new books, new playlist

A mixed playlist this time, welcoming two new books to bookstores and libraries everywhere.

The first, Fritz Danced the Fandango, is by my friend Alicia Potter, one of the first people to make me love Boston, Mass. This is her first published kids book, though there are more in the pipe! It's about a lovely little goat, looking for a new herd because his old one doesn't like his clippety-clop.



The second, Itty Bitty, is by Cece Bell. (If you read this blog at all, you know her already.) Itty Bitty is a small dog trying to turn a big, cavernous bone into something that feels a little more comfortable. Small dog, big color.


And so, the playlist:

Fandango by the Steve Miller Band. (Okay, this is the only one I could find off the top of my head, aside from the ZZ Top album, which doesn't have a song by the same name. And apparently no one has created a youtube video with Steve Miller's Fandango in the background, so you'll just have to get a tiny snippet off of Amazon, or go raid your vinyl.)

Fandango by Herb Alpert. You know Herb from seeing Whipped Cream and Other Delights in thrift stores across America. This is earlier Herb.

Some authentic flamenco music from Camaron de la Isla

It's not the Fandango. It's "Hokey Pokey" by Dan Zanes and Father Goose (one of the "and friends" from Dan Zanes and Friends, but also an entity unto himself). You can find this tune on the Family Dance album.


She Bought a Dog by Southern Culture on the Skids. Argh, I wish I could find this on youtube so you could hear what a glorious song it is! It's on our family car jams, SCOTS at their finest and funniest, I think. From the Too Much Pork for Just One Fork album.

Rufus Thomas, Walking the Dog. (For a real treat, check out his version of Old MacDonald Had a Farm, the best version ever recorded. Bar none.

Hound Dog. But we'll go with Big Mama Thornton's version here. (Sorry, Elvis. I love ya, but...)

We are Monkees obsessed in our house this month (thank you, Netflix!) so here's "Gonna Buy Me a Dog."

(Trying to keep it happy and clean, so we'll stay away from Neil Young's "Old King" and Snoop's "Doggie Dog World".)

akron family

I didn't review these guys when I saw them, but in the hopes of keeping a sorta-kinda record of the bands I see, I wanted to add Megafaun and Akron Family to the list. I went into this show blind. With exception of a late start (something I could handle when I was younger but something that now, in the post-40 years, really pisses me off) I dug them both. You can follow these links to their myspace pages.
Akron Family
Megafaun

Neil Young's Blog

Lord knows I don't mean to be grumpy, especially on a weekend, but I just spent the most money I have ever spent on a concert ticket to see Neil Young and the show was "pretty good." A show can be pretty good for $16. A show can be pretty good for $30. But when you start charging more than $50 for the bad seats (and way more for the good ones) the show cannot be pretty good. It needs to be amazing.

Because of the price, my husband and I initially passed on tickets to Thursday's show figuring we would buy, say, a bicycle instead. But then Neil added a second date at DAR Constitution Hall. It was near my husband's birthday. It was near my birthday. One ticket for each birthday. We could almost justify that. Almost.

Pegi Young, Neil's wife, opened. I just want to say that:

1. I myself cannot carry a tune in a bucket and my guitar playing is only pedestrian. But when I asked my husband if he would let me open for him if he were performing on stage, he said "yes." Hmmm.

2. The sitar is a wonderful instrument. It has a unique sound. But putting it on Pegi's country song was a little like when my son decided to make a pie out of whipped cream and mayonnaise.

Neil started out with an acoustic set as he did when we saw him the last time (in Boston, a much better show and a much better price). But aside from "Cowgirl in the Sand," his song choices were a little off. Tempo didn't vary much. And his newer stuff sounded as if he was keeping some sort of stream-of-consciousness blog and one day he went looking through that blog and said, "I suppose these could be song lyrics." The organ on "A Man Needs a Maid," regardless of what The Washington Post said in its warmer and fuzzier review, seemed almost as out of place as the sitar. Some of the set was poignant, sure. Some of the blog-lyrics were even poignant. And Neil Young's voice is as reedy and beautiful as ever. His guitar playing, too. I still heart Neil Young! But last night the whole package just wasn't there and the pacing was off. The electric set was much better, particularly the lengthy, hypnotic jam on No Hidden Path, so at least we could leave on a high note.

I have a friend whose son is going to private school. She's not so happy with the school. I think the fact that she's paying $10,000 a year is making it worse. We'll call it The Neil Young Ticket Price analogy.

