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If the Woodstock generation can be exemplified by one humongous, sprawling multi-day event, the Twitter generation in contrast bathes not in mud (or bud)—but in brevity. Twittering's a succinct, uniquely solo endeavor, promulgated in office cubicles, Blackberries, and personal laptops.
But a spirit of community does indeed exist among the pixelated 140 character bursts of info from a myriad of locations. It's tuned in, turned on, and dropping recommendations for this or that track, LP, or band. Its users point the way toward other Twitterers and other blogs via '#FollowFridays' and '#MusicMondays' — and community's born, man.
So, with the anniversary of the original Woodstock having just passed, we've invited the many Twitterers who follow TVD and vice versa, to go one better than the 140 character limitation and, y'know—riff a little bit about what's spinning on their own turntables.
All this week we've got other bloggers, music writers and reviewers, and some of the bands themselves, in a convergence of both the Woodstock and Twitter generations in something we're calling—(...)—TWITSTOCK!
Like any good music nerd, I've spent a decent amount of time over the last few months working on a best albums of the decade list. But as I was going through this largely pointless, mostly narcissistic exercise I realized something -- not all bands actually get around to making a proper full-length album. So here are five bands you won't ever see mentioned on a Best Albums of the (Whatever) list, because for whatever reason, they never did. But these songs deserve to be noticed.
The DoubleHappys - The Other's Way (Mp3) Shayne Carter is one of a small army of pop savants from New Zealand who started writing blissful, slightly-off-kilter, very perfect songs in the late-'70s/early-'80s. He's best known for his fine work with Straitjacket Fits, but it was brief time with the DoubleHappys, his short-lived band prior to the Fits, that remains his crowning achievement. They managed a 7" and a and EP before a freak train accident killed band member Wayne Elsey, bringing the DoubleHappys to an immediate halt. The limited output the band left behind can stand with the best work by fellow Kiwis the Clean, Toy Love, the Bats and the Verlaines, which is honestly the highest praise I can dole out. This is the from the 7" -- all woozy guitars and warbling vocals and lyrics that split the difference between hopeless and hopelessly romantic. All of the band's recorded output is collected on the compilation "Nerves." It's one of the best CDs in the world, ever. For real.
The Last Wave - Bars and Barons (Mp3) This song comes from Teenbeat's 2004 sampler. It was the last year the iconic indie-pop label released its annual compilation, ending a top-notch nine-year run. As far as I can tell this is the only song that exists from the Last Wave, which was a project helmed by Greg Pavlovcak. He was previously in the Saturday People, who were as nifty a little pop band as you could find. This song hints at what could have been, but it's so perfect -- the sing-songy vocal melody, cleanly strummed guitar, "Wooo ooo-ooo"s in the chorus -- that maybe there was just no need to continue. Pavlovcak now plays in Philadelphia's Public Record, where he explores much more experimental sounds. Every band that Pavlovcak has been connected to by a couple degrees -- most of which are mentioned in this City Paper article by Mark Jenkins from 2002 -- is worth checking out.
Jonathan Halper - Leaving My Old Life Behind/I Am a Hermit (Mp3) A true mystery. I was introduced to this song when, for some reason, I decided to watch a DVD compilation of short films by Kenneth Anger, maybe because I wasn't feeling like enough of a pretentious asshole that day. The film itself is, y'know, arty and weird and some kid at Wesleyan has probably written a very incisive paper about it. But it was the song (actually a pair of songs edited together) that grabbed me. It's just one meek sounding guy with an acoustic guitar and some spooky sound collages in the background. Syd Barrett is an obvious reference point but this sounds even too weird for him. The titles really drive home the solitary nature of this recording. Maybe some more songs by Jonathan "Santos L." Halper will magically appear someday, but the mystery of and possibility that he recorded this six minutes of music and was never heard from again is a lot more intriguing. WFMU (who else?) has a bit more on the topic. Monkey 101 - French Feelings (Mp3) Released as the A-side of a single on Siltbreeze on 1989, and it would certainly fit in on the revitalized label today. Chugging, grimy guitar, snotty vocals, angsty lyrics ("I'm so damned impatient/Why the fuck didn't you call?"), all in a tidy two-minute package. No manufactured lo-fi, thrift store chic or blog buzz. Just the pure stuff. The Philadelphia City Paper caught up with singer Paul Kowalchuk back in 2002 after he won a Matador Records-sponsored contest to meet Robert Pollard. Ha! This song and its almost-equally-awesome b-side, "Now That You Have Left Me," are both on the "Tar'd and Further'd" comp which collects lots of Siltbreeze's early singles by bands such as GBV, the Dead C, Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments and more.
