The Song: "Walking Down Madison," Kirsty MacColl. Words & music by Kirsty MacColl and Johnny Marr. Track 1 of Electric Landlady, 1991.
How/when acquired: Purchased used CD, c. 1994.
Listen/watch here.
It's an interesting life I lead, I'll be the first to admit. My daily life is a constant scramble, and in many ways I live more like a college student than like a real grown-up. But I have friends and clients who are real grownups and very prosperous, and invite me into their worlds, which I appreciate very much.
Yesterday I visited one of those worlds, for a luncheon and reception to celebrate this year's winner of the Willie Morris Award for Southern Fiction, Secret Keepers by Mindy Friddle. I've been honored to serve as a judge for that award for the past two years, and Secret Keepers was one of my favorite novels of last year.
Last night's reception was a lovely event at the New York Yacht Club. I'd never been there; it is a spectacular Gilded Age building, full of America's Cup memorabilia. It's a visit to another world in many ways: dazzling, enchanting.
But New York is a city of contrasts, as Kirsty MacColl notes. From the opulence of the Yacht Club, I walked across town to the N-Q-R train, which I took to Brooklyn. Along the way I passed people sleeping on the sidewalk, tired house cleaners on their way home, parents with small children up way past a suburban bedtime, and signs in at least five different languages.
The whole world lives in New York City, but I'm headed home today.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
"You think you're alone until you realize you're in it"
The Song: "Watching the Detectives," Elvis Costello and the Attractions. Words & music by Declan Patrick MacManus (Elvis Costello). Track 7 of My Aim is True, 1978 (US release).
How/when acquired: Purchased cassette, c. 1987
Listen/watch here.
Music geek trivia: "Watching the Detectives" does not appear on the U.K. version of My Aim is True, but was added to the American album, released a year later. I'm a little worried that we're barely six weeks into this blog and I'm already on my second quotation from this record, but it might be possible to do an entire year of nothing but lines from Elvis Costello songs. Anyway, what could be more appropriate for a Bouchercon wrap-up post?
The highlight of this year's meeting for me was the culmination of a year-long project, a reading of "I Can't Get Started" by Declan Hughes. "I Can't Get Started" was Hughes' first play, and is a biographical riff on the last 30 years of Dashiell Hammett's life. It moves back and forth between scenes from Hammett's life with Lillian Hellman and scenes from an imaginary novel Hammett never wrote, during the years of his famous writer's block.
I first read the play after meeting Declan at the Baltimore Bouchercon in 2008, and thought it would be great to include it in the San Francisco meeting, because of Hammett's connection there. Declan gave his blessing, with the warning that he wouldn't be in San Francisco himself. I pitched it to Sarah Weinman, who thought it was a great idea and brought it to Rae Helmsworth, the conference chair. Rae liked the idea, too, and gave me a slot on the program.
The question then was how to make it happen. I had some ideas about casting, and approached a few authors; many crime writers come from backgrounds in theater and film. Martyn Waites and Alison Gaylin were enthusiastic about it from the beginning, following a three-hour breakfast at last year's Bouchercon. I approached Brett Battles, who writes great espionage thrillers and did theater in college, in the airport on the way home from Indianapolis. Queen of noir Megan Abbott was a no-brainer, but needed to be persuaded that she would be great, as did the incomparably hard-boiled Christa Faust. Declan, God bless him, changed his mind and decided to come to San Francisco after all, and he recruited his friend, international bestseller, standup comic and consummate professional Mark Billingham.
We met Saturday morning for a table read that was hilarious and reassured everyone, I hope, that this was a good idea that would come off. We had an excellent turnout for the last slot on a Saturday afternoon, and although we warned people we'd run over the 60-minute time limit (which we did, by 20 minutes), almost no one left. I could not have been more pleased with how it all went, and am so grateful to everyone involved in making it happen. My only regrets were that 1) everyone had to scatter to different obligations after the reading, so that we weren't able to congratulate each other over drinks; and 2) no one videotaped or recorded the session.
Over dinner that night, though, Mark said — and I, obviously, agree — that every Bouchercon should include something like this, maybe even more than one: sessions of actual storytelling, in addition to the endless panels in which authors talk about their process. Sessions like our reading remind everyone of what brought us to this genre to begin with, and of why it's so much fun to assemble once a year to talk about it.
Congratulations to Rae Helmsworth, Jon Jordan and Judy Bobalik on a fabulous four days. Jon and McKenna Jordan are co-chairs of next year's meeting, in St. Louis, and Judy will once again be coordinating the panels. Family obligations will keep me away next year, but it's not too soon to register yourself.
In the meantime, if you're in the Los Angeles area, you can see Declan Hughes himself at an event with author Laura Caldwell this very night at The Mystery Bookstore. 7:00 p.m., in the heart of Westwood (1036-C Broxton Avenue), with plenty of parking available. Wish I could be there.
How/when acquired: Purchased cassette, c. 1987
Listen/watch here.
Music geek trivia: "Watching the Detectives" does not appear on the U.K. version of My Aim is True, but was added to the American album, released a year later. I'm a little worried that we're barely six weeks into this blog and I'm already on my second quotation from this record, but it might be possible to do an entire year of nothing but lines from Elvis Costello songs. Anyway, what could be more appropriate for a Bouchercon wrap-up post?
The highlight of this year's meeting for me was the culmination of a year-long project, a reading of "I Can't Get Started" by Declan Hughes. "I Can't Get Started" was Hughes' first play, and is a biographical riff on the last 30 years of Dashiell Hammett's life. It moves back and forth between scenes from Hammett's life with Lillian Hellman and scenes from an imaginary novel Hammett never wrote, during the years of his famous writer's block.
I first read the play after meeting Declan at the Baltimore Bouchercon in 2008, and thought it would be great to include it in the San Francisco meeting, because of Hammett's connection there. Declan gave his blessing, with the warning that he wouldn't be in San Francisco himself. I pitched it to Sarah Weinman, who thought it was a great idea and brought it to Rae Helmsworth, the conference chair. Rae liked the idea, too, and gave me a slot on the program.
The question then was how to make it happen. I had some ideas about casting, and approached a few authors; many crime writers come from backgrounds in theater and film. Martyn Waites and Alison Gaylin were enthusiastic about it from the beginning, following a three-hour breakfast at last year's Bouchercon. I approached Brett Battles, who writes great espionage thrillers and did theater in college, in the airport on the way home from Indianapolis. Queen of noir Megan Abbott was a no-brainer, but needed to be persuaded that she would be great, as did the incomparably hard-boiled Christa Faust. Declan, God bless him, changed his mind and decided to come to San Francisco after all, and he recruited his friend, international bestseller, standup comic and consummate professional Mark Billingham.
We met Saturday morning for a table read that was hilarious and reassured everyone, I hope, that this was a good idea that would come off. We had an excellent turnout for the last slot on a Saturday afternoon, and although we warned people we'd run over the 60-minute time limit (which we did, by 20 minutes), almost no one left. I could not have been more pleased with how it all went, and am so grateful to everyone involved in making it happen. My only regrets were that 1) everyone had to scatter to different obligations after the reading, so that we weren't able to congratulate each other over drinks; and 2) no one videotaped or recorded the session.
