Hi, Tune-Up fans. It’s been a while. Yes, I am cranking this up again, but before I relaunch anew, I offer this meditation on a piece that recently blew me away. I hope you enjoy it. More soon.
It was the second variation that tripped me up every time. I hated practicing it. My fingers weren’t strong enough for the trills and it was just filled with them. Nothing but trills. Trills all the way down. No matter how much I used the medieval-looking finger strengthening device my parents bought for me, my trills mumbled rather than sparkled. So I always pile-drove my way through it until I could take a breather in the middle variations before bringing the piece home in the jaunty sixth. Taken altogether, Mozart’s Piano Sonata no. 11 was a whopper of a piece for fourteen-year-old me, a pianist with superb emotive playing but average technical ability, which – as one might easily guess – is precisely why my piano teacher assigned it. She correctly diagnosed me as a gifted but lazy pianist who hid my fingers’ physical weaknesses behind their ability to wring feeling from a piece like water from a washcloth. So I did what many surly teenagers are wont to do: I practiced what I wanted to and ignored what I didn’t, which meant I wasn’t ready to perform it on time, which meant I had to perform during a special summer concert designed for delinquent prodigies. I blushed so hard it may as well have been a sunburn. I think I ran off the stage before the applause even started.
Even up against the torture of shifting social politics and the occasional failed test, that concert was still the most challenging moment of high school for a teenager whose private identity and public persona was “musician.” The former were bonbons of private anguish; the concert was a banquet of public humiliation. Almost 30 years later, practically to the day, I reconnected with that humiliated teenager. This is the story of how music made that happen.
As many things in one’s youth tend to be, that concert was temporarily awful. Its sting faded for good by the time I got to college, and I hadn’t thought about it since – though I would still play the sonata occasionally from memory, at the piano I received as a gift after getting my graduate degree. Then one afternoon last week, from a random playlist on Apple’s Classical music app, came a reinterpretation of the sonata. My albatross had come home.
I should say upfront that I have a near anaphylactic allergy to reinterpretations. They are the fusion cuisine of the musical world: keep that jazz away from my Mozart, and keep that Caribbean jerk seasoning away from my sushi. But this interpretation…it blew the windows out. If I had been driving, I would have had to pull the car over. As it was, I ended up putting my head down on my desk and sobbing. Let me explain why by comparing the two pieces side by side.
The original pieces (and we’ll define “piece” here as the theme of the sonata, since that’s what gets reinterpreted) is of moderate tempo and shallow emotional depth. Were the pianist to overplay the melody, it would take something charming and make it mawkish. Mozart’s original piece is unsullied by worry, fear, anger, or regret – that is to say, experience. This is a young, smooth-browed piece.
The reinterpreted version wears its experience on its sleeve. It may be just as quiet, but this is not a calm quiet. This is a weary quiet. The swing is not jaunty – no spring in one’s step here. No, the inner mechanism has been shaken loose by time and use and damage. It may soon need a pacemaker to keep time. And in contrast to the interiority of the original, the reinterpretation is spacious. It’s rocking on the front porch as bursts of memories transport the melody into numerous modulations. There are peeking visits to real darkness where pain lies, remembered but contained through force of will. This piece is at once achingly sad, grateful, resigned, and hopeful, and yet feels no dissonance. It knows that many things are true at once. When it was younger, this piece was all-or-nothing. Things either were, or were not. It learned the hard way that it was incorrect.
This reinterpretation of a Mozart piano sonata is like the musical summation of the past 30 years of my life, inclusive of today’s present moment.
The big event of my fourteenth year was my first kiss – with my first crush, no less. Everything else was gravy. I had two parents. I had room to run and no one was chasing me. My responsibilities extended to trying my best in school, keeping my room in shape, helping around the house, and continuing to learn how to be a human being. 30 years later, I am now middle aged. Let’s round down a little and say early middle age, presuming I don’t let the horrors refill my glass of wine too often or sap my energy to go to the gym or weed the lavender patch or play tag with my son. I know how to be a human being after having been a bad one and a good one and a more or less fine one, sometimes even a great one.
