Sadly, the great singer/songwriter & guitarist/producer Alex Chilton died of an apparent heart attack yesterday (March 17) in New Orleans at age 59. He achieved fame as a teenaged singer with blue-eyed soul group the Box Tops, whose enduring hits include "The Letter" (1967), "Cry Like a Baby" (1968 - in Nashville last month I met the drummer who played on that session at the legendary American Sound Studio in Memphis, Gene Chrisman) & "Soul Deep" (1969).
The son of a jazz musician, Chilton was born in Memphis, Tennessee, 3 days after Christmas 1950. His early 1970s power-pop, British Invasion-influenced band Big Star influenced many subsequent bands, including REM & The Replacements. Among Chilton's many solo & side projects over the years was the post-punk band Tav Falco's Panther Burns, which he co-founded in 1979 in order to deconstruct blues, country & rockabilly styles. He also produced records by punk rockers The Cramps, among other artists. He received the most royalties for "In the Street," a Big Star track that was used as the theme song for the TV program That 70s Show. "September Gurls" from Big Star's second l.p., Radio City (1974), was covered by both The Searchers & The Bangles.
I met Alex Chilton in 2001 at Club Tavern in Middleton, Wisconsin (where I am now housesitting for friends). He graciously gave me an autograph & chatted amiably with fans during set breaks. He was a true Southern gentleman with an artist's heart & mind. Chilton was scheduled to play with a new lineup of Big Star at the South by Southwest Festival in Austin (Texas) this weekend. He is survived by his wife Laura, son Timothy & sister Cecilia. He will be missed by fans all over the world.
In 1987 the legendary Minneapolis band The Replacements recorded a superb tribute song about him. Here are some of the lyrics to "Alex Chilton" (written by Paul Westerberg; from the Replacements' Pleased to Meet Me album):
"Children by the million sing for Alex Chilton when he comes 'round
They sing 'I'm in love. What's that song?
I'm in love with that song.' . . .
I never travel far, without a little Big Star."
Rest in peace, Alex & thanks for all the music.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Nina Hagen at 55: Weird & Wonderful
The mother of [German] punk turns 55 today - "so what the fuck!"
Catharina "Nina" Hagen was born in East Berlin on March 11, 1955. Her estranged father Hans was a scriptwriter whose Jewish parents died at the Nazis' Sachsenhausen concentration camp during WW II. Pretty Nina was a child opera prodigy & her teen group Automobil had a hit East German pop single in 1974 called "Du hast den Farbfilm vergessen" ["You forgot the colour film"].
Nina emigrated to West Germany in 1976, along with her actress/singer mother Eva-Maria, in the wake of her controversial folksinger/poet stepfather Wolf Biermann's expulsion by East German authorities. She launched her punk rock band in West Berlin in 1977, moved in 1980 to Santa Monica, California, where she gave birth to daughter Cosma Shiva (she later had a son, named Otis, by a Frenchman).
Nina lived in Paris for much of the 1990s & even hosted a UK sci-fi TV show. My favorite Nina Hagen album is NunSexMonkRock (1982), which features a psychedelic cover photo of Nina as the Madonna with her daughter Cosma as the Christchild.
I saw Nina Hagen perform at Shank Hall (yes, it's named after the fictitious unlucky club in "This Is Spinal Tap") in Milwaukee in the summer of 1995. She may have been past her hellraising & sexually daring prime, but Nina remained quirky & fun to watch. She really moved me with her cover of Nirvana's "All Apologies," which she performed as a tribute to the then recently deceased Kurt Cobain.
Nina Hagen's webpage is www.myspace.com/whymeohlord. You can watch her have a telephone conversation with dead gospel diva Mahalia Jackson.
Happy Birthday, Nina: I'm watching for the UFO's & awaiting any lessons they wish to share. "Love is the Truth."
Catharina "Nina" Hagen was born in East Berlin on March 11, 1955. Her estranged father Hans was a scriptwriter whose Jewish parents died at the Nazis' Sachsenhausen concentration camp during WW II. Pretty Nina was a child opera prodigy & her teen group Automobil had a hit East German pop single in 1974 called "Du hast den Farbfilm vergessen" ["You forgot the colour film"].
Nina emigrated to West Germany in 1976, along with her actress/singer mother Eva-Maria, in the wake of her controversial folksinger/poet stepfather Wolf Biermann's expulsion by East German authorities. She launched her punk rock band in West Berlin in 1977, moved in 1980 to Santa Monica, California, where she gave birth to daughter Cosma Shiva (she later had a son, named Otis, by a Frenchman).