This Poison! - Poised Over the Pause Button (Mp3) It wasn't on the original C-86 compilation, but it sure has that sound -- those hyper-strummed, chiming guitars, manic vocals and militaristic drumbeat that leaves you gasping for breath by the time the song is over. This was the band's second 7", released on Reception Records, a label run by the Wedding Present. Which was proof that David Gedge sure knew the kind of sound he liked. It's also one of those songs that so perfectly captures a time and place and sound that it shows up on numerous compilations, including the excellent Rough Trade Shops Indie Pop 1.
Until the Cramps' Lux Interior died early this year, I had no knowledge of the "Lux & Ivy's Favorites" series that some of the WFMU dudes had been compiling. It took a Phawker post for me to get hip, and I'll admit that since then, I've only listened to a fraction of the 250-plus songs. I'm in no position to offer any over-arching insights about what the 11-Zip-file opus amounts to. But I will say this: Other than the fact that the files are a minor nightmare to sort in iTunes, I'm consistently jazzed by all of it.
So here's a taste of my taste, in the following order: a buzzy Indonesian rock instrumental, some elegant blues, a bizarro nightclub cut, some throbbing proto-psychobilly, and a hillbilly ballad.
While in no particular order, the 5 songs I have chosen really seemed to already be there, in a neat pile on my desk, some already well worn, and others looking to be dusted off and admired again. And though it is an overused cliche, as cliches go its pretty spot on... these songs are my friends, and whether I have heard them last night, or last year, it is as if we have been in the room together always, with no time apart.
Muse - Feeling Good (Mp3) I have always been a huge Nina Simone fan. Her cover of the song penned in 1965 has always been a favorite of mine. But when Muse recorded the song, it took on even more meaning for me. There is a passion and cry and a hunger that is elevated by the tight vocals and the industrial structure of the rhythm section of the recording. It give me great hope, like I have emerged from the wreckage of my own history and I am, indeed, feeling good.
Beck - Guero (Mp3) The title track to Beck's groundbreaking 2005 record of the same name, each listen has me slipping into a rambling pimp roll and strolling the main drag of any Mexican community in my home state of California. Slipping in and out of taquerias, stopping for Horchata, leaning against a building and watching the neighborhood go by, there is an elegant beauty and comfort in the vegetable vans, horns, and the ever present Mexican accents in the background. The song is a teleporter, every time.
Tosca - Susuki (Mp3) Another title track selection, this song never ever fails to put me into a place of supreme joy. I was on a date with the girl I eventually married, driving around 4 am thru the empty streets of San Francisco, on our way back from a rave. Downtempo chill mixed with the warm breeze coming thru the windows, flashing yellow lights synchronized on the downbeat, and not a single car on the streets all the way home. True story.
No Doubt - Simple Kind Of Life (Mp3) This song gave me they keys to my wife's heart and to her head. Not just this song, but the entire record, helped me understand life and love from a woman's perspective. Gwen Stefani illustrates every level of emotion that her breakup with fellow band member Tony Kanal brought, and with that break up came her climb out of the despair of a broken heart to the anthems of a powerful woman in love trying to figure it all out. But this song is especially meaningful to me as it lays out the fragile yet hopeful nature of trying to balance the need for independence with the desire to get married and start a family.
The Clash - Rock The Casbah (Mp3) I had just moved to NYC. I was 19 or 20. I remember going to jukejoints like the Scrap Bar in the West Villiage, hanging on stoops with punks in Alphabet City, and sneaking in the service entrance at Limelight to avoid cover charges. A steady mix of disco, new wave and punk seemed to be the soundtrack of the times, but this song always stood taller than the rest. It gave me the courage to stand up for myself, to stand against 'The Man', who at that time were my parents back in California, or religion or whatever. It was my anthem. "Shareef don't like it. Rock the Casbah." Still rockin it after all these years. Thanks Joe. Really.
An addendum to this week’s ‘Get’s Lucky’ series—I realized I posted out of order. For maximum effectiveness, the order should be Thursday, Tuesday, Wednesday, followed by Monday. Stir, repeat.
This Friday we get lucky for an entirely different reason. Stephe from Heroes of Popular Wars (who you just might recall from our First Date with the band last May) joins us with ten tracks for your weekend to come.
