Music

I have a five hour commute twice a week, so the scan button on my car radio gets a vigorous workout. Too often, I find myself asking “Who listens to this s**t, anyway?” Stupidity doesn’t suffice as an explanation. There aren’t enough cretins to go around; and besides, the cretins I know are Ramones fans. Or leftists.

Now we come to find out that Sony actually has to pay radio stations to play Jennifer Lopez, Good Charlotte, and Jessica Simpson. This comes as a relief. I have a higher opinion of the American people than the playlists at the various “KISS” radio stations across these fruited plains would warrant.

Next: Will Eliot Spitzer find out that they have to pay people to watch “reality TV” (whoa, an oxymoron rush!)?

More student exchanges have to be a good idea. And a Tunisian high school student might leave with a better understanding than ABC’s. One student reports: “Before, I thought the Americans were like the Europeans – no religion, no moral values, taking drugs, having sex, drinking all the time.”

“Drinking all the time” might describe country videos and none (or very few) would have the anti-war stance the host family seemed to take. But despite their passionate patriotism, surely they are not only more realistic but more appealing representations of American life than Britney Spears. (Though I’m sure Lex would prefer that other host families followed the lead of the one that banned television viewing.) Maybe Hammerstein is schmalzy, but modern pop is cynical with adolescent angst.

And perhaps to these North Africans, a man would attract in a way that a boy does not. Spiked emphasizes: “Even as a young man, that’s what Presley sounded like – a man” rings true. I wasn’t of a culture nor a region that found Presley appealing. I’ve never seen a Presley movie through. But a few years ago when, in a tribute to him, various modern singers covered some of his originals, followed or enclosed by his versions, I was struck by how much fuller, deeper, richer his were. Switching stations, I’d never intended to alight on that one, but called out to my family and we watched it for a while. His biography may not be that of a man, but his voice was. And whatever interest he had in pubescent girls, he sounded like he was interested in women.

Thanks to AL for both.

Lisa Marr has been a recurring focus of praise from moi in this space, e.g. here and here and here. (Perhaps one of these days I will write a long-threatened post analyzing and explaining why she is one of the great musical voices of the age. But for now, take my word for it.)

The most recent major work we had from her, however, was not a collection of gem-like pop songs — my not so secret wish — but a neat little movie called Learning How to Fail. Miss Marr has begun devoting a lot of time and energy to film-making lately. She explains here how this film came about. She was finding that scaling the musical mountain was working less and less well for her. Things took a particularly ugly turn in 2003. She was finally going to get her band The Lisa Marr Experiment, on the road for a national tour, but the guy who was supposed to be booking the shows had botched it and lied about it, and the tour couldn’t happen.

But, rather than mope, the plucky Canadian songbird decided to make the most of it. As she tells it:

I had time off, I had recently acquired a beat-up ’63 Gibson acoustic and a mini-DV camera; I had a box of records, a bag of t-shirts, a trusty ’88 Toyota Corolla hatchback and a ferocious case of wanderlust. Why not just hit the road by myself, play music in random public places and interview the folks I encountered along the way about their notions of success and failure while I tried to sort out my own feelings on the topic. I’d call it the Learning How To Fail Tour. And that’s exactly what I did.

I had friends willing to put me up in Las Vegas, Albuquerque, Brooklyn, Detroit, Chicago and Denver so my route was a giant game of connect the dots. In between, I slept in my car. Every day I’d set out and stop whenever a place caught my fancy. I’d find a suitable location (a park, a shopping center, a laundromat, a street corner, a truck stop, a bowling alley, a tavern, a tourist trap….), set up the camera and start playing. I had a little sign on my guitar case explaining what I was doing. Folks would amble up… sometimes they’d throw me a little bit of money but mostly we’d get to talking… The question “What is the definition of success?” was a window into all kinds of really amazing discussions about happiness, money, work, divorce, ambition, love and heartache, cancer, suicide, politics, music, family, travel… you name it. People responded with a kindness and generosity I couldn’t have imagined. Everyone wished me well and helped me in whatever way they could. Not once did I feel threatened or afraid. The whole experience restored my faith in making art and reminded me of why I’d been driven to make music in the first place: not money, not fame, but simply to connect with people. Process not product. Hokey, but true.

The film is a document of this tour. We see but don’t hear Miss Marr playing. Instead we hear the voices of lots of people holding forth with some surprisingly touching responses to the question: What is the definition of success? Full disclosure: Some voices near and dear to me can be heard in the film. But, that aside, it is a nicely done piece of work. It is handsomely packaged, with a bonus cd of a live acoustic appearance on a radio station, which has pleasant if rough-hewn versions of several of her songs. You can go here for a short version of the film (scroll to the bottom). Go here to buy it directly from her.

I will confess that I pine for a brand new, full-blown, fully produced, fully instrumented album from Miss Marr. She updates the news page on her website pretty much every month, and these posts are amusing and informative. The sense you get is that she is enjoying herself with a lot of one-shot projects (like a Buck reunion show) and film-related stuff, and playing out mainly as “The Here and Now”, which has the minimalist format of her on accoustic guitar and a rather dashingly piratical looking bearded gentleman on drums. Which is all fine. The stars may all come ’round right and we may one day get an album from her in the same league as, say, “Pet Sounds” or “Mr. Tambourine Man” – which I actually think is possible. But if these Olympian heights are never reached, all is still well. We will nonetheless, I am sure, be blessed with a continual outpouring of worthy new musical projects from the irrepressible Miss Marr.

In the meantime, I can also strongly recommend The Spring Demo Collection, which you can buy here. It is Miss Marr and a guitar, no overdubs, no nothin’, just the songs, unvarnished. But her singing is very sincere and beautiful and all the songs are good and a few are brilliant. Also, check out the group of free songs here, to get some idea what I am going on and on about.

Just found out about a most excellent site called Strange Reaction. It has MP3s of many great punk rock oldies. We have Henry Rollins covering Wire’s Ex Lion Tamer. Aging Chicago punks will recall the Effigies Best of all, I heard once again that mighty punk anthem The Enemy by DOA . The greatest punk rock guitar of all time? I think maybe yeah. Blistering solo. Punk rock, with hooks that make you punch your fist in the air, not hardcore. This song was their finest moment, and unlike most of their songs, appears to contain no cussin’.

Dudes. It took me back.

(via Metafilter)

The first Byrds album was one of the greatest things ever. But this song always seemed to me to be the best of the best, an all-time top ten, everything a pop song is supposed to be — beautiful, simple, classically structured, sad but shining through the sadness. It has been part of the fundamental architecture of my brain for a really long time. God knows when I first heard it, probably on the radio as a really little kid. But as I think about it, my first conscious recollection of hearing this song is on a dusty big-hole 45 that belonged to the big sister of my friend across the street — I’d guess age 11 or 12 (circa 1975). The musical legacy of the period 1965-67 (pre-hippie era) was the peak of American Rock and Pop Music, both famous and obscure. So today I was pleased to run across this video here of “Feel a Whole Lot Better”. The video, for all its poor quality, is an artifact which capture that mid-60s youthfulness and energy and innocence and cool — featuring a tall, dashing young Gene Clarke on vocals, with tambourine, of course.