The Ohio and Scottish Blues

Last week a friend introduced me to a band called The Black Keys. Very powerful blues/rock with sustained energy. I had never heard of these guys. I pictured a couple big-bellied guys in black suits with long black beards. A Belushi-Ackroyd carry-over in my imagination perhaps.

But the band has been recording for a decade now, and in this clip David Letterman seems to know them well. Keep in mind, they're from Ohio.



Well, blow me down.

Listening to them took me back about 35 years to listening to Robin Trower from time to time on FM radio.



This next one is just a series of pictures set to music, but Long Misty Days is a stirring lament that showcases Jim Dewar's soulful voice, rare for a Scot.



Trower played with Procol Harum before going solo in 1973. (Well, solo with Reg Isidore on drums and the with the indispensable Jim Dewar on bass and vocals.) Trower still plays, but Dewar suffered a stroke as a result of a tragic medical error in 1987 and died in 2002.

Even more tragic is that such deep emotions of lament and longing should not be offered to the Lord who comforts us in our afflictions and satisfies our longings.

Andy Innes, Johnny Clegg, and Jeff Beck

There is a South African guitarist named Andy Innes who is worth your attention. Here he is promoting some sound equipment, but you can hear a bit of his playing at the end.



He plays for the Johnny Clegg Band. Here is Johnny Clegg singing "Asimbonanga" with an appearance from Nelson Mandela.



Based on a song I heard on his MySpace page, "Low Flyer," which is no longer there, Andy's playing reminds we of Jeff Beck. Here is Jeff Beck.



Andy is orginally from Manchester, England, but we're of no relation that I know of. (My family moved from Aberdeen down to Coventry in the early 1960s after my parents emigrated to Canada.) We're both Inneses and we both studied philosophy as undergraduates. That's it. (Note the philosophy degree. He is not just some aging, garageband punk.)

Gone Are the Days of Drummer

All this talk of Max Roach led me into conversation with a drummer friend about the apparent dearth of great drummers. I wondered if “the drummer” disappeared with the golden age of jazz. The sixties and seventies gave us great guitarists. (Yes, there have been great country and classical guitarist; I know I'm especially way out of my depth on that one. I have in mind Jimi Hendrix, Carlos Santana, and Eric Clapton.) But the last notable drummer I recall was Carl Palmer of ELP. I haven’t heard a drum solo since jean jackets were a staple in my wardrobe.

My friend referred me to Thomas Pridgen. Join half a million others in watching this:



I'm told that the great drummers are spread out in that vast musical diversity that has developed since the 1970s. But I’m not saying no one can play the drums nicely. I’m just saying that everyone knows who Buddy Rich and Max Roach were. But any great drummers there are today are hidden in the tall grass, or so it seems to me.

I case you don't know who Buddy Rich (1917-1987) and Max Roach (1924-2007) were, watch this. The friend who sent me the link said: "If you listen to the album in stereo, Buddy is on one channel, Max on the other. But you can tell the difference because Buddy's playing is more precise and bombastic, while Max's is looser, more be-bop."



As usual, whoever posted this on YouTube gives no information on the what, when, where of it.

Immanuel Kant and Thelonious Monk

I have spent the day reading Kant's Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics while listening to the historic 1957 recording of Thelonious Monk and John Coltrane (on vinyl!). You tell me if those two things--that labor of the eyes and that pleaure of the ears--go naturally together.

Because I am an infantalized, 21st century consumer, I went onto Amazon to see if I could get it inexpensively on CD and right now when I want it, preferably in just two days. Yup. Six bucks. Delivered.* With extra tracks. My character is rotting even as I type. But "Ruby My Dear" and "Well, You Needn't" will sound good on the LIRR after I load it all onto my iPod.

I then went looking for Max Roach, as I do from time to time. Freedom Now Suite is still too pricey for me. But I found this interesting video that graphically presents the song I'm looking for. I thought it was on M'Boom or Freedom Now Suite, but I didn't hear it on the sample tracks.



Of course, that is only half the song, as I recall. He takes off from there. I'll keep looking.

*We have Amazon Prime.

***************

I found it. (It was there on the Internet the whole time!) It's on Chattahoochee Red. Of course! But it's not available on Amazon, neither new nor used. Why? Why! Why can't I have whatever want right now from sitting on my couch? (Remedy for this petulant, infantile feeling of entitlement: read previous post on all the evil in the world and the great hope of the world.)

Amazon does tells us this: "For this quartet outing, Max Roach performs seven group originals plus tributes to Clifford Brown ("I Remember Clifford"), Thelonious Monk ("'Round Midnight") and John Coltrane ("Giant Steps"). Roach's regular band (with trumpeter Cecil Bridgewater, Odean Pope on tenor, flute and oboe, bassist Calvin Hill and on "Wefe," guest pianist Walter Bishop, Jr.) is in excellent form on this spirited outing; pity that this LP has been out of print for quite some time." (emphasis added. Pity? Inexplicable!)

Side 1:
The Dream/It's Time I Remember Clifford
Reach For It
Lonesome Lover
Wefe (We-Fay)

Side 2:
Six Bits Blues
'Round Midnight
Red River Road
Giant Steps
Chattahoochee Red

Musicians:
Max Roach - drums, chimes, tympani, percussion
Calvin Hill - bass violin
Cecil Bridgewater - trumpet, flugelhjorn
Odean Pope - tenor sax, alto flute, oboe
Walter Bishop, Jr. - piano

A Bad Earworm

When a German has a song in his head that keeps playing and playing, and will not stop, he calls it an Ohrwurm, an earworm. That expresses the problem well.