Heroes of Popular Wars have just released the stellar ‘Church and McDonald’ and to quote another fine blog, The Devil Has The Best Tuna, “Sparsely atmospheric Eno-ish ambient electro pop . . . which reminds me of the coolest British band of the early 80s, Japan."
And we concur. Now, onward!
The Beatles - A Day in the Life (Mp3) This song totally changed the idea of what a pop song could be: two totally different musical ideas in totally different keys, no chorus, and an entire 20 seconds of random noise in the middle of the song. None of these should belong on the most loved track on the most popular album up to that time but in Lennon/McCartney's hands the difficult sonic elements are softened by the incredible melodies and the playful lyrical puzzles. I never get tired of it. I think it's because rather than hitting you over the head it reveals itself over time. It's a treat for your head and your heart.
Yeasayer - No Need to Worry/Red Cave (from La Blogoteque) (Mp3) I had heard a lot about Yeasayer when the live video was released, much of it contradictory, which made me think that they must be great. La Blogoteque, a French website, recorded the band doing an incredible version of this two-piece song, using only their voices and beer bottles as percussion while taking the metro to the taping. It made me realize a great doesn't need anything but great rhythm and melody.
Talk Talk - After the Flood (Mp3) Man, I love this gorgeous song from TT's last album Laughing Stock. It's so subtle that sometimes it's hard to tell when an instrument changes a note. Also, the vocals don't start until well into the 3rd minute of the song. My favorite moment is the oscillation of the organ after the guitar solo. When the noisy guitar finally trails off, there is a small break and the band breaks down into a part so quiet that you can hear the one note beg to be in tune with itself. Beautiful.
Hold Steady - Constructive Summer (Mp3) Fun and funny. This is a rocking and smart song splits the difference between celebrating and making fun of every single promise that sweetly has gone unfulfilled. The music is simple - a cross between Husker Du and the Sweet - which really draws attention to the super-literate rhymes and great melody. It's singalong song that needs to be should be read.
Peter Gabriel - Thru the Wire (Mp3) This is complex music made to feel simple. Though the verse is in an odd time signature, I didn't realize it until the 10th or 11 the time I heard because it was done so subtly. The chorus has both a big guitar and a cowbell and could be a bridge between U2 and Blue Oyster Cult but the angular guitar and sharp and terse production keep this from becoming pedestrian 80s radio rock.
Alice Coltrane - Journey in Satchidananda (Mp3) Patient (noticing a pattern?). Alice mixes hard bop and Indian raga which both soothes and hypnotizes the listener. Her harp's notes dangerously lay in and out of the other instruments, aping her husband's obsession with modality. This pioneer's work would later, along with Brian Eno, influence a whole generation of music makers and listeners to a less direct, more ambient kind of music making.
David Sylvain - Darkest Dreaming (Mp3) I had heard of, but not heard, Japan - Sylvain's 80s band - but I was compared to him in a review and this song was uploaded. Holy crap, this was every thing I was trying to do. A simple piano with swells of strings, guitars and synths create a true ambient soundscape but the un-rushed melody stuck in my head for days.Sylvain's baritone aches such I went back and bought his whole back catalogue. He has a whole career of great sounds married with lush well-crafted tones.
Kanye West - Gold Digger (Mp3) Smart, fun, danceable pop that proves melody isn't required fro an incredible hook. Every line is complicated but a blast.
Husker Du - Celebrated Summer (Mp3) Amazing song, incredible dynamics and a killer take are the keys here. Ignore the shitty production, ignore the borderline undecipherable lyrics, pay attention to that passion of the performance and the groundbreaking melding of song craft and aggression. A true classic.
Radiohead - Idioteque (Mp3) This song changed the indie game. This song leveled the playing field and now any instrument you could make rock was a rock instrument AND it has a great chorus.
Do you recall that feeling when, in the middle of reading a particular book, you simply don’t want it to end? You linger, taking your time, putting off that very last page. That’s where I am right now with Matthew Specktor’s joyous ‘That Summertime Sound.’ I mean, I’ll get to the ending—I’m just in no rush.
