This is about the fourth song I've uploaded, but finally this one felt right. This cut comes from the album Inside Dave Von Ronk, released in 1969. This album has all of the music from two of his Prestige albums: Dave Van Ronk, Folksinger and Inside Dave Van Ronk (which is a different album, same name).
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Tuesday, July 31, 2007
My Songbird: Emmylou Harris
This is a Jesse Winchester song from Emmylou's album Quarter Moon in a Ten Cent Town. The album was released in 1978.
Emmylou returned to her country roots with this album containing nary a pop song and got a top ten hit with To Daddy, written by Dolly Parton.
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Emmylou returned to her country roots with this album containing nary a pop song and got a top ten hit with To Daddy, written by Dolly Parton.
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"I have no special talents. I am only passionately curious."
The air is still damp with morning, and fog blankets the tops of the trees. I can hear drops falling from branches and from the eaves of my house. I got up before the papers arrived this morning so I just sat on the deck and listened to the day unfold. I heard the ever present birds and a few cars from the road near my house. My neighbor sneezed. Summer screens were never meant for privacy. Gracie ran through the underbrush with a toy in her mouth. I heard a car and the thunk of the newspapers hitting the driveway. I refilled my coffee cup then read the news of the day.
When I was a kid, we had this set of encyclopedias. I remember they had a red binding with black letters and came from the supermarket. My mother bought a new volume every week when she grocery shopped. The books sat on a shelf in the living room and were the verbatim sources for just about every school paper and project. If I wanted to know something, my mother would tell me to look it up in the encyclopedia. I always thought it amazing that a world of information could be found in those books. If I had nothing to read, I'd run my fingers across the bindings and randomly pick a letter. I always learned something.
Jiminy Cricket taught my entire generation to spell encyclopedia. On the Mickey Mouse Club, Jiminy had this segment where he jumped from book to book using his umbrella for balance. He spoke right to us and sang as he jumped. E-n-c-y-c-l-o-p-e-d-i-a springs to mind in an instant, melody and all etched in my brain. I never simply say that word. I always spell it.
When I was a kid, we had this set of encyclopedias. I remember they had a red binding with black letters and came from the supermarket. My mother bought a new volume every week when she grocery shopped. The books sat on a shelf in the living room and were the verbatim sources for just about every school paper and project. If I wanted to know something, my mother would tell me to look it up in the encyclopedia. I always thought it amazing that a world of information could be found in those books. If I had nothing to read, I'd run my fingers across the bindings and randomly pick a letter. I always learned something.
Jiminy Cricket taught my entire generation to spell encyclopedia. On the Mickey Mouse Club, Jiminy had this segment where he jumped from book to book using his umbrella for balance. He spoke right to us and sang as he jumped. E-n-c-y-c-l-o-p-e-d-i-a springs to mind in an instant, melody and all etched in my brain. I never simply say that word. I always spell it.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Our House: Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young
This is from one of my all time favorite albums, Deja Vu. If I were asked which albums I'd take with me to a desert island, this would be on the list.
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Mercury: Kathleen Edwards
This song is from Kathleen Edwards' 2003 debut album, Failer. Most of the songs are dark and filled with a bit of tragedy. “Edwards seems to hold nothing back in her music," wrote one reviewer. "It is warm and gut-wrenching, her sometimes breathy voice reaching out like a familiar hand and twisting your heart until it hurts.”
Kathleen Edwards is from Ottowa Canada.
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Kathleen Edwards is from Ottowa Canada.
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"Everywhere water is a thing of beauty gleaming in the dewdrop, singing in the summer rain."
We, Gracie and I, spend most of our days outside. She wanders the yard and sleeps under the deck in the shade. I sit under the umbrella and read, hoping to catch the breeze, trying to find a bit of relief from the humidity. I have become quite familiar with my yard. The downy woodpeckers favor the scrub pines. They rat-tat-tat from trunk to trunk. The crows sit atop the trees and don't like to share branches. The chickadees are social. Mirrors hang from the edges of some branches to catch the sun: two are perfect for morning rays and two catch it in the afternoon. When the wind blows, their balls of light jump and dart with a dizzying quickness. The squirrels are tightrope walkers as they balance along the limbs. They jump from tree to tree. The ends of the branches tip from their weight, and I have watched squirrels fly.
This morning, thunder rolled in the distance, and the sky darkened. The breeze got stronger and hinted of rain, and I would have welcomed a summer storm. But the sun has since returned, and blue patches are appearing in the sky. I'm disappointed.
Yesterday I heard a radio playing from a backyard. The neighbors to my left cooked on the grill while the neighbors to my right sat for a bit on their deck. Dogs barked to one another from yard to yard. Today is quiet.
This morning, thunder rolled in the distance, and the sky darkened. The breeze got stronger and hinted of rain, and I would have welcomed a summer storm. But the sun has since returned, and blue patches are appearing in the sky. I'm disappointed.
Yesterday I heard a radio playing from a backyard. The neighbors to my left cooked on the grill while the neighbors to my right sat for a bit on their deck. Dogs barked to one another from yard to yard. Today is quiet.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
"What we remember from childhood we remember forever - permanent ghosts, stamped, inked, imprinted, eternally seen."
Some of my memory drawers are filled with memories I didn't realize I was making. Whole Christmases are forgotten, but others are almost as bright as the moment. I remember walking to mass with my brother on a frozen dark Christmas morning. Our voices seemed to echo in the still air. I remember the Christmas of black stretch pants with foot straps and a fuzzy pink angora sweater. I was the height of fashion that year. I remember my bike and the year of the dancing doll. Other years, though, seem to fuse together in a whirl of wrapping paper, lights and Christmas cookies.
I remember the first grade when my friend Maryalyce was sitting at her desk, and she wet her pants. The puddle she made rolled down the uneven floor. I remember the nun running down the aisle and grabbing Maryalyce, but there the memory ends. I figure the rest was either too horrible to remember or too anti-climatic to keep. I remember the third grade, and my dog sleeping on a mat under the clock. He'd follow us to school, and the nun just let him stay. I remember the eighth grade and Sister Hildegard. She caught me with an earpiece on as I was sneaking to listen to the radio. She thought I was deaf and spoke louder. Sister Hildegard was really old. I remember the fear as I entered the ninth grade. I was going to high school, and that seemed immense. I remember graduations.
I remember arriving at Philadelphia for Peace Corps staging, trying to find the right bus to the dentist, reading a paper in the lobby about Judy Garland's death and going to the top of the city hall building. I remember the plane ride to Ghana, the stop in Madrid and mooing as the guards herded us back on the plane. I can't ever forget the movie: The Love Bug.
The overwhelming events easily become memories. They are burned into my mind with such intensity I don't ever forget. But even the smallest of memories survive. They bubble unexpectedly to the surface sometimes making me smile, sometimes making me cry but always making me thankful for a glimpse into a past I thought I'd forgotten.
I remember the first grade when my friend Maryalyce was sitting at her desk, and she wet her pants. The puddle she made rolled down the uneven floor. I remember the nun running down the aisle and grabbing Maryalyce, but there the memory ends. I figure the rest was either too horrible to remember or too anti-climatic to keep. I remember the third grade, and my dog sleeping on a mat under the clock. He'd follow us to school, and the nun just let him stay. I remember the eighth grade and Sister Hildegard. She caught me with an earpiece on as I was sneaking to listen to the radio. She thought I was deaf and spoke louder. Sister Hildegard was really old. I remember the fear as I entered the ninth grade. I was going to high school, and that seemed immense. I remember graduations.
I remember arriving at Philadelphia for Peace Corps staging, trying to find the right bus to the dentist, reading a paper in the lobby about Judy Garland's death and going to the top of the city hall building. I remember the plane ride to Ghana, the stop in Madrid and mooing as the guards herded us back on the plane. I can't ever forget the movie: The Love Bug.
The overwhelming events easily become memories. They are burned into my mind with such intensity I don't ever forget. But even the smallest of memories survive. They bubble unexpectedly to the surface sometimes making me smile, sometimes making me cry but always making me thankful for a glimpse into a past I thought I'd forgotten.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
“You should have seen me in my Catholic school girl skirt with my knees knocking together.”
My elementary school classes always had thirty five or more kids. The desks were attached to the floor in long rows and had ink well holes. The rooms had wooden floors which creaked and high ceilings which made me fill small. Our lunch boxes were kept on the floor behind our seats; books were kept inside our desks, awkward, inconvenient spots. The teacher's desk was always in the middle of the front of the room, and all the teachers had amazing abilities. They had eyes in the backs of their heads and could identify the sources of even the quietest whispers. A single look or word was enough to stop us dead in our tracks and make us tremble. At the beginning of each day, the bell would ring in the playground, and we'd line up by class to walk inside the school. We lined up to go to the bathroom, to go to the cloak room, to go and return from recess and to leave at the end of the day.
My school was old. It was made of brick and had two floors. The windows were so long you needed a hook to reach the shade loops. The littlest kids were on the first floor and the oldest were on the second. The bathrooms were in the cellar along with the trash bins and the furnace. Sister Superior had her office on the second floor. A small holy statue sat in a nook right outside her office. I always figured it was there on purpose in case you needed a quick prayer for intervention.
We had all the regular classes. We learned Roman numerals so well we did math using them. In music class, we learned Gregorian chant notation. I remember a lot of squares. Lunch was eaten at our desks, and we were allowed to talk.
The ringing of a hand bell announced the changing hours. When it was time to go home, one row at a time was sent to the cloakroom just outside the class to retrieve hats, coats, mittens and boots. We'd then return to class, get ready and line up along the side blackboard to wait. The bell would ring, and we'd walk to the outside door, still in some semblance of a line. Once outside, though, we'd break ranks, run, yell and head home, heady with a sense of freedom.
My school was old. It was made of brick and had two floors. The windows were so long you needed a hook to reach the shade loops. The littlest kids were on the first floor and the oldest were on the second. The bathrooms were in the cellar along with the trash bins and the furnace. Sister Superior had her office on the second floor. A small holy statue sat in a nook right outside her office. I always figured it was there on purpose in case you needed a quick prayer for intervention.
We had all the regular classes. We learned Roman numerals so well we did math using them. In music class, we learned Gregorian chant notation. I remember a lot of squares. Lunch was eaten at our desks, and we were allowed to talk.
The ringing of a hand bell announced the changing hours. When it was time to go home, one row at a time was sent to the cloakroom just outside the class to retrieve hats, coats, mittens and boots. We'd then return to class, get ready and line up along the side blackboard to wait. The bell would ring, and we'd walk to the outside door, still in some semblance of a line. Once outside, though, we'd break ranks, run, yell and head home, heady with a sense of freedom.
Friday, July 27, 2007
My Town: Kate and Anna McGarrigle
This is from their first album released in 1975, Kate and Anna McGarrigle. It is considered by many to be their best album. Their Heart Like a Wheel is one of the tracks.
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You Ain't Going Nowhere: The Byrds
From Sweetheart of the Rodeo the groundbreaking album released in 1968. Gram Parsons was the genius behind this album.
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“I want to do a musical movie. Like Evita, but with good music.”
My house and yard have become movie sets, and I'm merely an extra. This morning The Birds played around me. Blue jays and crows cawed and cried from trees behind my deck. They sounded raucous and angry. Had I lived in Bodgea Bay, I would have been boarding up windows and chimneys. One crow sat overhead loudly communicating with the other birds strategically placed on treetops. My neighbor's roof was a meeting spot for a couple of the crows, a cabal.
