Singing Along
February 19th, 2010
My friend Sandy Clipsham had a few of his guy friends over last night, to sing, of course, which is what guys most often do when they get together, or so I hear. I had never met any of the others, but they were an eclectic and interesting group, and we spent as much time talking about new media and alternative publishing and movies as we did singing. There were also homemade brownies, which is never a bad thing. The singing was good too, by which I mean that it was good to sing rather than that the singing was of any great quality, and it made me reflect on the diminishing opportunities to sing with one another in our culture and on the loss that I think this.
I have no data to support this supposition, but I would say that people in our culture listen to music more than those of any previous culture, but that they actually sing and play music with each other less and less. They have an insatiable appetite for professional music, for popular music, for music that accompanies and defines certain mediatized and commercialized lifestyles, but they are increasingly uncomfortable with making music together informally, as amateurs, as communities. They no longer sing along with one another. This phenomenon, I think, is partially to do with the diminishment of a certain kind of church culture, and also with the diminishment of things like summer camps and school choirs, all places where people once sung together regularly, but I it also has something to do with a culture that understands music as something to be produced and consumed like any other product rather than as something to be shared within a community. Although people who call themselves musicians, either by profession or by vocation, are often willing to do music with one another informally, the greater part of our culture is content to consume music, and so it never learns what it is to make music as a community, as amateurs, simply as an expression of community.
Yet, the cost of this inability to sing with each other is considerable. Anyone who has sung around a campfire, or in a church service, or even in a car with some friends and the radio, knows that there is something immensely cathartic about this kind of singing. It does not require us to be musicians. It does not require us to be vocalists. It does not require is to be songwriters. It requires us only to sing along with each other, and this singing produces an intimacy between us. There is a social risk in this kind of singing, certainly, because it is a breach of normal social decorum and because it creates a space in which different rules apply, but it is this very risk, shared between us, that opens us to each other.
So, last night, the five of us took this risk. We sang along with one another, informally, unprofessionally, without the benefit of practice, without really knowing each other, and we risked looking foolish, or at least sounding foolish, and we got through a few tunes that were none of our favourites but that were recognizable and easy to sing, and it was good. We sang “Cotton Fields“,” I’ll Fly Away“, “Five Hundred Miles“, “He Aint Heavy, He’s My Brother“, “If I Had a Hammer“, and “Down by the Riverside“, and I went home thinking that I need to sing along with people in this way more often.
Animals as Leaders
February 5th, 2010
Despite what the title of this post might seem to imply, it is neither a defense of animal rights nor a commentary on our political leadership. Rather, it is something perhaps still more surprising, at least from me: a second post on music in less than a week. It may never happen again, so enjoy it while you can.
My brother Andrew was driving me somewhere the other day, though I cannot now remember where. He was playing a CD, as he always is, and I was enjoying it very much, which is not always the case for me with Andrew’s music. Though I do mostly like the instrumentation in Andrew’s tunes, I disagree with him substantially about the musical value of screaming and growling, which probably relates to my dislike of most vocals generally, though it does seem to contradict my appreciation for vocals that are less lyrics than mere vocalizations. In any case, this particular disc was entirely instrumental, so the question of vocals was moot, and I was really enjoying the sound, so I made Andrew give me the disc when we got home.
The project is called Animals as Leaders, and it is comprised of guitarist Tosin Abasi, who records all of the guitar and bass tracks, and Misha Mansoor, who does the programmed drums and the synthesized effects. The sound would best be described as progressive metal or post-metal, though these labels may be a little misleading to those unfamiliar with them. Though the music does include sections that are clearly metal, it is not limited to this sound, ranging through a wide variety of dynamics, and Tosin’s fabulous guitar work is displayed throughout. Those who are interested in having a listen for themselves can start with “On Impulse” and “Song of Solomon“, and there is also a nice clip of Tosin playing his custom eight-string guitar.
