Month: April 2022

You’ll Know It’s True That You Are Blessed and Lucky

I went to three concerts last week, two in the Philly area and one outside DC, the first I’d attended post-arrival of COVID. It was quite the memorable experience, full of joy and intense sorrow. I’m sure I’m about to blather on at too great a length, but some of the details are worth it to me to record.

The long weekend had its origins over two years ago, in an aborted trip to see 10,000 Maniacs at the Birchmere in northern Virginia with my grad school friend Greg—I was to fly in on a Thursday evening, see the show Friday, and get back to KY in time for my Monday classes (I had scheduled exams for the Friday). Trouble was, the date of the concert was March 20, 2020—I don’t remember now which came first, me cancelling my flight or the venue cancelling the show.

Then in the summer of 2021, Greg and I began planning a make-up show of sorts, settling on seeing Suzanne Vega, who would be playing in NJ near Philadelphia on a Friday night in October. We bought tickets, I booked a flight…and then the show got cancelled about ten days before it was scheduled (oddly, the only show on the tour that got nixed).

Greg got back in touch early this year when he learned that Vega would be touring again and had scheduled what appeared to be a make-up show on April 22. The timing was good, as it was again on a Friday, so I could schedule an exam on that day and arrange for a colleague to proctor it; we were back in business. As the weeks passed, Greg kept making suggestions: 10,000 Maniacs would be back at the Birchmere on April 23—wanna go? And then Aimee Mann announced her tour dates, also playing suburban Philly on April 21—wanna go? I figured out a way to handle my Thursday class and said yes to it all—they’re all acts I’ve loved for years. I wound up flying in on Wednesday evening.

Departure from NoVa was a little before noon on Thursday, after I’d held individual Zoom conferences with my students about final projects. We were getting primed for the Mann show by listening to her latest album, Queens of the Summer Hotel, when Judy called. Now, Judy is a dear friend from college, but hearing from her on an early Thursday afternoon made some alarm bells go off. When I could tell she was upset and asked me if I were sitting down, I knew what was coming next: James, my college roommate of more than 3.5 years, a central star in the constellation of connections from that era, had died that morning. I knew his health hadn’t been all that good recently, but the news was still quite a jolt.

Much of the rest of the afternoon was spent talking and messaging with other friends, sharing the news and commiserating. Greg let me ramble on about James while we completed our journey, giving me space to process and begin grieving. I can imagine writing more about my roomie sometime in the not terribly distant future, but you can learn a lot about James by reading this beautiful, touching tribute that our friend Warren pulled together almost instantaneously. Suffice it to say for now that I’ve been experiencing a pervasive sense of sadness over the last week-plus.

—

The shows were all very good to great. The venue on Thursday was the Keswick Theatre, tucked away in an interesting stretch of apartment buildings and small shops in Glenside, PA. The layout of the place was nonstandard: after you enter, you walk maybe 50 feet to get to the lobby, which then opens directly on the right into the theater. It’s a little under a century old and has been restored to a reasonable extent over the last 35 years; it appeared as if it once had a balcony. Capacity was, I’d guess, around 900.

We’d grabbed mighty-good-but-too-large cheesesteaks (with provolone, not Whiz—sorry, Philly faithful) on the way and ate them in a small park behind the theater. Our seats were in the middle section, nine rows back from the stage. Mann didn’t play any of my very favorites, but the songs she’d chosen went together well and suited my mood reasonably. She and her band were tight; I have no complaints.

During the encore, Mann addressed the recent dustup that occurred when Steely Dan removed her as opening act for their upcoming tour. Several weeks ago, she’d tweeted, “All is forgiven if Donald just tells me what Brooklyn is about,” and soon after, Fagen sent her a lengthy letter explaining how the song on Can’t Buy a Thrill emerged from watching a certain fellow who lived in Fagen and Becker’s neighborhood in that borough in the early 70s. She then played the song for us.

This was the only one of the three shows to have an opener, Mann’s long-time friend and collaborator Jonathan Coulton. His songs tried to be funny, but Greg and I agreed there was something missing in them, maybe a connection between the humor and anything particularly real-life. Aimee joined Coulton on stage for two of his eight songs, and he returned the favor early in her set.

