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October 27, 2006

Torture and Gram Parsons

Almost certainly this effort is doomed to failure, but let me explain: Our friends at Rhino have begun selling previously uncirculated portraits of Gram Parsons on their website today. They have ten images available from the photographer Andee Nathanson, though I can claim no familiarity with his/her other work. Having once been co-owner of the failed Vox Populi Gallery back in Seattle, I can report to you that their $400 price for 11x14 prints in an open-ended edition is probably fair.
They wanted us to mention it on our website, as people often do.
Normally I resist such temptations for all kinds of ethical reasons, but it's interesting to me that Rhino wants to sell photographs, and I've pretty well established the fact that I don't particularly worship at the altar of Gram Parsons. So I'd planned to take some time this morning to think aloud about what all that meant.
But then yesterday's Lexington Herald fell open as I stopped to clean the kitchen. On the bottom of the front page is a headline reading: "Bush tries to ease America's concerns over war in Iraq." Inside, on page three, is the headline that stopped me dead: "'Water boarding' a 'no-brainer' in tererorism fight, Cheney says."
I quote from the article: "Water-boarding means holding a person's head under water or pouring water on cloth or cellophane placed over the nose and mouth to simulate drowning until the subject agrees to talk or confess."
This practice, we are told, is both acceptable and necessary to prevent terrorism.

They are nice photographs of Gram Parsons, young and slender on the beach, I suppose out in California somewhere. In black and white.

What would the United States government think if our opponents in some conflict -- any conflict -- water-boarded our soldiers, or our civilians? What would you think?
Does it matter that some number of those men housed at Guantanamo Bay have been returned to their lives and families, several years after their removal to that far-away place? Deemed innocent, in the end; how will they report our treatment to their neighbors?
Do the ends REALLY justify the means?
Are things that desperate, already?

I still think Gram Parsons is of continuing interest because his most important collaborator, Emmylou Harris, has proved not only to be a serious artist, but irreplaceable.
But I cannot focus on photographs of Gram Parsons. I cannot think straight, not with this story on my desk. And I can imagine of no music which will change my mood, though Nine Inch Nails seems tempting just now.
We will give away great dollops of our freedom in heedless fear because it might -- MIGHT -- in some form or fashion deter terrorism.
Despite the fact that no small number of interrogators are highly dubious about the results gained from water-boarding and other extra-legal practices.
I know that most of you would rather read about Gram Parsons than water-boarding. But if Gram spoke for anything it was for the glories and perils of freedom, American-style. And, yes, for the dangers of hedonism and the joys of country music.
Our country will be destroyed by this kind of behavior, by a culture that comfortably embraces the water-boarding of people who are denied even the most rudimentary rights. And the music won't matter.
This isn't about electoral politics.
It's about our souls.

Posted by Grant at 11:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

October 25, 2006

NOLA Benefit

I am of the generation to whom the name Jenny Toomey still means something, though often that something is a fond memory of Mary Lou Lord's "His Indie World" (and of my co-editor's rewrite, which she also was kind enough to record, "His ND World"). Regardless, Toomey's Future Of Music organization is hosting what appears to be a kind of conference for and about New Orleans musicians, headlined by a benefit concert, November 3-6.
Among those scheduled to perform and participate are Jackson Browne, Steve Earle, Mike Mills, Allison Moorer, Tom Morello, Boots Riley, Corin Tucker, and, of course, some others. Not all those folks will be onstage at the benefit; only Steve Earle's name appears in that context the press release I'm stealing this from.
Visiting artists are scheduled to meet and play a private event with some veteran New Orleans acts, including Al "Carnival Time" Johnson (who was plenty of fun during SXSW), at the Ernie K-Doe Mother-In-Law Lounge.
The future of New Orleans will tell us a great deal about the future of this entire nation. So far, it's not a pretty picture.

