A Playlist Series

American Crisis Playlist #42

We were virtually there

It used to be that words like “virtually” might be considered “weasel words” by logicians, meaning that sentences like “We were virtually there,” indicated that we really were NOT “there,” wherever “there” is. The weasel is in the “virtually”: it masked the reality and most people would read through it as if it wasn’t really in the sentence.

For the past year, of course, virtual is the new real, or normal, or whatever life seems to be.

I say all of this because by the time you read this new playlist series offering — #42, can you believe it? — my virtual reading will be done. Thank you if you were able to come, and if you couldn’t be there, I hope we remembered to record it, and if you want to listen/see/enjoy, please email me at [email protected], and I’ll send you a copy of all that happened, including a special appearance by Max Barr, my precious Carolina Wild Dog.

I’ve eaten a couple of Gaba Calms this morning, as I try not to let nerves and anxieties interfere with my excitement for the event. But it’s about as perfect a day here in upstate Carolina as spring can offer: temp in the 70’s, blue skies broken up by the non-threatening clouds. There’s still sadness and violence and trials in our land, and a refusal of some to accept ideas of racial/gender equality, of harmony triumphing over perceived, suspicious difference.

And there’s still music, bringing us joy, perhaps more sadness of the melancholic kind, and inspiration for writing, cooking, or preparing for a virtual book launch.

I feel sure that this playlist will include a song that’s been on the list before — a first, I think — but necessary because in the virtual event tonight, or last night, I will speak/or did speak of some songs that played a core role in the essays about place and friendships and grief that I wrote and am reading from.

So, not feeling so full of crisis today, I offer these ten tunes so our grooves will be perpetual, endless, and for as long as we want or can, in synch.

