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Category: country

Sunday, 11/21/10

ain’t no grave can hold . . .

Johnny Cash, “Ain’t No Grave,” 2003 (recorded), 2010 (released)

Vodpod videos no longer available.

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lagniappe

The Johnny Cash Project is a global collective art project, and we would love for you to participate. Through this website, we invite you to share your vision of Johnny Cash, as he lives on in your mind’s eye. Working with a single image as a template, and using a custom drawing tool, you’ll create a unique and personal portrait of Johnny. Your work will then be combined with art from participants around the world, and integrated into a collective whole: a music video for “Ain’t No Grave,” rising from a sea of one-of-a-kind portraits.

Strung together and played in sequence over the song, the portraits will create a moving, ever evolving homage to this beloved musical icon.  What’s more, as new people discover and contribute to the project, this living portrait will continue to transform and grow, so it’s virtually never the same video twice.

Ain’t No Grave is Johnny’s final studio recording. The album and its title track deal heavily with themes of mortality, resurrection, and everlasting life. The Johnny Cash Project pays tribute to these themes. Through the love and contributions of the people around the world that Johnny has touched so deeply, he appears once again before us.

The Johnny Cash Project is a visual testament to how the Man in Black lives on—not just through his vast musical legacy, but in the hearts and minds of all of us around the world he has touched with his talent, his passion, and his indomitable spirit. It is this spirit that is the lifeblood of The Johnny Cash Project. Thank you for helping Johnny’s spirit soar once more. God bless.

Chris Milk

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reading table

Without trouble, there is no life.

—New Orleans restaurateur Provino Mosca, quoted in Calvin Trillin, U.S. Journal, “No Daily Specials,” New Yorker, 11/22/10

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radio

Happy Birthday, Hawk!

Today, Coleman Hawkins’ (106th) birthday, the folks at WKCR-FM (broadcasting from Columbia University) are celebrating in their usual way—playing his music all day (and then some [til 9:30 a.m. tomorrow]).

When I heard Hawk I learned to play ballads.

Miles Davis

Saturday, 11/20/10

I don’t know how boys do it these days—grow up, that is, without ever dreaming of being a cowboy.

Sunshine Boys (featuring J.D. Sumner), “We’re Gonna Ride on the Golden Range,” 1951 (Prairie Roundup)

Friday, 11/19/10

If you have any doubts about the transformative powers of music, watch this. I’ve spent more hours than I could count in prisons, state and federal, in Illinois and Ohio and Wisconsin, meeting with clients. Never have I seen folks so relaxed.

Johnny Cash, live, San Quentin, 1969

“I Walk the Line”

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“Folsom Prison Blues”

Vodpod videos no longer available.

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“Orange Blossom Special”

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“Jackson” (with June Carter Cash)

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reading table

There is nothing in our material world more beautiful than the book.

Patti Smith (after winning this year’s National Book Award for nonfiction for her memoir Just Kids)

Wednesday, 11/10/10

two takes

Some lyrics sound as though they want to be read; others would look silly on the page but, unlike the page-worthy, they sing.

“If I Had A Boat” (Lyle Lovett)

Lyle Lovett, live (TV broadcast), 2004


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The Holmes Brothers, State Of Grace (Alligator),  2007

lagniappe

Gregory Isaacs/p.s.

Yesterday’s link to WKCR-FM’s Memorial Broadcast didn’t work right (only a fraction of the show could be accessed), but it does now.

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reading table

To fall into despair is just a high-class way of turning into a dope. I choose to laugh, and laugh at myself no less than at others.

—Saul Bellow, Letters (2010) (as quoted in yesterday’s New York Times review)


Monday, 11/8/10

What makes this guy such a great guitarist?

He doesn’t show off.

“Lead”? “Rhythm”? To him it’s all one.

He doesn’t play over the drummer—he plays with him.

