More than that, my work frequently puts me deep inside the minds of an unusually diverse and troubled population of tormented souls. Sure, we are all troubled in some ways but try to consider how different life must be for those who suffer the combined disadvantages of having no money, no education, no resources and no way to rise above their wretched circumstances. To add to their misery, folks in these circumstances include many victims of abuse and neglect together with a large group mentally ill. It is only natural that such individuals view the world in a way that is beyond our ability to comprehend. In the process of learning their stories and feeling their pain, one gains greater appreciation of nearly everything.

I try to bring those thoughts and feelings into my music. In fact, I can’t help myself. Sometimes I explore the depths of human despair from this abysmal perspective. Of course, there are plenty of genuine criminal losers too, and not being a sap, I know these many of these people simply lack the will to make responsible choices. I write songs about that too. The world inhabited by this diverse group is one in which I never imagined I would willingly spend any time, and yet I’ve spent the better part of a career there. As it turns out, one of the many rewards of this service is that it has become the birthplace of poetry and songs which resonate with personal meaning. As for TV lawyers, I can do without the glitzy high rises and the insufferable egos. My view from the trenches suits me just fine.

4000 to One----How My Brother's Death Spurred Me To Pursue Music

4000 to One-----How My Brother’s Death Spurred Me to Pursue Music

Hello blogosphere, goodbye virtual virginity. That was easy. Losing the other kind took more years than I care to admit. Now that I’m a musician, I’m getting used to losing things. Like inhibitions and sometimes, on a tough night, a little bit of dignity when I’m playing my guts out while the clinking glasses seem to pay more attention to me than the noisy people holding them. But that goes with the territory---ask any musician. By far my toughest loss, though, came on February 18, 2004 when my older brother Steve died. Suicide actually. Nobody knows why. He was famous and admired, especially in Chicago where he wrote over 4000 columns for the Tribune and Sun-Times. So the fact that I’m writing my first blog entry is not particularly impressive in my family. But every blog has to start somewhere. I’d like to start by telling you a little about how Steve inspired me to pursue my music and songwriting. During his life, as far back as our teens, he encouraged me and my music, and even though he couldn’t play a lick, he appreciated my work on guitar and the early success I had with rock bands growing up in Oregon. But Steve’s death served as the ultimate musical inspiration for me. It made me realize that life truly is too short and if you don’t pursue your dreams when you have the chance, you’ve set yourself up for a lifetime of regret. Who wants that? Before his death, I tended to keeping my music and songwriting within a small private circle while I committed most of my energy to a traditional career. His death brought me out of the closet. I started performing in clubs and concert halls, fronting my own band, sometimes playing solo acoustic and always featuring my original material. I started songwriting with an intensity and depth of focus I never had before. I began recording my songs in LA with accomplished musicians. Steve’s death was an awakening for me and I made a commitment to myself to nurture this dream of spreading my music. It’s been over 3 years now and even though there are difficult moments (see clinking glasses above), I find it so worthwhile to pursue this passion that I can accept the bad parts. Without Steve, I don’t see me making this move and if I had kept my music under wraps, regrets about not pursuing music would have gnawed at my soul to the end.

Next month, I’m going to LA to attend a musical event called the Taxi Road Rally where I’ll perform live, attend classes on the music business presented by industry experts, schmooze with record execs and drink heavily every night. At this point in my career, I tend to think that the industry part of the music landscape sucks. That’s why I have a day job. Plus there’s no way I could make ends meet on my musical earnings, at least not yet. But I promise I’ll keep working on shrinking the day job and expanding my musical side.

As musicians go, my day job is kind of weird. I’m a lawyer, mostly a public defender representing poor folks charged with minor offenses (in some cases, it’s as though their only crime is being poor). More about that later. For now, I’ll sign off with this thought: 4000 columns for my brother Steve, one blog entry for me. I’d give anything if somehow his lead could increase.