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?

Smells Like Curatorial Spirit

Here’s another interesting video segment that strikes close to home for me from the folks at Ragan Communications:

Music to my ears! As a bonafide “content curator” by day (that is, in fact, my current job title) and a confirmed “curatorial obsessive” relative to various personal interests the rest of the time (of which this blog is partial evidence), I live and breathe this stuff.

While the idea of “curation,” has become a trendy buzz word in the last year or so, the essence of true curatorial execution is often misconstrued. As Shel Holtz notes in the video clip above, it’s about qualified “filtering,” not mere collection and regurgitation. Good curation – whether it’s centered on creating or simply showcasing good stuff – involves qualifying the content and sourcing, providing meaningful context, and then presenting it in a way that's meaningfully targeted to a particular audience. Part of the contextualizing is making the curated content truly your own – i.e., stamping it with your own voice or brand.

At least that’s my take on it, and what I strive to do. What does it mean to you?

No Paperback Writer: McCartney, Rejected!

I recently came across a humorous guest post by novelist Jon Gibbs on Nathan Bransford’s writing and publishing blog. It’s a well-executed, if somewhat predictable, tongue-in-cheek reject letter sent by a snarky literary agent to Paul McCartney as if The Beatles’ 1966 classic “Paperback Writer” had been an actual query letter.

This certainly appeals to the “publishing geek” in me, and no matter which side of the equation you might be on in the publishing formula, you can sympathize with the perspectives played out here. Or you you might simply enjoy it as a Beatles’ fan. Regardless, it’s worth a read. (Check it out here.)

And, to refresh your memory, here’s the original promo video the lads did for the song:



And, given the details of the referenced blog post, the full lyrics to the song might help, too:


Paperback Writer
(Lennon/McCartney) - but really Paul

Paper back writer (paperback writer)
Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?
It took me years to write, will you take a look?
It’s based on a novel by a man named Lear
And I need a job, so I want to be a paperback writer,
Paperback writer.

It’s the dirty story of a dirty man
And his clinging wife doesn’t understand.
The son (The Sun? Nice double entendre!) is working for the Daily Mail,
It’s a steady job, but he wants to be a paperback writer,
Paperback writer.

Paperback writer (paperback writer)

It’s a thousand pages, give or take a few,
I’ll be writing more in a week or two.
I can make it longer if you like the style,
I can change it round and I want to be a paperback writer,
Paperback writer.

If you really like it you can have the rights,
It could make a million for you overnight.
If you must return it, you can send it here
But I need a break and I want to be a paperback writer,
Paperback writer.

Paperback writer (paperback writer) ...

ADDENDUM

While tracking down the original video above, I also came across another interesting rendition of the song. This one is a rawer version the band prerecorded on a stage set in England in place of an in-person appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show in early 1966. It also includes the B-side to “Paperback Writer,” John Lennon’s “Rain” – further example of the songwriting duo’s potency during this period. (Who else was making singles with, in effect, two strong A-sides?)



I never noticed McCartney’s chipped tooth in this before now. Apparently, others noticed, too, leading to so many comments about it on YouTube that the video’s uploader got annoyed and disabled the comment capability. He does, however, explain that it was the result of a motor scooter accident. Obviously Paul (the cute one) had it fixed soon thereafter.

Merrill’s Transcontinental Dream

For the past couple of months I’ve been listening quite a bit to the second album by Tune-Yards, called WHOKILL. I was not familiar with the band (essentially the work of the one-woman sonic/songwriting/performing phenomenon known as Merrill Garbus, with support from bassist Nate Brenner and a small variety of others) until numerous references to the new, breakthrough release, kept crossing my radar. Tune-Yards gained major traction this spring with buzz-worthy performances at music festivals such SXSW and Pitchfork.

Why? A few listens make it clear: Garbus’ quirky combination of Afro-pop, jazz and folk is delivered with a hint of punk DIY and hip-hop spunk, adding up to one of the most original albums I’ve heard in years.

