I ain't ashamed to admit that I wept hard when my 18-year-old cat & best pal ever, Miss Miko-san, died in February. But then Wilco "(The Album)" came along & gave us another "sonic shoulder to cry on." Fortunately, I had more cause for joy than sorrow this year. My Song of the Year award goes to Neko Case for "People Gotta Lot of Nerve" (from her brilliant 2009 album "Middle Cyclone"), a perfect pop tune with an animal-rights/wildlife-revenge theme.
Both of my favorite concerts occurred outdoors in the warm Wisconsin summertime:
* Justin Townes Earle twanged up Cathedral Square in downtown Milwaukee, a benefit for WMSE-FM ("anti-Established in 1981"). In addition to performing originals by the gifted son of hardcore troubadour Steve Earle, JTE & his mustachioed cartoonish seed-cap-wearin' hipster-hillbilly sidekick covered Mance Lipscomb & Hank Williams songs. [The Grand Ole Opry has sinned--time to let dead Hank back in.]
* Shemekia Copeland (daughter of Texas bluesman Johnny Copeland) shouted & growled the blues with a confidence far beyond her 30 years. She even stepped into the crowd sans microphone at the Racine Zoo's natural amphitheater. Backed by a tight band grooving hard on the moody murder ballad "Never Goin' Back to Memphis," Shemekia shared her powerful talent with an appreciative crowd of mostly whitefolks. God, she has soul to burn!
Watch for Racine's own folk 'n' rollers Folkswagon, a fun new band that inspired my move to Nashville. Their moving, heartfelt Thursday night sets at J.J. McAuliffe's bar on Monument Square, proved that Folkswagon & its charismatic singer/songwriter Rachelle Laundrie have a promising future. They're about to release a debut record, "Fresh Fruit"--buy it if you can find it. Better yet, catch them live the next time you're near Racine, Wisconsin.
Bob Dylan dropped a bomb, the bizarre & abominable charity project "Christmas in the Heart, but he redeemed himself with "Together Through Life," a bluesy bucket of guts that opens ominously with "Beyond Here Lies Nothin'." Thanks, Jack Frost (Zimmy's producer persona)--keep on nippin' at our ears!
Honorable mention goes to fellow Badger resident Cory Chisel & the Wandering Sons, who put on a fantastic December show at the Exit/In in Nashville. Check out his 2009 album "Death Won't Send a Letter" for some fine alt-country/retro-rock sounds.
Best of all, I discovered my mission on planet Earth this year. While acting as an agent for Kenosha bands Ash Can School (original rock) & The Hot Club of Rambler City (gypsy jazz), I devised a prickly alter ego named Joe Impresario. A showbiz wannabe, keen cultural critic & ecstatic poet all in one, Joe's motto is "Music is Life, y'all--Dig It!" After turning 49 in October, I took his advice. I abandoned my condo on the Root River in Ratscene U$A and hightailed it to Dixieland. I've found a temporary home at Music City Hostel, where American bohemians, budget travelers & international adventurers rub shoulders, entertained by Google, Ron & Tracee's tiny Boston terrier hostel mascot.
Ah, the old reliable geographical cure saves me again. Now it's time to convert a weird epiphany ("Go South, man!") into a paying profession. God knows I'm tryin', y'all. Wish me luck 'cause I'm a-gonna need plenty in this shark pool. What does the New Decade have in store for me, for you, for our culture? Stay tuned.
Dedicated to Vic Chesnutt (1964-2009) & Miko-chan (1990-2009). Rest in peace.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
R.I.P., Vic Chesnutt (1964-20009)
Christmas week ended sadly for the music world with the news of alt-folk singer & songwriter Vic Chesnutt's death at age 45 Christmas Day in Athens, Georgia. Death came for him at a hospital following a coma apparently caused by an overdose of muscle relaxants, according to filmmaker & family spokesman Jem Cohen. Paralyzed in a single-car drunk-driving wreck in 1983, Chesnutt went on to make such brilliant albums as "Little" (1990, produced by R.E.M.'s Michael Stipe) & "About to Choke" (1996).
