tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63174902011-08-16T00:19:16.034-07:00Utopian Turtletop. Monsieur Croche's Bête Noire. turtletop [at] hotmail [dot] comJohnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.comBlogger12561100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-77578026609973853342010-03-21T20:04:00.000-07:002010-03-21T20:26:08.774-07:00

Hank Williamsand Bon Scottboth died sleepingin the backs ofautomobiles.Got myself a one-way ticketGoing the wrong wayGonna change my evil waysOne of these days -- AC/DC, “Ride On”, written by Young, Young & ScottNow, boys, don’t start your ramblin’ round,On this road of sin or you’re sorrow bound.Take my advice or you'll curse the dayYou started rollin’ down that lost highway -- Hank Williams

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-34461369054791024852009-12-30T21:00:00.000-08:002009-12-31T00:03:52.992-08:00

Going through the files, I found an un-posted draft of a farewell post, written September '08. And blogging has drifted from being a practice to being an occasional what-the-heck, and that's fine. Better to fade away then to burn out. Anyway, this was the picture, which I liked too much not to post.The year's almost over. A few stray farewells.* * *Santa Claus As GladiatorA fave Xmas music

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-22370602564659001372009-11-17T11:00:00.000-08:002009-11-17T11:47:12.710-08:00

A lot of thinking doesn't occur in language. Our senses know things that we would struggle to put into language. Riding a bike, taking a curve, the balance of your body on the seat, the angle of the bike as you turn, the speed and the weight, how much to brake -- there's no way you could put that knowledge into words that somebody could hear and know how to do it without practicing. Their ears

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-18776542051644246222009-10-03T15:34:00.000-07:002009-10-03T15:56:57.870-07:00

While waiting in the longest line I've ever seen at the grocery store today, I re-read Wordsworth's "Tintern Abbey," a/k/a “Lines Composed Above Tintern Abbey, On Revisiting the Banks of the Wye During a Tour. July 13, 1798”, for the first time in many years, and caught for the first time the style of so much modern poetry, the low-key seriousness and nature-worship pre-figuring a lot of the

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-85155539762463913922009-09-10T21:23:00.000-07:002009-09-10T23:54:53.399-07:00

me, Bob, Mac, Jen & Robert, with 2 friends in front, at AlleyFest a couple weeks agoThe kid’s first day of first grade yesterday. Kindergarten was all-day, so the shift is not drastic -- it’s just another step. I listened to “All Summer Long” by the Beach Boys over and over: “we’ve been having fun all summer long.” And we have been.2 weeks at my mom’s place with my sister and her family, lots

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-17492606814283210572009-07-31T09:57:00.000-07:002009-08-14T10:15:00.961-07:00

20th century poets wrote about jazz a lot --Nathaniel Mackey, Ntozake Shange, Jayne Cortez, Amiri Baraka,to name some I've been happy to read --and Wagner made a big splash with late 19th century poets --Baudelaire, Mallarme --and the only 20th century poet I can think of writing about 20th century Euro-derived musicis Frank O'Hara, with his series of poems "On Rachmaninoff's Birthday,"and his

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-68261568425718254962009-07-30T20:42:00.000-07:002009-07-30T21:01:32.821-07:00

WHY PROSE HAS NEVER EXISTEDAND WHY PEOPLE PREFER IT THAT WAYComputers have revealed to usthat prosehas never existedif we define proseas text writtenwithout line breaks. This makes sensesince most people recognizethat almost nobodyspeaks in prose,or,grammatically correct prose.With computers nowwe can actually have text without line breaks,we can have left-to-right scrolling with computer

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-78380359084116143122009-07-27T18:37:00.001-07:002009-07-30T23:14:42.893-07:00

I am going to write a poem.It is going to be a very beautiful poem.It will have politics, and pathos, and lyricism,and a savvy self-consciousness about the resources and quirksof the English language and poetic tradition.It will go down smooth when smoothness is warranted,and burn harshly when that's what's wanted.It will be familiar and surprising -- familiarly surprising and surprisingly

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-33396315166329015112009-07-09T23:16:00.000-07:002009-07-09T23:42:12.708-07:00

I was in Michigan visiting my mom and not reading the paper or anything online, when Michael Jackson died. My brother put some MJ and Jacksons on a CD and we listened in memoriam. Was blown away more than ever by the rhythm tracks. The productions by Quincy Jones especially: Deep Brazilian/disco percussion, disco strings, Earth Wind & Fire horns -- and unstoppably catchy songs. My friend

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-76963062759837930712009-04-03T01:39:00.000-07:002009-04-03T02:07:12.744-07:00

NEWS FLASH. . . they're gonna put me in the movies . . . A band I was in during college, CFG, or Civilian Fun Group, will have one or two songs playing in the background of a party scene of Adventureland, which opens today. The movie is set in 1987 -- two years after we left school and broke up. Twelve years ago the writer and director, Greg Mottola, wrote and directed The Daytrippers, which I

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-40584663679541123722009-01-19T23:29:00.000-08:002009-01-20T00:07:58.746-08:00

INAUGURAL POEMMs. Reeves of Motown, with a song by Misters Stevenson, Gaye, and Hunter, will lay the scene.calling out around the world!are you ready? are you ready? are you ready?yes we’re ready!are you ready?yes we’re ready!are you ready for a brand new,a brand new,a brand new day, a brand new pair of rollerskates, a brand new key, a brand new BEAT, a brand new boombox, a brand new sense of

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-48843272186769789852008-11-04T23:58:00.000-08:002008-11-05T00:06:35.713-08:00

Wow.I'd been expecting an Obama victory for several weeks now, but when NBC called it, it was a thrill and a rush and a relief. A thrill and a rush: our first African American president. A relief: the U.S. can rejoin the community of nations.

