I’m grumpy with Rosanne Cash tonight

Actually, I’m grumpy about a few things this evening. Maybe I’ll share one of you another night, but it has to do with bluegrass bookings.

 

The one I can and will share with you- whether you want it or not- is this. And I’m as mad at myself as I am at Rosanne and her people.

 

I’ve been hearing cuts from The List for weeks now, and nothing really impressed me too much. Pretty much music by the numbers. Which is disappointing for me, mostly because I’ve got a crush on Rosanne that is almost Emmylou-like; musically, I mean. She can flat sing, and I’ve loved most everything I’ve heard although I’ve never tripped across that first, Europe-only album.

 

But, as I buy everything Rosanne does, I knew I would pick it up the first chance I got. (BTW, went to the local HMV the other day looking for it; none on the shelf. Their computer said they had 15 in the store. After a five minute wait while the back was searched, I was asked if I wouldn’t mind coming back later in the week as it was in a box in the back and couldn’t be found right now. This was on Sunday after the Tuesday release. Guess who lost a sale? And the stores wonder why fewer and fewer are buying hard copies. But, I digress. I’m good at that…)

 

So I go to Wal-Mart on the way home from work the other day, completely forgetting I meant to check on iTunes for the album as I suspected there may be a bonus cut on the download, and I the album for $15.99.

 

As soon as I go home, I see the computer and have a V-8 moment. I pull up the album, and see that for $9.99 I could have downloaded the album and got a bonus track with Neko Case.

 

So, for $6.00 more, I get one song less. The packaging contains nothing that would be worth the extra three-toonies. No insights. Nothing memorable.

 

So, I’m grumpy.

 

(Not terribly impressed by the song selection either, even having known prior to buying what was on the album. The chosen songs are pretty lame- not necessarily the performances themselves- and of the waaaaaay overdone variety on the whole. I would have thought John would have been a bit more adventurous when recommending songs to his daughter. Or, maybe, the blame- if such is appropriate- belongs to JL and RC and they just chose the lame songs.

Okay, lame is the wrong word I realize. But, is there anyone who in the year 2009 will feel their world shift hearing Rosanne sing “Miss the Mississippi and You?” Or “I’m Movin’ On” or “Sea of Heartbreak?” ”Long Black Veil?” “She’s Got You” or “Girl from the North Country?” How about something- anything- that wasn’t a top ten hit? (Well, I guess that would be “GftNC” but why let facts get in the way of a rant!)

The definitive cover of “Silver Wings” has been done. Ditto “Heartaches by the Numbers”. The only song that I was excited to see listed was “Bury Me Under the Weeping Willow” and that is because of the thread that runs through that song back to the Carter Family.

I have no doubt of Rosanne’s sincerity in recording these songs. But 36 years after her father created the list for her, nothing about these selected songs appears inspired. Few of these songs would have been fresh while Rosanne rode the tour bus with her dad, but now- and with dozens of cover projects and one-off covers between them- the choices she has made seem lazy. And I realize she is working with a list put together that many years ago. We’ll need to wait for a second volume to understand the complexities of Johnny’s chosen 100 songs, but the 12 selections here don’t give me much hope.

But, I’m really mad because, once again, the recording industry got extra money out of me for giving me less than I deserve as a consumer. Am I any less worthy of hearing Rosanne and Neko sing “Satisfied Mind” as those who download the album for ten bucks? Where is the logic in that? And don’t even get me started on the Barnes and Noble exclusive version with yet another song on it- there are no B&Ns in Canada, as far as I know.

How about a Fervor Coulee edition of the album with a Bill Monroe song on it, just for me?

Okay. I’m done. I don’t feel better.

Anyone else frustrated by anything tonight?? (Sorry about the crowded condition of the last few paragraphs- I’ve attempted to edit to leave breaks four times, but they aren’t taking.)

Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival Oct 3-4, 2009

After years of searching, I’ve found my people. And they were all with me at the Star Stage at the 9th annual Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park on Saturday afternoon.

I’m still not sure exactly how it happened, but my wife agreed a weekend getaway to San Francisco, a couple hours by plane, was a good idea. I had an earned day off, she took a holiday day, and within a few hours of making the decision we had booked the rooms and flight.

What a treat! We decided to spend the Friday afternoon of our arrival seeing as much of the city as we could, foregoing John Prine and Lyle Lovett. Our hotel was in the heart of the Haight area- Stanyan Park- and was quite nice, although we were shortly to discover it was a bit like sleeping in a tent. The hotel was right across from the park, but deceptively far from the festival site- it ended up being about a brisk, 30 minute walk to the festival.

None the less, we jumped on the Hop On, Hop Off bus tour that stopped across from the hotel, and within 90 minutes of arriving in the city, were streaming across the Golden Gate Bridge on top of an open-air double-decker bus. I was giddy like a kid! Deana claimed I wasn’t as excited when we were in Greece, which was only partly true- when in Greece, I was constantly exhausted, so it was difficult to show excitement.

Truly a beautiful city, the Hop On tour was a nice way to get a quick overview of the city. An extended stop at Macy’s downtown demonstrated that Starbucks coffee truly tastes the same no matter where you are and that some folks will pay way too much for a sweater. We concluded our city tour unsure of how to spend our evening, and found a nice place for supper around the corner from the hotel- Siam Lotus, I believe.

But before we got there, I saw- in the distance- the glory land that is Amoeba Records! O, gosh. What a place. We don’t have stores like this in Alberta anymore, and likely never did. An unreal selection, and because I was pressed for time, I never made it past the first five aisles. The CD clearance section was bigger than most retail stores in my area! 14 discs and $30 later and we were ready to eat.

We turned in pretty early after the flight and stress of a new city, and made plans for a long day at the festival site. One of us had a long day, anyway.

My wife repeatedly challenges me on why I go to festivals. She points out that I hate crowds, which is generally true. I hold noisy chatterers in disdain. In general, I find port-o-potties psychologically scarring. Now, while I feel she is projecting her feelings a little bit here, in general she has a point. I shouldn’t like festivals for a whole lot of reasons, including the ones mentioned as well as less than ideal sound, excessively priced food, and set changeover times that are usually painfully long. And yet I continue to go. I am pleased to say that on the whole Hardly Strictly exceeded all expectations, and only the port-o-potties cast a pall over my two days on the grounds.

My wife and I decided we didn’t want to run around the grounds capturing every act of appeal. So we had made our selections based on a mutual common ground, and we had most of our day slated for the Rooster Stage. She thought Jorma Kaukonen would be to her taste, and I thought she would enjoy the Boz Scaggs revue as well.

The decision made, we set out for our walk through the park to the festival site. And we walked. And walked. With only a general idea of where we were going- even following a map- we likely added a couple kilometres to our journey, but for the most part it was a very nice walk through a lovely green space. (For the record, if you’re going- walk straight west up JFK Drive…if only we knew!)

We set up our mats at the Rooster Stage, and got ready for a day. Walking across the site of the Banjo Stage, I started to really get a sense of the size of this event- it makes the Edmonton Folk Festival seem quaint, and gives Calgary’s Prince’s Island Park a run as a primo festival site as far as trees, shade, and atmosphere go.

Marshall Crenshaw was up first, and did a fine little set. Not terribly engaging, but that had more to do with how far from the stage we were, not to mention the jerk who set up a normal-sized chair four feet in front of our ground level mats- wearing a freakin’ straw hat to boot. That he and his colleagues seldom paused in their chats did little to temper the holes my eyes were drilling into his mealy wee brain…but I had promised myself not to care about such things, and therefore eased back to listen to the power pop sounds of Crenshaw.

While a fan- I have several of his albums and believe his version of “I’m Sorry (But So Is Brenda Lee)” is a top 100 all-time rock song- I was surprised at how many songs I could mouth-a-long to.

My wife started the Guy Clark jokes before he even hit the stage, and she soon went for a walk rather than listen to his ‘old man’ music. I thought his set was pretty good- he was in strong voice, Verlon Thompson complemented with nice lead work, and Bryn Davies was a nice, unexpected touch on bass and vocals.

Clark did the expected numbers- “L. A. Freeway,” “Home Grown Tomatoes,” and “Let It Roll”- but no “Desperadoes Waiting For a Train” (fine by me, to be honest) or “Texas, 1947” or “Randall Knife” which would have been nice. A few new songs- “Some Days the Song Writes You,” “The Guitar”, and “Hemingway’s Whiskey”- held their own. By the time “Dublin Blues” and “Stuff That Works” were done, I was very pleased that I had forgone some of my other choices for a set from the master.

Mid-set, my plans for the day changed when Deana decided she had already had enough of the people and didn’t want to put up with a day in the wind and dirt; she happily went off to continue her city tour (“You’ll probably enjoy yourself more without me,” she claimed; I denied such, but after almost thirty years, I could tell she wasn’t buying it) and I hastily re-planned my day. O, the bounty of choices I faced!

After a few minutes at a way too crowded Banjo Stage trying to listen to the Tim O’Brien Band, I made the last minute decision to head toward the Star Stage for Dave Alvin & The Guilty Women. The reasons were numerous- I always enjoy Dave Alvin, Laurie Lewis had just appeared in Red Deer so the chance to have her in my city one week and then see her in her’s eight days later was too obviously serendipitous to pass up, and the fact I probably wouldn’t have another chance to see them as a combo also played a part. But mostly, it was sentimental curiosity- with the recent death of Amy Farris, I really wanted to see and hear what the band would do.

Since I arrived a full-set early for the show, I found an almost too good to be real space down front, and even met some folks from Utah and Wisconsin to chat with. All the signs were present that the show may be a bit rough- Dave and Laurie working up a tune with fill-in fiddler Suzy Thompson, a lot of uncomfortable milling about on stage from various musicians. But the smiles were obvious, and soon it was apparent that we were about to witness something quite spectacular.

I’ve seen Dave Alvin several times at various festivals, but never to such an attentive and involved audience. We knew all the words, we were familiar with most of the moves and riffs. After years of searching, I had found my people. And they were all with me at the Star Stage on a glorious and sunny Saturday. Without much formality, the band launched into the Cajun arrangement of “Marie, Marie” that kicks off the recent album. We were on our feet right away, and you could light a small town with the energy the audience and band generated. Powerful doesn’t start to describe it.

Appropriately, Alvin brought things down for moments of somber reflection to acknowledge the absence and passing of Farris. I’ll admit, I blubbered for just a few seconds- it was worse than a Hallmark commercial. Pushing me over the edge were the few bars of “California Bloodlines” Dave sang in honour of Amy as an introduction to “California’s Burning”, bringing to mind not only Farris’s death, but that of the songwriter John Stewart. To be in California, and to be reminded of a true son of that state was just too much for me, and I sat down and teared up. Weird.

