Hearing Memories

My Brother, My Son, And the Beauty Of Bands

Maybe it's a coincidence.

It gives me comfort to think it's not.

My son and my brother started playing bass guitar about the same age.

Both love the instrument.

Just love it to death.

In Ray's case, until death.

It defines them in so many ways.

In return, they give it a vibrant life.

When my son, Brandon, plays, I hear my brother, Ray.

Ray is 2 ½ years younger than me, but his life ended four years ago.

Brandon, is 35 years younger, but recently his life started me thinking about the life lived by Ray.

Brandon plays in a band.

Tons of talent.

Pounds of recognition.

Ounces of success … so far.

That's enough to fuel a young musician.

The possibilities keep a young man in the game.

Love of the music keeps an old man playing.

Ray and another of my brothers, Ricky, played in a band too.

East Wind. A great name. A great band.

When they were Brandon's age, the enthusiasm of possibilities swept them up too.

A whiff of playing on stage is a powerful narcotic.

One fix lasts years at a time.

East Wind aged.

Got children, jobs and wives.

The jobs and wives changed.

The children grew up.

The band played on.

Over time, the energy of what could be, was replaced by the bliss of being with bandmates.

Being a member of East Wind means something.

It has history.

It has texture.

It has depth.

Creating wonderful sounds together.

Doesn't matter if the audience is five or five hundred.

The joy of playing … playing together … is the same.

There was no one more joyful with playing than Ray.

That brings me back to Brandon.

The band Brandon plays in, Great Young Hunters, had a cd release party.

In a place where bigger bands play.

Their name on the marquee.

An article about them in a newspaper.

And it's the most wonderful time for them.

Being a member of Great Young Hunters means something.

It will create a history.

It will find texture.

It will develop depth.

Creating wonderful sounds together.

Doesn't matter if the audience is five or five hundred.

The joy of playing … playing together … is the same.

And right now There is no one more joyful with playing than Brandon.

Ray would be proud.

Reading A Mind

Music On The Run

Robbie Robertson - How To Become Clairvoyant

Robbie Robertson's newest offering sounds like it was done by a man with experience and chops in the business.  That's because Robertson is a man with experience and chops in the business.  Add to that, a real skill in crafting songs.  This is good stuff; my newest favorite recording.  I like eclectic and this cd is all over the place.  Some gentle noodling on one cut. On another, sacred steel backing from Robert Randolph on a gospelly number.  Say Amen.  Another with a hook and sound that Al Green, circa early 1970s, would just work 'til it cried.  And wait a minute ... is that Eric Clapton? Yes, it is, and the songs sound as if they've played together forever.   Robertson is in fine voice too ... so to speak.  I always wondered about vocalists like Robertson.  At what point do raspy voiced guys with little range decide to go out front?  I'll tell you when.  When you can sing the songs like you understand them ... like you know them ... like you love them.  Robertson's lead is perfect.  The right voice at the right time for the right songs.   I guess I can't give it a fair review as a background for running, because I enjoy it so much.  Every song was different, and satisfying.  Anytime I (and I suspect, you too ..) get that much fun from a recording, the rhythm and rhyme are just fine, no matter if it works for someone else or not.

Powerful Memories

 

Music On The Run

Jennifer Hudson - I Remember Me

When I was little I had one of those balsa wood planes with the rubber band motors. Just wind that rascal up 'til the rubber band was all knotted with torque, then let 'er fly. Who knew where it was going to go?  More than likely straight into something hard, and it was gonna get there in a hurry. I get the same feeling when I listen to Jennifer Hudson. This woman can flat wind it up and let it go, but Hudson doesn't hit anything hard with this cd. Her other interests … the acting … the commercials … apparently have all moved her further from that American Idol big stage sameness. But you can't run from who you are, and Hudson is Diva with a capital “D.” This woman's voice is larger than any spotlight, and she has shown a real ability to work the instrument. The songs on I Remember Me are, however, reminiscent of the Idol experience. All songs about big emotions... disappointment, love, redemption and always with the redemptive power of believing in oneself. Even the uptempo numbers mine the same themes. This is a solid recording and I liked it. I suspect in the near future, you won't so much attend a Hudson concert, as she grants you an audience.

As far as listening on the run, I ordinarily wouldn't pick this first. Oprahesque ruminations are not my first choice for a three mile distraction. Full disclosure though: I listened to this on a particularly hilly route and to be honest, the “I can survive ..” lyrics and the thumping rhythms gave me a little mental bump to get up the soul sucking hill on the way home. I think I'll see if it works the next time I come this way.

