Tag: rock ‘n’ roll photog

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Rock ‘n’ Roll Photog: A Few of My Favorite Things: Nerds and Novelty Songs

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This is Jonathan Coulton performing at the High Line this past April. He is the uncrowned king of the nerdy novelty song. My iTunes informs me that his genre is “Unclassifiable” which I think is an unusual misspelling of “Awesome.” My personal favorites are Code Monkey, a love song for J. Alfred Programmer; Skullcrusher Mountain, in which a lovelorn mad scientist asks isn’t it enough that I ruined a pony, making a gift for you?; and Shop Vac, a tale of suburban disaffection and despair with a catchy sing-along chorus. I’m also really very fond of his cover of Sir Mix-a-Lot’s Baby Got Back. Those last two might not be all that nerdy but they are a whole lot of fun.

The next song on my list of favorites, MMO RPG by Alex Greenwald (Mark Ronson and the Business Intl., Phantom Planet) – truly a piece of digital ephemera, as it is, for now, only available on YouTube – explores some of the philosophical complexities of on-line gaming:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hv8HJ_mB2Nw?fs=1]

I will confess I’m not actually all that into computer games – the graphics tend to give me vertigo, and I prefer the low-tech joys of running around in the woods with capes and fake swords and the adrenaline rush when the elves come out of hiding in the middle of an otherwise routine trade conversation – but the song still fills me with glee. I am only sad that the “P” in the middle defeats my attempts to chair-dance to it YMCA-style.

Finally, there’s the song made by a band full of nerds that, on first hearing, I thought was a novelty song, but wasn’t: Teenagers , by My Chemical Romance. The video won’t embed, but you can listen to it here:

http://player.soundcloud.com/player.swf?url=http%3A%2F%2Fapi.soundcloud.com%2Ftracks%2F2936031%3Fsecret_token%3Ds-v5nxZ&secret_url=false My Chemical Romance – Teenagers by spatzkiersten

A breather amid the heavier themes of the The Black Parade, this one is for anyone who has ever been baffled or a little scared by their high-schooler, or had the urge to tell anyone to shut up, get off their lawn, and pull up their pants. I enjoy it tremendously, and all y’all should check it out.

— Jennifer

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Rock ‘n’ Roll Photog: Stone Temple Pilots/Cage the Elephant, Jones Beach, 9/4/2010

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Jennifer bids adieu to summer by spending some time with former Ohio boy Scott Weiland and crew.

I have some thoughts about Stone Temple Pilots, but we’ll get to them in a minute. First I would like y’all to meet Cage the Elephant:

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Matt Schultz, Jared Champion (drums) and one of their guitarists

They were the second opening band – I missed the first one, TAB the band – and the best description I can give you is: high-energy blues-punk fusion. One of my favorites from their set was Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked, which sounded like it had just rolled in from the Delta. Meanwhile the lead singer was busy shimmy-shaking himself all over the stage and into the audience (three times!) like Iggy Pop. I was worn out just watching him. I also concluded I’d like to see them at their own show with their fans in the pit because I suspect it would be the best kind of epic rock and roll madness. (Translation: Please, please come back and play at Irving so I can stand in the balcony and really feel the bass rattle my bones while the kids go berserk on the floor. :D?)

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Matt Schultz

I can also tell you that whoever decided to send them out with Stone Temple Pilots gets a gold star, because it was another moment of beautiful musical congruency between new and old(er) acts. Anyway, yes, Stone Temple Pilots, let’s talk about them!

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Stone Temple Pilots, megaphone in full effect!

This was another band I never, ever expected to be able to see live. (I think we all know why.) And while it might have been a little strange watching Scott Weiland dance around in chinos and a tie (?!), my adult self was glad to see him alive and well and in one piece and making music, and my inner 17-year-old was really happy to hear that big grunge roar come out of the speakers. It turns out I had really missed those guitars.

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When not dancing awkwardly and trying not to flail into my neighbors, I contemplated the ways in which one imprints on things like music, how the sounds I loved, age 18, are still the sounds I love now. I was also contemplating how some acts grab the gold ring of a round two with both hands, and some have to learn the hard way that it isn’t 1991 anymore. STP has had their share of difficulties, but last Saturday night they came out and rocked it, no fuss, no muss, no diva shenanigans.

