An acquaintance, a somewhat disgruntled worker, who was shown the door in her organization recently went on a tirade, listing off all the magnificent things she had supposedly brought to the company. All were fabrications or deluded personal perspectives on tasks she had ‘accomplished’. In a fit of fury, she insisted, “I have been misunderestimated.” This, erm, “word” perfectly encapsulates who and how she is. Trying too hard to be articulate and coming out sounding like a babbling moron in the process. Mis – under – estimated? If that were a word at all, how would it apply? That as a native English speaker, you don’t know how to use English (despite working in a communications department)? (For what it’s worth, “misunderestimate” is a classic Geo. W. Bushism.)
Thinking this morning about these vainglorious declarations of “misunderestimations”, I grant that I underestimated how glorious indeed seeing The Stone Roses live would be. I’m just returning home from the UK, where my brother and I have spent a few days seeing the Roses in Manchester. What could beat seeing them on their home turf and taking a look around the stomping grounds of some of our favorite musical artists? For nostalgia’s sake alone, it seemed like a good idea. In fact I counted on it being primarily nostalgic. I don’t think The Roses were ever known in the old days for being consistent and reliable, and I did not think that that 20 years between their breakup and today would have changed that.
But it did.
Now, I have never been the kind of person who enjoys standing in huge crowds of people enduring drunken idiots. I have never stood in an English crowd of idiots (their weird herd-hooligan mentality comes out even in this musical environment). I’m tempted to blame my advanced age, but then I remember with some displeasure that I felt this way when I was 20 as much as today. I simply hate crowds, especially stupid ones, and adding alcohol makes it 100 times worse. I also do not find the same things “fun” as other people. This would be an endurance exercise, not one of sheer pleasure.
We went to the venue very early – hours before it opened – to ensure that my brother could get the merchandise he wanted. Then we wandered off in the industrial estate area where the stadium is and found the most strangely placed, overly ornate Thai/Indian restaurant right in the middle of it (Vermilion). We went inside and were the only ones in the place, being showered with the dedicated attentions of an overeager French waiter who was so excited to interact and show us the revolving table in the adjacent room that he nearly knocked over some wine glasses in the process (“spin that wheel!”). It was surreal, making the whole thing memorable and laughable. Also, it was a good thing we ate a bunch of food because once we did actually get inside the stadium, we staked out our spot and didn’t really move again for seven hours. (Our feet have not thanked us since.)
The day started with The Buzzcocks, followed by The Coral, then Public Enemy and finally The Stone Roses. From the moment they went on, the crowd was rapt and all their previous shenanigans did not matter (e.g. throwing half-empty cups of beer and cider and shit into the air, which half soaked me at one point and really pissed me off). There is something truly uniting? Transformative? about sharing the same experience with a massive group of people who are all there, living and loving the same thing with equal intensity. No one was indifferent. Everyone knew all the words to every song and freaked out in unison. The intensity never abated. I have been to many concerts in my life but none with that sustained intensity and fervor and sheer engagement at every moment, particularly not at a concert of that size (smaller gigs in smaller venues for bands with a small but passionate following will seem a bit like that but on a much smaller scale). I guess scale is what I am talking about – I have never seen and experienced something like that, being right in the middle of it.
It was amazing and well worth all the hassles. And I guess my doubts about the Roses’ efficacy and staying power were misunderestimated. đ Haha.
Capping off a week in which I was obsessed with thinking about, talking about and listening to music, I finished the work week (almost – still have Friday to get through) watching the film Les choristes. A perfect finale.
I thought about and discussed genius songwriters this week – focusing in mostly on the late, great Townes van Zandt and to a lesser degree, Robyn Hitchcock (whose duet of van Zandtâs well-known âPoncho and Leftyâ with Grant-Lee Phillips I stumbled upon the previous week).
I met someone who has placed van Zandt (rightly) on a songwriting pedestal. A songwriterâs songwriter. The striking thing, for me, though, was in exploring how each of us – and by extension, how anyone – discovers music. Discoverability is a lot easier these days – easy to spread and share. Not quite so much in the âold daysâ. This led me to thinking about the web music weaves – the intricate web, unique to each of us – making up the soundtrack of our lives. The web also has a kind of reach – one piece of music or musician leads us to their influences or contemporaries. It was in this way that I discovered Townes van Zandt myself back in 1990.