Meanwhile, inside the house, the cast of Arachnophobia has begun weaving webs to catch the unwary. Every spider movie seems to be playing in one room or the other. Cries of, "Help me. Help me," would not give me pause. I clear the webs, and the spiders return with a vengeance. I think my mixer has been captured.
The walkway is filled with ant hills. I sweep; they build. Yesterday I found a huge black ant in the kitchen. I think he was a scout sent by Them.
Meanwhile, inside the house, the cast of Arachnophobia has begun weaving webs to catch the unwary. Every spider movie seems to be playing in one room or the other. Cries of, "Help me. Help me," would not give me pause. I clear the webs, and the spiders return with a vengeance. I think my mixer has been captured.
The walkway is filled with ant hills. I sweep; they build. Yesterday I found a huge black ant in the kitchen. I think he was a scout sent by Them.
My trash bag was torn apart last night. Coffee grounds were all over the floor. I cleaned them up before I thought to look for paw prints. I think Williard's country cousins live in my cabinet.
With the ozone level depleting, I'm keeping an eye on Gracie and the two cats, Fern and Maddie. If I see teeth bared, I'm locking myself in the closet.
My life has become a B movie.Thursday, July 26, 2007
The Minotaur's Song: The Incredible String Band
This is from 1968's The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter album. I don't quite know how to describe this album, but folk does come to mind but is crowded out just a bit by psychedelic. Gilbert and Sullivan also come to mind, at least with this song. If you own no other album of theirs, this is one you need in your collection. I got hooked on them because of a Coffee reader way back, and I am forever thankful.
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Canadian Whiskey: Ian Tyson and Nanci Griffith
This song was sent to me by a friend. It is from an album called Wounded Heart of America which is a tribute to Tom Russell from HighTone Records. The album has yet to be released, but I just had to pre-order based on this song alone.
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“Her hat is a creation that will never go out of style; it will just look ridiculous year after year.”
I get attached to stuff. My ratty old robe is just too comfortable to toss. It has kept me warm on cold winter nights and for that alone it deserves a fate far better than the trash or rag bin. Shoes I throw away only when they no longer keep my feet dry. Slippers stay around forever. Sweatshirts go from outside wear to inside no one can see wear. Cuffs get frayed, stains become permanent and outstretched doesn't quite describe the misshapened garments I slide over my head. I have one shirt with no cuffs left, and it is my most comfortable one. It's so old it came from Banana Republic when their clothes leaned toward overalls. I don't think anything I wear is in style. I'm not even sure if anything ever was.
I never wear hats. Though I've been told they look good on me, I still feel uncomfortable wearing one. I never did mind a cowboy hat. Boots and a holster look a bit silly without one. I get by with earmuffs in the winter, and I never wear a hat in the sun. Unlike Scarlett, I don't mind a tan and freckles. When I was young, we used to have to wear bathing caps for swimming lessons. They were hot and uncomfortable and made of rubber. If you took off your bathing cap, you just couldn't get it back on over wet hair without screams of pain. I wore my girl scout tam with my uniform, but that was okay as we were all stuck wearing them. I have a variety of baseball caps. They are about the only hats I'll put on my head, but it has to be hurricane force rain or I need to be lost in the desert with little water before I'll wear one. The funny thing is I collect hats.
I never wear hats. Though I've been told they look good on me, I still feel uncomfortable wearing one. I never did mind a cowboy hat. Boots and a holster look a bit silly without one. I get by with earmuffs in the winter, and I never wear a hat in the sun. Unlike Scarlett, I don't mind a tan and freckles. When I was young, we used to have to wear bathing caps for swimming lessons. They were hot and uncomfortable and made of rubber. If you took off your bathing cap, you just couldn't get it back on over wet hair without screams of pain. I wore my girl scout tam with my uniform, but that was okay as we were all stuck wearing them. I have a variety of baseball caps. They are about the only hats I'll put on my head, but it has to be hurricane force rain or I need to be lost in the desert with little water before I'll wear one. The funny thing is I collect hats.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
In a Town This Size: John Prine
This is from In Spite of Ourselves, on Oh Boy Records, John Prine's own label. The album has Prine singing duets with some amazing singers. I've played We're Not the Jet Set before, a great duet with Iris DeMent from this album. On this song, Dolores Keane joins John Prine.
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Universal Soldier: Buffy Sainte Marie
"I wrote "Universal Soldier" in the basement of The Purple Onion coffee house in Toronto in the early sixties. It's about individual responsibility for war and how the old feudal thinking kills us all."
Buffy Sainte Marie
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Buffy Sainte Marie
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“Life, love, and laughter - what priceless gifts to give our children”
We went to Niagara Falls one year. It was a memorable trip for a lot of reasons but mostly because it was the first time we ever stayed in motels and ate out most meals. I remember parts of that trip: our stop at the falls, a night spent on Lake Ontario and the Eisenhower Lock and the St. Lawrence Seaway. My first view of Lake Ontario amazed me. It looked as big as the ocean. Our cottage for the night was huge, and it sat right on the shore. We walked across the road and tried to skip stones in the water. At the water's edge, small waves lapped the shore, and I remember the water was really clear. I wished we could have stayed longer, but it was just that one night.
At the falls, we stayed on the American side though we did cross over to Canada, my first visit to another country. I expected some foreign flair and a different language. I was disappointed. We stood there for a while at the fence. Rainbows appeared and disappeared, and I watched one of the small boats nearing the falls, but no one went over in a barrel, another disappointment. We went and dressed in slickers and weird shoes to take the white water walk. It was exciting taking the elevator and walking through the tunnel and getting closer and closer to the falls. The walk was amazing.
The high point of our trip was compliments of my dad. We went to Madame Toussard's Wax Museum. My dad went to the cashier and asked for four adults and two children. The cashier didn't respond. He asked again a bit louder. Again he got no response. He asked even louder obviously frustrated and annoyed. Right near the cashier was a bench on which sat three old ladies. They were roaring laughing. My dad finally realized the cashier was made of wax. He didn't think it as funny as we all did. The story of my dad and the wax figure is always a favorite when we get together and tell family stories. We still laugh.
At the falls, we stayed on the American side though we did cross over to Canada, my first visit to another country. I expected some foreign flair and a different language. I was disappointed. We stood there for a while at the fence. Rainbows appeared and disappeared, and I watched one of the small boats nearing the falls, but no one went over in a barrel, another disappointment. We went and dressed in slickers and weird shoes to take the white water walk. It was exciting taking the elevator and walking through the tunnel and getting closer and closer to the falls. The walk was amazing.
The high point of our trip was compliments of my dad. We went to Madame Toussard's Wax Museum. My dad went to the cashier and asked for four adults and two children. The cashier didn't respond. He asked again a bit louder. Again he got no response. He asked even louder obviously frustrated and annoyed. Right near the cashier was a bench on which sat three old ladies. They were roaring laughing. My dad finally realized the cashier was made of wax. He didn't think it as funny as we all did. The story of my dad and the wax figure is always a favorite when we get together and tell family stories. We still laugh.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Dance as You Go: James Keelaghan
This is from A Recent Future on which you'll find arguably his best ballad, Cold Missouri Waters. I decided to post this song, though, as I liked the upbeat sound. It just seemed to fit today.
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Bring Me a Boat: Kate Rusby
This song is from her 2003 album Underneath the Stars. Her voice seems best when she's singing songs filled with melancholy or, like here, filled with a yearning.
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"Heirlooms we don't have in our family. But stories we've got."
I haven't the faintest idea where to begin today. My mind seems unable to muster a complete idea. It has been wandering since last night when I sat in the dark on the deck for the longest time and wool gathered. It was late and the only light, besides my palm tree and flamingo, was the flickering screen of my neighbor's TV in their darkened living room. I could hear Gracie moving around in the backyard and a few night birds calling, but mostly it was quiet. I'm not even sure if I remember every where my mind went. I know I planned an addition to the deck , a screened sleeping loft accessible by bridge from the existing deck. I even chose the furniture. I worked on planning my next trip, thought about the last Harry Potter and ate a few Twizzlers. Later, after Gracie had long since gone back inside the house, I joined her, and we both went to bed.
My family and I went on a cruise together. It was a gift from my mother and my father though he had passed away long before we went. It had been his dream to take the whole family on a trip to celebrate their fiftieth anniversary so my mother did. It was an old ship with one large dining room, a musty cinema and a small casino. My mother chose it because of its route: it went through the canal which she knew was on my life list. That wily mother of mine figured she could lure me on a cruise by dangling the canal. She was right. What I remember most about that cruise were the times together. We shared an experience, and it became unforgettable. We'd meet for a couple of drinks in the afternoon and dinner at night. We laughed at my mother and her slots, commiserated with my sister whose bag never made the trip, saw flashing glimpses of my two older nephews who slept all day after prowling all night and watched my niece grow up before our eyes. We visited markets and small islands, snorkled together and watch tremendous lightning storms. A few got seasick, the particulars of which have become an oft told family tale. We sat for a family picture, all twelve of us. It was the last time we were all together, and it is my favorite memory.
My family and I went on a cruise together. It was a gift from my mother and my father though he had passed away long before we went. It had been his dream to take the whole family on a trip to celebrate their fiftieth anniversary so my mother did. It was an old ship with one large dining room, a musty cinema and a small casino. My mother chose it because of its route: it went through the canal which she knew was on my life list. That wily mother of mine figured she could lure me on a cruise by dangling the canal. She was right. What I remember most about that cruise were the times together. We shared an experience, and it became unforgettable. We'd meet for a couple of drinks in the afternoon and dinner at night. We laughed at my mother and her slots, commiserated with my sister whose bag never made the trip, saw flashing glimpses of my two older nephews who slept all day after prowling all night and watched my niece grow up before our eyes. We visited markets and small islands, snorkled together and watch tremendous lightning storms. A few got seasick, the particulars of which have become an oft told family tale. We sat for a family picture, all twelve of us. It was the last time we were all together, and it is my favorite memory.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Ladies of the Canyon: Annie Lennox
Both of today's song come from an album called A Tribute to Joni Mitchell which was released in April. I think these two are the best cuts from the album, and this one is my favorite.
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"At fourteen you don't need sickness or death for tragedy."
It is a gentle rain this morning. The drops whisper as they land on the leaves. I went out and stood for a bit on the deck. I heard birds, their songs muted by the rain. I heard the renters, the vacationers, next door talking in their kitchen with the slider open. I couldn't hear what they were saying, just the hush of their voices. I heard Gracie under the deck, and I heard clusters of drops hitting the ground after every rustle of the wind. When I was wet enough to notice, I came back inside the house.
The house seems silent on rainy days, closed by the darkness. I have taken my time this morning. The rain encourages a slowness. I will read, probably stay in comfortable clothes and doubt I'll leave the house. Today is a day for hot coffee.
Being stuck at home was about the worst fate during my teenage years. My mother would be driven crazy by my sighs and moans as I dramatically threw myself on chairs and couches. My, "I'm bored," outbursts were more than enough to send my mother screaming from the room. No matter what she suggested, I dismissed. Being out every night, even if we did nothing but walk around town, defined our social lives. When one of my friends finally got a license, we were liberated, if only we could borrow a car and if we pooled our money for gas. A buck went a long way in filling the tank. We never really went anywhere, mostly we rode around town. We'd stop at the local hangouts and chat from the car. We just wanted to be seen. We were cool. We had wheels.