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-22388152769825500652008-09-21T22:53:00.000-07:002008-09-21T23:07:10.841-07:00

Sometime in the ‘80s, I read that the infant mortality rate on the South Side of Chicago rivaled that of 3rd World countries. With Reagan’s drive to cut spending promoting the social good, I quipped to my late, beloved Republican dad, “Reagan wants to turn America into a 3rd World country.” In 1996, when Clinton was starting to build a budget surplus, and Dole was campaigning on the theme of

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-57996569188426121612008-09-20T08:22:00.000-07:002008-09-20T08:41:39.636-07:00

Singer-songwriter John Shaw headlined Friday's lunch hour inColumbia City at one of 31 sites around the city where parkingspaces were converted to temporary, tiny parks. Photo by Paul Joseph Brown / Seattle P-I It's not exactly fame, but I’m on the front page of the Seattle P-I today. An acquaintance was putting together an outdoor arts event 2 blocks from my office

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-85728234415722618982008-09-19T06:11:00.000-07:002008-09-19T06:23:42.624-07:00

The Unbearable Lightness of Mike LoveMusic can open up an abyss of longing. A hanging phrase can conjure any sweet moment you’ve experienced, and recall its absence, tantalize you with its seeming closeness and unbridgeable far-ness. And hearing that abyss open you up in the music doesn’t hurt -- it feels good. The abyss is usually -- some would say always; I’d say usually -- here with us, and

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-7173166636536330952008-09-04T20:24:00.000-07:002008-09-06T01:42:23.078-07:00

UPDATED, FRIDAY NIGHT, with the mystery of the mansion-backdrop resolved, below.[I cut the picture of the Oscar statue that originally headed this post and replaced it with a still from McCain's speech with the confusing backdrop.]The first several minutes of McCain’s speech felt like an Oscar winner’s.Probably because: This is his peak, his apex, his high watermark. He ain’t going any higher

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-37291421106457831942008-09-04T10:27:00.000-07:002008-09-04T11:08:36.392-07:00

When I first saw this cover of Us magazine, I thought it was a parody, but it’s the real deal. Rolling Stone publisher Jann Wenner also publishes Us, which, if I ever knew, I had forgotten. I’ve often poked fun at RS, but it publishes good investigative journalism from a liberal, humanist perspective, so it’s no surprise that Wenner has decided to let his political instincts coincide with his

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-67851597187211139092008-09-03T23:32:00.000-07:002008-09-04T00:12:12.345-07:00

A robin hatching on the circuit breaker box on our back porch, earlier this summer.First day of kindergarten today. The usual bundle of nerves, pride, and excitement among parents and child, and accompanied with the usual parental wistfulness. My beloved spouse and I both got close to getting misty, and I might have, except that I have a wicked cold and my eye was dripping already. The kid was

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-35335879177092233642008-08-22T00:59:00.000-07:002008-08-26T21:57:12.677-07:00

After a day’s drive and ferry ride,we hiked in the two miles to Shi Shi, the northernmost ocean-facing beachin the Lower 48, just south of the Makah Reservation,through which we had to hike.The forecast predicted rain but we were lucky our two days there, never getting more than a few sprinkles.We saw a gray whale in the surfthirty feet from shore,its fin and its tale splashing out,and then later

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-87121372018075517232008-08-17T00:59:00.000-07:002008-08-17T01:16:56.629-07:00

Gretta and Sarah Are GoldenThe one cover Seattle chamber-rock band We Are Golden played at their CD release show Thursday night was a bittersweet Joni Mitchell number, “For Free.” Charming, vivacious, golden-voiced front woman Sarah Rudinoff introduced the song by geeking out on how she and composer-pianist-guitarist-vocalist Gretta Harley bonded over their love for Joni Mitchell. So it makes

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-38948412409279062152008-08-15T23:49:00.000-07:002008-08-22T01:34:00.649-07:00

Belated follow-up from last week’s post on Jody Rosen’s article in Slate on the small Texas alt-weekly that systematically plagiarized a host of writers:Via Zoilus, the Houston Press reports that the Montgomery County Bulletin shut its doors a couple of days after Jody’s piece appeared. If you haven’t seen the Houston Press report, and you’ve a taste for the psychology of “there’s no defense like

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-62519839973393963792008-08-12T00:50:00.000-07:002008-08-12T01:48:33.593-07:00

Driving Sunday afternoon, Sinatra singing "Fly Me to the Moon" comes on the radio. The kid asks me to start the song again. I can't, it's on the radio. He asks if I have a CD of it. I do, two versions, but not Sinatra -- Bennett and the Four Lads. The kid says that playing "among the stars" is impossible, and if someone could live on Jupiter or Mars, their bodies would have to be different

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-76157207664966582682008-08-09T02:15:00.000-07:002008-08-09T08:31:55.572-07:00

We had friends over to watch the opening ceremonies of the Olympics. The show was spectacular -- poetic, grandiose, dreamy, gorgeous, moving. Afterwards I fell asleep before brushing my teeth and just woke up and brushed them. Walking the house at 2 in the morning, with everybody asleep I catch the lonesomeness of time blowing gently through, whispering its faint song, passing, passing,

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-11200537168326843692008-08-07T21:32:00.000-07:002008-08-07T21:53:57.421-07:00

The Apostles singing in Pike Place Market.This is an old story. Six years ago a member of a Seattle street gospel singing group called The Apostles was murdered, and they finally put a suspect on trial last October. A reporter covering the story played part of the trial scene for droll comedy. At one point, the testimony took a turn into the finer points of swear words, when [the prosecutor]

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-73411542234771220612008-08-07T08:45:00.001-07:002008-08-07T08:49:29.260-07:00

Pirates are so cute!My friend Jody Rosen has a piece up on Slate on how someone told him that a small Texas alt-weekly had pirated his piece on Jimmy Buffett. Jody looked into it and found that for many years’ worth of archives, the entire paper may have been plagiarized from several sources. Made possible by internet trolling, the plagiarists did themselves in by leaving the evidence of their