Posted by Grant at 2:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

October 19, 2006

Merlefest 2007 lineup

In the interests of at least occasionally using this space for news, and not entirely wishing to play favorites, here's a quick summary of the lineup for Merlefest 2007 (April 26-29), as just revealed by press release:
Announced headliners include: Blue Highway, Sam Bush, Cherryholmes, Elvis Costello, John Cowan Band, Donna The Buffalo, Jerry Douglas, the Duhks, Bela Fleck, Paul Geremia, John Hammond, Doyle Lawson & Quicksilver, Del McCoury Band, Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, Peter Rowan & Tony Rice Quartet, Darrell Scott, the Legendary Earl Scruggs with Family & Friends (that's how they put it; who am I to argue?), Marty Stuart & His Fabulous Superlatives, Pam Tillis, and the Waybacks.
Tickets go on sale November 14.
Now...I realize there are a number of festivals out there, and I probably won't make an attempt to post their lineups. I don't mean to be disrepectful to their efforts. Simply put, Merlefest is special, at least to me, and I just happened to get the press release at a moment I had time to post it here. The wind whispers of changes happening in Wilkesboro (they're just whispers that I hear distantly from my remote outpost here in the hills of Kentucky), and I can but hope and trust they portend only good things, for I look forward to the day when I can bring my daughter there and watch her dance to, well, to the Duhks, probably. She'll be four years old during this year's festival. Maybe she'll be old enough, maybe not. We'll see. With luck I'll see you there, but it's still not quite worth missing Maggie's birthday.
And, of course, they'll doubtless announce more acts (and headliners) as things progress.

Posted by Grant at 10:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

October 5, 2006

A short salute to the record store

There are very few moments of the 1970s I would choose to revisit, save for the Saturday afternoons I spent with Cheeseman and Uncle Kenny and any number of guys whose nicknames have faded from memory at Second Time Around Records on University Avenue, right around the corner from the then-smaller rival, Cellophane Square.

Uncle Kenny ran the place, which was then the flagship of three used stores on the Ave all owned by the same guy, and thus had all the best pieces in it. I have not dwelled upon this memory for some time, but it's come back fresh after long chats (and e-mails) with Tom Gillam and, again, while playing the new Waylon Jennings box and the reissued Byrne/Eno My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts. Somehow Tom and I always end up talking about '70s fusion, partly because he's discovered my weakness for Mahavishnu Orchestra, and partly because I feel obliged to infect him with the Back Door virus. (Which reminds me of some purchases which need making...)

None of those records, incidentally, would we have played at Second Time Around.

The late '70s were the years punk broke, for the first time, but before things had become codified. When the best local punk bands were busy tracking down obscure Yardbirds and Kinks and 13th Floor Elevators songs (and the Sonics; bless PK and the Jitters for that long-ago night opening for Pearl Harbour & The Explosions and trying so hard with "The Witch" or "Psycho," whichever it was). So there was a lot of British invasion playing, first and second rounds, while we examined Butcher covers and they indulged my fondness for Steely Dan and we wondered what might happen to local heroes like the Cowboys and the Heats (not much, as it turned out).

For fun, Uncle Kenny had spraypainted an early Beatles album red and would occasionally pull it from behind the counter, exposing just the edge, to torture foolish collectors who (like me, foolishly) would then invest in the white vinyl White Album.

And there was a guy Kenny named Einstein who had thick glasses and rode the short bus and deserved far better treatment when he came in asking for John Denver records, or was it country music?

In those days rock came from blues and punk rock came from England and New York and the store was alive with the simple joy of discovery, and there was much to be discovered. So long as it wasn't country, unless Johnny Cash played it in the 1950s.

And then there was some kind of scandal involving the FBI and bootlegs and small quantities of drugs, and Uncle Kenny no longer worked there and the moment passed. There would be other record stores, of course, but it was never the same.

Around this same era, my older brother (who was responsible for introducing fusion to my vocabulary) came home with one of Wayon's albums, the one with "MacArthur Park" (I could look; it's here somewhere, but it's not important) on it and insisted on playing it and rhapsodizing about the majesty of the man's voice just as he had rhapsodized about Bon Scott and Von Karajan's 9th (which I don't have around here and won't spell-check because this is deadline week I'm supposed to be designing a magazine right this moment).

I found Waylon excruciating, but liked Hoyt Axton better, well enough to have gone to the Arena to see Hoyt, the first country show of my career. (OK, the first TWO concerts I saw were both Jethro Tull; judge not lest ye be judged!)

And of course Bryson was right. Of all that era's voices, it is Waylon I still listen to most often, followed close by David Byrne.

All of which is to say this: Somebody said roughly a thousand record stores have closed in the last couple years. I mourn their passing (or, at least the passing of those which deserved better), I mourn the community of listeners who might once have congregated there and are now reduced to, what? Trading MP3 files?

It ain't the same.

Not that it should be, I suppose.

But it sure is fun to talk about music when there aren't any rules (OK, there were rules, but...) and when almost anything you might wish to hear could walk in the door unannounced at any moment.

Ah, well.

Posted by Grant at 9:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)