Joe Strummer: It’s Time to Be Doing Something Good

It should be clear from the name of this blog that Joe Strummer is important here. A man born with fire inside, he influenced a range of people from musicians to activists. He would have been 58 years old today.

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Photo credit: Bob Gruen

Notable Shows in the Greater Cleveland Area

Shows worth checking out this week in and around Cleveland:

The Beachland Ballroom & Tavern

  • Sat, Aug 21| 9 PM (8:30 PM door)
    Celebrity Pilots
    The Modern Electric
    Good Touch Bad Touch
    $6.00
    Tavern | all ages

Grog Shop

  • Mon, Aug 23| 9 PM
    Freedom
    Moth Cock
    Bon Tusciani feat. Ilza
    Missle Command
    DJ JCSS
    Free admission
  • Wed, Aug 25| 8 PM
    Red Buttons
    Dan Miraldi
    Polymerization
    $5

The Kent Stage

  • Fri, Aug 20| 8 PM
    Cadillac Sky
    $20
  • Sat, Aug 21| 8 PM
    15-60-75 (The Numbers Band)
    $20

Let’s close the week with something pretty from Infantree, shall we? Warning: May induce the urge to run barefoot through open fields.

Euphemism from Infantree on Vimeo.

Die, Sloopy, Die: The Afghan Whigs

I find myself drawn to the music of Ohio artists. It could be some innate loyalty to or a sharing of basic ideas with my fellow Ohioans. Or it could be that Ohio turns out more excellent music per capita than the rest of the world. I may be biased, but I’m going with option B.

Die, Sloopy, Die is a tribute to great Ohio bands of the past and present. The name is an anti-tribute to our official state rock song “Hang On, Sloopy” by the McCoys because, while it is awesome that we were the first state to declare an official state rock song (and, so far, we are one of only two states to do so, Oklahoma having declared the Flaming Lips’ “Do You Realize??” their official state song), we chose one of the lamest songs it was possible for us to choose.



The Afghan Whigs

“Ladies, let me tell you about myself…”

The facts: The Afghan Whigs formed in Cincinnati, Ohio, in 1986 with Greg Dulli on vocals/guitar, Rick McCollum on guitar, John Curley on bass and Steve Earle (no, not that Steve Earle) on drums. They were the first band not from the American northwest signed to Sub Pop Records. They released six studio albums, beginning with Big Top Halloween in 1988 and ending with 1965 in 1998.

The first time I heard the Afghan Whigs, they scared me. I was about twenty years old, and while I was not prim and proper, I had a frigging lot to learn. The tones of anger, which projected both outward and inward, that colored Greg Dulli’s vocals in the songs on their seminal album Gentlemen translated to menace in my ears.

It took me a couple of years to come around, and I don’t remember how it happened, but it seems like I went from being horrified by them one day to wanting to be all up in Greg Dulli’s business the next day. My then-husband and I set about collecting every album, EP, single, video, magazine article and any other items emblazoned with “The Afghan Whigs” that we could get our hands on (I retained possession of the collection when the husband and I split up, possibly because he feared grievous bodily harm if he tried to come between me and my treasures). They became, and remain, my favorite band.

“I’ve got a dick for a brain…”

If I had to use only one word to describe the Afghan Whigs cannon, it would be “swagger”. The story set forth when listening to their albums in chronological order is one of a group of angry, young punks who got into their mamas’ Stax and Motown collections one day, put on suave suits and never looked back. The anger remained, but now it was topped by a layer of strutting, smooth-talking cockiness.

Gentlemen is considered by many to be the Afghan Whigs’ masterpiece, concisely marrying their early punk energy to the soul spirit that would become their trademark. While their earlier albums showed promise, they were scattered, directionless. Gentlemen was a clear vision, sharp, slickly jagged, cleanly dirty.

The Afghan Whigs – Be Sweet

Their next effort – and one of my all-time favorite albums – Black Love, pushed the music further into soul territory while still retaining a metallic edge. A Curtis Mayfield influence weaves itself throughout, wrapping around images of sex, violence and religion. The whole album is a challenge: Step up or be stomped.

Then everything fell apart in the glorious mess that was 1965. It is an unrepentant party album, though it still carries Dulli’s characteristic Catholic guilt and flashes of brilliance within its decadent atmosphere.

“And my brain is gonna sell my ass to you.”

The Afghan Whigs became known for their way with a cover song, often taking songs that seemed innocuous, cutting them open and turning them inside out to expose their viscera. Songs like the Supremes’ “My World Is Empty Without You” and Freda Payne’s “Band of Gold” became suicide notes of abandonment in their hands. Al Green’s “Beware” turned from a plea to a threat. And if you never thought you’d want to get naked to a song from The Wizard of Oz, just listen as the quartet turns “If I Only Had a Heart” into a slinky, steamy torch song.