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All of that aside, I am also pleased to report that Weiland’s voice is still intact, and that their new stuff sounds great. I don’t have any fancy music critic terms to describe it for you, but I can say this: there was kick in the reverb and shimmy in the bass, and it was delicious. The next time I update my music library, I’m definitely getting their new record. If you ever cranked up Plush or Sex Type Thing and sang along, you might enjoy it too.

— Jennifer

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Rock ‘n’ Roll Photog: Clarksdale

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Jennifer’s ready to drop some thoughts on our visit to Clarksdale, Mississippi, the city widely felt to be the home of delta blues music.

To Jennifer’s eternal credit, she passed the visit without outward complaint.

April has already shared her memories from our trip to Clarksdale. Here are some of mine:

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Kitchen window, Ground Zero Blues Club

Readers, I must tell you: this place creeped me out. I’m from New York, and Ground Zero – problematic and inaccurate though the label may be – only means one place. The blues club opened in May 2001, and so technically came first, but still, despite the delicious fried cheesecake (!), it ranks high on my list of disquieting dining experiences.

I was excited to get out of there and go to the Delta Blues Museum. That lasted for about an hour and three cycles of the video playing in the Muddy Waters cabin. (Keith Richards, what did you do your head??) At that point I had seen everything I wanted to see and thoroughly investigated the gift shop (why does Mississippi not believe in keychain souveneirs??) and April still had half the museum to go. I was kind of ready to claw my face off, so I left Cam and April to their own devices and took myself for a walk around town.

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Blues Alley, Clarksdale, MS

Blues Alley starts at the Delta Blues Museum (formerly a railroad depot) and runs more or less the length of the town, and is a useful navigational tool if you don’t have a map. I didn’t have an agenda, either, so I just sort of wandered.

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Mini-park, useful for respite from the unrelenting heat

What I discovered, sadly, is that large swathes of Clarksdale are boarded up and closed. Though in addition to the mini-park, I did find a scattering of restaurants, a rock and roll museum (about to close, so I skipped it), the site of the weekly farmers market, and a folk art outlet (still no keychains!) which had some lovely but impractical-for-roadtripping items. After I had made two circuits of the folk art store, I realized the Delta Blues Museum had probably closed, so I backtracked and caught up with my companions. We then stopped at the former Greyhound station for additional sightseeing guidance:

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Greyhound station, now re-purposed as a tourist information center

April has already told all y’all about our visit to the Riverside Motel, so I’m going to skip over that part and get to the place that I had been most keen to see: Robert Johnson’s Crossroads.

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We had passed it on the way in to town, but, anxious about having enough time in the Blues Museum, we left it for the last stop. As you can see it’s not quite as exciting as the legend would make it sound, though that may be due to the evolution of modern life. It’s hard to imagine a dramatic moonless-night bargain taking place in a busy intersection surrounded by gas stations on streets lined with stripmalls, but the place does have a certain kind of magic just the same.

–Jennifer

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Rock ‘n’ Roll Photog: Postcards from Disparate Voyage

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The theme for my concert-going this summer seemed to be “voyages” and in particular water voyages, both to the water, or at least a couple of different beaches, and also on the water, specifically, the East River. As the temperature cools and the fall rainy season drifts in, I bring you some postcards from my last couple of trips:

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Willie Nelson, Circus Maximus Theater, Ceaser’s Atlantic City: The show was a little bit more subdued than I was expecting, perhaps a concession to the venue, the age of the audience (there were people in the front row celebrating their sixty-fifth wedding anniversary), or a reflection of Willie Nelson also getting up there (77 and still touring!), or some combination of those things. But it was still a great show. It was, in many ways, something of a relief to be able to just sit down and listen to someone sing familiar songs, undistracted by festival crowds or complicated stage business. He did, among others, Good Hearted Woman, All the Girls I’ve Loved Before and City of New Orleans, and I left refreshed, as if I had been visiting with old friends.