The Gold Collection
February 1st, 2010
I bought a set of two CDs today, a compilation of blues tunes called The Blues: The Gold Collection, forty songs in all. This is abnormal for me. I rarely by CDs at all anymore, and I never buy compilation sets, especially when the compilation is drawing mostly from albums that I already own, but this is a special set for me, because it was my first real introduction to the blues, which has between then and now become my favourite musical genre. My mother bought the compilation when I was in my early teens, at which point my experience with the blues had been limited to what you might expect, a little Howlin’ Wolf and a little Muddy Waters and a little B. B. King, but this compilation introduced me to a much wider variety of blues artists, from Mississippi John Hurt to Leadbelly to Robert Johnson to Lightnin’ Hopkins. I fell in love with these musicians, and I began buying their albums whenever I had a few dollars to spare from buying books.
So, when I saw that compilation set again today, sitting in a bin at the thrift store, it seemed infinitely worth its two dollar price, even if the jewel case was a bit beaten and the liner notes had a cup ring on them. Those two CDs were where a love affair began, and I could hardly leave them to be orphaned, so I decided to give them a good home. We have already been reminiscing, so let us share with you also:
Mississippi John Hurt, Candy Man Blues
Blind Lemon Jefferson, Jack O’ Diamonds
Leadbelly, Midnight Special
Robert Johnson, Cross Road Blues
Sonny Boy Williamson, Nine Below Zero
The Juliet Letters
June 3rd, 2009
I listen to only a fraction of the music that is on my shelves, particularly now that I have children who go through phases of listening to the same album over and over again, so I decided to go through my collection and listen to some of my old favourites yesterday morning, since it was too cold and rainy to do anything outside anyway. I had already selected some Count Basie, some Mississippi John Hurt, and some Robert Johnson, when I saw The Juliet Letters, which is a collaborative album by Elvis Costello and The Brodsky Quartet. I have already mentioned this album once, in my post on developing musical taste, and I praised it then for its lyrical originality, but I must confess that it is something like two years since I have actually listened to it. I decided to rectify this situation, and I found myself delighted with the album all over again.
Though the idea of a collaboration between a pop musician and a classical string quartet would seem to have as much potential for disaster as for success, The Juliet Letters is much more than a mere curiosity. It is a concept album that uses Shakespeare’s Juliet as a metaphor of a world in which circumstances sometimes overwhelm fragile human relationships, and each song represents a letter that explores this theme from a particular narrative voice, man or woman, old or young. The result is a tremendous variety of narratives, lyrical styles, and musical sound. Though there is a definite musical and thematic unity to the album, no song is like another, and the album itself is unlike any other I have heard.
I had intended just to have it playing as I prepared for the day, but I listened to it from the couch in its entirety, jacket notes in hand, and my kids listened also. I am not sure why The Juliet Letters was never able to find a wider audience, but it certainly deserves a place in your collection.
A Progressive Review
May 20th, 2009
My brother Andrew began a music review blog called Indie Scene about a month ago, but then he promptly went on tour with his band The Yage Letters. Now that he has returned and has begun posting again, I thought it might be an opportune time for me to share what he will be doing.
Now, before I get too far, the title of my post perhaps needs some clarification. Andrew will not be reviewing only progressive music, as the title might seem to imply. He will not even be reviewing music from an exclusively progressive perspective. His own music and his own tastes, however, have decidedly progressive elements to them, and this provides much of the tone for his reviewing.
For those who are not quite familiar with the idea of progressive music, and I confess that I am certainly no expert myself, it is an approach to music, encompassing several genres, that contests the forms that have come to dominate almost every musical style in our popular culture. These popular forms include a song length that is short enough to suit radio play, a chorus-verse-chorus-verse-bridge-chorus structure, a musical hook that occurs in the first few seconds of the song, a production style that reduces bass and percussion to filler sound, and other similarly standard elements.
Progressive music contests these forms in several ways, including a song length that may be quite extended, a structure that employs complex musical progressions that build to a musical climax, several interrelated musical themes that are developed simultaneously, an emphasis on the musical role of all of the instruments in a band, an approach to production that alters the tone of the instruments to suit a particular composition, a fascination with layered and textured sounds, an attention to the technicalities of percussion on all instruments that in some cases approaches the purely mathematical, and various other techniques also. It is these formal questions that very often dominate the ways that Andrew reviews an album or a band.