I had fallen under the dreamy spell of the Cowboy Junkiesâ album The Trinity Sessions and, being too young, could not attend their first show in Seattle. When they came back in early June 1990 (hear me let out a sigh here – I am 26 years removed from this – âwho knows where the time goes?â), I begged my parents let me attend (luckily they did). The Junkies were touring with Townes van Zandt – my first introduction to him. Since then Iâve devoured his discography, and have seen its presence proliferate in film and TV soundtracks ever since.
The woven web was taking on new parts – the initial discovery of the Cowboy Junkies had first led me to the Velvet Underground (as the Junkies gained their biggest âfameâ from their remake of âSweet Janeâ). I had known of Lou Reed earlier, but mostly only having heard âWalk on the Wild Sideâ a few times and seen him a few times on a brief and more mainstream path in the 80s. And from the Junkies, things moved on to Townes.
Thinking about all of this, I reflected, and wrote to an acquaintance that âone of the most beautiful things about music is its ability to not just endure and bring people together or even its transformative power but its âintroductoryâ powers. That is, you hear something that means something to you… but it does not stop thereâ. In fact, it never stops. The web continues to multiply.
This year began with the impossible-to-accept and still sometimes breathtakingly sad news that David Bowie had passed at age 69. I can only refer to him as “David Bowie” because no single word or descriptor (artist, musician, entertainer…) can encompass what and who he was or the legacy and influence he left in his wake.
Throughout the year, we’ve been hit with big – and horribly early – celebrity deaths. “Early” in the sense that people are passing away at younger ages, before their time. Of course there are the notable deaths of older people, such as the actress Doris Roberts, who just passed away at 90, or Abe Vigoda, long the subject of internet death rumors, at 94. But in the first four months of 2016, we’ve seen death come for much younger people. Some are shocking, like actor Alan Rickman (who was 69) or The Eagles’ Glenn Frey (67), but others are devastating in a rare and almost profound way. I don’t think any celebrity death can surpass the transcendent and lasting loss of Bowie, but if there’s a rival passing, it’s that of Prince, who is dead at 57. (Strange that Prince’s one-time protege, Vanity, also died this year, also at age 57.)
To describe what these artists meant would be a fool’s errand. They meant so many different things to so many different people. It’s enough to write that luminaries like Bowie and Prince were beyond description – and formed the backdrop of and soundtrack for the lives of millions. Most people have some – or many – connection(s) to the music, bound tightly to their individual memories. My entire childhood is peppered with aural and visual memories of both Bowie and Prince. The visuals of Ziggy-era Bowie or the entirely different aesthetic of “Let’s Dance” and “China Girl” that flashed onscreen in late-night music video shows; exuberant pairings of Prince’s “1999” and “Let’s Go Crazy” and the altogether different seductive power of “When Doves Cry” (which pretty much always has been and always will be my go-to Prince anthem).
It’s not that Bowie or Prince, either one, had been the bedrock of my musical life or tastes. But they had been there, as foundations and influences for everything else, pulling the past (their influences) into the present, and dispersing their own influence across the depth and breadth of the musical spectrum. Losing them is losing forces to be reckoned with in the way that losing most artists just isn’t.
I am happy when a same-sex couple shares some kind of intimacy on television. On the most recent episode of Nashville, closeted and conflicted character Will Lexington (Chris Carmack) kisses a man in whom he has interest. Willâs journey to self-acceptance has maybe only just begun (he does not want to jeopardize his career by coming out) but at least he is not trying to throw himself in front of trains, acting out in homophobic self-hate or getting married to women to conceal his true self. He seems to be moving slowly toward coming out, which required a lot of self-searching and bad decisions – and most of all, coming to accept himself as a gay man. Maybe coming out is coming next.
