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"... side by side with the human race runs another race of beings, the inhuman ones, the race of artists who guided by unknown impulses, take the lifeless mass of humanity and by the fever and ferment with which they imbue it turn this soggy dough into bread and the bread into wine and the wine into song..."
Henry Miller

Inventing a New Way to Listen to Music

This blog aims to expand your appreciation for song and written word together. Many of the posts have been designed to match the time of a specific song in reading length. The words of the post, together with the song you hear, will open your mind to a new way of reading and listening to music. Enjoy!

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Gimme an F!

Country Joe McDonald


In October, 1965, at the Vietnam Day Teach-In at Berkeley, Country Joe McDonald began a habit of opening his concerts with what would grow to be known as the FUCK cheer. “Gimme an ‘F’. Gimme a ‘U’. Gimme a ‘C’. Gimme a ‘K’. What’s that spell? What’s that spell? What’s that spell?” Immediately after the call-and-response gimmick, The Fish (Country Joe’s band) would break into the Vietnam demur “I Feel Like I’m Fixin’ To Die Rag.”


What this was, was protest. The setting was a common one for the late 1960s, a stage full of anti-conformist musicians, hippies smoking pot and dropping acid, dancing and making love, the whole time drawing attention to what they saw as unjust and unqualified government policy. What was perhaps even more brilliant, was the way many of the musicians were able to poke fun at themselves and the ridiculousness of their own counterculture,taking jabs at the extreme far left Hippies, Yippies, and SDS’ers.


Social protest is nothing new, but the recent Toronto G20 riots that saw cars burned, businesses completely destroyed, and over five-hundred arrests took the modern act of demonstration to a much uglier, and as a result, futile level. The only thing people are talking about in the hangover of Canada’s recent G20 Summit are the riots themselves. Nobody knows, nor seems to care, what side the violent attackers stood for or whom they represented, let alone what the leaders of the world’s most powerful nations accomplished.


Alas, there is to be plenty of material written on the subject from all around the world, so I shall do my best to refrain from the mundane opinion sharing on how poorly Ottawa delivered, and omit a verbal lambasting on the deplorable acts of Canada’s largest cowards. Yet being originally from Toronto, and having a general hate-on for protests and the people who participate in them anyhow (even before these cowardice insolents took to the streets of my beloved hometown), I can’t help myself from tying this week’s Liner Notessomehow back to the protest theme.


The Freedom Singers, Newport Folk Festival 1962, (Peter, Paul & Mary, Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, amongst them)


How will I do that? By looking at how we got from bands like The Freedom Singers (founded 1962), who encouraged people to hold hands and resist,without violence, actual injustices against authentic social monstrosities like Civil Rights inequalities and preemptive invasion, to bands like Mudhoney,encouraging uneducated insubordinates to mask themselves, create anarchywith no real effort to produce an alternative, and destroy property on the principal that one is allowed because of chartered freedoms. These are two very distant sides on a strangely similar spectrum.


Lyrically, each side can be represented by two very different songs, decades apart, but both which seek the same message. Song 1: “We Shall Overcome” (1947 – a spin-off from an old gospel piece made famous by Pete Seeger as a campaign piece for the Civil Rights Movement). Song 2: “Killing In The Name” (1992 – the title track from Rage Against the Machine’s debut album and an anthem for a generation too bored to love but with nothing to hate).


Allow me to point out the obvious first. Here are the six phrases repeated in “We Shall Overcome”: We Shall Overcome. We’ll walk hand in hand. We shall be free. We are not afraid. We are not alone. The whole wide world around.


Compare with the repeated phrases in “Killing In The Name”: And now you do what they told you. Now you’re under control. Killing in the name of. Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me.


Two songs discussing the same theme—racism in America—with two very different messages. Where one preaches of hope, unity, and adversity through bleak times, the other elicits rage, antagonism,and vehement anarchy.


What has happened though, is that the act of social protesting has lost its one tactical edge—the unexpected. Every time there is any sort of meeting of international diplomats, major governing bodies, or colossal corporations, local authorities prepare and allow for protesting to take place. Since the late sixties, both the media and the public are caring less and less about “marches” and/or “demonstrations” because, in 2010, the people protestinghave become as expected and conventional as the very agent they are wishing to protest against. A thousand people politely cordoned off in a predetermined protester square has no flash and therefore draws no attention. The stakes must be raised, and music is a great vehicle to antagonize the willing.


But at what cost and for what cause?