Over dinner that night, though, Mark said — and I, obviously, agree — that every Bouchercon should include something like this, maybe even more than one: sessions of actual storytelling, in addition to the endless panels in which authors talk about their process. Sessions like our reading remind everyone of what brought us to this genre to begin with, and of why it's so much fun to assemble once a year to talk about it.
Congratulations to Rae Helmsworth, Jon Jordan and Judy Bobalik on a fabulous four days. Jon and McKenna Jordan are co-chairs of next year's meeting, in St. Louis, and Judy will once again be coordinating the panels. Family obligations will keep me away next year, but it's not too soon to register yourself.
In the meantime, if you're in the Los Angeles area, you can see Declan Hughes himself at an event with author Laura Caldwell this very night at The Mystery Bookstore. 7:00 p.m., in the heart of Westwood (1036-C Broxton Avenue), with plenty of parking available. Wish I could be there.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
"Ah Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in/Are you aware the shape I'm in?"
The song: "I and Love and You," The Avett Brothers. Words and music by The Avett Brothers (Seth Avett, Scott Avett, Bob Crawford, Joe Kwon). Track 1 of I and Love and You, 2009.
How/when acquired: Free download, 2009.
Listen/watch here.
At dinner last night with a small group of much-loved friends, the discussion turned from popular stuff we hate (always a favorite topic) to the rare things that are both popular and excellent. I'd put this album in that category.
This track, in particular, I downloaded not because I knew anything about The Avett Brothers but because it was free. On first listen I didn't much like it. It sounded jangly and discordant, and I wasn't even sure the instruments were in tune. By the third listen, it was one of my favorite songs of the year.
This morning I'll head over to the last session of Bouchercon and say goodbye to my friends, many of whom I don't know when I'll see again. Then I'll get on a plane and fly to New York, and I'll spend tonight in Brooklyn, in the sanctuary of another friend.
I am not a demonstrative person, but have hugged more people in the last three days than I had in the previous 12 months. I almost never tell the people I care most about how I really feel, because I honestly think it would embarrass them and I know it would embarrass me. Instead I've listened to this song five times in a row while I wrote this blog post, because The Avett Brothers understand:
How/when acquired: Free download, 2009.
Listen/watch here.
At dinner last night with a small group of much-loved friends, the discussion turned from popular stuff we hate (always a favorite topic) to the rare things that are both popular and excellent. I'd put this album in that category.
This track, in particular, I downloaded not because I knew anything about The Avett Brothers but because it was free. On first listen I didn't much like it. It sounded jangly and discordant, and I wasn't even sure the instruments were in tune. By the third listen, it was one of my favorite songs of the year.
This morning I'll head over to the last session of Bouchercon and say goodbye to my friends, many of whom I don't know when I'll see again. Then I'll get on a plane and fly to New York, and I'll spend tonight in Brooklyn, in the sanctuary of another friend.
I am not a demonstrative person, but have hugged more people in the last three days than I had in the previous 12 months. I almost never tell the people I care most about how I really feel, because I honestly think it would embarrass them and I know it would embarrass me. Instead I've listened to this song five times in a row while I wrote this blog post, because The Avett Brothers understand:
Three words that became hard to say:
I and love and you.
Friday, October 15, 2010
"Look, I'll call you in the morning/Or my service will explain . . . "
The Song: "Another Hundred People," Pamela Myers. Words & music by Stephen Sondheim. Track 7 of the Company soundtrack, remastered 1999.
How/when acquired: Purchased CD, 2007
Listen/watch here (that's a concert version with Patti Lupone and Mandy Patinkin, not the version I own).
Busy. Too many people to see, too many people to talk to, too many places to be. It's lovely to be in San Francisco, and I am very happy to be seeing so many friends in one place. Normal service will resume on Monday.
How/when acquired: Purchased CD, 2007
Listen/watch here (that's a concert version with Patti Lupone and Mandy Patinkin, not the version I own).
Busy. Too many people to see, too many people to talk to, too many places to be. It's lovely to be in San Francisco, and I am very happy to be seeing so many friends in one place. Normal service will resume on Monday.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
"She only sleeps on planes."
The Song: "Suzie Lightning," Warren Zevon. Words & music by Warren Zevon. Track 2 of Mr. Bad Example, 1991.
How/when acquired: Purchased CD, 1993.
Listen here.
Greetings from San Francisco. I slept all the way from Portland to Dulles, and for about two hours during the five-hour flight from Dulles to San Francisco.
Sleeping on planes is a gift I'm grateful for. I've mentioned before that this song was my personal anthem in 1994, when I spent most of the year on the road. Congress had enacted the Riegle-Neal Interstate Banking & Branching Efficiency Act, and I worked for an organization that needed to explain it to our members. It might be an exaggeration, but I swear I remember spending all of January in a King Air flying around Missouri. I got snowed in for several days there, but that's a story for another time.
I don't travel anywhere near as much as I used to, and that's a mixed blessing. My basic travel skills haven't left me: I can still fit everything into one suitcase, I still remember to keep dollar bills in my pocket, I still know how to get out of people's way if they're in a bigger hurry than I am. But I do notice, when I travel, just how narrow my range of vision is becoming — literally, not metaphorically. I've also lost a lot of my old urban pedestrian instincts. I hate nothing more than looking like a tourist, and that's going to be a challenge over the next several days.
If you're at Bouchercon, please say hi. If you wave at me and I don't respond, please don't take it personally; chances are I didn't see you (see previous comment about my shrinking field of vision). And everyone has permission to poke me any time I say, "We don't have that in Maine."
How/when acquired: Purchased CD, 1993.
Listen here.
Greetings from San Francisco. I slept all the way from Portland to Dulles, and for about two hours during the five-hour flight from Dulles to San Francisco.
Sleeping on planes is a gift I'm grateful for. I've mentioned before that this song was my personal anthem in 1994, when I spent most of the year on the road. Congress had enacted the Riegle-Neal Interstate Banking & Branching Efficiency Act, and I worked for an organization that needed to explain it to our members. It might be an exaggeration, but I swear I remember spending all of January in a King Air flying around Missouri. I got snowed in for several days there, but that's a story for another time.
I don't travel anywhere near as much as I used to, and that's a mixed blessing. My basic travel skills haven't left me: I can still fit everything into one suitcase, I still remember to keep dollar bills in my pocket, I still know how to get out of people's way if they're in a bigger hurry than I am. But I do notice, when I travel, just how narrow my range of vision is becoming — literally, not metaphorically. I've also lost a lot of my old urban pedestrian instincts. I hate nothing more than looking like a tourist, and that's going to be a challenge over the next several days.
If you're at Bouchercon, please say hi. If you wave at me and I don't respond, please don't take it personally; chances are I didn't see you (see previous comment about my shrinking field of vision). And everyone has permission to poke me any time I say, "We don't have that in Maine."