The Afghan Whigs-If I Only Had A Heart

In 2001, the Afghan Whigs went their separate ways (with a two-song reunion in 2006 for their Rhino Records retrospective Unbreakable), McCollum, Curley and their Spinal Tap-esque succession of drummers moving on to other projects, but none as successfully as Dulli. He has released four albums under the aegis of the Twilight Singers, with a fifth album on the way as of this writing. Additionally, he put out a solo album in 2005, an album with Mark Lanegan as the Gutter Twins in 2008 and in 2005, played in a live-only covers band called Uptown Lights – along with numerous other production jobs and guest spots.

Greg Dulli will be embarking on his first solo tour this October and on through November, playing stripped-down versions of his songs – including Afghan Whigs and Twilight Singers titles. He’ll hit the Grog Shop in Cleveland on October 16.

Summer’s Kiss: A Greg Dulli, Afghan Whigs, Twilight Singers & Gutter Twins Compendium

The Twilight Singers Official Website

The Gutter Twins Official Website

Moon Maan Official Website (Rick McCollum)

Staggering Statistics Official Webstie (John Curley)

Ultrasuede Studio (John Curley)

Rock ‘n’ Roll Photog: Graceland

On our Great Southern Roadtrip, we trekked over to Graceland, home to Elvis Presley and his family from 1957 until sometime after Elvis’ death in 1977, after we visited Sun Studio. Personally, I was underwhelmed and a little weirded out by the experience. To my mind, it was a sad comment on the deadening excess that too often accompanies the success of music that is born out of raw passion.

Jennifer has a different take on it, so in honor of Elvis week, we give you Graceland…


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The first time I went to Graceland I was 17. It was during a particularly packed (and fraught) college visiting trip with my mother, an hour or two taken out to do something that probably wouldn’t result in mutual seething. At the time it seemed enormous and glittery and truly awe-inspiring, and I loved it. I got a small metal pink cadillac key-chain as a souvenir, which I have referred to as the “pink cadillac of freedom” ever since. It represented everything I thought college would be: my chance to get out of the house, to be glamorous, to be, essentially, not what I was, which was dumpy, suburban and square.

Of course that dream only partially came true. I got out of the house, but remained who I was (and I more or less still do), but I still have the pink cadillac in my pocket, to, I suppose, remind me to dream big. Or maybe that the road is there, and I just have to get in the car and get on it.

The second time I went to Graceland was almost approximately seventeen years later. To my adult eyes, Graceland seemed much smaller and far more pedestrian, and yet, readers, can I tell you a secret? I still love it.

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The Pool Table

I love it because it is glittery and awe-inspiring, frankly ugly in places, and kitschy in a way that is oddly comforting. I still feel incredibly peaceful when I step into the Jungle Room, even though it is not as Jungle-like as I remember, as if they had renovated it, which of course is not possible.

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The Jungle Room

Everything about the place is just a little bit overblown. It appeals to the part of my heart that also loves Brandon Flowers (The Killers) for wearing his sequins unironically. If you’re going to be a rock star, if you’re going to glitter, best to do it in a gold suit:

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But on a more sober, detached note, it’s a little sad to walk past the movie posters and the platinum records and feel the narrative shifting. To watch the years march on and the costumes become more ornate and have to start the internal countdown to the end of the story. Graceland itself doesn’t soften the blow; you walk out of a room full of awards and jumpsuits, it’s only a short path to the end:

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But even the stark finality of the grave seems somehow unreal. Elvis Presley died 33 years ago this week, and yet, he lives forever. At Graceland, in our hearts (yes, even mine), in the pages of supermarket tabloids, on the radio, and blasting out of the speakers at beach bars. His spirit is still backstage at dirty rock clubs everywhere, hair slicked back and ready to walk out on stage to swivel his hips, make the rafters ring and the girls swoon. He’s bigger than life, he’s rock n’ roll, he is, indeed, the King, and Graceland is his castle.

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— Jennifer

Bits: Infantree, Filter, Camu Tao, Robert Wilson, Mark Lanegan, Isobel Campbell

  • If you’ll be in the Los Angeles, California, area on September 14th, get your R.S.V.P. to Infantree and be on the guest list for their album release party.
  • Due to the Cleveland connection, I feel compelled to note that Filter’s new album is streaming at AOL Music. (I’ll just say that it’s no Short Bus.)
  • But on another Ohio-centric tip, the posthumous solo album from Columbus’ Camu Tao (on fabulous Fat Possum Records) is also streaming at AOL Music. (I’m digging it.)
  • Robert Wilson, bassist and one of the three brothers who made up the Gap Band, died this past Sunday at the age of 53.
  • Saying Mark Lanegan and Isobel Campbell are working together again is becoming a bit like saying Robert Pollard is putting out a new album. They’ve got a good thing going, though, so check out their new video for “You Won’t Let Me Down Again”. The album, Hawk, is streaming on Campbell’s Facebook page.