—

We moved west on Friday to Phoenixville, where Vega would be performing in the Colonial Theatre, another long-lived structure (almost 120 years old) that’s been restored relatively recently and offers both concerts and movies. It’s perhaps best known for being the site of a famous scene from the 50’s movie The Blob (Blobfest has become an annual summer event there). Greg had scored VIP passes for us along with front-row seats for the show, so at 5:30, we and about twenty other folks got inside and watched Vega and her guitarist Gerry Leonard warm up on three tunes; she also answered a few questions from those gathered, the most interesting of which centered on the Grateful Dead Rainforest Benefit concert to which she contributed in September 1988.

I had a small moment in the sun during the sound check. One of the songs she sang then was “Walk on the Wild Side,” which she’d covered on her most recent album An Evening of New York Songs and Stories. Vega had forgotten the lyric sheet and asked for help from the crowd about the name of the fifth character in Reed’s song. Several of us went a-Googling, and when the time came for that verse to be sung, she cupped her hand to her ear for help, She heard and acknowledged with a nod my shout of “Jackie!”

—

When it was over, we went across the street to a brewpub; the appetizers we ordered became dinner. Greg’s cousin Kate, who lived in the area, swung by and joined us—it was the first time they’d gotten together in about five years.

As we walked back to the theater, Greg had a mission: find someone on whom to bestow two tickets (he’d bought a second pair next to us, initially with the idea that Kate might use them, but that didn’t pan out). We were just inside the doors where the box office was when a couple walked in, inquiring about availability. Apparently, the show was sold out (capacity was around 650, we were told), but Greg sidled next to them and made an offer too good to refuse. That’s how Francesco and Lauren, our new friends, came to join us for the show.

Vega was fabulous—if forced to choose, hers was the best show of the three. It was just she and Leonard on stage the entire concert. As promised, she told stories (I knew that “Gypsy” was about a man she’d met at a summer camp they both had worked when she was in her late teens, but I learned that “In Liverpool” was a sequel to “Gypsy” and that she’d reconnected with the man years later). She was very comfortable in her own skin, which I think allowed her to be alternately sensual (“Caramel”) and playful (a DNA-ish version of “Tom’s Diner”). There were plenty of highlights, and she played many songs from her catalog that I dearly enjoy. Continuing with what became a theme that lasted the entire trip, she also did a cover during her encore, a wonderful take on Blondie’s “Dreaming.”

Francesco and Lauren invited us to join them for a drink afterward. We learned that she grew up somewhat nearby while he came from northern Italy; they’d met when they worked together on a project for a pharmaceutical company, and now lived on a small farm just outside of town. They were both just very nice, and our lengthy conversation was a lot of fun. Kate also swung by again to follow up with Greg on some of their earlier chat, and we got a great group photo before parting ways. Random acts of kindness do pay off.

—

We took the scenic route on the way back to VA on Saturday, veering west and bypassing toll roads; lunch was at an awesome creperie in Lancaster. Traffic got worse the closer we got to DC—given it was the weekend, I’m all the more glad I don’t have to deal with it on an ongoing basis. We headed straight to the Birchmere in Alexandria, arriving around 3:30 and lining up alongside the building. Their doors open at 5, but the order in which you show up affects your seating options, as you’re given a numbered ticket when you enter, just like those you’d get to wait in line at a grocery store deli. (There were only three people in front of us.) Between 5 and 6 we all gathered in a large anteroom, visiting the bar and/or gift shop. Greg and I both got Maniacs shirts, and we met up with Gordon, an old friend of Greg’s from his youth in NY who now lives in the area. At 6, ticket numbers were called and the three of us secured a table right in front of the stage, a little right of center. We then ordered dinner, and shortly after 7:30 the lights dimmed, and the six band members (plus a female backup singer) ascended to the stage.

The show largely consisted of well-known songs from the Natalie Merchant era, with a few later tunes and a couple of covers thrown in (their encore included a delightful version of the Cure’s “Just Like Heaven”). The playing was solid, and the band overall appeared to be having a good time. I went going in wondering how Mary Ramsey would approach singing songs mostly written by Merchant. Ramsey’s voice turns out to be a decent match for her predecessor’s without falling into imitation (it’s not quite as full as Merchant’s, though, and this is where the backup singer helped). The occasional turns Ramsey took on her viola added value to many songs.

