Good morning, it's Saturday, February 7. Oh, yeah, I'll tell you something. I think you'll understand.
That's right, on this date in 1964 The Beatles arrived in New York for their first American visit, and the world shook forever. "I Want to Hold Your Hand'' -- considered one of the most significant singles in music history -- was riding high atop the charts, and two days later the group would make its first live appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show. Quivering mothers and fathers turned to each other and uttered these now-famous words: "Uh oh...''
(Little known fact: The mopheads' arrival in the U.S. stole the thunder from Garth Brooks, who was celebrating his second birthday back home in Oklahoma and already toiling over early drafts to "Friends in Low Places'' with his No. 2 pencil.) Just kidding, it was his birthday but everyone knows that song was written by Dewayne Blackwell and Bud Lee.
The Beatles transformed ... well ... EVERYTHING. It's hard to imagine, especially after 45 years, how they were able to make such a profound and lasting impact in such a relatively short span of time. The Stones are still touring, for crying out loud. The Beatles ended their touring career in 1966 and moved into the studio, where things really got interesting. They were done as a group by 1970.
Contrarian music fans continue to start fights by asking "Stones or Beatles?'' but I'm not going there. Not today, on the anniversary of it all.
BILLBOARD TOP 5
1. I Want to Hold Your Hand, Beatles
2. You Don't Own Me, Lesley Gore
3. Out of Limits, Marketts
4. Surfin' Bird, Trashmen
5. Hey Little Cobra, Rip Chords
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
That's snow baloney
It's been so cold here in Florida these last few days that I had to park the flip-flops and fish out a pair of shoes. I know, it's been a tough winter everywhere ...
The cold weather has tripped some brrrriffic memories of growing up in Wisconsin, where every winter night we kids brushed our teeth, washed our faces, bundled up for bed and said our prayers just like all the other kids around the world. We probably prayed for our moms and dads and families, good health, happiness and world peace, but during the winter I only remember praying for one thing: snow.
In addition to providing a fresh layer of powder for our toboggans and sleds, snow -- if it came down long enough and hard enough overnight -- might just get you out of school the next day. There is nothing quite like a snow day, or even the anticipation of a snow day.
We'd awaken by 6 a.m., peer through frosted windows into the icy darkness and listen for the unmistakable sounds of tires crunching over fresh snow. If it was really cold -- I'm talking below zero, which is all too common -- we hoped to hear car starters grind repeatedly and engines fail to turn over.
And we would have our six-transistors tuned to a radio station 40 miles away that would ultimately decide our fate. An official-sounding voice would announce school closings as they became known throughout the frozen coulee region. Town after town, school district after school district, would be called out. And if we were lucky, at some point we would hear "No school today in the ... Whitehall school district.''
Even today, living 1,400 miles away, I find myself rooting for snow days for the kids back home. And I hope, if they still listen to the radio up there in the morning, they hear sounds on news radio that will stick with them like a bowl of warm rumagrout. One station, I think it was in La Crosse, used to continually play the words to an old Irving Berlin tune that drove me crazy:
Oh ... how ... I .... hate to get up in the morning!
Oh how I'd love to remain in bed!
Some of the commercials were also unforgettable. The one I can still hear in my head is a deep, serious voice making this bold declaration:
Maloney's baloney
is the best baloney --
and that's no baloney!!!!
While home last December I stopped into a cafe in a neighboring town for breakfast. After scanning the menu I asked the waitress if their sausage was any good. She stared at me as if I had just questioned her sexual preference, and exclaimed:
"Sir, we serve Maloney's here!!!''
And that's no baloney.
The cold weather has tripped some brrrriffic memories of growing up in Wisconsin, where every winter night we kids brushed our teeth, washed our faces, bundled up for bed and said our prayers just like all the other kids around the world. We probably prayed for our moms and dads and families, good health, happiness and world peace, but during the winter I only remember praying for one thing: snow.
In addition to providing a fresh layer of powder for our toboggans and sleds, snow -- if it came down long enough and hard enough overnight -- might just get you out of school the next day. There is nothing quite like a snow day, or even the anticipation of a snow day.
We'd awaken by 6 a.m., peer through frosted windows into the icy darkness and listen for the unmistakable sounds of tires crunching over fresh snow. If it was really cold -- I'm talking below zero, which is all too common -- we hoped to hear car starters grind repeatedly and engines fail to turn over.
