Enclose Me in Your Gentle Rain

This Monday, Ray Manzarek died. Those who have known me awhile will not be surprised that I was affected by this news, as the music of The Doors was hardwired into me sometime during junior high. I do not remember anymore how I first heard The Doors; it was probably something as simple as songs played on the radio. I know that it was not through the Oliver Stone movie, which I did not see until after my obsession formed. (Not even all the gratuitous naked women in the world could convince my adolescent mind that Stone's film was anything other than an overindulgent mess). I was already listening to some "classic" rock, mostly Led Zeppelin with a smattering of Hendrix tossed in the mix. Icons like The Beatles or Dylan would only strike me later as an adult. No, it was The Doors that truly captured my attention and never let it go.

Yet, why The Doors? What set them apart? The obvious answer would be Jim Morrison with his haunting voice and dark, evocative lyrics. He appealed to both sides of my young self with declarations of idealistic triumph, vision of youth cleansing the world, followed by dire confessions that "no one here gets out alive." And, of course, rather famously, he did not. Even at my most distressed, I had no desire to die young but that did not make myth any less powerful.

There was more to the band than simply Morrison, and, in retrospect I think that is what made the vital difference: they sounded like nothing else I had heard. Musically, they were distinct from the other rock groups of their day, indeed, nearly five decades later, I can think of few artists who directly mimic their style. This distinction is in no small part due to Manzarek. The Kinks might have sprinkled a bit of harpsichord into their songs, but retained a jingle that fit smoothly into the traditional chords of a rock band. Manzarek's organ was something else, something more complex. His playing was more brooding as well as spirited. In such a manner, it matched not only Morrison's voice, but those of Robby Krieger and John Densmore, creating a very strong sense of interplay among all the participants. In fact, the group often interacts more like a jazz combo than a rock band. The most famous example of this is their brilliant extended instrumental bridge in "Light My Fire," but it is also present rhroughout their recordings, such as:


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jq9IhOhQt40

Morrison is quoted as saying that without Manzarek there would have been no Doors, and he was right. After all, it was a chance encounter with Manzarek that resulted in the birth of the group. However, more than that, without Manzarek at his organ, The Doors would not have sounded as they did, they would have been a different band. This is not meant to slight any of his band mates; they all made their own unique contribution. Together they created something firmly rooted in time and place (channeling both the bright euphoria and the bloody tragedy of their day), but also surpassed it.  

Incidentally, as I have been thinking about Manzarek these past days, I have noticed how, over the years, I have developed quite a taste for the electric organ. For example, I have long had a fondness for the jazz organ of Jimmy Smiths. In addition, I wonder if it is any coincidence that, once I did discover Dylan, my favorite album of his would be Blonde on Blonde, and one of my favorite songs, the wonderfully organ-suffused "Stuck in Mobile . . ."? Further legacy of Mr. Manzarek, it would seem.

Rest in Peace, Ray Manzarek.  

A Year in Music (Something Changed)

Instead of simply rattling off another list of my favorite albums released this year, I thought that I would provide a sampling of what's been on heavy rotation this past year, a partial soundtrack to my 2012 if you will. So here we go, in rough chronological order . . .

Charlotte Gainsbourg, Stage Whisper: "When you've been stuck here on the doorstep of nothing to forsake, well, you might as well be anyone's to take . . ." Every album Gainsbourg has released has been stronger than the previous, as her voice grows more mature with each outing. Listening to this disc, I discovered that I now find her live versions of many of the tracks from IRM more powerful than the original studio takes from only two years ago. (Meanwhile, her voice is also sounding more like her mother's, especially when singing in French).
Favorite tracks: "Memoir", "AF607105"(live), "Just Like a Woman"(live)

Pulp I: One of my first challenges of 2012 was charming a potential date through a mutual obsession of Pulp. In the end, it was pretty unsuccessful, but I am not going to complain about anything that led me to put Pulp's underrated This Is Hardcore back into regular rotation.
Favorites: "The Fear", "Glory Days", "Like a Friend"

Leonard Cohen, Old Ideas: "The splinters that you carry/The cross you left behind" Cohen is a master, one of my all time favorite singers, whose influence I am sure has seeped into my own poetry both consciously and otherwise. I offer no qualified praise for his most recent album, as others have, but plainly declare it without caveat a beautiful collection of songs. His last two albums have been a return to the feel of Recent Songs, which, in my mind at least, has been quite welcome.
Favorites: "Come Healing," "Going Home", "Show Me the Place"