Good Refuge

Music on the Run

Abigail Washburn - City Of Refuge

This one must be driving radio program directors crazy. Every one but those who do playlists for college or public radio stations. Those dudes (or dudettes )take joy in stacking genres to give listeners whiplash.) Everyone is going: What does Abigail Washburn do? They gave it a shot. You'll find City Of Refuge in bluegrass or americana (by the way, what is americana anyway? Nuevo folk? Alt country punk? What? ) Yeah, Ms. Washburn is those bluegrass, americana and more. There's the obligatory banjo, fiddle and mandolin, and Washburn has a wonderful vibrato, burnished with an East Tennessee lilt (even though I think she's from near Chicago.)  There is some wonderful bluegrass here, but then on another cut, the fiddle morphs into a violin, the banjo echoes a harp, and jeez, is that a tuba playing a bass line? Then another cut that sounds as if it's channeling Fleetwood Mac followed by a hard-as-lard bluegrass/appalachian number where she pushes the vocals right out of her sinuses. Music from a mason jar.  Yeah, that's getting it done, old school country style. And it's all good, because it's all interesting and it's all unpredictable.

That makes it a good companion on the run too. The rhythms are strong, and the songs are so catchy and unpredictable that your interest never drifts too far from the music. Besides, just thinking of all those radio folks who make playlists so predictable you can set a clock by them, agonizing over how to categorize Washburn, gives me a giggle.

Have Mercy

 

Music On The Run

Fistful Of Mercy

My first impression is that these guys need to rehearse more. Don't get me wrong.  Dhani Harrison, Joseph Arthur, and Ben Harper certainly have reputations; well earned reputations as artists and performers who have proven themselves. Just not together. Just about every song sounded like some one got them together and said, “... you dudes could just get together and jam. It'll be magic!” But, no prestidigitation here. It's good. All three can play. All three can sing. It just doesn't sound like they played and sang together very often. That's okay too, but every song sounds like three guys around sitting on chairs in a circle, just making it up as they go along. They channel Crosby, Stills and Nash on a couple. Catchy songs. A little ragged along the edges. But, just about every cut make me think of a mashup of every singer-songwriter that's ever swayed a young girl's interest. Only one song seemed to break the mold. The guys do a tub-kicking number with lyrics that say something like “ … lay awake, daylight …. pillow and a gun ...” Staying up all night with a gun under the pillow.” Alright, that's getting it done. Then back to mellow marshmallow stuff. Alright on a summer night, nursing a cold one as the sun goes down, but not much for getting your edge on. As far as a runnng partner, this didn't hold my interest long or often. I can listen to it on the back patio, but as for on the run … see above.

Family Mumford

Music On The Run

Mumford And Sons – Sign No More

I was late to this one. The Mumford & Sons cd has received quite a few praising reviews, but it was also described as folk. Folk and widespread praise in the same sentence? Yeah, that happens all the time. I'm a boomer … came of age in the '60s, so I heard my share of folk, but this Mumford & Sons is not your father's folk music. It's also not the sort of bluegrass/ pop/ alternative hybrids like The Duhks or Nickel Creek. It's … well .. it's folk, but european busker music in a way. Did you see the movie “Once?” (A great movie by the way) This Mumford & Sons cd reminded me of that. Honest, straightforward music with strong vocals and musicianship. I have to admit, not being an aficianado, that I felt as if I should be sitting in a dark pub drinking warm ale, getting ready to scream for Manchester United. I enjoyed it, but not so much for running. The rhythms were solid, but some of the songs were soft, gentle things, and didn't grab enough of my attention to keep me from thinking I had to buy better shoes for the next time I wanted to take a long run.

R.E.M. Collapsing

Music On The Run

R.E.M. – Collapse Into Now

I took a quick look at myself: kelly green sweatpants, electric blue running shoes with orange trim, dingy gray worn fleece pullover and a bright red hat. A quick shrug and I was out the door for my run. No embarrassment. I still care about fashion, but sometimes “haute de what’s clean” is okay with me. I’m comfortable with my choices.

R.E.M. has that same vibe. Don’t get me wrong. Musically, everything fits, but they have a “comfortable with who I am” sound, honed by decades of making wonderful songs. And these are wonderful songs on“Collapse Into Now.” This is their 15^th studio album, so I didn’t really expect a re-working of their sound. This is rock and roll, R.E.M style … muscular drums, electric guitars with that signature acoustic twang filling all the gaps. U2 type anthems without all the drama. There are also, of course, those mandolin-ey R.E.M. songs. Hey, this is what they do. But, they sound different too. I’m just a casual R.E.M. fan, but these are more … more mature to me. The difference in how a 15 year old and a 50 year old handles heartbreak. A teenager hurts with a shriek. Their pain fills your ears. A 50 year old hurts more quietly, but more deeply. That pain fills a room. R.E.M’s songs have a presence. 