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-69357935197607996012008-08-04T00:22:00.000-07:002008-08-04T00:34:02.957-07:00

the dock near sunset, summerLast month we -- my beloved spouse, our son, my sister's son, and I -- were swimming off our family's dock in Michigan when I saw a big bird dive into the water for fish and upswoop empty-taloned, flying north along the shore. We followed along the connected open lawns until my beloved spouse spotted it sitting in a tree several houses down. I hadn't been sure that it

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-51497138937388060812008-08-03T10:58:00.000-07:002008-08-03T11:49:31.981-07:00

Saw 2 Dylan clips on PBS last night, live from Newport 1963, “Who Killed Davey Moore?” and “Blowin’ in the Wind.”The appeal of Dylan’s topical songs from this era eludes me. Simple, didactic, banged unconvincingly, though with tremendous style. Smelling more of Pete Seeger’s abstractions (where have all the goddamn flowers gone, anyway?) than Woody Guthrie’s stoic, concrete narratives. Reminded

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-59941428087241332422008-07-30T23:47:00.000-07:002008-07-31T00:24:57.919-07:00

Stuff SmithSong notes.1. NecrophiliaWhen Steve Lawrence sings that he and his love are hoping to getA room without windowsA room without doorsI remember that the only such room is the grave. Ervin Drake’s 1964 lyric (he wrote the music too) hammers the point home on the bridge:If they said "Friend, how would you like to spend the long hereafter?"I'd tell them what we're afterIs a one-way ticket

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-8224647649681720542008-07-29T01:05:00.000-07:002008-07-29T07:33:28.634-07:00

Carl Wilson is thinking aboutpoets who are also songwriters or songwriterswho are also poetsandI can't help thinking of doe-eyed John Keatsgazing dreamily into the middle distance, havinglooked up from his reading, hisface relaxed and attentive, neitherhappy nor sad butobservant, and sodainty and soft, and there'san interesting discussion going on in Carl's commentsection, as different

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-30788328404442573252008-07-27T07:32:00.000-07:002008-07-27T13:57:22.465-07:00

Set list Friday night:In JulyThe ground below, the stars aboveWorms in the skyClinging to a cloud (words adapted from Johnny Burke's lyric for “Misty”)I can’t get that song out of my headIn summer (written with Bob the drummer)The bottle on the window sillWasting awayHave you ever been in love? (written with my friend Nick)President’s Day (written with my son)Jillian and Jim joined us for the

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-62366041592109107662008-07-25T01:19:00.000-07:002008-07-27T08:07:00.283-07:00

Satch and Fats.They were friends.Louis starred in a Broadway show that Waller wrote.Great singers with a mysterious stylistic connection. I'm guessing Louis influenced Fats, since he recorded earlier.Fats the more sly, insinuating singer. I wish he would have covered "Sympathy for the Devil."* * *See the post below for news about Friday night's show. Really looking forward to it, and would

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-54693404048500965892008-07-24T00:55:00.000-07:002008-07-25T01:31:17.577-07:00

Random notes from the last couple of weeks:The radio edit of Sheryl Crow’s “A Change Will Do You Good” omits the following bracketed phrases:“God’s little gift [is on the rag]”[“Jack-off jimmy”]I mentioned this to my beloved spouse after hearing the bowdlerized song on the radio, and she said, “Yeah, and they follow it with a Viagra commercial.”It’s a classic rock station and so they don’t --

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-77814893327593115512008-07-17T01:21:00.000-07:002008-07-17T21:26:12.798-07:00

A sign at Coffee to a Tea. My beloved spouse took this picture the last time my band played there.My band, Ruby Thicket, is playing there again in about a week.When: Friday, July 25, 2008, 8:00pm.With whom: With our friends Jillian and Jim Graham (who sat in with us last time we played there).Where: Coffee to a Tea, in West SeattleAddress: 4541 California Ave. SW, Seattle, WA 98116Phone: (206

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-20806874530429312702008-07-13T08:37:00.000-07:002008-07-14T00:01:33.235-07:00

[Sunday night: Updated with further thoughts below.]For a long time I felt that the preposterousness of the theft of the 2000 Presidential Election was unsurpassable by satire.The sheer implausibility of the coincidence of factors that made the theft possible!It all hinged on Florida, where Bush’s brother, who was the governor, had illegally purged the roles of predominantly African American

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-6803572099127033832008-06-25T09:15:00.000-07:002008-06-26T20:04:13.760-07:00

Kalamazoo!1. When Van Halen hit, I was a rock-punk-jazz-classical Kalamazoo teenager who thought they were too Vegas. Nice guitar playing & drumming, but that singer, No. When David Lee Roth later had a hit with a very close cover -- an homage -- of Louis Prima’s hit medley of “Just a Gigolo / I Ain’t Got Nobody” (for which Prima should have received arranger’s royalties), I felt vindicated --

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-21254133388989918222008-06-20T06:00:00.000-07:002008-06-21T08:55:42.225-07:00

Solstice!*[Children watching the sunrise in Marcel Camus's 1959 film Black Orpheus (Orfeu Negro). At the end of the film, they rush to the eastward facing hill to sing the sun up. Now that Orpheus, whose job it is to sing the sun up, has died, somebody has to do it! They sing a tremendous, wordless song -- "Samba de Orfeu," written for the film by Luiz Bonfá.]* * *Update, next morning. After

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-42128144873309693192008-06-19T23:27:00.000-07:002008-06-19T23:39:36.673-07:00

I heard the Cahn/Styne standard “Time After Time” on the radio today and was struck by the undercurrent of melancholy despite the words of love and gratitude:Time after timeI tell myself that I’mSo lucky to be loving youI wondered: Does the singer tell himself time after time because he needs convincing? No, that’s not quite it. It came clear with these lines:I only know what I knowThe passing

