ten on Tuesday

10 Bands (and Performers) I Have Seen

It's been awhile since I actually, you know, Blogged, hasn't it? Here's an easy one - musicians I have seen, from "Ten on Tuesday."

Donovan - several times, beginning at Madison Square Garden, where thousands of people sang "Atlantis" in a gentle, rolling whisper; last time at a LI venue, where he told stories about India and Gypsy Dave.

Loudon Wainwright III - !!! Smart, deep, funny, introspective. Tells stories, acts, sings, involves. He's now doing a set of songs about his father, a writer. Two years ago, his surprise guest was Suzzy Roche.

The Roches - smart, deep, funny, magical harmonies. Did I mention "funny"? We were sad when Terre skipped the last concert, but charmed when Maggie whipped out a kazoo for "Yaketty Yak." 

Rufus Wainwright - we have seen him several times. The most magical was at a small LI venue, when it was just him, his piano, and That Voice. Imagine being in the first row, 6 feet away, as he plays and sings "Hallelujah." It just does not get any better.

Ray Davies - smart, deep, funny. (do you sense a trend?) Tells stories, sings from his deep, deep catalogue, and makes you wonder why his songs aren't embedded in Great Songbooks. "See My Friends" - here. Enjoy.

Christopher Parkening - the essence of classical guitar, with the pure and impeccable technique to make Bach appear in the overtones.

Melanie - of course. And yes, "lost in the overtones," as she sings in "Hold Tight." "Leap off the edge to see if you fall or fly." 

Vladimir Ashkenazy - a gentleman, shorter than I expected, and more nuanced than his early recordings would have suggested.

Ravi Shankar - many times, from large to small venues, with Oregon, Yehudi Menuhin (incarnated spirit), and (nearly) alone. He once told us he was going to do a traditional raga that would be at least 2 hours long. Those in the audience who were not true aficionados groaned. The rest of us experienced true immersion that may have taken hours, but felt like no time at all - true timelessness.

Aimee Mann - back to smart, deep, funny. A wonderful voice, exceptional lyrics, and the creator of one of my theme songs, "Humpty Dumpty."

I could go on and on - Randy Newman, Isaac Stern, John Hartford, Lisa Loeb, countless orchestras and soloists, Dan Bern, Glenn Tillbrook, They Might Be Giants, Richard Thompson, Roger McGuinn. A life without live music is just unthinkable.

Music - that's how the light gets in

We went to a concert Sunday night, in the wind and the rain and the unfamiliar roads upstate. It's been tough around here for a few weeks, what with family and health and jobs and distractions small and large. I had bought these tickets months ago, and I had looked forward to the concert even if I had nothing much else to look forward to ever since. Even with the wind and the rain and the unfamiliar roads, the concert was - transcendent. The bill: John Sebastian and Roger McGuinn.

Alas for John Sebastian, his voice has gone completely unmusical, turning into a bluesy, growly, unmelodic thing. I was startled and dismayed. Even though I'd read about it, I wasn't expecting such deterioration of the sweet, gentle voice I had loved in his Lovin' Spoonful days.

Funny though: John Sebastian's performance, his musicianship, his presence is as sweet and easy and funny as it ever was. The truly startling thing, to me, was that I'd never realized what a splendid guitarist he is: versatile, flexible, and perfectly suited to his songs. "Darlin' be home soon," he sings, "I couldn't bear to wait an extra minute of you dawdle," and you know that both the raspy voice and his guitar are telling the truth. He plays a mean harmonica (several, actually). Alas, no autoharp Sunday night. Maybe another time.

We went to a concert last year where Roger McGuinn was the only performer. That night, we sat first-row center, and I was utterly absorbed in the music and the wizardry of two hands, one guitar, and a symphony of tones being produced by one person. Sunday night, we were a few rows back, but it didn't matter.

Roger McGuinn has been one of my rock idols from "Turn, turn, turn" on. I've been downloading songs from his Folk Den project for years. ("The Great Selkie" and "Waltzing Matilda" are so, so beautiful!) Sunday night, he did some Byrds songs, showing how folk music and musicians influenced them, and he did many folk songs, including "Wild Mountain Thyme." And, of course, "Eight Miles High."

I first heard his solo performance on NPR while I was driving to a wedding. Fortunately, it wasn't my own wedding, because I pulled into a parking lot, listened, and then just sat for awhile in utter, total awe. (I was Quite Late.) You can listen here, but it doesn't compare to being in the room, 30 feet away, hearing the song as if for the first time, with a bit of Ravi Shankar thrown in, and some Coltrane, and some Segovia added to the unforgettable counter-melody and McGuinn's sweet voice.

At the end of the concert, John Sebastian joined Roger McGuinn for a few songs. Sebastian's harmonicas soared and chugged and chortled along with McGuinn's guitar and vocals. These men have known each other for decades. Their music, very different, blends and defines the best of the folk and rock and folk-rock creativity of the sixties.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
(from Leonard Cohen's "Anthem.")

