Dale Bozzio, the female lead singer of Missing Persons, an
early-80’s MTV darling band, was anything but subtle. Teaming up with former
Frank Zappa musicians, Missing Persons was a bright, but short-lived comet in
the transition between the 70’s and the 80’s, jumping onto the scene with
“Mental Hopscotch.” Bozzio and company were known by appearance for their moussed-up
coiffures and heavy pastel make-up, not to mention Dale’s lack of clothing for
the most part.
The follow-up LP to the eponymous “Missing Persons” was
“Spring Session M,” (an anagram of the band’s name) and contained the plaintive
song, “Words,” in which Bozzio asked the all-important question, “What are
words for, when no one listens any more?” Indeed.
As one can easily see from the timeline of my posts this
year, there was is a glaring lacuna of a few months. As I have also recently
written, I was blocked. Seriously blocked. I had the ideas, but not the
motivation, nor the desire to write. I didn’t care, much for the same reason
that “Words” has always resonated with me at some level. I have at times in my
life felt that “words” are futile, especially when no one is really listening.
Listening is an Art, a techne
perhaps, not a given. It is often taken for granted that the person to whom we
are directly talking, may in fact not be listening at all. It can be a rather
unsettling realization.
During my hiatus from posting, I wondered to myself quite
often, is anyone listening? That is not on a judgmental level, but purely
technical. Was I just throwing out hundreds of bottles with messages (messages
that I cared deeply about) scrawled on scraps of paper, thrust out into the
vast Internet ocean?
I knew of a handful of people in my immediate life who would
read my posts via casual comments in emails and whatnot, but beyond that, it
was merely numbers on the Stats page of faceless, nameless, comment-less
hypothetical readers.
One of my favorite lines from a movie is from Shadowlands, a glimpse into the tortured
mind/life of C.S. Lewis, best known for his Chronicles
of Narnia and Christian Apologies (in the Greek sense of “defenses,” that
is). Lewis, articulated by Anthony Hopkins, was not a happy man, and fought the
shadowy angst that indeed, no one was listening.
The line, spoken by Peter Whistler, one of Lewis’s students
is “We read so that we know we are not alone.” That has conversely been my
motivation for writing. Why have I thrown out literally hundreds of messages in
bottles? Perhaps so that someone out there might indeed pick one up, read it,
and in turn, not feel alone.
Sometimes, like the lyrics from “Words,” I’ll slip in a “I
think I’ll dye my hair blue…” to see if anyone is listening.
What I have come to terms with though, in the past month or
so, is something quite different. I have come to realize that it does not
matter if I actually know that someone is listening, but rather, it is just the
act of writing that allows me to feel that perhaps I am not alone.
In a world of billions and billions of people and words, it
is all I can do to make a few of them count.
This week marks the passing of a legend within the music industry, Lou Reed.
The newspapers in Belgium were filled with front-page tributes, memorials, and testimonies to how Reed touched/changed/transformed the lives of many who grew up in the 60's, 70's and 80's.
Both with and without the Velvet Underground, Reed definitely took music for a walk on the wild side and left an indelible imprint upon millions of listeners, as attested by the 22 million views of the video below.
Though highly played in circulation, "Perfect Day" still resonates with me on many levels, and especially on days like today when I spent it with my very special daughter doing things together, laughing and enjoying the day.
The past couple of days I have been quite attentive of the
moon because it has been a rather striking full moon cycle. Often, because of
light pollution, or cloudy skies here in Belgium at this time of year, the moon
can be, to borrow the phrase from Pink Floyd, “obscured by the clouds.”
However, this time, the skies have been quite clear, and given that I was up
quite early today, I was able to see its brilliance as a great way to start the
day.