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Ponderous Wank: Tears on My Pillow


As I write this, I am self-medicating to counteract a funk. I had the blues pretty badly, but the antidote is cleaning that mess up very well. The cause of the melancholy? Music. The cure? Music.

Having gotten one of her songs stuck in my head, I decided to listen to Jessica Lea Mayfield’s Blasphemy So Heartfelt on the drive to my day job this morning. It was not the best movie I’ve ever made. While it’s a beautiful album – good from start to finish – it can break my heart in seconds. As I began to sink low, I thought, “No problem. I’ll just pop in the Black Keys’ Brothers when I get to the office and be revived.” (No, I do not actually talk like that in my head.)

My surefire cure was delayed until lunchtime thanks to my Monday morning forgetfulness that caused my headphones to be left on the kitchen table, but that gave me time to ponder, not for the first time, the powerful connection between music and emotion. I have always been what I term “music sensitive”. I can be going along happy as anything only to be stopped dead in my tracks by a song with the right – or, arguably, wrong – tone. Once while on a date, my companion left the table to use the restroom only to return minutes later to find me on the verge of despondency. What had happened? I pointed upward to indicate the restaurant’s P.A. system which was piping out one of Gloria Estefan’s easy-listening love songs. While I could make a joke that just hearing Gloria Estefan had made me sad, it was the minor key chords, the plaintive vocals, and maybe even the tepid lyrics about love lost, that affected me.

I’ve often wondered how many others are thus affected. Author Nick Hornby would clearly be a fellow music-sensitive, judged by a single quote from High Fidelity alone: Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music? Even emotions themselves garner music-derived nicknames. When we are sad, we are in a funk or have the blues. When we are excited about something, we’re jazzed. And it’s obvious from just even a cursory survey of the history of music that the emotional nature of song is a foremost component in the creation and continuation of music.

But are other people as instantaneously and acutely affected as I am? Does Skip James’ “Devil Got My Woman” leave anyone else with an empty heart (but an oddly satisfied soul) every time she listens to it? Is Brothers like a double dose of Vivarin for other drivers on long roadtrips? Is there another person in the world who cries every time he hears Kathy Mattea’s “Where’ve You Been”? (There, now you know my secret shame.) Have you ever had the whole tenor of your day altered by a handful of words and notes?

Or am I just a freak?

Beach Fossils/Warpaint/Javelin at the Grog Shop in Cleveland, OH, 8.10.10

Note: Beach Fossils and Warpaint played under very low lights, and flash photography is of the devil, so no live shots to go with this review.

Beach Fossils

Joined by TJ from Cleveland’s Cloud Nothings, who filled in on guitar due to the Fossils’ guitarist quitting a week into the tour, the Beach Fossils dove into the night with big energy that did not dissipate throughout their set. With their chiming guitars, dance-groove bass and big-beat drums (the drummer stood as he played his minimal snare and tom set-up), they give off an ’80s vibe, putting me in mind of the club scenes from Pretty in Pink. That is a good thing, in case you’re unsure. The songs began to sound a little same-y after a while, but the band was fully committed to every song.

Warpaint

When I decided to hit this show, I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about Warpaint live. Their recordings are laid-back, and I honestly feared their live show might put me to sleep. I feel okay admitting that because, in retrospect, I know how silly that fear was. As a matter of fact, as soon as I saw drummer Stella Mozgawa take off her shoes and socks, I had a feeling I was in for something good.

Not just good. Great.

While I can certainly enjoy shows from bands whose music I have only a passing familiarity with, it is rare that I can get into those shows like I got into Warpaint, eyes closed, vibing to the heavy grooves. The ambient guitarwork and sweet (but not twee) vocals of Emily Kokal and Theresa Wayman are backed by the strong rhythm section of Mozgawa and Jenny Lee Lindberg on bass (slightly nerdy gear aside: found it cool that Lindberg plays a Rickenbacker bass). The sounds coming out of the bass and guitars verged on the spooky, almost – dare I say it – gothic at times. And Mozgawa sounded like she’d be perfectly at home in a black metal band a time or two.

A very impressive set that left the audience enthusiastic and asking for more.