The house seems silent on rainy days, closed by the darkness. I have taken my time this morning. The rain encourages a slowness. I will read, probably stay in comfortable clothes and doubt I'll leave the house. Today is a day for hot coffee.
Being stuck at home was about the worst fate during my teenage years. My mother would be driven crazy by my sighs and moans as I dramatically threw myself on chairs and couches. My, "I'm bored," outbursts were more than enough to send my mother screaming from the room. No matter what she suggested, I dismissed. Being out every night, even if we did nothing but walk around town, defined our social lives. When one of my friends finally got a license, we were liberated, if only we could borrow a car and if we pooled our money for gas. A buck went a long way in filling the tank. We never really went anywhere, mostly we rode around town. We'd stop at the local hangouts and chat from the car. We just wanted to be seen. We were cool. We had wheels.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
"I still say a church steeple with a lightning rod on top shows a lack of confidence."
My dad was an usher at the early mass, and my brother and I sometimes went with him. He'd always give us each a quarter, a princely sum, to put into the offerings basket. We'd watch him walk down the aisle to the front where he'd first kneel then stand to pass his basket from pew to pew. When he got to us, he'd wiggle his basket a bit to say hi. Sometimes, though, we'd go by ourselves to a later mass. Once in a while the church would be so crowded we ended up standing outside. That was about my favorite spot as it counted for going to church without actually being there. I could watch the traffic go by and sit on the church steps. We weren't exactly pious as kids. A couple of times I sneaked in a book to read and hid it in the hymnal. We were never noisy but never too attentive either. We always figured only attendance counted. I seldom wore a real hat. Usually I wore a lace circle I could crumble and carry in my pocket though a couple of times I actually wore a kleenex attached with bobby pins, having totally forgotten any headgear. It looked pretty silly. I was in college when I stopped being a regular churchgoer. When I was in the Peace Corps, during the first week at my school, the principal explained to me all the responsibilities of tutor of the week. All the teachers took turns and had three or four turns during the course of each school year. One of those responsibilities was to read a bible verse before each meal. She asked me if I had brought my bible with me. I said no but wanted to soften my answer for her so I said I didn't need one. I had parts of it memorized. She lent me hers.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
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"A book is a garden, an orchard, a storehouse, a party, a company by the way, a counsellor, a multitude of counsellors."
With my fifty cents allowance, I couldn't wait to run uptown to the Children's Corner. It was mostly a clothing store, but they sold books as well. The bookcase was to the left of the store and went from floor to ceiling. It was filled with Whitman Books which were forty nine cents each, and I had a penny left for candy on the way home. Those books had colorful cardboard covers with pictures of the main characters or clues to the mysteries inside. I remember on her cover Heidi was standing in a field of flowers with goats around her. In the background you could see the snowy top of a mountain. My favorite cover was Treasure Island with Long John to the front, parrot on shoulder as befitting a pirate. He had the grimmest face which screamed of guilt but not until I had finished the novel and understood treachery. Poor innocent Jim was in the background. I knew I could always borrow these books from the library, but I loved owning books. They sat there just waiting for a rainy day and a reread. I loved the Whitman series like Trixie Belden, Donna Parker and Ginny Gordon. All three girls were smart, curious and brave, and I wanted to be one of them or have a mystery just like theirs. I had hopes of a break-in or a missing person. I'd even have taken a missing dog, but nothing materialized.
When I bought my own house, my mother brought down some stuff she thought I should have. She brought a chair I was given when I was three. It became a table beside my bed to hold a lamp. She brought three yellow egg cups, all chickens missing their beaks. We had eaten our soft boiled egg breakfasts out of them for years. She also brought my books, and I met up with some old friends. The Bobbsey Twins and Nancy Drew were there. Annette solved a mystery. Zorro was sitting on Tornado. I had forgotten about Black Beauty, one of the saddest books I'd ever read. Donna, Ginny and Trixie were there, a few with detached covers. I picked one of the Trixie Belden, got cozy in bed and started to read. I was eleven again for a few hours.
When I bought my own house, my mother brought down some stuff she thought I should have. She brought a chair I was given when I was three. It became a table beside my bed to hold a lamp. She brought three yellow egg cups, all chickens missing their beaks. We had eaten our soft boiled egg breakfasts out of them for years. She also brought my books, and I met up with some old friends. The Bobbsey Twins and Nancy Drew were there. Annette solved a mystery. Zorro was sitting on Tornado. I had forgotten about Black Beauty, one of the saddest books I'd ever read. Donna, Ginny and Trixie were there, a few with detached covers. I picked one of the Trixie Belden, got cozy in bed and started to read. I was eleven again for a few hours.
Friday, July 20, 2007
The Man Without a Care: Kreg Viesselman
You're probably saying Kreg Viesselman sounds like_____ and then filling in the blank. He has the gravelly voice I like so well so maybe Tom Waits come to mind, but then sometimes he reminds me of Van Morrison. I'll just have to keep listening and listening.
This song is from The Pull. That sound you hear is the kora and vocal of Boubacar Diébaté which accompany Viessleman on this song.
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This song is from The Pull. That sound you hear is the kora and vocal of Boubacar Diébaté which accompany Viessleman on this song.
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Time Between Trains: Susan Werner
This is the title song from a 1998 album. I like metaphors and this song is a great one. I love the variety of instruments here but mostly I love her voice.
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"There are no seven wonders of the world in the eyes of a child. There are seven million."
It was easy to have fun when I was young. My neighborhood was filled with kids of every age so there were always enough for a couple of ball teams, two sides in red rover and a rousing game of hide and seek. I don't remember being bored. Some days we'd walk up town. We never shopped; we were browsers. We'd walk by the Chinese laundry and watch the steam rise from the huge presser. The operator was always sweaty. The barber shop was our next stop, and we'd press our faces to the window to watch the two barbers cut hair. They'd stop and wave. My dad used to get his hair cut there. One stop was always Pullo's Drugs. Mr. Pullo had a moustache and, as befitting a pharmacist, wore a white coat. His store was so narrow a soda fountain took up most of one side. It only had four stools, and I remember their tops were red. Mr. Pullo, who knew our dad, usually offered us a cold drink, a vanilla coke for me, and we'd sit at the fountain and twirl on the stools. We'd then go over to the five and dime to check out the newest comic books. I was partial to Superman and Archie. The creamery had food out front, and sometimes we'd get a piece of cheddar from the giant wheel that never seemed to get any smaller. We'd check out the fish market window and watch the lobsters. I remember the fish market had a strange, unpleasant smell. Our last stop was the library for books then we'd head home. The fire station was on our way, and we'd check out the engines and chat with the firemen who were usually sitting in the shade to the side of the station. The rest of the way home was mostly ordinary.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Islamorada: Louise Taylor
Louise Taylor is pretty new to me. I was wandering the internet and found her listed on a folk site, went looking for her music and then loved her sound. I'm sending you to her site as I really don't know a whole lot. http://www.louisetaylor.com/main.html
This song is from her Ride album.
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This song is from her Ride album.
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Donna Donna: Donovan
I always associate this song with Joan Baez as she is the first I ever heard sing it though Chad Mitchell also has a cover. The song is a translation from the Yiddish.
This is from the Catch the Wind album.
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This is from the Catch the Wind album.
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“It is sometimes very hard to tell the difference between history and the smell of skunk”
Gracie got up close and far too personal with a skunk last night, her first encounter with wildlife. Her constant barking alerted me, but before I could get to her, I smelled skunk and knew. I shut the dog door to keep her outside, brought out the skunk smell remover, got my flashlight, her leash and went on a mini-hunt of my own. I found Gracie and a very angry skunk. Being a bit wary, I circled the skunk and got around to Gracie then told her to sit. She actually did. I attached her leash and brought her to the deck where I doused her in skunk odor remover, but a lingering reminder of her encounter still hangs in the air.
One grandmother's house smelled of lilacs while my other grandmother's house always smelled like whatever was cooking on the stove, and I remember spaghetti sauce the most. The aroma of turkey cooking is Thanksgiving while cinnamon and nutmeg are Christmas. When I think of Halloween, I remember how strange my masks used to smell. Freshly cut grass is my favorite summer scent while the salt air and ocean are my all time favorites. The aroma of wood burning conjures the best memories for me, of camping and bon fires and Ghanaians cooking. After a rainstorm the air smells clean, and sheets dried outside smell of the sun and gentle breezes. I never can spend much time in Crabtree & Evelyn: the smells are overwhelming. My cats' litter smells of pine. My uncle had a fish market, and I could smell it from down the street. I have also smelled open sewers, public toilets and garbage rotting in the sun. Melons smell great, especially cantaloupe and honeydew. New car smell never lasts too long. Lavender is my favorite garden smell while curry and rosemary are my favorites from the herb garden. I like to burn candles in the winter which smell of orange and lemon, summer smells. I'll always associate the smell of burning leaves with fall while spring is filled with the sweet aroma of blossoms from my dogwood tree.
Smells give my memories the most amazing jump start, and my mind fills with images of people and places long thought forgotten. Last night I added another memory.
One grandmother's house smelled of lilacs while my other grandmother's house always smelled like whatever was cooking on the stove, and I remember spaghetti sauce the most. The aroma of turkey cooking is Thanksgiving while cinnamon and nutmeg are Christmas. When I think of Halloween, I remember how strange my masks used to smell. Freshly cut grass is my favorite summer scent while the salt air and ocean are my all time favorites. The aroma of wood burning conjures the best memories for me, of camping and bon fires and Ghanaians cooking. After a rainstorm the air smells clean, and sheets dried outside smell of the sun and gentle breezes. I never can spend much time in Crabtree & Evelyn: the smells are overwhelming. My cats' litter smells of pine. My uncle had a fish market, and I could smell it from down the street. I have also smelled open sewers, public toilets and garbage rotting in the sun. Melons smell great, especially cantaloupe and honeydew. New car smell never lasts too long. Lavender is my favorite garden smell while curry and rosemary are my favorites from the herb garden. I like to burn candles in the winter which smell of orange and lemon, summer smells. I'll always associate the smell of burning leaves with fall while spring is filled with the sweet aroma of blossoms from my dogwood tree.
Smells give my memories the most amazing jump start, and my mind fills with images of people and places long thought forgotten. Last night I added another memory.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Picnic: Bill Morrissey
Both songs today are from a 1995 album called The SilverWolf Homeless Project. Some of the songs were written just for this while others had been previously released. The album was released to raise money for Habitat for Humanity.
"Billed as a "Homeless-specific song-cycle," The Silverwolf Homeless Project compiles 16 cuts from artists as diverse as Cheryl Wheeler, John Gorka, Tom Paxton, and Ani DiFranco."
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"Billed as a "Homeless-specific song-cycle," The Silverwolf Homeless Project compiles 16 cuts from artists as diverse as Cheryl Wheeler, John Gorka, Tom Paxton, and Ani DiFranco."
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"These blessed candles of the night."
We never seem to get just the right amount of rain. We get too little, prompting the familiar, "We really need the rain," or too much, "When will it ever stop?" People around here take summer rain as an insult. Barbecues are put on hold; trips to the beach are cancelled, and tourists are stuck in cottages without the distractions of life. Rain is forecasted for today and the next two.
