Hindenburg

The Hindenburg over Boston, a year before the crash.

I’ve long been fascinated with the Hindenburg crash. Not sure why. I suspect that there are a number of factors that come into play. 

Yes, there’s the iconic association with my favorite rock band of all time, but there’s also my interest in history. Then there’s the relevance of the locale. The airship crashed about 25 miles from where I grew up and, I recently learned, it also routinely flew over my adopted home of Boston and eastern Massachusetts during its 17 Atlantic crossings prior to incendiary ends at the Naval Air Station in Lakehurst, N.J. 

Perhaps most of all, though, it may be the archetypal nature of the story, one of man stretching his mastery of the universe only to be humbled by the ultimate authority of nature (in this case in the form of static electricity).

Anyway, the point of all this is The Atlantic recently published a fascinating collection of a few dozen photos in tribute to the 75th anniversary of the Zeppelin’s disastrous end in May 1937.

Life in an Infographic

I recently came across this interesting depiction of musician Jack White’s life (so far anyway) depicted as an infographic:

From Paste Magazine, 6/14/12.

It’s not a particularly inspired graphic, as these things go, but it does kind of make me contemplate what the infographic depiction of my life would look like at this point in time. Hmmm ... perhaps a future post.*


* Yes, I know there are various apps and tools that will suck all your digital pictures, updates, status posts, etc., from their various repositories and spit out a personal “life story” museum exhibit, but there’s no actual curation involved, so it’s quite arbitrary – not to mention that unlike younger folks, a not insignificant portion of my life did occur back in the analog age.

Music as a Well of Understanding

... or At Least an Emotional Rescue

A hole in the heart of the city, a scar on the psyche of the nation ...

In the flurry of 10th anniversary of 9/11 tributes, observations, reflections and analysis, NPR Music did an interesting, though limited, article on how in the immediate aftermath of 9/11 many of us looked to music and our favorite musical artists to help us make sense of what had transpired – the unthinkable, the unimaginable. Check out the NPR piece here.

For my part, I caught concerts by three artists in the month following the attacks.

First was up was David Byrne at Avalon in Boston, 10 days or so after that infamous day. It was the first time I had seen Byrne and, to be honest, I don’t remember a whole lot about the show. Perhaps I too was still a bit numb. I do remember not being sure quite what to expect of the concert – and not just because I hadn’t seen Byrne before. There was such a different and somber mood in the air. The vibe was utterly changed, at least for a while.

Prior to the show, I wondered: How will it be? How will the audience behave? Will the performers address the situation? Will it be a concert experience like we’re accustomed to, or will it be something else? Such was the pervasiveness of the feeling that our world had been twisted in some unknown and irreversible way.

I do remember Byrne saying something along the lines of what was mentioned in the NPR piece when introducing of the old Talking Heads classic, “Life During War Time,” but that’s about it.

A couple of weeks later, on Oct. 2, I was back at Avalon to see Wilco. It was the first of many times that I’ve seen the Chicago-based folk/alt-country/art rockers play live. At this time, guitarist Jay Bennett had just been booted from the band and Yankee Hotel Foxtrot was yet to be released, after much inner-band turmoil and record-company discombobulation over the release of the album (all well-documented in the film I Am Trying to Break Your Heart), but it was the record the band was debuting during that fall tour and it was a convincing show.

In hindsight, this was clearly a transitional period for the band, both in terms of musical focus and member wise. Having shed their alt-country roots, they were just beginning their lengthy foray into more adventurous pop art-rock explorations, which would later result in some incredibly inspired cacophony that conjured comparisons to Pink Floyd and Radiohead at times. But in early October 2001, those days were yet to arrive and guitarist extraordinaire Nels Cline and multi-instrumentalist Pat Sansone were not yet part of the band. Yhis was a rare period in which Wilco performed as a four piece.

But back to the Avalon concert: band leader Jeff Tweedy made no mention of recent events. In fact, there was almost no direct talking to the audience at all – in itself unusual given his typical loquaciousness. But the new song “War on War” from Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and Mermaid Avenue’s “One By One” both seemed to be imbued with extra resonance as the crowd and the band tuned in to the poignancy of the moment in a noticeable way, even if it wasn’t overtly acknowledged.

Just four days later, I caught back-to-back performances by The Waterboys in New York and Boston. By now, almost a month after the attacks, the magnitude and lasting effect – in essence the realization that our world was truly and fundamentally changed – seemingly forever – had really sunk in.

Mike Scott and Co., touring in support of their new release A Rock in the Weary Land, played concerts that perfectly captured the spirit of resilience in the face of malevolent times. At once uplifting and defiant (in thoughtful way), it was as if many of the songs on A Rock in a Weary Land had been written specifically for the occasion. Even old favorites like “We Will Not Be Lovers,” “The Pan Within” and “Savage Earth Heart” took on a passionate intensity that seemed driven by the times.

