The subject-line might lead you to think this is gonna be a post-NC-primary political ramble -- but no; we'll leave that to Daily Kos and the like. If you're a Nick Lowe fan, however, you probably also recognize that quote as the chorus-lyric of what may be the finest song Lowe has ever written.
There'd be a boatload of arguments against such an assessment, no doubt -- not so much against "Hope For Us All" (from Lowe's latest labum, At My Age), but in favor of landmark Lowe tunes such as "Cruel To Be Kind" or "I Knew The Bride" or "(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love And Understanding", or somewhat lesser-known gems such as "All Men Are Liars" or "High On A Hilltop" or "The Beast In Me", or any number of other selections in Lowe's catalogue. Trying to single out his best song is a bit like trying to pick out the best peak in the Colorado Rockies; the whole range is pretty spectacular, you know.
I come today, however, to praise "Hope For Us All", and to write at some length as to precisely why. In particular, I'd like to present this song as an example to all aspiring lyricists of just how well a song can be written. Which is not to suggest everyone should go out and write a song like this -- imitation obviously isn't the point in art, and besides, it took Nick a long time to get this good -- but rather to posit "Hope For Us All" as an apex toward which to strive.
Let's start with the simple part. Almost every great song has a simple part. In this case it's the chorus. Lowe builds everything around these straightforward but heartfelt eleven words:
If even I
Can find someone
There's hope for us all.
That says a lot, with true brevity, a rare commodity in songwriting.
From there, things get complicated, from a craft perspective -- but you'd never know it as a listener, because Lowe makes the whole thing sound so natural, so effortless. Looking at things closely, I see three distinct examples of real brilliance which take this song from the simple to the sublime:
1. Metric diction. That's a complicated-sounding term to describe the rhythm Lowe employs in the line which bridges the verse to the chorus. It's a classic poetic turn, really -- akin to that phrase "iambic pentameter" you may occasionally hear in reference to Shakespeare and other masters (though I don't believe the syllabic pattern quite bears out this example as fitting the specific "iambic pentameter" numeric designation).
The intent and effect, though, is very similar. After starting the song with a rather unassuming couplet -- "People are remarking on the change that's come over me/It can be explained very easily" -- he digs into the meter on the next line:
OUT of the BLUE someone's COME into MY lonely WORLD and now I'M walking tall
It all reads like one continuous line -- no breaks or pauses, but rather syllabic stresses which propel the lyric straight into that simple chorus:
And if even I
Can find someone
There's hope for us all.
There is, of course, the obligatory rhyme ("tall" with "all"), but unlike most songs, the rhyme isn't the crux of the structure; rather, it gracefully marries the other elements of language that are driving the song.
He repeats the form in the second verse, but with a different line (which gets repeated later in the song):
I must adMIT there were TIMES when all I ever DID was climb THE wall
The meter, and the careful choice of words to fit that meter -- i.e., "metric diction" -- puts a skip in the song's step, sets it apart, seamlessly segues the listener from one stage to the next. You can hear how well it works immediately; taking a closer look shows just how clever and not-so-easy it is to pull off.
2. The bridge. Plenty of songs falter here; as a mostly amateur songwriter myself, I find it to be the toughest thing to write well, to create sensibly or naturally. Nick uses a simple little trick here to bring it home: He ties his chorus to the end of the bridge.
It's basically a two-verse bridge, kind of a classic "middle-eight." The first stanza is the setup: "Even in my darkest hour/There was still a light somewhere/Letting me know by its glow/That I'd find comfort there." Nothing particularly special to that, though the internal-rhyme of "know" and "glow" within the third line is a nice touch.
It's the second part that does the trick. "I walked a lonely street/Waiting for love to call/And if even I can find someone/There's hope for us all." The catch in writing a bridge is that you have to find your way back into the heart of the song. Lowe does this with exquisite ease, simply setting up the latter half of his middle eight to flow right back into his chorus.
I wish I could do that.
3. The grand finale. I use that term loosely and hesitantly, because it suggests the sort of overblown-instrumental-bombast conclusion that's common to modern pop but is almost entirely absent from Lowe's repertoire. What he does at the end of "Hope For Us All" is far more subtle, but also far more grand, from a lyrical perspective.
He appears to be just returning to the chorus, which is generally what most songs will do as they finish or fade out. But wait, there's something more here:
But if even I
A feckless man
Who's thrown away every single chance he's ever had
Can find someone
To check his fall
There must be hope for us all.
This is transcendent on multiple levels. First, he perfectly fits three new lines into the fundamental framework of his initial three lines -- and not just tacked on to the front or the end, but intertwined. The lines of his primary chorus are lines 1, 4, and 6 here. What he's woven into the narrative with lines 2, 3, and 5 doesn't sound out-of-place; on the contrary, it sounds like the whole six-line stanza could've been the original chorus.
