Dear God

An atheist goes around knocking on Mormons' doors in Salt Lake City.

Before there was Indie, there was Indo

The mysterious El Cogote sends along this piece of outrageous stunt-rock from 1960. Must be seen to be believed.

Some background on the Dutch "Indo-Rock" scene here. They were gearheads too!

The torch is passed

The Dead Schembechlers move on. You know, in good taste.

If you can't beat them, convert them

Unbelievable news from Minnesota.

No, actually, very believable. But unfortunate.

I got the hook-up!

Just days after I finally caved and got myself a mobile phone, I see this.

(It's a new wrinkle on an old story, with which Onion fans surely are familiar.)

It's growing green

A quiet evening at home last night yielded Moyers On America on PBS, which dedicated an installment to an unlikely environmentalist movement among white Evangelical Christians. Of particular note were the remarks of one Richard Cizik, whose profile is defined by a combination of social conservatism and eco-friendly, pro-regulation policy. Although Cizik never squares off directly with Dr. E. Calvin Beisner, his rival in the program (Moyers questions them separately), their arguments appear in sharp counterpoint. (So sharp, in fact, that Beisner appears to have objected to the program in its entirety.) Beisner wasn't much. He reminded me of the non-scientist who edited environmental reports commissioned by the Bush Administration.

At this point I am happy to see that Evangelicals might consider voting with environmental issues in mind. I wonder how many of them will actually be swayed at the ballot box, and how easily any perceived alliance between eco-conservatives and the green-minded left might fall apart. It seems unlikely that environmentalists of any kind will ever get sufficient support in Idaho to make much of a difference on Election Day, although the scenes in West Virginia may tell a different story. Black well water and ruined mountaintop views go a long way.
[There is a bit of global warming talk among tutors and home-schooled students in Jesus Camp, too, by the way. It can't help matters that anti-environmentalist ideas (as opposed to pro-pollution ideas?) are being drummed into little kids. Then again, some would disagree....]

You would think that sooner or later, deeply religious people would associate the Biblical idea of "tending the garden" with the modern environmental movement. You would think they would consider the ill effects of unfettered capitalism as out of line with the teachings of Jesus. I haven't done any Bible study, so I can't tell you what Christian ideas balance these, exactly, although Beisner interprets the idea of "dominion" over nature as "forceful rule." Yikes.

Regardless, the time has come for conservatives to recognize that conservation isn't just a lefty issue anymore -- it's an American one. If we're really "addicted to oil," can we please re-classify those SUVs now? (Especially now that CNN is running stories like "SUVs Bounce Back!")

Best moment in the show: when Senator Inhofe makes reference to Reverend Haggard. Yes!

Me, Onioned

Apparently my experience with the Dixie Hummingbirds has already been the subject of parody. Ouch.


FMFM: the sound of cell phones ringing

Where have all the rude boys gone?

Boss wonders why so few people under 50 showed up for the Dixie Hummingbirds show. I respond with another quote from the flash mob piece.


FMFM: Outtakes from Exile On Main Street. The slow "Loving Cup" is devastating....

Down the Dixie highway, back home

Although I'd never heard a note of their music, there was no way I was going to miss the Dixie Hummingbirds' performance at the Great American Music Hall last night. With memories of another Sunday night four years ago when Solomon Burke sang in the same room for perhaps sixty people on the night the Giants lost the World Series, I headed down there expecting wondrous things and a too-small crowd. Gospel music on a Sunday night. Yes.

Take a look at that bio: The band's been together for seventy-eight years. Seventy-eight! No one onstage had actually been doing it for quite that long, but apparently frontman Ira Tucker joined in 1938 as a thirteen-year-old. (We're getting into Hackberry Ramblers territory here.) Although one of the singers, William Bright, could easily have been over 60, two of the four primary vocalists are quite young. Tucker introduced bass singer Cornell McKnight and said he was a 21-year-old college student.

The Hummingbirds' Wikipedia entry says that Tucker was known for energetic acts of showmanship, which now brings a faint smile to my lips. At eighty-one years old, can't really pull the James Brown moves anymore, but he did seem to be setting up the crowd with excruciatingly slow song introductions followed by bursts of energy, either in speech or in song.