Keith Richards (with Willie Nelson, Ryan Adams, Hank Williams III), “Dead Flowers,” live (TV broadcast), 2002

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I’m not here just to make records and money. I’m here to say something and to touch other people, sometimes in a cry of desperation: ‘Do you know this feeling?’

—Keith Richards, Life (2010)

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reading table

As the fiftieth birthday approaches, you get the sense that your life is thinning out, and will continue to thin out, until it thins out into nothing . . . . Then fifty comes and goes, and fifty-one, and fifty-two. And life thickens out again. Because there is now an enormous and unsuspected presence within your being like an undiscovered continent. This is the past.

—Martin Amis, The Pregnant Widow (2010)

Thursday, 8/19/10

Hands?

You don’t need them, either.

Hamper McBee, “Jasper Jail,” live, Tennessee, 1977

Thursday, June 3, 2010

She is—to borrow from Duke Ellington—beyond category.

Patsy Cline, live (TV broadcasts)

“Three Cigarettes (In An Ashtray),” 1957

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“Crazy,” 1962

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“I Fall To Pieces,” 1963

Monday, 4/26/10

Like Tom Harrell, this guy’s made music (at least from time to time) through the fog of schizophrenia.

Roky Erickson with Okkervil River

Live, Austin, 2010

“You’re Gonna Miss Me”

Take 1

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Take 2

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“Two Headed Dog”

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“Goodbye Sweet Dreams”

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“True Love Cast Out All Evil” (2010) (title track of RE’s new album)

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lagniappe

For decades, Roky Erickson has joined Pink Floyd founder Syd Barrett and Beach Boys legend Brian Wilson at the top of the list of rock’s most tragic burnouts.

As vocalist for the ’60s pioneers the 13th Floor Elevators and as a solo artist active through the mid-’80s, the Austin, Texas, native influenced countless bands in the punk, garage and psychedelic-rock movements. But for 20 years, he has lived in poverty as a virtual recluse, shying away from the music world as he battled schizophrenia under the dubious care of his mother, Evelyn, who does not believe in modern medications.

Now, as his legacy is celebrated with a new two-disc anthology, two reissues of landmark recordings, and the brilliant documentary “You’re Gonna Miss Me,” a seemingly happy and healthy Erickson is slowly emerging from the shadows, thanks to a remarkable recovery overseen by his brother and new guardian, Sumner. And even if Roky’s resurrection never becomes as complete as that of Brian Wilson — who not only returned to touring, but completed his epic “Smile” album in 2004 — he seems primed to reclaim his place in the rock pantheon.

Last July, Sumner asked his brother what he wanted for his 57th birthday, and Roky said he’d like to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. “Unfortunately, that birthday has passed,” Sumner said recently. “But the point is that he is very cognizant of his place in history, and he really wants to be recognized.”

Roger Kynard Erickson — his first two names were truncated as “Roky,” pronounced “rocky” — grew up in a musical household. His mother was a locally renowned opera singer, and Sumner would become first-chair tuba player for the Pittsburgh Symphony. “I’m lucky that along with my mom, who had a world-class voice, Roky’s voice was one of the first I ever heard,” Sumner said. “What a gift that was.”

By his mid-teens, Roky had developed one of the most distinctive voices in rock, more frightening than the most powerful screaming by his heroes, Little Richard and James Brown, and as plaintively beautiful than the most tender crooning by another Texas great, Buddy Holly.

Erickson had already written “You’re Gonna Miss Me” with a band called the Spades when he was approached to join a new group formed by poet and lyricist Tommy Hall in 1965. The 13th Floor Elevators re-recorded “You’re Gonna Miss Me” with guitarist Stacy Sutherland’s electric riffing, Hall’s frantic blowing on an amplified jug (a relic of the jug bands on the folk scene) and Erickson’s bone-rattling vocals. It became a hit in 1966, and it ranks with “Louie Louie” as one of the all-time garage-rock classics.