As far as a running partner, “Collapse Into Now” is a mixed bag. I suspect big fans will love running with it. The upbeat numbers kept me engaged, but the mid-tempo numbers, not so much. They’re quiet, and I found myself drifting away, wondering if my outfit was scaring the neighbors.

Aloe Blacc Needs A Dollar

Music On The Run

Aloe Blacc

Aloe Blacc took an unusual route to a high profile. He started with a rap group here, but made his bones as a singer in Europe. His latest recording has gotten enough press that I doubt he's singing “I Need A Dollar” as a necessity now.

Some would call this effort “neo-soul.” I'm more partial, in at least in this case, to calling it “throwback” … thrown all the way back to the early '70s. You'll hear the chicka-chicka wah wah guitars I last heard from Rose Royce … some unidentifiable percussion that I swear was lifted from Sly & The Family Stone, and vocals slightly reminiscent of Bill Withers. Speaking of vocals, Aloe Blacc has a pleasant voice, but never really pushes himself out of a comfort zone. He' ll occasionally reach for a high note, even go for a falsetto, but while the music says 70s soul, the vocals are modern “work with what you got.” That's not bad, especially because the lyrics are not typical the typical “soul-lover man-my heart was broke-I'll do anything for you – we'll get married and be happy one day” lyrics either. Aloe Blacc turns clever lyrics about interesting topics.

Now to Aloe as a running partner. I'm not sold on that. Maybe you will, if you concentrate on the words in a song. I'm more of a music and rhythm guy. The songs have good pacing, but there are few numbers that just jump out and make the pain go away. Aloe Blacc is definitely part of my listening repertoire, but just on the patio, enjoying a cold one after the run.

Crossovers And Jumpshots

I'm watching the basketball tournament, twisting in the chair with every off-balance shot, grimacing when a player I don’t know, and don’t cheer for, tosses an errant pass for a turnover at a critical time.

I care because I played.

I didn’t play well enough to make any team of this caliber, any team that had any standards, actually, but I shared this wonderful game with other people and I was an actor in these small dramas that happen on courts all over the world.

I suspect it’s the same for anyone who played a sport with passion …football, basketball, tennis, swimming.

When I watch, I remember.

The memories cascade over me.

I remember the the first shot: a 12 year old ninth grader in a Connecticut gym glass. 

More interested in academics than sport.

Standing at the head of the key.

My equally geeky classmates exhorting me to “shoot, shoot.” 

And I threw it into the air. 

It went through snapping the strings and me to attenton.

It went through and I wanted desparately to feel that again.

I was hooked.

I remember the outdoor court in Lincoln Heights.

Red dusty dirt swirling about on a windy 85 degree East Tennessee summer day.

I’m out there by myself, every day, hundreds of shots from different spots on the court.

Flicking my wrist just so.

Refining my follow through, because it was important to look like a baller too.

Memories of being covered with that red dust after a game, played as hard, and with as much purpose as anything I’ve ever done.

Covered in dirt and glory.

It was magnificent.

I remember the court at Fairgarden Elementary School on the East side of my hometown. A gathering place for every player in the neighborhood.

A place where people from other neighborhoods would come with lots of game and attitude. 

We defended our court with jump shots and hard fouls.

A sloping asphalt court with steel netting on the rim.

Shots from the corner would snap the chains, and make a satisfying “chang” sound.

I practiced that shot from the corner over and over and over.

Chang, chang and chang.

I remember scraping snow off that court to play in winter.

Fires in 55 gallon drums to keep you warm while you waited for your “up.”

The desperation to win, when you saw how many people were waiting to play and you knew it could be another hour to play here, if you lost.

I remember the nicknames and odd body shapes, players who looked like anything but … learning to never underestimate anyone on any given day.

I remember the courts at Sunland Park in South Florida.

Smooth and clean, with sand that would get in every crevice of your sweat soaked body. 

The pat on the butt and the “nice shot” from the guy who ruled the court.

I felt I truly belonged when other players would point at me and say “somebody better guard the jumpshooter.” 

Demanding defense was the ultimate affirmation.

I also remember the hot nail of a stabbing pain in my knee when I came down awkwardly, and my anterior cruciate ligament was torn.

I remember that a guy with a college degree, a good job and a family that loved him, suddenly felt a huge sense of loss.

The game comes and goes. You play well one day, poorly the next, and at some point never again.