The other night I saw my first firefly of the summer. It circled the deck, and I followed it with my eyes as long as I could. I have always believed fireflies are proof that magic exists.
In Ghana, during the dry season, the house was just too hot for sleeping. I'd drag my mattress outside and sleep in the backyard, but before I'd fall asleep, I'd lie on my back, look up and be amazed at the stars. I never knew there could be so many. I'd see falling stars and make a wish on very one as it streaked across the sky. I got to see this every single night and every night it took my breath away.
When Mir joined with the space shuttle and passed overhead, I followed their light across the night sky. Every August, I lie in my driveway to watch the meteor showers. Wows escape from my lips, and I always think a neighbor might call the police.
The world still amazes me.
The other night I saw my first firefly of the summer. It circled the deck, and I followed it with my eyes as long as I could. I have always believed fireflies are proof that magic exists.
In Ghana, during the dry season, the house was just too hot for sleeping. I'd drag my mattress outside and sleep in the backyard, but before I'd fall asleep, I'd lie on my back, look up and be amazed at the stars. I never knew there could be so many. I'd see falling stars and make a wish on very one as it streaked across the sky. I got to see this every single night and every night it took my breath away.
When Mir joined with the space shuttle and passed overhead, I followed their light across the night sky. Every August, I lie in my driveway to watch the meteor showers. Wows escape from my lips, and I always think a neighbor might call the police.
The world still amazes me.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
“Experience, travel - these are as education in themselves”
My mail box sags under the weight of all those catalogues and magazines. Somedays I make two trips, my back bending from the heft. I wouldn't mind but few of those catalogues sell goods in my price range. In one catalogue, a room with its floor to ceiling windows, lit fireplace and barn doors is bigger than my whole house. The furniture is so huge I can imagine giants stopping by for crackers and cheese. The chandeliers hanging over the tables would dwarf my whole dining room, and the entertainment center could serve as a guest room. I don't buy much, but I love looking in case I inherit millions of dollars and can purchase an unfurnished castle.
I get a few travel magazines. This morning I pored over one and didn't find a single place I could afford. I loved some of the trips, but the land package of my favorite started at $4,500. That, of course, did include five nights lodging, some meals, a guide and transportation to and from the airport. I also always check the cost of the hotels the magazines recommend: doubles started at $350. I think I did three weeks in Europe in the early 70's for about that same amount.
It's time for these editors to publish magazines for the masses. I'll invite several to my house to discuss the particulars. The household furnishing editor needs to bring a tape measure. I imagine he'll be shocked by the actual size of real peoples' rooms. The travel editor and I will chat about destinations for the poor and the unknown. I'll teach him about riding the train at night to save on a hotel room and buying cheese and bread for meals. I suspect he'll be amazed that most countries have busses. The clothes editor can check out my closet and bureau drawers. I'll have a paper bag on hand when that editor hyperventilates.
I'm hoping to take a trip this fall, and I'll travel my usual way. I'll ride on local transportation, bring my guide book, sleep in cheap hotels and eat on the fly. My clothes will hide dust and dirt so I can go a while between washes. I'll send postcards with I wish you were here, and I'll really mean it. Traveling is such fun.
I get a few travel magazines. This morning I pored over one and didn't find a single place I could afford. I loved some of the trips, but the land package of my favorite started at $4,500. That, of course, did include five nights lodging, some meals, a guide and transportation to and from the airport. I also always check the cost of the hotels the magazines recommend: doubles started at $350. I think I did three weeks in Europe in the early 70's for about that same amount.
It's time for these editors to publish magazines for the masses. I'll invite several to my house to discuss the particulars. The household furnishing editor needs to bring a tape measure. I imagine he'll be shocked by the actual size of real peoples' rooms. The travel editor and I will chat about destinations for the poor and the unknown. I'll teach him about riding the train at night to save on a hotel room and buying cheese and bread for meals. I suspect he'll be amazed that most countries have busses. The clothes editor can check out my closet and bureau drawers. I'll have a paper bag on hand when that editor hyperventilates.
I'm hoping to take a trip this fall, and I'll travel my usual way. I'll ride on local transportation, bring my guide book, sleep in cheap hotels and eat on the fly. My clothes will hide dust and dirt so I can go a while between washes. I'll send postcards with I wish you were here, and I'll really mean it. Traveling is such fun.
Monday, July 16, 2007
The Patriot Game: Dominic Behan
This was written by Dominic Behan following the death of 16-year-old Fergan O'Hanlon during an IRA attack on Dungannon barracks in 1957. Behan was an Irish songwriter, author and playwright. He wrote in both Irish and English. He was also a committed socialist and Irish Republican.
This song has some interesting history. Behan accused Dylan of stealing it for his song With God on Our Side, but Behan had borrowed the tune himself from a traditional Irish melody of the first quarter of the 17th century called The Nightingale.
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This song has some interesting history. Behan accused Dylan of stealing it for his song With God on Our Side, but Behan had borrowed the tune himself from a traditional Irish melody of the first quarter of the 17th century called The Nightingale.
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Glory of Love: Big Bill Broonzy
Big Bill Broonzy began his thirty year career in 1927. He had learned to play both the fiddle and the guitar when young and played at dances in Arkansas until he was drafted 1n 1918. By 1938 he was playing in a concert series at Carnegie Hall for John Hammond. In the early 1950's he began to tour overseas and often appeared on radio in New York and Chicago. Not long before his death, he wrote the first delta-blues autobiography.
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"My grandmother is over eighty and still doesn't need glasses. Drinks right out of the bottle."
Today is confessions day. It is a story about youth and the evils of alcohol. This story takes place within the ivied halls of a college unidentified to protect its good name. None of the participants are named for the same reason. I tell the story to warn the youth of today.
When I was a junior in college, I had two classes every Friday: Chaucer and a philosophy class called Phenomenology. Chaucer was at 8:30 and the other was at 1:30. Several of my friends had the same schedule. We were hard-pressed to figure out the best way to spend all those hours. First, we contemplated studying in the library. We could have this study group and spend part of each Friday translating Chaucer or arguing Hegel's dialectical phenomenology as opposed to Heidegger's approach to Being. We went round and round on that one. I was leaning toward the Heidegger. Another possibility was a book group centered on one of the Hawthorne books we were reading. We could never decide which book to study. I pushed for The Marble Faun but most wanted The Scarlet Letter, a choice too common for my tastes. We had several discussions, a few heated philosophical arguments and many compromises. We found a solution, a common ground. We decided we would go celebrate the day. There were no arguments, no dissenters. It was our Friday.
We would meet around ten and go off campus to a wooded area with picnic benches. We had a few snacks, a little music and lots of orange juice. Usually there were five or six of us enjoying the solitude of nature and the call of the wild. We'd go back to school around one, get something to eat and then head off to class. Four of us sat in the back of the class, backs to the wall for support. We never took a note but paid attention the whole class, each of us with a smile.
The professor of that class became a friend of mine. When I was in the Peace Corps, we wrote. Lo and behold, three years after the fact, came a question from my friend. He wanted to know why we never took notes on Friday's and why we sat in the back of the class and smiled. I told him.
When I was a junior in college, I had two classes every Friday: Chaucer and a philosophy class called Phenomenology. Chaucer was at 8:30 and the other was at 1:30. Several of my friends had the same schedule. We were hard-pressed to figure out the best way to spend all those hours. First, we contemplated studying in the library. We could have this study group and spend part of each Friday translating Chaucer or arguing Hegel's dialectical phenomenology as opposed to Heidegger's approach to Being. We went round and round on that one. I was leaning toward the Heidegger. Another possibility was a book group centered on one of the Hawthorne books we were reading. We could never decide which book to study. I pushed for The Marble Faun but most wanted The Scarlet Letter, a choice too common for my tastes. We had several discussions, a few heated philosophical arguments and many compromises. We found a solution, a common ground. We decided we would go celebrate the day. There were no arguments, no dissenters. It was our Friday.
We would meet around ten and go off campus to a wooded area with picnic benches. We had a few snacks, a little music and lots of orange juice. Usually there were five or six of us enjoying the solitude of nature and the call of the wild. We'd go back to school around one, get something to eat and then head off to class. Four of us sat in the back of the class, backs to the wall for support. We never took a note but paid attention the whole class, each of us with a smile.
The professor of that class became a friend of mine. When I was in the Peace Corps, we wrote. Lo and behold, three years after the fact, came a question from my friend. He wanted to know why we never took notes on Friday's and why we sat in the back of the class and smiled. I told him.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
“Those move easiest who have learn'd to dance”
I learned to do the cha cha when I was in the seventh grade. The town had a recreation program every weekend, and I never missed it. The woman who ran the girls' program had been in the service, and I remember she had this you'd better do what I tell you voice. She was far more comfortable teaching us basketball skills, but she gamely went about teaching us to dance. We thought it silly but were a bit afraid to tell her; instead, we did the one-two cha cha cha's across the gym floor, first by ourselves and then in couples. Our couples were all girls as the recreation program was not co-ed, few things were in those days. I had no rhthym, still don't, but I could do the basic steps and not get tangled in my feet. We learned to go up and back and from side to side. If you watched, you'd see us moving our lips and repeating one, two, cha cha cha as we moved. Few of us were graceful. We spent two whole Saturdays learning that dance, and I haven't danced the cha cha since. I can do the twist, the mash potato, the stroll, the locomotion, the pony and, if hard pressed, will do the swim but it, like the chicken, makes me feel silly. Come to think of it, almost every dance except the waltz makes me feel a bit awkward and a little bit silly. It all goes back to that lack of rhythm thing. I do wish, though, that some time, somewhere, someone will ask me to cha cha.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
This Land Is Your Land: Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie was born on this day in 1912 so today we celebrate his birthday. All of the selections are from a 4 volume set from Smithsonian Folkways called Woody Guthrie The Asch Recordings. I have taken one song from each of the volumes so that the collection is well represented. I have also, unashamedly, taken all my comments from the liner notes. They are so much better than I could write.
This first song is from Volume 1 This Land Is Your Land which reveals the diverse subjects to which Woody directed his creative energies. This song, his most well-known, was written in February 1940. Woody's stated reason for writing it-he said he was tired of hearing Kate Smith sing God Bless America so he voiced a different perspective on the United States. This version includes one of two missing verses: the "Private Property" verse. It was believed that Woody did not record any of the missing verses, but Jeff Place, the archivist for the Folkways Collection and a complier for this collection, discovered this version on one of the masters.
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This first song is from Volume 1 This Land Is Your Land which reveals the diverse subjects to which Woody directed his creative energies. This song, his most well-known, was written in February 1940. Woody's stated reason for writing it-he said he was tired of hearing Kate Smith sing God Bless America so he voiced a different perspective on the United States. This version includes one of two missing verses: the "Private Property" verse. It was believed that Woody did not record any of the missing verses, but Jeff Place, the archivist for the Folkways Collection and a complier for this collection, discovered this version on one of the masters.
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Bed on the Floor: Woody Guthrie
This is from Volume 2, Muleskinner Blues, which is filled with traditional, gospel and country songs that Woody carried in his memory.
On this song, Cisco Houston provides the harmony and is playing guitar. The song appears on many blues and jazz albums. Its roots are Southern African-American. Woody first heard this played on a phonograph in the Crystal Theater in Okemah, Oklahoma when he was a boy.
