and now for something completely different (musical lactose tolerance)

I do not know why (the season, the weather, the effects of tragic life events, satellite radio on long road trips) but I find myself gravitating towards songs that I would ordinarily deem decidedly, um, cheesy.

Case in point: sophisticated musical snob that I am, I seem to have developed an affinity for, of all people, Dave Matthews and his musical progeny. Jason Mraz. Matt Nathanson. Joshua Radin. And yes, I have even found myself actually enjoying the occasional Jack Johnson tune (very occasional).

There is something to be said for being transported, however temporarily. By cranking it up and dancing in a spiraling swirl. By the giant orange sun setting over cornfields and I-70 West. By a huge comfy hotel bed with too many pillows. By a ginormous coffee to go. By old friends and new. By kids. By grownups.

And if it all seems a little cheesy, a little escapist, a little incurably romantic...what's wrong with that? Because after all, as Sir Paul reminds us, the world can't get enough of silly love songs. Enjoy.

two memorial events for bob tonight

There are two memorial events for Bob being held at different locations tonight, both at 8pm.
First, Hofstra University is having a special concert of Bob's students, former students, and colleagues. Monroe Lecture Center Theater. 


Also, Strike Anywhere Performance Ensemble is doing FreePlay!, a tribute to Bob, who was an integral part of the group. 

Brecht Forum
ADDRESS:		451 West St (between Bank and Bethune), New York, NY

here comes the sun

Stellabella playing along with George Harrison...in motion.

american tune

one of the best songs EVER. Ever.

balm

A stunning new version of a song I love--originally by the psychrock groovers Love, remade by the Damned in the neopsych 80s...this is Calexico. Rock away that stress. Yes.

love (two takes)

"Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other."
--Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."
--Lao Tzu


(Thanks to Kim Addonizio for pointing these out in Ordinary Genius, a book I cannot put down!)

and now for a word from Nobody...

254

"Hope" is the thing with feathers --
That perches in the soul --
And sings the tune -- without the words --
And never stops -- at all --

And sweetest -- in the Gale -- is heard --
And sore must be the storm --
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm --

I've heard it in the chillest land --
And on the strangest Sea --
Yet -- never -- in extremity,
It asked a crumb -- of me

the sky is blue the night is cold

100 days

Who is Sharon Jones and where did she come from? (Georgia, by way of Brooklyn, apparently.) In any case, I want to be her when I grow up. A fantastic song with lyrics that strike just the right balance of bitter and sweet. An interesting concept that it takes 100 days "to know a man's heart" (and "a little longer...for him to know his own"). That is, of course, a rough estimate. Actual results may vary.

why ron sexsmith should be a superstar

Not because he has a voice like Wings-era McCartney. Not because he is praised not only by McCartney himself, but by Elvis Costello, Chris Difford, Elton John, and many other greats. Not because he has put out over a dozen amazing albums since 1995 and still hasn't achieved the international fame he deserves. But because he writes lyrics like this:

From the ashes of a broken home
I sent a message to the great unknown
And through the music on the radio
You came to set me free
This is how I know you hear me

This is how I know our trials are not in vain
This is how I know we'll rise and love again
This is how I know
This is how I know


"This Is How I Know," from Exit Strategy of the Soul

(Now if only I had a Canadian cell service provider, I could download a ringtone of that song.)

here i am baby

Presenting today's solo living room dance selection, "Signed, Sealed, Delivered."

Pity my poor downstairs neighbors.

saved by the Mel

What a lovely day to be caught in the rain (or at least drizzle and fog). I've been car-sitting for a friend who's overseas for a month--I get to use the car in exchange for moving it on the alternate-side parking days. When he dropped it off my friend noted that the automatic windows were temperamental and had stopped working, leaving them stuck open. "They always start up again eventually," he assured me. Unfortunately, though, they didn't start up again, no matter how many times I tried, and by the end of the week there was heavy rain in the forecast. When the deluge began on Thursday night, I was out on the street trying to cover the windows with garbage bags and electrical tape. You can imagine how well that worked.

So today I used the car to take Bobby to a birthday party and drop Stella off at Dad's. The car wasn't totally waterlogged, fortunately, but I did get a wet behind from the seat (and so did Stella). I went to lunch at a lovely cafe in Long Island City, savoring salade nicoise, cafe au lait, and pain au chocolat, chuckling over the latest issue of The Onion, and generally clearing my head of some muck and gunk that had built up for a few days.

Afterwards I started up the car again, intending to swing by Socrates Sculpture Park. Immediately one of the best vocal renditions of all time came on WNYC: Mel Torme's "Lullaby of Broadway." I snapped my fingers, bopping and singing along, as I made my way up Jackson Avenue. At a stop sign on a side street, I idly pressed the window control button, as I had so many times the past few days in a futile attempt to get the windows to close. This time, the window went right up. I pushed the other three buttons. The other three windows went up, too!