And we would have our six-transistors tuned to a radio station 40 miles away that would ultimately decide our fate. An official-sounding voice would announce school closings as they became known throughout the frozen coulee region. Town after town, school district after school district, would be called out. And if we were lucky, at some point we would hear "No school today in the ... Whitehall school district.''
Even today, living 1,400 miles away, I find myself rooting for snow days for the kids back home. And I hope, if they still listen to the radio up there in the morning, they hear sounds on news radio that will stick with them like a bowl of warm rumagrout. One station, I think it was in La Crosse, used to continually play the words to an old Irving Berlin tune that drove me crazy:
Oh ... how ... I .... hate to get up in the morning!
Oh how I'd love to remain in bed!
Some of the commercials were also unforgettable. The one I can still hear in my head is a deep, serious voice making this bold declaration:
Maloney's baloney
is the best baloney --
and that's no baloney!!!!
While home last December I stopped into a cafe in a neighboring town for breakfast. After scanning the menu I asked the waitress if their sausage was any good. She stared at me as if I had just questioned her sexual preference, and exclaimed:
"Sir, we serve Maloney's here!!!''
And that's no baloney.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Last of the daydream believers
I was plunking around on my guitar the other day with the Kasey Chambers song "Runaway Train'' (How many songs have that title? A dozen, a hundred, a thousand? And which one is your favorite?) when I stumbled onto a different beat that sounded familiar but was severely testing my limited recall. Finally, after repeatedly downbeating an A minor chord, a few words tumbled out:
When the lights go down in the California town...
Ring a bell for you? I had no real recollection of the song, the artist or even the era during which I had listened to it. You know how the elements of a forgotten song -- the title, the artist, the lyrics or some other minutae -- will escape you and drive you crazy until you think of them? Many of us grew up in the pre-Google days when you either had to think of it yourself, make a phone call to a buddy at 1:30 a.m. (good luck) or become more and more irritated until, hours or possibly even days later, it finally came to you.
I took the easy way out, googling that one remembered line. The buzz in my head turned out to be "Gold'', by John Stewart, who took the song about the music biz to No. 5 in 1979.
When the lights go down in the California town
People are in for the evening
I jump into my car and I throw in my guitar
My heart beatin' time with my breathin'
Drivin' over Kanan, singin' to my soul
There's people out there turnin' music into gold
Hopefully Stewart collected some gold of his own, as a former member of the Kingston Trio whose writing credits include "Daydream Believer'', the Monkees' last No. 1 song, and also a hit for Anne Murray.
I clicked around until I found the sad news: an obituary on LA Weekly's website dated Feb. 6, 2008 and penned by Michael Simmons. A link folos, but you can read the lead here:
John Stewart — singer, songwriter, guitarist, artist, husband, father, grandfather, Californian, American — was scheduled to perform at McCabe's in Santa Monica on Saturday, February 2. He missed the gig, but he had a good excuse. Stewart suffered a sudden stroke at the age of 68 and died on January 19 in San Diego at the very same hospital he was born in.
http://www.laweekly.com/2008-02-07/columns/daydream-believer/
They say obituary writing is an art, and who can argue?
When the lights go down in the California town...
Ring a bell for you? I had no real recollection of the song, the artist or even the era during which I had listened to it. You know how the elements of a forgotten song -- the title, the artist, the lyrics or some other minutae -- will escape you and drive you crazy until you think of them? Many of us grew up in the pre-Google days when you either had to think of it yourself, make a phone call to a buddy at 1:30 a.m. (good luck) or become more and more irritated until, hours or possibly even days later, it finally came to you.
I took the easy way out, googling that one remembered line. The buzz in my head turned out to be "Gold'', by John Stewart, who took the song about the music biz to No. 5 in 1979.
When the lights go down in the California town
People are in for the evening
I jump into my car and I throw in my guitar
My heart beatin' time with my breathin'
Drivin' over Kanan, singin' to my soul
There's people out there turnin' music into gold
Hopefully Stewart collected some gold of his own, as a former member of the Kingston Trio whose writing credits include "Daydream Believer'', the Monkees' last No. 1 song, and also a hit for Anne Murray.
I clicked around until I found the sad news: an obituary on LA Weekly's website dated Feb. 6, 2008 and penned by Michael Simmons. A link folos, but you can read the lead here:
John Stewart — singer, songwriter, guitarist, artist, husband, father, grandfather, Californian, American — was scheduled to perform at McCabe's in Santa Monica on Saturday, February 2. He missed the gig, but he had a good excuse. Stewart suffered a sudden stroke at the age of 68 and died on January 19 in San Diego at the very same hospital he was born in.
http://www.laweekly.com/2008-02-07/columns/daydream-believer/
They say obituary writing is an art, and who can argue?