The Scotsman also made the most direct statements of any of the concerts regarding the current state of affairs:

In New York: “We’re so glad to see you all. We love this city. And after what happened on September 11th, we really are proud to play for New Yorkers. And we stand shoulder to shoulder with America, too.”

And, in Boston: “Tonight there’s war in the world, but the show goes on.” ... And, “You know, after what happened September 11th, it’s our honor to play for Americans. We’re really glad to be here with you. I noticed that everything is different, and even in a little matter like rock songs, things are different. Stuff that seemed important before, now seems really trivial. We’re going to do a song that I used to dedicate to Jerry Springer, it doesn’t seem so important now, but it’s still fun to poke one at Jerry. The song is called ‘Dumbing Down the World.’”

Which raises an interesting question for today: Ten years on, are we any smarter?

Unmaking the Myth of Print ... from Gutenberg On

I just stumbled across Robert Pinsky’s recent New York Times Book Review piece on The Book in the Renaissance by Andrew Pettegree (read it here). It’s an interesting look at Pettegree’s demythologizing of the early years of print (now so revered as the modern iteration wheezes on in the sick ward) in the aftermath of Gutenberg’s revolutionary invention.

Turns out, despite his trailblazing ingenuity, Gutenberg “died bankrupt and disappointed.” Either he hadn’t quite figured out how to monetize his “hi-tech” creation (remember, everything is relative) or it simply took a few decades for the market to catch up to his idea. Apparently, piracy was problem right from the start, too.

And, in further evidence that human nature doesn’t change much, even over half a millennium, the first successful runs on the early printing presses were not what we would later come to know as the classics, but rather Renaissance pulp (albeit religious) and vanity (certificates of papal indulgences).

I doubt I have the time to dedicate to wading through Pettegree’s lauded scholarship, but I did enjoy Pinsky’s enticing summary ... and you might, too.

Quite Optimistic

This is an interesting video clip of Esquire editor David Granger’s interview with Steve Forbes at the 2010 Publishing Business Conference and Expo in New York City back in early March:

I’m not sure how Forbes reaches such an optimistic conclusion about whether America is in decline or not given the economic facts as he lays them out in his answer, but he’s more knowledgeable about this stuff than most of us. (Personally, I avoid discussions of monetary policy like the plague! ) Thought-provoking, nonetheless.

20 Great Protest Songs

“Tin soldiers and Nixon’s coming, we’re finally on our own. / This summer, I hear the drumming, four dead in Ohio.”

... It was 40 years ago today.

Penned with celerity by Neil Young and captured in cathartic splendor by his bandmates only a few weeks after the infamous shootings at Kent State, “Ohio” is without a doubt one of the great protest songs of all time. Today’s remembrance of the events in Ohio on May 4, 1970, and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young’s impassioned musical response, got me thinking about other outstanding songs of protest in the rock canon.

Of course, there have been dozens of notable protest songs over the years, dating all the way back to the early 20th century. Heck, Woody Guthrie alone could fill a whole songbook with tunes of objection and dissent. (Speaking of songbooks, as I write this, an old folk guitar book, titled Songs of Work and Protest, sits in a bookcase an arm’s length away … Funny how those two go together, isn’t it?) More recently, Billy Bragg has occupied a similar place on the podium of folky protest productivity.

One of the tricky things when considering the genre of protest songs, particularly modern-day ones, is drawing the line between social commentary and actual objection. To me, true protest music must, at the very least, condemn social injustice, abuse of authority, misguided militancy, greed or corruption. Where songs fall in that spectrum of possibilities is purely personal judgment. And I have no doubt that a sound argument could be waged asserting that many of the selections below are more commentary than protest. Nevertheless, this is where I draw that line.

Protest Playlist

I’m not claiming that these are the 10 “best” protest songs – personal or otherwise – because I honestly haven’t given it all that much thought. But these are some good and noteworthy ones that readily come to mind.

Many of these songs deal with war. Nothing gets people’s ire up like the prospect of getting killed – or having to kill someone else. Not surprisingly, many of these tunes hail from that most fertile period of protest (the 1960s), but the early 1980s (the Reagan years) also seem to have elicited a fair amount of outrage, too – at least for musicians and listeners of my vintage. I’ve found many of the anti-Bush/Cheney protest songs of more recent years to be forced or formulaic, thus not quite cutting it for artistic reasons, even if the dissent had some appeal.

• Ohio – C.S.N.&Y. (1970) – As the impetus for this piece, this tune is number one in my book, not only for its sense of wounded indignation and outrage, but also for its searing guitar riff and soaring vocal harmonies (particularly on the later live versions on which David Crosby’s pain-filled howls of “How many more …” reach the heavens). An extra punch of protest was delivered on the B-side of the original single release of this song with the haunting a capella of “Find the Cost of Freedom” … It’s buried in the ground. Say no more.