Others have finished the book, however:
"Matthew Specktor’s beautiful and arresting first book, That Summertime Sound, chronicles a different sort of ’tween experience—the obsessive desires and frustrations of a young man caught in the time warp between adolescence and adulthood in the ’80s. Specktor, an L.A. native who has worked for years in film development, has a crisp, evocative style that captures both the nuances of a particular time and the universal themes of any insightful coming-of-age story. We’ve all been there." —L.A. Times
“A rock ‘n’ roll road trip that’s also a page-turner.” —Nylon Mag
For us, Specktor’s waxed nostalgic - about wax:
"I don’t believe in fetishizing formats. Vinyl, cassette, MP3, CD. Same thing with books: the scent and texture of certain kinds of paper can almost make me faint with happiness, but the important thing is the text. How it gets to you is much less important.
That said, records make me happy. Their vulnerability makes me so, their limitation. Forty minutes, twenty per side, their chipping, their popping, the way their sleeves wear and erode and start to show the shapes, the scuffed corona of the record inside. I dig frailty. It’s not nostalgia that makes me respond to vinyl, it’s mortality and specificity. I put a record on the turntable, I listen harder, I commit a little bit more than I do to digital formats. The question isn’t whether in collecting records, the music thus “belongs to me.” It’s the opposite: with a record, I belong that little bit more to it.
The PVC edition of Big Star’s 'Sister Lovers.' Finding a mint copy of the Flamin’ Groovies 'Shake Some Action' for three bucks in a Massachusetts basement, after I’d been searching for it for years. The place down the street from an old girlfriend’s house in San Francisco, an unmarked storefront where I could get old Blue Note records for a buck or two a piece: Andrew Hill, Dexter Gordon. I talk about this stuff and the default becomes nostalgia, but really I’m thinking about the unpredictability, the pleasures of the search. These days, anyone with an internet connection can find things in five minutes, Velvet Underground recordings that wouldn’t have even been rumors twenty years ago. And that’s fantastic. Anything that smashes the kind of elitism that (used to?) cluster around record collecting is good, and music is pointless if it isn’t heard. But something does get lost, without that kind of anticipation that still surrounds shaking a record out of its sleeve for me. I still get excited, in ways I don’t by just pushing a button. Something I do more often these days.
Once, in the very early nineties, I was in a thrift store with a friend. We were looking at other things—housewares, or pulp paperbacks—and he caught my arm. Close your eyes, he said. We were right by the old vinyl section, and this was the dawn of the CD era. We’d go into Amoeba Music in Berkeley and hear the ugly clatter of plastic CD cases whacking against each other as people went through them. So I knew what he meant: he was pointing out that softer sound of cardboard sleeves being sifted in bins. Whup-whup-whup. We went outside and my friend said, That sound is growing extinct. Thank God, it isn’t yet. You just have to listen harder to hear it. You go to the right places, you close your eyes. It’s just as vivid as it ever was."
"Beneath the bebop moon / I want to croon with you / Beneath the Mambo Sun / I got to be the one with you. / My life's a shadowless horse / If I can't get across to you / In the alligator rain / My hearts all pain for you. / Girl you're good / And I've got wild knees for you / On a mountain range / I'm Dr. Strange for you..."
The Liberation Dance Party returns to DC9 this Friday night with a special live performance from NYC-based (Lower East Side, to be exact) The Phenomenal Handclap Band whose tracks we’ve been grooving to all week here at ol’ TVD HQ.
We chatted with Joan Tick from PHB earlier in the week, and she’s supplied us with perhaps the best and certainly the longest, First Date on record. (And we all know that if a first date goes long, that’s a damn good thing indeed.)
"I grew up in Las Vegas with a former musician for a father. Shortly after I was born, he quit touring, sold his bass guitar and amp, and took an entry-level job cooking at a casino in order to keep his family afloat. The only vestige to his former musical life remained in a slim stack of records neatly shelved inside his 1960s console stereo, and that hefty monster was further buried inside a closet. For years, this stack and the immaculate record player inside the console went untouched.
In the summer between sixth and seventh grade, however, my best friend and I saw the beginnings of our teenaged shenanigans. This included raiding our Parents’ belongings. Maybe it was in search of old clothes, trinkets, prizes, secrets, proof that they weren’t really what they said they were, and by default we weren’t either. This certainly included sifting through the old stereo and its records in my house.
We were amused, confused, and impressed by the covers of dozens of Beatles albums, The Doors, James Brown, Frank Zappa, The Carpenters, The Mamas and the Papas, Simon and Garfunkel, and Bread. These are the ones I remember clearly. The stumbling upon a parent’s small music canon, his vinyl files of an era gone by, is undoubtedly a common first glimpse into music for a kid, but it was in these songs, specifically that of Karen Carpenter and Mama Cass’s voice that I realized I could actually sing, that singing or dreaming up a melody of your own could invoke something more complex than joy or sadness.