In the past, one could join a noble cause and feel good about taking to the streets: woman’s suffrage in the early 1900s; labor-struggle and union organization in the 20s and 30s; nuclear war in the 40s; Civil Rights in the 50s and 60s; The Vietnam War in the 70s. Some songwriters (certainly not all)were able to capitalize on the proletariat point of view, and write well thought-out poetic diatribes giving voice to a group waning in a superior government or corporate shadow.


However, the last twenty to thirty years have been a relatively peaceful and progressive period. This is the longest we have gone without a large-scale (meaning many nations involved) war, and with the exception of G.W. Bush’sunlawful and downright vindictive invasion of Iraq, there have been few majorcauses to protest over the last three decades (I am very aware of the many events warranting “protest” since the 1980s. However, for the sake of brevity, I offer the argument that, in America, there has been very little in terms of catastrophic change as a result of high demand by public demonstration).


During the sixties, especially with song laureates like Bob Dylan and Neil Young, major record labels and marketing firms discovered the value (both psychological and monetary) in the teenage-angst musical formula. There is an innate desire in all of us to challenge authority during the adolescent years of our life. High school kids want music that supports and answers their natural call for rebellion.


The problem with an album like Rage Against the Machine’ 1992 Killing In The Name is that it only incited white suburban middle-class brats to get pissed off at their school principal. While Zack de la Rocha sang of racism in the Southern police squadrons, spoiled teens took the lyrics as inspiration and a call-to-arms to disrespect all and any form of institution or adult-represented establishment.


Unfortunately, for the rest of society, some of these kids have become stunted in their intellectual growth, and instead of passing through the adolescent phase of anti-institutionalism and anti-establishmentism, they havebecome members of anarchist groups like Canada’s “Black Bloc,” and are continuing to spend their time listening to bands like Rise Against, System Of A Down, or Score Throat while completely missing the point. Most of the time, the writers and bands are quite articulate and compose some brilliant, if somewhat misguiding, lyrics about the current (mis)state of affairs.


Pete Seeger


Sadly, the fans of the bands are rarely ever as versed or intelligent as the musicians themselves, and instead of inspiring people to seek change in this world, what results is a group of misguided idiots dressing up in Halloween ninja costumes who go around trashing urban centers with rocks, bats, and flamethrowers, using any causal chance they get. The Black Bloc has turned Martin Luther King Jr. and intelligent social protest with meaning into the ten year-olds on William Golding’s deserted Pacific Island.


Pete Seeger must be rolling in his grave. How sad.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Tie Tin Tup (3:17)

Gimme a funky bass line and a smirking laugh and I just know this is gonna be worth stickin’ 'round for. What’s he laughin’ at? It’s as if the he knows something we don’t. Well shit! I hope so! If he don’t, I don’t wanna stick around no-how.

Okay drums... C’mon in.

Guitar!—-Have at it. Chop it down now like an axe.

The Drells are gonna take it all away for a few minutes.

Hi everybody. I’m not Archie Bell. But I sure as hell wish I was. This is soul music from Houston – 1968. Don’t lose it now. This is more than a post. I don’t only write, but I dance just as good as I walk. In New York, we just started a new way of reading—-called the tighten’ up. These are the writings, we tighten up with.

Alright, that’s enough. No more foolin’. Let’s get serious.

Tighten up now.

Isn’t it time we all tighten up a little bit? Oil spills and missing teen-sailors. Europe’s bust and the world shifts its focus to a futbol tournament. Gaza strip is for sale and Sarah Palin’s got fake titties. Barack is being criticized all over and Wimbledon matches take three days to play. G20 is shuttin’ down Toronto and Apple’s selling a million new iPhones. Good gawd.

C’mon people. Tighten up. Ha ha.

Archie Bell—-he’s not just singin’; he’s preachin! He’s intructin’. He’s askin’ and at the same time he’s tellin’. Aww yeah.

Tighten up. We could all use a little tightenin’ up in our lives. Tighten up the way we dress, the way we carry ourselves. Tighten up the thoughts in our minds. Tighten up how we treat the people around us and tighten up our call-to-action. Archie Bell is pushin’ a message where the soul of a person never dies. Don’t be sloppy. You can do it now. Tighten up. It’s not that tough.

Okay. Time out. Look here. C’mon now. Now make it mellow.

Brass fall away from me...

Wait...

Now, come on back.

And while you are waiting for the horns to slide down a few levels, inhale in preparation for the next part of the verbal dance.

Tighten it up now. Everybody can do it now. We gonna tighten up.

Just listen to that drum and those guitar strings dicin’ through the speakers liked chopped onion; that bass shiftin’ its weight while it tries to decide which leg to stand on; them horns callin’ all so(u)ldiers to the dance floor like the military instruments they once were; that organ groovin’ its way out of church and into religion; two hands slappin’—-the most primitive of human instruments; and that voice, the Archie Drell’s summons-—both orderin’ and plea’n all in one. The man spends a whole song in a state of inspiration, beggin’ his players, beggin’ his band, beggin’ all of us to just forget everything for a while and tighten up.