About halfway through, bass player Steve Gustafson got hold of one of the band’s 40th anniversary t-shirts available for purchase, reminding the audience they could stop by the gift shop for swag after the show. He then looked around at the audience in front of him and tossed the shirt to Greg. Since this was the same shirt he’d just purchased, he handed it off to me (I’d gotten a different style). Gustafson looked a little surprised/miffed, so Greg showed him it was a duplicate.

After the show ended, several members of the band joined the remaining crowd in the anteroom (a nice touch, for sure). Greg got to tell Gustafson that he’d also been the recipient of the shirt when the Maniacs had been there in the fall (Greg likes to go early in case you can’t tell). That first shirt had been too small, so it’d wound up with Greg’s wife Katie.

—

My flight home on Sunday didn’t depart until after 9pm (fortunately, a non-stop), so around noon Greg drove me from their home in Vienna to Leesburg, where Tony, the high school classmate I’ve both known the longest and maintained closest ties to over the years, lives with his wife Lisa. It was our first in-person get-together in almost four years, and we had a fabulous afternoon catching up, shooting some pool in their basement, and grabbing some nice pad thai from a nearby restaurant. Tony was gracious enough to drop me off at the airport, and before long I was deep in the process of getting back to wrapping up the semester at the college.

—

The title of this post comes from the final song in the Maniacs’ encore, “These Are Days.” It’s caused me to meditate a little on the difference between blessing and luck. Not that I have any great insight about the matter, but it seems to me that both come to one regardless of merit, although blessing does imply that there’s a blesser.

The weekend wound up being centered on three of my best friends, from three different phases of my life. Blessing, luck, or both, I realized once again how glad I am that Tony and I both moved to Walton in the summer of 1972, how good it was to spend quality time with Greg when he (okay, we) needed it, and how grateful I am to the powers-that-were at Transy who assigned James and me to adjacent rooms in the fall of 1982, so that it could occur to us both a few months later that we might be a better match than those to whom we were originally assigned.

—

Here are live versions of three songs I heard on my trip, though in all cases what you hear below is at least a little different from how they were presented last week.

American Top 40 PastBlast, 4/19/86: Sade, “Never as Good as the First Time”

Just like last August, the powers-that-be at Premiere have scheduled shows from 1986 and 1982 for rebroadcast on consecutive weekends. Then, preparations to decamp for grad school and college were on my mind; now, I’m thinking back on those final weeks of college and high school. This past weekend I rummaged through my brain and a bin of college memorabilia to pull out artifacts from my senior spring, a couple of which are tangible. Here are three short tales.

—

I. Transy observes a 4-4-1 calendar, with the spring term ending right around this time of year. One of the classes I took my final spring was a general education course called something akin to Music Theory for the Liberal Arts Student, to fulfill a distribution requirement. My recollection is that it was interesting enough, though given past experiences with piano lessons and band, perhaps I would have enjoyed a similar course designed for majors more? Anyway, the professor was in her first year on campus, her specialty in composition.

Fast forward almost six years. I’m at the interview in NW Indiana I mentioned in last week’s post, talking with one of the members of the search committee. He pulls out a picture with three people in it, asking if I recognize them. I do know two–they’re faculty in English and art at my undergraduate institution. The third turns out to be that music theory instructor, to whom my interviewer is now married–he tells me that when he mentioned that Transylvania was on an applicant’s resume, she was able to verify I’d once been her student (gradebooks are forever). I suspect he’s been waiting for this moment for a couple of weeks now, and I’ve kind of blown it. (In retrospect, I half-wonder if the connection didn’t play at least a minor role in securing an on-campus interview. My faux pas had nothing to do with failing to merit an offer, though.)

—

II. At the end of my junior year I was elected president of our campus’s leadership honorary, Omicron Delta Kappa. In March 1986, I flew down to Baton Rouge to represent Transy at ODK’s national conference. Two items of mild note from the trip: 1) one piece of the NCAA men’s basketball tournament was being held at LSU at the same time as the conference, and one morning I shared a hotel elevator with then-Georgia Tech coach Bobby Cremins; 2) I also got to briefly meet Frank Rose, a bigwig in the ODK leadership structure. Rose had assumed the presidency of Transy in the early 50s, about halfway through my father’s time there, despite being only about a decade older than Dad. He left Transy after several years to become president at the University of Alabama. Desegregation occurred during his tenure in Tuscaloosa; he also hired Paul “Bear” Bryant away from the University of Kentucky’s football team. Dad knew Dr. Rose, of course, and regarded him with esteem, so he was glad I was able to introduce myself.