Belle & Sebastian I: I was hanging out in the Village waiting for a delayed date, when I decided to see what was in the used CD section of Kim's. Hmmm, Tigermilk, that one Belle & Sebastian album I never got around to buying. Bought it, put it on at home the next day and  . . . wow. How exactly did I get by all this time without this disc? Stellar. (Oh the date? Complicated. It ended up going no where, but that's truly a story for another day . . . )
Favorites: "Expectations" "She's Losing It" "Mary Jo"
   
The Doors, Strange Days: Indeed they were, Jim, indeed they were . . .
Favorites: "People Are Strange" "Moonlight Drive"

Bob Dylan, Blonde on Blonde: Still capable of revelations after all this time . . .
Favorites: "Visions of Johanna," "Stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again"

The Walker Brothers, No Regrets: Some uncanny timing & all of a sudden, so much more makes sense . . .
Favorites: "Hold an Old Friend's Hand", "Burn Our Bridges"

Johnny Cash, American IV, Live at San Quentin: Several years ago (yes, I'll admit that it was when Walk the Line was released) I tried to get into the music of Mr. Johnny Cash, yet for whatever reason it did not resonate with me at the time. Yes, I liked it (as familiar as it is, can anyone deny the hook of "Ring of Fire"?), yet something was missing. Maybe I needed time to pass, my ears to mature, or circumstances to shift. Whatever it was, it only took the first few notes of each of these albums for me to stop whatever I was doing at the moment and realize what I had been missing out on all this time . . .
Favorites: "The Man Comes Around," "Give My Love to Rose," "Wreck of the Old '97" "Darlin' Companion"

Scott Walker, Classics and Collectables: Someday, someone, somehow will reissue the remaining Walker albums from the 60s/70s that have never been on CD. Until then, we'll just have to get by with the second disc of this anthology. The record executives may have calling the tunes (literally) but he sang them oh so lovely . . .
Favorites: "The Me I Never Knew," "I Have Dreamed" "This Way Mary"  

Pulp II: The difference that a few months makes: from trying to seduce some gal through the internet to standing in Radio City Music Hall with my dearest love, basking together in the fact that we were actually seeing Pulp live. Not an imaginary story, not a dream sequence. This. Actually. Happened. Wow.
Favorites: "Common People" "Razzamtazz" "I Spy" "Something Changed" "Do You Remember the First Time" & all those countless other songs that I have been obsessed with these past 15 odd years . . .

Spiritualized, Sweet Heart, Sweet Light: Following up on the strength of Songs in A&E, Mr. Pierce has put together another beauty of layered rock music. Yes, he may still subscribe to the rule of "why use just one gospel choir, when you can use two," but it works, oh so so well. If you've got some good stereo speakers, this is the time to use 'em . . .
Favorites: "So Long Pretty Thing," "Life Is a Problem"

Frank Sinatra, Songs for Swingin' Lovers: What better way to begin a Memorial Day weekend than with this classic album? Some things simply don't age (OK, "Making Whoopee" kinda does, but damnit, he still sings it like a pro . . .).
Favorites: "You Make Me Feel So Young," "Too Marvelous for Words"

Belle & Sebastian II(Push Barman to Open New Wounds): As I said, some things never grow old, this two disc collection of gems being among them. 
Favorites: "String Bean Jean," "Belle & Sebastian", "This Is Just a Modern Rock Song," "Jonathan David" "Marx & Engels"

J.S. Bach, Brandenburg Concertos: Eight discs of a Baroque master's music to soak up, which may take awhile (several months later, I'm still absorbing it all) but well worth it . . .  
Favorites: Concerto #5

Bob Dylan, Tempest: Another stellar late career album from Mr. Zimmerman. Plus, who would have guessed 50 some years ago that not only would he eventually record a 14 minute long piece about the sinking of the Titanic with a gloss, but it would be among the most moving songs of his career?
Favorites: "Tempest" "Soon after Midnight"

Bill Fay, Life Is People: "Souls arriving constantly/From the shores of eternity/Birds and bees and butterflies/Parade before my eyes." A collection of meditations on the universe and our place in it, our search for love, grace & peace, all conveyed through lush arrangements and with Fay's typical humility. No less than his "Time of the Last Persecution" (written 40 years ago in response to the killings at Kent State), music for the days we live in . . .
Favorites: "The Healing Day", "Never Ending Happening"

Wolfgang Mozart, Don Giovanni: The opera I spent the most time with this year, including a revisiting of the current production at the Met. It also inspired a one-act play which I might return to for further tweaking in the new year, or I may abandon, or, well, we'll see . . .
Favorites: "Madamina, Il Catalogo E' Questo" 

Dave Brubeck Quartet, Live at Oberlin: Even before Mr. Brubeck's recent passing, this was one of my more highly played jazz albums. It's a perennial favorite, which now has added poignancy to it . . .
Favorites: "These Foolish Things (Remind Me of You)"

Luke Haines, The Oliver Twist Manifesto: Sly, poppy, philosophical, irreverent, brilliant . . .
Favorites: "Oliver Twist", "Christ"

Meanwhile, there's a stack of year end acquisitions that I need to catch up on -- what? Oh, and there's a new Thao and the Get Down Stay Down out in a month? Better get listening . . .

