Songs For Your Day


Many Rivers to Cross

At some point during, I believe, the funeral scene in High Fidelity, John Cusack addresses the camera to list the songs he hopes will be played at his funeral.  He requests “Angel” by Aretha Franklin, “You’re the Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me” by Gladys Knight, and “Many Rivers to Cross” by Jimmy Cliff.

I’ve known of the existence and relative cultural significance of the soundtrack to the movie The Harder They Come, and of the three tracks by the film’s star, Jimmy Cliff, since probably that first Greatest All Time issue that Rolling Stone put out in November 2003 (the album is ranked 119 in the greatest 500 of all time).  Yet I’d never listened to the album until just last week, when I spotted it in the soundtrack section of my local library’s CD collection.  I had recently heard Willie Nelson’s version of the title track off his album Countryman and loved it, so I was anxious to hear how Jimmy Cliff performed it.

I must admit that, like probably most of us out there, my only exposure to reggae has been Bob Marley.  He’s good, though I wouldn’t say he’s as good as all the stoners and black people think he is.  Either way, listening to him never convinced me that I had to explore reggae music more.  It just wasn’t my thing.

What surprised me about Jimmy Cliff, when I got in my car and put in the disc, was his voice.  He has a very smooth and clean voice, the kind of pipes that wouldn’t be out of place on a polished Motown record.  And once I’d gotten through the title track, which was good and reggae and pleasant, I remembered the quote from High Fidelity and flipped to “Many Rivers to Cross.”

More gospel than reggae, the song is incredibly beautiful.  It is an anthem of self-reliance, self-awareness, and acceptance of the difficult roads which we walk from the beginning of this life to the next.

I’ve been playing it constantly; with each listen I appreciate something new.  It’s not a layered kind of song with intricate lyrics or remarkable musical moments, but it is deeply sincere, and Cliff sings with complete conviction. 

The use of the organ anchors the song in melancholy, while the lyrics pull the song just above the surface of sadness.  While Cliff sings of being lost and lonely, with no idea of where to go next, he has kept his pride and thus his will to survive.  The harmonized support of his back up singers is like the support of those who have seen the narrator’s many struggles and few triumphs but continue to sing his praises.  The drumming is spare but deep, and emphasizes the narrator’s ability to rise up and continue on.

It’s the kind of song that would be a wonderful crutch during a personal crisis, yet it needs no crisis to convey its message.  Play it in the sunshiney day, with the windows down and the wind in your hair, or play it at night, lying in bed afraid and awake.  It will move you no matter what.



Drudgeons – Like Mummies Fighting Mix

drudgeons - like mummies fighting mix

These songs are taken from albums that have been in pretty heavy rotation on my iPod and turntable over the last couple months. It’s been a highly uninspiring and unmotivated time and music always helps in the midst of that. Summer’s almost here so grab a beer, put the screens on instead of the storm windows, and turn this up to right where the neighbors can slightly hear it.

  1. New Young Pony Club – Chaos
  2. Bombay Bicycle Club – Magnet
  3. Dum Dum Girls – Yours Alone
  4. Bad Veins – Falling Tide
  5. The Walkmen – The Rat
  6. Doves – Sky Starts Falling
  7. Band Of Horses – Islands On The Coast
  8. The Black keys – Sinister Kid
  9. Phantogram – Futuristic Casket
  10. Metric – Stadium
  11. Open Hand – Cool
  12. Matt & Kim – Lessons Learned
  13. Lars & The Hands Of Light – Three to the Floor
  14. Broken Social Scene – Chase Scene
  15. Gorillaz – On Melancholy Hill
  16. Stars – Ageless Beauty

LINK

-Andrew



Kick it Off if You’re Ready

William Hugh Nelson–native Texan, child cotton-picker, guitar plucker–should be stuffed and placed in the Smithsonian when he dies.  Though if they plan to put copies of all his albums in there with him, they should start construction on a new wing now.  He’ll need the space. 