Because of his own musical interests, the albums and bands he reviews will mostly be independent, and they will frequently be from the spectrum of styles that are lumped under the label of metal. For those of you who are immediately imagining the worst that pop-metal has to offer, I can assure you that this will not mean a regular tour through the top forty. Andrew’s interests are, as I said, largely with independent music, and he will be reviewing local Guelph bands when he can, so his subjects will not often be the mass-produced bands that make up our popular soundscape.
So, have a read. You just might be entertained.
Wenders in Black and White
March 20th, 2009
I have been distracted these last few days, so I am only just getting around to writing about this past Saturday night’s Dinner and a Doc, which is a bit unfortunate, because it was a memorable evening, even if partly for the wrong reasons.
The first of these wrong reasons was a slew of cancellations. Some people were away because of March Break, others were ill, others had commitments, and so the only visitors who were added to the not inconsiderable population of our own home was a couple who had not been able to join us for Dinner and a Doc in almost a year. I was not too distraught. My intention has always been to show films that I would like to see anyway, and to watch them whether anyone joins me or not, and besides, I have often found that fewer people mean better conversation, especially when I have not had a chance to really converse with these people in some time, and especially when they have brought a nice bottle of wine.
The second of the unfortunate reasons was that, about halfway through the screening of the film, Wim Wenders’ Buena Vista Social Club, the couple who had come were called away by a minor family emergency, leaving just my wife, my mother, my mother-in-law, and me. Though we enjoy each other’s company, it was not exactly how we had expected the evening to unfold.
Fortunately, there were also many good reasons that the night was memorable, not least among them being the Smoked Beer and Cheddar Cheese Soup that I made, and the homemade bread and cinnamon buns that my mother baked to accompany it. The soup was not universally acclaimed, some finding the smoky taste a little overwhelming, but I enjoyed it very much, perhaps as much as any soup I have ever made. The opinion on the baking, however, was undivided. Loaves of whole grain bread and cinnamon buns filled with cranberries, both fresh from the oven, almost always produce a consensus of opinion, at least in my experience.
The film itself was also memorable, of course. Having heard so much about it, I was worried that it might not match my expectations, but I was not disappointed. The music is what it is: vital and marvellous, even for me, though Latin music is not at all a part of my regular listening. It is the musicians, however, who make the film compelling. Wenders arranges them in the homes and the streets and the buildings of their city and allows them to reminisce about their lives, causing their stories and their personalities to carry the narrative weight of the film, and creating the sense that the music is merely symbolic of the people who have spent their lives creating it.
I think that Wenders reinforces this idea that it is the musicians rather than the music who are the focus of the film by portraying the Amsterdam concert in black and white. Wenders had used black and white footage symbolically in at least one earlier film, Wings of Desire, a drama in which an angel decides to give up immortality and become human so that he can be with the woman he has come to love. Scenes from the angelic perspective are all shot in black and white in this film, while scenes from the human perspective are all in colour, representing the lack of feeling and emotion that is the cost of the angels’ immortality.
Considering this earlier usage of black and white film, I think that Wenders might be making a similar symbolic gesture in Buena Vista Social Club, keeping the footage of the concert in black and white to represent how it lacks the human life and vitality of the footage that is taken of the musicians in their own city and in their own homes. That the final Carnegie Hall concert is shown in colour might argue against this thesis, and while it might be that the black and white footage is merely intended to visually remind us of the fifties, the period when the Buena Vista Social Club was alive and active, I would argue that the effect of this footage is to mark a difference between when the musicians are on the stage and when they are in their homes. In the light of Wings of Desire, the black and white scenes seem to say, yes, you can have these wonderful musicians come and perform for you, but only at the price of removing them from the lives, and the emotions, and the contexts that make them who they are.