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On this song, Cisco Houston provides the harmony and is playing guitar. The song appears on many blues and jazz albums. Its roots are Southern African-American. Woody first heard this played on a phonograph in the Crystal Theater in Okemah, Oklahoma when he was a boy.
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Two Good Men: Woody Guthrie
This is from Volume 3 title Hard Travelin'. This music exhibits his creative imagination in adapting songs to labor, social and political issues.
This is a traditional melody. The song is about Niccola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti, Italian emigrants, anarchists, who were charged and convicted of robbing and killing a paymaster and guard at a shoe factory in South Braintree, Massachusetts. They were tried during the first Red Scare and found guilty. They were executed on August 23, 1947.
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This is a traditional melody. The song is about Niccola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti, Italian emigrants, anarchists, who were charged and convicted of robbing and killing a paymaster and guard at a shoe factory in South Braintree, Massachusetts. They were tried during the first Red Scare and found guilty. They were executed on August 23, 1947.
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Blowing Down That Old Dusty Road: Woody Guthrie
This is from Vol. 4 called Buffalo Skinners. The music is traditional but the words are Woody's. It is a blues and probably had its origin in Southern Africa-American culture with verses that intermingle with other blues.
Woody used this on his 1940 Victor Dust Bowl Ballads and in Hard Hitting Songs for Hard Hit People.
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Woody used this on his 1940 Victor Dust Bowl Ballads and in Hard Hitting Songs for Hard Hit People.
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Sneaking Out
These come to you from my friend im6 who knew I'd love them. They come from an album of drive-in movie jingles and are just an extra today, a bit of nostalgia.
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And Now, Before the Next Show
I remember the dancing hot dogs, ice cream cones and popcorn boxes. The countdown was always in the corner.
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“All you need for a movie is a gun and a girl.”
Today I am going to the matinee to see the new Harry Potter movie. Unlike the matinees of old, it won't cost me a mere quarter and nothing will fly through the air. Not a single couple will be making out in the back row, and the usher will not be shining his flashlight on any faces. He will also not be running up and down the aisles in a vain attempt to catch the kid throwing juju beads nor will he threaten to call someone's father. No undercurrents of conversation will accompany the movie's dialogue, and I will not be chomping on a Sugar Daddy. I expect the audience will not be booing the villain or cheering the hero. It's just too bad the best parts of the movie experience have disappeared.
We have a drive-in here on the Cape. It shows two movies just like in the old days. When I was young, my family went to the drive-in often, and when we did, we kids always wore pajamas. That was part of the excitement: to think we would be up so late we'd need to be ready for bed. Once, on the way back from the theater's bathroom, I got lost. There I was wearing my flowery robe wandering up and down the aisles. I finally went to the concession stand, and they announced over the speaker for every car to hear, "Would the parents of Kathleen Ryan please come to the concession stand." Luckily I wasn't old enough to be humiliated but still young enough to feel saved.
The last time I went to the drive-in was probably some time in the 1970's. My friends and I brought lawn chairs and bug spray so we could sit outside. We still brought our own refreshments, but wine, cheese and crackers had replaced the bug juice and home popped corn of old. Had we followed my father's tradition, we would have left early to beat the crowds. We didn't, and those were the only times I remember seeing the end of a movie.
We have a drive-in here on the Cape. It shows two movies just like in the old days. When I was young, my family went to the drive-in often, and when we did, we kids always wore pajamas. That was part of the excitement: to think we would be up so late we'd need to be ready for bed. Once, on the way back from the theater's bathroom, I got lost. There I was wearing my flowery robe wandering up and down the aisles. I finally went to the concession stand, and they announced over the speaker for every car to hear, "Would the parents of Kathleen Ryan please come to the concession stand." Luckily I wasn't old enough to be humiliated but still young enough to feel saved.
The last time I went to the drive-in was probably some time in the 1970's. My friends and I brought lawn chairs and bug spray so we could sit outside. We still brought our own refreshments, but wine, cheese and crackers had replaced the bug juice and home popped corn of old. Had we followed my father's tradition, we would have left early to beat the crowds. We didn't, and those were the only times I remember seeing the end of a movie.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Her Father Didn't Like Me Anyway: The Humblebums
This is from the Humblebums' second album, The Humblebums, released in 1969.
The Humblebums were formed by Tam Harvey and Billy Connolly, but it was when Tam Harvey was finally replaced by Gerry Rafferty that the group gained more respect for their music. Much of the music on this second album, including this song, were written by Rafferty.
The band split in 1971 with Rafferty going on to form Stealers Wheel while Connolly went back to the folk circuit. He later became a well known stand up comic and actor.
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The Humblebums were formed by Tam Harvey and Billy Connolly, but it was when Tam Harvey was finally replaced by Gerry Rafferty that the group gained more respect for their music. Much of the music on this second album, including this song, were written by Rafferty.
The band split in 1971 with Rafferty going on to form Stealers Wheel while Connolly went back to the folk circuit. He later became a well known stand up comic and actor.
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Fog on the Tyne: Lindisfarne
This is the first song I have ever heard by this group, and I loved it. I went looking for information about them and found a video of this song on youtube. There were some other songs as well, but I was a bit disappointed they weren't more like this.
My search ended at Wikipedia where I found this:
Lindisfarne were a popular British folk/rock group of the 1970s, fronted by singer/songwriter Alan Hull. Their music combined a strong sense of yearning, often for home, with an even stronger sense of fun. Hit singles included "Meet Me On The Corner", "Lady Eleanor", "Run For Home", and the anthemic "We Can Swing Together", though perhaps their best-remembered song is "Fog On The Tyne" from the LP of the same name.
The original line-up comprised Alan Hull (vocals/guitar/piano), Simon Cowe (guitar, mandolin, banjo); Ray Jackson (mandolin/harmonica); Rod Clements (bass guitar/violin); Ray Laidlaw (drums).
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My search ended at Wikipedia where I found this:
Lindisfarne were a popular British folk/rock group of the 1970s, fronted by singer/songwriter Alan Hull. Their music combined a strong sense of yearning, often for home, with an even stronger sense of fun. Hit singles included "Meet Me On The Corner", "Lady Eleanor", "Run For Home", and the anthemic "We Can Swing Together", though perhaps their best-remembered song is "Fog On The Tyne" from the LP of the same name.
The original line-up comprised Alan Hull (vocals/guitar/piano), Simon Cowe (guitar, mandolin, banjo); Ray Jackson (mandolin/harmonica); Rod Clements (bass guitar/violin); Ray Laidlaw (drums).
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"Summer afternoon - Summer afternoon... the two most beautiful words in the English language."
I don't remember getting bored during the summer when I was a kid, and I can't remember wishing school would start. No one did, not a single kid I knew. Summers meant freedom. We could get up when we wanted, go to bed when we were tired and wander all over town. We had to be home by street light time which was the rule for everyone I knew, but with long summer days, nights came late. Some days we'd walk to the zoo or the pool but mostly we stayed around the neighborhood. We had more than enough to keep us busy. Up the top of the hill was a parking lot which no one ever used. It was perfect for roller skating. We'd sit on the curb and tighten the skates to our shoes; sneakers just didn't hold well. We'd skate round and round and do whips. You never ever wanted to be last kid in the whip as you usually ended up face first in the grass, skates dangling, attached only by the strap. It was usually the bravest or the smallest stuck with the tail end. Keys on strings hung around our necks for such emergencies.
When we were really young, we had lemonade stands though I think we served Zarex or kool-aid but it was a lemonade stand nevertheless. We offered our drinks for a penny, and in those days, a penny was big money. My mother provided the cups, pitcher, ice and drink. We kept the money. It was the best deal.
When I was a kid, boys never wore shorts. Shorts were girls' clothes. My brother and his friends always wore dungarees, striped jerseys with short sleeves and high top sneakers. It didn't matter how hot it was. They were, after all, guys and guys needed rugged clothes. My brother did wear short pajamas to bed, but they were an accepted fashion for inside the house at night or at the drive-in.
We loved every summer day, and I always thought summer had a touch of enchantment about it. After all there were fireflies, parades, fireworks, drive-in movies, beaches, barbecues and my birthday. Every summer day was filled with potential, and the world was ours to explore. There was still so much that was new, and that was the best part.
When we were really young, we had lemonade stands though I think we served Zarex or kool-aid but it was a lemonade stand nevertheless. We offered our drinks for a penny, and in those days, a penny was big money. My mother provided the cups, pitcher, ice and drink. We kept the money. It was the best deal.
When I was a kid, boys never wore shorts. Shorts were girls' clothes. My brother and his friends always wore dungarees, striped jerseys with short sleeves and high top sneakers. It didn't matter how hot it was. They were, after all, guys and guys needed rugged clothes. My brother did wear short pajamas to bed, but they were an accepted fashion for inside the house at night or at the drive-in.
We loved every summer day, and I always thought summer had a touch of enchantment about it. After all there were fireflies, parades, fireworks, drive-in movies, beaches, barbecues and my birthday. Every summer day was filled with potential, and the world was ours to explore. There was still so much that was new, and that was the best part.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Down By the Riverside: Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee
Sonny Terry & Brownie McGhee made their first recording together in 1941 and became the longest-running blues duo in memory, with nearly 40 years of recordings. Their gradually emerging distaste for each other was what finally brought an end to their musical partnership.
This song is from a release called An Introduction To Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee. The album doesn't have any new stuff but was chosen to be exactly what the title describes: an introduction to these two musicians.
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This song is from a release called An Introduction To Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee. The album doesn't have any new stuff but was chosen to be exactly what the title describes: an introduction to these two musicians.
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Let Me Touch You For a While: Alison Krauss & Union Station
This is from 2001's New Favorite. I have played a few songs from this album as it is a favorite of mine. Alison Krauss' voice makes this song almost achingly beautiful.
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MP3 File
"I'll tell you how the sun rose a ribbon at a time."
This morning is much less humid than the last few. The birds seem more active, and I watched two squirrels chasing each other around my yard. I heard my neighbor loading his truck for work and another neighbor start the car then leave. Bob, from down the street, gets a bit of a later start as he works for himself. He usually rolls out close to nine.
I do so love the sights, smells and sounds of morning no matter where I am.
I remember Ghana in the morning and the sounds of roosters crowing, of women pounding fufu, and my students sweeping the dirt in front of my house. The mornings smelled of wood fires. I'd sit out front and watch women carrying baskets on their heads as they headed to market and see lines of smoke curling and rising from the compounds behind me.
The beach in the morning sounds of waves and seagulls and has the most glorious of smells. I can never get my fill of the salty air. Vacationers aren't in much of a hurry so the morning is quiet at the beach. A few people walk along the shore and a few more run on the firm sand by the water. Gulls pull at the seaweed looking for a spot of breakfast.
When I'm in a city in another country, I love to wander in the early mornings to watch the world wake up and start moving. The roads are filled with trucks; shop owners sweep sidewalks and load displays; people hurry off to work. Smells of freshly baked bread entice me, and I always stop. Wandering takes energy. I never feel like a tourist in the early morning.