I’m on my second marriage, but this one stuck and we have a child who I gave birth to at the beginning of a global pandemic. I own a house that gives me great joy and requires constant attention and money I don’t really have. I have responsibilities I chose to shoulder, and every day I choose to shoulder them again no matter the weight. I’ve had a root canal so I floss more now. I have dealt with crushing student loan debt. I don’t have as many friends as I used to but the ones I have are deep. I’m on year three of not having my mother, who died out of the blue on a Saturday morning in July. I served in government and have since watched my old office get broken apart and would serve again in a heartbeat. I have a job and I could lose it as easily as my colleague lost hers the other day. Many of my neighbors, friends, and the parents of my son’s friends are out of jobs. Every day I wonder if I’m equipped to keep my son safe and healthy. My right knee clicks when I go up the stairs. Many things are true at once.
The time warp of that reinterpreted Mozart piano sonata is bidirectional. It turned me back into a fourteen-year-old who was then given a chance to see what life would do to, with, and for her, over the next 30 years. And it heightened my feelings of peril about this present moment by reminding me that I was once a child in a world, and now am myself raising a child in a world, and that is work – constant, unavoidable work. Every day is that second variation. It’s nothing but trills. Express the emotion, but do the work. Always do the work.
My mother had a saying: People don’t change, they just stand more clearly revealed. And this reinterpreted sonata revealed that though I may not have strengthened my weak fingers to the point of dazzling artistry, still they became strong enough to do the work required of humans in the world: to seize and hold onto joy when it was scarce; bravery when it was slippery; and love when it was elusive. And that is enough. And it is not easy. But it is enough.
We kick off this year’s Birthday Tune-Up with an homage to travel. Seems appropriate. Now, I had never heard of Nick Lowe before I found this song this year. He’s been around for awhile. First album put out in the late 70s. British. Figures. BUT: did you know his middle name is Drain?
The Beatles, “Mother Nature’s Son” (arranged by D. Sanford)
This is a charming cover of a Beatles song (see the original here). It’s part of a musical initiative by Luna Pearl Woolf and Cornelia Funke (see more here). I know we both typically tend to like things slower, but I quite like the faster tempo of this version. But I’m not going to die on this hill or anything.
David Byrne, “Toe Jam”
I could have posted the studio recording of this, but I wanted you to see the bassist, Bobby Wooten, who is the greatest bassist I’ve ever seen live, and I wanted to give you a taste of how magical Byrne’s “American Utopia” tour was. Did I mention I saw it twice? And once I was in the front row? Oh sorry this isn’t about me. The biggest issue with this video is that it doesn’t keep the camera on the whole ensemble the whole time, which is the whole point of the show. But keep in mind that, as with the Stop Making Sense tour, every noise you’re hearing is created on that stage. It’s amazing.
Claude Debussy, “Bruyères”
This is a piece Debussy wrote by Vaughan Williams. (There is another version that’s done by a string quartet that ups the VW quotient significantly, but for some dumb reason it’s not on YouTube.) Anyway, this sounds so much like that late 19th century English incidental music that it was really confusing when I first heard. This would absolutely be the gardening scene at the end of an episode in a British crime procedural: “Alright, Mrs. Toft-Nettles?” “Yes, Seargent, yes. I do miss my Billy, though.” “Well that’s natural. But you have your begonias, eh? Must look on the bright side.” “Too right, sir, too right. My Billy was shot, burned alive, and shot out of a cannon, but one must’ve dwell on the past. And I do think I’ve got a shot at the village fair this year!”
J.S. Bach, “Nun sich der Tag geendet hat”
So I think you’re doomed to have Andreas Scholl on every Tune-Up because that voice just cannot be denied. The provenance of this piece is hard to figure out. The melody is basically Bach, but I think the song was really written by Adam Krieger. Certainly the melodic arrangement and the lyrics are modern.
Nun sich der Tag geendet hat, und keine Sonne mehr scheint,
schläft alles, was sich abgematt’ und was zuvor geweint.
Du Schöne bist in Schlaf gebracht und liegst in stiller Ruh;
ich aber geh’ die ganze Nacht und tu’ kein Auge zu.
