A gift from me to you for the weekend

A very thoughtful Katie Schwartz sent this video my way.

It's from a documentary called Playing for Change: Peace Through Music. The video features musicians from around the world, and I was thrilled to see a New Orleans street musician who I recognized, Washboard Chaz.

Please, treat yourself for the next 5 minutes or so and check this out. It's been a beautiful week, and if you're ready to do a little more celebrating or relaxing this weekend this video will give you a fine start:



Y'all take care of yourselves this weekend. Be good to each other.

I like to go last: my contributions to the GMMP Eargasm Mix

Wow, time flies doesn't it? Earlier this afternoon I found an email in my in-box with the friendly subject line "Hey punk". It was Splotchy, gently reminding me that I had not yet submitted a post describing my choices in Bad Tempered Zombie's Eargasm Mix. I always like to wait until everyone else gets off, but this was pushing it.

So here, without further ado, my choices. You can listen to them by clicking over on Splotchy's post here.

Peter Gunn Theme--Henry Mancini

This is like, the most ultimate swanky, swinging private eye theme music ever. I remember watching repeats of Peter Gunn as a kid and thinking "cool". It starts with a simple cymbal, then the base line, then guitar and piano, and at about 0:12 the horns kick in. I love that moment. There's another great crescendo at around 1:15 when the horns get even louder, and swing harder. The rest is all peak, baby.

James Bond Theme--The Monty Norman Orchestra



Another song that, for me, defines cool. This is the version from the first Bond movie, Dr. No. Is there anyone who doesn't recognize the opening notes of this song? The first 40 seconds of the song is slightly menacing foreplay, then the perfect moment for me is at 1:07 when the brass section really starts screaming. The rest of it is all swagger.

Fear is a Man's Best Friend--John Cale

I first heard this song on a John Cale collection called The Island Years. It was a gift from Splotchy! I was a huge VU fan, but had never heard much of John Cale's solo work. The song begins almost delicately, building with guitar and piano. Around 1:24 it gets more intense when John bangs the keys a little harder:

You know it makes sense, don't even think about it
Life and death are just things that you do when you're bored

Then at 1:35 it peaks and gets louder:

SAY fear is a man's best friend
Say fear is a man's best friend
Say fear is a man's best friend...

The song ends with Cale screaming the chorus over a series of increasingly de-tuned bass runs and crashing cymbals. It's liberating.

Heartbreak Hotel--Elvis Presley



I really wish I knew music, and musical terms, so that I'd have a better vocabulary to describe music that I like. I don't know time signatures or anything like that, but I know that I am consistently drawn to certain sounds. The eldest and I were talking the other day about how, in so many songs that we loved, that what really drove us wild was the space between the notes--the music that had those gaps and pauses that create so much drama and tension in the music. She mentioned Bauhaus' Bela Lugosi's Dead as a perfect example of this. I also thought of Visions Of Johanna by Bob Dylan.

But the one I settled on was this one, by the King. You cue it up, it starts and there's a moment of silence, and then a hillbilly wail:

Well since my baby left me...

Followed by two percussive chords on a honky tonk piano

I found a new place to dwell

Two more chords, bang bang, like a drunk pounding the flat of his hand on the bar

It's down at the end of lonely street that's heartbreak hotel...

The bass line comes in at 9 seconds, when Elvis takes a breath between "that's" and "heartbreak". Elvis' voice drops into a low, almost mumbling stutter and the song takes off, slow and swinging. The whole song is perfect, but what I love the most is the way those first few seconds grab you by the lapel and pull you in closer.

There's No Home for You Here--The White Stripes

Man, I love the White Stripes. I think they've got to be about my favorite act that's come along in the last ten years. The combination of primitive drumming, wild guitar heroics and Jack White's voice is just perfect for me. There's No Home for You Here is not even my favorite song by The White Stripes, but it's got one of my favorite moments: there's a pause around 1:53 in, then a chorus of "AAAAAHHHH" comes in over, and is eventually replaced by, a wall of guitar feedback that lasts until 2:12. I dig it.

Patricia--Perez Prado



I also loves me some lounge music; especially the jazzy, upbeat Latin tempos of Perez Prado. Patricia is one of those songs that people recognize when they hear it, even if they don't know its title or Perez Prado--it's turned up on a few soundtracks over the years. The song starts out with a simple melody, an organ riff over some brushed drums. At 28 seconds the brass comes in and the song starts swinging.

Friday Random Ten

We can't abandon Johnny Yen and leave him as one of the last Friday Random Ten practitioners. No sir.