AMERICAN CRISIS PLAYLIST #42

1. “Caring is Creepy,” The Shins, from Oh, Inverted World (2001). A rediscovery, at least for me. Diving into the backlog of Shins’ tunes, I found this one again. Once, an old friend was dating a woman — his first relationship in forever, he said. The four of us took in Jonathan Demme’s film Something Wild (starring Melanie Griffith, Jeff Daniels, and Ray Liotta). I remember film critic David Edelstein referencing the film as “Blue Velcro,” referring to another violently disturbing film that came out shortly before. So my friend, let’s call him GEORGE, told me sometime later that his girlfriend didn’t care for my wife and me because we were “too nice,” and she didn’t trust us. I won’t name her here, but you know, Katherine, caring isn’t so creepy, unless you want it to be.
2. “By Now,” Danielle Durack from 2021’s No Place. Forgive me for forgetting which one of you Riffers turned me on to Danielle and her wistful and longing voice (Was it you Kevin Alexander?). I understand how she thinks her loss, her heartbreak, should be over by now. I was corresponding this morning with my former and now retired therapist, and he mentioned his new cat Solomon, but also the loss of three cats in the past year. And it never takes much provoking or evoking, for me to remember our beautiful cat Morgan, gone now almost three years. The cat my daughter found/rescued in her high school’s parking lot. The good thing: we never get over love, and as my then therapist said, “Animals teach us how to love.” So whatever I thought, that I’d be over this loss by now, I’m not, though it’s the love that lingers, that comes on so strongly.
3. “Mainstream Kid,” Brandi Carlisle, from 2015’s The Firewatcher’s Daughter. “Your revolution is in the way of my confusion.” Holy F**k can she sing. The mainstream isn’t so bad when songs like this one can kick our collective asses. I suppose I’ve lived most of my life in the mainstream, though there have been a few tidepools, eddys, or dams along the way that have driven me underground. What do you think: is tripping while viewing The Rocky Horror Picture Show for the first time, (back in 1978) mainstream? Damn Kevin (not you Kevin), I didn’t know you could wear panty hose and garters so well.
4. “Immigrant Song,” Led Zeppelin, from Led Zeppelin III (1970). I don’t have much to say about this song, except that it sounds cool following Brandi’s tune, and that my friend Fred Wallace was the first person I know to have the record, back when we were fourteen. Was THIS mainstream? Fred had the most enormous sound system of any kid I knew, and you know, when you want to crank this song up in your good friend’s basement bedroom, no one can stop you or tell you anything about how uncool you might be in those days before either of you had tried marijuana or knew about Rocky Horrors.
5. “Coffin Nails,” Lucero, from 2021’s When You Found Me. Until this record, I haven’t given Lucero its proper due. I love this song, the singing’s rawness, but even more, that lovely piano coming in during the vocal pauses. Sounds like these help us see that trying to define/label genre is a losing game, that is, if you need to be definitive, because can’t you hear all the echos of Blues and Country and Rock and Folk and even sounds farther back? We’re so focused on the coffin that we lose sight of what binds and fastens it. And us.
6. “Fast Car,” The Black Pumas, from 2020’s Black Pumas Deluxe. It’s hard to improve on Tracy Chapman’s original, but I think they do it more than justice. I love the pacing here, not so fast, making us consider that we can be calm as life speeds by. Shit, did you know that I’m turning 65 in July? I get offers from Medicare every day. Not there yet, but moving, moving. Slow down, don’t move so fast. Have to make this moment last. Anyway, go for it Pumas, and I’m ready for your next record, if that’s not too fast for you.
7. “Pursuit of Happiness,” Kid Cudi (featuring MGMT) from 2009’s Man on the Moon: The End of Day). There are moments when I think everything I need to know, I’ve learned from SNL. Not that they get everything right, but they had Kid Cudi as musical guest last week, and I pursued some happiness with him. Using MGMT when they were at their critical height was a good move here, but again, his vocals are so ably supported by the sound, and I want more…happiness and joy.
8. “Back Down South,” Kings of Leon, from Come Around Sundown (2010). I was talking to my brother-in-law last night about why I love the South — why it feels like my place and my home. “It’s all the music, the literature, the folk art and wisdom,” we both concluded. He realized that he’s been “a southerner” for over forty years now, originally hailing from California. I have barely ever left; depending upon how you think of D.C, you could say that I’ve never left. I don’t love everything about this region, of course: the only way I’m Red is when we’re talking of the Crimson Tide, though there were a few moments years ago when I felt red in that hip, commie sort of way. Anyway, this song and the Kings in general mean more to me than I can say. They sing me home.
9. “My Sister’s Tiny Hands,” The Handsome Family, from Through the Trees (1998). I published a piece in our sister pub Songstories yesterday on this song and the soundtrack it is also instrumental in: https://medium.com/songstories/tiny-hands-and-wrong-eyed-jesuss-. It’s so sad, such a haunting remembrance, and the Handsomes are all I want to play on my porch, as day turns to night and as I think back on those who made me. Songs of the personal apocalypse, as reading Harry Crews and Flannery O’Connor bring us to bear/bare.
10. “Goin’ Up the Country,” Canned Heat, from 1969’s Living the Blues. Back in ’69, when I was barely musically alive, a guy I knew — let’s call him STAN — disparaged this song as only thirteen year-old guys can do. It was singer Al Wilson’s voice that he most hated, and as you and I know, distinctive voices are key elements in any sound. The same guy later disparaged Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody,” so clearly, he didn’t know then — and does he today? — what music is: GOOD MUSIC. So, I wrote a story using this title, and I hope I’m forgiven by poor old Al Wilson, who’s been gone for decades now. It’s the story I’m reading tonight from my collection, Secrets I’m Dying to Tell You. The story isn’t about death, though dying comes into play. It’s more about traveling, which, as I think about it, amounts to the same thing. It’s the country I’m going to know.

What else to say? The Riff has 469 followers at this moment — increased by 200 or so over the last couple of weeks. It’s truly a living thing, and made so by all the writers and readers and listeners, beginning with the editorial triumvirate, Noah Levy, Kevin Alexander, and Rob Janicke. And then: Jessica Lee McMillan, Harry Male, Gary Chapin, Kathryn Dillon, If Ever You’re Listening, Aimée Gramblin, Keith R. Higgons, Nia Simone McLeod, MDSHall, Frank Mastropolo, S.W. Lauden, Jeff Goodwin, Vince Coliam, TheWellSeasonedLibrarian, Kathy Gerstorff, Alexander Briseño, Steven Hale, Reuben Salsa, Christopher Robin, Sarah Paris, and too many more to name here, but I’m reading you all!

Here’s last week’s list: