Tag Archives: WFMU

Down at the Community Center

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Not sure about anyone else, but I need regular detours and diversion from the ugliness of the world. Or perhaps it’s not diversion: maybe I’m just focusing on things that bring just a bit of joy, and less angst directed towards things that really don’t matter (politics, Twitter trolls, religion, who’s fucking whom, etc).

Music’s probably not everyone’s cup o’ tea, or probably not my rock and roll fixation that’s not gotten assigned to old geezers on nostalgia trips. Whatever.

I know a few readers are fans of Connor Oberst/Bright Eyes. He’s launched a new act with Phoebe Bridgers called, Better Oblivion Community Center, which if you’re not careful, you’ll confuse for a small town nonprofit. They even have an .org-based URL.

I’ve been digging Bridgers’ music for awhile, including her recent indie “supergroup,” Boygenius, with Lucy Dacus and Julien Baker. Bummed I missed Dacus in Portland because the show was sold out and I tarried scoring my tix. Oh well. There will be other shows.

Anyways. Hope you enjoy this video as much as I did.

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Listen, The Snow Is Falling*

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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 →

Three Minus One for Christmas (Mourning) Mix

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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)

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The Death of Anthony Bourdain

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I’m not sure when the fetishization of food began, a place in our culture where watching others cook and especially eat became a thing. I found an article that does a good job of capturing the hoopla around food. It’s especially fitting given the death of Anthony Bourdain, who the writer called “the Elvis of bad boy chefs.”

I watched Bourdain’s various shows on Travel Channel over the years, especially “No Reservations.” He was an interesting dude. I always thought I’d enjoy meeting him. I loved the time he was hanging in the desert with his buddy, Josh Homme, of Queens of the Stone Age.

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Musical Fruit

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There was a bus trip to Jay in 1978, to an away football game. We’d smuggled a cassette recorder and a bulky, homemade speaker aboard. Once we rolled out of the parking lot, we hit play and began blasting Robin Trower Live and Fresh by Raspberries (no definite article, either) on the ride up. Me and my friends were the only ones who appreciated the tunes. But man, oh man, did we love Raspberries (Trower was pretty good, too).

The Raspberries were a 1970s thing.

 

Too Rolling Stoned.

It wasn’t our fault that most of LHS has no taste in early 70s rock, or for that matter, something other than the AOR schlock that got played to death on the radio at the time. I was always happy getting a steady diet of the kind of power pop that Eric Carmen and the boys put out from 1970 to 1975. Raspberries weren’t obscure by any means: they had hits—but like so many bands from that era (think Big Star’s #1 Record,) their record company never quite got the marketing and distribution ironed-out. Continue reading →

Grief in the Light

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While it’s okay to talk about trivial matters—food, beer, and what restaurants we like; songs and bands; maybe why Tom Brady is better than Ben Roethlisberger—some argue, we mustn’t discuss the weightier issues confronting us—like death and the attendant fall-out from grief and loss.

There was a tacit understanding when I was coming up that certain topics were notably off-limits in mixed company—the old adage, always refrain from “politics and religion.”

Apparently that’s not the case any longer. Political thoughts are offered with little regard to how well-framed and supported they are by logic or fact. Then, there is no shortage of those ready to offer (inflict?) prayers on your behalf (even if they never seem to be “answered”). So, the old taboos no longer apply—unless it’s talking about death and the subsequent way it affects the lives of those left behind. At least that’s how it seems to me, more than a year out from the event that changed the lives of Mary and me.

A few weeks ago, I heard a track on Jeffrey Davison’s Saturday morning “Shrunken Planet” program on WFMU. It was by a band listed on the playlist as Bipolar Explorer. Something about the song, “Lost Life,” was evocative and then Davison mentioned how the album where he pulled the cut from, was a reflection on the death of their singer, Summer Serafin.

The band has the requisite page on Bandcamp and they’re on Wikipedia. I found additional information about them and Summer. She was a beautiful and talented actress who died all-too-young. Her band mate and love of her life, Michael, has soldiered on, making music that recognizes how grief and loss leaves those who loved the person who is gone, forever affected (and afflicted). It’s about death and what follows for those left behind, yet, I don’t find the music of Bipolar Explorer morbid, or in any way, shape, or form. In fact, I ordered “Sometimes in Dreams,” and it is a haunting and profound exploration of lost love in musical form.

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Thoughts from the Blizzard

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Is being rigid and dogmatic a hedge against uncertainty and chaos? I think for some.