Here's my random ten for today:

Race Track Boogie—Renaud Veluzat

Mr. Block—Utah Phillips

Save Us—John Cale

Ballrooms of Mars—T. Rex

Round & Round & Round—The Cure

Uncle Jo’ Gimme Mo!—Gerald Clark’s Lere String Band

Honky Tonk Mind—Johnny Horton

Little Acorns—The White Stripes

Rock The Universe—Del Vaughn

Wake Up—The Arcade Fire

I got tired of the music I had up in the widget. I've been feeling pretty good, and I wanted some happy tunes. I asked the girls for some help. I asked each of them to give me a song or two that made them happy lately. Here's what I got:

The Birds and the Bees--Patrick and Eugene (Our youngest)

Birdhouse in Your Soul--They Might Be Giants (MizBubs)

Here Comes Your Man--The Pixies (Our eldest)

The 59th Street Bridge Song--Simon & Garfunkel (MizBubs)

Don't Worry About the Government--Talking Heads (me)

Help Yourself--Tom Jones (me)

Give 'em a listen, and I hope they make you happy too.

Still talking about New Orleans

We've been home three weeks now, and I can't get that place out of my head. Since I can't, y'all are stuck with having to read about it when you visit here. I have a mountainous backlog of alligator stories, weenie wavers and freaks to get out there. I'm afraid I've fallen down on the job in the public service announcement department, so I'll try and make these trip notes as brief as possible. The fact is, though, it makes me happy to talk about my favorite city, so it will probably be another day or two for me to get back to the usual stuff.

So far you've seen my feeble attempt at blogging on location, a short post about missing it, a brutal self-assessment, and most recently talk of swamps and offbeat roadside attractions on the north shore of Lake Ponchartrain.

But what about the city itself?

_____________________

A lot of stories start like this:

A guy goes out of town to a conference, and then meets her. You know the kind of story I’m talking about, right? A romance, I guess. Well, maybe romances don’t start that way, come to think of it. Stories about affairs and one night stands do.

I’m not talking about a one night stand or any short-lived affair. No sir.

Let me start over. Go back about 10 years and picture a man who might bear more than a passing resemblance to yours truly: a regular guy, late 30’s, happily married with a wife and two kids. Hard worker, good provider, good husband. All that stuff that usually describes a character in a situation like this. Solid. Reliable. Suburban.

So this guy goes to a conference, out of state, to a place he's never visited before. Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He is by himself, among strangers: no coworkers with him, and no friends or family in the area. The city of New Orleans is only about an hour's drive away. When the day's training is finished, he hangs around and drinks with his fellow attendees, and he starts to get restless. Underneath that solid suburban image lie some wilder, more primal impulses. He's good at talking people into things, and he eventually gets his roommates--a private security contractor who doesn't drink, an Australian prison guard who does, and an Air Force criminal investigator--to agree to drive to New Orleans for an evening. The airman has a government rental car, and the teetotaling security contractor agrees to drive it. The Australian is along for the ride.

About an hour later they're following an exit sign from I-10 that says "Vieux Carre" and minutes after that the car is parked and just after that go-cups are in hand. The first beer is cold and perfect. Another go-cup, or two, and everyone's laughing and talking a little louder. Some boys are tap dancing on the sidewalk, a shill is trying to get them into a strip club, and someone else tries to tell the Australian where he got his shoes at. Things begin to blur.

Then he sees her. Really sees her, and he is gone. He didn't know it yet, but at that moment--intoxicated not so much by the beer as by the sound and smell of her all around him--he was hopelessly in love. In the next couple of hours she fed him, and got him mildly drunk, and wrapped him up in a warm, slightly stinky embrace of music and laughter. She told him stories.

She wasn't necessarily good for him, or for that matter, for herself. She drank too much and carried some extra weight, and she tended to get a little loud. As beautiful and gracious as she was, she could be kind of slovenly. She always hung out with a criminal element. But she was hot, and he couldn't get enough.

Over the years he'd return to her, again and again, and each time they reunited it was exquisite. He began to feel insanely protective of her, and would jump into a car and drive for hours to come to her when she needed help. When he was away, he spent hours pining for her.

Ah, let's drop the ridiculous pretense. That "guy" was me.

_____________________

MizBubs says that New Orleans is like my illicit lover. I don't care that my lover has a lot of unhealthy habits and doesn't do what she's supposed to do. After 10 years she still makes my heart race. I even introduced her to my wife and family, and they all got along famously. They're very open-minded in that regard.

As I've said before, this was the girls' first post-Katrina visit. They were excited and happy to be going back, even if they were a little apprehensive.

We stayed at the Le Richelieu Hotel in the lower end of the French Quarter. It was lovely. Nice little courtyard with a pool, and a cozy little bar where they make a great bloody mary. Here's what it looked like as I reclined in my patio chair:



Here's what the front entrance looks like:

One of the best things about the Le Richelieu was that I saw the most wonderful redneck woman there. Now, before I tell you about her, let me describe the guests at this hotel. There were a few families, a few European tourists, quite a few older couples, and a lot of gay and lesbian visitors. Not many 20-somethings or raucous types; they tend to stay closer to the action on Bourbon Street. What I'm saying is, it's kind of a classy place, even though I was there.