Airports are strange places in the hours before dawn. The terminals seem empty. Shops and restaurants are locked behind wire mesh. Maintenance men sweep and wash floors, and walking around means weaving through mazes of red cones. Not a single person looks wide awake, bags are moved by sliding and most hands clutch a cup of coffee. The excitement of traveling is dampened by a lack of sleep. I board, get comfy and fall sleep hoping I won't embarass myself by snoring.
I never used to be a morning person. I loved the silence of the night and believed it was mine alone while the rest of the world slept. I don't remember when that changed.
I do so love the sights, smells and sounds of morning no matter where I am.
I remember Ghana in the morning and the sounds of roosters crowing, of women pounding fufu, and my students sweeping the dirt in front of my house. The mornings smelled of wood fires. I'd sit out front and watch women carrying baskets on their heads as they headed to market and see lines of smoke curling and rising from the compounds behind me.
The beach in the morning sounds of waves and seagulls and has the most glorious of smells. I can never get my fill of the salty air. Vacationers aren't in much of a hurry so the morning is quiet at the beach. A few people walk along the shore and a few more run on the firm sand by the water. Gulls pull at the seaweed looking for a spot of breakfast.
When I'm in a city in another country, I love to wander in the early mornings to watch the world wake up and start moving. The roads are filled with trucks; shop owners sweep sidewalks and load displays; people hurry off to work. Smells of freshly baked bread entice me, and I always stop. Wandering takes energy. I never feel like a tourist in the early morning.
Airports are strange places in the hours before dawn. The terminals seem empty. Shops and restaurants are locked behind wire mesh. Maintenance men sweep and wash floors, and walking around means weaving through mazes of red cones. Not a single person looks wide awake, bags are moved by sliding and most hands clutch a cup of coffee. The excitement of traveling is dampened by a lack of sleep. I board, get comfy and fall sleep hoping I won't embarass myself by snoring.
I never used to be a morning person. I loved the silence of the night and believed it was mine alone while the rest of the world slept. I don't remember when that changed.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Rain: Patty Griffin
This song is from 1000 Kisses, Patty Griffin's third album. I always think her underappreciated. Listen and you'll wonder why we don't hear of her as much as this amazing voice demands.
MP3 File
MP3 File
Fish to Fry: the Ditty Bops
The Ditty Bops are Amanda Barrett, mandolin and dulcimer, and Abby DeWald, guitar. I don't know how to categorize them. They are folk and ragtime and swing and I don't know how many other musical genres. Just good music is all, I guess.
This song is from 2006's Moon Over the Freeway album.
MP3 File
This song is from 2006's Moon Over the Freeway album.
MP3 File
"A converted cannibal is one who, on Friday, eats only fishermen."
I love this morning. It is grey and cloudy, and a strong breeze keeps the leaves twisting and turning on their branches. No one is out or if they are, they, like me, are silent. No music is playing today. I want to hear the birds and the leaves and the wind chimes hanging from my scruffy pine tree. Gracie is asleep, tired from her early romp. Every now and then she stirs and adds her sound to the symphony of the morning. Some days just give me pause. Today is one of those.
On the travel station is that guy who eats the strangest foods. He travels from one country to the other tasting the offbeat and, to my mind, the disgusting. Some foods are still alive when he eats them which is, I think, going just a bit far. I don't ever want a prior acquaintance with what I'm going to eat. Actually, a lot of the time, I don't even want to know what I'm eating. Not knowing sometimes makes food just a bit more palatable. I know Rocky Mountain oysters tasted pretty good, maybe a bit chewy, but still good before I knew what I'd eaten. Bush meat was really tasty and a favorite treat until I saw the rodent from whence the meat came. Seeing and knowing were real setbacks to my on the road eating habits. When I was offered the opportunity to choose my Guinea pig before it was cooked, I opted for the rice. When we were kids, we'd buy chocolate covered insects and give them to the unsuspecting. I always thought that pretty funny until it happened to me. In Africa, we ate what was offered rather than offend. I don't know half of what I was given, and I am flourishing in my ignorance. Goat never bothered me too much nor did mutton or boar. I've had calamari and eel, and I'm not a fan of either. Oysters on the half shell are just too slimy for me, and I doubt I'm not the only one who avoids foods which slide. When I travel, I do try to eat local dishes, but I draw the line at pets, insects, science fiction sea monsters and rodents. If it still moves, it's not heading to my plate is my motto.
On the travel station is that guy who eats the strangest foods. He travels from one country to the other tasting the offbeat and, to my mind, the disgusting. Some foods are still alive when he eats them which is, I think, going just a bit far. I don't ever want a prior acquaintance with what I'm going to eat. Actually, a lot of the time, I don't even want to know what I'm eating. Not knowing sometimes makes food just a bit more palatable. I know Rocky Mountain oysters tasted pretty good, maybe a bit chewy, but still good before I knew what I'd eaten. Bush meat was really tasty and a favorite treat until I saw the rodent from whence the meat came. Seeing and knowing were real setbacks to my on the road eating habits. When I was offered the opportunity to choose my Guinea pig before it was cooked, I opted for the rice. When we were kids, we'd buy chocolate covered insects and give them to the unsuspecting. I always thought that pretty funny until it happened to me. In Africa, we ate what was offered rather than offend. I don't know half of what I was given, and I am flourishing in my ignorance. Goat never bothered me too much nor did mutton or boar. I've had calamari and eel, and I'm not a fan of either. Oysters on the half shell are just too slimy for me, and I doubt I'm not the only one who avoids foods which slide. When I travel, I do try to eat local dishes, but I draw the line at pets, insects, science fiction sea monsters and rodents. If it still moves, it's not heading to my plate is my motto.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Fare Well, Traveller: Mark Cohen
This is from a 1977 release of the same name from Folkways still available through Smithsonian's archival collection.
Mark Cohen was born in 1947 in New York. He went to college in Buffalo but returned to New York in 1968 where he played guitar for three years as a member of a 12 piece band. He then traveled a bit of the world, wrote and published poetry and taught before he returned to New York in 1972. where during the day he waited tables and drove a cab wgile at night he played in local clubs and coffee houses.
MP3 File
Mark Cohen was born in 1947 in New York. He went to college in Buffalo but returned to New York in 1968 where he played guitar for three years as a member of a 12 piece band. He then traveled a bit of the world, wrote and published poetry and taught before he returned to New York in 1972. where during the day he waited tables and drove a cab wgile at night he played in local clubs and coffee houses.
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Sea of No Cares: Great Big Sea
This song is from the album of the same name and is a bit of a departure from their earlier songs. It seems a bit glitzier and a lot less traditional.
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MP3 File
“Other things may change us, but we start and end with family”
My parents never had much money when we were growing up, but that just didn't seem to matter. We never felt deprived in any way, and our family was just like every other I knew. Though we seldom went away for vacations, it was no big deal. On weekends or when my Dad had his two weeks a year, we were on the go. We'd spend the day at the beach or at a lake. My mother would make her pepper and egg sandwiches, pack cut watermelon and fill the tartan thermos with cold Zarex. It doesn't get much better than that. We went to the drive-in just about every weekend. My grandfather had a pass. Once, when I was young, we went to the rodeo in Boston, but I don't remember too many events like that. My parents did take us to museums in Boston, and I remember walking into the Egyptian room and being overwhelmed by the sizes of the exhibits. Museums were my favorite places, still are. Once in a while we'd convince my dad to take us to the pool after dinner. It was always pretty empty then as kids had to be with an adult. We could swim from one end of the pool to the other without elbowing or bumping into anyone. The water always seemed colder and more inviting at night. Once in a while, during my dad's vacation, my parents would take us out to eat. That was momentous. It was aways to Kitty's, a lot of food for not much money, but to us it was the ritziest restaurant in the world. They even had cloth napkins. My sister still goes there every now and then.
It is amazing that the times I most remember weren't all that special in the context of today's world, but they were in a different time, a simpler, more innocent and trusting time. I realize that growing up when I did was a great gift, and I am thankful.
It is amazing that the times I most remember weren't all that special in the context of today's world, but they were in a different time, a simpler, more innocent and trusting time. I realize that growing up when I did was a great gift, and I am thankful.
Monday, July 09, 2007
To Know Him Is To Love Him: Emmylou Harris, Dolly Parton and Linda Ronstadt
This is from 1987's album Trio. The songs are just so varied and range from country to traditional to this Phil Spector. Their voices seem to meld perfectly, and I do like this album far more than I ever suspected I would.
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MP3 File
"The greatest dreams are always unrealistic."
The rain last night was full of bluster. It was magnificent. Today is hungover from all that rain, all dark and damp, a no papers on the deck sort of day. Gracie is out enjoying the coolness of the air, and I stay awhile when I check on her. I like standing there watching Gracie run with that wild exuberance the puppy in her still demands. Soon, though, Gracie will crash. Puppies do that.
My mind is aflutter: so many dreams revolve around my head. I see things I want to do and places I've yet to go. I make plans as if I have unlimited resources. A family Amazing Race is on the list. My sister and I have spend whole conversations deciding who would be partnered and where we'd go. We've laughed about the detours and roadblocks we'd set. I yelled dibs on being our Phil considering I'd be dipping into my millions to pay for the trip.
Taking the whole family to somewhere warm for Christmas is on that list. I was thinking Jamaica as I'm a sucker for Blue Mountain coffee, red snapper and jerk chicken. I can see us in a place by the water all bright with lights for the holiday. We'd decorate our tree, sing carols and have the most amazing Christmas together.
The new seven wonders have me itching to travel. I missed the ancient ones so I'm hoping to see the new ones, or at least the four I haven't seen. Let's see now, what suitcase should I take?
My mind is aflutter: so many dreams revolve around my head. I see things I want to do and places I've yet to go. I make plans as if I have unlimited resources. A family Amazing Race is on the list. My sister and I have spend whole conversations deciding who would be partnered and where we'd go. We've laughed about the detours and roadblocks we'd set. I yelled dibs on being our Phil considering I'd be dipping into my millions to pay for the trip.
Taking the whole family to somewhere warm for Christmas is on that list. I was thinking Jamaica as I'm a sucker for Blue Mountain coffee, red snapper and jerk chicken. I can see us in a place by the water all bright with lights for the holiday. We'd decorate our tree, sing carols and have the most amazing Christmas together.
The new seven wonders have me itching to travel. I missed the ancient ones so I'm hoping to see the new ones, or at least the four I haven't seen. Let's see now, what suitcase should I take?
Sunday, July 08, 2007
"The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese."
I notice that people who never watch TV announce this in voices oozing with superiority. THEY, spoken in capital letters, could never be so easily mesmerized by a flickering screen. Their tone implies that we viewers sit with vacant stares and drool hanging from our lips. I don't care. I like to watch TV, and I seldom drool. Recently, though, I've noticed an upswing in honesty. Now THEY admit to watching a bit of TV but only the History Channel, Discovery and PBS. I venture to ask if they also watch the National Geographic channel, but I seldom get an answer.
If you were to check my refrigerator on any given day, you'd always find the same few items. They'd be cans of diet coke and a pitcher of ice coffee, made from my morning brew. Eggs, my favorite fall back meal, sit stored in their carton, and a variety of cheeses are in the deli drawer. Australian cheddar is my newest favorite. Mustards, lots of different mustards, are on the door. Lately I've been partial to chipolte; I like the bit of heat. A few jars of pickles have sat there for a while, and every now and then I pull out the dill flats or the bread and butter pickles to have with a sandwich. The tortillas are great for late night quesadillas. Half and half and coffee beans are essentials. In the freezer are usually a couple of different breads like honey orange and garlic and a few packages of kielbasa. I can never turn down the buy one get one free promotion. The rest of the frozen food is occasional. Many a night I have foraged in the fridge and had the most wonderful meals. My favorite was a macaroni and cheese made from all the leftover cheeses. I've never been able to replicate that exact taste.