But the only burning to be smelled on this day was of the medicinal variety, and sadness was short-lived in this environment. Anyway, the rest of the set was steaming. “Abilene” featured an extended jam and “Boss of the Blues” drew me in to vicariously cruise the bluesy streets of southern California with Dave and Phil. “Potter’s Field” was especially poignant on this day, and the band found a new way to play the blues on “Dry River.” Laurie Lewis really cut loose on the set closer “Que Sera Sera”, tearing up a bit of a hoedown with Alvin on that one.

The surprise of the set? Lisa Pankratz! Wow, she can pound. Really nice. Without doubt, the set of the weekend for me. Everyone sounded at their finest, the band’s energy was very positive, and Christy McWilson only threatened to strangle Dave once.

I stayed at the same stage- listening to the Old 97’s play on the adjoining stage- for the Nick Lowe set to follow. A fine decision, and one that was on my original list of ‘must-sees’. Again, talked to folks about common music interests- including Steve Forbert- and had a fine cookie and coffee to pass the time. Lowe was appearing solo, a bit of a disappointment as I had seen the same in Calgary a few years ago and would have enjoyed a band show. But the calm sophistication of Lowe was a nice palate cleanser after the full-bodied brew that was the Guilty Women.

 By starting the show with “Ragin’ Eyes”, Nick gave me hope that we would hear a few unexpected numbers- perhaps “Time Wounds All Heels” or “Breaking Glass.” Alas, such was not to be as he delivered a solid, well-performed but not especially inspired list of his most familiar numbers. Mood was lighter than last time out, definitely less restrained, and he cracked more than a couple smiles. But the songs were of the expected sort- “What’s Shaking on the Hill,” “Long Limbed Girl”, “Does She Have A Friend”, et al. “Heart” was a nice surprise, but he really needs to retire “All Men Are Liars.” “Cruel to Be Kind” got the sing-a-long treatment, and “The Beast in Me” silenced everyone, as it should.

It was nice to hear “Without Love,” the other song of Nick’s J.R. Cash recorded and one of my personal favourites before he launched into the expected and populist climax of “I Knew the Bride” Staring into the sun, the silhouette that was Nick Lowe concluded with his eternal song- the one that’ll last long after the bride has divorced and she discovers that being cruel is seldom kind; hearing “(What’s So Funny About)” Peace, Love and Understanding” in San Francisco was pretty darn neat for this old man.

Things were starting to cool off a bit, especially in the shade and I wasn’t exactly positive where to go next. I decided to forego the crowd of the Banjo stage- again- and skip Gillian Welch in favour of Marty Stuart & His Fabulous Superlatives. With the best corn dog I’ve ever eaten quickly devoured, and in fine company with Al and his gal Susan, I sat back to enjoy classic country music without worrying about analyzing every nuance.

Some old (“Tempted”), some borrowed (a Buck Owens- Bakersfield instrumental that some may have recognized as “Buckaroo” but that I’m just guessing at, “Long Black Veil”), something blue (“California Blues”), and very little new, Marty and his boys did themselves proud. A strong, unpretentious set highlighted by acoustic gospel vocal tunes such as “Working on a Building” and “A Little Talk with Jesus”, the Osborne Brothers’ “Bluegrass Express”, and a Carteresque guitar instrumental.

By this time, even a Canadian was getting cold, and I needed to move on, and finally gave in to the calling of the Banjo Stage for Steve Earle & the Bluegrass Dukes. That this festival’s biggest and most crowded stage hosts the most traditional bluegrass acts lends this fest a giant heap of credibility. The festival features the gamut of roots and Americana sounds (well, almost- more on that in a moment), and I’m sure would draw even more people if the bluegrass aspect was played down a bit. But, true to their roots, mainstream, progressive, traditional, and contemporary bluegrass acts play to an audience that possibly surpasses 20 000 at this one stage alone. I missed Steve Martin & the Steep Canyon Rangers, Skaggs, Dry Branch, and others who played the stage earlier in the day, but managed to catch much of the Earle set. I’m glad I did.

I had a decent sightline from the side of the stage, away from the hordes, and the sound was still decent. The blowing wind was numbing fingers on stage (and off, for that matter), leading Earle to quip, “I can’t feel them, but it sounds good.” The set wasn’t particularly tight, hardly surprising given the conditions, but I’m glad I can check off the Bluegrass Dukes on my list of Bands to See. This was a particularly charged set of Dukes- O’Brien on mando, Darrell Scott on banjo and such, with Dennis Crouch (bass) and Casey Driessen (fiddle). “Sin City” sounded especially nice, as did “The Hometown Blues”, complete with familiar story about square-headed cowboys named Otto.

They did “White Frieghtliner Blues” and a few songs from the bluegrass album like “Texas Eagle” and “Yours Forever Blue.” Darkness was moving in, and I still had to walk back to the hotel, so I started off on perhaps the second longest walk of my life. Well worth it, though. A terrific day.

A couple random thoughts. Everyone has a dog, and they all come to the festival. Where I come from, dogs don’t go to festivals. It was a nice touch to see all the pets, and several were absolutely gorgeous animals. All appeared to be well-behaved, save the one who bit me! Seriously, all these well behaved, mannerly and docile dogs, and one little yapper jumps out at me and grabs my leg! Fortunately, he/she caught mostly jeans, but I felt its teeth on my leg. Gave my old heart a jump, for sure. The owners were blissfully inattentive and quite taken back that their little Foo-Foo would do such a thing.

For a cosmopolitan city, the festival is very white- both in audience and music. Race doesn’t really enter my thoughts too often, but it was pretty apparent that the weekend lacked colour. True, I didn’t exactly go out on a limb, listening to more than a few aging white guys, but I know my wife would have appreciated more world and blues music; heck, she may have even stayed around for a little while. And yes, Mavis, Allen Toussaint, and others were on the bill- but it still seemed fairly pale.

The festival merch was a bit sparse, with only t-shirts, posters, and blankets on offer. I was hoping to buy a button-down denim or black shirt, but such was not to be found. Both of the major Alberta festivals have extensive merchandise for sale, and I’m surprised HSB doesn’t take advantage of this revenue stream, while fully aware cash flow isn’t a factor here.

The port-o-potties were gross. I’m so glad I’m a man and don’t need to sit to urinate. Come on, with a 1.5 million (or whatever) budget, get the toilets pumped out over night.

Finally, I was shocked at how laid back everything was, for the most part. Little jostling for position, very few folks apparently losing their bearings- the whole festival had a real positive vibe. Even with so many people and being in a foreign land, I felt comfortable leaving my backpack unattended while moving about the stage areas. The whole festival had a very calm mood associated with it. I wonder why?

We needed to catch a late afternoon flight back home, so I knew I would only be able to take in three acts of the Sunday, but I knew which they would be- Darrell Scott, Hazel Dickens, and Doc Watson, all at the Banjo Stage.

Under a warming Northern California sky, the final day of HSB9 opened with the Darrell Scott Band. Having arrived well early, I was able to find a small spot amongst the mammoth and largely abandoned tarps covering the front of the stage area. With Casey, Tim, Bryn and Matt Flinner, Scott delivered a scorching 6-song, 40-minute set.

“Family Tree” was dusted off for a fine performance. On Paul Simon’s “American Tune” Scott again demonstrated his prowess, alternating powerful and rhythmic strumming with carefully chosen, flat-picked notes. A song I don’t remember having previously heard, maybe called “Long Wide Open Road,” featured a great, star-crossed line- “While I was looking for forever, she was looking for the door.”

Flinner did some nice work low on the fret board during “A Memory Like Mine;” the song had a real jam feel with everyone taking the opportunity for extended breaks, Driessen most impressively working the low register. The too-short set concluded with “Long Time Gone.” Time well spent.

Hazel Dickens, truly supported by a cast of trusted sidemen, was who I really wanted to see on this day, and that is no knock against Doc. But Hazel Dickens just makes my bluegrass engine purr. I love her voice, and even knowing the voice isn’t what it once was, it doesn’t hardly matter. She can flat out sing.

Called the Heart and Soul of the festival by its benefactor Warren Hellman, Hazel struggled a bit to find her voice on “Things in Life”, but rounded into form by the time she concluded “Aragon Mill.” “Mannington Mine” was performed, as was the similarly themed “America’s Poor.” (And I tripped over a wee bit on the ‘net that mentions these songs and puts Hellman’s contributions to the festival in a less positive context: http://www.beyondchron.org/news/index.php?itemid=2528)

To ‘appease’ Dudley Connell, Hazel allowed him to sing the Stanley Brothers song “Lonesome Without You.” “Jack and May” had Dudley singing with Hazel, and Marshall Wilborn adding additional harmony. “Mama’s Hand,” “Love Me or Leave Me Alone,” and “Here Today, Gone Tomorrow” were also performed.

Hazel also delivered the line of the weekend when she deadpanned- “I smell pot- someone’s smoking. Shame on you.” A few beats later adding, “You got to pass that around!”

When one considers the esteem in which Hazel Dickens is most obviously held at HSB, and judging from the size of her attentive audience it is considerable, it is hard to fathom why she has yet been made a member of the IBMA Hall of Fame. (Yes, I’ve flogged this old horse before, but I will continue to do so until there is some evidence of someone listening.) Could it be that this collection of liberal, wheat-germ eating, pot smokin’ hippy wannabes and their brethren of the Bay Area are more attuned to the musical contributions made by Hazel Dickens than are those who make such decisions on behalf of the bluegrass industry? I exaggerate, of course, but Hazel remains on the outside looking in at her industry’s highest honour while year after year the male (and largely dead) are recognized. All deserving, I’m sure- but really, there is no rush to get some of these names on the wall as their time has (literally) passed.

She has been a groundbreaking bluegrass performer for nigh on fifty years, and with each year that passes we (the bluegrass community) miss an opportunity to bestow upon her the honour she deserves. Her performance at HSB9 gave ample evidence that she remains a vital component of today’s bluegrass scene. Hazel didn’t perform a dozen or more songs I would have loved to have heard, but what she did perform was stellar, even when it wasn’t.

Also appearing with Hazel was Barry Mittenhoff (mandolin), a fiddler I could not recognize, and a banjo player who may have been Jason Burleson, but more likely was someone else.

Finally, my last act at HSB9 was to be Doc Watson, appearing with David Holt. Their three-disc set of interviews and performances is an absolute favourite; while I would have preferred to hear Doc with Jack Lawrence, I wasn’t about to pass up to here Doc and Holt’s homespun music.

The chosen set wasn’t nearly adventurous- “Way Downtown,” “Shady Grove,” “Whiskey Before Breakfast,” and “Stagger Lee” being the first four tunes played. But Doc gave a finger-pickin’ clinic, and Holt’s clawhammer-style of playing does complement Doc well. I was glad to hear Doc perform “Deep River Blues” before I had to leave the park to catch the plane. As I turned away from the stage area, Richard Watson was joining the duo in “Roll On Buddy.”

