Monthly Archives: September 2003

Idols and Influences, continued

OK, so the previous set of idols and influences ended with 1977. Over the next few weeks, I’ll be exploring the subsequent years and the albums/artists that shaped my world as a Musician. Included will be the following, identified in chronological (i.e., the year I discovered them) order:

Here’s the high school years 🙂

News of the World, Queen
Aladdin Sane, David Bowie
Passions of a Man, Charles Mingus
Giant Steps, John Coltrane
Harbor, America
Five Live Yardbirds, The Yardbirds
Only a Lad, Oingo Boingo
Brain Salad Surgery, Emerson Lake & Palmer
Never Mind the Bollocks, The Sex Pistols
Bayou Country, Creedence Clearwater Revival
We Sold Our Souls for Rock and Roll, Black Sabbath
Fragile, Yes
New Values, Iggy Pop
The Wake of Poseidon, King Crimson
The Best of Lou Reed, Lou Reed
Double Fantasy, John Lennon/Yoko Ono

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On idols and influences

Thinking about Johnny Cash today made me pause for a moment and reflect on where I am as a result of my Musical idols. Now, I’m not talking about bands I like, or songwriters that strike a particular chord in me, or unique and individual voices — although each of those is a part of what I’m talking about. When I say idols, I don’t mean for worship, either. Worship is too much of a separation between the ideal and the reality – worship in the sense of a specific ritual that delineated in time and space focuses the attention of the worshipper in a single-minded beam of light that absorbs the universe — although THAT is part of it, too. What I am talking about is performers (in my case, Musicians) who when I first heard them changed — irreversibly, immeasurably, irrevocably, dramatically, definitely and undeniably — who I am in relationship to what I do as a Musician. It’s different for different arts, I suppose — in some media, perhaps the effect is not so immediate, but in Music, when a guitar or harmonica or piano or whatever is just within reach at the fingertips at the split second the performer’s first thing hits my eardrums. And that makes the absorption, I guess, so much more (well, in my opinion) intense and well, poignant. To put it into another vernacular, it’s like the first time you do serious amounts of any drug (enough to alter your thought energy in a pleasant way) the first time you cross the asleep/aware threshold — but it’s BETTER, because it happens every time you hear a new thing by someone who has the potential to absolutely blow your mind.

For me, it was perhaps a very strange progression … almost like some things happened accidentally, to force me to look in a different direction — although we all know that nothing really happens by accident. So it’s a plan. Maybe not mine, but a plan nonetheless. You probably get the point by now 🙂

Anyway … here, in attempted chronological order, are the performers (and their recordings or other performances) that put me where I am Musically and gave me the map to get there.

El Gato (Duke Ellington live at Newport 1958, with Cat Anderson on lead trumpet). Not really the first thing I ever heard, or sang or played, but definitely the first thing that absolutely changed me. When I heard this, I didn’t have any records of my own, but listened to the stuff accumulated by my parents (and fortunately, some of their elder relations). There was a lot of classical, mostly piano and orchestral; some jazz, mostly samplers and that sort of thing; a lot of that “Music for Dining”, “Music for Dancing” boxed set sort of thing from Reader’s Digest. Also not to be forgotten were the three “rock and roll” samplers – well, popular Music from 1952-1954, 54-56, and 56-57 – on Decca. “Blueberry Hill”, “Rock Around the Clock”, “The Glow Worm” by the Mills Brothers – oh that song still gives me chills — and so on. Louis Armstrong’s “A Kiss to Build a Dream On” was on those Decca records too. Wow. We also played a lot of Music at home. Each kid had to play three instruments – piano, a stringed instrument and a horn. Plus my dad played piano and lap steel on occasion. And my cousins played, too, as well as my uncle, grandfather and grandmother. It was rural, so our Musical styles were standards and country, or country standards (and when I say country, I mean America the whole country, not just Nashville). My cousin four years older had every thing the Beatles ever made or was merchandised through them. To make a long story somewhat shorter, there was a lot of Music that didn’t come from records or the radio. But that first taste of this record was cosmic. Since it was a sampler, it also had the Gerry Mulligan sextet, Louis Armstrong, Dave Brubeck … ah, what an introduction.