It’s not always easy listening. True to the punk and hip-hop shades of the palette, it has a hint of discomfort and agitas. Mostly, though it’s incredibly inventive, especially given that its built upon Merrill’s powerful, soulful singing, propulsive rhythmic loops and ukelele run through various sonic effects. (It ain’t your uncle’s uke, that’s for sure; or even Amanda Palmer’s, Eddie Vedder’s or whoever else has joined the uke parade in recent years, either). No, in fact, most of the time you wouldn’t guess it’s a ukelele at all.

Throw in some bass guitar and a bit of sax or marimba here and there and that’s the whole of it. But it adds up to a lot – at times even creating a wonderful cacophony, as on the opening track, “My Country.”

Merrill, a 30-something New England native now based in Oakland, Calif., has a fascinating background, which I first heard about back in May in one of the always-interesting Sound Opinion podcasts. (Highly recommended, listen to it here.) She tells some wonderful stories in an endearingly humble, yet confident way. Her explanation of how she came up with her band’s name is magically cinematic.

Not long after hearing that podcast, I caught the video of her in-studio performance on KCRW’s “Morning Become Eclectic.” (Watch it here.) I was hooked. But it wasn’t until I bought WHOKILL and listened to it repeatedly in the ensuing weeks that the full power of this performer hit me.

Since then, the Eno-meets-Marley vibe and catchy choruses of “Bizness” have made the song a bonafide hit, drawing yet more attention to the album. Like most of the songs, it’s built around Garbus’ multi-tracked vocals, sweet-and-sour inflections and occasional vocal asides dropped in here and there. She gets maximum effect out of so many of these little embellishments. Overall, it’s a superb balance of raw and refined, simple and nuanced.

“Gangsta” is another popular cut off the CD and a good example of that. It’s powerful but spare percussion and horn interjections percolate beneath multi-layered vocals that recall Petra Haden’s amazing all a cappella renditions of full albums such as The Who Sell Out.

Yet, part of what’s wonderful about WHOKILL is that right on the heels of the hip urbanity of a song like “Gangsta,” Garbus follows it with a sweetly melodic power-pop song like “Powa” (though a careful listen to the lyrics reveals far from innocent fare). Of course, after that, it’s back to the rockin’ riot of, well, “RiotRiot.”

Another of my fave tracks on WHOKILL is the whimisical “You Yes You,” with it’s bouncing bass line, jaunty electrified uke strumming and picking and Merrill’s scat-like singing and layered choruses. Who’d have thought a uke could sound like Pete Townshend’s Rickenbacker circa 1966?

All in all, not only does Merrill Garbus make some really interesting music with Tune-Yards, she has something to say, too. I’m intrigued enough to be checking her out when she comes to town in next month.

Beatles vs. Stones

It’s the “Coke or Pepsi?” question of rock: The Beatles or The Rolling Stones?

Most of us have an immediate, visceral response: a gut reaction based on one band striking an inner chord in a way that the other just doesn’t.

For me, it’s The Stones. Always has been, though as I’ve grown older, the question prompts a bit more pause and pondering. But as much as I love The Beatles, the bluesy grit, funky grooves and maximum riffage of Keith & Co. wins out over the pop songcraft, progressive artistry and sonic experimentalism of The Beatles.

Of course, it is a bit of an apples-and-oranges consideration from today’s vantage point (as opposed to weighing the two choices in, say, 1968 or ’69). The Stones have been an active enterprise for nigh on a half-century. The Beatles body of work represents a mere decade. What they did in that brief period of time is unparalleled. On the other hand, The Stones longevity (or at least The Glimmer Twins’) is unmatched in rock music, even if they’ve had an orchestra’s worth of players pass through the ranks.

But, as Mick said during his band’s ill-fated December 1969 visit to a Northern California racetrack,. “Why must we fight?” So, in the spirit of detente between the two camps:

Here’s a fun mashup: “Sympathy for the Devil” meets “With a Little Help From My Friends.”