If considering a weekend away for roots music, one could do worse than giving Hardly Strictly Bluegrass 10 a spin next autumn. I was only able to catch a fraction of the acts I would have loved to hear- heck, I had to pass up The Knitters, Billy Bragg, Rosie Flores, Todd Snider, Del McCoury, and Emmylou Harris, not to mention Booker T and the DBTs, Richie Havens, Billy Joe Shaver, Elizabeth Cook, Robert Earl Keen…

The hard part will be to not allow this festival to overshadow all which follow.

Thanks for spending some time at Fervor Coulee. Donald

International Bluegrass Music Awards, 2009- How I Did…

>>>Updated Oct. 1 as the awards were posted on the IBMA site.<<<In less than 24 hours, they’ll start handing out the hardware in Nashville. I gave up my IBMA membership a couple years back for a variety of reasons- some logical and a few completely indefensible to anyone but me- and therefore am no longer a voting member of the organization. But, I do enjoy playing along at home. I realize the IBMA and bluegrass in general is of little interest to most- but feel free to make your picks as I list mine in the major categories. As for the IBMA Hall of Fame, I’m sure the Dillards and the Lonesome Pine Fiddlers are worthy…but not at the expense of Hazel Dickens and Ola Belle Reed. Come on, already- get the ladies in! The full list of nominees is posted at the IBMA site: http://www.ibma.org/ibma.awards/currentpress/nomineeslist.asp

Last year’s winners, when mentioned, are in italics. I have placed the recipients in bold.

Entertainer of the Year:

Who I Would Have Voted For: Doyle Lawson & Quicksilver

Who I Think Will Win: Dailey & Vincent

Vocal Group:

Who I Would Have Voted For: Blue Highway

Who I Think Will Win: Dailey & Vincent

Instumental Group:

Who I Would Have Voted For: Michael Cleveland & Flamekeeper

Who I Think Will Win: Michael Cleveland & Flamekeeper

Male Vocalist:

Who I Would Have Voted For: Junior Sisk

Who I Think Will Win: Jamie Dailey Dan Tyminski

Female Vocalist:

Who I Would Have Voted For: Dale Ann Bradley

Who I Think Will Win: Dale Ann Bradley

Album of the Year:

Who I Would Have Voted For: Blue Side of the Blue Ridge- Junior Sisk & Rambler’s Choice

Who I Think Will Win: Dailey & Vincent- Brothers from Different Brothers Wheels- Dan Tyminski Band

Song of the Year: and, if I might say, a bit of a weak crop of nominees

Who I Would Have Voted For: “Don’t Throw Mama’s Flowers Away- Danny Paisley & the Southern Grass (songwriters- Chris Stuart & Ivan Rosenberg)

Who I Think Will Win: “Wheels” Dan Tyminski Band

Instumental Performers-

Banjo- Sammy Shelor- Steve Martin Kristin Scott Benson

Bass- Marshall Wilborn- Mike Bub

Fiddle- Michael Cleveland- Hunter Berry

Dobro- Andy Hall- Andy Hall Rob Ickes

Guitar- I can’t be bothered.- Bryan Sutton Josh Williams

Mandolin- Jesse Brock- Adam Steffey

What do you think?

Thanks for visiting Fervor Coulee! Hopefully, I’ll update things tomorrow evening. >>>I didn’t do too badly in my predictions and was especially pleased to see so many of my choices actually get awards; quite unusual that. For Marshall and Jesse, this is a long time coming. Congratulations! I had hoped- and nothing against Rob Ickes- that Andy Hall would break through this year, but maybe I’m a bit early on that. I’m pleased to see that no fewer than 7 of the recipients have performed for the Waskasoo Bluegrass Music Society, the club I do the bookings for in Red Deer, AB- Jesse Brock (three times), Marshall Wilborn (twice), Chris Stuart and Ivan Rosenberg, Michael Cleveland (twice), Josh Williams, and Dale Ann Bradley (soon to be twice as she returns Nov. 8) Not a lot to argue with, and it’s nice to see the latest Daughters of Bluegrass project recognized, albeit for but one song. Donald<<<

25 Albums I’m Really Glad I Listened To This Summer- Part 2

Continuing the journey…

Pale Imperfect Diamond Cedar Hill Refugees (Effigy Records, 2009) I can’t say John Carter Cash’s production decisions do a lot for me, but on this disc- which brings the musical influences of Uzbekistan to Nashville- he and Jack Clift get it pretty much right. Jadoo is the name of the Uzbek band featured throughout, and I’m not really sure where they stop and the array of the usual guests, including Marty Stuart, Ralph Stanley, John Cowan, Randy Scruggs, Ronnie McCoury, Harry Stinson, Dennis Crouch, start.

But the music works on a number of levels. First, the music of the Uzbeks does remind one of southern mountain music, at least as it is presented here. Second, the exotic and mysterious rhythms and unusual instrumentation which includes horns, percussion, and stringed instruments galore works as an alternative to the increasingly glossy bluegrass sounds one ever more associates with ‘mountain music.’ Not that this music isn’t highly produced, but if I’m going to listen to studio polish I’d rather find it here than in my bluegrass.

Finally, the vocals are full of treats that even the most casual of listeners will appreciate. Dr. Ralph’s contributions to “Keys to the Kingdom” are worth the purchase alone, but John Cowan shines on “Oh, Bury Me Not”. The downside is the lack of liner notes beyond general musician credits; a project such as this cries out for explanation and reflection on the song choices, the instruments featured, and the interplay of the participants.

The Record Bar Shows Bob Walkenhorst with Jeff Porter and Norm Dahlor (Internet Archive, 2009) Not an album or even a series of albums, but an ongoing archive of weekly shows performed by the Rainmakers front man at a Kansas City pub. Amongst the wealth of original material are choice country, folk and rock (“Dirty Water”) covers, many with timely significance (“Woodstock” in early-August, Ellie Greenwich’s “Hanky Panky” and “Chimes of Freedom” dedicated to Ted Kennedy as the month drew to a close.)

Walkenhorst and his compatriots are obviously comfortable performing within this largely acoustic setting. While over 300 Walkenhorst recordings are available on the Archive, this summer’s slate of shows were particularly strong, with focus and looseness apparent in equal measure. http://www.archive.org/details/BobWalkenhorst

South Mouth Robbie Fulks (Bloodshot, 1997) An unfortunately long-neglected favourite, I rediscovered South Mouth when I ran across a deeply discounted copy and picked it up for a gift. Of course, I had to listen to it in the car on the way home…and then the next day and a week later. I still haven’t passed it onto Cheryl and Ross, but I trust they’ll like it as much as I do if they ever get a chance to listen to it. Every song, except “F%&k this Town” would sound terrific within a bluegrass arrangement with “Cold Statesboro Ground” already having been given such by James Reams & the Barnstormers. When I hear songs like “I Told Her Lies”, “What the Lord Hath Wrought (Any Fool Can Knock Down)”, and “Busy Not Crying”, I remember why I love country music so much, and how rare such performances seem.

Black & Blue The Rolling Stones (Universal 1976/2009) I’ve wanted to pick up this album ever since reading Ian Rankin’s excellent novel of the same name a few years ago. I was curious not only because of the way Rankin referenced the album throughout, but because I’d heard such mixed messages about the disc. I finally purchased it when it was rereleased this year and I found it cheap enough. The album didn’t blow me away, but I certainly appreciated the mood the grooves inspired in me- good for highway driving, no doubt. Listening to the album, I couldn’t help be surprised that folks claimed the Stones went disco with Emotional Rescue just a few years later; the two albums certainly share the same DNA. I’m glad I listened to it, if only to satisfy my curiousity. Not essential, but few Stones albums are.

Songs My Father Loved Ricky Skaggs (Skaggs Family, 2009) A beautiful album, artfully rendered. And that isn’t something I say very often about a Ricky Skaggs album. Likely the last time I had overwhelmingly pleasant thoughts about a Skaggs disc was somewhere prior to the turn of the century with Bluegrass Rules and Life is A Journey. On the cover, Skaggs looks terrific- and the photo reminds me of both Guy Clark and Marty Stuart- and he appears to be accepting the passages of time. Despite all the necessary multi-tracking, the music is fresh and homely (as in simple and unpretentious) presented. When Skaggs sings country, as he does here- not commercial country, mind, but mountain inspired country- he is in his wheelhouse. Wonderful stuff!

Sylvain Sylvain/Syl Sylvain & the Teardrops Sylvain Sylvain (1980/1981/2007 Acadia) I first heard “I’m So Sorry” on a Rachel Sweet bootleg where she is playing tunes on the Kid Leo show. I picked up both of these albums over the years in delete bins (remember them?) and had been keeping my eyes open for them on disc. I was completely surprised when I (again) tripped over this 2fer in an Athens Metropolis store. I’ve written about the store elsewhere, but what a wonderboon it was- four or five stories of music, neatly if confusingly (to me, a non-Greek) arranged in a roomy and clean environment. Anyway, the second album doesn’t hold up to the first, but the first three tracks (“Teenage News”, “What’s That Got To Do With Rock n Roll”, and the perfect “I’m So Sorry) are as wonderful a ten minutes as I’ve heard in all my years. Maybe the best seven Euro I spent on the trip, although all those Orange Fantas were mighty tasty.

Different Views David Gogo (Cordova Bay, 2009) I’ll be honest. The only reason I even gave this album a fair listen was because I noticed the cover of John Stewart’s “Gold”. I’ve got a stack of CDs that I haven’t had time or inclination to listen to, and this one likely would have found a place in that pile. Do I really need to listen to another self-indulgent blues guitar album?

Good thing I noticed “Gold” because the album is very strong, not the least bit wankerish. It holds up and draws in even the most reluctant listener. The originals are power blues-rockers of the finest sort, with changes of tempo that encourage air-guitar miming from listeners and vocal arrangements that recall Tom Wilson and Carlos Santana. Different Views is soaring voices, power chords and waves of organ, tightly arranged for maximum impact.

I’ve searched for covers of John Stewart’s most famous song this side of “Daydream Believer” and they are rare; Gogo’s version, featuring Carolyn Mark in Stevie’s place is remarkable; Jim Bass may now be making $8.50 for an hour, but the rhythm in his hands is as steady as ever in Gogo’s treatment.

A reminder never to judge without listening.