Ring of Fire (Johnny Cash) and Gold Records Vol. 4 (Elvis Presley)And here is where it really begins. The first two albums I ever actually owned and didn’t have to put back in someone else’s record rack. There is so much to be said about these two artists that this post cannot suffice. Needless to say, I learned how to sing listening to Elvis records. But I learned how to play the guitar from Johnny Cash. And write Lyrics.

The Beatles. Of course, with my cousin’s extensive collection, every time we went to visit that was all we listened to. And learned how to play. Because of the Beatles, I understand the necessities of group performance, particularly where vocals are concerned in rock and roll. Probably the most influential early Beatles’ song (the first one I ever heard was “Run for Your Life” from Help!) was the song “Ticket to Ride”. I learned that one on at least three instruments.

Maynard Ferguson. When I was 12, my clarinet teacher and junior high school band director got together at the teacher’s college (Ohio Northern University) and took us all to see Maynard Ferguson in concert. We were playing stuff from “Chameleon” in jazz band – Gospel John, Livin’ for the City, using Maynard’s charts, and seeing him live was unbelievable. I’d seen orchestras, and choirs and symphonies at this point (the ones I was participating in, of course, and on television and record), but seeing a live band that grooved was major.

The Beach Boys. Before I hit high school, I didn’t have many albums. Elvis’ Gold Records (all of them), Johnny Cash, The Bay City Rollers, Shaun Cassidy, The Eagles Greatest Hits, some stuff I’d won writing a Halloween essay contest for WKTN (Linda Hargrove, Roy Clark and The Blues Project — special note here, it was their 1974 reunion album, complete with Al Kooper, Steve Katz — the guys that wrote “I Can’t Keep From Crying”. Man, I didn’t really understand the range of the album or where that sound exactly was, but that album was GREAT. Anyway, back to the Beach Boys … the harmony vocals always drew me in. Thanks to the Beatles and the Beach Boys, I understand harmony vocals — and it certainly helped with my background and lead singing at family outings. If you sang a good harmony, everybody was VERY happy. Brian Wilson’s range of songwriting to this day amazes me. And his voice – how haunting …

KISS Double Platinum … oh, I forgot the other album I had in junior high … more on that later 🙂

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Born Outside of Nashville

rededicated to Johnny Cash

Well, yes, I’ve been in prison, and I have been dirt poor
I’ve spent time in worn out shoes and I’ve slept on the floor
And the hat I wear is there to keep the rain off of my boots
It ain’t no fashion statement, just reflection on my roots

I’ve never roped or wrangled, but I’ve been behind a plow
And it’s been quite a row to hoe to get where I am now
I have played for pennies on the streets just to get by
And I can sing a melody to bring tears to your eye

BORN OUTSIDE OF NASHVILLE and it’s probably just as well
I never was too interested in how much I could sell
They tell me country Music’s all ’bout heart and paying dues
Well, mister, I’ve been country nearly twice as long as you.

I was raised on rock and roll when Elvis was the king
And I won’t lie, I’ll tell you, man, that’s where I learned to sing
But I learned some from the Beatles and as much from Bill Monroe,
Merle Haggard and ol’ “No Show Jones” taught me to love the show

I love hearin’ Hank and Patsy and the Grand Ol’ Opry
But Sam & Dave and Otis Redding sure weren’t lost on me
You might say that I’m not a purist, far as you can tell
But America is my tradition, and I’ve learned it well

BORN OUTSIDE OF NASHVILLE, guess I’ll never be home-grown
But I could never be convinced that’s something you can own
They tell me country Music’s all ’bout heart and being true
Well, mister, I’ve been country nearly twice as long as you.