The emphasis was on singing, where it should be. The four men sang over relatively spare accompaniment, a guitar-bass-drums trio in which all three players contributed backing vocals. The guitarist, with the unlikely name of Lyndon Baines Jones, seemed to play without effects, although his C&W-influenced solos were razor-sharp. The others essentially stayed in the pocket all night so as not to distract from the close harmonies up front.

And those harmonies are so close that at times they barely seem to come from human beings. (McKnight's voice from the bottom of the ocean sure helped in that regard.) It's easy to drift away on a cloud when people sound this good together. Rarely did anyone fly up into falsetto; the Hummingbirds' harmonies are more of the cool blue flame variety, although they are not without their intensities. Tucker did drop to his knees to testify once, surrounded by (and helped up by) his fellow singers.

This was one of the most satisfying nights of music I can recall. For this rare show, attendance was likely under 100 people, although I think the GAMH's capacity is more like 600. I believe I was the only SonicLiving user to even sign up for it. (Most popular SonicLiving artists: Radiohead, Beck, Shins, Death Cab.) I suppose gospel music doesn't really bring in the thrift-store crowd, of which I admit I am a proud member, but I was still surprised at the weak turnout.

Which got me to thinking. I was there primarily for aesthetic reasons and historical context. I'm interested in the gospel style as one of many styles you might find on my turntable, interested in this harmony singing style as a forerunner of soul music, and in the Hummingbirds as historical figures who are still a thriving, working band. But content? Honestly, I'm likely to roll my eyes at feverish Christian talk when I hear it on the radio. Bible-thumping is something I'd prefer to keep out of my life. And yet, my cynical atheist/agnostic self was so profoundly touched by this performance that I felt like an asshole for drinking a Miller High Life in their presence. I was treating this spectacular exhibition as historically interesting entertainment, and the performers themselves were treating it as spreading the Word.

I was reminded of a guy I saw at the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass festival a couple of years ago. Drunk to hell, waving around a bottle of Jack Daniel's, he was out on the lawn when Gillian Welch said, "Now we're going to do a gospel tune," and he let out the loudest, longest whoop I heard at the fest. Had he got the Holy Ghost in him, or was he just momentarily convinced that gospel music is frickin' cool?

OK. I'm not going to beat myself up over this or anything, and it's not like I felt like I didn't belong. The Dixie Hummingbirds are just very convincing performers, that's all, and I'm allowed to show up to see an example of a musical form even if it's not in step with my overall world view, right? If I held every artist to deep philosophical standards, I'd have to kick 90% of my music collection to the curb. Or all of it, maybe.

Anyway they finished up with "Loves Me Like A Rock," the Paul Simon song on which the band sang in the early 1970s, and quickly came out to shake some hands when the house lights came up. All revealed themselves as personable, even-keeled people. And thanks, GAMH, for wrapping things up by 10:30 on a school night.

Emmit Powell's Gospel Elites were a perfect warmup act. Nine microphones and nine Calistoga waters across the front of the stage, with a four-piece backing band behind them. Each of the singers took a solo turn, with Powell serving as ringmaster. I especially liked the one woman who testified that Jesus cured her of renal disease. Oh, and Boss says Powell makes great soul food too.

Brrrrrr!

A youthful Nick Lowe, looking smashing and sounding even better with Brinsley Schwarz. Knockout clip.

Things are what you make of them

I first became acquainted with Bishop Allen via Music For Robots this summer, when the blog supplied a link to "Click Click Click Click". That little song, about a stranger walking into someone's wedding photograph, has been stuck in my head for months. I've even shared it with a couple of photographers who know a thing or two about shooting weddings.

"Click Click" is one of four songs on the band's July EP, one in a yearlong series in which the band is attempting to release a short record every month. (Not clear whether the concept has broken down yet.) That stunt has earned Bishop Allen plaudits in the Village Voice, among other places. Whether it's because of that gimmick, blog buzz or whatever else, an awful lot of people showed up last night at the Bar of Contemporary Art to see Bishop Allen, along with Starlight Mints and Tom Heinl. "I think everyone's here to see Bishop Allen," one 21-year-old kid said to me out front. I think he was right: Half the crowd, including this observer, left while Bishop Allen removed their equipment from the stage, before Starlight Mints could begin.