• For What It’s Worth – Buffalo Springfield (1966) – Young’s early dueling partner, Stephen Stills, penned his own successful rapid response record following the Sunset Strip riots that hit L.A. in 1966. The ringing harmonics of the guitar and the strong vocal chorus of this song are nothing short of iconic. “Stop, hey, children, what’s that sound? Everybody look what’s going down.”

• Hurricane – Bob Dylan (1975) – Dylan had already logged his share of protest songs, but this epic ballad from the Desire/Rolling Thunder Revue-era is one of his best. Bob teamed with playwright Jacques Levy to compose a potent protest of the legal injustice and racism that saw boxer Rubin “Hurricane” Carter unfairly tried, convicted and imprisoned for a murder he didn’t commit: “Rubin Carter was falsely tried … / To see him obviously framed / Couldn’t help but make me feel ashamed to live in a land / Where justice is a game. … / Now all the criminals in their suits and their ties / Are free to drink martinis and watch the sunrise / While Rubin sits like Buddha in a 10-foot cell / An innocent man in a living hell.”

• Masters of War – Bob Dylan (1962) – This song (along with “God On Our Side” and more general expressions of the Civil Rights era, like “Blowin’ in the Wind” and “The Times They Are A-Changin’”) are what got Bobby pigeonholed as a protest singer to begin with. This was something he protested against, of course, eventually drifting away from social causes into another motor-psycho nightmare/daydream all together.

• War – Bob Marley(1976) – Despite its subsequent association with Sinead O’Connor’s infamous Pope-ripping appearance on SNL, this stark, talking blues with a reggae groove is a simple and direct condemnation of social and political injustice, with explication of the assuredly continuing state of affairs until those injustices are recognized and reconciled. This is protest music above all else!

• War – Bruce Springsteen (1985) – This live cover of the late 1960s’ soul-tinged tune by Edwin Starr was popularized for a later generation by The Boss. Springsteen’s reflective introductory comments and impassioned delivery make this a mighty protest that is all his own. He explodes into this song, like only Bruce can.

• My City Was Gone – The Pretenders (1983) – Sticking with the Ohio theme, Chrissie and Co. lament the rape of the urban landscape and vitality of downtown Akron, misguidedly replaced instead by shopping malls and parking lots.

• Country at War – X (1983) – John Doe and Exene Cervenka’s L.A. quartet compares actual warfare to the social combat waged upon the down-and-out in Reagan-era America. A forgotten gem.

• Sunday Bloody Sunday – U2 (1983) – From The Edge’s descending guitar riff to Bono’s hummed intro and Irish fiddlemaster Steve Wickham’s wicked embellishments throughout the song, this tune transcends Ireland’s 1921 Sinn Fein/Black-and-Tans conflict and the tragically repetitive events that occurred in Derry in 1972, applying the indignation and disgust over those notorious incidents to all senseless acts of violence. “I’m so sick of it,” indeed.

• Give Peace a Chance – John & Yoko (1969) – It’s atypical in its lack of vitriol relative to most of the other protest songs on this list, but this early Lennon-Ono gem is as defiant as any of the songs here. It’s utterly connected to the era, yet timeless, too. Proof, once again, that the most poignant protest is often the simplest (think man sitting in front of tank).

• Fortunate Son – Creedence Clearwater Revival (1969) – One of the quintessential songs of the ’60s counterculture’s disaffected youth, this CCR classic condemns a generation, a whole way of life, class inequity and militarism. Potent stuff.

• Common Man – The Blasters (1984) – At the time, this was a specific indictment of President Reagan and his faux populist posturing, but it remains equally applicable to any insincere smile flashed in front of a flag. Dave Alvin’s blistering, bluesy, rockabilly guitar provides perfect punctuation to brother Phil’s condemnation.

• I’m So Bored with the U.S.A. – The Clash (1977) – Given the pervasive influence of American culture around the world, it makes for a worthy target of protest by those powerlessly subjected to its omnipresence ... especially London punks in 1977.

• Wasted Life – Stiff Little Fingers (1979) – This is another anti-soldiery ode (re: either literal or metaphorical war) with a more personal perspective; barked out in a Belfast accent with driving guitar and speedy snare drums.

• Warrior – Steve Earle (2004) – Earle has many songs that could merit a place on this list (perhaps most notably “F the CC” from the same album), but this is an interesting twist on the lefty troubadour’s usual schtick. This urgent spoken-word recitation over a rock tune remonstrates the noble warrior’s fall from grace and esteem ion our culture (think Native American warrior vs. modern-day Army grunt).