Right away we memorized lyrics and began showing off the records to our friends as if we were the first two people on earth to discover The Beatles on original vinyl. On Friday and Saturday nights before we went to bed, we smoked cigarettes and drank Dr. Pepper in the dark to Side A of Simon and Garfunkel’s Sounds of Silence. From those lullabies of longing, we began to pursue lesser known music--the natural progression into the underground being punk and post-punk music--and by the end of junior high school we had acquired a preliminary collection ranging from The Jam, The Birthday Party, and Bad Brains to Bauhaus, The Cure, and The Cocteau Twins. The older and harder to find records were a lucky inheritance from a former punk rock uncle who was trying to clean up his act. His music was the first to go. Again, my friend and I were sifting through someone else’s abandoned vinyl treasures, but at least this time we knew what we had on our hands.
It was just after ninth grade at age 15, when my mother decided to move from Las Vegas to rural North Idaho. I recall throwing an absolute fit when they tried to sell his console stereo at a moving sale. It was, after all, really big, heavy as hell, and an absolute oak and mustard green eye sore to both of them. But my pleas triumphed. It took three people to load it into the moving van and three more to carry it into our new house and up the stairs into my room.
The stereo took up the entire width of the closet. At night, the bulbous knobs glowed yellow, red, and white while I thought about the bleakness of life along with its vast possibilities. In my early days of living in the rural Northwest, music was the easiest thing to focus on and I soon discovered Maximum Rocknroll and a few other zines that led me to a small record store in Spokane, WA called 4000 Holes. I would make the 45- minute drive from Idaho to Washington at least once a week with friends. The Northwest was still reeling from the start of grunge in Seattle and a lot of punk bands were coming through the smaller surrounding cities and playing in abandoned churches and all-ages shacks. The Dickies, Jawbreaker, The Dead Milkmen, among many other memorable and unmemorable hardcore bands played. If you couldn’t find a show listed somewhere, someone knew about something happening at an abandoned rec center in the woods and you¹d spend all night trying to find it.
I was probably 17 when the skinheads moved into the scene. I already lived half a mile from the Aryan Nation compound in Hayden Lake, Idaho and had avoided seeing any white supremacists in person (that I knew of). But there they were, muscle-bodied and a lot older than us punching girls in the face, knocking them unconscious, ending the shows.
I think that may have been the early start and early end to my love affair with hording vinyl for a while. Not for any other reason than it was time for something else. Over the better part of the decade, I became increasingly more intrigued by new music and fell in love with quieter bands like Yo La Tengo, and Low-- traces of which, along with those very first record findings, you can hear in my songwriting.
In New York City, I worked at a bar with a DJ named Greg Caz, who would keep me at the bar until 6am playing folk and punk favorites from my teenage years, but also a whole host of Brazilian and African music that I had never listened to. Caz can speak French, Portuguese, and Spanish--all learned from his beloved records--and he would translate lyrics from his favorite artists, many of which lived very short lives in relative obscurity across the world. The one who stole my heart was Tuca. The Brazilian songwriter’s gothic lyrics rested against an otherwise uplifting beat. She seemed painfully aware of her own mortality, the love she might not attain before perishing, and indeed she died in her twenties.
Greg was, of course, close friends with Sean and Daniel of The Phenomenal Handclap Band, which at that time had not yet taken its current shape, but was already being talked about. We all eventually met when they began looking for new members. I was intrigued by the wide-ranging songs, by how ambitious their concept was. Since his late teens, Daniel had been living in Manhattan DJing gigs, forming bands, and attending music school. Along the way he began DJing obscure soul records with Sean. Together they began producing some of their favorite music heroes like Joe Bataan and Unaio Black. Between the two of them, they had acquired a group of some of the cities best musicians (their friends) to work alongside them.
The first Phenomenal Handclap Band record was released this summer along with a limited edition 7-inch featuring "Testimony" and "15-20" through Pure Groove, a boutique record store in London. A full-length double vinyl is in the works."
If you’re like the mid-August me, the impending ending of the summer’s always a drag. It used to be the looming prospect of returning to school that’d have me in disarray, but now it’s mostly the speed at which summer sails by with little beyond a farmer’s tan to show for it.