Two Dimes & a Nickel David Davis & the Warrior River Boys (Rebel, 2009) Along with Dale Ann Bradley’s latest, maybe the finest bluegrass album I’ve heard this year. Beautiful, cinematic songs. Davis picks songs with more care that it appears do his higher-profile bluegrass contemporaries. Yes, they include clichés but the familiar phrases and expected treatments work for the song, not against it. See my full review at http://lonesomeroadreview.wordpress.com/

 Motorway Tom Robinson (Music de Luxe, 1994) I’m not sure when or where this collection was recorded. I found it for cheap in a bin of leftovers several years ago and promptly forgot about it. Last winter, ”2-4-6-8 Motorway” worked its way back into my brain when it was featured in an episode of Ashes to Ashes. So I dug out my vinyl of Power in the Darkness and had some fun for a few nights, and actually was listening to PITD in the car this morning before writing this piece. Re-found this disc on the shelf when I was doing some reorganizing of the CDs. A fine little set that captures the freewheeling attitude that was so obvious when these songs were first heard during university days- we can do anything and will accomplish everything. Well, we didn’t- or at least I haven’t. ”2-4-6-8 Motorway” is still one of the best driving songs of any genre of the past forty years, and while the version here is a bit restrained, it still feels right. This album encouraged me to further explore the Tom Robinson and TRB discographies, and it has been great fun.

A few more to come…. Cheers, Donald

25 Albums I’m Really Glad I Listened To This Summer

I know I’m luckier than many. Even as a writer of marginal talent, I’ve been able to find forums for my writing, and as a result of this am exposed to more fresh music than other folks. Since I also spend too much time in both used and new CD stores, I uncover CDs of interest- including many I didn’t even know I need.

For example, last weekend I stopped into one of the local stores and found a reissue of Mark Lindsay’s Arizona and Silverbird albums on one disc. I barely know Mark Lindsay from Lindsay Buckingham, and haven’t listened to Paul Revere & the Raiders except on oldies radio…although “Indian Reservation” has long been a favourite. I bought the album without even thinking about it, and it was only when Track 1 started once I got home that I realized “Arizona” was that Arizona song. I’ve listened to the disc twice through, and while it isn’t essential I’ve enjoyed discovering something I hadn’t before listened to.

If I work hard enough, I’ll usually find something of interest.

Like many, I spend too much of my free (and other) time listening to music. Here is the first installment of a piece I am assembling where I reflect upon some of the music I’ve either taken off the shelf, purchased, or have been sent since June. While not necessary stunning in all cases, all of these albums are ones I’m really glad I listened to this summer.

Presented in no particular order-

Cry Cry Cry Dar Williams, Lucy Kaplansky, and Richard Shindell (Razor & Tie, 1998) We probably all have albums that we love but seldom- if ever- pull off the shelf. This trio project isn’t one of those as I didn’t know I loved it, and in fact can’t remember listening to it prior to this summer although I must have. I rediscovered Cry Cry Cry while on Santorini and for some reason it really resonated with me as I walked the streets of Fira. The blending and interplay of the three voices is quite special as songs from some of the finest contemporary writers are interpreted. Highlights include “Cold Missouri Waters” by James Keelaghan, Buddy Mondlock’s “The Kid,” and “Down By the Water” written by Jim Armenti, whose version can be seen/heard here, live in a grocery store. Weird. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iqSzNKPoRqo

Potato Hole Booker T (Anti- 2009) I wasn’t sure what to except from this one. I’ve always enjoyed the Booker T sound, but am by no means a learned listener. I’ve been hit and miss with the Drive-By Truckers- who serve as the band for this ten-track album- and Neil Young- who plays guitar. It is a rock album with lots of guitar, and I find it really groovy. Of course, the Hammond B3 comes through loud and clear. I’m glad I took a chance on it. There is also a nice set recorded July 4 posted at the Live Music Archive, if you can get past the annoying talking head.

Armageddon Prism (Capital, 1979) A western-Canadian FM-staple, every song on this disc is recognizable to guys of a certain age. Some of the effects sound dated, but dang- the songs have hooks. As a Trooper fan, I couldn’t publicly admit to liking these guys during grade 9 and 10; at least, that was the rule in my head. I’m glad I stopped over-thinking things.

UN, The Boy Bands Have Won, and English Rebel Songs 1381-1984 Chumbawamba (1998, 2004, 2008) Over the past two years, and really for no tangible reason, I’ve been collecting Chumbawamba discs whenever I run across them. Even though almost every album takes a different approach to pop and folk music, I’ve yet to be disappointed. I downloaded these ones from eMusic and iTunes after catching the Chumbawamba Acoustic quintet at the Edmonton Folk Music Festival in early August. I love the blending of voices, the way the female vocals soar above the instruments. The songs are clever and, and times, insightful and thought-provoking.

Nothing Gold Can Stay The Duke & The King (Ramseur, 2009) I can’t write about this album yet because it makes me ache. I can’t stop listening to it. The most beautiful sounding album I listened to all summer. Sparse, mellow, dreamy. Love The Outsiders reference, which I noticed as soon as I saw the album…realizing it comes from a poem. Frost? Buy this one.

As Time Goes By The Bluegrass Brothers (Self-released, 2009) As time goes by, the Bluegrass Brothers just get better. Since I first heard the Virginia band five or so years ago, they have made huge strides- from an enthusiastic if non-descript area family band, to a crew of pros that can hold their own with the finest of the professional bands. They are not fancy but they are lively, pouring out straight-ahead hardcore bluegrass without a hint of progressive intent. I don’t want all my bluegrass to sound this rustic, but I’m glad The Bluegrass Brothers remain true to their vision. Check out “Stanley Tradition.”

A Quiet Evil Lee Harvey Osmond (Latent Recordings, 2009) Turn Tom Wilson loose, and odd things are bound to occur. Featuring Michael and Margo Timmins, Josh Finlayson and Andy Maize, and Brent Titcomb, the album mines deep, virgin musical ground. It isn’t what I would immediately label as roots music, but is has all the elements- original music, ties to country, rock, and folk, and textured vocals that shy away from pop gloss. The album seems dark, yet is soothing and enlightening. The presence of Aaron Goldstein’s pedal steel brings in shades of country, but the overall sound has as much in common with X and Los Straitjackets as it does Fred Eaglesmith.

Western Bell Kelly Joe Phelps (Black Hen Records, 2009) An excellent album to accompany coffee…I drank a lot of coffee during summer mornings last month listening to this one while preparing to write about it. Phelps sings not a word. Instead, in producing a nocturnal collection of eleven solo guitar instrumentals, the west coast native allows his 6- and 12- strings to reclaim their rightful place. Haunting and adventurous, the tunes never get bogged down. So balanced and spacious are the songs, it is difficult to accept that much of the album was improvised in the studio.

The Further Adventures of Los Straitjackets (YepRoc, 2009) Pure fun. Modern surf music created far from the ocean. Nearly every song seems to have been inspired by a previously recorded, familiar song. In “Minority Report” I hear repeated echoes of “This Diamond Ring” and Mashmakhan’s “As Years Go By.” In another, I swear I hear “Theme from A Summer Place.” Thoroughly engaging, if too brief, clocking in as it does at just a cough over thirty minutes. Inspired packaging, too.

Blue Lights on the Runway Bell X1 (Yep Roc, 2009) Sometimes albums surprise me. Duh! I didn’t know anything about this group despite seeing their name in the British mags (Uncut, MOJO) that I read. The rockiest and simultaneously poppiest album on this list, Ireland’s Bell X1’s fourth album was their first for me and brought to mind the wonder years of the 80s British Invasion- Modern English, Lloyd Cole, Nik Kershaw, The Icicle Works, et al. Perhaps most in common with the simple sophistication of East Side Story Squeeze, this one continues to impress. Musically, it is much deeper than most of the modern, non-roots music I encounter.

I’ll post more reflections in a few days. As always, thanks for dropping in at Fervor Coulee. Donald

Edmonton Folk Music Festival, August 8

This past Saturday, I took the highway north to take in my (almost) annual day at the Edmonton Folk Music Festival. As I’ve detailed elsewhere, I find it difficult to do more than a day at any music fest although there was a time when I could do three days in Calgary, three at Stony Plain, and then four in Edmonton; those days are long gone. In fact, this year, I needed to sleep away most of Sunday afternoon just to recover from my day at Gallagher Park.

Because I limit myself to a day at the EFMF, I do try to take in as much music as possible. I go in with a bit of a game plan as to which sessions I most want to catch, but try to allow for some spontaneity. This year I was very much looking forward to finally catching Rodney Crowell as he has been a long time favourite I haven’t caught in concert; I remember a scheduled Red Deer show in the early nineties was cancelled after only a few dozen tickets sold- and this after six consecutive number ones on the Canadian country charts.

Celebrating its 30^th anniversary, the festival is well-established and there are usually not too many organizational surprises, leaving one to discover music without worrying about food (lots of vendors), water (two different locations with plenty of taps with potable water), potties (go early is my advice!), or discs (the CD tent is fully stocked, although some artists still don’t bring enough (or any) product to satisfy the demand). I’m estimating this is my tenth festival over fifteen years, and despite attending only the one day, I must admit I have never more enjoyed an Edmonton Folk Music Festival. It helps that the weather was sunny without being uncomfortably hot.

I got to the park in plenty of time to catch the opening sessions, and made a bee-line for Stage 2 for Newgrass, a pairing of Nashville’s The SteelDrivers and Mongolia’s Hanggai. I had checked out Hanggai’s Myspace site (http://www.myspace.com/hanggaiband) the day before and was intrigued at the interaction that may occur between southern bluegrassers and an Asian stringband. I was not disappointed.

Richard Bailey, the SteelDrivers’ five-stringer and one of the most in-demand session players in Nashville, had a huge smile on his face as he dropped in some basic fills while the throat singer and other members of Hanggai performed their music. Quite a bit of interplay occurred between the quintets, with Hanngai’s electric guitar player taking an extended break during one of the SteelDriver tunes- can’t recall which one.

This was my first chance catching the SteelDrivers, and they didn’t disappoint. Tammy Rogers has played Edmonton numerous times as a member of the Dead Reckoners, and her contributions to a song are always appreciated. Chris Stapleton’s growly blues vocals are as effective on stage as they are live, and Mike Fleming kept things moving along with a restrained approach to MC duties. The bands came together for a rousing closing on “The Drinking Song.” This was one session that ended much too soon, and it seemed that everyone on the stage left quite pleased with their collaboration.

Next up were my favourite Canadian alt-country band, The Swiftys. I was pleased to see Marc Ladouceur hanging around the stage area as the SteelDrivers and Hanngai performed, leading me to believe he might be sitting in with the band. And he was, performing on acoustic and electric guitars and mandolin. It became clear early on that Jody Johnson was no longer playing with Shawn Jonasson and Grant Stovel  as a new bassman was on stage with them- and Jody was off to the side. Roger Marin was also sitting in on pedal steel, making the trio a quintet.