Isn’t it time we all stopped being so sloppy and wasteful anyhow?

Awww yeah, just tighten it up now.

Laugh. Laugh more. Sock it to me. Tighten it up.

Doesn’t the old cliché go, “there is always room for improvement?” Well then, in the name of the cliché, the passé, the blasé, the reveillé, and the historé--Tighten Up!

Somewhere between Houston, 1968 and New York, 2010 we have forgotten how to tighten it up. Or is it that we are too tight? Perhaps we are tightenin’ up all the wrong knots. And you know when you do it too. This is the funny thing. When was the last time you danced with tight muscles? Steppin to the beat, but holding your arms tight to your body, your fists clenched for strength, your ass flexed for power, your stomach muscles and torso contracted for posture. Some say this is no way to dance. At times I would agree. But at others-—we need to listen to Archie. Tighten up. Straighten up. Posturize. Pull it all in and hold it there. Tighten up. Clap your hands. Play the air trumpet. Peck your neck to the bass. Tap your toes. But keep it tight. Keep what you will loose. Tighten up the rest.

When it needs to be mellow, inhale it.

When it needs to be loose, exhale it.

And when it needs tightenin’ up; hold your breath, and just ride the music until it fades into the ether of the soul.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Fame vs. Pride

Hey y'all.

Sorry--I have been away in glorious Canada for a week. I guess you could say I was followin' Boss Paul's advice, and was out to "git my mind right." It seemed to work though; a Gibson State of Mind is like butterscotch on your sundae.

Expect new music-lit posts soon. In the mean time, check out my latest article on BreakThru Radio that discusses the different mindsets between the musician who remains true to his own versus the band that chases fifteen minutes of fame.

Do you remember Wheatus? Ever heard of Brian Jonestown Massacre? Find out the difference HERE.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Even If It Is Broke

On Friday, I was fortunate to see the NY premier of the new Broken Social Scene film This Movie Is Broken.

It's a film by Canadian filmmaker Bruce McDonald and it follows two Toronto romantics as they attend the free BSS concert at the Toronto harbourfront that was put on in July of 2009.

For my full review, click HERE.

Monday, June 14, 2010

Inhale The Basement Air (3:45)



What does it mean to be inspired these days? Perhaps the better question is: What does it take to become inspired these days? Are you inspired when you get out of bed in the morning? When you get to work? When you accomplish the same task you complete weekly, daily, hourly? How about when you achieve a more challenging goal? Maybe music can inspire you? Gawd, let’s hope so. If not, you’re already dead.

This isn’t a Nike commercial or an advertisement for Gatorade. You won’t see images of Michael Jordan hitting a jump-shot at the buzzer, Mohammed Ali training in a ring soaked in sweat, or Drew Brees winning the Superbowl. All you have here to inspire you is a symphony of sound and black words on a screen. But that’s enough.

Here we go.

Inspire – made up of two words: “in” meaning to enter; and “spire” a derivative of “spirit” which refers to the soul in most definitions but has a more literal Latin root of “breath.” Therefore, the exact etymological function of inspiration is “to breath life into something.”

And what has the power to do that? What thing out there, whether artificial or real, can breathe life into you and revive you from an otherwise mundane way of being? Is it music? Words? Images? People? Sport? Competition? Challenge? Victory?

Does it really matter?

We all need a little inspiration sometimes. Who cares where it comes from. Perhaps today it will come from reading this post or hearing this song, and tomorrow it will come from seeing a little kid share his candy with someone. Perhaps it is heard in the guitar sounds of Kevin Drew and Brendan Canning, and in the drumming of Justin Peroff. Maybe it lies in the reels of a film or bites of a Youtube vid. It doesn’t matter where the breath is born, just that you open the windows to your soul so that the breeze can come in. You can’t see it, but you can sense its existence. There is inspiration all around you, everyday. Don’t look for it, because it's not physically there. It’s invisible—-spire. Inhale it.

Dare to rise with the sun I often say. Dare to do something different today, something unruly, something desired and desirable, an act to be made jealous of, a cry into thyself that has everyone around you twist his or her thoughts in puzzlement. The question posed, “Man, what got into her?” is the right one. New breath. New life. New spirit. New Being. Quit the pattern; abandon the routine, even if only for a moment. Music is therapy for the living dead; sound is its emotion.