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Local Natives/We Barbarians/Young Man, The Beach at Governor’s Island: Young Man was kind of dreamy and pleasant to listen to while half-dozing on the sand; We Barbarians woke me up with their more muscular, drum-driven sound, and then Local Natives came on and got everyone dancing. They’re all a little bit more jam-band-y than I normally go for — I found myself thinking I bet this sounds better in southern California, where it’s sunny all the time and they have palm trees that don’t glow in the dark — but on the whole it was a pleasant way to spend a summer evening.

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The Diamond Doves

The Felice Brothers/Diamond Doves, Rocks Off Concert Cruise, East River, NY: You may recognize the Diamond Doves from their alternate incarnation as Elvis Perkins in Dearland’s back-up band. I had never heard them in that context, but doing their own thing they were pretty great. (Especially the guy playing the horn and the keyboard at the same time. Now that is multi-tasking!) And the Felices were, of course, their usual rockin’ selves, though the set was, once again, kind of heavy. Most of my pictures are of the Diamond Doves; the boat was packed and by the time the Felices came on I was too far back and too short to get anything good. I reckon y’all know what they look like by now anyway.

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William Beckett and Michael Guy Chislett, The Academy Is . . . (top); Gene Simmons, KISS (bottom)

KISS/The Academy Is . . ./The Envy, Jones Beach Theater: When this tour was announced earlier this summer, the part of the Internet that keeps up with TAI . . . did a double-take, turned to each other and said WHAT?? and IS THIS A JOKE?? Now that I’ve seen the results, I’m even more curious about who came up with this particular line-up. The Envy, of Toronto, Canada, were vaguely gothy hard-rock; all I can really tell you is they didn’t get lost in the arena, which is easy to do at Jones Beach. Then TAI . . . bounced out and did a solid set, pulling mainly from their somewhat heavier back catalog rather than their newier, poppier work and winding up with a cover of Fox on the Run. I enjoyed them tremendously, but the rest of the KISS audience seemed to be politely and quietly baffled. Then KISS came out amid fire and lights, and I hung around to watch the spectacle until I just couldn’t take one more minute of Gene Simmons’ tongue waggling on the jumbotron. I found they left me pretty cold, all things considered. Odd, perhaps, given my fondness for fire, glitter and ridiculous costumes, but I just couldn’t get into it. Also noted: high volume of attendees that were both a) kindergartners and b) wearing full faces of KISS make-up, which was adorable, but also underscored how the whole thing was more carnival than rock concert.

— Jennifer

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Rock ‘n’ Roll Photog: Graceland

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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

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

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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

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

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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

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Rock ‘n’ Roll Photog: The Lemonheads, and a vast amount of feelings

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Jennifer has promised a forthcoming post on the Newport Folk Festival, but first she has some feelings about the dreaded “nostalgia act” vibe to work out.

Internet, in the last two weeks I have, among other things, seen the Gin Blossoms, Soul Asylum and The Lemonheads, and I have a lot of feelings on the subject that I’d like to discuss, but first I’d like you to meet two fantastic newer bands: The Shining Twins and The Candles.

These are The Shining Twins:

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Alex Weiss (bass), Marisa Kreiss (drums), Xanax Aird (guitar, lurking in the background)


They were the first band at the Lemonheads show. I knew a little bit about them before I got there, enough that I had them in my mental “you should maybe check them out” file, and so I was excited to see them on the bill. I wasn’t too sure how I was going to feel about the music, because the two songs I had heard – I Hate You and Stix + Stonez – were towards the whinier end of the punk spectrum. I am pleased to report that they are a lot of fun live, and that any whininess was overpowered by their Ramones-inflected groove. I particularly enjoyed Gregory and Why Won’t You Walk Me Home From Avenue C?

They were followed by The Candles:

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They’re a little bit country but mostly rock and roll, and with three (!) guitars, a bass, two sets of keys and drums, there’s a lot of layers to their sound. Also, this is where some of my many feelings come in, they are beautifully congruent with the Lemonheads’ sound. But before I go off on the related tangent, here’s a picture of Evan Dando, weatherbeaten but unbowed:

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He sounded good, and made my evening when they played Into Your Arms. I couldn’t stay for their whole set, but what I did hear was well worth the wait, both the 20 years and the 3.5 hours. The Lemonheads was one of those bands I never, ever thought I would get to see, and so catching them in a tiny club was a particularly special treat.