Nina lived in Paris for much of the 1990s & even hosted a UK sci-fi TV show. My favorite Nina Hagen album is NunSexMonkRock (1982), which features a psychedelic cover photo of Nina as the Madonna with her daughter Cosma as the Christchild.
I saw Nina Hagen perform at Shank Hall (yes, it's named after the fictitious unlucky club in "This Is Spinal Tap") in Milwaukee in the summer of 1995. She may have been past her hellraising & sexually daring prime, but Nina remained quirky & fun to watch. She really moved me with her cover of Nirvana's "All Apologies," which she performed as a tribute to the then recently deceased Kurt Cobain.
Nina Hagen's webpage is www.myspace.com/whymeohlord. You can watch her have a telephone conversation with dead gospel diva Mahalia Jackson.
Happy Birthday, Nina: I'm watching for the UFO's & awaiting any lessons they wish to share. "Love is the Truth."
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Down South - a Dixie poem, nostalgic
Down South in Old Tennessee
by Joe Crawford Mrazek
"'Preciate you," they sometimes
say down in Dixie, where y'all
bend vowels like the lower
Mississippi, where y'all
drop g's like damned
Yankee dollars circa
Eighteen Hundred and
Sixty-One, see?
It's friendly,
traditional,
Nashville -
the Southland.
Ya gotta fit in
somehow everywhere
anyway, don't ya?
So start drawlin' if you
feel so inclined, mister.
Soften & stretch your
voice, ma'am.
Take it easy:
rest a spell.
March 10, 2010
Racine, Wisconsin (USA)
by Joe Crawford Mrazek
"'Preciate you," they sometimes
say down in Dixie, where y'all
bend vowels like the lower
Mississippi, where y'all
drop g's like damned
Yankee dollars circa
Eighteen Hundred and
Sixty-One, see?
It's friendly,
traditional,
Nashville -
the Southland.
Ya gotta fit in
somehow everywhere
anyway, don't ya?
So start drawlin' if you
feel so inclined, mister.
Soften & stretch your
voice, ma'am.
Take it easy:
rest a spell.
March 10, 2010
Racine, Wisconsin (USA)
Man in Black: Birthday Boy (Feb. 26, 2010)
I read in this morning's Tennessean that the folks over at American Music (producer Rick Rubin et al.), who just released Johnny Cash's posthumous album "Ain't No Grave," are urging fans of the Man in Black to wear black clothes in his honor tomorrow.
Johnny would've turned 78 on February 26, 2010. Here's a lyric from that classic Cash country song:
Ah, I'd love to wear a rainbow every day,
And tell the world that everything's okay
But I'll try to carry off a little darkness on my back
Till things are brighter, I'm the Man in Black.
("Man in Black" copyright 1971 by Johnny Cash, 1932-2003)
RIP, John.
-JoeM.
Johnny would've turned 78 on February 26, 2010. Here's a lyric from that classic Cash country song:
Ah, I'd love to wear a rainbow every day,
And tell the world that everything's okay
But I'll try to carry off a little darkness on my back
Till things are brighter, I'm the Man in Black.
("Man in Black" copyright 1971 by Johnny Cash, 1932-2003)
RIP, John.
-JoeM.
About a televised dual concert from Austin, Texas
Okay, it was Kris Kristofferson on Austin City Limits, not REM. But ain't that just as good? "Sunday Morning Comin' Down" is about as flawlessly poetic a song as you'll ever hear, even when raspy-throated Kris performs it.
The old buzzard gave me gooseflesh when he sang & strummed "Help Me Make It Through the Night" & "For the Good Times." And he made me smile when he said about the capital of Texas:
"Okay, this isn't Music City. But it's Music Soul anyway."
But Mr. Steve Earle doin' Townes Van Zandt's songs & telling stories about his dead pal tonight was even better for me. God bless you, Townes, wherever you are.
The old buzzard gave me gooseflesh when he sang & strummed "Help Me Make It Through the Night" & "For the Good Times." And he made me smile when he said about the capital of Texas:
"Okay, this isn't Music City. But it's Music Soul anyway."
But Mr. Steve Earle doin' Townes Van Zandt's songs & telling stories about his dead pal tonight was even better for me. God bless you, Townes, wherever you are.
Stop the Slaughter! - green Peace love
Here's a poem-email that I sent my brother David in Hood River, Oregon (USA), the other day from a computer in our hometown, Racine, Wisconsin (U$A).