Why the verse by Leonard Cohen? Because right now, in my life, music is "how the light gets in." And I am so, so grateful.

Frog and denim, music and ink

First, the music meme that Dorothy tagged me with (because if I start with the frogging, I'll just rant).

1. Name between 5 & 10 songs that have made an impact on your life. I'll leave it up to you to decide how many you wish to describe.
2. Pass it onto five other people with a link back to your own post and this one as the original.


Only 5-10 songs? I wrote out the first draft of this post at Barnes & Noble this morning, while drinking a large English Breakfast tea, and I filled 6 pages in my notebook. My writing is small. Just imagine how much I wrote... But I'll try to prune it down a bit.

I'll start with vocals - i.e., actual songs. Each of these captures the melancholy that underlies my personality.

• "Mas que nada" (Sergio Mendez) - although I don't know what the lyrics mean, the melody and the performance give me a sense of the gently-rueful state of mind, where you know something is lost, but the loss will leave only the whisper of a scar.
• "The Lady of Shalott" (Loreena McKennitt) - Tennyson's compassionate vignette of the young woman who is cursed to weave a tapestry of a world she is forbidden to see. McKennitt's harp and crystalline voice capture the Lady's enchantment, the moments when the Lady begins to become aware of how much she has lost ("half sick of shadows") and she releases herself from the spell ("the mirror crack'd') ,and the currents that bear her "down the river's dim expanse" to her death.
• "Heart Like a Wheel" (Kate and Anna McGarrigle) - a woman's stunned wonder at the loss of love, sung in sweet, high harmonies. "My heart is on that ship out in mid-ocean."
• "First We Take Manhattan" and "Famous Blue Raincoat" (Leonard Cohen, sung by Jennifer Warnes) - two moods, one sensibility, performed by one intelligent, expressive, no frills-singer.
• (Also, Cohen's "Hallelujah," sung by Rufus Wainwright.)
• "Humpty Dumpty" (Aimee Mann)- spare singing, with lyrics that perfectly express quiet despair ("all the perfect drugs and superheroes wouldn't be enough to bring me up to zero") .
• Honorable mention: Beatles "Things we said today", Supertramp "Take the long way home," Gerry Rafferty "The Ark," Richard & Mimi Farina "Children of darkness," Byrds "Mr. Tambourine man" and "Bells of Rhymney," Incredible String Band "Ducks on a pond."
  

Next, classical.

• Samuel Barber, "Adagio for Strings." This would break and nourish my heart even if I had not once played it (viola) behind a passionate conductor.
• Gabriel Faure, "Pavane" and "Sicillienne" from Peleas et Melisande
• Chopin, "Waltz in C# minor," performed by Jon Kimura, whose graceful and light arpeggios bring to mind the ballerinas of "Les Sylphides." (Many pianists use the arpeggios as excuses for egotistical flourishes.)
• Modest Mussorgsky,"The Old Castle" from Pictures at an Exhibition. A ghostly troubador recounts the downfall of an ancient family. (My vision, not the artist's. This was my signature piece when I played piano.)
• Joaquin Rodrigo, "Fantasia para un Gentilhombre." A sunny portico where an aging gentleman recalls his rich life. (Best performance: John Williams.)
• Ralph Vaughan Williams, "The Lark Ascending" and "Fantasia on a theme of Thomas Tallis." These are the two pieces of music I would choose if I only could choose two. They soar, they haunt, they soar again.

I could go on - and on - and on -

Ok, I'll tag Bridget, Stephanie, Caitlin, Kim, and anyone else who feels like being tagged. Just let me know, ok?

And now, for something completely different:
I had to frog the socks. Somehow, I got to the foot before I realized that they were big enough for Hagrid. (Yes, my gauge was almost perfect. Something went awry.) I shall start again, but with a ribbed pattern, and fewer stitches on the needles...

Patti Smith -- "somebody's sins but not mine"

I love Patti Smith. I love her persona, her music, her lyrics, her poetry, her politics, her sturdiness, and her honesty. When I went to her book signing a few years ago, she talked and sang and ate pizza.It was the homiest, most gemultlich book signing I've ever attended.

Robert Mapplethorpe captured her stark, strange beauty early on, but it's taken years for the rock world to catch up to his vision. Some of her lyrics - ecstatic, direct, uncompromising - may be less prettified than many would like. Others - well, others are just beautiful:

"Ours is just another skin
That simply slips away
You can rise above it
It will shed easily

It all will come out fine
I've learned it line by line

One common wire
One silver thread
All that you desire
Rolls on ahead"

("Grateful," from the album Gung Ho.)


Visit her website, read some of her occasional writings , read Rimbaud and Baudelaire and her own recent book of poetry (Auguries of Innocence), listen to her recordings. She's a treasure, and now she's in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame!

(The title of this entry is from the first line of her first album: "Jesus died for somebody's sins - but not mine.")