You can imagine how pleased and surprised I was to walk down to the bar one afternoon and find a 30-something hot mom sunbathing by the pool. She looked way more Daytona Beach than French Quarter.

She wore a revealing confederate battle flag bikini. She had a navel piercing tucked into the stretch marks of her reasonably-small but obviously child-bearing belly. Bleached blonde hair with dark roots well0-displayed. Oh yeah...

My youngest daughter is a good sport. I may be a voyeuristic freak, but I didn't want to get caught looking like one. I got my daughter to take a camera phone picture for me. I tried to get her to take one from in front, but the girl has her limits.

Our first night there we ate at the Praline Connection on Frenchman Street, and sadly it was one of the places that wasn't as good as I remembered. The staff is still friendly, and the greens and fried dill pickles were excellent, but that was it. The jambalaya that my eldest ordered had what appeared to be frozen vegetables in it, and she only took a few bites of it before pronouncing it no good.

On our way back to the hotel we were grabbed by a couple of fellows outside the Balcony Music Club at Esplanade and Decatur, and invited in to see a show. The girls must have fitted the young hipster demographic they were looking for to fill the club so they'd be booked again. As we went in my rule-following youngest looked back at me and mouthed "we're not 21" and I told her not to worry. I wish I could remember their names, because they were good. The guitar player's name was Micah.



I found out that in many quarters Miller High Life has replaced Pabst Blue Ribbon as the hipster beer of choice.

The first thing that my daughters noticed was that the Quarter is cleaner than it was before. There are now fleets of imposing black garbage trucks and an army of uniformed sanitation workers swarming the French Quarter. They belong to SDT Waste and Debris Services.

The owner, Sidney Torres IV, is the son of a prominent local attorney and former personal assistant to Lenny Kravitz. This is the first time I've seen more sanitation workers than cops in the French Quarter. As nice as it is to see things cleaned up, there is something vaguely creepy about constantly seeing these trucks and their Nextel-talking workers, all over the place. It reminded me of Soylent Green, or Brazil.

The second thing they noticed was that a lot of places closed early. Our favorite bar, the Napoleon House, now closes at 6pm. It used to be a favorite late night hangout of ours. They still make a great Sazerac, and the food is still tasty. They're the only place I know of that serves a muffuletta sandwich warm instead of cold.

My favorite cigar shop is still on Decatur Street, still hand-rolling excellent smokes

We saw more brass bands on this trip, which was a good surprise. There were two or three at different times around Jackson Square

On our last night we walked back along Frenchman Street. If you've never been to New Orleans before, and you visit, do yourself a favor. Skip that Bourbon Street bullshit and spend most of your nightlife time on Frenchman Street. There's a bunch of great clubs, some good restaurants, and the whole area takes on the aura of a neighborhood block party.

MizBubs and I got to see Ingrid Lucia performing at DBA. MizBubs chatted with her after the show, and she was absolutely lovely and charming. You haven't lived until you've had a few drinks and watched a dark-haired beauty in a party dress sing an uptempo version of Rhinestone Cowboy.



Later that night we saw a brass band performing on a corner, and within a short time a crowd of about 150 people gathered and stopped traffic at the intersection. There were people dancing in the street and clapping along, and for a while it was possible to forget that anything bad had ever happened here.

_____________________

We're a happy family

Why? Because we just got tickets to see Gogol Bordello at the Riviera Theater on March 4.

Nothing left to do...

But go to sleep, wake up and run 26.2 miles.

I am nearly overwhelmed by an odd, unreal feeling right now on the eve of running my third Chicago Marathon. I've taken good care of myself this week, and topped it off with a fantastic deep-tissue massage this afternoon and then a nice dinner. As you can see, I've got all my gear laid out for the morning, down to pinning my number to my shirt and lacing the timing chip into my shoes.

My transportation situation has just improved greatly. MizBubs, girl genius, is going to drop me off and pick me up from the race. I had planned on doing that myself, but after reading the second weather advisory emailed to me by the race organizers, she's decided to make sure I make it home safely by doing it herself. What a sweetie. She's going to take advantage of the 5 hours of free time that my lumbering pace allows by visiting the Field Museum. She's really looking forward to not having a big goof with a short attention span rushing her through the exhibits.