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
"Insanity laughs, under pressure we're cracking"
The Song: "Under Pressure," Queen & David Bowie. Words & music by Queen (Freddie Mercury, Brian May, John Deacon, Roger Taylor) and David Bowie. Single, 1981; track 4 of Grosse Pointe Blank soundtrack, 1997
How/when acquired: Purchased CD, 1997
I'm leaving for San Francisco on a 5:45 a.m. flight from Portland tomorrow. See you on the West Coast.
How/when acquired: Purchased CD, 1997
I'm leaving for San Francisco on a 5:45 a.m. flight from Portland tomorrow. See you on the West Coast.
Monday, October 11, 2010
"Those who find themselves ridiculous, sit down next to me."
The Song: "Sit Down," James. Words & music by James (Tim Booth, Jim Glennie, Larry Gott, Saul Davies, Mark Hunter, David Baynton-Power, Andy Diagram). Single, 1989.
How/when acquired: Purchased MP3, 2009
Listen/watch here.
James played the HFStival in 1994, and one of my most vivid memories of that day is of dozens, maybe hundreds of people literally skipping around one of the upper balconies of RFK Stadium to this song. Listening to it again makes me want to skip even now.
As I watch the coverage of this year's election cycle, what surprises me most is the tenacity of this idea that people should conform to some idealized standard lifestyle. The Republican candidate for Governor of New York is dismissing the "homosexual lifestyle," rather than talking about whatever he might have learned from dealing with the consequences of his own life choices. The independent candidate for Senator from the state of Florida got married, rather than ignore or address rumors about his personal life. Everyone seems so sure that American voters are unwilling to accept candidates as they are, rather than holding them to some weird 1950s-era standard of conformity that no longer seems to apply to anyone. That assumption, more than anything else, is causing some truly bizarre distortions in our public discourse.
Or maybe it's just me. It's true, as a close relative said recently, that my circle of acquaintances is slightly more bohemian than average. But am I really that unusual? Doesn't everyone now have friends and relatives living in ways that would have shocked 1950s suburbia? Was the idea of "normal" ever more than an illusion?
Today is National Coming Out Day, among other things. As a straight woman, I look forward to the day when we don't even need this, when it's just no big deal to be whatever kind of responsible, loving adult you are, with no need to explain it or justify it to anyone who doesn't ask.
We're all a little ridiculous. If you're willing to admit it and enjoy it, sit right next to me.
How/when acquired: Purchased MP3, 2009
Listen/watch here.
James played the HFStival in 1994, and one of my most vivid memories of that day is of dozens, maybe hundreds of people literally skipping around one of the upper balconies of RFK Stadium to this song. Listening to it again makes me want to skip even now.
As I watch the coverage of this year's election cycle, what surprises me most is the tenacity of this idea that people should conform to some idealized standard lifestyle. The Republican candidate for Governor of New York is dismissing the "homosexual lifestyle," rather than talking about whatever he might have learned from dealing with the consequences of his own life choices. The independent candidate for Senator from the state of Florida got married, rather than ignore or address rumors about his personal life. Everyone seems so sure that American voters are unwilling to accept candidates as they are, rather than holding them to some weird 1950s-era standard of conformity that no longer seems to apply to anyone. That assumption, more than anything else, is causing some truly bizarre distortions in our public discourse.
Or maybe it's just me. It's true, as a close relative said recently, that my circle of acquaintances is slightly more bohemian than average. But am I really that unusual? Doesn't everyone now have friends and relatives living in ways that would have shocked 1950s suburbia? Was the idea of "normal" ever more than an illusion?
Today is National Coming Out Day, among other things. As a straight woman, I look forward to the day when we don't even need this, when it's just no big deal to be whatever kind of responsible, loving adult you are, with no need to explain it or justify it to anyone who doesn't ask.
We're all a little ridiculous. If you're willing to admit it and enjoy it, sit right next to me.
Friday, October 08, 2010
"Get smart, get scared, get lost, who cares."
The Song: "Highwire Days," The Psychedelic Furs. Words & music by John Ashton. Track 9 of Mirror Moves, 1984; track 7 of All of This and Nothing (Greatest Hits), 1988.
How/when acquired: Purchased cassette (All of This and Nothing), c. 1989.
Listen/watch here.
Scrambling on many fronts between now and next Wednesday, when I leave for Bouchercon 2010 in San Francisco. None of this stuff is life-threatening, I have to keep reminding myself. And time I spend banging my head on a table is time I could use to get the next thing done.
I had to double-check the date on this album: were the Psychedelic Furs already releasing a greatest-hits collection in 1988? Yes. They formed in 1977, released Forever Now (which I consider their masterpiece) in 1982, and disbanded in the early 1990s, although they've since reunited for tours. I saw them live at a converted roller rink in Adams-Morgan — in 1991, maybe? — with The Ocean Blue. I strongly suspect that Richard Butler was under the influence of something stronger than alcohol, though it was an excellent show.
I saw Richard Butler as part of his next band, Love Spit Love, in the old 9:30 Club before it moved. In fact, that was the first rock show I ever went to by myself. Everybody should do that once, but I don't recommend it. It's not like the movies; live performances are much more fun with friends.
How/when acquired: Purchased cassette (All of This and Nothing), c. 1989.
Listen/watch here.
Scrambling on many fronts between now and next Wednesday, when I leave for Bouchercon 2010 in San Francisco. None of this stuff is life-threatening, I have to keep reminding myself. And time I spend banging my head on a table is time I could use to get the next thing done.
I had to double-check the date on this album: were the Psychedelic Furs already releasing a greatest-hits collection in 1988? Yes. They formed in 1977, released Forever Now (which I consider their masterpiece) in 1982, and disbanded in the early 1990s, although they've since reunited for tours. I saw them live at a converted roller rink in Adams-Morgan — in 1991, maybe? — with The Ocean Blue. I strongly suspect that Richard Butler was under the influence of something stronger than alcohol, though it was an excellent show.
I saw Richard Butler as part of his next band, Love Spit Love, in the old 9:30 Club before it moved. In fact, that was the first rock show I ever went to by myself. Everybody should do that once, but I don't recommend it. It's not like the movies; live performances are much more fun with friends.
Thursday, October 07, 2010
"Wake up, put your shoes on/Take a breath of the northern air."
The Song: "Smile," The Jayhawks. Words & music by Gary Louris. Track 1 of Smile, 2000.
How/when acquired: Purchased CD, 2004.
Listen/watch here. (That's a live version that is a little janglier than the album cut, set to scenes from David Lynch's The Straight Story. The album version is here.)
For some reason I pull this album out around this time every year, when I start waking up in the dark. The days shorten fast up here; if I wake up at 6:00 a.m. (my usual time), I've got 43 minutes of darkness before the sun shows up. Dizzy's night vision is declining as fast as my own, maybe even faster. He won't take the stairs in the dark, so we wait for sunrise to start the day in earnest.
