I created this page for those who for whatever reason are averse to Bandcamp. One advantage of having this page on my website is that everything that gets paid to me stays with me, save for a small fee PayPal takes. I have no issues with either Bandcamp or PayPal for that matter. Both are equitable in my opinion. And you can choose what one you prefer.
Did I tell you how much I appreciate Jonathan Braden’s artwork?? It’s amazing!
[CD cover-Jonathan Braden design]
A Full Season of Music
Vol. 1/Issue 3
Sitting at my dining room table in June, I wrote a song that in many ways is my “Alice’s Restaurant.” By that I mean that it’s a song written in a vein similar to Arlo Guthrie’s late-60s classic—a sort of talking blues that spans nearly five decades of my musical journey from the age of 8 until now.
At the start of summer, I was just coming out of the chute relative to booking gigs. A mere few weeks into a calendar of bookings and venues that ran well into the fall and the eventual closing-down of many outdoor places catering to warmer days and music.
The cold and darkness of November now morphs into full-blown winter. My crowded calendar of the summer now has a smattering of dates marked in January, with other possibilities confirmed out into 2022.
Since I write my own songs, like “Finding a New Path,” the song I reference above, and my penchant and preference for the indie side of the rock landscape, I began seeking opportunities to play original songs, versus the summer-long slog of three-hour sets spiked full of cover material, even if what I cover tends towards my own preference for the more obscure side of music. There’s nothing wrong with playing covers if that’s your thing. It’s not really mine. So, where to look for opportunities and perhaps, a scene that still understands what indie once meant when it was still vibrant. And yes, Virginia, there are still places where indie still has street cred.
Apple orchard rocking
On Sunday, I ran through 8 songs in my basement and posted the video(s) on YouTube at my music page. I figured these 8 songs were a good representation of where I’m at in terms of songs and music I’m playing, at least electrically. My hope is at some point to find a drummer, hence the name of the video (parts 1 and 2). I split the set due to a glitch right about midway through.
The title is a reference to both a Big Star song, when drummer Jody Stephens sings “Way Out West,” and Alex Chilton says, “let’s give the drummer some.” Of course, if you know your popular musical trivia, then you know that James Brown says “I wanna give the drummer some of this funky soul, here…” in his song, “Funky Drummer.”
I actually just finished A Man Called Destruction: The Life and Music of Alex Chilton by Holly George-Warren Here’s a review of the book, here. Actually, I like this summation of the book, better.The book was kind of depressing (at least in parts) due to how Chilton pissed away his considerable musical talents through the trifecta of rock and roll, “drugs, booze, and sex,” or at least that was my perception. I’ve written a song about this and will be rolling that out in an upcoming video or recording.
I received positive feedback about the videos from those who watched them. A couple of people asked about lyrics.
Here’s lyrics to my songs and links to the covers (below):
Walking Down the Road
Verse 1
Walking down the road alone, I saw a country lost at home
A mission of hope carried me forth, I lived each day for all it was worth
A president came while I was away, I planned to counter him every day
Hate and division won’t carry us forth, come together and be a force
Chorus:
I wish I had just one more day, I know I had so much more to say.
I love my dad, I love my mom. I’ll miss my friends forever yon
Verse 2
My family back home sent me their love, I wished I got back to give them a hug
We all know what we think we know, but can we strive for a greater hope
Friends I lost along the way, but still I walked another day
Saving earth was what it’s about, some of the haters would jump and shout
Chorus:
I wish I had just one more day, I know I had so much more to say.
I love my dad, I love my mom. I’ll miss my friends forever yon
Verse 3
One hundred days of joy and pain, my feet moved ‘cross the fruited plain
A dirty hippy or something more, why can’t they see my higher road
My face and words live on today, I often wonder what people say
I gave it all held nothing back, but in the end was it done in vain
Chorus:
I wish I had just one more day, I know I had so much more to say.