Some other notes:
Hair color of crowd: gray.
Behavior of crowd: stupid. I hate that people feel they have to have some sort of dialogue with the singer. It's one thing when you shout out requests from a musician who will take them. But it's another when Neil Young opens his mouth and actually says something, and then the crowd feels they have to respond with "NEIL. HEY NEIL. NEIL YOUNG." Note to guy who kept yelling that: DUDE, HE KNOWS HIS NAME.
A typo: As part of the set, a man stood on stage painting pictures and putting them up on an easel, announcing the next song. He had one painting that said "Bad Fog of Lonliness." IS IT WRONG, WHEN YOU PAY TOO MUCH FOR A CONCERT TICKET, TO EXPECT LONELINESS TO BE SPELLED CORRECTLY?
Best dancer: either the guy in the tux or the ponytailed dude whose repeat arm gestures during the final mega-jam invoked the drum scene in Freaks and Geeks. If I'd had a video camera, the number of you-tube hits would have rivaled tron guy.
Best merch; Would have to be the $70 Neil Young apron. $70? Good lord. That's almost the price of a concert ticket.
Best perk: My mother-in-law babysat!
New thing that you wouldn't know if you haven't attended a big concert in a while: Instead of holding up lighters now, people hold up their cell phones.
What that says about American culture: Nothing very good.

The setlist, courtesy of www.surgarmtn.org:
From Hank To Hendrix
Ambulance Blues
Sad Movies
A Man Needs A Maid
Try
No One Seems To Know
Harvest
After The Gold Rush
Mellow My Mind
Love Art Blues
Kansas
Cowgirl In The Sand
---
The Loner
Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere
Dirty Old Man
Spirit Road
Bad Fog Of Loneliness
Winterlong
Oh, Lonesome Me
The Believer
No Hidden Path
---
Cinnamon Girl
Tonight's The Night
The Sultan

more music

In the Hey, Ma, Get a Life Department, I've actually seen more music in the past two months than I have in the past couple of years combined.

Nov. 8: Tinariwen at Lisner Auditorium. Incredible percussion and smoking electric guitars. They wear their native Bedouin clothing, which makes them look as if they should be standing in front of camels instead of amplifiers. Make no mistake, though: this group is what brings the real heat to the desert.

Nov. 14. The Gourds at State Theater in Falls Church. This is the second time I've seen The Gourds this year, but no matter; the band requires repeated viewing. One night with them is like seeing five bands perform. So many influences merge here, and the result is always good. Plus, they look like they're having a great time: Kevin Russell, whose voice reminds you that the devil was an angel once, too; Jimmy Smith, the rocker with his vices on display and whose name sound generic but who is as unique as they come; Max Johnston (formerly of Uncle Tupelo where he was equally good, but never looked quite as happy) with his many instruments, Claude Bernard with his accordion (and many instruments) and drummer Keith Langsford, steady with a flare. I heart The Gourds! Watched the first half of the show from the floor in front of the stage, surrounded by big hairy men. Watched the last part from a barstool where my husband and I watched over a beer for a guy who said he would be right back. We saw him wandering around the room later in the evening, looking for something, but he was too far away to hear us call. Then the band kicked into "Lower 48" and he forgot what he was looking for.

Uncle Monk

I went out last night to Jammin' Java in Vienna. This is the first time I've been to Jammin' Java without the kids, and therefore the first time I've been there after dark, the first time I've been there to see someone other than Rocknoceros or Mr. Frank the Banjo Man. The someone was actually two someones; a duo called Uncle Monk that featured Tommy Ramone.

I love the Ramones. And I love bluegrass. So the idea of one of The Ramones playing bluegrass was impossible to pass up. (Plus, my brother had seen Uncle Monk in New York. "Isn't this kind of a nexus for you?" he said. "You need to go.")

You might remember Tommy as The Sane Ramone, if you watched the documentary on the group, which I did. Sort of. I had to turn it off half way through because I was afraid too much information would ruin my fantasy about these guys and things turned dicey fast.  You also might remember him as The Living Ramone, as he's the only remember of the original four who's still alive today (though later Ramones, including Marky, who replaced Tommy as drummer and was around circa Rocket to Russia days, are still kicking, too.)

Tommy does not show up for performances in a leather jacket. His hair is still long, but it's gray now, pulled back in a ponytail. He wears suspenders. He looks like a guy you might see sitting outside a vegetarian restaurant reading Mother Jones Magazine. He plays mandolin pretty well. Not well like Ricky Skaggs or Dave Grisman or Ronnie McCoury, but he doesn't have anything to be embarrassed about. He also sings. His voice isn't high and lonesome. It is simply his voice, on key, honest, singing the songs that speak to him now, like "Working on a Building" and "Long Journey Home" or any of the roots-inspired tunes he made up. 

His partner, Claudia Tienan, has a voice built for bluegrass and old-time. She sings the way the old folks do, like a ventriloquist, with her mouth hardly opening at all. She plucks a steady rhythm on the guitar but I didn't see her try so much as a G-run. Her last band was called "The Simplistics," if that serves as explanation. And perhaps it does. You don't need to be Mozart to make good music. You just need guts.

In the 1970s, Tommy Ramone knew enough about music to help change it. I wouldn't say that he's changing music now. But he's making music. He still has something to contribute so he's doing it. That's punk. And that's what counts.