Maybe it was driving around a bit, charging the battery. Maybe it was hitting some bump that got some shorted-out wire in the system to reconnect. But I like to think it was Mel, the Velvet Fog at his scat-cat best, filling the little car with his special brand of electricity on a foggy day in L.I.C.

hard times come again no more

After hours of "YouTubing" various musical selections (with a heavy emphasis on one of my faves, Rufus Wainwright), I found this gem. The Stephen Foster song, penned just before the Civil War, is powerful in its simplicity--I first became aware of it in a version by Syd Straw and John Doe on Syd's album Surprise. This version, with a very young Rufus, his mom Kate and aunt Anna McGarrigle, Emmylou Harris, Mary Black, and others I have yet to identify, is simultaneously goosebump-inducing and healing. Enjoy.

quotable quotes

It was a wild and wacky weekend. I spent way more time than I probably should have on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Here are some random bits:

"I respected him in a certain way--with his hookers and his plaid--because the world was changing, and it wasn't for the better."
--MacGregor Rucker, Lower East Side, 8/2/08

"Just because it's poetry doesn't mean we have to slit our wrists."
--Greg Sanders, East Village, 8/3/08

"The android in you loves the android in me."
--Paula Carino, live performance at Arlene's Grocery, 8/2/08

"Cell phone or schizo? It's really hard to know."
--The Larch, ibid.

"Come on over, drunk or sober."
--The Actual Facts, ibid.

And one more, perhaps providing a gloss on much of the previous:

"ALCOHOL: THE CAUSE OF, AND THE SOLUTION TO, ALL OF LIFE'S PROBLEMS."
--Chalkboard behind the bar at Arlene's Grocery

i hear music when i look at you

What could be better than Sinatra singing "The Song Is You" with the Billy May Orchestra?

Ella Fitzgerald singing "All the Things You Are," perhaps?

Or what about Peggy Lee's version of "Bali H'ai"?

My goosebumps have goosebumps, courtesy of Michael Bourne on WBGO.

a child said, "what is the grass?"

....fetching it to me with full hands.

If you care about Whitman, and about music, buy, steal, download this CD.

I guess the grass is itself a child.

If you care about poetry, and Nick Cave, and harlots, and Emily Dickinson t-shirts, read this blog.

Smile, for your lover comes.
Prodigal you have given me love
therefore I to you give love.
O unspeakable passionate love.

I have such a crush on Kurt Elling!

We also descend, dazzling and tremendous as the sun
We found our own o my soul in the calm and cool of the evening

God bless Fred Hersch....

I fly those flights of a fluid and swallowing soul
my course runs below the soundings of plummet

heartland

The land that I come from they call the Midwest. And I guess it's true that you can take the girl out of the heartland, but can't take the heartland out of the girl.

Theodore Roethke was also a Midwesterner--from Michigan, not far from my homeland of Ohio. His large and expansive heart eventually gave out, but he left us some beautiful poems.

Open House

My secrets cry aloud.
I have no need for tongue.
My heart keeps open house,
My doors are widely swung.
An epic of the eyes
My love, with no disguise.

My truths are all foreknown,
This anguish self-revealed.
I'm naked to the bone,
With nakedness my shield.
Myself is what I wear:
I keep the spirit spare.

The anger will endure,
The deed will speak the truth
In language strict and pure.
I stop the lying mouth:
Rage warps my clearest cry
To witless agony.

Oh my. The first two stanzas really resonate with me, but that last one is a bit too much, don't you think? Breathe, Ted!

Robyn, Nick and....ELVIS?

Last night I was fortunate to be in attendance at a fantastic concert by Nick Lowe and Robyn Hitchcock. Both of these exquisitely quirky artists gave compelling performances, solo and on acoustic guitar, showcasing their brilliance as songwriters, guitarists, singers.

I laughed a lot, cried a little, sang along a great deal. As Nick's set seemed to be drawing to a close, though, I commented to my companion that, amazing as it was, the pace was a bit more sedate than I had expected. Little did I know that some more excitement was in store.

At the encore, they were joined onstage by none other than Elvis Costello! Imagine an auditorium full of people in, um, "late youth" jumping up and down and screaming their heads off. Elvis and Nick did a tune that E had written for N, "Indoor Fireworks." Then Robyn joined them to sing lead on two numbers: "If I Fell" by the Beatles, and the classic "Mystery Train" (Elvis even did a bit of an impersonation of the other Elvis on that one).

Photo blatantly stolen from--er--courtesy of this fine blogger.

A stellar evening. I wish you all could have been there!