March 2010 Archives

Since becoming a Christian, I've been a little hit-or-miss about Lent. The idea of giving something up for the forty days from Ash Wednesday to Easter isn't a major tenet of my church; they figure if you want to, knock yourself out, but it's not a deal-breaker with the Big Guy. So I've only observed Lent when I had a really good idea. One year I gave up recreational internet usage. Another year I gave up bathing.

This year I gave up the news. NPR, the New York Times, Salon, Slate and the Google News pages were all put on Leechblock (a service of Firefox that I wholeheartedly endorse), as were all those opinion pages whose job is to make you angry at what those scoundrels on the right did yesterday. ("She wrote stuff on her hand! Her HAND!") I wasn't looking to become a hermit necessarily; I figured some information was bound to trickle in. I just wasn't going to actively seek it out. It's too easy to disappear down the rabbit hole of information and (most aggravatingly) opinion. And that's what gets under your skin, angries up the blood and ruins what could be a perfectly pleasant day.

I settled in for what I was pretty sure was going to be forty white-knuckle days of deprivation. Then something odd happened. I found myself really enjoying the Lenten News Blackout. Enough information seeped through that I wasn't completely in the dark. Tiger Woods? Check. Health care reform? Check. Corey Haim? Check and mate.

But the best part was that I wasn't subjected to the endless opinionating and bloviating that makes up 80% of all news coverage these days. NYT blogs and columns, NPR's "in-depth" coverage, and everything on Slate and Salon -- it's all "analysis," which is mediaspeak for guesses from people who aren't any smarter than you or I. Frankly, it's hard enough to hear a constant stream of political opinions from my friends and friends of friends on Facebook, let alone muster up the wherewithal to have another argument in my mind with Ross Douchehat and the random idiots who leave comments everywhere. This Lent has been like a vacation from the non-stop conga line of opinions, which as we all know are like anuses -- everyone has one and no one wants to hear about yours.

We used to live in a time when there wasn't a 24-hour news cycle, when the half-hour's worth of stuff that happened that day could be summarized for you in, well, a half an hour. I miss those days, and this Lenten News Blackout has given me a chance to revisit that time, when the signal-to-noise ratio was a little bit higher. Easter is coming, and for most people it will be a chance to pig out on chocolate or gorge themselves on french fries or get caught up on all that pornography they've missed. But I'm not so sure I'm ready to go back just yet.

Plus, not futzing around on the computer in the evenings has gotten me caught up with some great music. Have you heard this? This is what I listened to last Wednesday instead of hearing about the latest reason I should be mad at Bill O'Reilly.

03 Equinox.mp3

 

 

A pleasant little surprise today -- it turns out that the Sage of Tippo himself, Mr. Mose Allison has a new album out today. The Way of the World is on the Anti label and was produced by Joe Henry, so I was all set for the kind of approach Henry provided so perfectly for Solomon Burke a few years back, with more guest writers and a rebranding for the NPR crowd. And although the record does have an earthier tone than Allison's 1990s Blue Note discs (including some swampy blues guitar from Greg Leisz), it's still very much Mose being Mose, which is always welcome news.

At 82, Allison's wit remains as sharp as ever, fixed as it is on himself in "My Brain" (which is "always workin' / as long as you got that coffee perkin') and society as a whole on "I Know You Didn't Mean It." "Modest Proposal," meanwhile, suggests we might do well to "give God a vacation" after being "24 hours a day on call," allowing us a chance to "start making sense today." In these heated times, where just about everybody sounds like a wacko, that doesn't sound all that crazy.

All these sentiments are delivered in Allison's trademark Southern gentleman's drawl, which lends an air of decorum to the proceedings. The songs are shorter on The Way of the World, too, with a lot less soloing that you'd expect from a jazz release. That's a positive too; Mose's strong suit has always been his lyrics, and this approach keeps things focused quite nicely. This might not be the ideal introduction to Mose Allison -- I'd start with his '60s work on Atlantic, but it's a terrific indication that his brain is, as he says, always tickin'.

My Brain.mp3

Based on a cursory glance around the webs, the line on the latest Drive By Truckers appears to be that it's a typically solid effort from the group, and the subtext seems to be that that's a little disappointing. Even though Patterson Hood is quietly establishing himself as one of the great songwriters, and Mike Cooley has not, to my knowledge, recorded a bad song yet, people seem to be holding this disc at arm's length. For all the good reviews, I'm getting the sense that folks are still expecting them to make the Great American Rock Album, Post-Millennial Edition. They may not be sure what that means, but they're pretty sure The Big To-Do isn't it.

Never mind, of course, that this is the same group that made its name singing borderline novelties like "Buttholeville" and "Demonic Possession," so the level of growth they've demonstrated is pretty impressive. (I liked the Truckers during those days, but I really prefer them now that they're less afraid to play it straight.) Even songs that could have been played for laughs (This Fucking Job, The Fourth Night of My Drinking) carry a touch of gravitas.

And while 2008's Brighter Than Creation's Dark led off with the beautiful but not especially rousing "Two Daughters and a Beautiful Wife," which set an appropriately somber tone, The Big To-Do kicks off on just the right note with the Damn the Torpedoes-esque "Daddy Learned to Fly." Kudos to Hood and Co. for thinking in terms of the glories of the right Side-1/Track-1.

In this day and age we expect great statements to arrive fully formed. But I'll wager that that hasn't really been the case since the days of Sgt. Pepper, and the fear of being called a hipster/poser/dad rocker has led to a lot of bet-hedging and wishy-washy 3-star reviews. So allow me: The Big To-Do is a terrific album. This is one I'll be revisiting quite a bit. 11 and a half stars.

Daddy Learned To Fly.mp3

Well, it all started out innocently enough. The entire Qualifier staff planned a retreat where we could generally get our heads together to make 2010 a blogging year to remember. But what began as a three-day retreat gradually devolved into a two-month long quagmire of bitter recriminations, passive-aggressive lashing out and hurled crockery. We had only just begun to pick up all the figurative and literal pieces when the horrible news came over the telex that Alex Chilton had died. Instinctively, we re-bonded in the name of musical geekery, and here we are again.

I kid, but Chilton's death was a blow, and it did get me to thinking about writing again. I'll begin with this appreciation, and then I've got some other stuff planned starting next week. Time's always a-wastin', it turns out.

There have been a lot of earnest appreciations of Chilton's work with Big Star, and while I do dearly love those three discs (acquiring an original 1972 Ardent pressing of #1 Record was one of the major highlights of my vinyl buying career), I came by his music through his less-discussed solo work. In 1988 he released his "comeback" album High Priest, and I was immediately drawn into his sloppy, funky guitar playing and withering drawl. It wasn't the blues, exactly, but for a suburban college kid trying to navigate the music beyond the local classic rock station, it was just the right fit.

In interviews, Chilton was always dismissive of the Big Star years, and I get the impression that stems from the general unpleasantness of that time -- broken friendships and bad drugs. He seemed happier about his Box Tops days, and happier still to be playing the New Orleans infused R&B/rockabilly blend that populated his later albums. I got out his last studio album 2000's Set *, for my drive to work yesterday, and was reminded once again of just what a great guitarist he was. He careens from chunky jazz chords into rockabilly leads all the time, creating the illusion that it could all go off the rails at any time.

Give his version of "There Will Never Be Another You" a listen, and remember Alex Chilton in his element. Then go listen to more.

08 There Will Never Be Another You.mp3