Last evening, attending a musical rendition of the poems by
the Zen Master Ryokan, one of the poems dealt with the idea of the prominence
of the Autumn moon. Though the moon is with us in all four seasons, it is the
moon of the Fall that often receives poetic and philosophical praise, not to
mention finding its way into music, such as Neil Young’s love ballad, “Harvest
Moon.” Though I thought of posting that song, especially since my mom had just
written me about the stunning Harvest Moon they saw in Texas this week, another
song came to mind.
The Waterboys are a bit of a mongrel band, changing
personnel quite often, with the exception of founder, singer and chief
lyricist, Mike Scott, they are Scottish, Irish and English with a full range of
instruments. Known for their “big” sound, the Waterboys have a very distinct
signature, not to mention Scott’s highly recognizable voice. The result is a
unique blending of vocalizing and sound, and I hope to get to see them live one
day as I can only imagine the improvisation that most likely occurs at one of
their concerts.
The song, “Whole of the Moon,” has long been a favorite of
mine. However, thinking of the moon these past few days, it did come across
with a re-newed emphasis. One of the ideas that Ryokan gets across is that
though there is just one moon, it can appear to us as many, because of our
perspective, because of its phase, or because of our mindset (I just typed a
neologism of “mindsight” just now…I think I like it…). The moon is singular,
our perception, illusive and multiple. This comes across quite clearly in the
song. One person may see on the crescent, while, despite (again a Pink Floyd
nod) the Dark Side of the Moon, another may in fact, at all times see “the
Whole of the Moon.” Perhaps it is a variation of a glass half-empty or half-full.
Yet, that has always struck me as incomplete for whether
contents of the glass are full or not, the glass remains the same…
Several years ago, I was in a difficult employment situation, one that left a lot of my colleagues without jobs, without explanation, and a general feeling of malaise.
My personal life was going through a major transition, at its most negative point.
Things just seemed bleak.
And then, the Cat came back. Cat Stevens, who had become Yusuf Islam many years back, had come back to singing after over 20 years of ghostly silence with a previous album and a children's album. Re-born as simply Yusuf, the former Cat Stevens came back with a beautiful song to lead of his most recent album, "Roadsinger." I remember listening to this song over and over, and over and over, and then some. And, I remember crying quite heartily when I heard it.
As Yusuf says, there is so much hatred and tears in this world, so where do you go...?
I went to music.
I have retreated to music many times in my life, and this was one of the times I needed it most, and from out of the mists of the Past, in came Yusuf.
Perhaps I am reminded of Yusuf because of someone I met this weekend, a gentle and kind man, dedicated to Peace and understanding, and most of all laughter and to the smile.
Kaz taught me many things I already knew this weekend, but sometimes, we have to begin at the beginning again to realize how far off we have strayed. To begin again is the greatest gift.
Yusuf is an inspiration for that, and Kaz is a fellow "Roadsinger," who came into town and gave the gift of Peace.
Recently, I just bought a double-CD of REM's "best of the IRS sessions," meaning the label IRS under which their early albums were released. It was a purchase in one of the many great CD/Vinyl shops in Brussels that I have come to respect. Since I have been spending more time in Brussels over the past few months than I have since living in Belgium, I am finding some very good specialty shops, primarily for music. If there is one very positive thing I can say about Brussels, you can find anything when it comes to music amongst the four shops or so that I know of there.
As such, I have been trying to convince my Irish friend that REM is not merely a commercially successful band as they have become, but they were seriously cutting edge for many, many years. Success may have blindsided them, but arguably they are one of the most influential American bands of all time. No, they are. Period.
I remember getting my first taste of REM from a cassette that my sister gave me that her friend Steve from Rice University had given me in 1983/4, just when Murmur came out, which was also when U2's War came out. On the A-side of that Memorex cassette (which I still have and cherish) was War, and the B-side was Murmur from a band nobody had heard of, especially in Amarillo, Texas.