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-13196200780299239192008-06-19T00:23:00.000-07:002008-06-19T00:59:18.860-07:00

Some weeks back I was feeling low, downon myself, which arefunny expressions, since “down on” has bothpositive and negative connotations; I was in thenegative. And I wondered about writing chattily from thatlowdown emotion and then couldn’timagine doing it, anddidn’t.Thinking about it now, the sad feeling echoes, eventhough when I sat down to writetonight I was feeling chipper! A lotof people

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-58984655520670781442008-06-17T00:37:00.000-07:002008-06-17T01:10:21.709-07:00

My old friend John de Roo (not pictured) has posted a new batch of old recordings at his MySpace page, including the classic "What if the Carter Family had been pagans?" song, "Coven in the Holler," written by his friend Reba, and recorded by the two of them. He's also posted two songs from his classic 1986 hitherto-cassette-only recording, Holy Cow!, recently transferred to CD and for sale via

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-4511601007873601152008-06-15T10:42:00.000-07:002008-06-16T00:20:13.967-07:00

The continual struggle against connoisseur-ship: The continual struggle to experience experiences more fully than weighing, judging, and classifying them -- and worrying over how to communicate said weighings, judgments, and classifications -- allows.* * *Update, late night: Tonight's show was a gas. I liked both other bands, and singing with Jennifer was deeply gratifying. With nobody else

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-77669849646070186792008-06-14T14:57:00.000-07:002008-06-14T16:49:38.084-07:00

A friend of the kid’s is over playing with him, so I’m hanging out within earshot in case they need an arbitrator. With the exception of one hot week a month or so ago, it’s been the coldest spring since I moved here in ‘91, and the coldest June for several decades. At practice the other night, I pulled out two old songs and one recent one to teach to Jen and Bob; two for Jen to sing and one

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-39080924462796299562008-06-12T23:17:00.000-07:002008-06-13T05:50:31.676-07:00

John CageCarl Wilson has written a book about a Celine Dion album, and Jody Rosen has written a book about “White Christmas” -- terrific books both. I remember a couple of years ago a debate over the relative merits of books about albums versus books about single songs, in which Carl and Jody took part, in the comments section of Carl’s blog, Zoilus.Now Kyle Gann is writing a book on John Cage's

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-64843380454815945012008-06-12T07:28:00.000-07:002008-06-12T23:33:42.691-07:00

Dear friends,This came at short notice, so it's a very different version of my band that will be playing this time. UPDATE: I had the date wrong -- it's Sunday, which is the 15th, not the 16th.Who:John ShawJen Anspachmaybe Bob Barraza, if he gets back in time from sturgeon fishing on the coast(everybody else who's played with the band the last few shows has previous commitments, except Nat,

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-18633073846578940272008-06-10T23:09:00.000-07:002008-06-10T23:15:22.324-07:00

In a post today at the Harriet group blog of the Poetry Foundation, Reginald Shepherd raises the spirit of the historical avant-garde.Citing German art theorist Peter Bürger’s book Theory of The Avant-Garde, Shepherd summarizes, “The historical avant-garde (in his view comprised of Dada, Surrealism, and Russian constructivism), which Bürger sees as a failed project that is now finished, sought to

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-80005015717113489122008-06-09T20:50:00.000-07:002008-06-17T12:13:07.376-07:00

The party got interrupted when our neighbor came by -- he had been at the party, briefly, earlier, to grab a beer before going home to shower -- and told us about the swarm of bees in the park a couple of blocks away, and almost all of us trooped out to see it. (The same neighbor took the photo above.)Fourth weekend in a row with a music party. The weekend just past was my birthday party -- 45! -

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-2452016346135264022008-06-05T21:18:00.000-07:002008-06-05T21:44:24.380-07:00

Traditionally and historically, lyric is the mode of heightened emotion, outburst, intensity -- “burst into song.”Emotions are heightened at moments of change: falling in love and breaking up; adolescence in general. In other words, Rock and Roll!Birth and death are . . . inarticulable intensities, because we have no language from the other side of them. We can only witness and imagine.Long

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-10820219297330819832008-06-02T21:21:00.001-07:002008-06-02T22:21:01.436-07:00

Bo Diddley. RIP. His sound an onslaught, the weirdest of the ‘50s rockers, full of fine excess -- the cataclysmic bellowing desire of “Dearest Darling”; the hot lead guitar and mysterious menace of “Who Do You Love?” (prefiguring my favorite Rolling Stones song, “Jumping Jack Flash”); the pan-rhythmic beat and rollicking noisy humor of “Say Man”; the glorious lust and tidal monochord of “

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-42310322371062897422008-06-01T23:57:00.000-07:002008-06-02T00:12:40.215-07:00

Walking down the long path through the woods, grey cool day, finally to the shore, to pick up shells and throw driftwood back into the Sound, the sound of the waves immemorially calming and ancestral; to the kid, because there has been no time unlike the present, the present is endless, and horizons are endless; to the middle-aged parent, horizons close in, and any walk on any shore recalls past

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-50715196340183277542008-05-29T23:30:00.000-07:002008-06-02T07:41:30.321-07:00

The G-Team: Castelnuovo-Tedesco, Milhaud, Schoenberg, Shilkret,Stravinsky, Tansman, Toch* * *Second UPDATE, Sunday June 1, round-up of other reviews.* * *UPDATE, next night 2nd thoughts below.* * *Did they rehearse?It was bad enough that Oscar-winning actors F. Murray Abraham and Patty Duke occasionally stumbled over the archaic syntax of the King James Bible in tonight’s performance of the

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-88884757789520829742008-05-28T23:52:00.000-07:002008-05-29T00:05:16.749-07:00

Make a joyful noise, all the earth: make a loud noise. With trumpets and sound of cornet make a joyful noise. Let the sea roar, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein. Let the floods clap their hands: let the hills be joyful together-- Psalm 98 (redacted)The hills are ALIVE. -- Rodgers &