Hope it moves you.
Br. Dave:
Saw the sad
photo of the California seal feasting on chinook
salmon at the base of the Bonneville Dam, all the way up
river from Portland. Not knowing his hours on earth were ending.
Euthanized to protect the migrating fish, the authorities said.
Bummer, man.
-Br. Joe
Hope it moves you.
Br. Dave:
Saw the sad
photo of the California seal feasting on chinook
salmon at the base of the Bonneville Dam, all the way up
river from Portland. Not knowing his hours on earth were ending.
Euthanized to protect the migrating fish, the authorities said.
Bummer, man.
-Br. Joe
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Buying Old Crow bourbon in Louisville & achieving satori
I stopped in Louisville on my way from Nashville to Racine & I was blessed with the discovery of some genuine weirdness downtown. First I tried the Thomas Edison House on a decrepit block of Shelby Avenue, but it was closed. Then I visited the Louisville Slugger Museum & Factory, where I got an official rules of baseball book for $5 & some postcards at the gift shop. I even popped into the Frazer Historical Arms museum, where they sell deadly-looking but non battle-ready swords (to adults only, the gift-store clerk assured me). That stretch of Main Street, lined by restored brick, granite & marble facades circa 1900, is architecturally impressive.
But the sidewalks near the banks of the mighty Ohio River were windy, cold & nearly deserted. After eating a pint of ice cream, I bought a cheap green French-made khaki shoulder bag & some Army-issue wool-cotton-nylon socks at a shabby military surplus store run by a funny old veteran kept company by a yappy Yorkshire terrier. I skipped the Muhammed Ali museum because they charge $9 admission. No place celebrating the life & legacy of the Louisville Lip is worth that much to me.
Anyway, I wanted to buy a bottle of Old Crow Kentucky bourbon whiskey in honor of Louisville native & Old Crow addict Hunter S. Thompson. I popped into a liquor store but they didn't carry that brand, so I found a CVS drugstore above the Hard Rock cafe that did - at just $8 + tax for a fifth. On the way back to my car, parked on the corner of Fourth & Muhammed Ali Blvd. [now named Thomas Merton Square] downtown, I noticed a big metal historical marker that read as follows:
"Thomas Merton, Trappist monk, poet, social critic & spiritual writer (1915-1968), author of the autobiography 'The Seven-Storey Mountain' (1948). Merton had a sudden insight at this corner on March 18, 1958 [i.e. , that led him to refine his monastic identity with greater involvement in social justice issues. He was 'suddenly overwhelmed witht the realization that I loved all these people . . . walking and shining like the sun.'"
Ah, but it's easier to love humanity on a sunny afternoon in March, like the one I enjoyed yesterday in Louisville. And people get on your nerves a little less when you're a monk cut off from most human contact, I reckon. That's about as close to a satori moment as I've had in a while. Maybe the Old Crow will help enlighten me further when I open the bottle.
But the sidewalks near the banks of the mighty Ohio River were windy, cold & nearly deserted. After eating a pint of ice cream, I bought a cheap green French-made khaki shoulder bag & some Army-issue wool-cotton-nylon socks at a shabby military surplus store run by a funny old veteran kept company by a yappy Yorkshire terrier. I skipped the Muhammed Ali museum because they charge $9 admission. No place celebrating the life & legacy of the Louisville Lip is worth that much to me.
Anyway, I wanted to buy a bottle of Old Crow Kentucky bourbon whiskey in honor of Louisville native & Old Crow addict Hunter S. Thompson. I popped into a liquor store but they didn't carry that brand, so I found a CVS drugstore above the Hard Rock cafe that did - at just $8 + tax for a fifth. On the way back to my car, parked on the corner of Fourth & Muhammed Ali Blvd. [now named Thomas Merton Square] downtown, I noticed a big metal historical marker that read as follows:
"Thomas Merton, Trappist monk, poet, social critic & spiritual writer (1915-1968), author of the autobiography 'The Seven-Storey Mountain' (1948). Merton had a sudden insight at this corner on March 18, 1958 [i.e. , that led him to refine his monastic identity with greater involvement in social justice issues. He was 'suddenly overwhelmed witht the realization that I loved all these people . . . walking and shining like the sun.'"
Ah, but it's easier to love humanity on a sunny afternoon in March, like the one I enjoyed yesterday in Louisville. And people get on your nerves a little less when you're a monk cut off from most human contact, I reckon. That's about as close to a satori moment as I've had in a while. Maybe the Old Crow will help enlighten me further when I open the bottle.