I bought this CD at the same time I bought the Blue Nile's High, from the Best Buy in Westwood as I prepared to move across the country. It became part of the soundtrack of that move, and still has an almost magical power to make me feel better during times of frustration and confusion. The chorus of this song feels like advice from friends I've never met:
All set to a wall of music that feels like ocean waves, lifting us up despite ourselves.
Doesn't it feel like we're all due for a little good news? I feel that way, anyway. If you've got any, share it in the comments section.
How/when acquired: Purchased CD, 2004.
Listen/watch here. (That's a live version that is a little janglier than the album cut, set to scenes from David Lynch's The Straight Story. The album version is here.)
For some reason I pull this album out around this time every year, when I start waking up in the dark. The days shorten fast up here; if I wake up at 6:00 a.m. (my usual time), I've got 43 minutes of darkness before the sun shows up. Dizzy's night vision is declining as fast as my own, maybe even faster. He won't take the stairs in the dark, so we wait for sunrise to start the day in earnest.
I bought this CD at the same time I bought the Blue Nile's High, from the Best Buy in Westwood as I prepared to move across the country. It became part of the soundtrack of that move, and still has an almost magical power to make me feel better during times of frustration and confusion. The chorus of this song feels like advice from friends I've never met:
Chin up, chin up
You don't really have a problem
Chin up, chin up
In your hour of despair
And smile when you're down and out . . .
All set to a wall of music that feels like ocean waves, lifting us up despite ourselves.
Doesn't it feel like we're all due for a little good news? I feel that way, anyway. If you've got any, share it in the comments section.
Wednesday, October 06, 2010
"If you want the things you love/You must have showers."
The song: "Pennies from Heaven," Frank Sinatra. Words & music by Johnny Burke and Arthur Johnston. Track 7 of Songs for Swingin' Lovers, 1956.
How/when acquired: Purchased CD, c. 1998.
Listen/watch here.
The rain hasn't started yet, but it's supposed to rain all day today and all day tomorrow. It's a good day for lounge music, but most days are good days for lounge music.
Aren't we about due for another revival of Cocktail Nation? It's been 14 years since Swingers set off the last one, and the deaths of Eddie Fisher and Tony Curtis remind me once again of how cool everybody was back then. Repressed, oppressed, suppressed, and all the rest of it — which was why people drank so much and died of heart attacks in their early 50s — but man, they looked good while they were doing it.
"Pennies from Heaven" was originally recorded by Bing Crosby in 1936, at the depths of the Depression. By the time Frank Sinatra recorded it, 20 years later, it was already a nostalgia piece. Did people living through the Depression know it was a depression, or was that just a label applied after the war started and recovery began? Twenty years from now, will we call this era the Second Great Depression?
How/when acquired: Purchased CD, c. 1998.
Listen/watch here.
The rain hasn't started yet, but it's supposed to rain all day today and all day tomorrow. It's a good day for lounge music, but most days are good days for lounge music.
Aren't we about due for another revival of Cocktail Nation? It's been 14 years since Swingers set off the last one, and the deaths of Eddie Fisher and Tony Curtis remind me once again of how cool everybody was back then. Repressed, oppressed, suppressed, and all the rest of it — which was why people drank so much and died of heart attacks in their early 50s — but man, they looked good while they were doing it.
"Pennies from Heaven" was originally recorded by Bing Crosby in 1936, at the depths of the Depression. By the time Frank Sinatra recorded it, 20 years later, it was already a nostalgia piece. Did people living through the Depression know it was a depression, or was that just a label applied after the war started and recovery began? Twenty years from now, will we call this era the Second Great Depression?
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
"I'm sorry I missed you/I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain."
The Song: "Secret Meeting," The National. Words & music by The National (Matt Berninger, Aaron Dessner, Bryce Dessner, Scott Devendorf, Bryan Devendorf). Track 1 of Alligator, 2005.
How/when acquired: Downloaded MP3, 2007
Listen/watch here.
I believe that my brother-in-law Scott first brought The National to my attention, although it might have been my friend Tom, or my friend John. They are the quintessential sensitive-guy band of the turn of the 21st century, and speak directly to my specific subculture of anxious, over-educated white people.
"Secret Meeting" is a song about the voices in one's head that keep us from connecting with people we might want to know, people who might wish us well.
That ability to disappear gracefully in a room is valuable for people like me, who gather information as a bulwark against anxiety. Better to be one of the spies surrounding this song's singer than have other people watching you, although the line between paranoia and delusional narcissism is a fine one.
But this song is also about that moment when we realize our brains have tricked us into misperception, and that the world is going on without us while we're locked in our own craziness. I had a moment like that this morning, where suddenly things seemed to clear. It might just be that the weather is beautiful again; it might be that I finally seem to have found an over-the-counter allergy medicine that's working. It might be the sense of making some progress on some long-term tasks, or the fact that it's only a week until I'll be seeing many of my closest friends at Bouchercon in San Francisco.
But for the moment, at least, the secret meeting in my brain has gone the dull and wicked ordinary way, and is adjourned to the call of the chair.
How/when acquired: Downloaded MP3, 2007
Listen/watch here.
I believe that my brother-in-law Scott first brought The National to my attention, although it might have been my friend Tom, or my friend John. They are the quintessential sensitive-guy band of the turn of the 21st century, and speak directly to my specific subculture of anxious, over-educated white people.
"Secret Meeting" is a song about the voices in one's head that keep us from connecting with people we might want to know, people who might wish us well.
I think this place is full of spies
I think they're onto me
Didn't anybody, didn't anybody tell you
Didn't anybody tell you how to gracefully disappear in a room
That ability to disappear gracefully in a room is valuable for people like me, who gather information as a bulwark against anxiety. Better to be one of the spies surrounding this song's singer than have other people watching you, although the line between paranoia and delusional narcissism is a fine one.
But this song is also about that moment when we realize our brains have tricked us into misperception, and that the world is going on without us while we're locked in our own craziness. I had a moment like that this morning, where suddenly things seemed to clear. It might just be that the weather is beautiful again; it might be that I finally seem to have found an over-the-counter allergy medicine that's working. It might be the sense of making some progress on some long-term tasks, or the fact that it's only a week until I'll be seeing many of my closest friends at Bouchercon in San Francisco.
But for the moment, at least, the secret meeting in my brain has gone the dull and wicked ordinary way, and is adjourned to the call of the chair.
Monday, October 04, 2010
"Sometimes I wish that I could stop you from talking/When I hear the silly things that you say."
The Song: "Alison," Elvis Costello. Words & music by Declan Patrick MacManus (Elvis Costello). Track 5 of My Aim is True, 1978 (US release).
How/when acquired: Purchased cassette, c. 1987
Listen/watch here.
I watched the Sunday morning news shows yesterday instead of going to Mass. My mistake.
Elvis Costello was 23 when he recorded this song, which regularly makes lists of the best pop songs of all time. Like much of humanity's greatest artistic achievements, it seems inspired by a painful breakup. The singer of "Alison" suggests that he plans a more permanent remedy to his heartache — the last line, which provided the album's title, is "My aim is true." Better for all of us that Elvis Costello chose music instead of bullets as his weapon.