That was quite a task, too. I went up to check out their gear before they started playing, and it looked like they hadn't even finished setting up. The stage resembled some musician's messy attic, with a snare drum randomly placed over here, an old Wurlitzer there, a nylon-string guitar way in the back, a glockenspiel right in the middle.

Sure enough, though, when the five-piece band took the stage, the layout all made sense. It quickly became apparent that almost everyone was going to play multiple instruments as the night went on. The band played a series of thoughtfully-arranged pop songs, all melodic to the core. None were especially noisy or aggressive, although most were clearly rooted in a love for rock'n'roll. Everyone loved the quake reference in "The Same Fire" too. Seems like their main man can write a little, though I can't say how consistent he is just yet.

If you're curious, there's a film of Bishop Allen playing an earlier, louder version of "Click Click" on YouTube. Honestly, I found this clip fairly unconvincing, but the rearrangement of the song was far more likeable, as is the recorded version.

Opener Tom Heinl played alone with guitar, although he intermittently used pre-recorded elements as well. Like, say, fellow Oregonian Todd Snider, Heinl was as much a standup comic as a songwriter, with a tendency toward the bawdy and a penchant for writing about alcohol. He got a lot of laughs. After ten minutes, I thought I'd be recommending him heartily in this space. After twenty, I just wanted to go outside and get some fresh air.

I'd never been to BOCA before. (Check impressive reviews.) It's a newish venue tucked in an alley near Fifth and Market, around the dogleg from Mezzanine. There are a lot of video screens in the room, which maybe they should consider turning off during the live music performances. I don't mind a moderately expensive Martini if it's huge, and it was. But please, people, don't post the cover charge on your Web site as $9 if it's going to be $12. Not cool.

The great beyond

If you love the Advanced Theory like I do, you'll love this.

[UPDATE: Here's the video!]

Morning in America

I step out for breakfast, and great things happen.

Election news and notes

∙ I keep hearing accounts of people waiting in line for hours to vote. There were zero people waiting in front of me when I voted in the greater Fort Miley area. Three staffers sat in a private garage around the corner. I walked in, signed the book, voted and left. Easy.
∙ Montana: "We'll finish counting in the morning. It's bedtime."
∙ Cruz Bustamante: Will his star ever stop rising?
∙ Heath Shuler: Back to Washington!
∙ San Francisco: We're in favor of everything except parking taxes.
∙ I'll bet close to half the people in California could not name Schwarzenegger's opponent. This past week, at least two people looked at me blankly when I mentioned Phil Angelides' name, and asked me who he was. How inspiring.
∙ Thank goodness the levee repairs passed. I have no idea whether it will result in responsible development, but infrastructure maintenance of this sort is absolutely vital in California. I'm not sure people understand that.
∙ Rough day for sex offenders: GPS for life. (Eight-year-olds, dude.) [UPDATE! Maybe not so rough.]
∙ This one makes me happy. Dick Pombo was said to be one of the most corrupt people in the House, and he's been replaced by a wind energy consultant. I like it.
∙ And once again, sixty percent of the country just didn't bother.

I'd like to join the party, but I was not invited

Here's soon-to-be-former Pennsylvania Senator Rick Santorum, tonight, photographed by Carolyn Kaster for Time.

At the moment, things look very, very good.

Today is the day

As you go to vote, please enjoy this clip. (Press play.)

I usually shy away from comedic Bush-as-dolt Web humor, but this is far better than most.


FMFM: The Boyoyo Boys' Back In Town. Another mbaqanga LP, released in 1987 on Rounder Records. It's not quite as interesting as the Mahlathini record or Soweto Never Sleeps, but it's still a lively set of instrumental grooves. There are three people on the cover, but apparently four in the band (sax, guitar, bass and drums). Strangely, all the tracks are exactly three minutes long, although they made time for a few seconds of conversation at the beginning of a few!

Haggard al pastor

Okay, one more about Pastor Ted.

I see in the video interview that Pastor Ted "never kept [the meth] very long," and that one of the voice mails asks "if we could get any more." And he keeps insisting he bought it once and threw it away before using any.

It's almost as much fun to parse Pastor Ted as it is to compare him to his Boss.

(You didn't think I meant the Big Guy, did you?)