Transy’s circle (that’s what ODK calls their chapters) was the Lampas Circle, Lampas being the name of TU’s leadership honorary prior to pursuing national affiliation. Early in the school year, we’d been approached by the national office about inviting Lampas members from the past to become formal ODK members. I somewhat naively went along with this effort, and in March we sent out letters to appropriate alums to join us for an induction service on the first Sunday in May. Perhaps not too surprisingly, only a few folks (one of whom was my father) accepted–I assume most just ignored it. One invitee, an alum from the late 60s, did take the time to respond in memorable fashion, cc-ing the college President along the way.

Looking back, she was hardly wrong to see the invitation as a money grab. And I’d obviously been sloppy in not clearly identifying myself in the letter. While I think in part I simply had the misfortune of being a convenient target for venting, I actively chose to hold on to this letter as a reminder to stay humble and not get too wrapped up in self-importance.

—

III. The “1” in the 4-4-1 calendar is a four-week period known as May Term. Students take just one class, frequently a non-standard offering. My last May Term class was a topics course in Archaeology. Ostensibly taught by the college’s anthropology prof, it was in reality directed by an archaeology Ph.D. candidate from UK; I imagine we were helping him with his doctoral research. We first learned a little about field techniques, and then got to put them into practice on a real dig. Our site was farmland south and east of Lexington, just outside the small burg of Athens (for the non-locals, it’s pronounced AY-thens; if you think that’s funny, wait until you hear how we say the name of the town due west of Lexington known as Versailles). Evidence of past Native American settlement had been found in some of the farm’s fields, and our task was to discover what we could over a two-plus week period. We started by laying out plots via elementary surveying and then tucking in, taking off a layer at a time, moving on once we’d found what we could. One of the course requirements was to keep a journal of daily activity–while we had to hand them over at the end of the term, you know that I made photocopies before I did so. Here are two of the entries.

Chris T. was the UK grad student; Chris B., then a sophomore, later got his Ph.D. in anthropology and now teaches at our alma mater. That plot turned out to be plenty fruitful the next day.
The weather didn’t always cooperate, but we did find some pretty interesting stuff–a later entry notes some bone awls we’d dug up. MFA = Mitchell Fine Arts, a Transy classroom building.

The final journal entry was from 5/19, just six days before my graduation ceremony. I don’t know how it all turned out, whether there was subsequent work on the site, etc. I thoroughly enjoyed the class, though.

—

Good times, they come and they go. I had a wonderful college experience, but by April 1986 it was just about time to move on to the next stage. Staying at Transy probably wouldn’t have been the same, been as fun.

Sade is singing about romance in “Never as Good as the First Time” (debuting at #37 on 4/19/86, heading toward a peak of #20), not four years in college, but work with me here–there are plenty of things in this world that simply aren’t as enjoyable if extended beyond their shelf life. Savor the moments, treasure them, recall them fondly, but maybe think twice before you attempt to re-create them.

Modern Rock Tracks, 4/11/92

By mid-April 1992, my job search for a college math position was languishing. An interview in February at a regional school in northwest Indiana had bombed (looking back it’s easy to see that now; then, I had to be told by the chair of the search committee just how far down I was on their ranked list of interviewed candidates). Around this time, a small school in Illinois to which I’d applied did send me a letter, essentially offering me a job sight unseen. That, along with the accompanying minuscule salary, set off enough red flags to cause me to quickly decline. I was beginning to countenance the possibility of staying at UIUC another year, leading me to put off scheduling the defense of my dissertation.

—

Probably the most memorable event of the spring was a trip to Maryland that Greg, Karl, and I took over a long Easter weekend to see Greg’s wife Katie. Like this year, Easter fell pretty late in 1992, on April 19. All three of us had research assistantships without teaching duties that spring, so we left early on Thursday morning in my 1986 Camry, easily the most reliable of the vehicles at our disposal.