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-27105354389930563522008-05-28T00:28:00.000-07:002008-05-28T00:47:55.298-07:00

I vaguely remembered having heard “I Happen to Like New York,” by Cole Porter, in a Woody Allen film, and loving it, and had no idea which film, for many years, until the other night, when I happened to watch Manhattan Murder Mystery, and there it was, at the top of the film.What a beautiful song! The last strain, its gorgeous cry of life: And when I have to give the world a last farewell, And

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-67338439516795429492008-05-26T21:48:00.000-07:002008-05-26T22:18:05.878-07:00

At the afternoon party a week ago Sunday, where I played harmonica and guitar for a couple of hours with friends and brand new acquaintances, among the circle was a semi-pro singer-guitarist-songwriter whom I’d hooted with before, a super nice guy named Larry Murante. Friday late afternoon I caught his set at Folklife (the annual Memorial Day week-end folk music festival at Seattle Center), and

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-16220824295633052692008-05-22T22:05:00.000-07:002008-05-22T23:35:38.387-07:00

Andrew Boyd and Donna Summer love you.My friend Andrew Boyd and his group Agit-Pop have a powerful video up attempting to intervene in Bush’s apparent desire to bomb Iran.We have to make Congress do the right thing. Call your rep, call your Senators, even if you have already, call them again.Now playing: Donna Summer, “I Love You.” Beyond the choruses, the words have never sunk in, but it’s a

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-14187705814886697262008-05-20T23:48:00.000-07:002008-05-21T06:59:00.530-07:00

detail from a collage poem, 1983.For a long time it’s struck me that when a beloved arty rocker goes bad, or a beloved bad-ass rocker goes bad, it is much more of a bummer than when a beloved pop singer goes bad. The pop singer asks for no investment in their image. An arty rocker and a bad-ass rocker both ask for special recognition of their persona -- artist or bad-ass -- and when they betray

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-73339822538151319632008-05-19T20:46:00.000-07:002008-05-19T22:00:01.422-07:00

Retroactive I, 1964In Slate magazine, Jack Shafer is pissed off that people loved the work of Robert Rauschenberg, who died recently: “The solemn tributes to Robert Rauschenberg in today's newspapers prove that you're more likely to encounter an independent mind operating in the sports pages than the arts section.”The same day in Slate, Jim Lewis waxed luscious about Rauschenberg’s

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-28247736695793118672008-05-18T21:59:00.000-07:002008-05-18T23:29:55.544-07:00

Ed Wynn as Uncle Albert, on the ceiling again.* * *On the phone the other day my aunt remarked on Seattle’s prosperity. She has lived in Michigan all of her life.Thursday night we went to a fundraiser for a homeless program. Swank restaurants had donated desserts, and my beloved spouse won a bodacious swank chocolate cake in a raffle. What were we going to do with a whole cake? We invited our

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-10193496374761819522008-05-18T08:29:00.000-07:002008-05-18T11:28:16.717-07:00

Beautiful Sunday morning, this is what I want to do right now -- Bake banana bread for a brunch party at friends' house. Finish writing a song to play at the brunch party. Mow the lawn. Do the laundry.* * *Update, 11:27 AM. Baked banana bread with the kid. Mowed the lawn. Did a load of laundry and hung it to dry. Didn't quite finish the song, but close enough to fake for friends with a

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-40626564730561144312008-05-15T22:20:00.000-07:002008-05-16T07:30:19.669-07:00

I read a review of JohnAshbery’s stuff which finally began toExplain to me why people go ga-ga overHim.He’s a poet’s poet.He writes poetry about poetry for poets.Don’t take my word for it – that’sWhat the reviewers have been saying, first a reviewerI admire in The Nation magazine a couple of months ago, and nowSomeone I’ve never heard of in the New York Times.They both said the same thing. They

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-7292669801461564172008-05-14T21:40:00.000-07:002008-05-14T21:53:34.335-07:00

Poor Richard’s author* * *On Tuesday the kid and his friend got into an argument at school. I asked my son to tell me how the argument went.He calmly repeated what he remembered:“I said, ‘You did it on purpose,’ and he said, ‘No, I did it on accident,’and I said, ‘No, you did it on purpose,’and he said, ‘No, I did it on accident,’and I said, ‘No, you did it on purpose,’and he said, ‘No, I did it

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-22897722917309271972008-05-14T08:38:00.000-07:002008-05-14T09:33:35.652-07:00

I heard a handful of great songs in a row on oldies radio while driving yesterday."Radar Love" -- who did that song? What a great song! The best part -- the drums and the bass just riffing with nothing else for measures at a time. Then the verses with guitar fills answering. Choruses are OK, functional, nominally more exciting but effective really more just by way of contrast. I don't

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-64226808386622125772008-05-09T01:18:00.000-07:002008-05-09T08:30:36.969-07:00

The paradox of memory -- that we remember so intensely, that an unexpected smell can bring back a long-gone milieu, whole and complete; and yet our memories are so faulty. It is foolish to trust one’s memory in the details. I do it all the time.* * *At the college reunion last October, at the poetry reading in honor of two creative writing teachers who have been there for more than 25 years, I

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-37539724321296595372008-05-08T00:36:00.000-07:002008-05-09T01:06:16.672-07:00

Here’s the legend. I may fudge a detail or slightly misremember a quote, but that’s how legends go. This really happened.Shortly after the great contralto Kathleen Ferrier was diagnosed with the cancer that would kill her, she performed Mahler’s Das Lied von der Erde (“Song of the Earth”) under the baton of Mahler’s friend Bruno Walter. At the end of the last, and by far longest, song, “Der

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-61692021949327064442008-04-26T22:39:00.000-07:002008-04-28T00:04:34.046-07:00