FMFM: Mahlathini: The Lion Of Soweto. I can't say exactly what's so entrancing about the mbaqanga township-jive sound, but lately I can't get enough. Unlike some other rhythmically complex musics -- say, funky soul records from New Orleans -- the musicians rarely if ever lag behind the beat, preferring to stay right on the so-called "indestructible" beat. They still had their own unique way with downbeats and upbeats, though.

I'd know those trebly, high-pitched guitar runs anywhere. Ray Phiri did this on Graceland too, but the guitar player on this record -- probably Marks Mankwane -- has his own unique thing going on. And he's fast, too! [UPDATE: Actually it might have been someone else after all. The jacket says it's Ndlondlo Bashise, aka the Mahlathini Guitar Band. Unclear who played guitar.]

I wonder exactly which rock and soul records made it all the way down there, how much of this is derived from local folk music and how much is the players' own pure creativity at work. It's a big world.

Oh, and the "groaning" singer is terrific too. No wonder he was such a big star. (Helpful English translations provided on the back cover!)

On the beach

Election season is driving me nuts.

I like to think of myself as relatively aware of current events, trends, contemporary politics and thought. I know I'm not the most informed citizen, and there is a certain point where logic and knowledge fail me. Just like everyone else, I have to go with my gut. Seeking humane solutions over violent ones, you know, that sort of thing.

I look at the posts in this space and how they've evolved over time. In election season 2004, there was a lot of material about debates, candidates, policy, and so forth. Since that time, I've posted primarily about rock shows, fun dollar-bin records, offbeat news, and distressing reactions to environmental problems.

It's not that I only care during election season, and the rest of the time I'm throwing my hands up in the air and saying, well, let's party. But I'd hate to think I'm succumbing to theater-as-news, campaign tactics playing out in media, and the other by-products of free discourse that we unfortunately have to endure every couple of years. (Yes, that's exactly what Gay Pastor Ted and Flailing Rush are all about, and here I am reacting to them.)

Well, then, here's something to chew on that's underrepresented in mainstream news this season. It comes courtesy of my amigo in the South Bay, who notes that Halliburton is building detention centers "in the event of an emergency influx of immigrants into the U.S.", while the President has taken the power to declare martial law in the event of a "public emergency." I see.


FMFM: Time Fades Away, the "Holy Grail" of all Neil Young albums. I've had an intact copy of this, with the original poster, for at least ten years, but never quite realized how sought-after it really is. It came up in conversation this week, and I learned that there's actually a petition to release it on CD.

Although I don't really think people would show it quite so much love if it had been freely available all along, there's a lot to like on Time Fades Away. The three piano songs are all jewels, particularly "Journey Through The Past," while the electric material is wildly over-the-top, noisy, rough, out-of-tune, and passionate. Apparently it's a relic of a tour Neil himself would rather forget, but he really ought not to keep it off the market completely. (In the meantime, let's just say my copy can now be duplicated easily.)

We mock the thing we are to be

The megachurch pastor angered by his portrayal in Jesus Camp, as noted recently in this space, has a whole new set of problems.

Hmm. Check out this passage from the May 2005 Harper's (republished today!):

He was always on the lookout for spies. At the time, Colorado Springs was a small city split between the Air Force and the New Age, and the latter, Pastor Ted believed, worked for the devil. Pastor Ted soon began upsetting the devil's plans. He staked out gay bars, inviting men to come to his church; his whole congregation pitched itself into invisible battles with demonic forces, sometimes in front of public buildings.

Can the outing of Fred Phelps be far behind?


FMFM: Buddy Miles' Them Changes, an eight-song slice of soul-rock that's "one of the great lost treasures of soul inspired rock music" but is also apparently out of print in this country. It's a shame. Treats include the original title track, later popularized by Jimi Hendrix on the Band of Gypsys record (on which Miles was the drummer); the Hammond groove of "Paul B. Allen, Omaha, Nebraska"; and an unexpectedly tasty reworking of the Allmans' "Dreams." I'm not entirely taken with Miles' version of Neil Young's "Down By The River," but I reserve the right to change my mind on that one too.

[UPDATE: Check the bio of Andre Lewis, the organist on "Paul B. Allen": Before the advent of Star Wars or Battlestar Galactica, MANDRE, in both his albums and live performances personified the "mystery man from outer space"....]