It’s about 700 miles between Urbana, IL, and the Maryland suburbs northeast of DC, so despite switching off drivers, it was a pretty long day. We all crashed at Katie’s apartment–being poor grad students, Karl and I slept on couches or in sleeping bags on the living room floor. It was nice to meet Chrissie and Lisa, Katie’s roommates (and also first-year math grad students at UMD), after learning some about them over the previous months via Greg and Katie’s phone conversations.

It was a pretty laid-back time. I don’t recall going into DC to do any sightseeing–I imagine overall we stayed within a decent radius of the apartment, though I’m sure a visit to a record store or two was high on the list of things to do. I tuned into the alternative station WHFS when I could, as I had done three months earlier when in Baltimore for the math conference where I’d had some initial interviews.

The guys did drive up to Baltimore ‘s Inner Harbor on Friday evening to see the fourth-ever game at Oriole Park at Camden Yards–we sat in the right field bleachers.

The O’s won 8-0, the fourth consecutive time one of the teams had failed to score in the new park. Rick Sutcliffe started for Baltimore, pitching the last of his career 18 complete-game shutouts; the offensive hero was first baseman Randy Milligan, who had two jacks and 6 RBI. The main thing I recall from the evening, though, is the razzing from the fans (one of whom might have been Greg) that Rob Deer, playing RF for the Tigers, endured throughout.

On the way home on Easter, we made the mistake of assuming that a straight line was the quickest way between two points, and lost a few hours on the back roads of northern West Virginia and southern Ohio. I don’t know now whether it was planned in advance, but we veered a little south to Florence to spend Sunday night with my parents and sister (who happened to be home at the time), arriving back in IL on Monday afternoon. A long trip for a short visit, but well worth it.

—

As for what was on the Modern Rock Tracks chart (and likely WHFS’s playlist) at the time, well, let’s take a gander…

30. Cowboy Junkies, “Murder, Tonight, in the Trailer Park”
This still-active Canadian outfit, best known for their cover of the Velvet Underground’s “Sweet Jane,” never could quite break through. At one point I owned Black Eyed Man but I’m not finding it in my collection now.

28. Tori Amos, “Silent All These Years”
My favorite song of the year, from my favorite album of the year. I’d picked up Little Earthquakes by this time, and Greg and I had already connected Amos to her past life as Y Kant Tori Read.

WHFS was also playing her version of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” (which is included on the soon-to-be-released “Crucify” EP) while we were visiting.

27. Peter Case, “Dream About You”
I like Case’s third solo album, Six-Pack of Love, quite a bit–I believe I bought it on that trip. While I get the criticism about Mitchell Froom’s (over-)production, “Dream About You” is still a pop delight.

20. E, “Hello Cruel World”
I was last-week-years-old, doing research for my radio show featuring many of the songs on this chart, when I learned that E (Mark Oliver Everett) went on to found the band Eels (“Novacaine for the Soul”) later in the decade. This catchy number deserved more attention.

18. Lush, “For Love”
If Lush is on the countdown, you can be sure I’m going to note it and embed a video. “For Love” was their second and last MRT Top 10 song. It’ll be another four years before they appear here again (how “Hypocrite,” from Split, didn’t score remains a mystery to me).

17. Nirvana, “Come As You Are”
Currently, the owner of the second-longest run on the chart (13 weeks)–the endurance champ is still to come.

10. Red Hot Chili Peppers, “Under the Bridge”
I’m not a big RHCP fan by any means, but I’ve always really, really liked “Under the Bridge.” Can’t help but note, though, that seemingly every song of theirs I’ve heard on the radio since bears at least some resemblance to it.

9. Concrete Blonde, “Ghost of a Texas Ladies’ Man“
Johnette and company had peaked in various ways with their previous release Bloodletting; I wasn’t as impressed with this first single from Walking in London.

7. James, “Born of Frustration”
Seven came out on the heels of the re-recorded “Sit Down” from the previous year. “Born of Frustration” was its second single, but the only one to make a dent in the U.S.

5. The Sugarcubes, “Hit”
It’s been a long time since I’d heard “Hit,” but after taking a listen preparing this post, I can unequivocally say it’s the ‘Cubes best song–I’d completely forgotten how good it is. Stick Around for Joy was their swan song, though–in just over a year, we’d be treated to Björk’s first solo project, Debut.

