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I've been obsessively repeating Bruce Springsteen's "The Wrestler" all morning. The party line is that he wrote this song for the film of the same name (If you haven't seen it, do), about Mickey Rourke's Randy "The Ram" Robinson. But the song can just as easily be heard as a lament on Springsteen's own struggle to stay relevant after 37 years.
Go ahead, make all the relevant criticisms of The Boss - He's a one trick pony. He's repetitive - only 2 of his 15 records depart from his tried and true arena rock template. He's technically a shitty singer. He's technically a shitty guitar player. He's become a caricature of himself. Levy them all, I can't argue. But the fact is that the man has a unique ability to tap into that level of human emotion that actually resides below despair better than any artist I've heard. He is actually able to write from the perspective of people so bleak, the rest of us can't even fathom their desolation.
It's a talent that has kept me coming back for more despite all the things that should have driven me away. But he can't shake me, because in my opinion there are only 2 acceptable answers to the question - "Who is the greatest American songwriter?" Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen.
My old landlord Big Andy would tell you I made a pretty solid career of it a while back. Red wine, brooding candles, late nights, quiet music played loudly. And nightly.
You dredge up more with angst and ache than on the dance floor I’ve always thought. Little pin pricks of emotive melodies that’d do a porcupine proud. Triumphs, disappointments, loss. Impossible situations work themselves free. A bellyful of ache becomes a sweet soup for two. And gee—look...the wall needs to be painted.
So, hey... take a seat. I’ll slide over. Might as well open another bottle. We’re in for a long night.
I've seen Stellastarr* twice now and both times I've thought that the band's the real deal—melodic and ethereal, and miles beyond their contemporaries and the post punk purveyors they're lumped alongside in the press.
Stellastar* is back this month with their new release, "Civilized" and play The Rock and Roll Hotel this Friday night. And you, lucky TVD reader, have an opportunity to be right next to us, ON us, because we've got a pair of tickets to put in your hands.
Because we're givers, we're going to make it even easier for you guys to enter our weekly giveaways here at TVD. Staring today, you can Twitter your entries into any contest via regular Tweets or direct message via Twitter to us. Of course you can still enter in the comments below, but we need some contact info if you choose to do so.
It's a subtle way to get you guys to follow TVD on Twitter where we're often giving away additional tracks, new and old, not featured in the daily blog posts. And don't worry - it's pertinent stuff, not what we ordered in for lunch here at TVD HQ. (Not to mention, we could give a shit that The Real World's filming around the corner. So there's that.)
So, Stellastarr*! Friday night! Rock and Roll Hotel! A pair of tix with your name on 'em! Get at us!
We've been singingthe praises of Elizabeth & the Catapult for some time now, but if you're STILL among the unconverted we have a pair of tickets to catch the band this Thursday night at The Rock and Roll Hotel to, y' know... get you to see things our way. Clearly.
And, because we're givers, we're going to make it even easier for you guys to enter our weekly giveaways here at TVD. Staring today, you can Twitter your entries into any contest via regular Tweets or direct message via Twitter to us. Of course you can still enter in the comments below, but we need some contact info if you choose to do so.
It's a subtle way to get you guys to follow TVD on Twitter where we're often giving away additional tracks, new and old, not featured in the daily blog posts. And don't worry - it's pertinent stuff, not what we ordered in for lunch here at TVD HQ. (Not to mention, we could give a shit that The Real World's filming around the corner. So there's that.)
So, Elizabeth & the Catapult! Thursday night! Rock and Roll Hotel! A pair of tix with your name on 'em! Get at us!
The lovely ladies on Charlie's album covers always got our attention.
Charlie was a British rock band that got occasional FM airplay in the late ’70s.
Charlie's music had plenty of sharp lyrics, lots of hooks and crisp vocals. A bit like ELO mixed with Foreigner and just a dash of Queen, if you need a guide. It was a bit deceptive, though. It often sounded sunny when the subject matter was anything but.
Take today's tunes from "Fight Dirty," Charlie's 1979 album.
"Killer Cut" voices the desperate need to write that one great single to make it in the music business ... and then get the radio to play it. Which is exactly what happened.
"Heartless," about a woman who's just that, and "Runaway," about a girl who at 16 already has seen and done too much, seem rock video-ready, if not rock opera-ready.
So, surprise! I’ve been thinking a little about Michael Jackson lately. I know, I’m nothing if not a pop culture vulture.
And as to take a sweet, sweet dive into Lake Me (the shallow part) I was reminded that MJ was ultimately sandwiched in between a lot of other stuff on MTV after he broke down several million barriers and solidified himself as a pop culture AND African American icon. (And fuck you, Bill O’Reilly. Just suck it.)
So, while MJ was working his magic with my subconscious, I was consciously listening (and watching on MTV) quite a playlist from different corners and found myself, as MJ sang, remembering the time. And perhaps now you shall too.
Even if you’re a regular here at TVD, you may not know there’s a gatekeeper of sorts. But there is – hi, I’m Jon (your host) and as such the email in-box gets filled to the rim with very nice solicitations for coverage. And thank you, we love hearing from y’all.
But, ...how do I put this...sometimes the acts in the in-box, to use a summer analogy, just ain’t ripe yet.
