'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.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
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.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
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