I didn’t take notes during the show, and instead just sat back to enjoy the forty-minute set. They played songs from both of their albums including “Ridin’ High” and “Sweet Rose”. They dropped in Shuyler Jansen’s “Bottle of Wine” and Darrek Anderson’s “26 oz of Gin”, both recorded on their Ridin’ High disc, as well as a cover of Waylon’s “Sweet Mental Revenge.” I don’t know how much this line-up has been gigging, but they sounded quite tight and there were no noticeable slips. Knowing how much Marc likes the electric guitar, I was pleased to finally, after how many years, get to hear him play in a couple spots. Very nice, and complemented the band’s sound nicely.  A strong set of electric barroom-inspired country music was enjoyed by a fairly large gathering of friends, family, and fans at stage two.

After touching base with acquaintances after the show, I rushed off the catch the final bit of a session featuring Tift Merritt, Sam Baker, Alana Levandoski, and Slaid Cleaves. To be able to listen to three of my favourites- four, if one includes Gurf Morlix who was sitting in with Sam- was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. I don’t often enjoy the sessions that include a number of singer-songwriters taking turns playing their songs with little interaction. It often seems pretty stiff and awkward. Maybe it has to do with the mind-set of the songwriter.

Sam Baker was finishing up “Orphan” as I got to Stage 5. Slaid slipped nicely into “Drinkin’ Days” along with a backing duo whose names I didn’t catch. Tift was next up, and sang a beautiful version of “Something to Me” unaccompanied. Very nice, and a great way for my only chance to see Merritt at the festival to begin. Later, she moved over to the keyboard to perform “Good Hearted Man.”

I only caught a couple songs by Alana, one of which was a cover of “Those Memories of You” inspired by her dual love of Emmylou Harris and Brit-pop bands.

Sam Baker performed “Truale” and Slaid’s mando player was invited to drop in a four-second break. Gurf Morlix wrapped things up, playing it “weird and scary”, transforming the Stones’ “The Last Time” into a breezy gospel clap-a-long. A nice way to close things down.

The session- at least the portion I witnessed- didn’t feature a lot of interplay between the participants although many quips were exchanged and laughter was plentiful.

The mid-afternoon main stage performance was by Oysterband. I’ve long thought the Saturday afternoon 2:00 set as the toughest of the weekend. By Sunday afternoon, most folks are tired enough to sit down and just veg and listen. But on Saturday it seems the performers always face a sea of movement, lanes of wanderers in search of sustenance, shade, and lost pals. While it didn’t seem many were listening to Oysterband initially, John James’ personable interactions, encouragement of audience participation, and the band’s lively Celtic-rock hybrid seemed to bring things around. Fortunately, the sound system was cranked up loud enough that the set could be heard throughout the site, allowing one to indulge in green onion cakes and the like. I want to dive back in and explore their catalogue a bit.

I was a bit torn for the next slot. The Skydiggers were doing a concert set, and as they are a new-to-me favourite, I was tempted. But, in the end, seeing a bit of Fred won out- how can I attend any festival and not spend at least a bit of time being amused, enlightened, and offended by our Fred? So, I went over to the Megatunes session for Fred Eaglesmith and Loudon Wainwright III. Joining them at the far stage six were Danny Michel and Jill Barber, two singer-songwriters that don’t much interest me but whom I know have devoted and- judging by the crowd in attendance- sizeable fan bases.

This one had all the makings of a session disaster- too many chairs on the small side stage, too many hands setting up too much gear. The start time of 3:00 came and went with only Danny Michel appearing ready to go. Plugs, cords, and mics were still being manipulated by the time Fred and Jill were ready, and Loudon was still nowhere in sight. Of course, the biggest straw hat in the park had to sit directly in front of me, ta boot. I considered beating a hasty retreat, but elected to hang in. Loudon took the stage at seven past, and by about eleven after the hour things appeared set to go.

Jill Barber did a couple of her jazz-tinged songs of an earlier time. She has a lovely voice, but it doesn’t quite stick with me or hold my attention for very long. She did “Wishing Well” and “Be My Man” and audience loved that.

Joined by Bill Chambers, Fred launched into one of his ‘lesbian love songs’ “Wilder than Her,” offending half of the slope with an off-colour quip about gay pride and rainbows that I figure will somehow be edited out by the time this session is broadcast on Radio 2 August 27. He also pulled out “Rough Edges,” which I haven’t heard in years. That’s one of the many things I like about Fred, he is willing to pull out older songs and give them an airing on occasion. Some songwriters, well you have a fair idea of what you’ll hear, but with Fred all bets are off. Fred is able to do more in two songs than lesser entertainers can in an entire set.

Loudon performed a pair of songs from his upcoming Charlie Poole project that really interested me, and will encourage me to check out High Wide and Handsome when it is released.

Knowing that I would only likely hear another song from each of the performers, I decided to head back across the park for the 4:00 concert by Chumbawamba, a band I really wanted to experience. They were booked into the festival a few years back, but I missed their performance and since then I’ve purchased a handful of their discs and quite enjoyed them. I am also interested in them because of their refusal to fall victim to the ‘pop trap’, and have gone out of their way to maintain their values and aims while setting “Tubthumping” well behind them.

Chumbawamba Acoustic is a very impressive group- heavy songs, lightly presented. Two guitars, accordion, trumpet, tambourine, a pipe and usually four but occasionally five voices taking on the world. I spent a wonderful fifty minutes listening to them, and was absolutely impressed in every way. They engaged their audience- actually went a bit far with that and had a young gal from the audience come up to sing the first verse of “Ring of Fire”  within “Charlie”- and were completely brilliant. They even dropped in a bit of “pissing the night away” into “Charlie.” I’m gushing, I know, but I just loved what they did. The did several songs from The Boy Bands Have Won (including “I Wish They’d Sack Me” and “El Fusilado”) as well as the chuckle inspiring ode to the joys and perils of social networking, “Add Me.”  “Hanging On the Old Barbed Wire” brought things back to somber realties. I downloaded a couple albums last night- UN and Boy Bands-and can’t get enough.

Which brings me to a suggestion I’ve thought of making to the festival’s A.D., Terry Wickham. I think it may be time to let go of the mid-day main stage performance. Many (most?) people appear to have trouble focusing on the music during the middle of the afternoon when the stage is so far down the hill from many of the audience. Judging by the number of folks in the food lineups, under the shade of the sheltering tent, and just wandering the grounds,  I wonder if the slot might be better used by having seven extended concert sets going instead of one main stage performance.

While a Fred Eaglesmith, Chumbawamba, or Tift Merritt- or for that matter, The SteelDrivers, Hot Tuna, or Joel Plaskett)  may not warrant a full, main stage set, they are more than deserving of greater than forty-five or fifty minutes to show their wares. Perhaps if one scheduled a series of 80-minute concert sets between 1:30 and 3:00 on all the stages, more engagement may occur between listeners and performers.

I know I would have much rather had the Oysterband play to a really enthusiastic but smaller audience than have them playing to a sparsely populated hill of half-listeners. Just a thought.

Next up was Texan Sam Baker, again accompanied by Gurf Morlix. I love his voice and approach to songwriting. He did a couple songs from the new album Cotton including the title track and “Moon.” I don’t mind his penchant for borrowing lyrics at all as he makes the traditional words fit his characters and their situations so effectively. He punctuates his singing with an oddly lively picking style that is appealing.

“Waves” is up there with “75 Septembers” for impactful songs of sustained commitment and aging. Baker has a way of singing that is unlike anyone I can think of off the top of my head. It is a hesitant yet melodic singing-speaking voice that is attractive. He’s top drawer, engaging, self-deprecating, insightful.  I enjoyed the set immensely. And yet…

When Gurf Morlix gets a chance to do one of his songs- and Sam turned things over to him twice during the nine-song set- it is magic. He doesn’t blow Sam Baker off the stage- they are too different in approach for that to occur- but when he is finished a song like “Crossroads,” one thinks, “Damn, that’s how it is done.”

They are like two visual artists of very different styles. One is grounded in realism, texture, and details, the other is into poetic uses of colour within impressionistic murals. I’m not sure which is which, but I enjoy them both as they are completely compelling when sharing their music.

But note to Sam- don’t ask for requests from the audience when you can’t hear what they are yelling! Just play your songs.

So that was the day in the sun. Next up were the main stage acts, supper, and such. After having my fill of green onion cakes, we settled in on the hill for the main-stagers. I didn’t hear much of Johnny Flynn  and the Sussex Wit, but we were ready for Patty Griffin.

According to my friends, I’ve seen and heard her at the folk fest before, but I don’t remember her. I don’t think I’ll recall much of this performance as well. I don’t find her music terribly appealing, although I am definitely outvoted in that regard within our small group. My ears perked up for a version of “Silver Wings”, but I would have a real hard time recalling any of her other songs. It wasn’t unpleasant by any means, but just more suitable to an audience that doesn’t include me, I suppose.

Iron & Wine was next. I have to be honest, I own several Iron & Wine albums and EPs but without liner notes I don’t know one Sam Beam song from the next. Strangely, I’m okay with that ignorance. I just like the sounds. And on the main stage, standing alone in a revolving spotlight, he alternately banged and strummed his guitar- making the bass notes count- and sang. And for an hour or so, the crying babies, squabbling couples, (loudly) reuniting friends, and other annoyances faded away. I’m told he sounds like Jethro Tull/Ian Anderson, and that was a good thing, I believe. I didn’t recognize a single song, and that has more to do with the way I listen to Iron & Wine than anything else. I just love the music. It was a great set, very enjoyable. The word ethereal is used a great deal when describing music that causes other words to be inadequate. I think I now know the meaning of the word.

Okay, that isn’t completely true.  I didn’t fully enjoy the set. I had gone all day without having any conflicts with any other attendees. I had even mentioned this to my friends- the chatterers seemed to be missing this year. Well, all good things come to an end.

I hope you are reading this! If you want to gush about your friend’s knitting, discuss the dental crown you lost, compare and discuss the relative merits of hoodies and zippered sweaters, and….Why come and do it on a hill surrounded by folks who are actually trying to listen to the freakin’ music? I will never, ever understand it.

I do understand and embrace the social aspects of the folk festivals. Over the last twelve or so years, more often than not I’ve attended festivals with a small group of friends, and recently that group has included a great wee lad. We chat relatively quietly, we catch up, and then we listen. That is the part I don’t get- why would you pay money and ignore world class artists who are sharing their innermost thoughts and observations? A mystery.

Back to the hill.

When the lights go down, things do change. When the sun finally sets around 10 o’clock, and darkness engulfs the hill, it is really quite spectacular. I remember both of the Joans (Baez and Armatrading) marveling at the effect of the candle-covered hill. With the candles on our side, and the downtown skyline on the other, a better setting for a festival of this type is hard to imagine.  And, amazingly, people tend to quiet down as well! Bonus.