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Pssst: One for the listening room
Good morning, are you ready for the first-ever PSSST (Personal Six String Sanctuary Tout)? OK, then. Here we go ...
The really good writers, whether they're penning songs, sonnets or pulp novels, can paint a vivid scene that places you
there beside them. Musicians have the advantage of being able to create a beat and sound to match the mood. Some start with the lyrics and add the melody, others get the beat down first and the words follow. It doesn't matter. When it works, it works.
And it usually works for Jeffrey Foucault. Even though he's a homeboy from Wisconsin, I hadn't discovered his music until Signature Sounds released his "Ghost Repeater'' album in 2006. It became one my favorite discs of that year, and one that still gets steady play on my IPod. It features songs with rich layers and tumbleweed textures boosted by Bo Ramsey's biting electric guitar and the pedal steel work of alt-country king Eric Heywood (Son Volt, Ray Lamontagne, and currently touring with Chrissy Hynde and the Pretenders).
There's a favorite song on "Ghost Repeater'' which immediately takes you to a very lonely place:
All alone in a Mexican joint
In Mesa, Arizona
With a mariachi band
On the jukebox
And an empty Corona
I don't know about you, but I'm ready to walk into that cantina and buy the man a beer to try cheer him up. Of course he needs to be alone. The poor sap is thinking about some girl and he's trying to sort out his feelings, which immediately become obvious:
And the sun gone down
In the pale thin pink
There’s no one to talk to
All I can think
Is your eyes are full of train smoke
And your mouth tastes like rain
And I know when I know nothing
I will always know your name
She's the one, he sings, the only one. We have no doubt that she is, and we find ourselves wishing him good luck with that.
I couldn't find an audio clip for the song "Mesa, Arizona'' but you can get a taste of Foucault's music here: http://www.myspace.com/jeffreyfoucault
He has a new Signature Sounds release out Feb. 17, after which he'll be hitting the road again. For tour dates go to http://www.jeffreyfoucault.com/tour.html
The really good writers, whether they're penning songs, sonnets or pulp novels, can paint a vivid scene that places you
there beside them. Musicians have the advantage of being able to create a beat and sound to match the mood. Some start with the lyrics and add the melody, others get the beat down first and the words follow. It doesn't matter. When it works, it works.And it usually works for Jeffrey Foucault. Even though he's a homeboy from Wisconsin, I hadn't discovered his music until Signature Sounds released his "Ghost Repeater'' album in 2006. It became one my favorite discs of that year, and one that still gets steady play on my IPod. It features songs with rich layers and tumbleweed textures boosted by Bo Ramsey's biting electric guitar and the pedal steel work of alt-country king Eric Heywood (Son Volt, Ray Lamontagne, and currently touring with Chrissy Hynde and the Pretenders).
There's a favorite song on "Ghost Repeater'' which immediately takes you to a very lonely place:
All alone in a Mexican joint
In Mesa, Arizona
With a mariachi band
On the jukebox
And an empty Corona
I don't know about you, but I'm ready to walk into that cantina and buy the man a beer to try cheer him up. Of course he needs to be alone. The poor sap is thinking about some girl and he's trying to sort out his feelings, which immediately become obvious:
And the sun gone down
In the pale thin pink
There’s no one to talk to
All I can think
Is your eyes are full of train smoke
And your mouth tastes like rain
And I know when I know nothing
I will always know your name
She's the one, he sings, the only one. We have no doubt that she is, and we find ourselves wishing him good luck with that.
I couldn't find an audio clip for the song "Mesa, Arizona'' but you can get a taste of Foucault's music here: http://www.myspace.com/jeffreyfoucault
He has a new Signature Sounds release out Feb. 17, after which he'll be hitting the road again. For tour dates go to http://www.jeffreyfoucault.com/tour.html
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Today's feel-good story
I'm spending more time cruising headlines at my computer now that the local newspaper has raised its single-copy price. I still enjoy the print edition, and always maintained it was a great bargain for 25 cents. But any time somebody doubles a price on me, I'm going to step back for a moment and consider the ramifications.Anyway, I wonder if I had slipped two quarters in the box this morning I would have been rewarded with this Associated Press lede:
CHICAGO - Kids on both sides of the Atlantic are smoking less pot and going out less often with friends at night, a study of 15-year-olds in 30 countries found.
