Paying Back Some Debts (or at least the interest on them)
Ah, I don’t mean the economic debts in this case. The creditors may have the law on their side, but they stir no passion to them back, only neurosis and anxiety. I mean the debt I owe to what has inspired me, a debt that can be partially paid by writing or rock (or even cultural) criticism, but in order for it to be paid in full, I have to continue to create poetry, music, ya know, ‘make my life a work of art’ to inspire others as I had been inspired as a kid and protracted adolescence—-more like what Bob Dylan sings about in “Nothing Was Delivered” or what Elvis Costello means in “Pay It Back.” Here’s the second verse of Costello’s song: ‘And then they told me I could be somebody/If I didn’t let too much get in my way/ And I try so hard just to be myself/ But I keep fadin’ away.” That was always as profound as William Blake to me, as adoloscent consumerism which for a time could liberate me (and Costello and others) eventually gets in the way and can make even the most resolute self-possessed punk become just another butterfly collector (like that great song by The Jam). So, I hope my top ten list doesn’t just pour more cultural crap onto your junk heap and make you fade away, but I want to acknowledge some things I’ve loved, coz, hell, even producers sometimes have to consume (or diet and live off the fat of memories!)
From the 1970 _Share The Land_album, released shortly after Randy Bachman left the band (allegedly primarily because he was a Mormon), and even though he is missed, and they needed two guitarists two replace him, Burton Cummings is still in top form. This lyrical sentiment to this song is probably way ahead of its time in the sense that it has much in common with late 1980s punk music’s lament and critique of too-often spurious ‘love generation’ (the “fuzzy wuzzy lovin’ cup explosion”) pieties, and it rocks! (Oh, side note if you changed one word to their biggest hit, “American Woman,” making it “American Idol,” that song would work even more. “Now, Idol, get away….”
One of my favorite Bay Area bands. As far as I know they’re still on a hiatus, but the lead singer, Amy (who does not give as last name), has a brilliant quirky lyrical sensibility that is at once raw, gutsy, and silly. And when she lets herself, she can really sing. They still have some songs up on myspace, which I’d advise you to check out and write them, and get them to reunite. In the meantime, Amy has another more acoustic, and even campier, project called Spiritual Heaven that’s on myspace and also plays around the Bay Area.
This sophisticated Harlem Renaissance literatteur should get more credit in academic smoke-filled rooms for his inclusion of blues poems in many of his books of poetry (he also recorded a great album of them, in which he sings/talks). Sure, it may not be ‘authentic’ blues from the Delta or from Chicago, but in a literary context, it put the standard blues form on par with, say, the sonnet or sestina. Well, that may be wishful thinking; for (alas) it’s still true that while the legacy of the blues is generally accepted (even the most racist whites will often have to begrudge it), most ‘accepted’ poetry these days is still primarily based on Euro-centric or white American assumptions. Of course, this is also partially why most of what’s called poetry today remains marginalized, on the fringes, elitist and unpopular. Langston Hughes, and not simply in his blues poems, helped make poetry relevant to a reader without ‘literary training’ years before the Beats or Bob Dylan and, once again, appealed to the common roots of page-based writing and the primal cry and joy of bodily performance…and not without sublimation and sublimity.
His first so-called ‘spoken word’ album, almost two decades old now. Sure, I dug The Dead Kennedys, but my respect for Biafra grew immeasurably when he reinvented himself as a talker with these albums and live talks. I loathe the term ‘spoken word,’ and to me it’s didactic/entertaining, like the rare great teacher you actually respect. He joins the ranks of the great (recorded) talkers such as Lenny Bruce, Malcolm X, George Carlin, Alan Watts, John Cage and Richard Pryor and anticipates, if not exactly influences, Bill Hicks, David Cross, and Chris Rock with this. It’s a genre I have aspirations of working in myself, since for me it’s kind of the missing link between poetry, teaching, and music (three activities I’ve had success in, but they all have their instituonally opposed limits, and Biafra fought the good fight to break them down!) Hail Jello!
Mr. Reed’s foray into ‘stand-up,’ a form he never pursued as much as Biafra, and yes this is kind of a ‘novelty’ album, but I’m surprised when I bring up this album to many fans of Reed, how few people know about it. Definitely worth checking out, and I thin most listeners will be rewarded by the long speed-drenched verbalizings on ‘Sweet Jane’ and “Walk On The Wild Side’ more than they are with, say, Metal Machine Music.
He’s not just a really good musician, but also captured my attention with other people’s tunes when he spun some vinyl at Kitty’s Bar and Grill in Emeryville at a mutual friend’s birthday party . A lot of 60s garage/psych/folk music (like fellow-Texans, The Thirteenth Floor Elevatorsas would be expected from those who know wither Ashley’s solo albums or his work with The Gris Gris, and though he didn’t play Dr John, we both agreed that The Kinksare better than The Beatles and The Rolling Stones, though I might change my opinion of that.
One of the best songs by one of the best American bands of the 1980s.
Unfortunately, I didn’t know about this band until after D. Boonhad died, and though I loveMike Watt, I really want to write a “History Lesson” that yells (and out of tune at that), ‘this is D. Boon to me’ (coz ‘our band may be your life’ ain’t just the title of a book to me).
Ah, Deadheads! They’re maddening sometimes. If I were to do a BOTTOM TEN list, I’d probably have to include “Sugar Magnolia” (well, after I got James Taylor out of the way)—even though it gets stuck in my head, and I can appreciate the fact that that the song could be either about marijuana or a girl. I’m just not much of a fan of Bob Weir’s voice, which is extremely unconvincing when he tries to invoke ‘cajun’ tones, and it’s not just because he’s a California Man (txp:ign_xref>CCR could pull it off way better, and yes “Playin’ In The Band” isn’t a bad CCR imitation, if not quite as good as txp:ign_xref>The Hollies!). But txp:ign_xref>Jerry Garcia is another story—not just as a guitar hero, but as a singer, and co-songwriter (with txp:ign_xref>Robert Hunter), and “Ship Of Fools” is a classic. I’m not a big fan of Elvis Costello’s too reverential cover of this song, but love the fact that he covered it, and crusaded on this song’s behalf. Garcia does the definitive version, and helps drive home the beautifully alienated pathos of such lines as “It was later than I thought when I first believed you/ now I can not share your laughter, Ship Of Fools.” (don’t shoot me, dead heads! I’ve already been dosed).