Last night I had bacon and eggs and toast for dinner. That's a sure sign I need to grocery shop.
If you were to check my refrigerator on any given day, you'd always find the same few items. They'd be cans of diet coke and a pitcher of ice coffee, made from my morning brew. Eggs, my favorite fall back meal, sit stored in their carton, and a variety of cheeses are in the deli drawer. Australian cheddar is my newest favorite. Mustards, lots of different mustards, are on the door. Lately I've been partial to chipolte; I like the bit of heat. A few jars of pickles have sat there for a while, and every now and then I pull out the dill flats or the bread and butter pickles to have with a sandwich. The tortillas are great for late night quesadillas. Half and half and coffee beans are essentials. In the freezer are usually a couple of different breads like honey orange and garlic and a few packages of kielbasa. I can never turn down the buy one get one free promotion. The rest of the frozen food is occasional. Many a night I have foraged in the fridge and had the most wonderful meals. My favorite was a macaroni and cheese made from all the leftover cheeses. I've never been able to replicate that exact taste.
Last night I had bacon and eggs and toast for dinner. That's a sure sign I need to grocery shop.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
"She glances at the photo, and the pilot light of memory flickers in her eyes."
The memories of trips come alive when I look at my slides and photos. My parents are in many of the shots, posing. They are in front of the Manneken Pis in Brussels. My Dad, of course, has his hand out catching the water. They are all over London: drinking coffee in Covent Garden, on the underground, at Traitor's Gate and Harrod's. I'd say time for a picture, and they'd stop, stand and smile. My father is always wearing his green jacket which made it easier for us to keep track of him in crowds. My Mom has a light blue one with white piping. My Dad, whose company was into sand blasting equipment, had me take his picture by a sandblasting machine. He is also pointing at a variety of poop on the sidewalks of different countries. He points with one hand and holds his nose with the other. I don't remember how that tradition started. We are never in a picture together. One or the other of us is behind the camera.
One of my favorite photos was the result of a collaborative effort between my Dad and me. We had wandered on our own in London one afternoon and stopped at Trafalgar Square where we bought seeds to feed the pigeons. I sprinkled some seeds in my Dad's hair, and the pigeons jumped on his head and shoulders. My Dad couldn't stop laughing. We both thought it a perfect trick to play on my Mom. We brought her there the next morning. She, however, was not at all amused. The picture of the swarming pigeons with my mother screaming as they flew all around and on her is a classic, but, when I look at that picture, what I most remember is the afternoon and just Dad and me and how much we laughed as we hatched our conspiracy.
Once in a while I pull out all my slides and get lost in the memories. My parents are so young in some of them, younger than I am now. They have these wide smiles. I have the memories.
One of my favorite photos was the result of a collaborative effort between my Dad and me. We had wandered on our own in London one afternoon and stopped at Trafalgar Square where we bought seeds to feed the pigeons. I sprinkled some seeds in my Dad's hair, and the pigeons jumped on his head and shoulders. My Dad couldn't stop laughing. We both thought it a perfect trick to play on my Mom. We brought her there the next morning. She, however, was not at all amused. The picture of the swarming pigeons with my mother screaming as they flew all around and on her is a classic, but, when I look at that picture, what I most remember is the afternoon and just Dad and me and how much we laughed as we hatched our conspiracy.
Once in a while I pull out all my slides and get lost in the memories. My parents are so young in some of them, younger than I am now. They have these wide smiles. I have the memories.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Flat Stuff: Greg Brown
Both songs today are from River of Song: A Musical Journey Down the Mississippi (Disc 1), a Smithsonian Folkways release. The collection is actually the soundtrack for a four-part 1999 PBS television series of the various styles of music found along the Mississippi River, from northern Minnesota to the river's mouth in Louisiana.
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MP3 File
"Without ice cream, there would be darkness and chaos."
This morning I pulled a tick off Gracie. When I patted her, I felt a small, unfamiliar bump on her neck. I saw the tick, removed it and flushed the bugger away. A few weeks ago I felt something moving up my arm and found a tick looking for just the right spot to call home. It too got flushed. Having that tick made me feel crawly all day, and I checked very itch to make sure I wasn't being inhabited. Ticks do that to a person.
Ice cream should have been manna except there was no way to keep it frozen. I've got to believe the Israelites would have been far more enthusiastic about traveling across the desert if they had a giant bowl of ice cream as incentive. Just think of that long, dusty, scorching walk then imagine a bowl heaped with ice cream waiting at the end of the day. That'd get me moving. Even ubiquitous vanilla would have been welcomed. I have to admit I am not a big fan of vanilla ice cream unless it is joined by hot fudge, whipped cream and a cherry for that bit of color, but then I'd probably eat almost anything if hot fudge sauce were included.
Howard Johnson's was always the most confusing place to buy ice cream. All those flavors were just overwhelming. A stop at Bailey's for a hot fudge sundae was the highlight of any trip to Boston. The ice cream was scooped into a silver cup, covered in hot fudge them smothered in marshmallow. There was so much marshmallow it would overflow onto the saucer and was always the first target for my spoon. An ice cream cone is my favorite on the move snack. Of course, I'm talking about a sugar cone here. I work hard turning my cone and getting my tongue to keep up with the drips. Finally, after all this time, I am an expert at not wasting a single slurp of my version of manna.
Ice cream should have been manna except there was no way to keep it frozen. I've got to believe the Israelites would have been far more enthusiastic about traveling across the desert if they had a giant bowl of ice cream as incentive. Just think of that long, dusty, scorching walk then imagine a bowl heaped with ice cream waiting at the end of the day. That'd get me moving. Even ubiquitous vanilla would have been welcomed. I have to admit I am not a big fan of vanilla ice cream unless it is joined by hot fudge, whipped cream and a cherry for that bit of color, but then I'd probably eat almost anything if hot fudge sauce were included.
Howard Johnson's was always the most confusing place to buy ice cream. All those flavors were just overwhelming. A stop at Bailey's for a hot fudge sundae was the highlight of any trip to Boston. The ice cream was scooped into a silver cup, covered in hot fudge them smothered in marshmallow. There was so much marshmallow it would overflow onto the saucer and was always the first target for my spoon. An ice cream cone is my favorite on the move snack. Of course, I'm talking about a sugar cone here. I work hard turning my cone and getting my tongue to keep up with the drips. Finally, after all this time, I am an expert at not wasting a single slurp of my version of manna.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Great Big Bug: Four Bitchin' Babes
This is from 2000's studio album Fax It! Charge It! Don't Ask Me What's For Dinner! which was recorded before Christine Lavin, who's the lead on this song, left the group.
MP3 File
MP3 File
Little Bit of Rain: Karen Dalton
This is from Dalton's first album, It's So Hard To Tell Who's Going To Love You Best.
Karen Dalton was part of the early 60's folk scene. I've used this Fred Neil quote before but it is too perfect not to repeat. "Karen has been my favorite female vocalist as well as a heavy influence on my own style of singing since the early sixties. I first picked up on her one night in the village at the "Cock & Bull" (later the Bitter End). Her voice grabbed me immediately. She did "Blues On The Ceiling" (which is my song) with so much feeling that if she told me she had written it herself I would have believed her. After the set Dino Valenti took me up to Karen's place. Later that night we jammed. Karen was like a letter from home. Her voice is so unique, to describe it would take a poet. All I can say is she sure can sing the shit out of the blues"
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Karen Dalton was part of the early 60's folk scene. I've used this Fred Neil quote before but it is too perfect not to repeat. "Karen has been my favorite female vocalist as well as a heavy influence on my own style of singing since the early sixties. I first picked up on her one night in the village at the "Cock & Bull" (later the Bitter End). Her voice grabbed me immediately. She did "Blues On The Ceiling" (which is my song) with so much feeling that if she told me she had written it herself I would have believed her. After the set Dino Valenti took me up to Karen's place. Later that night we jammed. Karen was like a letter from home. Her voice is so unique, to describe it would take a poet. All I can say is she sure can sing the shit out of the blues"
MP3 File
"At the games end we shall see who gaines."
This morning I got a glimpse into the post-apocalyptic world. The cable was out which meant no TV, no phone and no internet. I didn't miss the TV, and I had a cell phone, but losing the internet was nearly beyond the limits of human endurance. How I survived is the stuff of legend.
The rain came yesterday and stayed all night. It was loud against the window panes. The wind came with the rain, and sometime during the night I heard a crash, not loud enough to make me get out of bed, just loud enough to start me wondering. The rain is gone but has left behind a chilly dampness. The wind, though, has decided to stay a bit longer. When it blows the leaves, they almost sound like waves rolling into shore. With everyone inside today, that is the only sound I can hear.
Rainy days make me want to call my friends up and invite then over for an afternoon of games. I'd make popcorn with lots of butter and take out Sorry, a favorite since I was young. As adults, though, we play it with more vengeance. Woe to anyone who sends a man back to start as that player then becomes a target for the rest of the game. Sorry is always a best out of three tournament. Parcheesi is another of the games which brings out the worst in us with its blockades and knocking off opposing men. We just play one for the championship as the game takes so long. We then sometimes play a round robin in backgammon and cribbage. A champion is usually self-crowned at the end of our game playing. Said champion wastes neither time nor pity in lording it all over us, the losers. My sister has passed this love of games to her children, and somehow or other, the winners still do just a bit too much celebrating.
The rain came yesterday and stayed all night. It was loud against the window panes. The wind came with the rain, and sometime during the night I heard a crash, not loud enough to make me get out of bed, just loud enough to start me wondering. The rain is gone but has left behind a chilly dampness. The wind, though, has decided to stay a bit longer. When it blows the leaves, they almost sound like waves rolling into shore. With everyone inside today, that is the only sound I can hear.
Rainy days make me want to call my friends up and invite then over for an afternoon of games. I'd make popcorn with lots of butter and take out Sorry, a favorite since I was young. As adults, though, we play it with more vengeance. Woe to anyone who sends a man back to start as that player then becomes a target for the rest of the game. Sorry is always a best out of three tournament. Parcheesi is another of the games which brings out the worst in us with its blockades and knocking off opposing men. We just play one for the championship as the game takes so long. We then sometimes play a round robin in backgammon and cribbage. A champion is usually self-crowned at the end of our game playing. Said champion wastes neither time nor pity in lording it all over us, the losers. My sister has passed this love of games to her children, and somehow or other, the winners still do just a bit too much celebrating.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
"May the sun in his course visit no land more free, more happy, more lovely, than this our own country!"
The next town over from ours had all the July 4th festivities. The morning was filled with contests and bicycle and carriage parades. One year my sister Sheila competed in the decorated carriage parade and won a prize. She was a hula girl, and her carriage was festooned with colorful crepe paper matching her grass skirt. The paper was wound through the wheel spokes and make a beautiful pattern every time my sister pushed her carriage.