Which I suppose is as good a segue as any to the tangent, which is: How Do You Solve a Problem Like The Support Bands? It’s something I have been contemplating lately, as various of my best beloved bands from my high school and college years are popping back up and heading out on the road, in some cases with each other. I could not be happier to see Soul Asylum and the Gin Blossoms together, in fact for my 14 –18 year old self, that practically qualifies as a dream-come-true tour. (Remind me to tell you about the time I planned an entire vacation inspired by Runaway Train, which involved an actual train ride that was later cancelled (the train ride, not the entire vacation) due to flooding in Iowa. I was 17, and there was definitely poetry involved.) But as much as I enjoyed it, I felt like it put some unnecessary limits on them: the burnished brass shackles of the “nostalgia act.”

Sure, they were really big a long time ago, in the 1990s, in those dark days before mp3s. Okay, their fanbase skews a little bit older. But their tunes have stood the test of time, and, most importantly, they are making new music. They are not getting up on stage and rolling through their hits, note-perfect: they’re jamming through fresh ideas. And I’m sitting on the balcony in a community theater, watching my fellow fans clap, stomp and sway along, hemmed in their seats while Robin Wilson hops from the stage to various risers and outcroppings, tambourine in hand, and I’m thinking, Someone needs to get these people a club tour.

This is partially a reflection of selfish desire, because I want to dance in the pit. But also I think it could work. Filling the club would be the easy part; the challenge is in selecting the right support band. The Lemonheads and The Candles worked well together; if I was designing a tour for, let’s say, the Gin Blossoms, I think I’d pick Matt Nathanson , or, drifting a little towards the more folksy-side, Cadillac Sky. I still haven’t decided who I’d pair with Soul Asylum, though their Minneapolis neighbors Motion City Soundtrack are on the short list, as are Hacienda .

— Jennifer

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Roadtrippin’: An annotated travel playlist with visual accompaniment

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This week, Jennifer treats us to some highlights from her roadtrip playlist along with various photos from our trip to Oxford, Mississippi. Bob Dylan seemed to be an underlying theme of our trip, beginning with some giddy, punchy conversation over dinner on the first night of our drive wherein Jennifer and I told Cam how Dylan had recently been picked up in a neighborhood in New Jersey where the apprehending officers did not recognize him.

I would also like to note that I was not party to the Lady Gaga song.

Selections from the roadtrip playlist, with annotations, and some photographs from the road:

1. Battle Stations, Brine and Bastards – I bought two roadtrip necessities in a truckstop somewhere in Ohio: a satin Peterbilt pillow, for napping in the back seat, and a radio converter for my iPod. This is the first song I cued up once we had everything set up. Brine and Bastards specialize in punk songs on topics of interest to pirates; this particular tune is one I use to get myself moving in the mornings.

2. What Are You Waiting For, Phantom Planet – This one is iTunes bonus track from the Raise the Dead record, and came up randomly on shuffle after Brine and Bastards. The lyrics say it all: We’ll drive for miles / we’ll drive across town / we’ll drive with all the windows down and Every turn we take / creates a different destiny. It reminds me of my first roadtrip on a warm early summer day in 1992, when, giddy with the end of the school year and having been given my mother’s car for the day, I gathered up my best friend and her brother and drove a whole thirty miles to Leesburg, Virginia, where we got ice cream and then came home.

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Art in the airport, Cleveland, OH


3. Fallen Angel, Poison – The first song I put on when it was my turn to drive. The part of Virginia I grew up in has a fair number of narrow, twisty, tree-lined streets. I particularly enjoyed driving them with this one cranked up as loud as possible. Every time I hear the opening chords I remember the joy of navigating tight turns and then gliding out onto the open road. And also the basso roar of the Volvo engine. I loved that car.

4. Adeste Fidelis, Bob Dylan – I put this one on as we were going from Sun Studio to Graceland. It’s from his 2009 Christmas record. I only made them listen to the first verse, which he does, in fact, sing in Latin. The whole idea of “Bob Dylan” and “Christmas record” is kind of mind-boggling, but it’s actually one of my favorite renditions of this particular song, mainly for his unfussy delivery. It is the antidote to every over-saturated saccharine carol ever recorded.

