Back from another rock and roll-oriented trip to Boston. This was the third trip in less than a month. Monday night, I saw Teenage Fanclub, one of a handful of mid-90s post-punk bands still making meaningful music.
Live Teenage Fanclub (Paradise Rock Club/Boston)
The show was at the Paradise, near BU. I looked for something relatively affordable and ended up at a Residence Inn by Marriott, not much further away than a strong Dwight Evans’ right field howitzer to the plate from historic Fenway Park. My seventh floor room offered views of one of MLB’s oldest and revered diamonds, as well as the iconic Citgo sign. It was a mile walk to see the show and I could hop on the Green Line back, afterwards. Continue reading →
Some music videos for today and a little bit of context. This is the best I can do on this post-Oscar Monday, with two articles blasted out the door this morning (that I worked on all weekend), a paper due for my history class on Friday, and the usual other suspects from this thing called “life.”
Basically, I was looking for an excuse to post this video, from a favorite Canadian musician of mine, Joel Plaskett. Here’s to fashionable people.
Back when I was still able to light myself on fire so others could watch me burn with enthusiasm for things like writing, and urging others forward, drawing on my own journey of reinvention, I’d often share a snippet from Seth Godin’s wonderful Poke the Box. It was about a Canadian band of over-achievers called Hollerado. Yes, they were a literal band.
I’d read the section in the book about how they released their first record, called Record in a Bag. Yes, that was the record’s actual title.
Godin obviously was impressed about these four Canadian rockers and their will to overcome adversity. Like booking their first American tour, or better: simply getting in a van and driving as far away from their home town of Manitock, Ontario, and showing up at venues where a show was happening and telling a fib about having a gig lined up down the street that fell through and asking, “Would you guys mind if we played a short set here tonight?” They ended up playing a shit-ton of shows with this ploy. There’s all kinds of other motivation, fo-shizzle.
Today, for whatever reason, I thought, “I wonder what Hollerado’s up to these days?” They’re breaking up after 10 years of striving. That’s life, and even those who are willing to Poke the Box can’t always clear every hurdle. Not sure what the circumstances are—perhaps it’s as simple as wanting to do something other than log thousands of miles in a van and deal with the fickle nature of success. Continue reading →
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 →
Shit!! I made it through another year!! Barely, on fumes, with my low fuel warning light flashing on my figurative dashboard. But, I’m here at the end of another romp through the Gregorian 12-step.
I’m edging closer to pulling up alongside yet another sad anniversary of losing my only son, maybe the best person I’ve ever known or ever will know. I don’t expect to meet anyone like him again and that’s something impossible to ignore.
Riding shotgun on a two-member team that’s managed to make it through the worst of stretches a life can parcel out, I’ve also weathered abandonment, lies, and the usual failings that humans are genetically predisposed to deliver. Fuck it, though! There’s something celebratory in all this darkness and mourning. At least approaching it in the spirit of the age-old wisdom that co-worker Wilma Delay dispensed back in my Westville Correctional Center days: she told me, “Baumer, sometimes you gotta’ laugh to keep from crying.” I sometimes wonder what became of ole’ Wilma. She always made more work for me with her predisposition to never moving off her sit-stool and more-often-than-not assigning herself the task of setting up the evening’s prisoner’s meds, which meant she had to do little else. Her co-workers picked up the slack. But I believe her heart was in the right place.
I remain flummoxed by the speed that grief allows a grieving person to spiral downward. One minute, you are coping with the shitty stick you’ve been handed and the next, you are contemplating a painless way to end it all. I’m not messing with you. It’s that fucked-up at times. I don’t anticipate it will ever get too much better than that in all honesty.
But again, here we are—another new year goading us into resolutions and pronouncements, sent out into the great unknown. What’s one to do, save for going along, with some remote hope of getting along.
Wrapping up 2018, here are the things and people that helped bring the year to a tolerable close:
Books and writers
Music
A new understanding of family
A few true/blue friends
Better physical health and the return of some measure of fitness
A sense that despite all of the brokenness and tears, Mark’s parents are doing the best we can be doing in terms of honoring his memory.
It’s hard to celebrate and feel joy when you’ve lost someone. Because of that, Christmas is an especially hard season for us.
Compounding the sadness of grief and loss for those mourning a loved one’s death during this time of the year is that there is a veneer of cheer and happiness all around. I’m not sure if this a cultural manifestation unique to American holidays seasons like this one, or something else. I’ll let you do the intellectual heft on that. All I know personally is that it’s sometimes too much. This Christmas is a bit better than last year, which was nearly unbearable. Friends and family have made overtures and we’ve been able to be part of this year’s holiday in a way that would have been impossible in 2017.