In stark contrast to the aforementioned, Annie Crane’s arrival in the email reminded me of the crystal clear voices that used to echo through my folks’ house in NJ. The radio was continuously tuned to WQXR-FM, the radio station of the New York Times, which ostensibly is (was?) a classical music station but on Saturday evenings would air a show called ‘Woody’s Children.’ Woody, as in Guthrie, his ‘children’ as in the folk music legend’s prodigy.
But only the best of the best would make the airwaves then. So, if ‘Woody’s Children’ is still being aired (and if QXR is still around—I read that the Times was considering its sale) then Annie Crane’s a natural fit. Got that ‘QXR?
"When I was 19, my family of 6 picked up and moved to Manhattan from Rochester NY. We were moving from a 3 story house to a 3 bedroom apartment whose most raved about feature was a window in the kitchen. My mom, being the minimalist that she is, made it her mission to get rid of everything she deemed “not worth lugging to NYC”. In this category she put her & my dad's hefty record collection. Yes... it’s true. She sold them in the neighborhood garage sale along with our old dolls, trophies, roller blades and bunk beds. I was appalled when I went home (to my new home) for the summer from college. It was just before that 19th year of my life that I started falling hard for the wonders of vinyl.
The record player I got back then & still use today is my portable vintage player... it looks like an old suitcase until you open it up to find a 3 speed record player inside. It’s pretty sweet. I’ve lugged it from Rochester to Toronto to Manhattan to Brooklyn and back again. And as I’ve moved from place to place, I’ve carried with me my milk crates of records. Forever hounding estate sales, thrift shops and stoop sales, I think I’m trying to rebuild that collection so thoughtlessly discarded and experience it with the zeal of fresh ears.
There are few times I can think of when I’m as content as when I’m at home listening to my records while putting and puttering. The crackle and waver, the flip from side one to side two, listening to Pavarotti & Frank Sinatra in the same way that my grandma did - moments of captured nostalgia.
From my record crates, I am currently enjoying: Paul Simon: Paul Simon; Aretha Franklin: Queen of Soul; Joan Baez: Blessed are... ; Neil Young with Cray Horse: Everybody Knows this is Nowhere; Odetta Sings Folk Songs; Doc Watson: Memories"
I worry too much about the big picture. I get in the way of myself often, focusing on direction rather than the immediate. I worry that the immediate’s fleeting and direction’s deflection. I follow the numbers too closely. Where are they coming from? Where are you coming from? Why am I putting in all this time? Why is everyone so quiet? The downloads exceed bandwidth. I’m planned out weeks in advance. Sometimes it’s by the seat of the pants. Sometimes it lands in my lap and I just give ‘em away. I’m uploading. I’m downloading. Processing. Color correcting. Fact checking. Checking syntax. Saying what I mean but barely.
In the name of . . . . music.
I’d say that’s 'it' but after yesterday’s MJ spectacle, love him, hate him, or someplace in the center like me—it’s the one common denominator between us. Some say love, or life, even liberty—but that’s horseshit. The grace notes are binding.
We are not true / We are not pure / We are not right / O but still I'll steal to you at night / Too selfish by half / Too ugly by far / But when your songs have been sung, come to me / Rumours are rife / And winter blows cold / Reminds me of such wretched times / And yet all the same / I will never deign / To think ill of you / When all's well / My love is like cathedral bells / Amongst all the dross / The lies and the grief / There are so many things you just wouldn't believe / But amongst all the dross / The lies and the grief / When all's well / My love is like cathedral bells
After the past two weeks or more of covering the covered here at TVD, I’m thinking one could literally fashion an entire blog around cover songs.
Who knew? There’s a zillion of them. Some good, some bad—undoubtedly the worst offender being the pop/punk cover of something tried and true. (Hello Mr. Dando.)
More rare it seems are the stellar songs that have gone uncovered—ditties of distinction untainted by the cover treatment afforded lesser compositions. So, this week we’ll shine a light on a handful of tunes you burgeoning bands and songwriters could take a cue from. Because we WANT you to succeed.
TVD: building careers in music, one coffee house at a time.
After a full eleven weeks of vinyl giveaways leading up to Record Store Day 2009 earlier in the year, it turns out that it’s now been quite a while since we slipped an LP into an envelope and shipped it off to one effusive and over-the-top commenter/contest winner. But our friends at Blackheart Records have come to your rescue.
We’ve got our hands on the brand new Girl In A Coma LP, "trio b.c." (which has been on mega-heavy rotation here at ol’ TVD HQ) to give away to an aforementioned over-the-top commenter. And, I should add the cover’s been signed by the full band in black(heart) Sharpie. Because they—and we—are looking out for your cool collector’s items. (See that Ash giveaway last week?!)
We’ll give you a full week on this one to plead your case in the comments section for the LP (with some sort of contact info please!) We’ll choose a winner on 7/7, so get to it!
I've been obsessively repeating Bruce Springsteen's "The Wrestler" all morning. The party line is that he wrote this song for the film of the same name (If you haven't seen it, do), about Mickey Rourke's Randy "The Ram" Robinson. But the song can just as easily be heard as a lament on Springsteen's own struggle to stay relevant after 37 years.
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