4. Sarah McLachlan, “Into the Fire”
The song that informed us that McLachlan was well on her way. The stuff on Vox is nice enough, but “Into the Fire” was a major step forward. Likely my favorite of hers.

3. David Byrne, “She’s Mad”
From his second post-Heads solo album Uh-Oh. The video has lots of special effects that were revolutionary at the time but sure feel dated now. I do like the line, “If sex is a weapon, who’s winning the war?”

2. U2, “One”
The previous week’s #1, in its fifteenth of twenty-three weeks in MRT-land. Sure, Bono’s lyrics got more and more precious over time, but I’m giving him a pass on this tune.

1. The Cure, “High”
Wish was about a week away from its release. “High” isn’t the album’s most enduring track–we’ll be featuring that one in June–but it definitely satisfied Cure fans’ appetites after almost three years without new material.

What’s In A Name: Emmylou Harris, “Mister Sandman”

At long last, the third installment of what’s turning into a very occasional series about the nine solo artists named Harris who hit the Billboard pop charts over the first thirty years of the rock era. (At this rate, I’ll finish about the time I turn 70, which suggests I should speed things up a bit.) As I’ve noted previously, the odd thing is that none of them hit the Top 40 more than once. This time around, it’s the most highly regarded (not to mention successful) musician of the nine, country legend Emmylou Harris. The source of inspiration? “Mister Sandman” is at #39 on this weekend’s 4/11/81 Premiere offering, embarking on a three-week ride that peaked at #37.

My write-ups about Tony Harris and Major Harris attempted to provide a bit of biography because of their relative obscurity, and also because there just wasn’t much out there. Since this isn’t the case for Emmylou Harris, I’ll largely content myself with a few choice passages about her courtesy of Stereo Review, since that’s where I would mostly have learned about her. A quick perusal of the SR archives reveals an article by Carol Offen in December 1975 (which summarizes Harris’s life and career up to her breakthrough LP Pieces of the Sky, including her serendipitous introduction to and work with Gram Parsons) and at least a half-dozen Best of the Month, Recordings of Special Merit, and featured reviews, all courtesy of Harris mega-fan Noel Coppage.

From the Offen article, a quote: “I’d rather have somebody come see me and, instead of going out and buying my album, go buy a Louvin Brothers album and experience what I experienced the first time I heard it. I would really get off on that.”

As for Coppage…
–on Pieces of the Sky (BotM, 6/75): “Emmylou’s voice is smooth, it has good range and a lovely tone that shimmers on the high notes, and she complements all this with a folksinger’s straightforward phrasing.”
–on Elite Hotel (RSM, 5/76): “..she simply doesn’t need quirky songs or chestnuts everyone knows by heart, just a few that really say something she can wholeheartedly connect with…”
–on Blue Kentucky Girl (BotM, 5/77): “Harris has prodigious talent as a singer, and more than enough style to make her the absolute owner of a song once she’s recorded it. She also has good instincts about what kinds of songs go together…”
–on Evangeline (BotM, 6/81): “…she is one of the few singers around now who give the (probably accurate) impression that they won’t do songs they don’t identify with, let alone don’t like, even if it means going without hits.”

Coppage died in late 1982, and his final reviews appeared in the March 1983 issue. Appropriately, those include one for Late Date, a live Harris album.

—

Despite the high praise from Coppage, despite rave reviews of later albums such as Wrecking Ball and Red Dirt Girl, I remain almost completely ignorant of Harris’s body of work. My excuse back in the late 70s/early 80s was that country music outside of Waylon Jennings wasn’t much my thing. Later, though? Now? It’s just an outright unforced error that I’m more familiar with “Emmylou” by First Aid Kit than any of the real Emmylou’s songs. I expect that to change, and soon.

—

I feel certain that Casey mentioned on one of those April 1981 shows that Emmylou first recorded “Mister Sandman” with Linda Ronstadt and Dolly Parton. For years I didn’t realize that the take on the single was all Emmylou, harmonizing with herself–Ronstadt’s and Parton’s record companies wouldn’t allow the trio’s version to be released on a 45. It was on Evangeline, however; I’m thinking Kasem played the album cut at least once?

See which one you favor.