Rodney Crowell was next, the act my group and I had been waiting for, and he was amazing. Fronting a three-piece band, including Cicadas compatriot Steuart Smith for the first time in nine years, Crowell focused largely on material from The Houston Kid and later albums. “The Rise and Fall of Intelligent Design” and “Moving Piece of Art” started the show, setting the tone for an evening of music played with maturity and good taste. “Still Learning How to Fly” seemed especially poignant, and “I Wish It Would Rain” seemed to capture the audience’s attention. I was especially pleased to hear “Closer to Heaven,” if only to howl “I love Guy Clark” along with Rodney.

More than halfway through the show, Crowell started reaching back into his extensive catalogue. “Leaving Louisiana” and “Til I Gain Control Again” got things going while an amped up take of “I Ain’t Living Long Like This” was blistering, and on this familiar tune Crowell and his band demonstrated that a country band can rock without resorting to recycled Van Halen riffs.

While at an afternoon session (I’m told by an ecstatic Cheryl) Crowell dipped into the songbooks of George, Hank, and Merle, the only cover on this night was a spell-binding rendition of “Pancho and Lefty.” Introduced by Crowell as “one of the greatest songs ever written,” he launched into the song and made it sound new. I think this version may  get Waylon and Willie playing dress-up out of my head, and perhaps I can enjoy the song now as others do.

As an encore, Crowell came back unaccompanied with quiet, gentle benediction that I just can’t identify although I know I’ve heard it before; it reminded me a little of “Forever Young,” but I couldn’t figure it out. He swung into “I Know Love Is All I Need” with the band rejoining him before the song’s conclusion.

A perfect performance, in my opinion. Too often I am disappointed in performances on large festival stages from my favourites, but not this time. Even lacking the Columbia hits and our being several hundred feet from the stage, Crowell kept me engrossed the entire performance.

My friends left after Rodney, and I decided to move to another location for Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings. I knew I wouldn’t stay long, no matter how good they were because of the two-hour commute home, but I wanted to be close to one of the video screens. I found a wonderful spot, and I think it may now be my favourite secret location, on a steep incline that no one else seems to sit on.

The tweener for this slot was Ashley MacIsaac accompanied by Quinn Bachand, a thirteen year-old guitar wizard. One could almost hear the hill collectively sigh, “Ashley, all is forgiven. Welcome back, lad!” The attention-seeking behavior of the past was forgotten as the duo electrified those remaining in attendance. They did three numbers, the middle of which was a dreamy, passionate fiddle tune that was lovely. Bookending this sensitive number that really showed off MacIsaac’s gifts were a pair of up-tempo leapers with which one more readily associates with the Nova Scotian. Seeing MacIsaac mouth the chord changes to Quinn was like watching the skills of one generation being passed down to the next, which I guess it was. I’ll be on the lookout for more music of this type from MacIsaac and I won’t be surprised to see him making a return visit soon.

The seven-piece Dap-Kings opened the show Wilson Pickett-style, with a horn rich instrumental, firing up the audience with an extended introduction to the revue while getting the lower bowl on their feet. By the time Jones joined the boys, the hill was rocking to the soul-fest. “How Do You Let A Good Man Down?” got things jumping, and “Nobody’s Baby” kept it going. A couple tunes later and I was making my way to the bus, wishing I could stay later. But, knowing it would be 2:00 AM before I got home kept me going toward the exit as midnight approached.

What a day! I can’t remember the last time I left a music festival so drained and satisfied. I was unable to catch several favourites, including Chuck Brodsky, Kimmie Rhodes, The Skydiggers, Spirit of the West, and Great Lake Swimmers, and I still haven’t caught up to Sierra Hull. Hot Tuna intrigued me, especially after I realized who was playing with them- Barry Mitterhoff. Dang! I even missed Dick Gaughan, something I never thought I would do. Too many choices. A friend suggested I hear The Wooden Sky, but I was unable to. I bought their disc instead, unheard and only on my pal’s advice. I must say, Ross has me figured out as I’ve quite enjoyed the album already.

A last thought- It was nice to see a mention of Gilbert Bouchard in the festival’s program guide. I won’t pretend Gilbert and I were friends, and certainly have no desire to overstate our relationship. But for several months from 1984 to 1986, Gilbert was a close acquaintence. He was the first person to give me a chance to write about music and was a brutal but supportive editor. His taste in sherry not withstanding, without his involvement, I likely wouldn’t have followed a path that has included writing.

As always, the Edmonton Folk Music Festival appeared to be excellently organized, and my experience was entirely pleasant, excepting a half-hour of chatter-chatter during Iron & Wine. For those of you not in the Edmonton area, consider putting this fest on your vacation planner; but get your tickets early, as the fest tends to sell out quickly. www.efmf.ab.ca

Country music is dead…and that’s okay with me!

 Scattered thoughts about music while on vacation…and after

Recently, I was very fortunate to go on vacation with my wife to a destination we had both- but mostly me- longed to visit, Greece. While I’ve never previously visited Europe, I had developed an affinity for Greece through an interest in mythology that can be traced back to elementary school. Years of casual study, including a first-year university course in Greek Mythology and teaching of ancient Greece to middle schoolers, had instilled in me an appreciation of Greece, its art, history, geography, and mythology.

Nothing prepared me for this experience. A land of photographic beauty, the reality of Greece is even more impressive. Sweeping coastlines and seemingly arid orchards are the introduction to a land where the word history actually means something. Seeing monuments, artifacts, statues, frescoes, and walkway mosaics hundreds and thousands of years old was entirely impressive. And the food! My gosh, some of it was wonderful, delicately seasoned and simply prepared.

So, what has all of this got to do with country music? I’m not sure what this piece is going to look like when finished even after thinking about it and mentally outlining it for a month. But I’m going to try to demonstrate the importance of music in my life, how it never leaves my mind for an extended period, what I love about a simple country song, and my disappointment with the current and long-lasting state of commercial country music.

Since the time I was a bit more than ten, I think I’ve known that music would have significance in my life, that I think about it more than and in different ways than other people. Not better, just different. To me music is important and is seldom in the background. For me, music is to be absorbed, digested, and appreciated.

Like many others of my generation- and likely prior and subsequent ones- I can remember sitting up late at night attempting to tape the hits of the day off of the radio. I clearly remember attempting to record favoured selections of the 630 CHED 100 songs of 1975 on either New Year’s Eve or New Year’s Day. “Bad Blood” by Neil Sedaka was number one, I believe. I think Elton John’s “Island Girl” was on there as well. “Listen to What the Man Said,” still my favourite Wings song, was also captured on a frequently reused BASF cassette and I seem to remember “Fly, Robin, Fly” on there as well.

What I think may have been different from the experience of others involved in similar pursuits was my frustration at missing the first note or two of songs. Realize, I’ve got a little rectangular box of a cassette player propped up against little more than a clock radio speaker- and I’m getting pissed because I’m missing some of the intro notes to AM broadcast songs. Fidelity was obviously not the issue or concern! I think my frustration was because I recognized that the entire song was important, and those initial notes were vital to my future appreciation of the songs. I’m not sure most other eleven year olds worried about such things. Maybe I’m mistaken, but in my circle of street hockey players, I’m certain I was the only one involved in such activity.

From this early attempt at making a mix tape, I started acquiring singles and albums. Frequently at the expense of my older brothers, I started a wee collection of recordings- a 45 of the previously mentioned Wings song, Olivia Newton John’s country singles, one by the Hans Staymer Band, “Hello Central (Give Me Doctor Music)” that I think I still have in a box downstairs. The first albums I bought were 25 cent school-garage sale finds- Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young’s Déjà Vu and Every Picture Tells a Story. I played the heck out of those albums and realize now that possibly the first place I heard a mandolin was on that Rod Stewart album.

The first album I bought from a store was a KC & the Sunshine Band compilation; I wish I could claim it was something more impressive, perhaps Guy Clark’s first album or a Townes Van Zandt, but I can’t. The first country music 45 I recall buying- and it may not have been the first, but it would have been one of the first- was “Teddy Bear’s Last Ride” by Diana Williams. I was actually looking for the Red Sovine song and thought this was it; turned out I was wrong, but it did impact me and was maybe the first time I realized songs could have ‘answer’ recordings. Yes, it was a manipulative, wimpy arse song, but it made me tear up every time I listened to it.

I’ve always been a sucker for a sad song. The first songs I remember singing all the way through were tear-jerkers from the 60s- “Leader of the Pack,” “Last Kiss,” and especially “Teen Angel.” I remember doing chores on the farm and belting out the words- accurate or not- while struggling with buckets of chop. Since we left the farm when I was eight, I know I was doing this at an age many kids may have been singing nursery rhymes. And, with reflection, I’ve come to accept that those songs and ones like them- “Patches,” “The Night the Lights Went Out In Georgia,” and “The Night Chicago Died”- were in many ways the nursery rhymes of childhood. Explains a little about my future twistedness.

So, we’ve established I’m a music geek and have been for a long, long time. I’m okay with that. It is the way I am. But, getting back to the Greek holiday, it was this trip that (again) brought to the fore the depth of my obsession with music. So, skipping ahead thirty or so years…

The realization is refreshed. It may have been when I was nodding off in the sun in Greece, surrounded by German, Polish, and Russian tourists, and the surf started singing to me the refrain: ich lieb dich nicht du liebst mich nicht aha aha aha. I knew why “Da Da Da“ was in my head- I had recently placed it on a mixed disc I made in anticipation of the flight to Greece- but that the surf would bring it to mind was a little disturbing.

Or it may have been on the same Cretan beach when a six- or seven-year old Romanian kid started banging out “Rock and Roll High School“ on two stones picked up off of the sand. Not just once, but repeatedly, keeping the beat perfectly timed so that, in my head, I’m singing, “Rock, rock…rock and roll high school.“ The rhythm maintained was lively, smooth, and welcome, and I can’t help but believe that I was witnessing a primal connection that started long before the brothers from Queens.

I am definitely not like other people. I find music everywhere, even in the surf and in spontaneous rock slapping. And the lengths I’ll go to acquire music, and the way I worry about music, is a bit disturbing. I took a thumb drive with me on this holiday for one reason- so I wouldn’t miss one of the download offers off of Steve Forbert’s website. Every few weeks, and sometimes every few days, Forbert’s webmaster posts a live song or two at steveforbert.com, and I didn’t want to miss one of the limited time offerings, as we are in the midst of the Pink Cassette songs from 1981. And I wasn’t disappointed, picking up a couple songs as well as a bonus of “Matchbox.“

I spent many hours preparing mixes for my Sony mini-disc player in anticiaption of the full days of traveling we would be spending getting to Toronto and Athens and back. I’m pretty sure no one has listened to Dale Ann Bradley while approaching Athens on a nine and a half hour leg from TO. And I’m glad I put together the recordings as I was able to make connections between songs I had never before noticed: Suzi Quatro’s “She Knows“ owes a bit to The Knack’s “Good Girls Don’t.“

My biggest and most obsessive thought while on the island of Crete was, “How will I recharge this thing (the mini-disc player) for the flight home?“ My initial attempts at using the adapter in our hotel room had not been successful, but I eventually got it charging. Crisis averted.