I actually cannot believe that that cassette is still playable as I played the living hell out of it, over and over and over on my grey and black Walkman II. It is amazing that it is still in one celluloid band. That single cassette probably sent me into the world of "alternative" music at the same time keeping me rooted in the classic. From then on, I listened to anything and everything, from Bauhaus to George Strait. In addition, I had my dad's old LP's ranging from Marty Robbins to Captain Beefheart.
There was not much I did not try out with regards to music styles. Having recently also been watching "the making of..." with respect to classic albums, I have learned more about The Doors, RUSH, Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden, Frank Zappa, Simply Red, and on and on. to the point I think my real calling was a radio DJ...
What stands out is that REM does stand on the shoulders of giants, despite leaving him cold as Michael Stipe sings in this video, "King of Birds," perhaps one of my favorite REM songs. But, kudos to them, they stood on the shoulders, then jumped off, forging a consciousness of their own in the smithy of their Georgian souls.
I am again listening to the origins of REM non-stop right now, and wanted to share an early song, way before (at least metaphorically) "Losing My Religion" jettisoned them to being the giants on whose shoulders others would stand.
I believe that when an artist has to explain his or her work, the work has failed...and worse, listening to the said artist explain is often painful to say the least, so I will keep this brief.
Recently in Bologna, at a cafe, this song came on, and the person I was talking to did not know the reference of this song.
The Buggles' "Video Killed the Radio Star" was the FIRST video that was played on the fledgling MTV station 1 1/2 years later in 1981.
I remember being a young lad in Amarillo, Texas, having just moved from Louisville, Kentucky, and not have many friends, found my best friend in MTV (and Thundercats, the original), and I was blown away. Now, there were only so many videos in circulation...Haircut 100, Mott the Hoople, Def Leopard, Herbie Hancock, Billy Ocean, Duran Duran and a few others, but the Buggles would come up daily.
So, here we are, some thirty years later, and Youtube and other -Tubes have basically made the video of MTV and VH1 obsolete...in a very short time. MySpace was somewhere in between, but no one would ever think of being on MTV first now, yet, when it replaced the radio, you were DEAD if you did not get on MTV. Alan Hunter (cameo in David Bowie's "Fashion", Kurt Loder, Mark Goodman, Nina Blackwood, the impish Martha Quinn and J.J. Jackson were the VJ's who had the Caesarian thumbs up or the thumbs down to make or break a band's career.
But, then, like the laity of the Church, again moving from the priestly to the flock, videos went from the vaulted to the garage band variety of Youtube, which is, momentarily where we find ourselves.
So, the Video, in all of its glory, actually was its own undoing...hence the title of this blog...sorry to be so didactic, but I realized I must have failed in my subtlety as most people have missed this reference, so there it is, and here are the Buggles...
Thinking of Birthday songs as this is indeed my Birthday, I can't help but choose The Sugarcubes. So, for those of you who didn't know, this is where Björk came from, and as you can see in this video, a very young Björk at that.
The Sugarcubes were the darling punk band from Iceland. I remember hearing about them from my friend Mark in college, then a couple years later, my sister was just in her nascent stage of a very successful career behind the camera in film, was at NYU for a film program. They used The Sugarcubes for one of the shorts, and it was just perfect. So, with that memory, I decided to dredge the up from the annals of history again.
Amazing that you can have The Sugarcubes and Sigur Ros from such an unexpected place. Music truly is something that never ceases to amaze me.
There was a time in my life that you might say I was
slightly “obsessed” with (The) Pink Floyd. Along with Rush and Led Zeppelin at
the time, there was not much else I listened to, as well as reading interviews
and trying to “figure out” certain lyrics. Forget the Stones and the Beatles,
for me it was all about Pink Floyd who were really taking music to a different
level of experimentation with such albums/soundtracks as Mettle, More, Obscured by the Clouds, Animals, Ummagumma, Piper at the Gates
of Dawn, and so on.