Erhöre doch den Seufzerwind, der durch die Fenster geht,
der sagt dir, wie du mich entzünd’t, und wie es mit mir steht.
Indessen habe gute Nacht, du meine Lust und Pein,
und wenn du morgen aufgewacht, so laß mich bei dir sein.
Now the day has ended and no sun is shining,
everything sleeps that has been embarrassed and previously cried.
Your beauty is brought to sleep and lies in quiet peace;
but I go all night and do not shut my eyes.
Listen to the sighing wind that goes through the windows,
He tells you how you ignite me, and how it is with me.
Meanwhile have a good night, you my lust and pain,
and when you wake up tomorrow, let me be with you.
Raymond Scott, “In an 18th Century Drawing Room”
Raymond Scott: inventor, composer, and writer of tunes that made their way into countless cartoons through the selling the publishing rights to Warner Bros in 1943 (smooth move, Raymond). Also wrote music that emerged and thrived during the Big Band era but was also used in movies like “Honey, I Shrunk the Kids.” What a guy!
Jacob Gippenbusch, Samuel Scheidt, “Die ganze Welt, Herr Jesu Christ,” “Surrexit Christus Hodie,” “Hilariter”
Sir John Eliot Gardiner – the bounciest conductor’s baton in Christendom, and one of the few people with a musical knowledge expansive enough to program Gippenbusch and Scheidt together. And also one whose musical tastes are such that he finds the dance in every piece of liturgical music. One day, I’ll sing these pieces together. That will be a good day.
Heirich Schütz, “Auf tiefer Not”
From Scheidt to Schütz, we’re leaving no German behind on this Birthday Tune-Up. This piece continues in the long tradition of using major and minor modalities to amazing effect. I love how so many phrases effectively end in questions. Actually, sorry I’ve programmed so many old German pieces. Next year I’ll try to give you more stuff from France or, I dunno, Tennessee.
Darius Milhaud, “Scaramouche Suite – 3. Brazileira”
Oh hey! Something from France! I’m doing so well at this. Well I know you know Darius Milhaud from “Le Boeuf sur le Toit,” but you might not know this effervescent little number – an callback to Offenbach’s if ever there was one. Also a few subtle hints of Antonio Carlos Jobim, too, which is logical. (Also: check out Gillam’s amazing pants.)
Kansas Smitty’s House Band, “Blue Peter
So guess where Kansas Smitty’s House Band is from? Right! London! I know. It makes no sense. That said, they do an excellent impersonation of a second line-style group that I had to include this. It’s a good song to put on at the end of a long day of walking around where you just want to sit somewhere, drink in hand, view in front of you. Maybe of an ocean. Dunno why that image popped into my head.
Lazarus, “Ndife Alendo”
Lazarus Chigwandali is a Malawian street busker with albinism who was discovered by a music label a few years ago thanks to a tourist’s cell phone video. I can’t find the translation to this piece, but I did find an interview with Lazarus in which he called this song a “praise song. It’s basically a gospel song. It’s reminding people that we are only visitors on earth and that eventually we will all return to heaven.”
Willie Dixon, “I Got A Razor”
I feel like you should know that it was a tie between Willie Dixon and a Bach cantata (“Vergnüte Ruh”), and Dixon won out. Why? Two reasons. First, clearly this is where the Kansas Smitty Brits got their sounds. Second, the walking piano. I mean I guess he lays it on a little thick with the walking sounds, but still. “You talking about helping me? You better help that grizzly bear. I got a razor, man!” Dixon was born in Vicksburg, Mississippi in on July 1, 1915, just 50 years after the Civil War ended. It’s both heartening and chilling that such an American sound comes from the heartland of slavery. In 1860, 66.5% of the population of Vicksburg were slaves. 99 years later, Willie Dixon, son of Vicksburg, recorded this song.
Leyla McCalla, “The Capitalist Blues”
I think every generation has it hard, and so every generation needs its jazz funeral ode. This is the one for my generation, with our student loan debt and our $3,000/month rent for our tiny efficiencies. So fun!