One of the best days of my life.Today is almost over, but it’s been my old friend John de Roo’s birthday, and I wish I were with him to toast many happy returns of the day. We grew up together, fast friends since 8th grade, started our first band together in 9th grade (with Jay Sherman-Godfrey, who is pictured above with John, singing at my wedding, almost 7 years ago) -- those two people have

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-40542441383010592172008-04-26T01:23:00.000-07:002008-04-27T01:46:43.747-07:00

My cousin L- is a social genius. When she got married in her 30s, she had been in so many of her friends’ weddings that there were far too many with whom she could reciprocate to be able to include them all, so her bridesmaids consisted solely of close unmarried friends. 300 people at the wedding. It was a blast.After my dad’s funeral, and the wake, and the burial, L- did my family the

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-9303685655492299092008-04-25T02:14:00.000-07:002008-04-25T02:21:42.774-07:00

Seattle Chamber Players are playing a concert this Sunday that I’m really looking forward to. Details:Sunday, April 27, 2008, TOWN HALL - 1119 8th Ave / Seattle6pm: Recital featuring pianist Tomoko Mukaiyama:Sommer Reisen, a combination of Schubert's Impromptu, improvisation and sound samples of five Japanese cities.7pm: Concert Gustav Mahler -- Der Abschied ("Farewell") from Das Lied

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-71394143968785376802008-04-23T18:22:00.000-07:002008-04-27T23:33:18.333-07:00

Here I am singing "My Way" a week ago Sunday, Apr. 13, with Philistine Liberation Orchestra. It was the last song of the show's last act, after my regular band, Ruby Thicket, and 3 films and a performance by my old friend Ross Lipman. I'm checking the time on my cell phone before singing because we had to clear the room soon as soon as we were done and I wanted to make sure we had enough time

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-63716403412977199482008-04-23T01:32:00.000-07:002008-04-23T01:35:43.953-07:00

Before the 2004 election I predicted that American life expectancy would fall if Bush got reelected.Life expectancy for Americans is falling, sooner than I predicted.

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-44040015684262530722008-04-21T22:05:00.000-07:002008-04-24T01:31:34.941-07:00

Peggy Lee agrees: You gotta have heart. Miles and miles and miles of heart.Carl Wilson, in an argument with other rock bloggers (roggers? blockers?) about the dialectical relationship betwixt culture & society, brings up a quick-and-dirty description of the influence of the Nuge -- and if anybody would appreciate the quick and the dirty, it’s the Motor City Madman.In considering the Nuge, it

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-61971100129971530282008-04-20T23:59:00.000-07:002008-04-21T23:15:39.813-07:00

Manitas de Plata ("Little Hands of Silver")I recognized one of the teenagers at tonight’s Seder -- he had worked at a private kids’ gym where the 5-year-old had been invited to a birthday party in January. A nice teenager; yes, he worked there; I recognized his name, T-, as much as I recognized him. Later in the evening I overheard him telling another teenager that his band was breaking up

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-61667432258640463562008-04-18T00:16:00.000-07:002008-04-18T00:56:27.530-07:00

A slide from Keep Warm, Burn Britain! by Ross LipmanTOUR DIARYLast weekend’s shows were a blast.Friday night, cafe in West Seattle, SHOW!* Short solo set, emphasis on the strummy & melodic, including songs I hadn’t played for many years, very enjoyable to play.* Lovely set by Jillian and Jim Graham; Jillian’s rich warm alto voice and Jim’s virtuoso electric bass. Jim plays triple-stop chords to

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-27371729129514454962008-04-06T23:54:00.000-07:002008-04-07T07:42:41.630-07:00

Showtime is coming, and I probably will be out of Blogville for the next week. The big show I keep mentioning is Sunday. The Sprocket Society is producing it, and Spencer Sundell, of the Sprocket Society, sent out an email:This coming Sunday at the Rendezvous, the Sprocket Society presents a special event featuring original works by Los Angeles filmmaker and noted restorationist ROSS LIPMAN,

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-71621570353291080702008-04-05T23:18:00.001-07:002008-04-06T09:33:38.778-07:00

Sometimes poets complain aboutother poets’ dabblings in political commentaryor descriptionor analysis,saying,politics mars the poem. Oftenthese are the same poetswho extol the virtues ofcraft.Now, I’m a songwriter, I have nothing against craft,craft is important; or, rather, it’s handy, asa craftsperson has the chops to double as a handyman or -woman.When writing a song, it’s handy to have

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-9155455723783403822008-04-04T22:38:00.001-07:002008-04-04T23:15:01.549-07:00

Sardines, by Michael Goldberg, 1955* * *Why I Am Not A PoetI admire poets who say thatwho you know is the most important facet ofbeing a poet, because it’s soabsurd and yet it partakes of alarge portion of truth as regards career. Ofcourse a career is not a poem, or not in thepoets’ sense of “a poem,” though it may be apoem in the aesthetic or mystic or cosmicsense.I enjoy arguing about poetry -

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-35205571557769544182008-04-04T20:55:00.001-07:002008-04-06T18:01:13.766-07:00

Science proves the poets right. The number of combinations [between neurons] becomes so large that it is unlikely that we will ever understand all the possible connections in the brain, or what they mean. The number of combinations possible -- and hence the number of possible different thoughts or brain states each of us can have -- exceeds the number of known particles in the entire known

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-62538593725217349592008-04-03T18:26:00.001-07:002008-04-03T23:26:02.186-07:00

A mosaic of Orpheus singing to animals, found on the internet with no explanatory detail* * *Sometimes poets talk admiringly of how another poet“put something” into his or her poem – a leaky air conditioner, or a ball of wax –And I really like this idea of the poem just sitting there,Waiting for a poet to fill it with stuff.With words, obviously, but words that point to stuff, inThis construction

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-36281117761279199462008-04-02T23:36:00.001-07:002008-04-02T23:41:42.156-07:00