I like seeing these personal evolutions of all kinds on tv, and I am especially happy when âminorityâ storylines play out alongside the rest of the stories. Willâs reluctance to come out has a lot to do with believing his doing so will jeopardize his burgeoning country music career. A somewhat similar story unfolds in Empire, in which one of the characters, Jamal (Jussie Smollett), is proudly gay and out to his family, but his father – the head of an entertainment empire, doesnât want Jamal to come out publicly (Jamal is a musician), and the father holds this over Jamalâs head (along the lines of, âIf you come out, I will cut you offâŠâ). These experiences share similarities and differences, and seeing them on television will further the case for equality – and for letting people be who they are (and see representations of that on TV).
I saw a quote from Ellen DeGeneres today that summed up my thinking exactly: âWhenever people act like gay images in the media will influence kids to be gay I want to remind them that gay children grew up with only straight people on television.â The important thing – what we need to move toward – is showing representations of all kinds of people so that all kinds of viewers can relate.
In many ways Nashville is an annoying soap opera, but I keep watching because I like Connie Britton, because I mostly like the positive changes that Hayden Panettiereâs character has undergone, because I sometimes hope there will be some kind of semi-redemptive qualities in characters like Oliver Hudsonâs Jeff Fordham, and mostly because I really enjoy the music. Itâs the music that has always pulled me in and kept me coming back.
I missed the first US goal v Portugal in the World Cup match tonight because my VPN proxy was on the fritz – and this led to many random statements, thoughts and directions.
First when I said, “I am glad Team USA did something even if I was unable to see it with my American eyes”, this led to discussion about how “American eyes” sounds like a song (and made me think of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and the conversation between the BajoranKai Winn and CardassianGul Dukat, “The kosst amojan is not for your eyes”). We discussed “Bette Davis Eyes” and other one-hit wonders.
I mentioned how Canadian Corey Hart should have been a one-hit wonder with “Sunglasses at Night” but somehow got at least one other hit with “Never Surrender“. My conversation partner said, “I have no idea who that is. Coreys Haim and Feldman but that’s all the Coreys I know.”
Not only did I educate him about 80s “icon” (haha) Hart, I naturally had a reference to Kids in the Hall. The “only Coreys I know” made “these are the Daves I know I know… these are the Daves I know” spring right to mind.
Never surrender, people. If Team USA could hold its own against Portugal (even if it was a draw) and if Kim Carnes can still be out there singing when her Bette Davis song is all anyone remembers, and Hart … well, Corey Hart may not have surrendered, well, we can keep on keeping on.
âItâs good to notice all the ways weâve changed, and even better, how weâve stayed the same. Iâd love to know â tell me everything â I want to know exactly how youâve been before you know, weâll forget the time and turn around and find weâve talked all night â itâs getting light outside.â
Poetry was brought up in a team meeting when new colleagues had to introduce themselves. One said she has, as the Robert Frost poem describes, preferred to take the road less traveled by (âThe Road Not Takenâ) and mentioned Robert Frost (my favorites of his are less known but no less rich â see below)… while another colleague (the unique, snus-enthusiast character who is urging me to get chickens, has proffered chicken eggs to prod this process along) announced quite proudly that she is âweirdâ. (This reminded me that I stated in my own interview for this particular job that I am âweird but in a good wayâ â my manager must like to hire unusual but competent people.)
Perhaps I have thus become a poetry-spouting, budding but incremental farmer of sorts â contemplating the chickens my colleague is so fond of while actually liking the look of ducks, which are apparently also an option, albeit a less popular one. I am still in doubt â without a house husband or some similar figure who cares for these creatures and nurtures them (which hired help would not do) â as one friend said today, he would talk to them a great deal â I canât take even such a small step toward âfarmingâ. Farming is, after all, a âlabor of loveâ that very few people take on because it will provide them a living. Rather it brings joy and purpose into daily life as well as a kind of routine, as evidenced by the popularity of raising chickens in oneâs backyard and the rise of a magazine like Modern Farmer in an era when publishing is actually declining.
(An unrelated story except for chicken involvement – but one which put a smile on my face â hereâs a headline and article about someoneâs apparent âcocking aroundâ: âGuilty of âcocking aroundââ.)
Meanwhile, other Frost favorites â absolutely beautiful.