Next was the parade, a long one filled with bands, drill teams and floats. It always started with the police color guard and ended with the fire engines. My father had a friend whose house was right on the parade route. Everyone sat on the comfort of his porch to watch the parade pass. When I got older, I marched with my drill team in the parade, and when we got to that house, everyone would yell my name. I'd try to maintain a bit of decorum but failed miserably. My sister still goes to that parade.
In the evening were the fireworks over the lake. We didn't go very often, but from our backyard, I could hear the bangs and see the highest firecrackers exploding over the treetops. It was like my own mini-show. A few times my father bought us sparklers, and we'd twirl and move them in patterns for a light show of our own. I remember we sometimes had punks which smelled great when they burned but were a poor substitute for sparklers.
When we were older, we'd go to the lake, spread out our blanket, open the picnic basket, get comfortable and wait for the fireworks. It seemed to take forever to get late enough. When the fireworks burst in the sky, we'd ooh and ahh. We knew the fireworks were ending when they went off in huge colorful bunches. They came so fast we could barely ooh and ahh in time.
Today I'll be marching in a local parade with other returned Peace Corps volunteers. We'll march behind the blue and white Peace Corps banner and be wearing clothes from our countries. I'll be wearing Ghanaian cloth and a straw hat made in my town in Ghana. I have to admit, though, I'm going to miss hearing my name yelled.
Happy 4th of July.
Next was the parade, a long one filled with bands, drill teams and floats. It always started with the police color guard and ended with the fire engines. My father had a friend whose house was right on the parade route. Everyone sat on the comfort of his porch to watch the parade pass. When I got older, I marched with my drill team in the parade, and when we got to that house, everyone would yell my name. I'd try to maintain a bit of decorum but failed miserably. My sister still goes to that parade.
In the evening were the fireworks over the lake. We didn't go very often, but from our backyard, I could hear the bangs and see the highest firecrackers exploding over the treetops. It was like my own mini-show. A few times my father bought us sparklers, and we'd twirl and move them in patterns for a light show of our own. I remember we sometimes had punks which smelled great when they burned but were a poor substitute for sparklers.
When we were older, we'd go to the lake, spread out our blanket, open the picnic basket, get comfortable and wait for the fireworks. It seemed to take forever to get late enough. When the fireworks burst in the sky, we'd ooh and ahh. We knew the fireworks were ending when they went off in huge colorful bunches. They came so fast we could barely ooh and ahh in time.
Today I'll be marching in a local parade with other returned Peace Corps volunteers. We'll march behind the blue and white Peace Corps banner and be wearing clothes from our countries. I'll be wearing Ghanaian cloth and a straw hat made in my town in Ghana. I have to admit, though, I'm going to miss hearing my name yelled.
Happy 4th of July.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Song for the Fireflies: Josh Ritter
It took me forever to settle on today's second song. It just seemed nothing fit. I finally heard this and decided it would work.
The song comes from Golden Age of Radio, a 2002 release filled with songs with simple melodies which seem to meld just perfectly.
MP3 File
The song comes from Golden Age of Radio, a 2002 release filled with songs with simple melodies which seem to meld just perfectly.
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Let Your Light Shine: Keb' Mo
I subscribed for a while to Paste Magazine. One of the best parts of the magazine was the monthly sampler, usually a music CD. This song is from one of those samplers from 2004. Its official title is Paste Magazine Sampler #8.
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MP3 File
"I'll tell you how the sun rose a ribbon at a time."
I love the morning. When I travel, I never sleep too late. I think my mind is afraid I'll miss something, and my internal alarm clock wakes me at an ungodly hour. I dress and leave quietly to explore. When my mother and I went to Gettysburg, I was up and out at dawn then sat waiting for the gates to open so I could drive through the battleground. That was the most breathtakingly amazing ride. The ground fog still hovered over the fields as rays from the sun touched only the topmost branches of the trees. I was the only one about that early morning. I rode all the way through as the sun got higher and higher in the sky, and the fog disappeared. I could imagine the sounds of the battle, the heat and the awful carnage, and I could feel why Gettysburg is sacred.
My sisters were still sleeping when I went to explore Santa Fe and find breakfast. Few people were about that early so I had a front row seat. I sat in the plaza, drank my coffee and watched the Native Americans set up on the porch in front of the Governor's Place. I sat there a long while. As I watched the Native Americans, I looked around at the adobe buildings, the ristras hanging from the porches and was thrilled at this new place, these new experiences. I reluctantly left to bring my sisters their breakfast. I was both sorry and glad they'd missed the morning.
We got to Machu Picchu at dawn. It was so long ago that tourists were rare, and the few of us who had arrived on the train had the site to ourselves. We stood in awe as we watched the sun rise over the mountains. I couldn't believe that I was standing there where Incas had walked and was watching the sun rise just as they must have. I felt humbled.
I love mornings.
My sisters were still sleeping when I went to explore Santa Fe and find breakfast. Few people were about that early so I had a front row seat. I sat in the plaza, drank my coffee and watched the Native Americans set up on the porch in front of the Governor's Place. I sat there a long while. As I watched the Native Americans, I looked around at the adobe buildings, the ristras hanging from the porches and was thrilled at this new place, these new experiences. I reluctantly left to bring my sisters their breakfast. I was both sorry and glad they'd missed the morning.
We got to Machu Picchu at dawn. It was so long ago that tourists were rare, and the few of us who had arrived on the train had the site to ourselves. We stood in awe as we watched the sun rise over the mountains. I couldn't believe that I was standing there where Incas had walked and was watching the sun rise just as they must have. I felt humbled.
I love mornings.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Hang on to a Dream: Tim Hardin
I think I wish Tim Hardin had really believed this, but he just had far too many demons. His heroin addiction killed him in 1980 when he died of a heroin/morphine overdose. He was thirty nine.
The most famous of his songs is If I were a Carpenter though Reason to Believe is still my favorite. This is from the album Reason To Believe The Best of Tim Hardin, released in 1987.
MP3 File
The most famous of his songs is If I were a Carpenter though Reason to Believe is still my favorite. This is from the album Reason To Believe The Best of Tim Hardin, released in 1987.
MP3 File
Thirty Thousand Men: Steve Forbert
Steve Forbert is best known for his song Romeo's Tune. He moved to New York from his native Mississippi in 1976 and busked Grand Central Station from whence came a record deal. His debut LP was Alive on Arrival in the mid-70's. He has had some low points in his career and has bounced around a few recording labels.
This song is from Young Guitar Days, a collection of outtakes from his early work, music recorded before 1981.
MP3 File
This song is from Young Guitar Days, a collection of outtakes from his early work, music recorded before 1981.
MP3 File
"He is the happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home."
I stood on the deck, surveyed my estate and listened to the morning. The chimes jumped off the trees and filled the cool morning air with sweet sounds. The branches creaked. Gracie ran round and round the yard among the trees sounding like a wild animal in the bush, the sort you hope won't get any closer. I stayed there a while.
I sometimes think I would like to live in a round house or even an octagon with funny angles, maybe one which spins ever so slightly. It would have to be on a mountain or by the ocean so I'd get all the best views. The rooms would open to the corridor, and if you missed your room, you'd have to circle round and round to find it. These rooms would have those square glass bricks for walls so as to let in the sun and skylights overhead for viewing the stars at night. The middle of my house would be a giant open space with a glass roof, all the better to catch the sun and watch the rain and snow. The chairs there would be so comfy they'd almost lull you to sleep and music would surround you, get inside you and fill your soul. I'd have a screened gazebo for sitting outside on warm summer nights and a patio a bit off from the house for barbecues. The fire pit would be closest to the water or at the edge of the mountain. I'd sit, warm myself by the fire and just gaze at the world around me.
I sometimes think I would like to live in a round house or even an octagon with funny angles, maybe one which spins ever so slightly. It would have to be on a mountain or by the ocean so I'd get all the best views. The rooms would open to the corridor, and if you missed your room, you'd have to circle round and round to find it. These rooms would have those square glass bricks for walls so as to let in the sun and skylights overhead for viewing the stars at night. The middle of my house would be a giant open space with a glass roof, all the better to catch the sun and watch the rain and snow. The chairs there would be so comfy they'd almost lull you to sleep and music would surround you, get inside you and fill your soul. I'd have a screened gazebo for sitting outside on warm summer nights and a patio a bit off from the house for barbecues. The fire pit would be closest to the water or at the edge of the mountain. I'd sit, warm myself by the fire and just gaze at the world around me.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
“Their land brought forth frogs in abundance, in the chambers of their kings.”
Once we vacationed in Vermont. I was only eight, but I remember huge chunks of that vacation. The house was big and old and sat on a hill overlooking a two lane highway. It had a porch which wrapped around the whole house. I remember an old telephone like Andy Griffith's which gave me a shock when I lifted it. Across the street was a huge lake while the rest of the house was surrounded by woods. On one side, just before the woods, was a creek where the biggest old frogs lived. My brother and I spent many a morning standing in that creek catching those frogs. They were light green and had such long legs you could understand how they'd make a meal. We'd chase those frogs over the rocks and through the water, getting both wet and muddy. It made no never mind to us. That was just part of the fun.
Instead of crossing the road to get to the lake, we went through the tunnel. We had to crouch down or go on our knees. The tunnel was really meant for water, not little kids, but we thought it had been put there just for us. The lake had almost no shoreline. We could only go a little way into the water as there was a huge drop-off which was deeper than we were allowed. My dad would have us hold on to his shoulders and then take us under water beyond the drop-off. He always told us to tap his shoulder if we wanted up. I remember the fish were right there in front of me swimming as if there were no intruders. I reached out but they were too fast for me. My dad was a good swimmer, and I felt like I was flying under water.
A hill was behind the house, and one day my dad decided to build a lean-to at the top of that hill. He set us to work finding boughs for the roof while he readied the limbs. I never knew my dad could build anything. That lean-to was about the neatest thing I'd seen. It was tall and wide and sturdy. My dad was just amazing.
One of the vacation nights my parents went to Canada for dinner. We were that close to the border. It was incredible to me that my parents had actually eaten dinner in another country.
We didn't have too many go away family vacations. With four kids, that was an extravagance. I do remember a few of those vacations: our trip to Niagara Falls, the week on an island and going to my dad's friend's cottage in Maine, but it is Vermont I remember the best.
Instead of crossing the road to get to the lake, we went through the tunnel. We had to crouch down or go on our knees. The tunnel was really meant for water, not little kids, but we thought it had been put there just for us. The lake had almost no shoreline. We could only go a little way into the water as there was a huge drop-off which was deeper than we were allowed. My dad would have us hold on to his shoulders and then take us under water beyond the drop-off. He always told us to tap his shoulder if we wanted up. I remember the fish were right there in front of me swimming as if there were no intruders. I reached out but they were too fast for me. My dad was a good swimmer, and I felt like I was flying under water.
A hill was behind the house, and one day my dad decided to build a lean-to at the top of that hill. He set us to work finding boughs for the roof while he readied the limbs. I never knew my dad could build anything. That lean-to was about the neatest thing I'd seen. It was tall and wide and sturdy. My dad was just amazing.
One of the vacation nights my parents went to Canada for dinner. We were that close to the border. It was incredible to me that my parents had actually eaten dinner in another country.
We didn't have too many go away family vacations. With four kids, that was an extravagance. I do remember a few of those vacations: our trip to Niagara Falls, the week on an island and going to my dad's friend's cottage in Maine, but it is Vermont I remember the best.
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