Chesnutt didn't sell many records, but he was a favorite among discerning critics, a prolific songwriter who performed with disarming candor & dark humor in a wheelchair. An outspoken critic of the U.S. healthcare system, Vic complained that several operations over the years had left him & his wife deeply in debt, despite the financial help of prominent musician friends. Born in Jacksonville (Fla.), James Victor Chesnutt was adopted & raised in Zebulon, Georgia, where his grandfather gave him guitar lessons.
Chesnutt recently told "Fresh Air" host Terry Gross: "It was only after I broke my neck that I really started realizing that I had something to say." In a Dec. 26 NY Times obituary, Ben Sisario writes that "[m]usicians flocked to work with him... The constant in his career was a keen poetic intelligence that could be sardonic or unsparingly confessional." In a soft, broken-sounding voice, Vic sang about his struggles to find peace in a life filled with physical & emotional pain. He played simple guitar chords because, he said, his damaged fingers couldn't play the jazzier ones.
In one of his two recent albums, "At the Cut," the frequently suicidal Chesnutt describes death as a lover in the song "Flirted with You All My Life," which includes the suddenly ironic lyric:
"When you touched a friend of mine
I thought I would lose my mind
But I found out with time that really
I was not ready, no, no, cold death
Oh, death, I'm really not ready."
His painful, triumphant sojourn on Earth has ended. For more about Vic see the 1993 documentary "Speed Race: Welcome to the World of Vic Chesnutt." Or check out the 1996 benefit CD "Sweet Relief II: The Gravity of the Situation," which features Chesnutt covers by R.E.M., Madonna, The Smashing Pumpkins, The Indigo Girls & others. Proceeds go to the Sweet Relief Musicians Fund, a nonprofit that offers medical support to musicians in need.
Chesnutt didn't sell many records, but he was a favorite among discerning critics, a prolific songwriter who performed with disarming candor & dark humor in a wheelchair. An outspoken critic of the U.S. healthcare system, Vic complained that several operations over the years had left him & his wife deeply in debt, despite the financial help of prominent musician friends. Born in Jacksonville (Fla.), James Victor Chesnutt was adopted & raised in Zebulon, Georgia, where his grandfather gave him guitar lessons.
Chesnutt recently told "Fresh Air" host Terry Gross: "It was only after I broke my neck that I really started realizing that I had something to say." In a Dec. 26 NY Times obituary, Ben Sisario writes that "[m]usicians flocked to work with him... The constant in his career was a keen poetic intelligence that could be sardonic or unsparingly confessional." In a soft, broken-sounding voice, Vic sang about his struggles to find peace in a life filled with physical & emotional pain. He played simple guitar chords because, he said, his damaged fingers couldn't play the jazzier ones.
In one of his two recent albums, "At the Cut," the frequently suicidal Chesnutt describes death as a lover in the song "Flirted with You All My Life," which includes the suddenly ironic lyric:
"When you touched a friend of mine
I thought I would lose my mind
But I found out with time that really
I was not ready, no, no, cold death
Oh, death, I'm really not ready."
His painful, triumphant sojourn on Earth has ended. For more about Vic see the 1993 documentary "Speed Race: Welcome to the World of Vic Chesnutt." Or check out the 1996 benefit CD "Sweet Relief II: The Gravity of the Situation," which features Chesnutt covers by R.E.M., Madonna, The Smashing Pumpkins, The Indigo Girls & others. Proceeds go to the Sweet Relief Musicians Fund, a nonprofit that offers medical support to musicians in need.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Paying my dues in Music City
Down But Not Out in Nashville by Joe Crawford Mrazek (Dec. 27, 2009)
I've been cursing (mostly under my breath) at having to play part-time janitor & handyman at Music City Hostel in exchange for my accomodations, which are admittedly quite comfortable now that the owner has upgraded me to a bedroom in a condo instead of bunk in a claustrophobic dorm room. I take solace from this fact: Kris Kristofferson was working as a janitor at Columbia Records Nashville studios when, in late 1965, Bob Dylan showed up to record his masterpiece double album, "Blonde on Blonde" (1966). I can only go up the ladder now, right?