Pink Floyd did not really break onto the “public” scene
until the LPs Wish you Were Here and Dark Side of the Moon, which led then to
The Wall, which ultimately was their demise for some time due to the internal
rift of the band. Though it had been brewing for years between Roger Waters and
everyone else in the band, championed on the other side by David Gilmour, who
had replaced Syd Barrett after his complete mental and physical breakdown. For
one, as a result of coming in later into the band, for Waters, Gilmour remained
the “new guy,” something he apparently never let him live down.
When I was first really into Floyd (around 8th
grade, easy to remember as our Vice Principal was named Floyd J. and he was
wont to wear a pink blazer at times…too easy mark), I thought it was all about
Waters and that the others were merely musicians who supported his genius.
However, over the years, that began to change, slowly at first, then ultimately
quite a turnaround.
The more interviews I read, then later saw during
documentaries and whatnot, the more irritating Waters became and the better
Gilmour came off as the “silent partner,” without whom Waters would not be such
the genius. This is further apparent when you check out their respective solo
careers when Pink Floyd first split. Aside from some brilliant work on The
Final Cut, Waters has not really produced much of anything worth mentioning.
However, Gilmour’s solo album is great and then when he re-formed the band
without Waters, inviting back Nick Mason on drums and Rick Wright on keyboards
(whom Waters had “fired” without the consent of the rest of the band), they
produced some very good music. Meanwhile, Waters continued whining about how he
was “Pink Floyd,” ironically bringing the warning of “Have a Cigar”
to life about mistaking the fact that there is no “Pink” (not, of course,
referring to the current Pink).
What for me, though, was the final cut was seeing Gilmour at
the helm for the “Learning to Fly” tour in 1987-88. My friend Nevin and I were
sitting in our dorm room and we heard the announcer on the radio (when people
still listened just to the radio…) describing the scene about the Pink Floyd
show downtown. He was literally at a loss of words to describe the tension and
the stage set-up, and this was an hour before the show! So, Nevin and I looked
at each other and basically not even having to say it, jumped up and ran to my
car, not caring that we had no tickets and less than an hour to get through
concert traffic in downtown Dallas. We were going to see Pink Floyd. (This
scene was repeated some years later in Freiburg, Germany driving down to Bern,
Switzerland within two hours to see them again.)
So, we are driving down and the traffic looks impossible,
but we were so close, not turning back now. And, the scalpers then began to
become desperate as the show was about to begin. One came up to us offering 4th
Row, Floor seats at an insanely low price. Was he swindling us? Not sure,
didn’t care. We bought them, found a parking place five minutes before the show
was to start, ran to the door, handing the Security our tickets, waiting to see
if we would get in, or get busted for counterfeit tickets. He looked at them,
and moved aside, saying “Enjoy the show…” We were in.
Those next 3 hours (yes, it was a 3-hour concert!) were
mind-blowing and without a doubt to this day perhaps the most amazing spectacle
I had ever seen. What also happened was that Gilmour won me over for good. It
is difficult to describe, in fact, I won’t even try, a Pink Floyd concert, as
the radio announcer also found out. It is the greatest assault on the senses
that can be comparable to walking down a street in downtown Madurai.
And yet, there were Gilmour, Mason, and Wright with a very
large supporting band, having the time of their lives. Gilmour was wearing a
white t-shirt and jeans and was the most relaxed person in the arena, and he
never stopped smiling, knowing that Pink Floyd was back as this was one of the
first concerts in over a decade for them. When the spotlight went to Wright for
the first time, the crowd went nuts. Nobody missed Waters, who throughout the
entirety of the tour gave interview after interview saying that was not Pink
Floyd. Well, he was not Pink...
Recently, a friend of mine said he saw a documentary on the
making of Dark Side of the Moon, which I am pretty sure I saw the same one, and
he commented on how annoying Waters is in comparison to Gilmour and the others.
He does speak of them as if they really were quite inferior to him.