âI count the moments, darling, until youâre here with me at last at twilight time…â
It had been a long while since I had seen a moose. In recent winters, it seemed as though I saw at least one each day â or at the very least, at least once a week. This past winter though I think maybe I have only seen one or two. Until this evening, as the longer days of spring stretch into a longer dusk, the twilight makes it much more difficult to see when the wildlife starts creeping out into the road. This evening, heading home, barely paying attention, my eyes were drawn to a new clearing where the area had been (sadly) deforested. A few stumps here and there and a few stray trees framed the enormous forms of two moose just standing among the stumps. I had almost forgotten how massive these creatures are â but was reminded why they are referred to as âkings of the forestâ.
Immediately I thought about a news report my mom had seen after a forest fire near Seattle. The reporter on scene said something stupid like, âAnd now the elk are left trying to make sense of what has happened.â As if we can know what the wildlife is trying to make sense of â if anything?
I also knew I wanted to write a note about the trials and perils of twilight driving â which then made me think of the song âTwilight Timeâ and how my mom and I had gone on a mad chase trying to track that song down after hearing a Spanish version of it in the film Barcelona. You know â way before the internet and Spotify would have given us instant access to every song our imaginations desired.
âHere in the afterglow of day, we keep our rendez-vous…â
If someone repeats the same kind of non-action annoyance almost every day and knows it is an âapologizable offenseâ â why is it that they keep repeating it? Habit? Don’t know they are doing it? Don’t recognize how damaging it is?
Disappointment is a funny thing â you can build up hopes for something without even realizing you have created or are relying on expectations. Even when you know better than to expect anything. And it can be for the littlest, funniest stuff. The hurt one feels after any of these slights/disappointments is often misinterpreted as anger. But anger and hurt are different aspects of the same kind of emotion.
Life (and the interactions I have in it) seems to be on an unending loop of âall talk, no actionâ incursions. âThe enemy is illiterate.â
A clean vowel
in my morning
Latin pronunciation
in the murmur of confused time.
With rational syllables
Iâm trying to clear the occult mind
and promiscuous violence.
My linguistic protest
has no power.
The enemy is illiterate.
There come moments when poetry has all the perfect lines to describe what I feel.
My annoyance at someone deciding that playing The Eagles at a housewarming party is welcoming and relaxing is at an all-time high. âDesperadoâ â Don Henley â kiss my ass. I never had such vitriolic hatred for The Eagles in my early life, but sometime in junior high, spending weekends with my then-best friend Terra, we wanted MTV to show things we actually liked, but the channel tended to repeat Don Henley Unplugged â a lot. It seemed every time we turned on the TV, we turned it on right when there was a close-up of Henleyâs aged face, singing with his eyes closed, straining to release his solo version of âDesperadoâ â much to our teenage dismay.
As if I needed more reasons and reminders as to why I steer clear of parties.
Donât make promises you canât keep, people.
âYouâre a hard one, but I know that you got your reasons/these things that are pleasinâ you, can hurt you somehow.â
Your lips have never kissed me, youâve never
drunk snow. You melancholy moment, frigid
under these snowdrifts. Let me ask a cruel question â
do you still heat your igloo? I cast a spell on you
and tore your limbs off. And those creases deepening
in what was once a godlike brow, perhaps youâve even lost
your right to them. You havenât hurt me more, you havenât.
Little mummy, aborted flower, the memory of you fades.
Oceans divide us, and youâre jaded. The hard stone
hopeless, smeared with silicate. We shall yet make love,
and I shall grease those beehives yet. My desire has weakened
now, youâve won, you are indeed a void. And I,
the tree-lined path of countless others, contain your red heart,
gone rigid, too. I have gurgled with happiness only in you.
Valentine Signs â Spring Dump
Random Gum â Winter/Spring 2014
1. Brenton Wood â âGimme Little Signâ âŠif you donât want me/donât lead me on, girlâŠ
A great way to start. Driving the icy roads of the Swedish 172
2. Bill Withers â âAinât No Sunshineâ âŠainât no sunshine when sheâs gone/and sheâs always gone too longâŠ
My friend Terra and I used to laugh at this one for the repetitive âI know I know I know I know I knowâ lyric.