I bought this cassette from a cut-out bin — probably at Kemp Mill Records in Georgetown, if that store was still open in 1987. Kemp Mill was probably the most important music retailer in the Washington, DC area during the 1970s and '80s; they expanded and collapsed, and now seem to have only one physical store, in Hillcrest Heights, MD.
This weekend I saw The Social Network, which posits that the entire Facebook empire happened because of a breakup. It's a terrific movie; I'd heard so much about it I thought it was bound to be oversold, but no. Even if you take it as fiction (which is probably safest), it's an important picture of the transformation of information delivery in the first decade of the 21st century. Justin Timberlake as Sean Parker, the co-founder of Napster, tells the movie's main character that he destroyed the record companies and changed the music business forever, and it's hard to deny that.
Still, I miss the old Kemp Mill stores. I miss cut-out bins. I miss the adventure of walking into a store with five bucks in my pocket, pawing through a box of old cassette tapes and coming away with treasure. Browsing iTunes offers nothing like that experience.
How/when acquired: Purchased cassette, c. 1987
Listen/watch here.
I watched the Sunday morning news shows yesterday instead of going to Mass. My mistake.
Elvis Costello was 23 when he recorded this song, which regularly makes lists of the best pop songs of all time. Like much of humanity's greatest artistic achievements, it seems inspired by a painful breakup. The singer of "Alison" suggests that he plans a more permanent remedy to his heartache — the last line, which provided the album's title, is "My aim is true." Better for all of us that Elvis Costello chose music instead of bullets as his weapon.
I bought this cassette from a cut-out bin — probably at Kemp Mill Records in Georgetown, if that store was still open in 1987. Kemp Mill was probably the most important music retailer in the Washington, DC area during the 1970s and '80s; they expanded and collapsed, and now seem to have only one physical store, in Hillcrest Heights, MD.
This weekend I saw The Social Network, which posits that the entire Facebook empire happened because of a breakup. It's a terrific movie; I'd heard so much about it I thought it was bound to be oversold, but no. Even if you take it as fiction (which is probably safest), it's an important picture of the transformation of information delivery in the first decade of the 21st century. Justin Timberlake as Sean Parker, the co-founder of Napster, tells the movie's main character that he destroyed the record companies and changed the music business forever, and it's hard to deny that.
Still, I miss the old Kemp Mill stores. I miss cut-out bins. I miss the adventure of walking into a store with five bucks in my pocket, pawing through a box of old cassette tapes and coming away with treasure. Browsing iTunes offers nothing like that experience.
Friday, October 01, 2010
"Just a few more weary days and then/I'll fly away."
The Song: "I'll Fly Away," Alison Krauss & Gillian Welch. Words & music by Albert E. Brumley. Track 9 of O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack album, 2000.
How/when acquired: Inherited CD, 2006.
Listen/watch here.
It's the end of a long week, made longer by the news this morning of Stephen J. Cannell's passing. He was a regular visitor to The Mystery Bookstore, a living legend, and a true gentleman.
"I'll Fly Away" is a Baptist hymn that may be the single most-recorded gospel song. (Check out Kanye West's surprising cover here, and Johnny Cash's here.) This version is part of the phenomenal soundtrack to O Brother, Where Art Thou?, the Coen brothers' Depression-era riff on the Odyssey.
I bought this CD as a gift for my mother, either for her birthday or Mother's Day. I took it back when we divided her belongings after she passed away — but it's not on my shelf, which makes me think I must have passed it along again, maybe to one of my siblings.
Anyway, it cheers me up, which is handy on this rainy day.
How/when acquired: Inherited CD, 2006.
Listen/watch here.
It's the end of a long week, made longer by the news this morning of Stephen J. Cannell's passing. He was a regular visitor to The Mystery Bookstore, a living legend, and a true gentleman.
"I'll Fly Away" is a Baptist hymn that may be the single most-recorded gospel song. (Check out Kanye West's surprising cover here, and Johnny Cash's here.) This version is part of the phenomenal soundtrack to O Brother, Where Art Thou?, the Coen brothers' Depression-era riff on the Odyssey.
I bought this CD as a gift for my mother, either for her birthday or Mother's Day. I took it back when we divided her belongings after she passed away — but it's not on my shelf, which makes me think I must have passed it along again, maybe to one of my siblings.
Anyway, it cheers me up, which is handy on this rainy day.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
"I wish it was a small world/Because I'm lonely for the big towns."
The Song: "Raining in Baltimore," Counting Crows. Words & Music by Adam Duritz. Track 10 of August and Everything After, 1993.
How/when acquired: Purchased CD, 1994
Listen/watch here.
It is, in fact, raining in Baltimore as I type this, according to the news and an email I just got from my friend Sue Lin. We're supposed to get that rain, but not until tonight; right now it's just overcast and muggy.
This album will always be my soundtrack for 1994, beginning with New Year's Eve 1993, when it was playing at my friend Joanna's as we got ready to go to a party/concert. Almost 17 years later (!), it still holds up. I never got tired of it, although by the summer of 1994 Adam Duritz was apparently so tired of these songs that the versions they played in concert were almost unrecognizable.
I don't know how I feel about that. I respect an artist's need to keep material fresh for himself, but fans pay large sums of money to hear the songs they love. I fell asleep once at a Little Feat concert that turned into an extended jam session, with no melody I recognized as a song; shades of "Spinal Tap Mark II."
There's so much I love about living in a small town, but on days like this I wish I were closer to my family and friends. Here it is 2010 already; where's my teleportation device? Where's my jetpack? In a perfect world, I could spend my days in Gardiner and step through a door at 6:00 p.m. that would deposit me in Greenwich Village, or Cleveland Park, or Westwood.
How/when acquired: Purchased CD, 1994
Listen/watch here.
It is, in fact, raining in Baltimore as I type this, according to the news and an email I just got from my friend Sue Lin. We're supposed to get that rain, but not until tonight; right now it's just overcast and muggy.
This album will always be my soundtrack for 1994, beginning with New Year's Eve 1993, when it was playing at my friend Joanna's as we got ready to go to a party/concert. Almost 17 years later (!), it still holds up. I never got tired of it, although by the summer of 1994 Adam Duritz was apparently so tired of these songs that the versions they played in concert were almost unrecognizable.
I don't know how I feel about that. I respect an artist's need to keep material fresh for himself, but fans pay large sums of money to hear the songs they love. I fell asleep once at a Little Feat concert that turned into an extended jam session, with no melody I recognized as a song; shades of "Spinal Tap Mark II."
There's so much I love about living in a small town, but on days like this I wish I were closer to my family and friends. Here it is 2010 already; where's my teleportation device? Where's my jetpack? In a perfect world, I could spend my days in Gardiner and step through a door at 6:00 p.m. that would deposit me in Greenwich Village, or Cleveland Park, or Westwood.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
"May the angels bright/Watch you tonight/And keep you as you sleep."