I imagine that, if Willie continues to record at the breakneck pace he has all his life, following his eventual death at age 112 or so, so many posthumous albums will make their way to us over the years that he’ll make Johnny Cash look like a studio sloth.  He’s already put out 93 albums in his career.  And that doesn’t even begin to count the compilations, box sets, greatest hits, etc., a list of which took up all my eyeball space trying to look at it online.  I scrolled for a full minute.

But rather than try to talk about Willie Nelson’s oeuvre as a whole, I will simply talk about the album which I most recently picked up, his 2006 collaboration with Ryan Adams and the Cardinals, Songbird.

Willie has recorded for many record labels, most notably Columbia during his seventies hey-dey, when he put out genre-busting albums like Red Headed Stranger, and Stardust.  He went to Island in 1996, with whom he put out such modern-day classics as Spirit, Teatro, and Milk Cow Blues.  Now, though, he is on a record label so in tune with what country music should sound like that they have an artist list so selective, it literally looks like a Country Hall of Fame highlight reel.  They’ve got Lucinda Williams, Ryan Adams, Whiskeytown, and Ryan Bingham to cover that modern sound, and then Hank Williams, Johnny Cash, Ray Price, Lyle Lovett, even Van Morrison, and, of course, Willie Nelson, here to tell us country’s history.  Altogether, the label has 203 releases, 23 which came from Willie, including the late-day masterpiece, Songbird.

Ryan Adams took care of production, and his band the Cardinals took care of the music, though of course Willie played Guitar and brought Mickey Raphael on Harmonica and Glenn Patscha on Hammond B-3 from his own lineup.  Only four of the songs are Nelson originals, and two were written by Adams; the rest of the album is a tasteful selection of covers, including the title track, and a stunning re-interpretation of “Amazing Grace” that will make you shiver.  The minor chord mood combined with Willie’s vocals finally put meaning to the line “It was Grace that taught my heart to fear.”

Adams’s production is signature and distinctive, especially in the opening to “Songbird,” but he never imposes upon Willie’s presence.  The slow-tempo songs like “Blue Hotel” and “Hallelujah” (yes, the Leonard Cohen song) are accentuated by a fine backing choir, and Adams’s pointed lead guitar.  Yet the anchor in both those songs, and throughout the album, are Willie’s vocals, which are at the forefront of the mix.  You can feel all the experience of his 73 years in the words, but with an energy and intensity, I would dare even to say a faith, that is ageless.

On the kickers, Adams brings to Willie’s sound a crunch and a weight that are sometimes missing in the easy shuffle-style Country music that Willie perfected in the beginning of his career.  Here, the guitars are electric and loud, and the drumming is heavy and fast.  Willie has always been capable of rocking (see Willie and Family Live), but he’s never rocked this way before; songs like “$1000 Wedding” and “We Don’t Run” are exercises in controlled recklessness.

As is usual for Willie two of his four originals are well known from the early days of his career.  “Rainy Day Blues” was originally penned and recorded in 1959, the B-side to his classic song “Nite Life.”  “Sad Songs and Waltzes” was the third track off his 1973 Atlantic records debut Shotgun Willie (his Atlantic career was rather short–only two albums, both brilliant but misunderstood at the time; Atlantic kicked him out after 1974′s concept album Phases and Stages).  While the latter is solid and little tinkered with, “Rainy Day Blues” has a swagger to it that was absent from the ’59 recording, a swagger that, I might emphasize, is distinct in that it has been earned.  As many of Willie’s self-covers do, this version of the song shows not only how Nelson as an artist has been able to grow within the framework of his iconic outlaw style, but also how country music has changed over the years.  In 1950s Country, humility and heartbreak dominated the songwriting; these days, in the commercial, radio-ready Country, patriotism and pomposity are the major themes.  Country musicians now sing with Arrogance.  Willie always has, and always will, sing with Confidence.  It’s why he can put out any kind of album he wants, whether it be reggae (Countryman), jazz (Two Men With the Blues), or the rock and roll of Songbird.  It’s why he can cover his own material a thousand times and still make each recording distinct and essential.  He is the Countryman, the Red Headed Stranger of outlaw music.  The man has earned his stripes.



just looking out on the day of another dream

We’re two weeks away from summer (and graduation!), so I’m constantly daydreaming about the next few months as an escape from term papers, books, exams, blah! But these daydreams keep making me smile, as well as the new summer songs I’ve had on repeat – one of which is “On Melancholy Hill,” from the Gorillaz.