Does this mean there are seafaring boats cruising the Atlantic where all the kids go to party? Surely we would have heard about this. Here's a link to the complete story:
It's time to point out: In no way does this blog condone or encourage the recreational use of marijuana or other illegal drugs. But I do think it's important for all of us to look at studies like these and assimilate information that might help us, in some way, become more knowledgable and contributing members of society.
The article also pointed out that marijuana use increased only in Estonia, Lithuania and Malta, and among Russian girls. Interesting...
The article also pointed out that marijuana use increased only in Estonia, Lithuania and Malta, and among Russian girls. Interesting...
What does all of this have to do with music? Well, we know just about every kid these days wants to be a rock star -- they even make an energy drink with that name. And we know they've been "investigating'' the use of marijuana by musicians for decades, trying to determine if cannibus might have either helpful or harmful effects.
Way back in 1938 a reporter for "Radio Stars'' took it upon himself to try some "hay'' so he could write authoritatively about rampant marijuana use in swing bands. Here's a link to that story: http://www.druglibrary.org/mags/radiostars.htm
Perhaps if newspapers had done more investigative journalism like this, and written catchier headlines like "Exposing the marijuana evil in swing bands!'' they wouldn't be in the fix they're in. And maybe, just maybe, our kids wouldn't be boarding party boats to hit the "high'' seas.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Getting your groundhog groove
The chatter this morning at the Salvation Army pancake breakfast on Mahoning Street should center on the Steelers' latest Super Bowl triumph. There might even be some talk over coffee about the Springsteen halftime show. "Say, Helen, did you hear that fella say he's goin' to Disneyland? Now why would he go all the way to California to visit a theme park when Disney World is just down the road?''
I've not yet visited Punxsutawney, Pa., so I can't say for sure, but the locals there must have something to talk about other than groundhogs, at least the other 364 days of the year.
Of course, this is that OTHER day of year when the fate of another dreary winter is ceremoniously decided. So if they're going to talk groundhogs today, I'll give them something to talk about. Like:
How in the world was the best song of the movie "Groundhog Day'' left off the soundtrack? The Ray Charles classic "You Don't Know Me'' is nowhere to be found on that disc.
Instead, listeners get an Ottmar Liebert instrumental. Nothing against Ottmar, who is an outstanding flamenco stylist. But his version can't replace Charles' tender voicing of the song from his 1962 album "Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music.''
That terrific album, which also includes "Born to Lose'', "I Can't Stop Loving You'' and "Bye Bye Love'' deservedly makes many favorites lists. (Rolling Stone had it at No. 104 on its Top 500 albums. When I get around to my list, it will be much higher.)
Not that you'll be out there shopping today -- thankfully this day doesn't carry with it any gifting responsibilities. But if you're looking to get your groundhog groove, skip the soundtrack and pick up Brother Ray's album -- if you can find it. Rhino reissued it on CD in 1988, but I just checked Amazon and it's only available there through third-party sellers, and it's $60 new or $20 used. If you own the record or disc, consider yourself lucky. It's a timeless beauty.
I've not yet visited Punxsutawney, Pa., so I can't say for sure, but the locals there must have something to talk about other than groundhogs, at least the other 364 days of the year.
Of course, this is that OTHER day of year when the fate of another dreary winter is ceremoniously decided. So if they're going to talk groundhogs today, I'll give them something to talk about. Like:
How in the world was the best song of the movie "Groundhog Day'' left off the soundtrack? The Ray Charles classic "You Don't Know Me'' is nowhere to be found on that disc.
Instead, listeners get an Ottmar Liebert instrumental. Nothing against Ottmar, who is an outstanding flamenco stylist. But his version can't replace Charles' tender voicing of the song from his 1962 album "Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music.''
That terrific album, which also includes "Born to Lose'', "I Can't Stop Loving You'' and "Bye Bye Love'' deservedly makes many favorites lists. (Rolling Stone had it at No. 104 on its Top 500 albums. When I get around to my list, it will be much higher.)
Not that you'll be out there shopping today -- thankfully this day doesn't carry with it any gifting responsibilities. But if you're looking to get your groundhog groove, skip the soundtrack and pick up Brother Ray's album -- if you can find it. Rhino reissued it on CD in 1988, but I just checked Amazon and it's only available there through third-party sellers, and it's $60 new or $20 used. If you own the record or disc, consider yourself lucky. It's a timeless beauty.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
The Greatest (12-minute) Show on Earth
Good morning, we made it to February and Super Bowl Sunday. It's time to stir up a fresh pot of chili, pull on my old Starter alternative black mesh Brett Favre jersey, and officially curse another season goodbye. Yes, yes, so many of us are still residing in the past...