We go out for an evening of Cretan music and food at a country taverna (which turned out to be an open-air, mountain theatre) and notice that the bourzouki is buried too low in the mix for my taste, being dominated by an electric keyboard. And my initial response is to go speak to the guy on the soundboard…only there isn’t anyone on the soundboard and really, what were the odds anyone else cared? (From the amount of cheap wine all the tourists were drinking, I’m guessing not very likely!)

Amongst my most enjoyable hours on the trip was a morning and early afternoon wandering the streets of Fira on Santorini. We were due to leave the island late that afternoon, and with the temperature approaching 38 Celsius, my wife was uninterested in additional wandering. So, I set off- again, with the mini-disc going- for a solo exploration of an art gallery and maybe some lunch. John Cowan started me on my journey, but by the time I got to the walkways overlooking the Aegean, I was well into The Trinity Sessions Revisited. Turns out, the Cowboy Junkies are a good listening match to the blues, browns, and whites of Fira, as is Cry, Cry, Cry with Dar, Richard, and Lucy’s voices blending to provide an incongruent but somehow fitting soundtrack to the Greek isle. I sat in a little restaurant- The Flame of the Volcano- looking out over the harbour formed by the caldera eating mousaka, dolmades, and tzakziki with some nicely chilled white wine, listening to James Keelaghan’s ”Cold Missouri Waters“ and Buddy Mondlock’s “The Kid“ and realized that I was experiencing perfect moments. Perfect for me, anyways- others would likely have been bored stiff.

By the way, if ever on Santorini, visit The Flame of the Volcano- it is a nice little ‘mom and pop‘ place but is tricky to find- walk up the donkey stairs about thirty metres, and just when you think you have missed it, it is right there. Lovely stuff.

In Athens, I found a compact disc store of the like I haven’t experienced locally in years. Three stories of CDs along with additional floors of games, DVDs, and books. Metropolis was the name, and they had a huge selection of all types of music, with extra attention- it seemed- to the music of the 60s, 70s, and 80s. I found things I had looked for without success- Sylvain Sylvain’s first album (paired with his second) for around $10 CDN- and could have spent hundreds of dollars on music without even trying. As it was, I controlled myself and limited my purchases to a few things I really ‘needed‘- the Sylvain disc, an Animals compilation, a copy of Think Lizzy’s Live and Dangerous, and a Romeo Void 2fer.

So, all of these musicial moments led us back to the airport, and a ten-plus hour flight back to Toronto. And, in interest of saving the mini-disc batteries for later in the journey, I turned on the Transat in-flight music selections. I bopped along to an hour of disco early in the flight, even discovering a group I had heard of- The Gibson Brothers- but can’t remember hearing. “Cuba“ is a quality song. And then I thought, let’s give the country line-up a try.

I’ve attempted to listen to current country music any number of times over the past several years, on flights or during long drives. And it never works. But this time I tcommited myself to holding out for the full hour and actually listen to the music. Outside of a Nanci Griffith tune and a few predictable classics (“D-I-V-O-R-C-E,“ “I Walk the Line,“ and “Your Cheatin‘ Heart“) I must say the picking were mighty grim. While the themes covered in the songs should appeal to someone like me- home, leaving home, growth, and doubt- I can’t imagine why anyone would choose to listen to drek from Doc Walker, Taylor Swift, Montgomery Gentry, Zac Brown, or Kid Rock when there are performers and songwriters such as Darrell Scott, the members of Drive By Truckers, Chris Knight, Kate Campbell, Gordie Tentrees, Fred Eaglesmith, Steve Forbert, and hundreds more recording music about the same matters, but so much more intensely and insightfully than the hacks I heard. I tried to listen, but shortlydug out the mini-disc player and lost myself in Rodney DeCroo.

This experience led me to think about sketching out a treatise on the demise of commercial country music as I know it. Imagine my surprise when I returned home and found just such a commentary within my email inbox from one of my favourite people. Tina Aridas is a Brooklyn-based writer, editor, songwriter, and bluegrass music promoter who I met through the BGRASS-L. Being like-minded individuals, we normally agree on the state of things in our wee bluegrass world, share an appreciation for Nick Lowe, and loath the toady writing that too freqently passes as journalism- no matter how artfully written it is- within the bluegrass world. In mid-July, Tina fired one of her semi-frequent salvos into the din that is the L, with country music her target. Since Tina is several times the writer I’ll ever be, I’ll allow her thoughts in place of mine:

I don’t have cable TV, so I feel remote from popular culture. However, sometimes there’s a little time when I’m traveling to sit in front of the TV in the motel room and get a good dose of what’s on television. And my favorite place to go is CMT. Boy oh boy, is that fun or what? I spent an hour this past Friday night and in that whole hour I heard (and saw) not one song or performer who would pass for country music, in my opinion. It was all rock with guys in cowboy hats and boots singing songs about their roots and songs about how country girls are the best (with shots of girls who didn’t really look like what I’d think of as country girls, but who am I to say) and songs about how city girls like country boys, all the while posing in this very strange (and uncomfortable-looking) way, with one shoulder hunched a bit higher than the other, legs a bit bent and knees apart (sort of like they were riding a horse but with the horse missing), pointing with one or two fingers at the audience (or the camera). Very silly stuff. I heard songs by Kenny Chesney, Trace Adkins, Jason Aldean, and a couple of others I don’t remember, as well as female singers Carrie Underwood, Reba McEntire, Kelly Pirkle, Taylor Swift, and some others I can’t recall. Golly, there’s more country music in bluegrass music these days than there is in country music.

So, my question is: Am I missing something? Does anybody on bgrass-l think this stuff is country music?

And in those few sentences, Tina captured much of my thoughts. To answer her question, No- I don’t consider that country music. But I’ve also now come to the conclusion that it doesn’t really matter to most folks that the music they call ‘country’ isn’t country. Country music has changed, and has changed so radically that I don’t think we can ever go back. There will always (I hope) be a few rebels out there waving the flag- the Dallas Waynes, the Dale Watsons, the Robbie Fulkses, et al.- but for the majority of the population, the soft pop and retread rock currently labeled Country Music is just fine, thank you. Of course there is always bluegrass to fall back on, perhaps the last bastion of true country music, and the Americana alt.s and folkies populating the sidelines.

Sometime between those early Olivia and Teddy Bear singles and the time I walked away from commercial country music, I became interested in the history of the music. Beginning with some deleted Waylon and Jones albums, I started down the path of country music. Some paths peetered out rather quickly, such as my facsination with Charly McClain. Others just kept going and going, such as my journey from Emmylou, Carlene, and Rosanne which led to Guy, Rodney, and Skaggs. From Ricky Skaggs I went to Monroe and Marty Stuart, which led to Doc Watson and eventually Ralph Stanley. Guy Clark led to Townes and other Texas troubadours. Rosanne led back to Johnny Cash and eventually the Carter Family. And the dusty footsteps kept going and going. As I delved deeper into country music, the more I found to appreciate. 

 When did this decline in modern commercial country music start? Maybe with Brooks and Dunn? It doesn’t matter. The fight is over. We’ve lost. And please don’t think I’m just some tired old guy stuck in the 70s listening to his orange-label George Jones records. There was a time not too long ago when the majority of my CDs were commercial country- everyone from Randy Travis, Highway 101, and The Judds, to Jim Witter, Kathy Mattea, and Johnny Cash. Even in the past five years, I’ve continued to listen to buy country music albums if seldom listening to country radio. Albums by Alan Jackson, Gretchen Wilson, Mark Chesnutt, Brad Paisley, Vince Gill, Ian Tyson, the Dixie Chicks, and other ‘mainstream’ country artists have found their way onto my shelves, and I’ve enjoyed them. So I’m not pining for the past as much as lamenting the present.

There was a time when I listened to commercial country music and enjoyed it. I appreciated the sentiment of the songs, the mix of the instruments, and the expression that came through in heartfelt vocals. Yes, there was a great deal of the music that I couldn’t stand- John Michael Montgomery, anyone? Ty Herndon, perhaps? Lorrie Morgan and Faith Hill? But somewhere along the line about 1995, I started drifting away. The balance tipped and the ‘good’ no longer outweighed the gorb music.

But I fear the pendulum has swung so far the other way- to where Billy Ray Cyrus almost sounds ‘traditional’- that there is at least one generation and likely more out there who not only have no understanding of the roots of country music, but no interest in seeking such knowledge. To them, Sheryl Crow, Kid Rock, and Darius Rucker have as much country cred as necessary. That is, not much.

And I need to temper this with acknowledgement that what I consider ‘country music’- the Georges, Junes, Lorettas, Martys, Merles, and Ola Belles- stepped away from the music of the Roy Acuffs, Hank Williamses, and Maybelle Carters that preceded and influenced them. However, there was a cord that was maintained back then, connecting the musics. And that cord has become frayed and exists now as only the thinnest of threads. Would Roy Acuff recognize Lady Antebellum as compatriots? Somehow, I doubt it.

But that’s okay. Country music history is littered with those who took the industry by storm, and who faded away even more quickly. Anyone heard from Mindy McCreary, Diamond Rio, or Julia Roberts lately? So I feel safe in saying that folks who made part of my Athens to Toronto flight so miserable- Carrie Underwood, Tara Oram, Rascal Flatts, and their ilk- will soon fade away into a bad memory. And maybe, some day in the future there will come the time for another wave of fresh music to hit country music and country music radio. What did Steve Earle call it? The Great Credibility Scare of 1986? But that wave, which included Lyle Lovett, Nanci Griffith, and even Dwight Yoakum, didn’t sell enough records and quickly dissipated.

Over the past decade, I’ve noticed a splintering in the music that is of interest. Whereas once we thought of music as rock, country, folk, classical, soul, blues, and easy listening each of those genres now has various fissures within them. And as the music evolves and mutates, some sounds that develop are going to alienate a population of listeners, resulting in fewer people having a shared experience within the same music. I guess it makes sense that what is now considered commercial country could and has morphed into something I barely recognize as ‘country.’

That splintering has mirrored the increasing number of ways folks acquire or listen to music. Again, that shared experience of everyone in a community listening to one of three or four radio stations has been lost- and that isn’t necessarily a bad thing- and has been replaced by innumerable retail, illegal, on-line, and social networking means of hearing music.