3. Robyn Hitchcock â âMy Wife and My Dead Wifeâ âŠand I canât decide which one I love the most/the flesh and blood or the pale, smiling ghostâŠ
This has a bittersweet quality â does oneâs long-lost love keep appearing after theyâve passed on? âYou know I donât take sugarâ. Somehow makes me think with love of my friend Jared, and his late wife, Hulda. RIP
4. Mojo Nixon â âElvis is Everywhereâ
After writing about peopleâs tendency to quote Bill Gates (âcontent is kingâ) I set the record straight; âElvis is still the kingâ.
5. Primal Scream â âCountry Girlâ âŠCountry girl take my hand/Lead me through this diseased land/I am tired I am weak I am worn/I have stole I have sinned/Oh my soul is unclean/Country girl got to keep on keeping onâŠ
January day in Oslo: mistakes, forgiveness, love. Thanks to Stephen. My Oslo-based Primal Scream connections.
6. The Legendary Pink Dots â âI Love You in Your Tragic Beautyâ âŠYou always wore the same dress/always bore the same expression/Itâs a loveless world/So whatâs the point of looking?…
7. Neutral Milk Hotel â âIn the Aeroplane Over the SeaââŠand one day we will die, and our ashes will fly/from the aeroplane over the sea/but for now we are young/let us lay in the sun and count every beautiful thing we can seeâŠ
Letting go of trying to control things that logic has no hand in. For SD, ZM
8. Cass McCombs â âSooner Cheat Death than Fool Loveâ
âI wish I never met you, of that Iâm sure, I ainât any better off than I was beforeâŠâ
9. Laurie Anderson â âIt Tangoâ
For my dear Jill.
10. Amanda Palmer â âRuns in the Familyâ âŠbusiness is business/and business runs in the familyâŠ
With love for Roxane.
11. Hot Chocolate â âEvery1s a Winnerâ
Something relentless about the sound of this song that makes it impossible to stop listening. It is an âactivity songâ, whatever that means.
12. Liz Phair â âFuck and Runâ
Thinking about LĂła, and âFuck Mattresses Anonymousâ (an imaginary AA-like organization)
13. Calvin Harris â âAcceptable in the 80sâ
As my brother wondered, what was acceptable in the 80s? Shoulder pads? Cocaine?
14. Tom Tom Club â âGenius of Loveâ
âAll the weekend/Boyfriend was missing/I surely miss him/The way he’d hold me in his warm arms/We went insane when we took cocaine.â
16. Robyn Hitchcock â âYour Head Hereâ âŠI walk a thousand miles to be aloneâŠ
âEveryone you care about/say youâd never do without/walk away, forsake or doubt/see them fade and flicker out/faces on the phone/Everything that you rely on/tentacles of blood and ??/pillows that you want to cry on/promises that you get by on/Life is all I ownâŠâ
17. Pulpâ âPencil Skirtâ âŠwhen you raise your pencil skirt/like a veil before my eyesâŠ
For Stephen, who knows what a pencil skirt and heels are all about. âOh itâs turning me onâ
18. Lyubov â âFireâ âŠbut forever was a day/and we just ran out of timeâŠ
19. Stevie Wonder â âI Donât Know Whyâ âŠI never knew how much love could hurt til I loved you, babyâŠ
âAlways treat me like a fool/kick me when Iâm down/thatâs your ruleâŠâ
20. Robyn Hitchcock â âSixteen Yearsâ âŠSixteen calendars with nothing in the frame/you said youâd pencil me in/but you donât know my nameâŠ
âYou pegged me for a fool/but Iâm the one to blame/I played a pretty neat fool for you/but you donât know my nameâ
21. The Everly Brothers â âBye Bye Loveâ âŠBye bye love, bye bye sweet caress, hello emptiness, I feel like I could die⊠RIP Phil Everly
22. Gary Walker & the Boogie Kings â âWho Needs You So Bad?â
Bittersweet end of the tv show Treme.