Last night I found myself watching "Trapeze'' on TV hoping that Gina Lollobrigida would have a midair wardrobe malfunction. That Super Bowl halftime show with Janet Jackson and Justin Timberlake just ruined me for all time.
Maybe that's why I'm just a little nervous about tonight. No, no -- nothing will go wrong on stage -- nobody can flawlessly nail a set, even a 12-minute power set -- like Bruce Springsteen. But I've gone from thinking it's very cool for the E Street Band to be rocking tonight to ... why is he doing this? He must have had good reasons for previously turning down this gig.
The Jefferson Memorial pre-inauguration show, that made perfect sense. But the Super Bowl, with its glitz and hype and carnival over-production, is a little more dicey. It's not a critical page-turn in history, it's just another Roman numeral. Is there anything for the world's greatest rocker to gain being in that spotlight? Well, sure. Apparently he hasn't convinced everybody yet (see earlier blog commenting on subject).
The Stones made it through, no worse for the wear (but there was an awful lot of wear going in). Tom Petty, and Prince, made it, too. There's really nothing to it. Still...
Springsteen actually appeared at a news conference in Tampa this week, something he agrees to do, like, once every 20 years. That's just not the Boss, you know? But then -- and I really hate to bring this up now -- neither was the Tunnel of Love tour in 1988.
We know he's going to nail it, just like Burt Lancaster nailed that rare triple summersault in "Trapeze.'' However, Burt did walk with a cane after that.
With all the rampant speculation about tonight's playlist I sought guidance from my main Springsteen man, a true devotee who thinks there should be a new Mount Rushmore with the Boss' likeness chiseled into it. My man believes we'll see, in addition to a new song, "The Rising,'' "Born to Run'' and either "Glory Days'', "Badlands'' or "The Promised Land.''
He doesn't see "Born in the USA'' -- which would have been one of my picks. And we both fret about "Dancing in the Dark.''
There also will be a football game played before and after intermission between the Arizona Cardinals and Pittsburgh Steelers.
AND THE PLAYS WERE ... 10th Avenue Freezout, Born to Run, Working on a Dream, Glory Days
Last night I found myself watching "Trapeze'' on TV hoping that Gina Lollobrigida would have a midair wardrobe malfunction. That Super Bowl halftime show with Janet Jackson and Justin Timberlake just ruined me for all time.
Maybe that's why I'm just a little nervous about tonight. No, no -- nothing will go wrong on stage -- nobody can flawlessly nail a set, even a 12-minute power set -- like Bruce Springsteen. But I've gone from thinking it's very cool for the E Street Band to be rocking tonight to ... why is he doing this? He must have had good reasons for previously turning down this gig.
The Jefferson Memorial pre-inauguration show, that made perfect sense. But the Super Bowl, with its glitz and hype and carnival over-production, is a little more dicey. It's not a critical page-turn in history, it's just another Roman numeral. Is there anything for the world's greatest rocker to gain being in that spotlight? Well, sure. Apparently he hasn't convinced everybody yet (see earlier blog commenting on subject).
The Stones made it through, no worse for the wear (but there was an awful lot of wear going in). Tom Petty, and Prince, made it, too. There's really nothing to it. Still...
Springsteen actually appeared at a news conference in Tampa this week, something he agrees to do, like, once every 20 years. That's just not the Boss, you know? But then -- and I really hate to bring this up now -- neither was the Tunnel of Love tour in 1988.
We know he's going to nail it, just like Burt Lancaster nailed that rare triple summersault in "Trapeze.'' However, Burt did walk with a cane after that.
With all the rampant speculation about tonight's playlist I sought guidance from my main Springsteen man, a true devotee who thinks there should be a new Mount Rushmore with the Boss' likeness chiseled into it. My man believes we'll see, in addition to a new song, "The Rising,'' "Born to Run'' and either "Glory Days'', "Badlands'' or "The Promised Land.''
He doesn't see "Born in the USA'' -- which would have been one of my picks. And we both fret about "Dancing in the Dark.''
There also will be a football game played before and after intermission between the Arizona Cardinals and Pittsburgh Steelers.
AND THE PLAYS WERE ... 10th Avenue Freezout, Born to Run, Working on a Dream, Glory Days
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