Where does this leave me? I guess I’ll just have to continue the meandering journey that started all those years ago when I was learning “Joy to the World” and “Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da” on the bus ride home from school. I’ll graze the Internet for stations that play the music I want to hear- hey, WDVX!- until they are no longer allowed to broadcast internationally. I’ll continue to purchase the majority of my music digitally from a variety of vendors while supporting the retail outlets that continue to stock product of interest. I’ll catch live acts that come through the area as much as possible, and support them through my writing and purchases. I suppose I’ll eventually fall into the satellite radio world, where one can find channels that are a little more streamlined and allow a listener to be selective.

And, more than likely, I won’t make another attempt to listen to commercial country music- that which is played on radio- for a long while. I’ll stick to my music collection and listening to the music that now resonates with me- bluegrass (although cracks of blandness are starting to appear there as well), folk- whatever that is, Americana, and the various offshoots of what has become known as roots music. I’ll miss turning on the radio and hearing a simple country song that connects with images of my past or strikes a chord within my current emotional framework. I’ll have to work a little harder to establish those bonds with song. By now, I’m used to that and have found that the journey of finding new or old music that is meaningful is certainly a worthy endeavour. I’ll find it- I always have.

While my childhood and life aren’t nearly as sepia-toned and romantic as that he writes about, Antsy McClain pert near sums things up for me in his tune ”Captain Midnight.” Reflecting on late night radio djs who shaped his life- much like the CHED and K-97 djs did mine- McClain sings:

…As the radio played the soundtrack to my life. They cut a place deep In our hearts, following the stars and record charts, Connecting every song we loved to a special place in time.

Those who are currently listening to commercial country music, and have listened over the past fifteen or so years, have likely made those connections between the music of their time and their lives. Their connections are as significant as those I made. That I can’t stand much of current country music doesn’t matter. It is what it is. But for those folks, that is the music that is going to mean something- as hard as that is for me to comprehend. That it isn’t ‘real’ country music as I- and Tina- understand it doesn’t and won’t matter to them or to the industry.

As Lou- in a coherent moment- stated in an episode of Californication, “It’s not just the music- it’s how and when you hear it.”

Commercial country music is dead, at least to me! And I’m not too broken up about it.

2009- First Quarter Report

Many fine albums have been released during January, February, and March of 2009, and I’m certain I’ve not heard even a fraction of them! New albums by Buddy & Julie Miller, Justin Townes Earle, Neko Case, Elvis Perkins, Brett Dennen and (I’m sure) many others haven’t yet made there way to my Bought list and have received glowing reviews elsewhere. But, here is my Top Ten so far for 2009:

David Baxter- Day & Age- An album of rare focus and intensity. Country and folk music is supposed to sound like this, the first album in a career stretching thirty years.

 

David Parmley & Continental Divide- Three Silver Dollars- a solid set of bluegrass from one of the best voices in the biz

 

Tom Rush- What I Know- a return to form, I’m assuming; never knew his music before, but this one made me interested enough to search through his catalogue and I’m liking what I hear.

 

Romi Mayes- Achin in Yer Bones- her best album so far

 

Dry Branch Fire Squad- Echoes of the Mountains- Thomason is back! If this is to serve as DBFS’s swan song- and I hope it isn’t- it is a fine way to go out. No one mixes grass and mountain quite like this. Superior song selection, too.

 

Guy Davis- Sweetheard Like You- never disappoints

 

Eric Brace & Peter Cooper- You Don’t Have to Like Them Both- knew nothing about them when I put it in the machine. Within seconds I was hooked.

 

Tom Russell Anthology- If he had only written one song as shockingly pure as Veteran’s Day, his place would be assured. That he has written dozens of brilliant songs, and there are still many unfamiliar with him is dang near musically criminal. I bought this one despite already owning most of the songs. Don’t care, dammit.

 

Kelly Joe Phelps- Western Bell- not my usual thing. Atmospheric instrumentals.

 

I’ve been digging a small selection of ‘old’ soul singers of late- especially Doris Duke and Bobby Patterson- What sounds!

 

Donald

 

My Postcard2 Top 20 for 2008

Postcard2 is a list serve that is focused around (mostly) roots music and its various off-shoots. Each year members submit their Top 20 releases of the year. The submissions can be interesting, and can lead to further exporation of artists and albums previously missed. www.postcard2.com for more information. Anyhow, here is what I submitted, with three comments. One, I missed Darrell Scott’s Modern Hymns. Not sure how, but I did. It would have most likely pushed the Hubbard disc out of the top 20. Second, I hadn’t heard either the Kasey Chambers & Shane Nicholson album nor the Hank Williams unreleased radio show recordings prior to compiling the list. Not sure if Rattlin’ Bones would have made it to the Twenty, but Hank would have made the reissues list. Additionally, Maria Dunn’s album arrived too late to be considered. Again, quite likely it would have made the list; it is an excellent example of the living Canadian folk tradition. Finally, as discussed elsewhere, Carlene Carter’s Stronger is a very fine album, but didn’t make my top 20. Instead, I mention it on the reissues as it was originally issued as a fan club disc a couple years ago. Anyhow…here it is:

Beyond Fred Eaglesmith’s Tinderbox, few of the albums I shortlisted and then finally listed stood-out ‘head and shoulders’ above the rest.

Actually, I had initially believed 2008 was a weak year for the kind of music I like, simply because little separated itself from the pack. Once I started working at it, I discovered there was a lot of music I liked and enjoyed, but the new releases were overshadowed by the volume of catalogue- and in some cases deep catalogue- music I’ve been listening to (Genesis’s Foxtrot, anyone?)

 

 

This is a result, I think, of purchasing a lot of music- some I still haven’t got to- from a chain going bankrupt this fall, finding a bunch of $1 CDs I could trade in for three and four times at the local shop for mega-discounted ‘my kind of music’- You’re Never Alone With A Schizophrenic for $4, Martin Sexton Wonder Bar for 6, and various Midnight Oil’s for $3…

In no particular order, beyond Fred being #1…

Fred Eaglesmith- Tinderbox

The Steeldrivers- The Steeldrivers

The Earl Brothers- Moonshine

Kathy Mattea- Coal

Mark Erelli- Delivered

Melonie Cannon- And the Wheels Turn

Blue Moon Rising- One Lonely Shadow

Chip Taylor- New Songs of Freedom

Crooked Still- Still Crooked

Charlie Haden- Rambling Boy

Lucinda Williams- Little Honey

Michael Cleveland & Flamekeeper- Leavin’ Town

Jay Clark- I’m Confused

Justin Townes Earle- The Good Life

Brad Paisley- Play

Eliza Gilkyson- Beautiful World

Ray Wylie Hubbard- Snake Farm

Kimmie Rhodes- Walls Fall Down

Kathleen Edwards- Asking for Flowers

Jimmy Gaudreau and Moondi Klein- 2:10 Train

 

 Subject to change within twenty minutes

 Reissues/compilations, etc

The Wire- …And All the Things Matter

Nick Lowe- Jesus of Cool

VA- Ten Years of European World of Bluegrass

Larry Sparks- Bound to Ride

Ralph Stanley- Old-Time Pickin

Katrina Leskanich- Walking on Sunshine

Carlene Carter- Stronger

Bruce Robison- His Greatest Hits

Jason Ringenberg- Best Tracks and Side Tracks

James King- Gardens in the Sky

And the whole damn Creedence reissue set- How did I ever miss CCR before? What a rhythm section! Much more than the FM singles band I always took them for.

And finally, Ali Thomson’s digital reissue of “Take A Little Rhythm”!

Generic, boring bluegrass vs. The Rainmakers

So I have no energy to do ‘real’ work- the kind I make my living at- tonight, so I figure I’ll listen to one of the many CDs I have piled up on the shelf waiting to review. I won’t name the band- hell, Carrie Hassler & Hard Rain- and it is excruciating. The most unimaginative and bland presentation of bluegrass this side of Alecia Nugent. Horrible. I’m sure she is a nice lady, and a good mother, and maybe even a fine singer- but this is the sort of bluegrass that makes me hate my favourite music. Nothing memorable about it with every song blurring into the next…and half of it has no business calling itself bluegrass.

Maybe on another night, in another week, my reaction wouldn’t be nearly so visceral. But I’ve had it up to there with spending my time with music that invokes nothing positive to my listening and- ultimately- life. Sorry, Carrie- this one was the straw…

 

And as I’m inflicting this schlock on myself, I start thinking that I haven’t listened to a bluegrass album in weeks- all the way through, I mean- and I start reflecting on what I’ve been listening to instead and why I’ve been avoiding the ‘grass. And I think it is because it (generalizing like you wouldn’t believe) is so often forgettable and bland. Little personality, colour by numbers songwriting, unimaginative arrangements…everyone trying to sound like the Grascals, Rhonda, and Mountain Heart…all of whom are fine- in moderation- but whose imitators are less interesting than a Jackson Browne album cover.

 

And, as all of these thoughts go through my head a couple hours ago, my eyes come to rest on the (several) stacks of albums I’ve spread around my home office over the last weeks, hauled up from the basement while doing some fall cleaning. (Hmmm, fall cleaning, and I pull more things out. There is a study there, perhaps.)  A complete set of Sparks through to the nineties, some Three Dog Night, Nils Lofgren, Marianne Faithful, Lou Reed, Gary Numan, and others and I realize I’ve been listening to ‘old’ music of the ‘rock’ variety a lot more than usual of late- including things I’m downloading. Not things I know note for note- The Who, Bruce, Otis, and Bauhaus, and such- but things I haven’t really listened to too closely. I’ve been having a blast with Smokie, Suzi, the Monkees (I never realized how many of the hits Dolenz sang) and Sparks…and then I saw the Rainmaker’s  (Mercury) self-titled album from 1986.

 

I hadn’t listened to The Rainmakers in probably 10 years, maybe more. All I could remember before playing it tonight  was two songs- ”Downstream” and “Let My People Go-Go”- and that I liked the album a lot when I was in university the first time. ”Downstream” has remained in my cognitive jukebox for twenty-two years, and it isn’t going nowhere.

 

So I put it on and start sorting socks. I’m on my second listen through as I write this. What a brilliant album- I wish I had known then what I know now- I would have appreciated the whole album as much as I did the songs I considered the ‘hits.’ “Doomsville” and “Government Cheese” sort of ring appropriate given the current climate. “Information” reveals a whole lot about the Great Big Sea sound- something I’d never noticed before- and why would I having not dusted this one off in forever. It’s rock, it’s country, it’s both, and yet it’s neither.

 

I likely listened to this album slightly less than any Jason album from and during the first great alt.country scare- which, of course, wasn’t called that- I think we might have called it ‘roots rock’ at the time, but who remembers-  but I’m sure enjoying it tonight. And it sure has more personality than much of the bluegrass I’m going to have to force myself to listen to this week.

 

That’s my listening recommendation for the week. The Rainmakers.