The Song: "Lullaby of London," The Pogues. Words & Music by Shane MacGowan. Track 11 of If I Should Fall From Grace With God, 1987.
How/when acquired: Illegally copied cassette tape, 1989. (Purchased import CD, 1997.)
Listen/watch here.
We live in a world of marvels and wonders, if we let ourselves pay attention and believe it. The Catholic Church doesn't talk much about angels any more, but today is the feast of St. Michael the Archangel, who by tradition has primary responsibility for defending us from "the wickedness and snares of the devil."
"Angel," of course, is a feeble human attempt to explain the fact that sometimes forces we don't understand seem to be looking out for us. The Catholic Catechism quotes St. Augustine: "'Angel' is the name of their office, not of their nature. If you seek the name of their nature, it is 'spirit'; if you see the name of their office, it is 'angel': from what they are, 'spirit,' from what they do, 'angel.'"
Although I'm sure I heard this album earlier, it imprinted itself on me during a snowy weekend in Williamsburg in February 1989, during a visit to my friends Scott and Nancy. We played board games and hung out at the Green Leafe and watched college basketball and listened to this album more or less in a continuous loop. I was newly single, baffled and at sea; what I had were good friends and the unjustified but unshakable suspicion that I was going to be fine.
And I was. And I am. The angels probably get some credit for that; according to St. Basil (also quoted in the Catechism), "Beside each believer stands an angel as protector and shepherd leading him to life."
On a related subject, the extraordinary Claire Bea will be making her national television debut on "Jeopardy!" tonight. Check your local listings for details, but in the meantime, you can see her "Hometown Howdy" here.
How/when acquired: Illegally copied cassette tape, 1989. (Purchased import CD, 1997.)
Listen/watch here.
We live in a world of marvels and wonders, if we let ourselves pay attention and believe it. The Catholic Church doesn't talk much about angels any more, but today is the feast of St. Michael the Archangel, who by tradition has primary responsibility for defending us from "the wickedness and snares of the devil."
"Angel," of course, is a feeble human attempt to explain the fact that sometimes forces we don't understand seem to be looking out for us. The Catholic Catechism quotes St. Augustine: "'Angel' is the name of their office, not of their nature. If you seek the name of their nature, it is 'spirit'; if you see the name of their office, it is 'angel': from what they are, 'spirit,' from what they do, 'angel.'"
Although I'm sure I heard this album earlier, it imprinted itself on me during a snowy weekend in Williamsburg in February 1989, during a visit to my friends Scott and Nancy. We played board games and hung out at the Green Leafe and watched college basketball and listened to this album more or less in a continuous loop. I was newly single, baffled and at sea; what I had were good friends and the unjustified but unshakable suspicion that I was going to be fine.
And I was. And I am. The angels probably get some credit for that; according to St. Basil (also quoted in the Catechism), "Beside each believer stands an angel as protector and shepherd leading him to life."
On a related subject, the extraordinary Claire Bea will be making her national television debut on "Jeopardy!" tonight. Check your local listings for details, but in the meantime, you can see her "Hometown Howdy" here.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
"Stories and cigarettes ruined lives of lesser girls."
The Song: "Strange Condition," Pete Yorn. Words & music by Pete Yorn. Track 2 of musicforthemorningafter, 2001.
How/when acquired: Gift CD, c. 2002.
Listen/watch here.
This album is forever linked in my consciousness to Thanksgiving 2001, when a group of my friends and relations and I rented a cabin in Yosemite National Park and spent a long weekend hiking, drinking, eating, drinking, singing, drinking, playing goofy board games, drinking and trying to figure out what it meant to be an American after September 11. And drinking.
I think it was Meredith who brought this CD along, although it might have been Moira (if either of you check in, can you clarify/confirm?). I'd heard a few tracks on KCRW, but had not listened to the whole CD, and was enchanted. My sister Susan gave me the CD a few months later; it might have been for Christmas, but I think it was one of those "no reason" presents, which made it even more precious.
It's no exaggeration to say that I am addicted to stories. Books, movies, TV shows, drunks in bars — tell me a story and you have my attention, for as long as the story lasts. I am even willing to ignore or bend facts in the interest of improving a story, which is one of many reasons I will never (and should never) seek public office.
Doesn't everybody love a story? I think so. I think that is what distinguishes humans from other animals: the need to find reasons and predict outcomes, so that our lives are narratives and not just a string of sensory events. Dizzy doesn't do narrative; he goes from walk to cookie to car ride with few expectations and no context, just a series of unrelated incidents that please him. It's not a bad way to live, and sometimes I envy him; his whole life is a cascade of happy surprises. But I, like most human beings, want it all to mean something.
What I've Read Lately
It's been a while since I posted a reading list, and most of what I'm reading these days are manuscripts. But these are the highlights of the published work I've finished in the last month or so.
Alexandra Sokoloff, BOOK OF SHADOWS. I started this book a couple of months ago, but didn't finish it until a few weeks ago — not because it wasn't good, but because it was on my Kindle, and my Kindle's battery died. (Do I need to underline the moral of that story?) But it was a great summer read. Detective Adam Garrett and his partner investigate a gruesome murder with Satanic overtones. The obvious suspect is a college student who dabbled in witchcraft and was in love with the victim, but a local witch tells them they've got the wrong guy — and that the killer plans to strike again. Sokoloff does an excellent job of blending police procedural elements with the supernatural, leaving the nature of the attacks in doubt almost to the end.
Olen Steinhauer, THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. I'm late to this book, but how glad I am that it finally reached the top of my reading pile. Steinhauer's debut introduces young homicide inspector Emil Brod, whose first case is a politically sensitive murder no one expects (or wants) him to solve. The identity of the killer is not as important as the ways people behave in this new, post-WWII society. Corruption is an inevitable byproduct of totalitarianism, but it might just be human nature. Brod does the best he can in pursuit of justice.
Harlan Coben, JUST ONE LOOK. The discovery of an old photograph, randomly inserted in a batch of new ones, sets Grace Lawson on a path of inquiry that leads to violence, death and the revelation of 15-year-old secrets. Grace is such a compelling character, and the action moves so quickly, that I had a hard time putting this book down — but the explanation of how it all happened is complex and hard to follow. It didn't entirely hold together for me, but I was so entertained along the way that I didn't care.
Victor Gischler, THE DEPUTY. Toby Sawyer is a part-time deputy in Coyote Crossing, Oklahoma. He has a toddler, an unhappy wife, and a teenaged girlfriend. A routine assignment to stand watch over the corpse of a murder victim turns into the worst night of Toby's life; when he sneaks off for a quickie, the body disappears, and Toby's efforts to find it reveal a tangled, sordid web of corruption. Fast, smart, violent and darkly funny, with a most satisfying ending.
Laura Lippman, I'D KNOW YOU ANYWHERE. Eliza Benedict has a loving husband, two smart children and a beautiful home in Chevy Chase, Maryland. What almost no one knows is that 20 years earlier, she was Elizabeth Lerner, the only survivor of a serial rapist/killer. Weeks before the killer's scheduled execution, Eliza gets a letter from him, asking for contact. This extraordinary book is less a crime novel than a meditation on how people survive the unimaginable, how we become who we are, and what we owe the living, the dead, and ourselves.