The Elevators signed to a Houston label called International Artists, run by Lelan Rogers, brother of rocker-turned-country crooner Kenny Rogers, and two extraordinary albums followed: “The Psychedelic Sounds of the 13th Floor Elevators” (1966) and “Easter Everywhere” (1967). More than any other American group in the ’60s, including the vaunted San Francisco bands during the Summer of Love, the Elevators proudly espoused the virtues of transcending the ordinary via psychedelic drugs, and they strived to evoke the feeling of an acid trip via the otherworldly music and visionary lyrics of songs such as “Fire Engine,” “Slip Inside This House” and “Kingdom of Heaven.”

As the surviving band members recalled during a panel discussion at the South by Southwest Music Conference in March, there was a price to pay for flaunting such freakiness in Texas at the time. Shortly after the second album’s release, Erickson was busted for possessing a small amount of marijuana. His lawyers adopted an insanity defense, calling a psychiatrist who testified that the singer had taken 300 LSD trips that “messed up his mind.” The ploy backfired when Erickson was sentenced to an indefinite stay at Rusk State Mental Hospital, a hellish institution where he was confined with mass murderers, pedophiles and rapists.

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For years, Roky resembled a wounded animal whenever he was dragged into the spotlight for a 30-second appearance at the Austin Music Awards. In the mid-’90s, rocker-turned-publisher Henry Rollins arranged a book-signing during SXSW to celebrate Openers II, a collection of Roky’s poems and lyrics. I watched as a frightened Roky emerged from the car, then immediately demanded to be driven back home.

This year, before Sumner could even introduce him, Roky bounded onstage to sing “Starry Eyes” — his voice as pure and strong as ever — during the annual benefit for the Roky Erickson Trust (http://www.rokyerickson.net/trust.html) at Threadgill’s.

Roky and I chatted briefly following the screening of “You’re Gonna Miss Me.” He was much more lucid and content than the troubled soul I had encountered in the past, even if our conversation was no more relevant than our earlier interview. Mostly we talked about the weather.

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“You’re Gonna Miss Me” — which will screen at other film festivals before finalizing a deal for widespread release — ends with a poignant scene of Roky playing acoustic guitar and singing a newly written song about the power of love on the porch outside his therapist’s office.

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“It’s been a real gradual but steady process, and it is light years beyond what anybody thought was possible,” Sumner said. “I told Roky originally that my number-one goal for him was wellness, but that his wellness would eventually include being creative and being who he is.

“Right now, nobody is more invested in Roky Erickson’s wellness than Roky is, and nobody is going to pull him off his path — nobody, nobody, nobody.”—Jim DeRogatis (2005)

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listening room

Nothing’s been giving me greater aural pleasure lately than listening, while working or whatever, to past broadcasts of Kevin Nutt’s weekly one-hour gospel radio show Sinner’s Crossroads, which can be found here.

Friday, 1/22/10

Watching late night TV, you drift in and out of sleep.

In the morning, you recall a commercial you saw—or dreamed.

And you say to yourself, “Buddhist Country Classics?”

Jimmie Dale Gilmore (with Bill Frisell, guitar; Jerry Douglas, Dobro; Viktor Krauss, bass), “Just a Wave, Not the Water,” live (TV broadcast), 1997

Wednesday, 9/16/09

Blues Guitar Festival/day 1 of 3

If you think blues and country never mingle, just listen to blues guitar great Earl Hooker. Backstage, he fools around, lovingly, with the country classic “Walkin’ the Floor Over You.” Onstage, he launches into a bluesy instrumental that’s as hyped up as a truck driver, past midnight, on his fifth cup of coffee. While some musicians (particularly in jazz) are famous for playing “behind the beat” (Lester Young, Billie Holiday, Miles Davis, et al.), Hooker keeps racing ahead of the beat, pushing so insistently that, at times, it feels like he might jump off the road altogether.

Earl Hooker, live, Germany, 1969

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lagniappe

“I used to listen to country and western and blues, John Lee Hooker, spirituals, the Bluegrass Boys, and Eddie Arnold. There was a radio station that come on everyday with country, spirituals, and the blues.”—Otis Rush