At least I'm within walking distance of Music Row. And I recently managed to get inside a studio, Bayou Recording on Seventeenth Street, to observe a demo-record session. I'm determined to make it as a promoter & manager of Americana artists. I know I have the skills & the savvy for this difficult mission, so nothing gets me down for long anymore. I try to look at my apparent humiliation ("I got a law degree for this shit?") as Zen lessons in modesty or a tonic against arrogance, which I am prone to. Wish me luck, y'all. I'll need lots of it.
I've been cursing (mostly under my breath) at having to play part-time janitor & handyman at Music City Hostel in exchange for my accomodations, which are admittedly quite comfortable now that the owner has upgraded me to a bedroom in a condo instead of bunk in a claustrophobic dorm room. I take solace from this fact: Kris Kristofferson was working as a janitor at Columbia Records Nashville studios when, in late 1965, Bob Dylan showed up to record his masterpiece double album, "Blonde on Blonde" (1966). I can only go up the ladder now, right?
At least I'm within walking distance of Music Row. And I recently managed to get inside a studio, Bayou Recording on Seventeenth Street, to observe a demo-record session. I'm determined to make it as a promoter & manager of Americana artists. I know I have the skills & the savvy for this difficult mission, so nothing gets me down for long anymore. I try to look at my apparent humiliation ("I got a law degree for this shit?") as Zen lessons in modesty or a tonic against arrogance, which I am prone to. Wish me luck, y'all. I'll need lots of it.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Time Jumpers at The Station Inn: Nashville swings, Western style!
Muse of the Weird: An Americana fan in Dixieland (first post, Christmas Day 2009)
by Joe Crawford Mrazek
Nashville spoils a Yankee newcomer with pleasant surprises. Among them is The Station Inn, an unpretentious bluegrass/trad-country club on a hip block of Twelfth Avenue South near downtown. It's a roomy plywood-floored family-friendly honky tonk rich in promo posters, including one for a local Minnie Pearl show in 1944 & another for the Canton (Ohio) concert that Hank Williams died trying to reach on New Year's Eve 1952. It's the kind of establishment where the door to the toilet bears signs saying "Men" as well as "Gentlemen," just so everybody feels at home.
A perfect venue for Americana artists of all stripes, the Station Inn's large folding tables frequently seat appreciative celebrity patrons. I attended The Time Jumpers' show there on Monday (Dec. 21st), the shortest day of the year, but one that turned out to be surprisingly long on entertainment for a 2-set gig. This Grammy-nominated Western-swing group started circa 1998 at the Grand Ole Opry as a backstage jam "therapy session" for veteran studio musicians & elite backup singers. The Time Jumpers' lineup may be constantly evolving, but the band's performance skills are highly developed.
Fiddlers Kenny Sears & Joe Spivey set the dance rhythms on most numbers, aided by slap bassist Dennis Crouch & brush drummer Rick Vanaugh. Andy Reiss's electric guitar & Paul Franklin's pedal-steel enhanced the sound with moving melodic fills & sly improvisational quotes. Jeff Taylor's accordion added just the right Tex-Mex Southwestern flavor. Filling in for "Ranger Doug" Green (a founding member of cowboy-comedy stars Riders in the Sky) on hollow-body rhythm guitar Monday was "part-Time Jumper" Vince Gill, a big country star with a gentle tenor who fits in well with this troupe of spotlight sharers. Vince split lead male vocal duties with Kenny, who kidded Vince that "you gotta earn your Christmas money."