(I would love to see Warpaint play some gigs with Cleveland’s mr. Gnome.)

Javelin

While they were very energetic and had a lot of people dancing (actual dancing – not the usual concert-style, shimmy-in-one-spot dancing), all-electronic music isn’t generally my thing, and I left three songs into Javelin’s set. But my preferences probably don’t do Javelin justice, so check out the Zender Agenda’s review of their set.

Rock ‘n’ Roll Photog: Newport Folk Festival, Part II

And here’s part two of Jennifer’s Newport odyssey.


Day 2

I had kind of had my fill of the festival crowd the day before, so on Sunday I was a terrible musical correspondent and spent the morning wandering around Newport looking at historic homes. The Mansions, as they are called, are the former vacation “cottages” of various 19th century robber barons. This is the back yard of the one called The Elms, and Louis XIV would feel right at home, not least because they have some of his wifes’ pillows in a case in their upstairs hallway:

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In the afternoon I hopped a water taxi (can I tell you how much I LOVE water taxis? A lot!!) and went back out to the Festival for the Felice Brothers:

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James Felice, Ian Felice, and Christmas

They played an oddly dirge-heavy set, though they did do funky music-hall versions of both Greatest Show on Earth and Frankie’s Gun. When they were finished it was time for me to leave and wind my weary way back up to Providence to catch the train home.

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Daffodils outside the train station in Providence.

Final thoughts: I didn’t see enough of the acts to comment on the musical mix, but I can say both this festival and Clearwater back in June have been an interesting contrast the kinds of festivals I usually go to, like the original Lollapalooza (hi, I’m old), Bamboozle and Warped Tour. It was a little strange being surrounded by grown-ups and allowed to keep the cap for my bottle of overpriced iced tea and seeing people eating real food with actual utensils while lounging barefoot on the lawn in their folding chairs. All things considered, however, I’d do it again next year if there were bands playing that I wanted to see. Though I’d probably be marginally more sensible and make a long weekend of it.

— Jennifer

Rock ‘n’ Roll Photog: Newport Folk Festival, Part I

Jennifer took a trip out to the legendary Newport Folk Festival and brought us back this two-part report.


Day 1

The first night of the festival, one of the topics of dinner conversation was Why are you here? Not in a mean way, but rather: what inspired you to make this journey? The best answer I could come up with was: Well, I got a wild hair . . . which was met with bemused humming and ended in a tangent on regional usage of the phrase. It’s essentially true, however: I went to Rhode Island for about 24 hours largely because back in February I squinted at the calendar and decided I could and it was there and why not?, and oh yes, there are some bands playing that I kind of like! And possibly also because the Internet has permanently changed my idea of what qualifies as a “local show.” Rhode Island! I can get there on the train! (And the bus . . . ) That totally qualifies as “nearby”!

My voyage to the Newport Folk Festival began before dawn on Saturday and included a brief (and accidental) detour to New London, CT. I missed A.A. Bondy’s set at the festival as result, which was distressing, but I consoled myself with a walk around town. There is a surprising amount of street art in New London, and a good deal of it has nautical themes. Here’s one of a whale, which stretches almost the entire length of a block:

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By WyLAND, 1993

My favorite one, though, is this one , because it is so delightfully bizarre. Anyway, after getting back on the train, I carried on to Providence, RI, where they were getting ready to set the canals on fire (aka WaterFire ; I’m tempted to go back in October and see it for myself) and then got down to Newport in time to catch a little bit of Calexico:

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Calexico

I got there in time to hear them power through a couple of songs, including Guero Canelo, which is one of my favorites. Between bands there was peoplewatching, and also punks with horns and drums:

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What Cheer?

Next up was Andrew Bird:

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He played some bits and pieces of things that, he said, “might be songs someday” and that was when I wandered off to the beach:

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I have to say, listening to Scythian Empires with my feet in the water and the sun on my face was a highlight of the afternoon. I came back up to the main area for John Prine, who brought the whole thing back around to a more old-fashioned country-folk place:

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And then later I went for a guided tour of the town:

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This statue on the main drag CREEPED ME OUT. Apparently they put socks on the feet in the winter.

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The oldest sailors’ bar on the Newport waterfront and allegedly home of the best chowder in town. I had some, and it was delicious.

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Buskers by the creepy statue; they were pretty good, so we stayed a few moments to listen to them.

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Jazz on the way to the Coffee Grinder; there’s a public seating area at the end of the pier where one can sit and enjoy the breeze and watch the boats in the harbor.

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Bridges and boats by night, from Bowen’s Wharf.

I finished off the day with some delicious ice cream, and then went back to the hostel and crashed.

–Jennifer