On Melancholy Hill – The Gorillaz

Up on Melancholy Hill,
There’s a plastic tree.
Are you here with me?
Just looking out on the day
Of another dream

In mid July I’ll be going on a six-day river trip through Desolation Canyon on the Green River with the Perry family.

(1) Six days with around twenty Perry family members = me being a very brave girlfriend.
(2) Six days without showers.
(3) Six days of having an excuse to use the river as a shower.
(4) Six days of floating in the water because it’s too hot to be in the raft.
(5) Bears?
(6) Gear!

Gear! So I have a decent amount of camping equipment – certainly enough to get me by on a weekend trip. But since there are around twenty people on this trip I can’t borrow gear → me having an excuse to stock up on everything I should have but don’t.

Hallelujah Christmas has come early this year.

Toodles,

Rebecca



I Been the Bull / I Been the Whip / I Just Pulled Down the Matador

I happen to be a member of an elite and essentially secret society.  These two adjectives qualify because there are so few of us out there.  I am a Diehard Fan of The Wallflowers.

Bringing Down the Horse was among the first records I ever owned, back before I knew anything about what it meant to really love music.  I picked up Red Letter Days and Rebel, Sweetheart when they came out, their fourth and fifth albums, respectively, but didn’t get their third album, the classic (Breach) until just a few days ago (though naturally, I’d been listening to a burned copy for years).  And within two weeks I will finally complete my collection with their all but forgotten first album, 1992′s Virgin Records release (all the others are on Interscope) The Wallflowers.

Allmusic.com has given all but their debut album at least four (out of five) stars (the debut got three).  What I admire about The Wallflowers is best summed up by Stephen Thomas Erlewine in his review of the band’s last album Rebel, Sweetheart: ”[T]hey’re a straight-ahead rock band in a time that doesn’t value straight-ahead rock bands.”  The Wallflowers set a tone on their first record that they have followed ever since; and this consistency is in no way a sign of artistic stagnation.  As Erlewine goes on to say, this “makes them different from other rock bands of their time in yet another way: they’re reliable.”

In my opinion, the highlight of their catalogue is their third album as a band, their second album for Interscope, (Breach), produced by Andrew Slater and Michael Penn (the only other place I’ve heard of them was when Michael Penn did The Beatles’ “Two of Us” with Aimee Mann for the I Am Sam soundtrack).  It’s a gritty album, the most straight-ahead rock album they’ve made, essentially ignoring the alt- tendencies of Bringing Down the Horse, and not yet aware of the beat machine possibilities that Tobias Miller brought to his production of Red Letter Days.  The music aside, this set of songs is the most lyrically compelling Jakob Dylan has set before us, at least in the context of this band (his 2008 solo effort Seeing Things might be able to compare in strength of songwriting).  Highlights include the Is-he-talking-about-Bob? song “Hand Me Down,” the stunning acoustic “Mourning Train” (with a moody, booming bass drum), and the rollicking, somehow wonderfully off-setting “Sleepwalker,” with its killer line: “It’s where I’m from that let’s them think I’m a whore / I’m an educated virgin.”

But the songs on the album that truly make the case for J. Dylan’s genius are “I’ve Been Delivered,” and “Up From Under.”  With music incredibly matched to the mood of the songs (the whorling organ on the former, the string-backed acoustic guitar of the latter), these songs evoke a Mood at once apocalyptic and hopeful.  “I’ve Been Delivered” pairs images of burning fields and beaches with cold Decembers and the ominous bells of curfew, which may ring before the narrator is through.  Its imagery is evocative, not quite surrealist, but in no way literal.  The key verse, especially its final lines, thrills me every time I hear it:

“now I’m ten miles / in the deep / and the mighty blue sea / looking back towards a long white beach / burning up into yellow flames / and I just wave back / like a little boy up on pony / in a show / ’cause I can’t fix / something this complex / anymore than I can build a rose”

Those last two lines have helped me keep my perspective during personal shitstorms.