I occupied myself last night by compiling two disks worth of music to work myself up for the race. What that really looked like was me sitting at the computer, glass of bourbon in hand, just plucking whatever songs I could remember and putting them into a playlist. Here it is, alphabetically (I shuffled the tunes before burning):

A Little Less Conversation—Elvis Presley

Ace of Spades—Link Wray

Black Math—The White Stripes

Blister in the Sun—The Violent Femmes

Blitzkrieg Bop—The Ramones

Chills and Fever—Tom Jones

Clampdown—The Clash

Cornfed Dames—The Cramps

Crackity Jones—The Pixies

Everybody’s Happy Nowadays—The Buzzcocks

Funtime—Iggy Pop

Get Rhythm—Johnny Cash

Gone Daddy Gone—The Violent Femmes

Going Out West--Tom Waits

Here Comes Your Man—The Pixies

Heroes—David Bowie

Hey Porter—Johnny Cash

Hoist That Rag—Tom Waits

How Far Can Too Far Go?--The Cramps

I'm So Free—Lou Reed

I Can't Stand It—The Velvet Underground

I Fought The Law—The Clash

I Found That Essence Rare—Gang Of Four

I Wanna Be Sedated—The Ramones

Jack The Ripper—Link Wray

James Bond Theme—Monty Norman Orchestra

Laywers, Guns and Money—Warren Zevon

Little Acorns—The White Stripes

Lust for Life—Iggy Pop

Mystery Train—Elvis Presley

Not Responsible—Tom Jones

Peter Gunn Theme—Henry Mancini

Play It Safe—Iggy Pop

Pump it Up—Elvis Costello

Radio Radio—Elvis Costello

Run Run Run—The Velvet Underground

Seven Nation Army—The White Stripes

Shake Rattle and Roll—Elvis Presley

Sister Ray—The Velvet Underground

Smells Like Teen Spirit—Nirvana

Success—Iggy Pop

Sweet Jane—The Velvet Underground

The Crusher—The Cramps

The Hardest Button To Button—The White Stripes

The Passenger—Iggy Pop

The Sickbed of Cuchulainn—The Pogues

Thunderball—Tom Jones

We Love You—The Psychedelic Furs

Walking on the Sun—Smashmouth

What Goes On—The Velvet Underground

Wild Cats of Kilkenny—The Pogues

You're Pretty Good Looking—The White Stripes

I HEAR MUSIC

I have been tagged by Splotchy, thusly:

Seeing as the traffic to my blog is nearing a fever pitch, I thought I'd try and start one of them taggy things that meme all over the place...so I tag Bubs and Mizbubs. And you, dear reader. I tag you.

Let the wild stallion that is this meme run free.

I ask you, how could I resist?

What was the first recorded music you bought?
-It was a used copy of the Beatles' "Magical Mystery Tour" that I bought at a thrift shop when I was in 6th or 7th grade.

What was the last?
-I can't say here, because it was a gift for MizBubs that she won't get until June. Before that it was Tom Waits' "Orphans".

What was the first "professional" music show you ever went to?
-Oh, I'll always remember this one--Johnny Cash and the Carter Family at Madison Square Garden. June Carter was big and pregnant at the time, and couldn't perform with everyone else. I'm guessing this was in 1969 or 1970. What was really cool about this was my dad took us, and he wasn't even much of a country music fan.

What was the last?
-The Raconteurs at the Riviera Theater in Chicago.

What's your "desert island" album?
-Probably "Rain Dogs" by Tom Waits

What's your favorite album/song title? (the *title* which is your fav, not the actual album or song)
-Without a doubt, it's "Weasels Ripped My Flesh" by the Mothers of Invention. I've never owned it, never heard more than a couple of tracks from it. Rzzzzz!

What's your favorite album art (include an image of it if you can)?
-I can't think of one off the top of my head, but most of my favorites are in this collection here.

Ideal choice for a karaoke song?
-My favorite is "Suspicious Minds" but when I'm boozed up like a big hillbilly with Tourette's, my friends and family want to hear me sing Tom Jones' "Delilah." Did you know that "Delilah" is the Tom Jones song most sung by impersonators and karaoke fans?

Song you don't like that WILL NOT LEAVE YOUR HEAD if you hear it.
-There are a few choices on the Weebls Stuff site that, if my youngest daughter plays them, will be stuck in my head for days. But I'm not sure I don't like them...I'm not sure if "My Humps", which is annoying as hell, is stuck in my head or if it's just still being played to death; those Blades of Glory ads don't help.

Which is cooler? -- Vinyl? CD? Cassette? 8-track?
-Dude, vinyl! Everything about it, the album art, the sleeve art and lyrics, the promotional extras you could cram inside, the anticipation watching the needle lower onto the record, the slight hiss and pop, everything.

Ok you primitive screwheads, listen up! The following people should consider themselves tagged:

Dale, Beth, Mob, in particular, and anyone else who reads this and has some time on his hands.

Get to work.