I love my dad, I love my mom. I’ll miss my friends forever yon
[Instrumental break]
Verse 4
Walking down the road alone, I saw a country lost at home
A mission of hope carried me forth, I lived each day for all it was worth
My family back home sent me their love, I wish I got back to give them a hug
We all know what we know, but can we strive for a greater scope
Chorus:
If I had just one more day, I often wonder what I’d say
It hurts my dad, it hurts my mom. Please remember them from where you roam
[Fade]
© EverysongYeah 2019
——————————–
National Disgrace
Verse I
You’re a national disgrace
A fucking public shame
Trashing all your rivals
Can’t ever shoulder blame
Verse II
Talk about corruption
Should be your middle name
Bait and switch the shell game
It’s how you set your frame
Chorus
Deny global warming
Call it just a hoax
You’re a pox on the planet
Tides are rising at the coasts
Greatness offered suckers
No lightning in that jar
History will show us
Exactly who you are
Verse III
Tiny hands and fingers
Grabbing all you can
All your daddy’s money
Won’t float another sham
Verse IV
Some see through illusion
Your divisive world of hate
Fake news is your mantra
You deserved a Watergate
© EverysongYeah 2019
———————————
Spaceship Blues
Verse I
Life it sucks and then you die
Storm clouds in a darkened sky
Fucking morons are all around
All I wanna’ do is leave this town and roam
Verse II
Idiots tell you just to smile
Don’t have a clue, ain’t walked one mile
In land that’s filled with shit
Jump in a spaceship and be done with it and fly
Verse III
Coronavirus its shut us down
Like sheep we’re led to town
Trust the experts they’re rarely right
Load up that spacecraft with supplies and leave today
Verse IV
Facebook friends are posting crap
Take the bait you’re in their trap
Ideology will dead-end
Fly to outer space never to return again
© EverysongYeah 2019
Covers/lyrics
Berlin Kitty (The Violet Burning)
The Covid-19 state of house arrest continues. Will it ever end? The “experts” at the New York Times are talking two years to return to normal.
I’m bummed that I won’t get to see one of my favorite bands, Car Seat Headrest in June. Their tour is cancelled, as is almost everything else.
Their new record, Making a Door Less Open is good, at least what I’ve heard. Here are two of the tracks, “Martin,” and “Hollywood.”
I like the new character, Trait, wearing a mask. Look at that!!
I am tired. That’s a statement about physically feeling a dearth of energy at the end of each and every day. Likely it’s due to trying to cram as much as I can into a 24-hour span. Having a new job and also working at another part-time gig, while taking a class at USM probably has something to do with feeling “wrung-out.” Continue reading
Once upon a time, everyone wanted to be one of “the cool kids.” I’m not sure what today’s kids want.
I love that WMBR’s “Breakfast of Champions” show always features a Band of the Week (BOTW). Often, it’s one I’m less than familiar with. Or like this week’s selection, Cloud Nothings, one I’ve forgotten how damn good they are. Take that qualifier with a “grain of salt” since we are now living in a post-rock world.
Cloud Nothings are from Cleveland, Ohio, the city immortalized forever by the anthem, “Cleveland Rocks.” It does (and has before), which may be why the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame resides there. Another rock history footnote: Cleveland was home to Raspberries (not, The Raspberries), too.
Here’s the video for Cloud Nothings’ “Hey Cool Kid.”
Some people begin blogging to write exclusively about a passion they have. Music is that kind of topic.
A blog like When You Motor Away is a great example of blogging about the thing you are gaga about—which in their case is music—specifically, the kind of off-the-radar indie pop and rock that I’ve been following for more than 30 years.
Since Mark died, this kind of music has been one of a very few sources of joy for me. When they say that music speaks universally across our differences, I’d concur.
Radio stations like WMBR have served as stand-ins for friendships I’m lacking. I’ve memorized the program schedules of numerous stations and particular DJs. Like I know that Friday morning at 8:00, Jon Bernhardt will be playing bands, like Monnone Alone (who get written-up nicely via WYMA). Bernhardt opened his show today with another Australian gem, Possible Humans, playing a 12-minute “screamer” from their latest record. Pitchfork likes them, so there you have it. For someone who cut his musical teeth reading rock criticism, writing like this review about Possible Humans’ prior record (see the first paragraph) carries forward the torch left by prior rock journalism luminaries like Lester Bangs, Griel Marcus and others who once wrote for Rolling Stone, Creem, and even, SPIN. Continue reading
For a lapsed Catholic like me, Good Friday will always be imbued with the following memory:
I think I was eight or nine-years-old and attending a Good Friday mass at the old Holy Family Church on Lisbon Street (across from the former location of Morse Brothers). Like most Good Friday marathons, this one involved way too much standing for a young boy.