Hot Club de Frank, “Shine”
If there were a song that put a lovingly freezing washcloth to the face into music, it would be this. I know you’ll never forgot – or enjoy anything more than – waking me up for school when I was in high school, especially with a peppy “Up and at ’em!” What could be better. Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll be repaid in kind by my own kid.
Fairfield Four, “Po Lazarus”
So I love this for a million reasons, but the one that edges out all the others is how subversive this song is. This is from a concert and I’m pretty sure the Fairfield Four got to pick the song they sang. When the camera pans to the audience, you can see it’s a whole stadium full of white people. And what do they choose? An old song about police violence against innocent black men. Lazarus could be Michael Brown or Trayvon Martin. “They laid him on the commissary gallery and then they walked away.” The Fairfield Four are having a blast singing it, but they also enter and exit the stage without much waving or bowing. A subtle reminder that past is prologue.
Juliette, “Procrastination”
As Juliette says in her introduction, what’s among the universal emotions and sentiments? Love, death, and procrastination. If that isn’t a Gallic take on life, I don’t know what is.
J’ai encore le temps pour écrire ma lettre Je m’y mets bientôt, dès ce soir peut-être Une lettre d’amour c’est très important C’est toujours du coeur, dont la vie dépend
J’ai encore le temps de trouver les mots Pour en dire assez, sans en dire trop Car avant que nos sentiments ne changent J’ai encore le temps pour l’appeler mon ange
Comment ces aveux seront-ils reçus? Je vais y penser et dormir dessus J’ai encore le temps avant de les mettre Dans le grand nez en haut de la boite aux lettres
J’attendrai donc demain Qu’aujourd’hui soit hier C’est le meilleur moyen D’exhausser des prières De jouer les devins Et de passer l’hiver Cette désinvolture C’est ma consolation Mes lendemains qui durent Mes voeux sans condition J’avoue que me rassure, la procrastination J’avoue que me rassure, la procrastination
J’ai encore le temps pour faire ma chanson Je m’y mets demain, de tout façon Le temps qu’il faudra pour qu’elle vous parvienne Son propos sera de l’histoire ancienne
Parler d’aujourd’hui demande prudence Faut déprogrammer les obsolescences Futur antérieur, passé dépassé J’ai encore le temps de recommencer
En dormant dessus je vais y songer J’ai encore le temps pour changer d’idée Mais que cette chanson prenne sépulture Dans le grand nez en haut de mon disque dur
J’attendrai donc demain Qu’aujourd’hui soit hier C’est le meilleur moyen D’exhausser les prières De jouer les devins Et de passer l’hiver Cette désinvolture, c’est ma consolation Mes lendemains qui durent Mes voeux sans condition J’avoue que me rassure, la procrastination J’avoue que le rassure, la procrastination
J’ai encore le temps pour mon testament Je m’y mets bientôt, tôt ou tard sûrement Comme je suis du genre à faire mes devoirs Pour lundi matin dès dimanche soir
J’ai encore le temps pour me mettre en route Le temps qui musarde et le temps qui doute Demain je ferai les trucs emmerdants J’ai encore le temps de perdre mon temps
Comment aux enfers serai-je reçue? Je vais y penser et dormir dessus J’ai encore le temps avant de chanter Dans le grand néant de l’éternité
J’attendrai donc demain Qu’aujourd’hui soit hier C’est le meilleur moyen D’exhausser les prières De jouer les devins Et de passer l’hiver Cette désinvolture, c’est ma consolation Mes lendemains qui durent Mes voeux sans condition J’avoue que me rassure, la procrastination J’avoue que me rassure La procrastination
Pour finir la chanson j’ai eu une idée formidable Mais on verra demain Ou mardi
Happy Birthday, Big Daddy! I thought this would be a festive AF (click link to see what kids mean by AF), and since I never know if or when the Bose CD player is working, I figured this would also be easier for you than making a CD.
So here is a special edition Birthday Tune-Up.