I can’t inspire you, and neither can Broken Social Scene. We can only supply you with the oxygen. They blow it out of the speakers and I whisper it off the screen and into the air surrounding you. But then it’s beyond us. We leave it there, floating colorless and unseen. It’s a temptation, an invitation, a provocation, an invocation. But you have to inhale it; you have to be willing to suck it all up until your lungs can’t take it, and then draw in a little more. Drink in the spirited air like it was your last glass of wine. Suck back as if it was your final breath before diving deep into the sea of your desires. Hold that creative spirit in your lungs, letting it travel to all parts of your mind and body, and then don’t let it go.

Tempo change and back to the original four-note melody. Broken Social Scene reminding us what it feels like to live inside of a scream. Exhaling sounds that are available for the taking.

I can’t describe the music for you. I often try, but how does one even attempt to wordify sound? Listen to the song. Read the words. Become inspired yourself. This isn’t a force-feeding and I aint supplying no I.V. Drink what dare you.

Leave the rest untouched. Us inhuman ones want more; we are gluttons for inspiration inebriation.

Hear how powerful the symphony is. Remember what it was like to see live music for the first time, to dance uninhibited as a toddler, to giggle as a child, to be in love as a grade-schooler, to waiver drunkenly as a teen, to get high with your friends, to be a part of victory, to chase romance like a fool, to hold your newborn in the hospital, to hear the word “grandpa.”

Rave on.

Billy Blake: “The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.” If you don’t want the ride, that’s fine. But then get off the fuckin’ highway. Stop suckin’ in my oxygen. Turn this music off. Go back to the safe haven of recycled air.

As for the rest of you, meet me in the basement. Kevin and I are takin’ turns with the Hookah; Brendan’s got his own pipe.

Breath in. Breath in. Breath in.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Reality Killed The Video Star

MTV completely changed the world of music. Are they doing it again? Or are they turning their back on the music industry completely, focusing on the info-age 24-hour reality phenomenon instead of any new music talent? Go HERE to read more on BreakThru Radio.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

So long "High Fidelity"

Three weeks ago, young filmmaker Hunter Stuart and I hit Union Square to do a video/written report on where people are getting their music from. The results were not surprising. Most people have not stepped foot inside a music store in years.

For the full article and Youtube video, click HERE.

To go straight to the Youtube clip, click HERE.

Friday, June 4, 2010

Soul Armistice (2:02)

Feel it. Feel it.

Sammy has something to say. So stop what you’re doin’. Let it all go.

How many of us fight it everyday? Fight traffic, fight people, fight emotions, and alarm clocks. Fight cravings over health choices. Fight with our kids, our parents, our wives, our siblings, and our friends. Fight bad news on the radio and not-news in the papers. Fight depression and the war.

Don’t Fight It. Don’t Fight It. Feel it.

We fight with the economy and with our draining bank accounts. We fight structure and conformity. We fight cubicles and office chairs. We fight keyboards and computer screens. And we fight against a blitzkrieg of emails.

We fight our weight and our height and our age. We fight our skin color and our language barrier. We fight the mirror in front of us, and the voice behind us. We fight the core of our souls and the invisibility of our spirits. We fight our sexual desires and primitive drives. We fight sustainability.

Oh, don’t be in pain, trying to restrain. Go ahead and move your hips.

And the whole time we are fighting it there is a large rumbling in our souls, like that tumba drum you don’t hear. But it’s there. Listen to it come in behind Sam Cooke’s voice—rhythmically pounding like an obsessive heartbeat, reminding us all of our primitive need to dance, to attract, to celebrate, (there it is) and to forget about life for a while. It dares us to tap into that part of our subconscious that is buried in our hips and toes, laying dormant, struggling for a breath of air only when the sound of a voice like Sam Cooke’s provokes it.

Whooaaa now. Don’t Sammy’s swingin’ music make you wanna flip?

Sammy washes it all away. Listen to him. First he reminds us of how simple everything can be. And then he dares us to rise with the sun and moon. Music evokes the spirit, and the spirit doesn’t think in reason or logic. There is no rationalizing with the abstract. Sam Cooke reaches into that part of us that knows deep down what we exist for, repetitively coercing each one of us to stop fighting and start listening. The rest is just details. Let it all go.

Don’t fight it. Don’t fight it. Feel it.

Feel it.

Roll on piano. Swing on.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Geekout

Recently, I was interviewed on a radio program called "Geekout" on BreakThru Radio. The topic of the program was on where people get their music.

I discuss everything from the collective consensus that thievery is okay when it comes to music, to the individual guilt that follows.

There is a song break in between the two-part interview, so stick around till the end.

Click HERE to listen!