Here is a poem.What shall I put in it?A minutely observed datum of daily experience is always nice.Especially when it opens allegorically into an epiphany,By which I mean, a revelatory new understanding of something,Not an appearance of the god.Although it is nice to imagine worshiping the shock of an unexpected and fresh understanding.I think this will be a self-reflexive poemI think it already

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-79489671981936853712008-04-01T00:49:00.000-07:002008-04-01T01:31:57.034-07:00

Notes in the wake of publicly expressing pessimism over poetry.Dreaming of a poetry of compound words that tell whole stories, contain whole visions. thoughtbodyrush*timepooloutspread * splashsparklespraydive * exhaledairwaterdisplacebubbleupMy skill is poor. The recurrent childhood dream of breathing underwater. Swim! Swim! Swim!Speculation of no consequence: Eternity is to time as the

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-41467169434704567832008-03-29T22:09:00.000-07:002008-03-29T22:14:36.357-07:00

In Davis, California visiting my beloved spouse’s relatives, nothing to worry about. Bike rides through the gorgeous bike trails of Davis. A trip to a Central Valley nature preserve of California prairie. Reading and napping and playing with the kids – our son and 3 nieces, two older and one younger than him.In 1862 Augustus Leopold Egg painted a picture of two women in a train, one napping, one

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-66964699673615372152008-03-27T00:02:00.000-07:002008-03-27T01:45:20.778-07:00

I've mentioned it before but I do love my band.Bob Barraza plays drums and shakuhachi (Japanese wooden) flute and sings, Jen Anspach sings, I play guitar and harmonica and sing, Robert Hinrix plays bass and mandolin and sings, and Mac McClure plays bowed saw and sings. Delightful people and lovely musicians all. Eric Stovall joined us on lead guitar on about half of our 29 songs last show,

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-87744634001974958082008-03-25T23:44:00.000-07:002008-03-26T08:04:17.560-07:00

he first used the word “robot.”My beloved spouse and I saw R.U.R. -- Rossum’s Universal Robots -- last Saturday. What a trippy play! I’d read it 20 or 25 years ago, as the band I’d been with in high school was first called R.U.R., and then the Young Rossums as we found out that a Grand Rapids band was already playing around the state under the name R.U.R. I’d forgotten what a nutty play it

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-41451064116377081302008-03-21T01:08:00.000-07:002008-03-21T01:13:41.967-07:00

2 or 3 times a week I have massive driving to do for work and commuting. The radio radio is my frequent companion, especially since the CD player died.Heard Sheryl Crow’s new single, “Love Is Free” Thursday. Good beat, catchy cheery tune, nicely lively Beatle-esque electronic vocal timbres at a couple points, and sweet catchy clever chorus close, “Oh oh everybody’s making love ‘cause love is

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-40501071127808196552008-03-20T01:25:00.000-07:002008-03-20T07:35:21.925-07:00

As if in answer to last night’s question as to how it could be that one of my favorite singers and songwriters could pack clubs with stomping fans, get a record deal, play with famous people, and still not become famous herself, I came across this ( via Michaelangelo Matos):A talented writer for a slick magazine entertainingly reviews 763 MP3s by acts that played at SXSW recently. I had heard of

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-74679232881350696352008-03-18T23:59:00.000-07:002008-03-19T01:08:24.345-07:00

The first time I heard Christy McWilson play her song “Actions Speak Louder Than Words” with her band the Picketts, way back in the early-mid-’90s, I wondered whether it was a rockin’ Everly Brothers tune I’d never heard. Nope. It was hers.She’s a classical country-rockabilly songwriter, full of witty, biting turns of phrase melded to well-baited musical hooks. I heard her play tonight in a

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-41634653594060110662008-03-16T18:19:00.000-07:002008-03-17T00:43:52.626-07:00

A week ago my beloved spouse and I had date night, made possible by the kid sleeping over next door. The kid has enormous tonsils (not a problem at this time, say the docs) and the snore of a person several times his weight and age.After we made arrangements for the sleepover, my beloved spouse told me that the last time he slept over, the next-door neighbor kid woke up and crept into her

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-485599107672022392008-03-13T00:33:00.000-07:002008-03-13T07:18:24.997-07:00

Jody Rosen will be at Town Hall (Seattle) Thursday night (tonight!), talking about early 20th century minstrel-pop that made fun of Jews, what he has called Jewface, by analogy with “blackface,” in a CD compilation he has produced. One of many questions I’d like to ask Jody -- I assume that “Jewface” is his coinage -- is whether “Hebe song,” another term for the phenomenon, by analogy with “coon

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-71543841019490864792008-03-12T00:31:00.000-07:002008-03-12T01:51:54.588-07:00

Robert Christgau, the late Ellen Willis, Greil Marcus, Courtney Love,Tom Carson, Steve Albini in drag, the late Lester Bangs (l. to r.)SHIPWRECKED“The album I would most want to have with me if I were marooned, abandoned, stranded on a desert island” is a bizarrely solipsistic and emotionally out-of-touch premise for an essay, but two collections have been published of them. It’s impossible to

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-30996986293841887842008-03-05T23:38:00.000-08:002008-03-06T00:18:49.021-08:00

A Native Illinois drum circle singing at University of Illinois a few years ago.My new favorite radio show: “Sounds from the Four Directions,” Wednesday nights from 11:00 PM to 1:00 AM on KBCS, community radio from Bellevue Community College, 91.3 FM. (Bellevue is the historically conservative Seattle suburb, due east across Lake Washington. Belying its reputation, Bellevue is now the 3rd

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-41385197721227631782008-03-05T21:01:00.001-08:002008-03-05T21:10:39.326-08:00

Earth Liberation Front used explosive devices to torch three unoccupied mansions in a new rural development Monday night, with damage estimated to be worth $7 million. Arson and bombs are terrifying, but ELF goes out of its way not to harm people. So far, they have succeeded. Obviously, they run a calculated risk, and I am glad that they have succeeded in this aspect of their intention.