23. Pascal Pinon â âEkki vanmetaâ Missing Iceland and my friends there. âHann ĂĄ heima nĂŠr en ĂŸĂș heldur/Ekki vanmeta fjarlĂŠgĂ°inaâ
25. Minor Alps â âIf I Wanted Troubleâ …this growing up it never ends/the same mistakes come back again…
Last days as a tram rider, ending the Gothenburg period. And repeated mistakes!
26. The Bluetones â âSlight Returnâ
For Stephen.
27. Robyn Hitchcock â âOld Man Weatherâ
Madly in love with Robyn Hitchcock â as usual, as always, hence the elaborate presence here.
28. John Lennon â âNobody Told Meâ
Reflecting on the fact that the Liverpool airport is named after Lennon.
29. The Smiths â âWilliam, It Was Really Nothingâ
For the Smiths-quoting, dirty storyteller. âHow can you stay with a fat girl whoâll say, âWould you like to marry me? And if youâd like you can buy the ringâŠ?ââ
30. Thin Lizzy â âBad Reputationâ
31. Robyn Hitchcock â âOrdinary Millionaireâ âŠI donât know where youâve gone from me/I know you donât belong to me/I only know youâre thereâŠ
âI always find a reckoning/always find you beckoningâŠâ A nice song from Hitchcock & brilliant Johnny Marr. âIâve got no love/âCause itâs not in my DNAâ
32. Mekons â âSheffield Parkâ
One of the nicer memories of junior high/high school.
33. Terakaft â âImgharen win ibdaâ
34. The Black Keys â âLonely Boyâ âŠIâve got a love that keeps me waitingâŠ
For Stephen. âIâm so above you, it is plain to see, but I came to love you anywayâŠâ
35. Girls in Hawaii â âSwitzerlandâ
For Jared and the love for Switzerland.
36. Sam Phillips â âPretty Time Bombâ âŠitâs easy to change your name/but hard to change your lifeâŠ
âStart counting, everybody/itâs gonna blow/Pretty time bomb/Youâre a mirror of your timeâ
39. The Male Choir of Valaam Singing Culture Institute â âRiga Advising Stockholmâ
I canât explain the presence of this song. Its sound just overpowers.
40. Cowboy Junkies â âIâm So Lonesome I Could Cryâ
For Stephen and the sad, longing sound of old country & cover versions that are even sadder than originals
41. Robyn Hitchcock â âHarryâs SongââŠNothing wants you like tomorrowâŠ/Nothing tortures you like how it could have beenâŠ
âBut I donât know anything about you/Anymoreâ. The end of the Gothenburg li(f)e.
42. The The â âMy Heart Would Knowâ
Dug out my old copy of The Theâs album of Hank Williams covers â the marriage of two greats.
43. Os Kiezos â âMuximaâ
44. Dionne Warwick â âWalk On Byâ
Song for coming to work on a holiday without knowing it was a holiday (set off all the alarms). Happy new year to me!
45. La Luz â âEasy BabyââŠbut in the evening/how things changeâŠ
46. Tanga â âEme nâgongo iamiâ
47. ABBA â âVoulez Vousâ
For Gary and the uncomfortable sexuality of the 1970s.
48. Paula Cole â âFeelinâ Loveâ
Probably the first song S. told me to listen to and I did not do it for weeks afterward; itâs fitting.
49. Peggy Lee â âWaitinâ for the Train to Come Inâ
All the songs that sound ridiculous â as in, my life canât begin til my man comes home from the war. Opening the door to my would-be 1950s lifestyle.
50. Elvis Presley â âLove Meâ âŠbreak my faithful heart, tear it all apart, but love meâŠ
Reminds me of Kevin circa 1996 but no longer makes me sad. Memories of other lifetimes.
51. Patsy Cline â âCrazyâ
For SD my Glaswegian firewall
52. Cowboy Junkies â âMarinerâs Songâ âŠThe last of manâs great unchained beasts lies/lapping at my door/I would give it what it wants, but I do know,/it would just ask for moreâŠ
For Mark and all the things we could not be. âIn the storm you are my/destination, in the port you are my storm/But I would weather you my love, if you would be my guide,/if you would be my stars in the sky tonightâ. I am no one’s port in a storm.
Never surrender, people. If Team USA could hold its own against Portugal (even if it was a draw) and if 