Now, the backstory. All of Pink Floyd members went to
Cambridge University, which is where I am currently writing this post in a
coffee shop called “Indigo.” As you may well know, Cambridge is one of the
finest Universities in the world, so the fact that all of them went here, and
knew each other at the time, makes it pretty hard to swallow Waters’ bitter
pill that he had a leg up on the others. They were just more modest as it has
come to pass.
The follow-up LP to A
Momentary Lapse of Reason (the Learning to Fly tour impetus) is The Division Bell. Here, the gloves come
off, and the three other Cambridge fellows give Waters the knock-out punch,
even using a boxing metaphor in one song, and Rick Wright is given the
spotlight again to basically tell Waters to go f**k himself. This was after
nearly two decades of silence and it is quite hard to feeling sorry for Waters
for all of the acid he had spewed over the years. The final song, “High Hopes,”
co-written by Gilmour and his wife Polly Samson, goes back to the hallowed
halls of Cambridge, with haunting lyrics and music, and suggests that perhaps
here along the Backs and along the River Cam, this is where it all went wrong.
Though this was not in the first concert I saw, I did see
this song live years later, and it literally gave me a chill up my spine, and
solidified Gilmour as the final voice of Pink Floyd. He moved on. Waters did not. The fight was over.
Leonad Cohen has been on my mind lately, not sure why, but I find myself keeping Time with his songs in my head and phrases have been brought to the fore, whether as snippets of memories or as expressions in the Present.
Once such memory is a trip I took to Buda-Pest some twenty years ago, almost to the day. I was traveling with my friend Max, who deserves a book all in itself, and we took a journey to the East of sorts while we were both students in a European Studies program here in Antwerp, the first time I lived here.
Eastern Europe was just opening its doors, as the Wall had just come down some years before, and I had been "lucky" enough to be in East Germany before that had happened, so I was able to see the dramatic difference of the before and after some years later.
Max and I headed out to Prague per overnight bus, which was nothing short of an ashtray on wheels. This was a time when there was no such thing as non-smoking, and between the Czechs going home and the Western Europeans going to visit, it was a nine-hour chain smoke. For someone who has never smoked, let's just say it was less than pleasant.
After a brief stint in Prague, we jumped on a musty, old railcar that was part of the Orient Express, and headed to Budapest, the former sister city of Vienna of the formidable Austro-Hungarian empire that supplied the world with so much art and architecture, and of course, music. The waltzes along the Danube are legendary in Classical music, and in thinking of Budapest, I then must have Cohen's "Take this Waltz" on the brain.
One of the most vivid memories I have of that trip was an old-fashioned coffee house on the Pest side of the river. There, the waiters wore iron-pressed long, white aprons. The ceilings held numerous large chandeliers, which had these yellowish globular lights that barely gave off more than a spectral aura, much less light. The walls were covered in large, Baroque mirrors and there was a long wooden bar, finished out in brass. Max and I were the only patrons having coffee, with a staff of 15 or so waiters, waiting for the masses to come. It was out of Time, and somewhat surreal.
That memory, for me, fits perfectly with Cohen's surreal waltz....
As people who know me, know well that it is nearly
impossible to pin down my “favorite” genre, musician, song, or type of music,
and I try to expose myself to as many different types as possible. My biggest
re-morse from India is not bringing back a bag full of Indian music, both Hindi
and Tamil, but that will be for next time.
However, in the past week or so, this is my “favorite” new
song that I heard on Radio 1 here in Belgium. It was one of the first times in
a while that I sat in my car til the song was done.
I knew it was Richard Thompson, as I have been aware of him
for 20 years or so, so I was not listening to hear who it was, but rather just
to listen until the song had played its course.
As it is just out, there is no official video yet, so this
may serve as a placeholder in the meantime. It is from Joe’s Pub in NYC from a
few days ago. The album is called “Electric” and I have scanned it on iTunes
and will most likely get the CD next time I am wandering the aisles of a music
store, most likely next time I take a trip down to Brussels.
Not the best quality, but it gets the mood across.