But, you keep the memories close.

High arcing shots from a corner that snap the strings and buoy your soul.

I watch, and it’s like it was all yesterday.

Me And Mayer For 3 1/2 Miles

Neon, neon - John Mayer in my ears ...
Thwip, thwip, thwip - my shoes on the pavement ...
Why in the hell am I doing this? - that's my brain as I hit mile marker 1.5
on my three and a half mile run.

Here I am, or there I was (that is the nature of running, after all ...) doing something that I just knew would kill me, and is now
sustaining me.
I once said if you caught me running, someone was chasing me, and I'm
not altogether sure that could get me to run either.
And here I am, one foot after the other, pushing and pulling, to get
to mile two.

She's always buzzin' like ne -ahn ..ne -ahn, ne-ah-ah,-ahn - John
Mayer in my ears ...
Schwoomphschwoomphschwoomp - my heartbeat on the hill ...
Jeez, this is really gonna hurt later -- that's my brain as I hit mile marker
2.5 on my three and a half mile run.

I'm not averse to exercise.
I used to fashion myself a basketball player (hahahahaha....)
I loved the contact, the grace of the game, the satisfaction of competition.
But, running?  What the hell was the point in that?
If you were to test yourself, go against another person ...don't
test yourself against yourself ... no reward in that.
Giving yourself props for running from here to nowhere just didn't measure up against the reputation you earned on the playground.
Things change, though ... mostly yourself ... from aspiring athlete
... to just aspiring to live another few years or so.

She comes and she goes like no one can - John Mayer in my ears ...
Swhoo, swhoo, swhoo - the deep breaths picking up speed ...
God, please distract me before I die! - that's my brain as I hit mile marker
3 on my three and a half mile run.

So, I'm reduced this this ... five days a week, trying to distract
myself from the sound and feel of pounding pavement, with John Mayer
or Black Eyed Peas  or Toots And The Maytals providing the diversion.
I do this because I've already been running for the first few decades
of my life ... running from anything that approximated a healthy
lifestye.
Extra poundage, fewer body parts (I popped an anterior cruciate
ligament in my knee playing basketball.  My doctor:  "...look, I made
an "A" in anatomy, and I tell you that sucker is gone !!!"), and a
diagnosis of type 2 diabetes make you reassess harsh promises made
early in life, when you didn't need a car to catch your breath, and
making healthy choices meant a few veggies on that large pizza.
So, the weight's down now, the diabetes is under control, and I may
have another decade or so.
And one unexpected benefit:  when you run in your neighborhood, you
notice your neighbors need to paint their garage doors worse than you do.

Who knows how long, how long, how long she can go before she burns
away - John Mayer in my ears ...
Drip, drip, drip - sweat from my hat falling in my eyes ...
That wasn't so bad ... maybe again tomorrow .-  my brain as I hit mile
marker 3.5 on my three and a half mile run.

Adele Was 19 And Now She's Two Years Older

Music On The Run

Adele – 21

Some people want to make this cd Dusty Springfield redux. I don't see it. Sure, they're both Brits with soul bona fides, and the Memphis flavored strings and piano flairs … but they're … different. The best way I can explain it is Dusty was then, Adele is now. Adele has liquid phrasing on this cd, one word oozing into the next, which to my ear is a more plaintive, emotional delivery. The song selection varies too.  Some sound hip-hop, but a couple are just a half yodel away from country. That's not necessarily bad. There's even one cut that sounds straight gospel, even though Adele doesn't stretch too far … just enough to let you know she's feeling the material. As a matter of fact, most of the songs are a combination of restraint and r&b. That gets to this cd as a running partner. Nothing electric here, to roust your spirit and provide a second wind, but Adele's voice is such a compelling instrument, it keeps pulling you back to the song. Not a lot of points for pacing, but huge props for distraction. The three and a half miles today went by quickly … or at least it felt like it did.

Kanye Being Kanye

Music On The Run

Kanye West – My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

Talk about truth in advertising. I suppose, though, every Kanye effort can be described as beautiful, dark and twisted. I have to give him props for this one though. Kanye really exposes himself … wait … you know what I mean. West spins rowdy, profane and tawdry tales. Bragging and strangely defensive at the same time. It's weird. But, this is a dude who doesn't have a filter. Just ask Taylor Swift or Matt Lauer. The language is rough in places too. Many places. But you knew that. It all works though. Speaking of Taylor Swift, for a guy who can bogard a mic like that, he shares the wealth on quite a few cuts. There's John Legend (he impresses me,) Jay-Z (how much money can one man make?) and Nicki Minaj (she really, really scares me sometimes) and others contributing here. The real strength, I think, is the way the songs all build little dramas within themselves. There's a lot going on with rhythms, sounds and modulation. The beats are strong, but not repetitive. That makes it good for running too. There are standard 4/4 beats, but occasionally there are the strong marching chants, just in time to provide motivation to beat those “hate-you hills” on a running route. This cd has pacing and it certainly distracts you from pounding the pavement. If Kanye is nothing else, he can be distracting, but I doubt he can ever be ignored.