So, in the constant effort to bring you an upside, we’re counting down the last 33-1/3 days of summer with weekly vinyl giveaways to gracefully usher in the Fall.
Our friends over at Interpunk have supplied us with two reissued versions of Bad Religion's 1994 release 'Stranger Than Fiction' for ONE winner to kick off the 33-1/3 Vinyl Giveaways.
We’ve got the very LAST copy of an Interpunk Exclusive version on clear vinyl (that’s right—sold out, only 500 pressed) and a collectible red vinyl reissue of the Southern California-based band's Atlantic Records debut album (and eighth of their career). Mastered from the original analog tapes! Original album produced by Andy Wallace and Bad Religion! Highlights include "Incomplete" (featuring guest riffs from the MC5's Wayne Kramer), "The Handshake," "Slumber" and the title track!
We’ve got them both just for the asking. Or, the commenting, I should say. Plead your case in the comments below (with some contact info!) and we’ll choose the best of the bunch next Monday (8/24) and launch our next 33-1/3 Giveaway. (If you’re following us on Twitter—and y’ should be—we’ll take your 140 characters as entries as well...)
DC band Dangerósa is celebrating the release of their first EP this Saturday night at The Red and The Black with a line-up assembled just for the occasion.
Florida indie pop band Mumpsy, who are on their own national tour, return to DC for another pairing with Dangerósa having opened for them the front end of their tour back in March. Also returning to DC is the great local alt country band, Typefighter—this show being their first since their own national tour which took the band as far as Salt Lake City and Los Angeles. Opening the evening’s bill will be the new project from Dave Mann of Mittenfields, Sweet Tea Pumpkin Pie, which also features vocalist Emily C of Mittenfields.
This TVD-approved lineup’s stellar from start to finish, so we’ll see ya at The Red and The Black Saturday night—right?
So, it seems that last week’s visit to the old house most likely won’t be the last. The house has got to go up for sale and ultimately the contents of two lives passed, boxed and moved. On the upside, I may be able to squeeze another week of posts out of the endeavor, so there’s that.
Quite a few of you have called, emailed, sent tweets, and Facebook’d me inquiring about my mom. Many thanks to all of you for the support and the awfully warm sentiments.
She’s doing fine it seems, and I’ve only received one call from the nursing home so far. I anticipated, “She’s pulled a knife on Mrs. Jones in the community room...” or “Boy did she ever tell Mr. Smith where to go...”
But, no. She’s been trying to give her jewelry and rings away to the other residents saying something like, “This would look FANTASTIC on you...” I’m told.
Proof that you don’t need to be a ‘new’ band to be a featured First Date as I’ve been a fan of the Trashcan Sinatras since 1990 with the release of their fine, fine debut LP ‘Cake.’
The Sinatras are back with a new release ‘In the Music’ and a tour which stops at The Rock and Roll Hotel tomorrow night (8/13) and straight from the tour bus we caught up with the band's guitarist John Douglas for a bit of a chat:
"We [Trashcan Sinatras] are a six piece vocals, guitars, keyboards, drums and songs band from Scotland. Our forte is songs... songs with character, evocative melodies and lyrics. We are about to release our fifth record called 'In The Music' featuring 10 of our latest creations. The record was recorded mostly live in the studio and is our finest yet. We have been playing as a unit for around twenty years and our chemistry is at it's peak. If you like your music with a little depth and a large dose of quality... put on your grooving shoes and come along to the show.
Addition: Our tour mgr just told me I missed the point which is the importance of mom & pop record shops. We [Trashcan Sinatras] play lots of in-store appearances and it's just so nice to meet actual clerks who know music and love it in all it's forms.
Sadly, it seems the shops are keen as 're-sellers' of either CDs or LPs vs selling "new" records. In order to survive now, a shop has to also sell clothes, posters, small pins and also movies or DVDs to stay afloat as opposed to being just a "record shop" and focusing on the latest old and new music.
And as to vinyl itself, I'm not bothered either way as to the debate of whether vinyl sounds "better" than CDs, but I love that you can hold a 12" jacket with bigger art. That's all I miss about vinyl being better. That and when I move it's harder to lug around my crates of LPs vs the ease of moving CDs."
Wanna know what the earliest tip-off was that something was amiss in my Mom’s home upon first inspection last week?
There was a vinyl record out of its sleeve among a stack of books and paperwork on the kitchen table that doubled as my mom’s desk in a way. There it was, just slid into the pile of stuff. A naked LP.