In this way, the film calls into question the act of going to the concert, at least insofar as this act is understood as a way to see musicians “live and in person”. In other words, it raises the problems of performance and identity, and it seems to argue that a meeting in the home is more live and in person than a concert in a hall. The film itself, however, is obviously as much a performance as a concert, and it is perhaps illusory to think that it offers any greater degree of intimacy than a music hall, but the subjects of the film make it difficult to maintain this kind of scepticism. However much they may be performing for the camera, however much Wenders may be arranging and prompting and editing their performances, there are moments when they seem to somehow emerge from the film and approach the audience.
Perhaps this is the reason that the final concert is shown in colour. Perhaps this is Wenders’ own concession that, however much media might distort their subjects, there are moments when the people themselves transcend the medium and come forth to us. Whatever the case, it is in this coming forth that the film finds itself. It is in the lives and persons of the musicians that it becomes what it is.
Dinner and a Doc, March 14, 2009
March 8th, 2009
There are several factors that went into choosing Wim Wenders’ Buena Vista Social Club for this month’s Dinner and a Doc. First, it is one of those famous documentaries that I should have seen by now but have not. Second, it is a film by another of the great contemporary documentarians that I want to introduce to people. Third, it is by all accounts a very positive film, and I am in the mood for something that will not be telling me how the world is coming to an end in one horrible way or another. We will have plenty of opportunity to depress ourselves in the coming months.
The Buena Vista Social Club was a Havana club that was a favourite place for Cuban musicians to meet and play during the 1940’s. It served as an inspiration for an album of the same name that featured several veterans of the club alongside guitarist Ry Cooder. The film explores the lives and music of these artists, following them from their home country to their acclaimed world tour in 1998.
Further information about the director and the film can be found at Wender’s official site.
Clips from the film can be found at the following links: Chan Chan and Candela.
As usual, the event will be at my place, 130 Dublin Street, Guelph, and all are welcome, though I do appreciate an email to let me know that you will be coming. We will eat at about 5:30 and begin the film at about 6:00.
Developing Musical Taste
December 19th, 2008
My brother Andrew’s band, The Yage Letters, has released their new album, and I am quite enjoying it, though it is actively designed not to be a commercial success in the traditional music industry. The songs are far too long. They have no lyrics. Their sound does not consist of a single musical hook that appears in the first few seconds. None of it would work on the radio, but it does permit a much greater freedom for experimentation and creativity. The multiple guitars and the broad range of dynamics produce a very layered sound, and the heavier sections, where the time signature is sometimes changed quite aggressively, lead musically from the quieter parts rather than just contrasting with them. I am not by any means an expert on music, but there is much that I appreciate in the album, and my sons seem to like it also.
The album has also reminded me of how difficult a relationship I have with lyrics generally. Whereas Andrew would argue that popular music is bad because of its predictable chord progressions, unimaginative verse-chorus structures, uninteresting melodies, and any number of other musical reasons, my dislike of popular music has to do primarily with its horribly cliche and insipid lyrics. There are certainly examples of music with interesting lyrics, of course. Anything by Bob Dylan will be good. There is a joint album by Elvis Costello and The Brodsky Quartet called The Juliet Letters that I think is quite original lyrically. Simon and Garfunkel are usually good as well, though they tend to be overly romantic for my taste. There are others, certainly, but far too few.
I have coped with this lack in two ways. First, I have chosen genres where the lyrics are so established by tradition or are so secondary to the music that they are almost meant to be ignored in any case. This is a large part of my attraction to the blues. There are only so many times that you can hear the same lyrics sung before you stop listening to them as lyrics at all and start listening to them as mere vocalizations, something akin to scat. There is also a humour and a lack of polish to these kinds of lyrics that indicate clearly how seriously they are meant to be taken, a quality that much folk music has also. A certain amount of the musical interest in these genres is to be found precisely in seeing how different artists treat the same lyrics, in seeing how Howlin’ Wolf and Muddy Waters sing the songs of Leadbelly or Robert Johnson or Mississippi John Hurt.