How/when acquired: Gift CD, c. 2002.
Listen/watch here.
This album is forever linked in my consciousness to Thanksgiving 2001, when a group of my friends and relations and I rented a cabin in Yosemite National Park and spent a long weekend hiking, drinking, eating, drinking, singing, drinking, playing goofy board games, drinking and trying to figure out what it meant to be an American after September 11. And drinking.
I think it was Meredith who brought this CD along, although it might have been Moira (if either of you check in, can you clarify/confirm?). I'd heard a few tracks on KCRW, but had not listened to the whole CD, and was enchanted. My sister Susan gave me the CD a few months later; it might have been for Christmas, but I think it was one of those "no reason" presents, which made it even more precious.
It's no exaggeration to say that I am addicted to stories. Books, movies, TV shows, drunks in bars — tell me a story and you have my attention, for as long as the story lasts. I am even willing to ignore or bend facts in the interest of improving a story, which is one of many reasons I will never (and should never) seek public office.
Doesn't everybody love a story? I think so. I think that is what distinguishes humans from other animals: the need to find reasons and predict outcomes, so that our lives are narratives and not just a string of sensory events. Dizzy doesn't do narrative; he goes from walk to cookie to car ride with few expectations and no context, just a series of unrelated incidents that please him. It's not a bad way to live, and sometimes I envy him; his whole life is a cascade of happy surprises. But I, like most human beings, want it all to mean something.
What I've Read Lately
It's been a while since I posted a reading list, and most of what I'm reading these days are manuscripts. But these are the highlights of the published work I've finished in the last month or so.
Alexandra Sokoloff, BOOK OF SHADOWS. I started this book a couple of months ago, but didn't finish it until a few weeks ago — not because it wasn't good, but because it was on my Kindle, and my Kindle's battery died. (Do I need to underline the moral of that story?) But it was a great summer read. Detective Adam Garrett and his partner investigate a gruesome murder with Satanic overtones. The obvious suspect is a college student who dabbled in witchcraft and was in love with the victim, but a local witch tells them they've got the wrong guy — and that the killer plans to strike again. Sokoloff does an excellent job of blending police procedural elements with the supernatural, leaving the nature of the attacks in doubt almost to the end.
Olen Steinhauer, THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. I'm late to this book, but how glad I am that it finally reached the top of my reading pile. Steinhauer's debut introduces young homicide inspector Emil Brod, whose first case is a politically sensitive murder no one expects (or wants) him to solve. The identity of the killer is not as important as the ways people behave in this new, post-WWII society. Corruption is an inevitable byproduct of totalitarianism, but it might just be human nature. Brod does the best he can in pursuit of justice.
Harlan Coben, JUST ONE LOOK. The discovery of an old photograph, randomly inserted in a batch of new ones, sets Grace Lawson on a path of inquiry that leads to violence, death and the revelation of 15-year-old secrets. Grace is such a compelling character, and the action moves so quickly, that I had a hard time putting this book down — but the explanation of how it all happened is complex and hard to follow. It didn't entirely hold together for me, but I was so entertained along the way that I didn't care.
Victor Gischler, THE DEPUTY. Toby Sawyer is a part-time deputy in Coyote Crossing, Oklahoma. He has a toddler, an unhappy wife, and a teenaged girlfriend. A routine assignment to stand watch over the corpse of a murder victim turns into the worst night of Toby's life; when he sneaks off for a quickie, the body disappears, and Toby's efforts to find it reveal a tangled, sordid web of corruption. Fast, smart, violent and darkly funny, with a most satisfying ending.
Laura Lippman, I'D KNOW YOU ANYWHERE. Eliza Benedict has a loving husband, two smart children and a beautiful home in Chevy Chase, Maryland. What almost no one knows is that 20 years earlier, she was Elizabeth Lerner, the only survivor of a serial rapist/killer. Weeks before the killer's scheduled execution, Eliza gets a letter from him, asking for contact. This extraordinary book is less a crime novel than a meditation on how people survive the unimaginable, how we become who we are, and what we owe the living, the dead, and ourselves.
Friday, September 24, 2010
"Shiver in my bones just thinking about the weather."
The Song: "Like the Weather," 10,000 Maniacs. Words & music by Natalie Merchant. Track 3 of In My Tribe, 1987.
How/when acquired: Illegally copied cassette tape, 1987
Listen/watch here.
This morning's news reported that the rest of the country expects record temperatures today. Here in Maine, it's rainy and cold.
Almost six years after I moved here, I am still not used to how quickly and abruptly the summer ends. Leaves are turning, and my heat's come on a couple of times already. The days are noticeably shorter.
At this time of year, I can point to Maine's change of seasons as a major advantage of living here. I like the reminder that the earth is traveling around the sun, that we're all getting a little older, that everything sleeps and wakes, lives and dies and lives again. Ask me again in January, and you might get a different point of view.
Having praised my brother Ed in yesterday's post, I'm poking him today with this one. His distaste for Natalie Merchant is violent and vocal, though I'm not clear on exactly what he objects to; maybe he'll leave his views in the comments section. She seems to be a polarizing figure, but I've always liked her. I suspect that you would find a copy of this album in the collection of most white, college-educated American women between the ages of, oh, say 38 and 45.
Do you own it? Admit it in the comments section.
How/when acquired: Illegally copied cassette tape, 1987
Listen/watch here.
This morning's news reported that the rest of the country expects record temperatures today. Here in Maine, it's rainy and cold.
Almost six years after I moved here, I am still not used to how quickly and abruptly the summer ends. Leaves are turning, and my heat's come on a couple of times already. The days are noticeably shorter.
At this time of year, I can point to Maine's change of seasons as a major advantage of living here. I like the reminder that the earth is traveling around the sun, that we're all getting a little older, that everything sleeps and wakes, lives and dies and lives again. Ask me again in January, and you might get a different point of view.
Having praised my brother Ed in yesterday's post, I'm poking him today with this one. His distaste for Natalie Merchant is violent and vocal, though I'm not clear on exactly what he objects to; maybe he'll leave his views in the comments section. She seems to be a polarizing figure, but I've always liked her. I suspect that you would find a copy of this album in the collection of most white, college-educated American women between the ages of, oh, say 38 and 45.
Do you own it? Admit it in the comments section.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
"For the ones who had a notion,/a notion deep inside/That it aint no sin/to be glad you're alive."
The Song: "Badlands," Bruce Springsteen. Words & music by Bruce Springsteen. Track 1 of Darkness on the Edge of Town, 1978.
How/when acquired: Gift LP, 1981
Listen/watch here.
Happy birthday, Bruce Springsteen. He is 61 today, and as far as I'm concerned, his importance in American pop culture cannot be overstated.