1. “Di, Perra Mora.” Guess the time signature and win a prize, the prize being you know what the time signature is, ’cause dude, straight up, I have literally no idea what time signature this is in. This obviously has to go first in the tune-up line-up. Why? Because the music you played for me when I was a little kid (see: the “clapping song”) absolutely inspired my love, or obsession, with rhythm. Which, as we all know, is THE MOST IMPORTANT COMPONENT of music, way beyond melody or harmony. I will brook no dissent on this topic. Anyway, I love how this song builds in intensity by the inclusion of more instruments – not through tempo increase or volume. In that way it reminds me of your observation about Jimi Hendrix’s “Hey Joe.”
2. “Widerstehe doch der Sünde,” J.S. Bach. Similarly, I learned about Bach because of you, and man am I grateful. As I sat in rush-hour traffic driving from Schofield Barracks to my hotel a few weeks ago, I put this on and instantly everything was better. Interestingly, the lyrics are a total downer – all about how sin leads to death and Satan is very crafty and we’re probably all screwed. But doesn’t Andreas Scholl sound pretty!
3. “Improvisation.” Thanks to the “Voices” CDs I grew up with, along with all the vinyl records you had of music from around the world, I got used to the idea that music isn’t just a Western construct from a very early age. This is such a delightfully delicate piece that never quite gets above a murmur. And it features panpipes, which I know you love. And yes I am lying. I don’t know whether you love panpipes or not. We never have conversations that matter.
4. “Nisi Dominus – Cum Dederit,” Antonio Vivaldi. OK OK fine, melody is important, too. This is so shockingly spare, especially for a Baroque composer like Vivaldi, that I felt sure it was one of those modernist Vivaldi knock-offs. And yet! It is not! I KNOW! WTF! Our buddy Andreas Scholl is at the singy bit again.
5. Organ Concerto in B-Flat Major, Op. 7, No. 1: Andante. GF Handel. This is unexpectedly delightful and very charming. Like that time you snuck peas into my garlic shells when I was ten, for which, after years of introspection and thousands of dollars of therapy, I have forgiven you. It also reminds me of fun times over the dinner table when you’d quiz me on the nationality of composers. As I remember, Handel always tripped me up because it always sounded so very British. (Well, yes.) And yes, I did program this link to start at the good part. I mean all of these concertos are quite nice, but this little bit it so cute. NB: This is supposed to be with organ but I find the piano version even prettier.
6. “À la manière de…Borodine.” Maurice Ravel. I remember being totally obsessed with “Bolero” as a kid. It had everything! It was endless, mildly melodic while intensely rhythmic, and excellent for dreaming about some kind of epic action-adventure movie of which, duh, I was the star. And then you told me about Ravel’s quip regarding his own distaste for Bolero, which was the first of many such amusing anecdotes I dropped at parties in college, and therefore, by extension, the first of many avenues I could take towards being met with blank stares. My glittering social career owes you a debt of gratitude. Anyway, this is also one of a few “This is a song I wrote by [insert somebody else]” pieces.
7. “Bourée ‘Avignonez,” anonymous (but actually Praetorius, because I mean for Christ’s sake listen to it, it is so totally Praetorius, and actually actually, see #8). Okay, two reasons – unrelated…I think – I’m including this. One, it sounds like a sea chanty, and I can absolutely hear you emitting a hearty “Argh!” And second, it uses the noble and much maligned sackbut, and I remember exactly where I was when I first heard that there was such an instrument. You and I were driving in that beater of a Dodge convertible, back from the Dairy Queen near the Gold’s Gym we used to kind of go to, and God only knows what we were listening to, but it involved a sackbut. Me: “What is that instrument?” You: “That, if you can believe it, is called a sackbut.” Me: “A SACKBUT?!?!” [death]
8. “La Bourée,” Michael Praetorius. Hellooooo. Bonus round. Okay, I have to fess up, the only reason I’m adding this to your birthday tune-up is that the last chord makes me burst out laughing every time, in same way that, when I was eight, and we brought home a pint of peanut butter cookie dough ice-cream, and I started chanting “pea-nut-butt-ter-coo-kie-dough,” and you retorted with, “pea-nut-butt-ter-block-o-brick,” and I laughed until my stomach hurt and had to go lie down.