Final Report from Music City
Nashville, Tennessee (USA)
March 2, 2010 - 7:15 a.m. (CST)
Ladies & Gentlemen:
I'm writing this final report on my mission in Dixie, in part, in order to help wake up my hungover & mortally sleep-deprived brain, in preparation for the long drive north to Racine, that dirty old hometown on Lake Michigan. My belongings are sprawled across the lounge of Music City Hostel & I dread the prospect of puzzling them together in my tiny VW in the cold sleet. Alas, some things must be left behind in this material world of limited space. Okay, maybe it ain't Sophie's choice, but some lucky bastard at the Starvation Army thrift store on Charlotte Avenue is gonna get something nice of mine, and cheap.
I dodged a DUI bullet just a few blocks from home at 1:30 a.m. when I was pulled over - for the third time here - on account of defective tail lamps caused by a January battery failure messing up my car's computer. My passengers, Tatiana & Gregoire, bailed immediately. Tat tossed back an almost sarcastic "Good luck, Joe" as they walked away. I passed the horizontal nystgmus gaze test & Officer Friendly let me go with a warning to fix the lights. Thank you, Nashville Metro PD. I love you almost as much as Kid Rock said he likes your fine jail at his induction to the Music Walk of Fame last November. I got within 50 feet of Dolly Parton that warm sunny afternoon & the good vibes coming from her were palpable, folks. Mmmmmm, Dolly....
Well, I failed to find employment in the rapidly downsizing music industry here (C'mon, people, BUY MORE DAMN CDs) but I found something almost as precious: a new direction in my career & life. I'm not sure exactly what it entails, aside from blogging & moving to Seattle as soon as I can get the scratch together. But if it's half as fun as Nashville has been - even on an income of just $198/week UE benefits (plus barter work for my bed), then I can't wait to find out. I spent a couple of hours in the Land of a Thousand Dances last night, otherwise known as rock & soul retro-disco night at the 5 Spot in east Nashville. Man, that was like a scene from the movies when they played Chuck Berry, Wilson Pickett & the Shangri-Las & all the lovely gals in sexy outfits started twisting! But enough about my frustrations & joys & wonder.
Thank you all for sharing this weird journey south with me. Let's get together soon & swap stories. I gotta write some books, I could use your vicarious adventures for additional material or inspiration. Ciao for now, y'all.
March 2, 2010 - 7:15 a.m. (CST)
Ladies & Gentlemen:
I'm writing this final report on my mission in Dixie, in part, in order to help wake up my hungover & mortally sleep-deprived brain, in preparation for the long drive north to Racine, that dirty old hometown on Lake Michigan. My belongings are sprawled across the lounge of Music City Hostel & I dread the prospect of puzzling them together in my tiny VW in the cold sleet. Alas, some things must be left behind in this material world of limited space. Okay, maybe it ain't Sophie's choice, but some lucky bastard at the Starvation Army thrift store on Charlotte Avenue is gonna get something nice of mine, and cheap.
I dodged a DUI bullet just a few blocks from home at 1:30 a.m. when I was pulled over - for the third time here - on account of defective tail lamps caused by a January battery failure messing up my car's computer. My passengers, Tatiana & Gregoire, bailed immediately. Tat tossed back an almost sarcastic "Good luck, Joe" as they walked away. I passed the horizontal nystgmus gaze test & Officer Friendly let me go with a warning to fix the lights. Thank you, Nashville Metro PD. I love you almost as much as Kid Rock said he likes your fine jail at his induction to the Music Walk of Fame last November. I got within 50 feet of Dolly Parton that warm sunny afternoon & the good vibes coming from her were palpable, folks. Mmmmmm, Dolly....
Well, I failed to find employment in the rapidly downsizing music industry here (C'mon, people, BUY MORE DAMN CDs) but I found something almost as precious: a new direction in my career & life. I'm not sure exactly what it entails, aside from blogging & moving to Seattle as soon as I can get the scratch together. But if it's half as fun as Nashville has been - even on an income of just $198/week UE benefits (plus barter work for my bed), then I can't wait to find out. I spent a couple of hours in the Land of a Thousand Dances last night, otherwise known as rock & soul retro-disco night at the 5 Spot in east Nashville. Man, that was like a scene from the movies when they played Chuck Berry, Wilson Pickett & the Shangri-Las & all the lovely gals in sexy outfits started twisting! But enough about my frustrations & joys & wonder.