I’ve never been a Rebel, never fought in any wars
But I’ve met carpet-baggers, slaves and money-hungry whores
I’ve been called trash, and I’ve had cash, ‘least long enough to spend
And I’ve lived through this country in between and at both ends

I’ve spent some time in Memphis, but in northern cities too
And maybe country’s in one place, but I don’t think that’s true
You can keep your rhinestones and your video appeal
As for me, I’ll stand by Austin and the streets of Bakersfield

BORN OUTSIDE OF NASHVILLE and it sure don’t feel like home
Time in Music City makes glad I can still roam
They tell me country Music’s all ’bout heart and paying dues
If that’s the case, I’ve been in country twice as long as you.

1996

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Untitled poem

It’s so hard to focus on the subtleties of life
Often times the fountain pen is like a carving knife
On clandestine maneuvers in the dark soul of the night
Without anesthesia or a sense of wrong and right

Once I thought to change the world without making it worse
Living in it seemed a drama that was unrehearsed
It lacked improvisation and was thrown together fast
Product of a culture that was certain not to last

Each unguided moment is a ruby in the dust
You try not to pick it up, but realize you must
Put it in a setting that you hope will resist rust
And watch the vultures settle on it, leaving you the crust

Watch a while and listen, there are voices on the wind
Some may whisper battle cries, and others just pretend
Once in many lifetimes can you recognize a friend
Sacrificed to sibyls speaking that they knew you when

12 SEP 2003

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9/11 Remembered

Another nine eleven comes and slips through afternoon;
not a single house on my block flies a flag or sings a tune.
There seems to be no notice or remembrance of the day
that two years back began the work to take our souls away.

Another nine eleven day and no lines have been drawn;
just like the game of chess, I guess, life moves slow for its pawns.
There isn’t any patriotic rhetoric on CNN or Fox,
no reminders of the war still on that risks the ballot box.

Another nine eleven here and our alert is high,
expecting that the enemy will be seen in our sky.
There isn’t an eye watching the manuevers on the ground,
where politicians scramble to the apathetic sound.

11 SEP 2003

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Bob Dylan

There is something boiling on the stove’s gas-driven flame
Coffee, tea or chai, to me they taste about the same
My cup overfloweth, and I won’t say whose to blame
Each of us has demons that we must conquer and tame

Scribbling in the darkness, a small candle for a light
Imagining the consequence of illusory might
There must a million others sleepless on this night
Each of us believing that the cause we back is right

A literary reference should be made about this point
Some veiled allusion to Rimbaud or lighting up a joint
Each voiceless generation seeks a mouthpiece to anoint
If it’s me that you’ve selected, I must disappoint

Walking in the shadows near the fading of the sun
Late for an appointment, but I’m much too tired to run
As each chapter closes, with higher ladder’s rung
Some look just for endings, disregarding what’s begun

Endless wires and circuits leading out into the void
Means by which some conversation may be well enjoyed
Yet so many people sad, and others are annoyed
Others work to prove themselves by acting unemployed

A throwaway non sequitur I now will introduce
This life is like an orange, squeeze it to enjoy the juice
Watch which way the cannon points, for it may come unloose
You can try to make sense of this, but there’s not much use.

11 SEP 2003

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Here is Where I Am

Could have been famous, so I’ve always said;
those Hollywood notions still mess with my head.
Should be free of them by now, I suppose –
just takes accepting the life that I chose.

Paths come together, and then they diverge.
Drought always leads to some great demiurge.
Crossed wires connecting one thing to the next,
building new circuits where no one suspects.

Could have made money, or more than I do;
but then I wouldn’t have what I’ve been through.
Could start all over, and trust all to chance,
despite Thoreau’s quip about new pairs of pants.

Paths run together, and then they part ways;
hard to judge where they lead there through the haze.
One trail seems easy, deceptively so;
each single step leads to what you don’t know.

Could have made much wiser use of my brain –
sounds like my mother’s recurring refrain.
Gone to Columbia, Juilliard, Yale;
available options, now beyond the pale.

Roads intersect, and they head off apart:
North and East intellect, South and West, heart.
Could have done better, but no, never mind;
here is where I am, and right here is fine.

10 SEP 2003

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