PunkIsrael

MTV is Sinking

I know, I know: the Christians doing moral outrage thing has been done. I am as tired of anti-cultural posturing from the religious camp as anyone else, and so I tend to avoid it. That being said, the first ten minutes of the MTV music awards last night, which was all I could make myself watch, was a curious mixture of the sad and the ridiculous.

Exhibit A: Britney Spears in lingerie, dry-humping dancers and lip-synching in a bored parody of herself five years ago. Yes, she has gained a little weight, which by Hollywood standards is a monstrous amount. Still, Britney is by no means an ugly woman. The sad thing was the resigned way in which she prostituted herself to the MTV media machine, while all along the network had Sarah Silverman in the wings, ready to move in for the kill.

Exhibit B: Said Silverman. Sarah, a blushing, sweet-looking Jewish girl with a chainsaw for a tongue, proceeded to lay into Britney, suggesting a) her kids were mistakes, b) her career was over, and graphically representing Britney's crotch by turning her face sideways and stretching her lips.

Classy. Not even Paris was laughing.

I read this morning about the fistfight between Kid Rock and Tommy Lee and Kanye West's promise never to return since he didn't win an award.

MTV, what happened to the music? You've become an absurd house of mirrors for pop culture, from the paper-thin characters of Newport Harbor ("Daddy, can I borrow the Learjet?") to question-begging episodes of Cribs (Wait: we're supposed to avoid pirating music so these guys can pay the light bill?). Enough already.

I'm not asking MTV to be church, but is it too much to ask for something redemptive?

Reverence for the Groove, I

I started playing piano when I was five or six. I was a lazy player, considered practice optional. "Hot cross buns, one-a-penny, two-a-penny" didn't appeal to me. I was already a snob. I wanted to sound like Starship, but sounded more like a disciple of James Bastien. I gave up.
A few years later, in Louisiana, I tried again. Same story: no interest. I watched a lot of "Duck Tales" at my piano teacher's house. I picked out "Chariots of Fire" by ear, but no one paid much attention. Again I gave up.
Later, in a junior high performing arts school, I faced a dilemma: I needed an arts elective. I already had creative writing scheduled. I had made an ill-fated run at french horn the year before (it seems horns and braces don't mix), and had done the classical choir with the pinched, humorless choirmaster. I could dance like M.C. Hammer but didn't know any ballet. I could draw cartoon characters but couldn't sketch a still life. That left piano. What the hell? My mom could play "Battle Hymn of the Republic;" how hard could it be?
Piano wasn't all I thought it would be. The class was called "piano ensemble." In other words, it was 30 electric pianos playing one-note-at-a-time versions of "Yesterday," all at once. Boring doesn't do it justice. It was blasphemous.
Then, one day, messing around after lunch, I started to play "Heart and Soul," with a friend, and my buttoned-up piano teacher shocked us by beginning to improvise to it. She played blues scales. She played runs. She rocked. I gaped. Where had she been hiding this? With a wink, she said, "practice hard, and you'll be able to do this one day." I couldn't think of anything I wanted more.
So the next day, I told her I wanted to play Beethoven's "Fur Elise" at the end of year recital. She said I couldn't do it, it was a fourth or fifth year piece. I told her to watch me, and sure enough, I did it. The next day, Walter Bragg called to see if I wanted to be in his piano class at Carver Creative and Performing Arts Center the next year.

---

There, I met Trey. At sixteen, Trey played keys like John Medeski. I was enthralled. When we would go to practice rooms so I could practice Bach or Chopin, he would come into my room and play "Take Five" or "Don't Get Around Much Anymore." His fingers seemed to have minds of their own. I learned the blues scale, C Eb F Gb G Bb, and started to fool around with blues runs. No one paid much attention. I played in a terrible band with a high school friend, and murdered a few keyboard solos; they sounded like a cross between Mozart and Sesame Street. The first time I met my best friend Holmes, he referred to me as "tutu man."

More Gentiles

Happy Birthday to Me

I'm going to see Costello in Atlanta in May.

One set of Il Sogno (Costello's symphony) with the Atlanta symphony orchestra, one set of Costello's other songs, also with the Atlanta symphony.

This is the second or third best thing that has ever happened to me.

I should also say that the entire thing was engineered by my incomparable family, and masterminded by my peerless sister Lauren, to whom I owe loyalty and allegiance forever.

Book of Life: A Lyric

I came in just in time to catch your ending.
Another seat in the back row.
Were you in love or were you just pretending?
Could have asked you that long ago.

I would have learned some different things
If I thought the ways would apply
But now I've left and your friends say
My name ain't in the book of life, the book of life--
my name ain't in the book of life.

Go pick the baby up and stop her crying,
she's been ailing since you left.
You said the moment you get born, you start dying,
from the first time you draw breath.

I would have learned some different things
If I thought the ways would apply
But now I've left and your friends say
My name ain't in the book of life, the book of life--
my name ain't in the book of life.

This morning in the pocket of my coat, your lipstick,
and a broken little string of pearls,
feels like something I should have known, but missed it,
like something from another world.

Now I feel the winter wants to just outlast me,
I feel the hunger of the land.
I feel the spirit of your dress brush past me,
and the widows of your hands.

I would have learned some different things
If I thought the names would apply
But now I've left and your friends say
My name ain't in the book of life, the book of life--
my name ain't in the book of life.

The Beginning

I didn't freak out and delete all of your comments; Typepad's server crashed.

Anyway, on to more important matters.  Enjoy these prototypes:

Lennon's Dead

Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

25 Years: 1980-2005

Forth the Virtual Empire

Check me out!

Top Ten Songs: Ten

This is the beginning of a series of my top ten songs.  These are the songs that mean the most to me, mainly lyrically (because I think that I'm a writer first, and a musician second).

I think the bridge especially apropro now that Katrina has done her dirty work. 
I also think this one of the finest pop songs ever written.

ARTIST: RON SEXSMITH
ALBUM: COBBLESTONE RUNWAY

SONG:DISAPPEARING ACT

Some say you've got to lose to win
Any moment now
Our luck will stumble in
And claim us at the lost and found
And help us all get our feet back on the ground

Disappearing act
I want my money back
Disappearing act
I wish life had warned us long ago
We're only one half of a disappearing act

Who pulled the rug out under us?
Maybe all the time
In the world ain't quite enough
One day you're saying "Look Ma, no hands"
Then it’s "Help me Ma, I just don't understand"

Disappearing act
I want my childhood back
Disappearing act
I wish life had warned us long ago
We're on the wrong half of a disappearing act

Oh and when you hear "The Saints Go Marching In"
As you're walking down your street again
No magic wand can make it stop
And as your house of cards comes crashing down
So loud it makes you turn around
Look longer
Think harder now

Some say you've got to lose to win
Any moment now
Our luck will stumble in
And claim us at the lost and found
And help us all get our feet back on the ground

Disappearing act
I want my money back
Disappearing act
I wish life had warned us long ago
We're on the wrong half of a disappearing act

Barefoot Jones '05

This was us on Wednesday at Freddie's Music Lounge.  I'm going to miss these guys.  From the left: Dave Shogren, Bass; Yours Truly, Keys/Guitar/Vocals; Brian Helt, Lead Guitar/Vocals; Maggie Allison, Vocals/Guitar/Tambourine; Mark Argent, Drums.

Click on it to make it bigger.  Also check out the Barefoot gallery I posted.  It's selected pictures I ripped off from the Barefoot Jones website.

Maggie & Brian will be trading off lead vocals after I leave.  I'm glad the band is going to stay together; I'll have somebody to go see when I'm back in town.