Why is “Up From Under” so good?  Find it and listen to it.  I’ll just say, to use a line from the song, that those days before I heard it “were like ice cream falling down / on the shoes of my world.”

The Wallflowers are also rather adept at making faithful, killer covers: “The Weight” (Band) which I downloaded a live version of many years ago, “Heroes” (Bowie) from Godzilla, “Into the Mystic” (V. Morrison) from American Wedding, “I Started a Joke” (Bee Gees) from Zoolander, and “I’m Looking Through You” (Beatles) from I Am Sam.  I think they’d do a great version of “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes” (CSN) but I haven’t written them yet to say so.

They’re just a band that is simple, honest, and loves straight-ahead rock.  What’s not to be enamored with?



A Song That Everybody Knows

Early in the morning–sometimes late at night–I can be found singing “Acuff-Rose” by Uncle Tupelo.  Written by Jeff Tweedy, and performed by him extensively during his solo acoustic shows, it is number one on my personal list of Songs Sung Out Loud, Frequently, and Without Shame.  The original UT recording has a sweet fiddle playing along, but the song is so damn good and authentic that it truly does sound best played alone by Jeff on his guitar.  It’s the kind of song I wish I could play around campfires, at sick childrens’ bedsides, at old folks homes, for presidents, at the ends of movies, on nearly empty subway cars, on road trips, and alone when I need a little pick-me-up.

Acuff-Rose was a music publishing firm out of Nashville formed by Roy Acuff and Fred Rose in 1942.  Fred Rose had seen too many country songwriters cheated by agents and promoters with regard to copyright issues.  So Acuff-Rose was established, according to Rose, under the principle that “our company would be honest.  The writers would always be taken care of.  No one would act in a shady way.”  Acuff-Rose became the catalogue for some of country music’s greatest songwriters, including Hank Williams and Lefty Frizzell.  It was honest music promoted by an honest company, and here honored in this song by one of the most earnest musicians around today, Jeff Tweedy.

It’s a wonderful song of adoration, expressing calmly and in equal measures awe and nostalgia for a company that was the storehouse of songs “that everybody knows… children at the playground / to folks at the show / anybody anywhere who’s ever felt alone.”



our way to fall
February 6, 2010, 11:40 pm
Filed under: Rainy Day Songs,Songs for Contemplation

If you could choose one artist to sing you one song to sleep, just once, what would it be? Mine would be “Our Way to Fall,” by Yo La Tengo, because that song is falling in love to me. What a wonderful thing to hear as you’re drifting into dreams.

I remember a summer’s day
I remember walking up to you
I remember my face turned red
I remember staring at my feet
I remember before we met
I remember sitting next to you
I remember pretending I wasn’t looking
….
I remember the way you made me feel
We’ll try and try even if it lasts an hour
with all our might we’ll try and make it ours
cause we’re on our way we’re on our way to fall in love

Toodles,

Rebecca



in a town so small / how could anybody not / look you in the eyes / and wave as you drive by
January 23, 2010, 9:14 pm
Filed under: Rainy Day Songs,Songs to listen to with the windows down

There are many things I miss about the various places I’ve lived, for example, cafes in Paris. They just don’t exist here. Barbecue from Georgia – not any of this Indiana sauce smothered nonsense. That just doesn’t exist here. But I cannot see good reason why people cannot wave as they pass each other on the road here.

When I visit family in Georgia and we drive somewhere, except for on the highway, and a car comes near each driver lifts a hand up from the steering wheel just a tad to wave.