Society is awash with those convinced that they’re right. Like the guy in Sabattus. Another document fetishist—Constitution or Bible, it’s always the same—these guys (most of them are guys, white ones, too) are certain that some ancient document holds the key forward—or rather, backward.

I spent a little time this morning attempting to earn a shekel or two. Most apparently were like me—“working” from home. Oh, there were the hearty few, like Miss Mary, who went off into the white falling from the sky to visit some customers. She’s a trooper that girl.

By 11:00, I decided to call it “a day,” and hopped on my stationary bike to listen to a podcast. Unfortunately, the one I picked was annoying and I decided to go to my default, which is music.

Another March Northeaster in Maine.

Life isn’t predictable, nor is it ordered by some higher power. But, if you must tell yourself it is, please leave me out of your conversation.

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What Does It All Mean?

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Life now has a definitive before and after. What existed prior to tragedy is now gone—not in the sense that all of it’s disappeared entirely—but threads connecting me to that time have been forever altered.

If you are not familiar with passages through the dark, you probably won’t understand. That’s okay. All of us will at some point lose someone we love, though. All loss isn’t the same, either. Therese Rando posits that sudden, unanticipated death leaves those left behind traumatized due primarily from the psychological assault brought on by a death like Mark’s.

I continually run into people who don’t know my story. Why should they? It’s not like I’m hosting a reality TV program or anything. Of course, being the self-oriented people that we are, it’s easy to assume that everyone knows that my son was killed and expect them to acknowledge it. What’s interesting to me after slightly more than a year of acting out a common scene, is how people do react when they do find out. It runs the gamut from basically not acknowledging it (sort of like “oh,” and then moving on), offering some version of the platitude,” I’m sorry for your loss,” and then, there are those who engage with you in a human and empathetic fashion. This group is the smallest one. Continue reading →

Media’s Cock Roach

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Living in Trump’s dystopian nation (if you haven’t ingested the Kool-Aid), sometimes you can forget that this American life sometimes delivers treats, too.

Last week, it was #InternationalClashDay. This afternoon, while listening to Maine Calling, hosted by Maine media vet, Jennifer Rooks, I found out it’s #WorldRadioDay. Hot damn! I love radio, so why not celebrate the hell out of the day? The verdict of Rooks and her guests was that radio’s still going strong and will continue to survive.

I grew up when you could still hear rock and roll on the AM dial. Now it’s the domain of conservative talk dirges and hosts positing an alternative version of America vastly different than the one I grew up in. Wanna’ make America great again? Flush Rush from the airwaves and play some music!

Happy families listen to the radio.

When I’m home and working, I stream music via several dial-based stations that I can’t pick up in Maine. This is one of the wonders of the internet and technology in my opinion. Here are my top four.

  • KEXP (Seattle, Washington)
  • WMFU (East Orange, New Jersey)
  • WMBR (Cambridge, Massachusetts)
  • WMPG (Portland, ME)

I can pull in WMPG’s signal on my stereo receiver and of course, in my car. I am a fan of their weekday afternoon “rock blocks,” especially Wednesday’s Radio Junk Drawer, with David Pence. More and more, I’m apt to be streaming KEXP most afternoons that aren’t Wednesday. Continue reading →

Selling Insurance

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Not much of a “ring” to insurance salesman. Writer is more romantic and sounds better. The latter doesn’t always deliver and leave you flush with ka-ching—or with any cash at all, for that matter.

The fall has been a blur. Readying a house for sale and then closing on the domicile that was your home for half of your life is a big change. So is acclimating to a new town. Of course that’s just part of the story. I also decided in August to become a volleyball ref, followed by enrolling in an online course designed to prepare me to pass the state exam leading to getting licensed to sell insurance. Yes, the cares of this world have been right there in my face each and every day for the past three months. Sorry if I haven’t returned an email or your phone call.

Can I be totally honest here? There were many mornings during the past three months when I just wanted to stay in bed, rather than get up and turn off the alarm clock when it went off at 4:00 am so I could shoehorn studying into what was my usual get-out-of-bed and brew some coffee period of the morning before shuffling of to work time. But as they say, sometimes perseverance pays off.

Driving into Westbrook yesterday prior to my scheduled Maine Life, Accident & Health Producers exam set for 8:00 a.m., I tried to steer my mind clear of any craters of negativity or sinkholes filled with anxiety. WMPG playing some vintage John Coltrane kept me focused on the road and task looming ahead.

Whole life, or term?

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