My second way of responding to bad lyrics has been a gravitation toward instrumental music. My first musical discovery was Jeff Becks’ Guitar Shop, which I stole from my Uncle Jack, and which I still play frequently, though it now sounds a little dated. This was my introduction to instrumental rock, a genre which was never as fully developed as it could have been, mostly because removing the vocals from most rock music would just reveal how musically inept it actually is.
In any case, Andrew’s new album has motivated me to see what other instrumental music there might be. I have already emailed Andrew about it, and he has sent me a list of post-rock artists that might be quiet enough for my delicate sensibilities. I have sent a similar email to several of my other musical friends, and I am interested to see what they might have to offer. So, I may as well make the question an open one. What are the essential instrumental albums in your opinion? My Christmas money awaits your suggestions.
Pare Lorentz
November 26th, 2008
I held a miniature Pare Lorentz film festival this past weekend for those of us who were gathered at my Mother’s place on Manitoulin Island. On Friday night, while drinking the previously mentioned concoction of mulled apple cider and apricot brandy, we watched The Plow that Broke the Plains (1936). Saturday night, while drinking a beautiful 18 year old scotch, we watched The River (1938). Both films are on a 2007 Naxos DVD release that includes a new recording of the original Virgil Thompson scores.
Having read about both films for my teaching, I came to them with an intellectual awareness of their significance to the development of both documentary film and orchestral music in the United States. Both works were commissioned by the departments of the United States government in support of President Roosevelt’s New Deal policies, and both faced significant opposition because of this propagandist element in their creation. Nevertheless, both were also fairly well received by audiences and by critics, receiving several awards, not just for their value as documentaries, but also for their musical scores and for their free-verse scripts. They introduced several innovative elements in all of these areas, influencing people as diverse as composer Aaron Copeland and novelist John Steinbeck.
Ironically, considering the purpose for which they were commissioned and the reasons for which they were controversial, neither film would appear terribly propagandistic to current viewers. While they are certainly critical of past farming and settlement practices, and while The River also advocates for an approach to these issues that accords with New Deal policies, there are no explicit political references of any kind in either film. Both seem far more preoccupied with the land and the river themselves, as natural elements that have been destroyed by the practises of the settlers. Their argument seems far more environmental then political, even if the politics of this environmentalism can never be ignored. They lack the kind of visual rhetoric that usually characterizes propaganda films, like Leni Riefenstahl’s Triumph of the Will (1935), for example, which was released just before The River, or like Frank Capra’s Why We Fight series (1943-1945), which would be the United States’ next serious foray into producing propaganda films. There are certainly some scenes in The Plow that Broke The Plains that are evocative of Riefenstahl, intercutting images of tanks and tractors along with scenes of people cheering soldiers as they parade, but the narration ironizes these scenes even as they are being played, and the narrative of the film soon does the same, as the tractors are next shown broken and half-covered in drifting sand.
This collection of facts about the films does not, of course, convey a real sense of the vision that Lorentz expresses through them. What is most remarkable about them is the way that the cinematography and the music and the poetry come together to form a unified whole. There is in The Plow that Broke the Plains, for example, a beautiful shot of a train running along the very bottom of the screen, its plume of smoke rising to parallel the clouds that dominate the rest of shot. These kinds of images are overlayed by Thompson’s simple, emotional score and by the narrative that repeats throughout the film, “High winds and sun, high winds and sun, a country without rivers, without streams, and with little rain,” combining to create an argument that is less comprehended than experienced.
These combinatory effects are the strength of the films, what allows them to transcend the merely propoganstic purposes for which they were funded and to remain appealing long after those purposes have become obsolete. They permit the films, not to ignore the politics that commissioned them, but to be more or less unconcerned with them. They do not try to escape the political necessities that give them their context. They merely show that they have other concerns as well, other concerns that are perhaps more significant, concerns with an aesthetics and an ethics that the political is unable or unwilling to comprehend. This is why, eighty years later, they remain compelling, because their ethics and their aesthetics have remained relevant, even if their politics have not.
From Word to Word by Jeremy Luke Hill is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 2.5 Canada License.