At the moment I have Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance" running around up top, and it's taking up valuable mental real estate. But there is good reason for its being there.

I am not equipped to analyze Bad Romance articulately. But emotionally it is a remarkably arresting song. Her soaring vocals and pathetic tones complementing the pathetic theme, the alteration back and forth between Berlin cabaret and Broadway tragedy, and even some classy French at one point to cleanse the listener's ear before returning us to the singer's unhealthy involvement with her lover's "ugly" and "disease" confront us with an immediate awareness that nothing like this has happened in pop music since Michael Jackson released Thriller in 1982 and U2 came out with War in 1983, or possibly since Nirvana's Nevermind showed up in 1991.

But I have not been following popular music closely the way I did when I was 18, and what do I know anyway? That's why I'm going public with these thoughts.

I won't post her video because it is vile, but consider this stunning performance of the song.

It brings to mind this earlier classic of dance and song.



It is true, we are living in a golden age of creativity. I can hardly keep up with it.

Commie Choreography

This came to mind recently, so I am reposting it just for the fun of it.

If you haven't seen The Roots of Breakdance, you must do that now both for cultural literacy's sake and for laughs. The original is Dance of the Soldiers, featuring the Red Army Dance Ensemble ("the Academic Ensemble of Song and Dance of the Soviet Army" under the direction of Alexander Alexandrov and established in 1928). The song is Run DMC's "It's Like That."

Help Them Somebody!

David Byrne and Brian Eno in 1977

I just heard the recent David Byrne and Brian Eno album, Everything That Happens Will Happen Today, on their website, everythingthathappens.com. With My Life in the Bush of Ghosts in mind, I hoped for something rhythmic and tastefully odd. It's not there.



I'm amazed that these guys make enough to cover their food and rent. There is nothing here that compares in any way to "Born Under Punches," "Somber Reptiles," or "Maria Lando," or from Eno alone, "I'll Come Running To Tie Your Shoe." "Strange Overtones" is the closest they come.

I hope that the new U2 album is better. I expect it will be.

But I don't pretend to be a music critic. If you have any fondness for these guys, you can listen to the entire album by using that embedded thing above. Click playlist.

To read about the album and how they collaborated to make it, read "Together Again in Different Time Zones" (New York Times, August 15, 2008).

Memorabilia and Happiness

Harold has drawn our attention in the post below ("Time Stands Still") to a profoundly important fact of life.

Everyone seeks happiness.

We do it in wholesome as well as in perverse ways (marriage as well as adultery; a good meal, but also overindulgence). A fundamental difficulty in this pursuit, however, is that the things in which we try to anchor our happiness are continuously slipping away in the tide of time. And, as the saying goes, time waits for no man, neither for the rich and powerful nor for the poor and obscure. With every passing moment, it carries off our possessions and treasures. And the heart aches to see them go. A pair of socks that have served you well are becoming thread bear in the toe and heel. An affectionate cat who has always been happy to sit in your lap on cold evenings is approaching the end of her days. Your little children are growing up. Your youth is slipping away. You can't run the way you once did, and you're forgetting things. And your church? Your community? Your country? How the gold has become dim. Jesus warns us, "Store up not your treasures on earth where moth and rust corrupt and where thieves break in and steal." Time is the universal thief.

Life is carpeted and canopied and hedged all around with innocent enjoyments, but they are like the manna in the desert that Israel received from the Lord. They can only be enjoyed for the moment, not stored up and preserved for the future. Though each day has its own trouble, Jesus tells us in his great sermon, it also has its own delights that are for that day and for no other.

We reach out our hands to clutch these blessings and secure them permanently, but they are ever--and by the very nature of things--elusive. This is why we collect things, no? People are hoarding Obama memorabilia (magazine covers are my preference) because even as they are enjoying the historical moment, they know at the same time it is slipping away and will soon be only a memory. Whether it's a wedding, an athletic victory, or friendships from our schooldays, we want somehow to preserve the moment in time and carry it into the future as best we can. So it is no surprise that what people carry out of their burning houses, besides their children and pets, is their photographs.

Victory Plate - "We own a piece of history."

"Bob Dylan's Dream" (from Freewheelin', 1963; listen here) captures the cry of that aching heart that sees it's happiness locked irretrievably in the past.

I wish, I wish, I wish in vain,

That we could sit simply in that room again.

Ten thousand dollars at the drop of a hat,

I'd give it all gladly if our lives could be like that.

Heraclitus observed that you cannot step in the same river twice. Even as you step, the river is gone, racing downstream, and has become a different river with different water. But we can no more hold back the river and enjoy the sweet waters of the moment than King Canute could hold back the ocean tide.

So within every pleasure is the pain of knowing that it is slipping away. But there is a way of milking the moment for all that it was intended to give, and simply enjoying it for what it is. Enjoy life's pleasures, as Israel did the manna, as gifts from God to be enjoyed for as long as they are given, and enjoy them thankfully. That is, the genuine enjoyment of these goods (that come into being and pass away) entails enjoying above all the God who gave them, the God who is in himself perfectly delightful, who never changes, and who promises his people that he will never leave them nor forsake them. When we enjoy the good things of life as tokens of his goodness and reflections of his glory, and thus enjoy them worshipfully, we can enjoy God's world the way he gives it to be enjoyed, not as something always slipping tragically into the past, but as something that anticipates the infinitely greater blessedness of the future.

Harold adds:

Nicely explicated, Reverend Doctor.