9. “Change Your Ways Or Die,” The Cactus Blossoms. Okay, time to move from old stuff. These guys are a cool heir to Johnny Cash style of country music. This song makes me feel like I’m in some sort of 60s heist movie. It also, for some reason, reminds me of the time Mom was out of town and you and I were bored of a Saturday, so I opened up a map of Massachusetts and blindly put my finger on the town of Shirley (est. 1753). So, with literally no better plan, we got into the Volvo and drove to Shirley. That’ll show Mom to ever leave town.
10. “Making Flippy Floppy [Live],” Talking Heads. “OUR PRESIDENT’S CRAZY – DID YOU HEAR WHAT HE SAID?” Beyond that, I finally realized, after seeing David Byrne live, that the reason I love funk music so much is that I started listening to the Talking Heads at a really young age. Re-listening to all of the Heads’ stuff again, I forgot how much they really cooked. This song in particular is amazing. Tina Weymouth’s bass line is so clutch. (Also, SPOILER ALERT: I’m going to dress up as David Byrne in the big suit for Halloween this year. This will not break my record of dressing in costumes very, very few people will recognize. One year I went as Edie Sedgwick. That was so stupid. I just got a lot of compliments on my fashion sense and questions as to why I didn’t dress up. …I mean for F’s sake.)
11. “Super Bon Bon,” Soul Coughing. SAME KEY AS BEFORE! I RULE. Okay anyway. Speaking of funky, do you remember that year, I think it was my senior year in high school, that I made an illuminated manuscript? You might have blocked this from your memory, but I listened to Soul Coughing’s “El Oso” album on repeat. I never really understood, until I got wireless headphones, that whatever I listened to at home was what you and Mom were listening to. Thanks for not making me turn my tunes off. And this is why I’m not playing a track from “El Oso,” but rather from “Irresistible Bliss.” I’m not that much of a jerk.
12. “The Duffler,” Fanastic Negrito. And speaking of high school… High school was so much fun for everyone. I know you particularly enjoyed driving me to school in the morning while I sat in a sullen silence and you tried, again, to not flatten those two women who always walked on the wrong side of the road and would flip you off when you mentioned they might want to change sides. Good times. Anyway, one memory in particular stands out. One morning, feeling particularly oppressed and ill served, I dressed in combat boots and a wool, knee-length, Air Force officer’s overcoat Mom bought me at a consignment store. You peered around the corner from the kitchen as I stomped down the stairs, and casually asked, “Who are we invading today?” To which, had I had Fantastic Negrito on my music rotation at the time, I would have responded, “WELCOME TO MY LIFE.”
13. “Spent the Day in Bed,” Morrissey. You remember that god-awful alarm I had in high school? That played a deranged, screetchy version of Bach’s “Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring,” for some unknown reason? (Side note: WTF was up with that? Why would GE make a phone that played that as an alarm tone? Who’s horrible idea was that? “Jeremy, you’ve been silent during this planning meeting – but knowing you, I bet you’ve been marinating on some brilliant idea. Would you share it with us?” “As it happens, Shawn, yes, I do have an idea. How about ‘Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring’ as an alarm tone?” “Jeremy! You genius! That will sell like meth in the Ozarks! Brent – do we have the technology to make it sound like music?” “Oh God no, it’ll sound like screaming.” “DONE!”) Yeah. And remember how hard it was to get me out of bed? You’re welcome. Thanks for the cold washcloth to the face, too. That was great.
14. “Same,” Matthew Logan Vasquez. Of course, probably the best thing you did for me in high school was to remind me to just keep my head down, do my work, suck it up, and one day, I’d graduate and it would all be over. It reminds me of one of my favorite quotes of all time, coming from Joseph Campbell: “Facing it, always facing it, that’s the way to get through. Face it.” This made is especially awesome that you high-fived me as I recessed at graduation, as the piper (seriously? a piper?) played “Scotland the Brave.”
15. “Too Many Colors,” Twin Shadow. I’ve always wished I’d been born the kind of person who had a burning desire to be A Distinct Thing. Something that, at a party, you could tell people you did and it would be an immediately understandable answer. A doctor. A lawyer. An arsonist. It’s been a real pain that I’ve always been way too curious about everything that it’s been hard to pick something. One of the things I’ve always been the most grateful for is that neither you nor Mom has ever forced me to pick something, instead letting me try and try and try until, either by exhaustion or insight, I land on something. Unless it was going to hotel school at Cornell. That would have meant RUIN.