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-36295433725303110542008-03-04T21:00:00.000-08:002008-03-04T21:35:30.966-08:00

Dawn Upshaw rocks but needs a better sound engineer.Dawn Upshaw sang Osvaldo Golijov’s Ayre at the Seattle Symphony’s joint, Benaroya Hall, Friday night, with Orquesta Los Pelegrinos, a hot chamber ensemble made up of members of the Grammy-Award-winning group eighth blackbird and other musicians. The performance rocked but the mix was bad and the experience as a whole fell between the cracks of

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-68900826096545051782008-02-29T23:41:00.000-08:002008-03-01T00:08:40.938-08:00

Leap Day!"One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind." -- the first moonwalker, Neil Armstrong"Look before you leap.""12 lords a-leaping.""The dialectic of faith is the most refined and most remarkable of all dialectics, it has an elevation that I can form a conception of but no more. I can make the great trampoline leap in which I pass over into infinitude, my back is like the

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-60270705451986177922008-02-27T21:35:00.000-08:002008-02-27T21:53:07.290-08:00

Herndon Davis painted a face on the barroom floor of the Teller House in Central City, Colorado, in 1936, in honor of a 49-year-old poem that “thousands of people” had heard “from time to time since childhood.”Daisy Fried has raised the issue of the public recitation of poetry, which is an interest of mine. Daisy might be right -- grossly generalizing -- that actors can’t recite poetry well.

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-81466595152624496432008-02-26T23:55:00.000-08:002008-02-27T02:00:40.123-08:00

The SpinnersTonight’s the last night of the open mike at the bookstore near Ravenna Park that the kid and I have been singing at. The kid sang “Octopus’s Garden” and melted just about everybody. Luckily, he always wants me to go first. There were 38 people signed up, so I sang the shortest song I have, a song from a few weeks after the kid was born. I hadn’t played it in public before,

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-8314372210631297372008-02-25T21:00:00.001-08:002008-02-25T21:14:55.209-08:00

KISS / NO KISS @ The OSCARSWhen producer Scott Rudin won an Oscar for best picture last night, he thanked his husband: “This is also for my partner John Barlow. Without you, honey, this would be hardware. Thank you so much. Thank you.” Had he thanked his wife or his girlfriend or his parents or his children, the TV director would have shown the reaction, but they didn’t show Barlow. I’m

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-14816692324596053622008-02-25T01:05:00.000-08:002008-02-25T22:52:18.451-08:00

The back of this Charlie Patton compilation sports this blurb from Rolling Stone magazine:"After 70-odd years, Patton’s sheer focus and magnetic, almost palpable presence will still jump out of your speakers and grab you by the throat."Who invented this violent-impressionistic style of music writing? I want my presence to jump out of this computer screen, take off its white glove, and slap them

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-80892132956647973732008-02-24T22:30:00.001-08:002008-02-24T22:38:11.478-08:00

Oscar rule of thumb: If someone is nominated for playing a real person, pick them.Recent winners:2004: Jamie Foxx as Ray Charles 2005: Philip Seymour Hoffman as Truman Capote; Reese Witherspoon as June Carter 2006: Forest Whitaker as Idi Amin; Helen Mirren as Queen Elizabeth II 2007 (tonight): Marion Cotillard as Édith PiafOf course, there is often more than one to choose from:

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-85232348989756651902008-02-22T00:13:00.000-08:002008-02-22T01:49:39.851-08:00

Period style: You’re soaking in it!For example: The above line. The cheerfully ironic quote of a 1970s TV commercial: Quotes like that figure prominently in our period style.Listening to the 1957 hard bop album Dakar, featuring John Coltrane, I hear fine hard-bop period style from all the players -- except Coltrane. He gets beyond the period style and plays: Coltrane. It’s a beautiful

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-60781968239658602822008-02-22T00:04:00.001-08:002008-02-22T00:37:17.865-08:00

1. When rock critic Jess Harvell sarcastically called Sasha Frere-Jones, who is white, a race man, I thought, wow, what an asshole. Then when he called Barack Obama, “Barry,” I thought, I get it -- he’s the George W. Bush of rockcrit! Belittling people by inflicting nicknames on them! But imputing Bushian levels of assholishness to the guy isn’t right. So when I saw newspaper columnist

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-53626827436966501642008-02-16T01:16:00.000-08:002008-02-19T08:17:04.625-08:00

Nobody knows anything.No. Stop. Not true.Everybody knows a lot.Nobody knows enough.Nobody knows the way out of this mess. [Update, Sunday morning, clarification below.] [AND THEN 2nd thoughts.][AND THEN further elaborations late Sunday night.][EVEN MORE elaborations below, this time in defense of Adorno, late Monday night. I have considered never writing another blog post, confining myself

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-55515844325772379372008-02-14T21:27:00.001-08:002008-02-14T21:41:31.147-08:00

This photo by Brook of Sheffield shows what Tin Pan Alley looks like today. What he has to say about it is succinctly elegiac. I agree: A museum would make sense.(Thanks JSG for the tip.)* * *POEMnow that,more nearest even than your fateand mine(or any truth beyond perceive)quivers this miracle of summer nighther trillion secrets touchably alive--while and all mysteries which i or you(blinded

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317490.post-85696918864074304482008-02-12T08:17:00.000-08:002008-02-12T08:29:31.520-08:00

I thought that I'd never find a more ung-enerous rhyming word than orange,and suddenly then I saw what I'd done: th-oughtlessly bargained to rhyme with month.The next thing you know, some big jerk'llask me to find a rhyme for circle.-- homage to John Hollander, after re-reading parts of Rhyme’s Reason, where he found a rhyme for orange

Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07000424514491809383noreply@blogger.com0