• Mercury Poisoning – Graham Parker (1978) – This is a great protest/kiss-off pop song, even if it’s only protesting record company ineptitude. Self-described by GP as sounding like “cavemen on crack,” he is ably assisted by his protégés in snide: The Rumour. “I got a dinosaur for a representative. It’s got a small brain and refuses to learn.”

• Sun Green – Neil Young (2003) – Sure it’s embedded in the context of Neil’s much-underrated audio play/concept album (Greendale), but character details and story aside, this is an artistic and powerful condemnation of corporate greed and governmental corruption – even if the pro-environment message goes a little over the top at points. “Hey, Mr. Clean, you’re dirty now, too.”

• Roosevelt Room – Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley Band (2009) – The Bright Eyes boy seldom rocks like this, sounding here like Jon Langford (The Mekons et al) meeting Cracker – a kick-ass combo, in my book! Anti-authoritarian with a vengeance. (Bonus points for name-checking HST.)

• I Shot the Sheriff – Bob Marley (1973) – The height of personal protest: “They say they want to bring me in guilty for the killing of a deputy. But I say, ‘I shot the sheriff, but I didn’t shoot no deputy.’”

• Brainwashed – George Harrison (2002) – On one of his last recordings, the quiet Beatle remained true-to-form and crafted a poppy, spiritual protest against the consumer and institutional brainwashing inherent in so much of modern life.

I’m sure there should be some Pearl Jam on here somewhere. What would you add, from them or others?

Fading Echoes of WWI

The world’s oldest man died two days ago. Britain’s Henry Allingham was 113 years old ... Imagine all that he saw during his lifetime! My grandmother lived to be 100, having had feet not only in two different centuries, but two different worlds: a childhood in which people still got around by horse and buggy and the dark nights were lit by gas lamps to an adulthood seeing space travel and moon walks – and that with 20+ years still to live! She died in 1991, so she would be 118 if she were still alive today: A full five years senior to Mr. Allingham. That’s not much when you’re talking in terms of centuries.

Like most records, Mr. Allingham’s reign as world’s oldest man (however they verfiy that) was short lived, lasting only one month.

What I find fascinating about the coverage of Mr. Allingham’s life upon his passing is the nearly total focus on his participation in World War I (a now almost extinct résumé item). I guess that makes sense given that he was the second-to-last living British WWI veteran. Reportedly, there are no French, no German and only one American veteran of The Great War still alive ... 68 million participants and maybe only one left!

Mr. Allingham dedicated his many post-war years to ensuring the remembrance of that now distant and largely forgotten, but incredibly horrific and devastating war. Rightly considered by historians to be the first modern war, WWI was also still quite primitive. Despite the advent of lethal machinery, chemical weapons and other agents of destruction, the war was still fought nearly hand-to-hand (or at least trench-to-trench) . Very often the soldiers could see into the eyes of their enemies.

On thing I find particularly fascinating in Mr. Allingham’s obituary is the description of the early fighting planes. The WWI aces took to the skies in contraptions that were only a little more than a decade beyond Wilbur and Orville Wright’s mechanized kite. Astounding! Really makes you think about the things we complain about, doesn’t it?

Despite Allingham’s efforts to remind later generations of the supreme sacrifices made by the soldiers of World War I, The Great War – nor its successor – proved to be “the war that ends all wars.” So, regrettably, the brutally eloquent words of WWI poet Wilfred Owen remain as poignant and necessary today as ever:

The Show

by Wilfred Owen

My soul looked down from a vague height with Death,

As unremembering how I rose or why,

And saw a sad land, weak with sweats of dearth,

Gray, cratered like the moon with hollow woe,

And fitted with great pocks and scabs of plaques.

Across its beard, that horror of harsh wire,
There moved thin caterpillars, slowly uncoiled.
It seemed they pushed themselves to be as plugs
Of ditches, where they writhed and shrivelled, killed.

By them had slimy paths been trailed and scraped
Round myriad warts that might be little hills.

From gloom's last dregs these long-strung creatures crept,
And vanished out of dawn down hidden holes.

(And smell came up from those foul openings
As out of mouths, or deep wounds deepening.)

On dithering feet upgathered, more and more,
Brown strings towards strings of gray, with bristling spines,
All migrants from green fields, intent on mire.

Those that were gray, of more abundant spawns,
Ramped on the rest and ate them and were eaten.

I saw their bitten backs curve, loop, and straighten,
I watched those agonies curl, lift, and flatten.

Whereat, in terror what that sight might mean,
I reeled and shivered earthward like a feather.

And Death fell with me, like a deepening moan.
And He, picking a manner of worm, which half had hid
Its bruises in the earth, but crawled no further,
Showed me its feet, the feet of many men,
And the fresh-severed head of it, my head.

Then, of course, there’s Owen’s most famous lines: “Dulce et Decorum Est”, too.