15. “Freun Wir Uns All In Ein,” Anon. Okay I lied, we’re not finished with old stuff. Remember when we were dorking around Germany and eastern Europe and we hopped on that tour bus in Berlin and the poor tour guide, who was obviously hungover, now had to do a bi-lingual tour because two doofy Americans go on board? I think about him every time I listen to this sobering German hymn. That poor bastard.
16. “Periodically Double or Triple,” Yo La Tengo. Speaking of doofy Americans, remember the Laundry Fairy of Dresden? We stroll into a laundromat, you dressed in that super fetching Virgin Atlantic sleepshirt, athletic shorts, and loafers, me in baggy jeans and a tank top, and after figuring out how to get laundry detergent out of one machine and into a washing apparatus, we put it into some poor guy’s laundry instead? And then the Laundry Fairy appeared, helped us clean ourselves, and then disappeared? That was a great night. I don’t know why this song reminds me of that; maybe of how mystified Ira Kaplan sounds when he’s singing.
17. “Wanderlust King,” Gogol Bordello. And then there was that time we got washed out in Prague and had to take seven separate trains to get back to Germany. That whole trip, while mind-bendingly stressful at times, is in the top five of best trips I’ve ever taken in my life, and no doubt in my mind at all it gave me the confidence I now have as a traveler. This includes the ability to decipher a Czech train schedule in a woman’s basement that she managed to turn into both an internet cafe and a discotheque. And to identify the best outdoor cafe at which to eat lunch by the kind of beer advertised on their umbrellas. And that the only thing Polish waitresses knew how to ask Americans was, “Big beer?” (Answer: “Big beer.”)
15. “Mary Don’t You Weep,” Prince. So I’m going to be sharing two Prince songs – one that’s a little bit more Prince-y, and then this one. I found this one on a mix I downloaded and put on random shuffle. I wasn’t looking at my phone while it was playing and kept asking myself, “Jeez, who is this? This is beautiful!” And turns out, it was Prince. I was stunned. It’s spare and vulnerable and not anywhere near as traditionally funky as his other stuff. But it does showcase his incredible musicianship. Behind all of his bombast and wacky costumes and performance art lay an overwhelmingly talented musician and songwriter. This is the kind of pianist I wanted to become while I was writing all that moody massage music in high school. Ah, the road not taken.
16. “She’s Always In My Hair,” Prince. This is the other part of Prince that went unsung: he was a champion of female musicians. Many of his backing bands had women (or, in this case, all women), and he often had female bands as openers for his shows. Because of that, combined with all of his undefinable weirdness, there’s always been a great feeling of freedom in his music.
17. “Domino (Time Will Tell),” Hiss Golden Messenger. This reminds me of “Brown Sugar” by the Stones, another band you and Mom introduced me to. I remember having a particularly festive discussion of the real meaning of Stones lyrics (“She blew my nose before she blew my mind.” …Ohhh.) while we decorated the Christmas tree. Not as festive as watching “Patton” every Christmastime, but close.
18. “I’m Afraid Of Americans,” David Bowie (feat. Trent Reznor). I promise this is the only topical tune I’m posting – and the only reason I’m posting it is to share the only song that’s getting me through these horrible days. My little gift to you. Okay. That’s it.
19. “I Want Jesus To Walk With Me,” The Holmes Brothers. You taught me that nothing is so good that can’t be slowed down, and this song is absolutely proof of that. This sounds like it should have been used in “The Wire” or “Homicide.” It also sounds like the sad part of a jazz funeral. The Holmes Brothers formed in Christchurch, Virginia in 1979. Wendell Holmes toured with Inez and and Charlie Foxx of “Mockingbird” fame before he formed The Holmes Brothers with him brother Sherman. For drumming help, they enlisted the support of a friend named, wonderfully, Popsy Dixon. The band performed and recorded until 2015 when Popsy and Wendell died. Sherman lives in Saluda, Virginia. This song is from their 1992 album, “Jubilation.”
