In the Modern World - Jesse Malin
How You Like Me Now - The Heavy
Don't Ever Promise - American Princes
Want - Tommy Flake
Livin Was Easy - The Glands
Real Long Distance - Josh Ritter
You Blanks - Portastatic
Slow Descent into Alcoholism - The New Pornographers
Some Kinda Love - The Velvet Underground
Working Girls (Live) - The Perniece Brothers
The Good Slot - Grand Champeen
Heaven Help the New Girl - The Long Blondes
Sugar Cane - Sonic Youth
Watch Out for Me Ronnie - Yo La Tengo
More Than I Can Talk About - The Mice
Street Lights - Josh Rouse
Coma Girl - Joe Strummer & the Mescaleros
Come Anytime - Hoodoo Gurus
One Man Guy - Rufus Wainright
Polyanna - Patterson Hood
Painted Shut - Jay Reatard
Monday, March 22, 2010
Cry Like a Baby
Op-Ed Contributor
Beyond the Box Tops
('A reflection on Alex Chilton, the soulful singer of the Box Tops and Big Star, by the man who wrote the song “Alex Chilton.”')
By PAUL WESTERBERG
Published: March 20, 2010
Minneapolis
HOW does one react to the death of one’s mentor? My mind instantly slammed down the inner trouble-door that guards against all thought, emotion, sadness. Survival mode. Rock guitar players are all dead men walking. It’s only a matter of time, I tell myself as I finger my calluses. Those who fail to click with the world and society at large find safe haven in music — to sing, write songs, create, perform. Each an active art in itself that offers no promise of success, let alone happiness.
Yet success shone early on Alex Chilton, as the 16-year-old soulful singer of the hit-making Box Tops. Possessing more talent than necessary, he tired as a very young man of playing the game — touring, performing at state fairs, etc. So he returned home to Memphis. Focusing on his pop writing and his rock guitar skills, he formed the group Big Star with Chris Bell. Now he had creative control, and his versatility shone bright. Beautiful melodies, heart-wrenching lyrics: “I’m in Love with a Girl,” “September Gurls.”
On Big Star’s masterpiece third album, Alex sang my favorite song of his, “Nighttime” — a haunting and gorgeous ballad that I will forever associate with my floor-sleeping days in New York. Strangely, the desperation in the line “I hate it here, get me out of here” made me, of all things, happy. He went on to produce more artistic, challenging records. One equipped with the take-it-or-leave-it — no, excuse me, with the take-it-like-I-make-it — title “Like Flies on Sherbert.” The man had a sense of humor, believe me.
It was some years back, the last time I saw Alex Chilton. We miraculously bumped into each other one autumn evening in New York, he in a Memphis Minnie T-shirt, with take-out Thai, en route to his hotel. He invited me along to watch the World Series on TV, and I immediately discarded whatever flimsy obligation I may have had. We watched baseball, talked and laughed, especially about his current residence — he was living in, get this, a tent in Tennessee.
Because we were musicians, our talk inevitably turned toward women, and Al, ever the Southern gentleman, was having a hard time between bites communicating to me the difficulty in ... you see, the difficulty in (me taking my last swig that didn’t end up on the wall, as I boldly supplied the punch line) “... in asking a young lady if she’d like to come back to your tent?” We both darn near died there in a fit of laughter.
Yeah, December boys got it bad, as “September Gurls” notes. The great Alex Chilton is gone — folk troubadour, blues shouter, master singer, songwriter and guitarist. Someone should write a tune about him. Then again, nah, that would be impossible. Or just plain stupid.
Paul Westerberg, a musician, was the lead singer of the Replacements.
Beyond the Box Tops
('A reflection on Alex Chilton, the soulful singer of the Box Tops and Big Star, by the man who wrote the song “Alex Chilton.”')
By PAUL WESTERBERG
Published: March 20, 2010
Minneapolis
HOW does one react to the death of one’s mentor? My mind instantly slammed down the inner trouble-door that guards against all thought, emotion, sadness. Survival mode. Rock guitar players are all dead men walking. It’s only a matter of time, I tell myself as I finger my calluses. Those who fail to click with the world and society at large find safe haven in music — to sing, write songs, create, perform. Each an active art in itself that offers no promise of success, let alone happiness.
Yet success shone early on Alex Chilton, as the 16-year-old soulful singer of the hit-making Box Tops. Possessing more talent than necessary, he tired as a very young man of playing the game — touring, performing at state fairs, etc. So he returned home to Memphis. Focusing on his pop writing and his rock guitar skills, he formed the group Big Star with Chris Bell. Now he had creative control, and his versatility shone bright. Beautiful melodies, heart-wrenching lyrics: “I’m in Love with a Girl,” “September Gurls.”
On Big Star’s masterpiece third album, Alex sang my favorite song of his, “Nighttime” — a haunting and gorgeous ballad that I will forever associate with my floor-sleeping days in New York. Strangely, the desperation in the line “I hate it here, get me out of here” made me, of all things, happy. He went on to produce more artistic, challenging records. One equipped with the take-it-or-leave-it — no, excuse me, with the take-it-like-I-make-it — title “Like Flies on Sherbert.” The man had a sense of humor, believe me.
It was some years back, the last time I saw Alex Chilton. We miraculously bumped into each other one autumn evening in New York, he in a Memphis Minnie T-shirt, with take-out Thai, en route to his hotel. He invited me along to watch the World Series on TV, and I immediately discarded whatever flimsy obligation I may have had. We watched baseball, talked and laughed, especially about his current residence — he was living in, get this, a tent in Tennessee.
Because we were musicians, our talk inevitably turned toward women, and Al, ever the Southern gentleman, was having a hard time between bites communicating to me the difficulty in ... you see, the difficulty in (me taking my last swig that didn’t end up on the wall, as I boldly supplied the punch line) “... in asking a young lady if she’d like to come back to your tent?” We both darn near died there in a fit of laughter.
Yeah, December boys got it bad, as “September Gurls” notes. The great Alex Chilton is gone — folk troubadour, blues shouter, master singer, songwriter and guitarist. Someone should write a tune about him. Then again, nah, that would be impossible. Or just plain stupid.
Paul Westerberg, a musician, was the lead singer of the Replacements.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Movie Night
"Is that what you wanna do with your life? Suck down on peppermint Schnapps and call Morocco at 2AM? That's senseless. But that's what happens, man." Mark Borchardt, American Movie
Didn't call Morrocco last night, I don't think. But had a great time and really good dinner.
Hot Pepper and Cheese Chicken over rice from Paul Prudhomme's classic Louisana Kitchen
Momofuko Hanger Steak Saam with ginger scallion sauce and spicy kimchee from David Chang/Momofuko
Crispy Corn Bread from the Hot & Hot Fish Club Cookbook
Pork Liver Pate and Blue Cheese & cranberries provided by JZ
Movie Night last night with Brett, Joel, Dawg, Brian D., Scott. More like Movie Festival since we watched 3 films!!
American Movie - Amazing documentary about Mark Borchardt's endless desire to make a movie. Hysterical and poignant. I've seen this 5 or 6 times now.
Too Tough to Die - Tribute to Johnny Ramone
It Might Get Loud - Jimmy Page, Edge, Jack White talk about guitars
March EMusic:
Quasi - American Gong
The Heavy - The House that Dirt Built
Rodney Crowell - Sex and Gasoline
Josh Rouse - Nashville
The Gits - Frenching the Bully
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