Cheers all, and best wishes for 2013.

 

Returning with a Poem

Sorry that I have been away for awhile, but, there has been much going on in my life. I am happy to report, though, that these developments have been quite positive & I am in good spirits. It also pleases me to say that I have been keeping at my writing, composing new pieces and performing them around the city. Today, I would like to share with you a poem which was inspired by music. For a few years now, I have been a fan of the Portuguese tradition of fado. Introduced to this music by one of my oldest friends, I quickly fell in love with its sounds and melodies. Last December BAM hosted a weekend of fado concerts, which I eagerly devoured. The vast majority of the acts were quite strong and the audience very receptive. The first night I was so swept up in the music that, after leaving the main stage, I was compelled to check out the cafe for even more fado. After the show ended, I stopped in a nearby bar for a drink, and wrote a poem. As a final note, I should add that the word fado is usually translated as "fate."

 

Fado

Fado is a mournful music

Made up of somber rhythms

And solemn tones

Comprising a lament,

As well as an acceptance,

For what once was

But now has been lost.

Yet, its songs may not always be funereal;

At times they might contain the sounds of celebration

Set to a more lively tempo

Offering up defiance

In the face of circumstances

Which try to confine our movements.

We strain, instead, to be their master

By proclaiming our fado

In a voice of our own choosing.

 
For those interested in sampling the diversity of fado, I would recommend Carlos Saura's film Fados. Not a talking heads history, but instead a series of performances which run from traditional to contemporary, all of which are strikingly staged. (That Saura is well known for his ability to capture dance on film is readily apparent). Here are two excerpts, both featuring Mariza, one of the most well regarded living fado singers:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D4jNIi7QYPM&feature=BFa&list=PL240757B2F57FE380
&
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_0_rHpY3wf8&feature=BFa&list=PL240757B2F57FE380


Cheers. 

Praying to the Wind

Sometimes a piece of music may speak to you of a particular time & place even if it had been recorded decades prior, even if you already possessed an established relationship with the piece of music. You hear the lyrics, you feel their meaning and are able to relate them to your own circumstances. Such was the case with me and "We Came Through" in the days following the attacks of September 11.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vgnUX7kBD9s&feature=results_main&playnext=1&list=PLC981C1A0BBE1C331

"We Came Through" was written and recorded by Scott Walker for his 1969 album, Scott 3. I have long held Walker in high regard as one of my favorite musicians, as well as being fond of "We Came Through" as an outstanding song from a record full of stellar tracks. My own interrpretation of the song is that within it, Walker is taking stock of his historical moment, examining the state of the world. What he sees is not encouraging, painting a vision filled with war & flames, dead heroes & expired hopes. What has been accomplished, what has been purchased with all this sorrow? Not much. The singer can merely claim that "we came through." That is his generation's great achievement: we survived it all.

Or "salute the men who died for freedom's sake [but] we won't dream, for they don't come true for us, not anymore. They've run far away to hide in caves, with haggard burning eyes. Their icy voices tear our hearts like knives."

Listening to these lyrics in the days after September 11, I gained new associations that ten years later, I am still unable to shake whenever I hear the song. In the immediate aftermath of the day's events, those "icy voices" hiding out in caves, cutting through us like knives took on fresh faces. As the shadows of the attacks grew longer, as I myself grew more pessimistic, the more strongly I felt as though Walker's words could relate to my own historical moment. Witnessing yet again "our kings and countries raise their shields . . . as Luther King's predictions fade from view" I would be left wondering often during the years ahead if all that my generation could claim for our own time was simply that we had survived it as well. 

There's one other song that I associate with that day, but, in a more positive light. When eventually it grew late, and the time came to switch off the TV and attempt to sleep, I needed something to clear my mind of all the horrible images of the day. I reached for music, as that is what most reliably sooths my spirits, something of beauty to remind me of the good things that people can produce, the happiness that we can spread instead of hate. In this instance, I chose John Coltrane:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hugIRAe2yvw

Peace, everyone.