At the very beginning of the summer I registered for a kayak clinic at the Nantahala Outdoor Center in North Carolina. Kyle drove me down so that he could take that week to go kayaking with some old friends, and take advantage of all the recent rainfall. As we got closer, especially after Highway 129 (an 11 mile stretch of road taking you from Tennessee to North Carolina with 303 hairpin turns, known as the Tail of the Dragon to motorcyclists) we saw more and more cars with kayaks on their car racks. Now waving at 55 mph is kind of hard, which is why I’ve usually just done it in neighborhoods or city streets, but every time we passed a car with a kayak, Kyle and the other person waved.

We passed a Jeep with two kayaks – they waved.
There was a Suburban on the side of the road with people outside getting ready to put in to the river. They all waved.

Even though we don’t live in the same city, or the same neighborhood, we all love the same wonderful thing. Just wave.

Toodles,

Rebecca



what’s so amazing that keeps us stargazing?
January 8, 2010, 7:05 pm
Filed under: Inspirational Anthems,Rainy Day Songs,Sunny Dispositions

I’ve wanted to write a post about this song for ages, but haven’t been sure if it was appropriate with all the grown up songs that we usually write about. But after reading Tony’s post about the Muppets I realize that we’re never, ever, too old, and something that can inspire so much laughter and so many smiles should absolutely be shared.

I have trouble defining “tops” as in “top 5″ or “top 10 songs of all time,” but what I never have trouble identifying is my number one, absolute, favorite song. It has been since I was seven and I hope it will always be – “The Rainbow Connection” by Paul Williams and Kenneth Ascher performed by Kermit the Frog. Kyp Malone recently played it as guest dj on All Songs Considered, and I think I giggled for ten minutes, completely giddy that someone else felt it was as wonderful as I do.

When our family lived in Athens, Georgia, my aunt Ellen living in Decatur/Atlanta would drive to pick me up to spend weekends with her from time to time. She always had such a nice car with leather seats, no food stains, that always smelled new. Since then she has adopted an adorable little girl, and now the car has stains, barbie dolls, zip lock bags, and cheerios littering the seats. But that is beside the point. Each time we drove to and from Atlanta we would listen to The Muppet Movie soundtrack, then watch the movie before falling asleep that night. After we moved, I don’t think I listened to it until a few years ago when I realized it would be on iTunes. Consequently, “The Rainbow Connection” has remained in this bright time bubble, uninfluenced by any grown-up memories (good or bad), and never fails to put stars in my eyes.

The first video is “The Rainbow Connection” and the second is Andrew Bird performing “It’s Not Easy Being Green” in Paris.

Toodles,

Rebecca



What Have I Done?

It’s a strange phrase. “What have I done?” You read it, and think immediately, (I do. I’m guessing you probably do.) of the man with blood on his hands, maybe over a dead body that he killed in anger or stupidity or both, looking at them, muttering the words.

And, on the opposite side of the spectrum, you have Tim Kasher, muttering and screaming it about a man with no blood on his hands.

Weeks ago now, I saw Cursive live for the first time. I’ve loved Cursive since highschool–in fact, they’ve sat comfortably at no. 3 on my all-time top 5 since 2001–and I’ve always been afraid that they’d split up before I got to see them, as has happened with pretty much every other band on my top 5.

They ended their set with What Have I Done?, and the entire sentiment reverberated, and ever since has echoed and echoed.

I’m 26 now, and beg the question; I wonder what blood might be on my hands, whether from ending or saving a life; I wonder if there is any at all. What have I accomplished? Who have I helped? Have I made the world any better? I want the answer to be yes, and include a litany of people who feel improved by my actions or words.

Today, I asked my father where the point in life is that you harden against the world, where you decide you can’t change a damn thing? If there is one. I feel right in the void where the man in the song feels:

Stranded in Ann Arbor with a flat tire
I watched the sun sadly set
Any younger I may have wept
Much older I wouldn’t have noticed

I don’t ever want to get to the point where I don’t notice, but some days, I’m tired of weeping for it all.

Copper and stars,
christopher earl.