Further, look at the words he's using here. When was the last time you heard someone sing "feckless" in a pop song? And it's precisely the right word: "having no sense of responsibility; indifferent; lazy" (per definition 2 at dictionary.com) -- a spot-on description of the man who's being transformed in the course of the song. Even better, perhaps, is the way he describes finding a true love: "Someone to check his fall." Again, this is not typical language, and it's all the more compelling for its singularity.
Finally, consider the emotional impact of that expanded chorus, which is ultimately all that really counts. Instead of just returning to the same words you've already heard a couple of times, he hits you with something that makes you listen fresh again -- and which portrays the character more dramatically and vividly than anywhere else in the song. This is a guy who's desperate, who's feckless, "who's thrown away every single chance he's ever had." And yet even he has found someone.
Just back from an eighth straight year of attending Merlefest in Wilkesboro, North Carolina....a few scattered thoughts on this year's festival:
It's tempting to call this Merlefest "The Year of the Piano" in that keyboards seemed to figure fairly prominently in many of the most memorable performances. None were better than Ollabelle, whosek keyboardist, Glenn Patscha, repeatedly cast mesmerizing trances and tones with his organ work during the band's stellar Saturday-afternoon set in the drizzle at the Americana stage. Their version of the Grateful Dead's "Ripple" on the Cabin Stage later that night was a show-stopping beauty. Merlefest may generally be all about the banjos and fiddles and guitars and mandolins, but when you hear a good keyboardist in the midst of all that, it ends to stand out like a clarion call.
A more spotlighted piano-centric highlight was Saturday night's mainstage performance by Bruce Hornsby with Ricky Skaggs & Kentucky Thunder. The two played material they recorded together on last year's duo album, plus the obvious hits reworked for the format (Hornsby taking a lead vocal on the Bill Monroe staple "Uncle Pen", Skaggs' band Kentucky Thunder driving the tempo and feel of Hornsby's "The Way It Is"). Hornsby's an interesting cat, in that the runaway pop success of "The Way It Is" in the '80s allowed him the opportunity to do many things with his stardom -- and he parlayed it into such seemingly unexpected ventures as joining the Grateful Dead and teaming up with Skaggs. His musical talent is unassailable, as he showed most especially on wondrously complex yet poignant minor-key piano runs during "Mandolin Rain".
Piano also played a significant role in Tift Merritt's packed-house performance at the Walker Center on Saturday afternoon -- or at least it sounded that way from the lobby. The house was so packed -- after a sudden torrential thunderstorm sent everyone scurrying to the festival's scant few indoor venues -- that we never did actually get in to see, though it sounded good from outside the theater doors.
Finally, a rather brief but highly affecting piano interlude came during the Avett Brothers' Friday-night headlining set. "Salina", an ambitious track from the band's 2007 breakthrough disc Emotionalism, went from serene to sublime when guitarist Seth Avett switched midsong to piano, emphasizing the tune's quasi-classical references. The Avetts' legions of fans still respond most voraciously to their high-intensity numbers -- on this night, they caused a minor but lovable ruckus when they began passing the reserved-seat chairs overhead behind them to create a mosh-pit up front -- but it's those moments of melodic magic that continue to set the band apart from others in the punk-trad realm.
Musicians, as you probably know, tend to be very in tune with the notion of taking care of their own -- in part because we live in a land that mostly does not take care of them. (You'll find considerably more support for the arts, not to mention broader health care, in many other nations...but I digress, inevitably.)
What follows, then, is an abbreviated roundup regarding several musicians in the extended Americana community who have recently fallen victim to health problems. Sadly, a couple of them have already left us, but the efforts of their fellow musicians (and fans and friends) are continuing nonetheless:
* Drew Glackin, bassist for the Silos and Tandy and a contributor to several other acts both onstage and on record, died in early January from a thyroid condition that had gone untreated in part because Glackin could not afford health insurance. A handful of tribute-show benefits already have taken place to help raise funds for Glackin's family to defray medical and funeral expenses. Next up, on May 3-4 in Raleigh, North Carolina, is "Get The Hint," a two-day concert series designed to raise awareness and funds for the Future of Music Coalition, which is seeking to help musicians obtain health insurance.