Back in the 1990s, when I was doing my radio shows on WBOR, 91.1 FM, Brunswick, Maine (a station ID, btw, for the FCC), I loved putting together playlists. Figuring out how to “stack” music and create a mood for three hours (or during those holiday break “marathons” that I’d sign-up for, sometimes lasting six hours or longer) was something I worked hard at. I also loved making mix tapes back then, also. It’s not that long ago, but to explain mix tapes and queuing records to youngsters fixated on the latest passive video game experience is an exercise in futility. I know, I’ve tried.
Fortunately for people like me, who still love radio where disc jockeys get to program their own music, there are still places to find throwbacks to an all-but-disappeared era of over-the-air music. I’ve been grooving on Christmas music that isn’t the usual over-played crap that all the commercial stations have been playing since Thanksgiving. My favorite stop for the past week has been a longtime favorite of mine, WFMU. Whether it’s been rocked-up versions of old holiday standards, or some really weird holiday-themed music (like Culturecide), or big band versions of all the old-time “hits” from the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s (think Spike Jones and the Maguire Sisters), good ‘ole ‘FMU has supplied variety and a diverse selection.
Parading santas to lighten the mood. (courtesy of Zzzzzzero Hour with Bill Mac on WFMU/Dec. 24, 2018)
I can be going through my day, oblivious to this season’s constant reminders of the second anniversary signposts Mary and I’ll be moving past in December and January. Then, a song comes on the radio, or in the sequencing of CD/album, or a Spotify playlist, and I’ll be wrecked. What is it about certain songs that hit me with the emotional equivalent of a ton of bricks?
Not only does certain music and more specifically, songs, affect me, but hearing people talk about their own loss also triggers emotions. Like several nights last week, driving home from tutoring, and hearing Mark Curdo winding down another day of Markathon on WCYY.
Yo La Tengo plays some amplified Hanukkah tunes. (Brooklyn Vegan photo)
As he closed out each day of fundraising, the later hour meant that the busyness of responding to phone calls and other communication had lessened. The solitude of the hour allowed Curdo to open up and speak about his own experiences with grief, or share his heart about the center’s work and mission to help those moving through the grief journey. One night, it was Curdo talking about Brendon Whitney, the talented Portland rapper (who rapped as Alias) and producer who died unexpectedly last April. Curdo was forthcoming about how his close friend’s death devastated him. Another night and the tears were flowing as I headed south on Route 1, headed for home. Continue reading →
Perhaps some future race of aliens will come across this blog. I hope this video makes them wonder about us. What sort of people made videos like this? A creative, multi-faceted group of people (even if those sorts comprise a minority of people not craven to white supremacist, authoritarian buffoons who employ tanning beds).
Indie rock is becoming a fading Polaroid in the pantheon of a music landscape turned to crap. When the “weeping” electric guitar is going the way of the dinosaur, those in the know recognize that we’re on life-support and it’s time to prepare for manning the lifeboats.
If the death of indie rock isn’t a herald of what’s to come, the craven political tilt of the church in America lends portent, also.
Back in 1996, Nada Surf had a major hit with their song, “Popular.” It was a take down of the fickle elements of high school popularity.
The band easily could have become just one more one-hit-wonder littering the pop-rock landscape. Their record label wanted another “Popular” and their follow-up didn’t have one. Then, like happens often, the A&R asshole at the label began imposing his total creative cluelessness on the true creatives who made up the band. This process never results in anything positive, and yet labels have been doing this kind of thing, forever. Elektra dropped the band mid-tour, while they were in Europe. So much for “developing talent,” A&R schmuck!
To Nada Surf’s credit, they persevered. This meant touring whenever they could to rebuild U.S. interest in their band, while taking on day jobs to pay the bills. Then, Let Go, their third record, and the true follow-up that they wanted to make to their debut record found a home on tiny Barsuk Records out of Seattle, Washington. The band got solid reviews and here we are, 15+ years later and Nada Surf are still going strong. Continue reading →
Watching this morning’s local newscast, the weather theme was dire: apparently, according to the two longtime morning hosts, it was going to be “too darn hot.” Warnings were proffered about excessive heat—along with “important” tips thrown out on hydration and the need to keep cool. All of this could be summed up as, “you need to stay home, with everything shut up and the A/C blasting.” Sorry, but that’s not how I plan to roll today.
Back on Saturday, the southern Midcoast’s version of a local summer festival, the Bath Heritage Days, launched what is likely the most ambitious line-up of bands and musical performers I can recall in these parts. Hell, even Portland doesn’t have a music event this summer boasting five successive days and nearly 30 acts!
Five days of music in Bath.
We live in odd times. People seem more enamored with the 0s and 1s that live inside their hand-held screens. My assessment mainly comes from being there from the start of the programming on Saturday at noon, at Bath’s Waterfront Park to hear my first performer. Actually, it’s more than that, too. No matter where you go these days, people are usually staring at their phones more often than they are engaging with their fellow humans. Continue reading →