I went on yesterday about my mom’s musical inclinations, but my dad who wasn’t a musician was a bit of an audiophile in the era of reel to reel tapes and LPs. And man, did I ever get an education as to how to hold the LP by the edges and how to set it upon the spindle as to not scratch the label. And to how gracefully, set the needle down and then later how to properly return the record to its sleeve and refile. Alphabetically, of course.
So, yea. That LP wedged into a pile of books and magazines. Something was clearly amiss.
Throughout her life, my mom has been a wonderful pianist. Entirely self taught and without the ability to read music, she could listen to most pieces and in moments play it back for you almost verbatim. It’s a skill she seemingly had to pick up as her father, a violinist and concert organizer, forestalled my mother’s desire to study and participate in the classical ensembles he’d put together each weekend in the family’s home in Newark, New Jersey.
And my mother never got over it. I think she’d say her father’s grand ego and perhaps chauvinism on some level was the mitigating factor, so mom set out on her own and in the 1940’s and ‘50’s joined various USO groups and began writing music for live, staged performances to welcome soldiers home from the war and those who’d later shuffle on off to further conflicts.
I of course didn’t know my mom in this guise—her musical endeavors having been set aside to raise two kids later on. But oh, the house was full of music daily and her weekend piano performances quite literally could be heard through the neighborhood. And it seems, even up until recently at 84, she was serenading the aides who’d come in three times daily to tend to her and make her meals. I’d hear quite often, “Jon – your mother is SUCH a wonderful piano player...” I’d nod and agree as I’ve heard this all of my life. Self taught, never read music.
In her absence last week, I sat at her baby grand which has followed her throughout her entire life. It’s been well maintained and the innards have been rebuilt many times over and it still rings pitch-perfect.
There was a notebook on top of the piano that I started to flip through and the header on the very first page took me back a bit. In my mother’s oddly singular longhand, she had begun the page with “Memory Lapses.” What followed was an enumeration of things she’d forgotten—some were merely actor’s names or songwriters of popular standards or movie titles. This list grew longer and longer as it became clear she was adding to it over time.
Most surprising however was that, with exacting detail amidst cross-outs and erasures, she’d begun to transcribe all the songs she knew by memory into basic scales and keys with the accompanying lyrics. Page after page, each one marginally less focused than the last until nothing was left but empty white lined pages in her notebook.
Responsibilities we understand, the body fitfully performs.
So, I have a bit of a confession in regard to our 'break' last week—it really wasn't a vacation at all as was insinuated by the vacation graphic that was posted, all tall frosty one and teal ocean water.
In fact, Business Week Magazine framed an article (no joke) on why we were absent from TVD HQ last week:
"On a Tuesday night in late July, Jon Meyers, 42, got the call every child with an elderly parent dreads. His 84-year-old mother, Ruth, who suffers from dementia, had fallen in her kitchen and was heading to a New Jersey hospital by ambulance. But instead of agonizing over not being able to get there quickly—it's four hours from his home in Washington, D.C., to Point Pleasant, N.J.—Meyers took comfort in the fact that Stephen Mielach, a geriatric care manager, was following the ambulance, ready to take control.
Before 2007, Meyers had never heard of geriatric care managers (also called geriatric case managers). But then his mother developed problems that required hospitalization, and Meyers couldn't keep taking days off from his job as an art director ... On the recommendation of his mother's physician, Meyers, an only child, hired Mielach. He accompanies Meyers' mother on doctor visits, looks after her dog on occasion, and even helped with the paperwork for a reverse mortgage so that she could stay in her home."
Little did I realize then, like dominoes, what that one fall hath wrought. But, I've got a blog ... where I'll try to work it out.
TVD goes back to the old house this week. For the last time.
Well, sure. The Finn family is from New Zealand which technically IS down under ‘Down Under.’ So, for ME, it’s works as a bit of a capper to the week...
If the Woodstock generation can be exemplified by one humongous, sprawling multi-day event, the Twitter generation in contrast bathes not in mud (or bud)—but in brevity. Twittering's a succinct, uniquely solo endeavor, promulgated in office cubicles, Blackberries, and personal laptops. 
@malitzd 
@popcesspool
So here's a taste of my taste, in the following order: a buzzy Indonesian rock instrumental, some elegant blues, a bizarro nightclub cut, some throbbing proto-psychobilly, and a hillbilly ballad.