20. “Dig A Little Deeper in God’s Love,” The Fairfield Four. Speeding things up just a bit here – and God bless the monochromatic audience for knowing how to clap on the two and four.
21. “Wonder Woman Theme,” Caroline Campbell and Tina Guo. Campbell and Guo begin this concert with the intro to Elgar’s Cello Concerto. And then… Note that, not a minute into the transition to the Wonder Woman theme, Campbell has already busted a string on her violin. That’s how much the film meant to women – I personally have seen it four times, the most times I’ve ever gone back to rewatch a new movie. For me, the movie was a validation of everything I was raised to believe about myself but had to convince society to accept as true. Thanks for always making me feel like Wonder Woman.
This concludes this year’s birthday tune-up. I hope you have a big, big day, perhaps filled with lobster and pie. Love you.
Hello, friends! It’s true – the rumors of this blog’s demise were premature.
I am back from my extended hiatus and THANK YOU for still hanging out while I was gone. My trip to the store to get more ice took longer than I thought, but I came back, and the party is still going on in my house! How cool is that!
Those of you who follow the news, or really wake up, exist, and go back to sleep at all, will probably agree with me that this has been a sucker punch of a week. First, we lost David Bowie. THEN, we lost Alan Rickman. AND THEN, we had a GOP debate. The only thing that’s been going through my head has been this song, from Bowie’s “Earthling” album, and it pretty well sums up all of my feelings about this whole stupid, awful, terrible week. So sorry to deviate from the standard funky funk, but Bowie and Brian Eno nevertheless did come up with a pretty rockin’ beat.
In honor of the day before Fear Day (check out Valentine’s Day from the blog last year), and all of the single humans out there, here is one of the best pop mash-ups of all time. This is one awesomely twisted duet between a lecherous dude and a woman who couldn’t care less. Apologies (mostly) for the profanity and lewdness.
So, most of last week was spent in what we call “an exercise.” It simulated an invasion scenario and my job was to monitor how the Blue team (aka “the good guys”) defended their country against the Red team (aka “those rat bastards”) – and then see whether there were ways to make it more interesting. It was about as much fun as you can ever get paid to have, and it was absolutely exhilarating, exhausting fun. The stress of the whole week, though, was also oddly exhilarating, and it served to remind me that, unfortunately, I am often the best captain of my ship in a gale.
Back when I worked on a boat for a summer, the single-most valuable thing I learned was that the only way to safely steer through rough water is to point the prow of the ship directly into the oncoming waves and hold steady. It turned out that, for some reason, of all the people working on that ship, I was the most skilled at this. We sailed through three major storms and I was at the helm for each. During one such time, the waves were so high that, as we crested them, the schooner’s wooden underbelly rose out of the water before gravity and momentum tipped the shrieking vessel downwards to meet the oncoming surge. The memory of the force with which that little 88′ schooner slammed into the waves remains in my bones. So, too, does the astonishment that we didn’t become a mass of floating splinters.
I don’t know if I’m necessarily a person of extremes, and I don’t think I actively look for rough waters. But as my spiritual advisor, Dorothy Parker, put is, “They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm.” Fare forward, voyager.
Rumors of my demise are premature, but assumptions of my life sucking me elsewhere are right on the money. To that end, I have enlisted the help of seven friends to get me back on track while I’m traveling again this week. I assigned each of them a day of the week, according to their musical tastes, and asked them to pick a favorite song in that genre. They sent me a link to the song and I wrote a response. Then they sent me the reasons why they picked it. I hope you enjoy the results. Tune in tomorrow, Tune-Up fans!
One of my dearest friends in DC got hitched last week and tonight is her wedding reception. This song has been running through my mind as I went shopping for a suitable present.
Everyone! I’m so sorry to drop off the face of the earth. This blog *does* still exist, and I *will* still be updating it. I just had to take a temporary hiatus.
Please enjoy the Ting-Tings while we recalibrate to return you to your regularly-scheduled programming.
We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to give you a long weekend to fend for yourselves with tunes. I’ll be back with a hot fresh tune on Tuesday. Happy weekend, Tune Sharks!
The Daily Tune-Up 