He's saved my life more than once, with this song among others. Darkness on the Edge of Town, released the year I turned 13, was my first real exposure to Bruce Springsteen. I'd been dimly aware of Born to Run, but I was too young to understand what he was talking about. Darkness, released around the time I started ninth grade, distilled everything hopeful and magic about what might lie on the other side of adolescence.
I still own this album on vinyl. It was a gift from my brother Ed — reparations, really. He'd cracked one of the two discs in my copy of The River, and I'd reacted exactly as you'd expect the 14-year-old sister of a ten-year-old brother to do. Ed, gracious and honorable beyond his years, tried to replace the album, but the Exchange had sold out; he bought me Born to Run and Darkness on the Edge of Town instead. So thanks for that, Ed, and I owe you.
How/when acquired: Gift LP, 1981
Listen/watch here.
Happy birthday, Bruce Springsteen. He is 61 today, and as far as I'm concerned, his importance in American pop culture cannot be overstated.
He's saved my life more than once, with this song among others. Darkness on the Edge of Town, released the year I turned 13, was my first real exposure to Bruce Springsteen. I'd been dimly aware of Born to Run, but I was too young to understand what he was talking about. Darkness, released around the time I started ninth grade, distilled everything hopeful and magic about what might lie on the other side of adolescence.
I still own this album on vinyl. It was a gift from my brother Ed — reparations, really. He'd cracked one of the two discs in my copy of The River, and I'd reacted exactly as you'd expect the 14-year-old sister of a ten-year-old brother to do. Ed, gracious and honorable beyond his years, tried to replace the album, but the Exchange had sold out; he bought me Born to Run and Darkness on the Edge of Town instead. So thanks for that, Ed, and I owe you.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
"It is time for you to laugh instead of crying."
The Song: "Stop Your Sobbing," The Pretenders. Words and music by Ray Davies. Track 7 of Pretenders, 1980.
How/when acquired: Downloaded MP3, 2007
Listen/watch here.
I sang this song to Dizzy all the time when he was a puppy, and when I played it this morning he grumbled and whined along. He almost never pays attention to the music I play; he must remember this song.
Anyway, the last ten days have had more than their share of bad news, and I'm ready for it to stop. Tonight I start rehearsals for yet another show — My Three Angels at Gaslight, November 12–20 (closing night is my birthday, so you have an extra reason to come). I'm looking forward to sitting around a table and laughing for a couple of hours.
It's mildly alarming to think that this album is 30 years old. (This song, by the way, is older than I am; this version is a cover of The Kinks' original, released in 1964.) It's also a little strange that I didn't own it until recently, because it was an important piece of the soundtrack of my late teens. But this was one of those albums everyone owned, so I didn't need to; my best friend had it, my boyfriend had it, my roommate had it, my next boyfriend had it . . . now Dizzy and I own it together. I would put it on a short list of best first albums of all time.
How/when acquired: Downloaded MP3, 2007
Listen/watch here.
I sang this song to Dizzy all the time when he was a puppy, and when I played it this morning he grumbled and whined along. He almost never pays attention to the music I play; he must remember this song.
Anyway, the last ten days have had more than their share of bad news, and I'm ready for it to stop. Tonight I start rehearsals for yet another show — My Three Angels at Gaslight, November 12–20 (closing night is my birthday, so you have an extra reason to come). I'm looking forward to sitting around a table and laughing for a couple of hours.
It's mildly alarming to think that this album is 30 years old. (This song, by the way, is older than I am; this version is a cover of The Kinks' original, released in 1964.) It's also a little strange that I didn't own it until recently, because it was an important piece of the soundtrack of my late teens. But this was one of those albums everyone owned, so I didn't need to; my best friend had it, my boyfriend had it, my roommate had it, my next boyfriend had it . . . now Dizzy and I own it together. I would put it on a short list of best first albums of all time.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
"I saw a beggar leaning on his wooden crutch/He called out to me, 'Don't ask for so much'..."
"...And a young man, leaning on his darkened door
He cried out to me, 'Baby, why not ask for more?'"
The Song: "Bird on a Wire," Jennifer Warnes. Words and music by Leonard Cohen. Track 2 of Famous Blue Raincoat, 1987.
How/when acquired: Purchased cassette, 1987.
Listen here.
Happy birthday, Leonard Cohen. He's 76 years old today, and still touring; he's on a short list of artists I've never seen live and would really, really like to.
At the risk of heresy, however, I'll say that Leonard Cohen is a better songwriter than singer, and is not always the best interpreter of his own songs. I own five different versions of this song, and this is my favorite.
I bought this cassette in the spring of 1987, at Olsson's Books & Music in Georgetown. It was an unjustifiable extravagance. I was working two jobs that paid just over minimum wage, and picking up as much extra babysitting as I could. I was living alone in a basement apartment, my student loans had come due, and I've always been terrible with money anyway. I never had any cash in my pocket, and am pretty sure I bought this cassette on impulse, just because I had a ten-dollar bill.
The cassette's still in my car. Remarkably, it still plays. I probably listened to it every day for the first four months I owned it, and it's been in heavy rotation, in one format or another, ever since.
Recently I saw a comment on a friend's Facebook page about how $250,000/year shouldn't be considered wealthy, especially for people with mortgages to pay and children to send to college. The median household income in the United States was $52,059 in 2008; in Maine, it was $46,419. I don't make that much, but I'm just one person, and I don't need to (see previous comment about being bad with money).
It would baffle me, if Leonard Cohen hadn't explained it all so elegantly. As birds on the wire, we shouldn't ask for so much — but why not ask for more?
He cried out to me, 'Baby, why not ask for more?'"
The Song: "Bird on a Wire," Jennifer Warnes. Words and music by Leonard Cohen. Track 2 of Famous Blue Raincoat, 1987.
How/when acquired: Purchased cassette, 1987.
Listen here.
Happy birthday, Leonard Cohen. He's 76 years old today, and still touring; he's on a short list of artists I've never seen live and would really, really like to.
At the risk of heresy, however, I'll say that Leonard Cohen is a better songwriter than singer, and is not always the best interpreter of his own songs. I own five different versions of this song, and this is my favorite.
I bought this cassette in the spring of 1987, at Olsson's Books & Music in Georgetown. It was an unjustifiable extravagance. I was working two jobs that paid just over minimum wage, and picking up as much extra babysitting as I could. I was living alone in a basement apartment, my student loans had come due, and I've always been terrible with money anyway. I never had any cash in my pocket, and am pretty sure I bought this cassette on impulse, just because I had a ten-dollar bill.
The cassette's still in my car. Remarkably, it still plays. I probably listened to it every day for the first four months I owned it, and it's been in heavy rotation, in one format or another, ever since.
Recently I saw a comment on a friend's Facebook page about how $250,000/year shouldn't be considered wealthy, especially for people with mortgages to pay and children to send to college. The median household income in the United States was $52,059 in 2008; in Maine, it was $46,419. I don't make that much, but I'm just one person, and I don't need to (see previous comment about being bad with money).
It would baffle me, if Leonard Cohen hadn't explained it all so elegantly. As birds on the wire, we shouldn't ask for so much — but why not ask for more?
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