Balancing all that impressive male energy, Dawn Sears & Carolyn Martin delivered sweet, smoot & sassy vocals, taking turns on lead or harmony -- whatever the song required. The Time Jumpers' repertoire ranges from familiar ballads (e.g. "It Ain't Nothin' But the Blues") to lively original instrumentals. For a rousing finale, the band saluted Bob Wills & His Texas Playboys with the swing-era classic "My Window Faces the South." Mixing gospel, jazz & country styles in a satisfying stew, The Time Jumpers keep Western swing sounding fresh & delicious as ever since it's invention during the Great Depression.
The audience's enthusiastic response to every solo & song complemented the relaxed professionalism of the players. My evening at The Station Inn was made even more memorable by meeting Emily, a brunette bartender who also works for bluegrass legend Del McCoury. She graciously handed me a copy of the Del McCoury Band's latest CD, Family Circle (2009), which was released on the day I arrived in Nashville (Oct. 27). On the following day, I met Del McCoury after his in-store appearance at a suburban Best Buy. There are no such things as coincidences, Wolf in Wisconsin tells me. 'Bye!
by Joe Crawford Mrazek
Nashville spoils a Yankee newcomer with pleasant surprises. Among them is The Station Inn, an unpretentious bluegrass/trad-country club on a hip block of Twelfth Avenue South near downtown. It's a roomy plywood-floored family-friendly honky tonk rich in promo posters, including one for a local Minnie Pearl show in 1944 & another for the Canton (Ohio) concert that Hank Williams died trying to reach on New Year's Eve 1952. It's the kind of establishment where the door to the toilet bears signs saying "Men" as well as "Gentlemen," just so everybody feels at home.
A perfect venue for Americana artists of all stripes, the Station Inn's large folding tables frequently seat appreciative celebrity patrons. I attended The Time Jumpers' show there on Monday (Dec. 21st), the shortest day of the year, but one that turned out to be surprisingly long on entertainment for a 2-set gig. This Grammy-nominated Western-swing group started circa 1998 at the Grand Ole Opry as a backstage jam "therapy session" for veteran studio musicians & elite backup singers. The Time Jumpers' lineup may be constantly evolving, but the band's performance skills are highly developed.
Fiddlers Kenny Sears & Joe Spivey set the dance rhythms on most numbers, aided by slap bassist Dennis Crouch & brush drummer Rick Vanaugh. Andy Reiss's electric guitar & Paul Franklin's pedal-steel enhanced the sound with moving melodic fills & sly improvisational quotes. Jeff Taylor's accordion added just the right Tex-Mex Southwestern flavor. Filling in for "Ranger Doug" Green (a founding member of cowboy-comedy stars Riders in the Sky) on hollow-body rhythm guitar Monday was "part-Time Jumper" Vince Gill, a big country star with a gentle tenor who fits in well with this troupe of spotlight sharers. Vince split lead male vocal duties with Kenny, who kidded Vince that "you gotta earn your Christmas money."
Balancing all that impressive male energy, Dawn Sears & Carolyn Martin delivered sweet, smoot & sassy vocals, taking turns on lead or harmony -- whatever the song required. The Time Jumpers' repertoire ranges from familiar ballads (e.g. "It Ain't Nothin' But the Blues") to lively original instrumentals. For a rousing finale, the band saluted Bob Wills & His Texas Playboys with the swing-era classic "My Window Faces the South." Mixing gospel, jazz & country styles in a satisfying stew, The Time Jumpers keep Western swing sounding fresh & delicious as ever since it's invention during the Great Depression.
The audience's enthusiastic response to every solo & song complemented the relaxed professionalism of the players. My evening at The Station Inn was made even more memorable by meeting Emily, a brunette bartender who also works for bluegrass legend Del McCoury. She graciously handed me a copy of the Del McCoury Band's latest CD, Family Circle (2009), which was released on the day I arrived in Nashville (Oct. 27). On the following day, I met Del McCoury after his in-store appearance at a suburban Best Buy. There are no such things as coincidences, Wolf in Wisconsin tells me. 'Bye!
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