View From The Top Of The Bottom

Bro-J note:

I lived in Robert Taylor Homes on the South Side of Chicago, when they were new in the early 1960s. The housing project was, in my opinion, a horrible mistake. It deteriorated into a crime burdened soul sucking complex of housing where fresh air was tainted with an ever present odor of fear. It's decline was breathtakingly fast, already far distant from salvageable when we moved out just a little more than a year after we moved in. Chicago officials decided to tear it all down a few years ago, and that prompted these thoughts:

 

It's a 14th floor view of early '60s Chicago.
21st century Chicagoans of means, would write large checks for those views.
But, these are early 60s views from the projects, where you can see everything in the city, but a way out.

The housing authority cleared out the old ghetto to build a brand spanking new one.
From people living on top of each other, to people living on top of each other, literally.
Sixteen stories, 10 apartments on each floor.
You could see the top of far off skyscrapers at eye level.
It was much harder to see your way out

Taylor Homes balkanized the South Side.
White brick buildings and red brick buildings.
Rivalries created with brick color as a reason, for people who found it difficult to find reason for so many other things .. terrible things … in their lives.
14th floor views could catch glimpses of the Lake, but not even a hint of a way out.

That's not to say there weren't good times.
Good people, doing good things, with good results.
But the stink of a small evil overpowers the gentle calming aromatics of a huge expanse of lives lived gently, lived simply.
A struggle to see things in perspective,
When it's so hard to see a way out.

Some of us, many of us, did make it out.
I'm sure it was as much luck as work and determination.
Fortunate for us that even though we couldn't see some things,
We knew they were still there.
We couldn't see them, but we could smell, hear, just know there was a way out.
Looking from the fourteenth floor may not have shown the way out,
But there was a lighted path on the ground, just following those who may not have had the views to get out, but never lost the vision.

 

Cee Lo Killing The Ladies

Music On The Run

Cee Lo - The Lady Killer

I don't know if Cee Lo is a Lady Killer, but this cd is straight sugar. Cee Lo is a huge talent. No one looks like, sings like, or acts like him. These are big productions, but none of them … not a single one … overwhelms his performance. I keep coming back to comparisons about size, but I swear I'm not talking about Cee Lo's considerable girth, just his considerable quantity of musical goodness. A few tracks evoke soul songs from the '60s. Strings and drums that sound like Motown in its heyday These are songs you play when you have party plans for the weekend. Shower, shave and Cee Lo.   Strong rhythms, great hooks, and “play that track again!” Okay, now to the elephant in the room. The monster single off this album asks a former lover to … uhm … er … you know what he says. Gwenyth Paltrow did a fun sanitized version on “Glee,” but Cee Lo's version is just gleeful as he vents. Who knew that the ultimate kiss off could be this playful. I suspect there are a few of us, on the short end of a relationship, who wrote the words to this song many times over and over in our heads, but Cee Lo goes at it with an energy and intensity that's cathartic. Yeah, play that track again.

It's a great cd to run with. Every track has punch and pace.

Cee Lo's voice is compelling and keeps your interest, and most tracks will energize you as Cee Lo gives you the ultimate comeback to the woman who kicked you to the curb.

Music On The Run- #1

Music On The Run

Gregg Allman – Low Country Blues

Alright, I know, I know. This is a weird one to start with, but it was at the top of the queue.

I really liked this cd. It sounded like Gregg Allman. Of course, it'd be hard to sound like someone else after fifty years in the business. This, however, is not the Allman Brothers. It's close to traditional blues. Allman's voice is out front too, not an organic part of the music; just another instrument in the jam as it is with Allman Brothers pieces. And he sounds strong too. Still getting the job done at 63 years old. It was a mixed bag for running. The pace was good. Blues songs don't change time signatures and other fancy stuff, but that lends itself to a sameness too. I found myself drifting from the music on occasion and thinking how much I wanted to yell at the people who let their dogs off leash. Then a strong song would come on and bring me back. I also suspect that this will work better after listening to it a couple of times. Two listens and you'll know most of the lyrics. Singing along may look silly to passersby, but it helps me block out the pain of that last half mile.