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Cam and April investigating a phone booth, Oxford, MS

5. Chameleon, Del Rendon and the Puerto Rican Rum Drunks – An entry from a (kind of) local band – Del Rendon was from Starkville, MS – this was another one I played on the way to Graceland. It’s kind of slow, but it isn’t a dirge. It has a sweet melody and sharp lyrics, one of my favorite combinations, and is a song that has kept me company on many journeys in the last couple of years.

6. Wake the Dead, Family Force 5: And then, on the other end of the spectrum, some sweet dirty Georgia crunk. I first encountered this band at Warped tour a couple of years ago, and they’ve been a staple of road-trip playlists ever since. They’re particularly fun to listen to when you have a big stretch of open highway in front of you.

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Animal skull in the Jungle Room, Graceland, Memphis, TN

7. Desolation Row, My Chemical Romance: Dylan purists, you may be horrified, but I love this version of this song, particularly the quasi-dueling guitar solos. I also find it very soothing in heavy traffic, or when trying to find my way through unfamiliar territory.

8. Bad Romance, Lady Gaga: I contrived to kill my phone the day we went to Holly Springs, and it wasn’t until we got to Louisville two days later that I could take it somewhere to try and get it fixed. I was hot, anxious, annoyed and bracing myself for dealing with the people at the cell phone store. I needed a little bit of swagger for moral support, which is basically this song in a nutshell.

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As seen from the parking lot following the screening of The Big Lebowski, Lebowskifest, Louisville, KY

9. Don’t Let Her Hold You Down, Michael Runion: This one floated up in the shuffle as we were making our way through the gentle rolling hills of north-west Kentucky towards Cincinnati. It was a quiet moment in the car; everyone else was asleep, or I thought they were, and outside the landscape was bruise-bright from recent rain. The mournful sweetness of the song fit in perfectly. It was a roadtrip Moment of Zen.

10. Bittersweetheart, Soul Asylum: This one also came up somewhere in Kentucky, though it may have been before Louisville, not after; I can’t remember anymore. Soul Asylum is another band that’s kept me company on numerous journeys over the years, particularly journeys that involved plunging into the unknown. It’s always a comfort to hear them coming out of the speakers.

–Jennifer

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Rock ‘n’ Roll Photog: Sun Studio

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Today, Jennifer takes us on another leg of our Southern roadtrip: our visit to the legendary Sun Studio. I’ll post my own observation tomorrow, but we had to share Jennifer’s wonderful photos with you all.

On Tuesday of last week, we put the road back in road trip and voyaged up to Memphis to see Sun Studio and Graceland.

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It is no exaggeration to say that rock and roll as we know it began here in a ragged room on a run down corner in Memphis. Today it is both an active recording studio and a museum.

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This is a reconstruction of the office of Marion Keisker, the lady who recorded Elvis Presley singing for the very first time, and, more importantly, kept a copy of the recording to share with Sam Phillips. We got to hear it during our tour, a little bit scratchy and rough but undeniably The King. I felt a little bit like I did when I watched Streetcar Named Desire for the first time, having to remind myself how new and different his voice and presence would have been, how it would have been a kind of lightening strike.

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Some of the guitars lined up against the wall, which are, from what I gather, used by musicians who record in there at night, after the tour groups leave. The room is full of pictures of Elvis and also of other luminaries who recorded there – Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins, Bono – and I ultimately couldn’t decide if I thought that would be intimidating or encouraging for new acts.

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And finally, the drumset, surrounded by Elvis, and in the foreground, a mic that was used by numerous early artists at Sun, including, possibly, Elvis Presley. The guide had hauled it out for purpose of Photo Opportunities, which some of our fellow tour members indulged in, and others did not. It was an interesting moment, both for the people trying to recreate a very specific kind of magic with various levels of success, and the microphone itself. It is simultaneously one of the many props in the floating Elvisland that is Memphis, a relic, a simple piece of machinery, and a tangible piece of the history of the place that all of us could touch with our own hands. Look at it long enough, and you can almost hear him inhaling, getting ready to launch into Hound Dog, and set the girls’ hearts a-flutter.

— Jennifer