Performing on May 3 at the Pour House are Tres Chicas (plus a Hazeldine reunion), Chip Robinson with the Heavy Beat Outfit, Patty Hurst Shifter, Chris Mills, the Silos, Quarry Hill, Tandy, BJ Barham, Glory Fountain and Port Huron Statement. Robinson plays again on May 4 at Sadlack's Heroes along with Kenny Roby, Lou Ford, Joe Swank & the Zen Pirates, and the Cartridge family. More info is at: http://www.myspace.com/the_hint
* Accordionist/guitarist Chris Gaffney, known for his work with the Hacienda Brothers, Dave Alvin, and many others, died April 17 of liver cancer, in the midst of a handful of benefits that were being arranged to help with his expenses. That benefit effort is still ongoing; more information is at http://www.helpgaff.com
* Guitarist Duane Jarvis, who has released several solo records in addition to playing with the likes of Lucinda Williams, John Prine and Dwight Yoakam, was treated for colon cancer in late 2007. A benefit to help with his medical expenses is scheduled for June 12 at the Wonder Ballroom in Portland, Oregon.
* Pianist and entertainer Candye Kane was recently diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. A benefits is scheduled for May 5 at Humphrey's in San Diego, with other events in the works for the Seattle and Austin areas. Donations to help with Kane's medical expenses can be contributed via paypal.com using the address candyekanetour@aol.com
Please feel welcome to add comments in regard to any further details about these folks and events, and/or to add news about anyone else you believe warrants a mention here. It's up to all of us to help get the word around.
And, on yet another major primary election night, let us keep in mind the significance of health care reform in this coming presidential election. Whoever you vote for, here's hoping they'll help to fix a system that's long past broken.
adios,
peter
Posted by Peter on April 22, 2008 7:45 PM |Permalink
I'll make this brief cuz it's 3 a.m. and we just got back from a long drive after a couple of beautiful days seeing our nation's monuments in D.C. ... but I'd be remiss if I didn't acknowledge a certain video that popped up on YouTube a couple days ago, from a Monday-night concert in Houston:
I guess sometimes these "artist of the decade" quixoticisms can have pretty happy endings.
A hearty congratulations to Alejandro Escovedo (and to his co-writer of "Always A Friend", Mr. Chuck Prophet).
And a heartfelt thanks to Bruce Springsteen and his posse, for realizing such a dream.
(And, by the way -- that song? I guess I don't really much believe in the concept of "hit singles" anymore ... but if in fact they still exist, this is the best one Escovedo has ever made. Just wait till you hear the recorded version, due out June 10 on his new album, Real Animal....)
I'd like to be able to tell you that if you tuned into The Tonight Show With Jay Leno on Wednesday night, you could see the Drunk Stuntmen perform.
That isn't quite the case, but it's not far off. The Northampton, Massachusetts, band -- which I wrote about at length in ND #44 (March-April 2003) -- won't be listed as appearing on Leno's show, but two of its members, Steve Sanderson and Freddy Freedom, will be in the band accompanying the Young At Heart Chorus, an ensemble of senior citizens who sing rock 'n' roll songs and are the subject of a new Fox Searchlight documentary film.
The Stuntmen teamed up with Young At Heart (which is also based in Northampton) a few years ago; the two groups toured together and even made a live-performance DVD (which Barry Mazor reviewed in his Film At 11 column in ND #73). When I interviewed them in 2003, the Stuntmen seemed a singular bunch -- a band of southern-rockers somehow geographically misplaced in Massachusetts, but more importantly, possessing a charm and spirit that made them stand out from the bar-band pack. That they ended up backing a choral group of seniors only underscored the degree to which they stood apart.
They also have their own new album, titled State Fair, due out on May 20. So if you miss them with Young At Heart on Leno Wednesday night -- or Thursday during the morning/daytime hours (depending on where you live) on Ellen Degeneres' show -- check out their record.
We (occasionally ourselves amid tangents in reviews or features, sometimes our readers via letters to the editor) have once in awhile given a hard time to Rolling Stone in the pages of No Depression, and there are ways in which it's well-deserved, certainly (this is, after all, a magazine that has put Britney Spears on its cover multiple times).
On the other hand, whenever I run into longtime Rolling Stone writer David Fricke at South By Southwest (as I did again this year), I feel a little bad about it. David has consistently brought both great writing and great critical judgment to the pages of RS, championing the likes of our artist of last decade (Alejandro Escovedo), pioneering alt-rock acts such as R.E.M., and old-school greats such as the Stooges. At SXSW, we talked briefly about Led Zeppelin, with whom he'd recently spent time in the midst of their reunion hoopla, and also about Robert Plant's side-project with Alison Krauss that has become a huge deal in its own right. Talking with Fricke is a good reminder that Rolling Stonedoes still cover some very worthwhile things musically. (And politically, too; give them credit for the recent Barack Obama cover).