Thank you all for sharing this weird journey south with me. Let's get together soon & swap stories. I gotta write some books, I could use your vicarious adventures for additional material or inspiration. Ciao for now, y'all.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Friendly folks on a warm winter afternoon in Nashville
I drove across the Cumberland River last Friday afternoon to a green-space in east Nashville called Shelby Bottoms. I came upon a ballgame at the riverside Old Timers Field. It must have been cabin-fever that drove me to check it out because baseball usually bores me. I found a scuffed brown baseball along the outfield fence as I walked to the gate, contemplating whether to keep it as a souvenir. It was still only 45 degrees Fahrenheit & that ball was a welcome harbinger of springtime - a sporting rebuke to the barren trees.
"Hey," I said to a group of Belmont University bullpen pitchers, "Can fans keep home-run balls in this league?"
"Sure," a tall friendly young player said. I handed it to him anyway.
"'Preciate it," a teammate said.
"Might be a good a batting practice ball, at least," I explained. "Who are y'all playing?"
"Eastern Illinois University," the pitcher replied.
"Well, kick their ass," I exclaimed. "I'm from Wisconsin & we don't care much for Illinois."
"Well," the fella answered, "I'm from Illinois & we don't like you Wisconsin folks much either."
We all laughed at that & I went to watch a few innings from the sun-drenched bleachers for free, surrounded by pretty gals & entertained by music between batters. Bill called me from Salt Lake City during the top of the third. He reported that they were having similar warmish sunny weather out West. But he is off to an even warmer climate in a few days: New Zealand, that lucky adventurous soul.
Afterwards, I almost walked into the path of a young lady chipping golf balls high into the air on a steeply sloped driving range. She waved me on, but I demurred. "I'm just glad you're an accurate hitter," I said with a smile. My beret is no helmet & I am disconcertingly accident-prone.
"I'm just glad to have a warm day to hit," she replied. "I'm from Ohio." I learned that she was a high-school senior with a scholarship to play golf for the University of South Carolina in the fall.
"Nice place for golf," I told her, remembering my summer in Charleston (1996).
"Yeah," she agreed. "It's warm there."
And so are most of the people you meet here in Nashville - even in wintertime. Like the singer/percussionist Mississippi Millie & her Wild Animal guitarist Tiger Gagan, who entertained me with a blues set at Flying Saucer on Saturday night. That was a nice warmup for (Appleton, Wisconsin's own) Cory Chisel & the Wandering sons show at the Mercy Lounge. I'm gonna miss this place after I leave town tomorrow.
"Hey," I said to a group of Belmont University bullpen pitchers, "Can fans keep home-run balls in this league?"
"Sure," a tall friendly young player said. I handed it to him anyway.
"'Preciate it," a teammate said.
"Might be a good a batting practice ball, at least," I explained. "Who are y'all playing?"
"Eastern Illinois University," the pitcher replied.
"Well, kick their ass," I exclaimed. "I'm from Wisconsin & we don't care much for Illinois."
"Well," the fella answered, "I'm from Illinois & we don't like you Wisconsin folks much either."
We all laughed at that & I went to watch a few innings from the sun-drenched bleachers for free, surrounded by pretty gals & entertained by music between batters. Bill called me from Salt Lake City during the top of the third. He reported that they were having similar warmish sunny weather out West. But he is off to an even warmer climate in a few days: New Zealand, that lucky adventurous soul.
Afterwards, I almost walked into the path of a young lady chipping golf balls high into the air on a steeply sloped driving range. She waved me on, but I demurred. "I'm just glad you're an accurate hitter," I said with a smile. My beret is no helmet & I am disconcertingly accident-prone.
"I'm just glad to have a warm day to hit," she replied. "I'm from Ohio." I learned that she was a high-school senior with a scholarship to play golf for the University of South Carolina in the fall.
"Nice place for golf," I told her, remembering my summer in Charleston (1996).
"Yeah," she agreed. "It's warm there."
And so are most of the people you meet here in Nashville - even in wintertime. Like the singer/percussionist Mississippi Millie & her Wild Animal guitarist Tiger Gagan, who entertained me with a blues set at Flying Saucer on Saturday night. That was a nice warmup for (Appleton, Wisconsin's own) Cory Chisel & the Wandering sons show at the Mercy Lounge. I'm gonna miss this place after I leave town tomorrow.
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