A re-enactment of Jesus’ crucifixion.
At some point on that April Friday afternoon in what was likely 1970 or 1971, the room began to wobble and my legs felt like they wanted to give way. I didn’t know it at the time, I was close to passing out. Fortunately for me, I sat down in my pew. My mother looked over and under her breath, sternly barked, “stand-up Jimmy!!” No concern for my well-being, only that I maintain our holy facade. I looked at her with what were probably pleading eyes, and struggled back to my feet. Somehow, I managed to make it to the end of whatever torturous section of the “festivities” were in-progress.
If you’ve followed my post-Xian posts, you’ll know this experience wasn’t enough to disavow me of religion’s influence on my life. It would take Indiana and Jack Hyles to come close to finishing the job, and then, the Vineyard and Ralph Grover to finally nail that coffin shut on God and evangelicalism’s false promises (and premise).
They say that when you leave behind something as formative as religion, you should put something in place and begin new traditions. A substitute, of sorts.
Hearing “Good Friday” by Cleveland’s Death of Samantha played on this morning’s “Breakfast of Champions” slot on WMBR made me realize that rock and roll has become a more-than-sufficient stand-in for God in my life.
Here are two selections that fit perfectly from where I sit today on this non-religious holy day for me.
I have two laptops. One that is my “travel” computer. It’s one of Lenovo’s Yoga Ideabooks, perfect for use on-the-go. It’s the very same version that thieves in Providence snatched after smashing the two side windows of Mary’s RAV4, the night before Mark’s celebration of life at Brown. My insurance money allowed me to buy another one.
On that laptop is a very long attempt at writing a review of Thursday night. I completed it on Friday afternoon after trekking to the JFK Presidential Library and Museum, as Mary and I had decided to spend an extra day in the city before boarding the train north for home, on Saturday. While she caught a catnap before we headed out to a romantic dinner in the city’s North End, I was banging out a review that I guess will never see the light of day.
It was Valentine’s and Mary and I were in Boston to see Car Seat Headrest (CSHR). Actually, I was the one who wanted to see the “next big thing” in indie rock, but being such a good sport, she decided to take me up on my offer of a second ticket and hit the rock show with me, even though she could care less about the indie music I’ve loved for forever: that’s the kind of girl that she is and has always been. I’m sure that quality is also why Mark loved his mom like he did.
Today is Sunday, three days after Thursday. We thoroughly enjoyed our time in an urban environment very different from where we live in Maine. Amtrak’s Downeaster made this trip especially enjoyable.
Back from Boston (from the Prudential Skywalk)
Our time in the big city was fun. I think the reason we had such a good time is because we left the car back in Brunswick. Being able to experience a city without the hassle of driving in city-style traffic lessens the stress. That and not having to find parking is a plus, too. Of course, it helps to be in an urban environment that has a stellar public transportation system. I know the locals love to bash the MBTA, but for someone like us who live in a small town with minimal public transportation options, being able to embark on public rail to crisscross the landscape of a major American city was a plus, and kind of fun, too. Continue reading
For an artist to craft something so evocative that when you hear it, read it, see it, you immediately know what their performance/piece/painting/picture represents is remarkable and a gift that they bring to us via their art.
Galaxie 500 were a band with a devoted following during the late 1980s/early 1990s within indie music’s insular community. This three-piece played what I’d call “slowcore” and had an obvious affinity for The Velvet Underground.
The band released three studio albums between 1987 and 1991 when they split apart: Dean Wareham off to Luna and Damon Krukowski and Naomi Yang forming Damon & Naomi, focusing on dream pop splendor. Both post-Galaxie acts have remained active and viable since the three members went their separate ways.
Back of Galaxie 500’s “This Is Our Music” record jacket (Rough Trade, 1990)
When I’m home on Thursdays, I like to stream WFMU’s “This Is the Modern World With Trouble” program. Her station profile describe what she plays as “a viking ship appears on the horizon, a likeness of Loretta Lynn carved into its bow. Rare birds flock together to sing Francoise Hardy as soul hits. A sunset of blips and bleeps fills the air.” Continue reading