The Twenties, on an Island

Sorry that I have been a bit silent of late, but the lazy days of summer have not been so laid back for me, which is not entirely a bad thing. For example, back in June, my nestmate and I were out on Governor's Island for their Jazz Age Lawn Party, where you camp out on the grass, savoring the period flavors of old cars, clothes and tasty St. Germain cocktails. Live music comes courtesy of Michael Arnella & His Dreamland Orchestra. There's also a dance floor, for those who are so inclined. Oh, and for the foodies(you know who you are ;)), a pie baking contest with free samples . . . All in all a good time. Each one of these events I have attended has been more populated than the previous with the most recent outing seeming especially so. (I could credit that Woody Allen film, however, it's more likely the word getting around). Governor's Island hosts two Lawn Parties each summer, and we were planning to venture out for the second installment this weekend, only the weather has not been promising so far. Tomorrow may be another day, but for now, here are three black and white images, bracketed with two shots of color, from earlier this summer:

photo by creighton blinn,
all rights reserved

photo by creighton blinn, all rights reserved

photo by creighton blinn,
all rights reserved

photo by creighton blinn,
all rights reserved

photo by creighton blinn,
all rights reserved

Best wishes for your weekend. Cheers. 

Spread Your Wings & Fly

On May 7th, the singer/musician John Walker (born John Maus) passed away. Not a household name, on this side of the Atlantic at any rate, he was one-third of a trio of young, unrelated Americans, who banded together, rechristened themselves in London and achieved a level of pop fame often compared to the heights of their fab contemporaries from Liverpool. (Beatles' fans were either better behaved, or their objects of affection hired superior security, as Walker Brother concerts were known to be aborted after a song or two due to an inability to keep the screaming gals off of the stage). Working within the pop styles of their day, the trio's signature sound was filled with swooning, lush melodies, belted out amidst the ever popular "wall of sound."  After three albums, they splintered into divergent solo careers, crossed paths again for a reunion (which produced, numerology geeks take note, another three albums), before drifting off in separate directions yet again . . .

I first came to the group several years ago through my love of the solo work of Scott Walker, who sung the lead vocals on the majority of the group's recordings. Scott Walker is one my favorite musicians, whose work I am continuously returning to for both comfort and inspiration. His presence dominates the trio, yet, John's contribution, singing the harmonies, should not be ignored. In addition, he did receive a handful of solo songs, which demonstrate a talent for singing in his own right. My personal favorite of these tracks is his rendition of "Blueberry Hill", which does not appear to be available on youtube. So instead, I'll offer a clip that I received from a friend yesterday with the news of John's death:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-LEv9KIDtkY

Now returning briefly to those Liverpool Lads, I have been told that George Harrison's difficulties with his group grew out of having to share the stage with both a Lennon and a McCarthy. Without the presence of that pair of dominating personalities, Harrison may have more naturally shifted into the central focus -- on the other hand, it may have been that sense of competition, which motivated him to become a stronger artist in the first place. Might the same be said of John Walker, who was the original lead vocalist of the trio until a Scott song shot up the charts? Perhaps. Regardless, he was a talented singer, who shall be missed.

Rest in Peace, John Walker    

Forms of Education (& their discontents)

"And how could I resist the old misogynist
Who brought me up according to a fantasy?" -"Bishonen" Momus

The Greek film Dogtooth centers on the lives of three young adults: two sisters and a brother, who are being subjected to a rather extreme sort of upbringing (or "homeschooling" as netflixs not so helpfully puts it). They have been denied nearly all contact with the outside world, or what little they do receivee, such as a Frank Sinatra song, is delivered to them only through their parents' filters.  Even everyday objects, such as table salt, are given new names that sound as much nonsense to the viewer.  (Not recalling my high school Greek, I do wonder if the film contains puns or wordplay which are lost on my foreign ears).  The three children know nothing except what they have been taught by their stern, cold parents.  They are physically well kept, healthy and living in a spacious modern home.  For their exercise they have a small outdoor pool, resembling a pond more than anything else, as well as a large, lushly green yard.  This yard is surrounded, of course, by towering walls. The parents employ tales of certain death outside this gated paradise in order to keep their children at bay.