More to the point, though, the one thing that's beyond debate about Rolling Stone is its place in the history of American music journalism. No national publication had covered rock 'n' roll so thoroughly before they came on the scene in 1967; and while their gradual ascendance to mainstream culture left the door open for hundreds of underground magazines in the ensuing decades, every single one of those magazines has owed a debt to RS. (Including No Depression, quite obviously -- and not just because a small handful of our regular contributors were among the original voices in Rolling Stone.)
All of which is a preface to this blog-entry's plug for Rolling Stone: Cover To Cover, an enormously valuable DVD-ROM collection that was recently released in conjunction with Bondi Digital Publishing. Prices on this set vary considerably depending on where you get it, and while it's worth looking for the bargain deal to get it for less than its $125.00 list, you could make a pretty fair case that it's actually well worth the list price.
What you get with this thing, via three discs, is, amazingly, every single page of every issue Rolling Stone ever published in a nearly 40-year span, from its debut in November 1967 up through May 2007. The database (which includes an installation disc of software which allows you to navigate through the archives) is rather well-organized and superbly indexed, which means it's quite simple to search for specific topics or time-frames that may be of specific interest to you.
Being the self-centered snot that I am, my first search was for "Peter Blackstock," and, sure enough, it turned up both of the small news items I wrote for RS back in 1995 (shortly before my attention was diverted to starting my own magazine later that year). A search for "No Depression" located, rather amusingly, a live review of Mary Lou Lord which mentioned her performance of the song "His N.D. World" (which was adapted from Lord's original "His Indie World" by, uh, well, some self-centered snot...).
Getting beyond the ultra-provincial focus, other searches turned up some real revelations. For instance, an article in the October 25, 1973, issue about the Joshua Tree death of Gram Parsons (and subsequent coffin-heist) shares a page with an article about the plane-crash death of Jim Croce. While I knew they'd both left us in the early '70s, I had no idea their deaths were just one day apart -- Parsons on September 19, Croce on September 20.
That's just the tip of the iceberg of what's here, of course. Every page of every issue of Rolling Stone is one hell of a lot of musical and cultural history -- and as a card-carrying college history major, I find it to be endlessly fascinating. I could probably spend a month solid just paging through these archives. (And maybe I will, given present circumstances....)
By the way -- one last little connection: You probably recognize the subject-line to this entry as the title of Dr. Hook's 1973 top-10 single. What you may not know is that it was written by the late Shel Silverstein, whose nephew, Mitch Myers, contributed to ND on occasion for many years. And yes, Mitch has a byline in the RS Cover To Cover set, too -- he wrote the obituary for his uncle in RS #815, June 24,1999, page 26.
Just continuing the lyric from the subject-line of Grant's blog this morning, fyi. (And, yeah, Ted Hawkins for me too. That's the first version I ever heard, on a cold Seattle night at the old Ballard hotspot the Backstage -- December 1, 1994, according to my logs, with San Francisco's Stephen Yerkey opening. Must've been an early show because my logs indicate I also played a set of my own later that night at the Owl & Thistle, along with my pals Kitchen Radio.... Hawkins, by the way, died exactly one month later, on New Year's Day 1995 -- the year we started ND. And exactly two years to the day before Townes Van Zandt passed away, on New Year's Day 1997. There stands the glass, indeed.)
Had you caught me when my own glass was filled (with champagne) last night, just past midnight, I probably would've spilled out all sorts of thoughts and recollections and ruminations -- as I did, in fact, to my wife, who kindly and patiently listened to all the stories and back-stories and side-stories as we moseyed through the page-proofs of #75, which went to the printer this morning. A survey of the tabletops in the living-room indicates we also consulted issues 2, 4, 5, 6, and 7 in the process, though I don't recall just now what we were digging up from those pages. Pretty much everything tied in some way to #75, which proved a remarkably reflective final bow, when it was all said and done (even though it wasn't a "special" or "commemorative" issue, but rather just 144 pages of pretty much what we've always done). We hope you'll like it. I'm pretty sure you will.
Surveying the tabletops in the office, by the way, I find the evidence of what we listened to last night, after I decreed it should be a vinyl-only passage. The artifacts: Uncle Tupelo's No Depression (side one), Son Volt's Trace (side one), Wilco's Being There (side two of four), the Scud Mountain Boys' Pine Box (both sides), T Bone Burnett's self-titled album (both sides), Rank And File's self-titled album (side one), X's See How We Are (side one), and The Original Carter Family: From 1936 Radio Transcripts (side one). Lisa asked me where I got that last one, and I showed her a sentence in the handwritten note I happened to receive about a month ago from Flo Wolfe of the Carter Family Fold in Virginia: "In Aug. 1997 you ordered my very last Original Carter Family album with the song No Depression." Yeah, that's where I got it, all right.