While stories of deadly cats may sound fantastic, the parents are not above including violence among their tools of discipline.  When the eldest daughter is caught with contraband videos of popular Hollywood films, her father savagely beats her over the head with a video cassette.  These foreign objects were acquired from Christina the only outsider allowed inside their home.  Christina is hired by the parents in order to service the sexual needs of their son.  (A sure sign that you are watching a European film -- no American movie would so frankly acknowledge their child's sexual drives).  That said, no consideration is given to the daughters' desires.  Nor does Christina herself seem to take much pleasure from the arrangement.  Thus, she offers a deal to the eldest daughter: "lick" her, Christina, between her legs, and the daughter will receive gifts from the outside world.  The eldest daughter, in turn, coerces her younger sister into licking her.  Late in the film, it is suggested that the youngest is about to offer a similar enticement to her father, before he wakes up and nudges her aside.  For his part, the son is shown to have no emotional connection to his partner, caring for nothing but his own pleasure, which, naturally, is what sends Christina searching for other forms of satisfaction. 

Thus, each child learns from those with authority over them, thoroughly assimilating the only power structure they know.  Deeply ingrained within this perspective is the threat of violence overshadowing the children.  Ultimately, the eldest child will attempt rebellion against this system, only, she lacks any of the tools necessary to envision a type of life different than what she knows.  Without any means of escape from the home, literally or otherwise, she turns her anger inwards, internalizing her father's stories into self-mutilation.  She may not be aware of what she is doing, however, her only act of resistance, it turns out, is self-destruction.
The singer Momus has also explored such states of minds in his work, which follow similar patterns.  First, there is his song "Bishonen" which tell the story of a boy adopted at a young age by "an old Italian bachelor."  This stepfather is obsessed with the legends of the ancient East in general, and, in particular, with the idea of beautiful youths dying gloriously.  He trains his new ward for this archetype, conditioning him with "words [which] were to cut down and to kill the muscle-bound/[And] swords to fell my intellectual enemies."  Every facet of the boy's development is controlled.  He is groomed to be effeminate in his beauty, to outshine an inferior gender of women ("charm is essential to misogamy").  When the hero protests that he wishes a female for his bride, the stepfather instead insists on a male "retainer" for his companion.
As the decades pass, the stepson, now twenty-eight, begins to gain his independence.  (It is never stated how this occurs, though, I have always assumed that his elder simply died of old age).  He settles down with both a wife and a successful job at a merchant bank.  Yet, he is troubled.  He cannot shake pangs of guilt for abandoning his stepfather's path, for failing to die young and beautiful, as he was always taught was his destiny.  Laying awake at night, while his wife sleeps, he can only find one solution: to have a son of his own, one whom would be more deserving of this great honor, and who the hero will raise "to die young/
And lay him in the grave that you[the stepfather] prepared for me."  As in Dogtooth, the father's programing remains until the end.  The cycles of violence keeps spinning, while the indoctrination of the next generation is ensured. 

 Finally, in "Pygmalism", a riff on the legend of Pygmalion, Pygmalion the play, and, presumably, My Fair Lady, there is a portrait of direct confrontation with the tormentor.  Here the singer is a creation of a certain Herr Professor Pyg.  He has obliterated any trace of her previously existence, leaving behind only what he wants her to be.  He is so entirely successful that she is left with only "memories [which]have been implanted/No ancestors you can trace/An accent from no place invented."  Here is fulfillment of all the wildest dreams of the parents of Dogtooth or the stepfather of the Bishonen: complete mastery.  This child knows nothing, but what her father has taught her, has no frame of reference outside of the teacher's.  He is her lover as well, filling her with the breath of life, as well as more sticky substances.  Simply put, she is nothing more than "a figment of his huge imagination."

Or is she?  Even within the limited knowledge she has, she can find an outlet for rebellion.  Her spirit lashes back while her hatred simmers.  At night she finds herself alone, singing the songs of conditioning he has taught her while "Cutting up with scissors/All the stupid sexy clothes he's bought me."  Unlike the daughter of Dogtooth this woman is not willing to simply turn her rage inwards, but outwards, back at her tormentor.  First she vows to prove her intellectual superiority, beating him at his own games, before driving a blade into his chest, reminding him how "the things we whip can whip us."  A bloody liberation it may be, but it remains a liberation nonetheless.

Or does it?  After the creator is dead, is the creature any better?  Is the poor soul any less scarred or haunted than the other conditioned children?  How can a figment survive outside the mind which dreamt it?  Or has she become now even more truly her father's child?

(B., if you're reading this, and I never said it before, you are so right about Grant Morrison ripping off this song for his own purposes.  You'd think then that he could at least meet his deadlines . . . ).

"The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters" indeed . . .

And, next time, I'll try for something not quite so disturbing.
Cheers all