A Playlist Series

American Crisis Playlist #44

Comfortably Numb

The pill I took last night to induce sleep seems to work better after I awaken in the morning. Now, I want to fall asleep, whereas last night I kept hoping the magic substance would kick on in. Eventually it did, since I remember looking out past the treed-sky and then…nothing.

I hate being reliant on pills, but at some point, sleeplessness takes its toll, and so, here’s to another few nights depending on a bottle left over from my mother’s stash. Don’t worry: my wife looked these over and pronounced them “safe.” Still, I wonder about my inheritance, what we “copped” when looking through all the stored items in my mother’s cabinets, drawers, and refrigerator.

We even kept back a few “special” pills prescribed by hospice toward the end. Don’t tell, though, because I already went through enough with that agency.

What does all of this have to do with rock and roll? With the “music [that will] save our immortal soul?” Well, this:

My late night read over the past week is David Mitchell’s 2020 novel Utopia Avenue, about a rock band by the same name that rises from the dirty streets of London into something like fame, circa 1968. I should probably be reading the novel when I’m more alert, because Mitchell has a way of hiding patterns in his prose, and one of these comes in the way the four bandmates conceive their songs. Sometimes you see them composing the few lines that will anchor their latest hit. At other times, though, Mitchell will have a band member see or feel something, and you know that out of these images something new — and you get to play the game of which line will be the one — will eventually find its way to a studio and then to a vinyl pressing.

And though this is fiction and no band named Utopia Avenue exists (or does it?), the group runs into real rock stars like Lennon and Bowie, Brian Jones and the cryptically aloof Syd Barrett. What a scene, and as I said to Rob Janicke and Noah Levy over a fun Skype call, this is one of the periods of life that I wish I had been born into, for if I have to be awake for long stretches, seeing that London “Mod” scene as it was would make me enjoy my perpetually-opened eyelids.

When those eyelids of mine officially open for business these early mornings, I brew my Atlas, or Grounds for Hounds, or Red Rooster coffee and have an early read, which at this moment is Laura Jane Grace’s Tranny. Laura Jane appeared on Trevor Noah’s show a couple of years back, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to enter her punk world. Or post-punk, or now post-post punk world. Her band is Against Me! and you’ll hear a tune from them in just a bit.

My only problem with my two daily reads is that they blur, and so I wonder sometimes who’s real and who’s not? Who has transformed and who hasn’t? And…what would David Bowie think of either or both of these reads? At other times, I’m reminded of Joyce’s last novel, Finnegans Wake, which, if you don’t know, is a dream, or structured like one, because the last word on the last page is “the,” and the first word on the first page is “riverrun,” and if your bent is to connect all dots before you leave, then here you go: no beginning, no middle, and no ending.

Just the endless loop.

And for the obligatory political comment: after President Biden’s address a few nights ago, my current state’s (and by state, you know what I mean) junior senator, Tim Scott, got on the air to proclaim that “America is not a racist country,” which might sound funny in a David Mitchell novel, but not so funny when you look around at your segregated neighborhoods and the ongoing wars about whose lives matter. But okay Tim — whatever it takes to keep you in dutch with those who watch over you as you sleep.

If I were going to start a punk band, I might call it “Tim Scott’s Mouth,” because whatever emerges from there makes me angry, makes me want to be an anarchist, and makes me want to rage against these stupid reality machines.

I guess I’m fully awake now, and so on to this week’s music.

AMERICAN CRISIS PLAYLIST #44

1. “All I Really Want,” Alanis Morissette, from 1995’s Jagged Little Pill. “Do I stress you out?” Patience, deliverance — what do I really want? It’s the pill talking, for sure. I remember when my friend Mickey told me he had been listening to this album because it helped him bond with his angry teenage daughter. I didn’t know then what he meant, but a few years later, I would. Anger in teens isn’t pretty, but when it’s channeled, we all learn something about patience, deliverance, and maybe even creativity. For instance, my daughter delivered all the drawings for my books, and she’s on the verge of buying her first house. “All I really want is some patience, peace, now…a wavelength…some justice.” Check, check, check, check.
2. “Fools,” Van Halen, from Women and Children First (1980). Now, I’m not certain who the fools VH are singing about on this one, but I would add some footnotes for them if they were ever to ask or listen to me. Poor Eddie, I didn’t pay him enough mind, and I’m sorry for that. The harmonies here — not something you immediately think of in hard rock outfits — kill me, and here’s a shameless plug that I’m eager to get out to you: tonight, we’re having the first Riff Album zoom discussion, so if you’re sitting by your computer or not — and if this piece is published today (Sunday) and you want to join — look for the link at the bottom of this playlist. We’re discussing the very Van Halen album mentioned here, thanks to Keith R. Higgons’ suggestion.
3. “Your Power,” Billie Eilish, from 2021’s Happier Than Ever. A sharp break from the above two tracks, but whenever I see a new BE song, I have to listen. This might help me drift off but then I’d likely be listening too hard to drift. There’s a park off Highland Avenue that I keep seeing — a night scene, with the avenue bending and twisting around that park. I see the Italian eatery nearby, and the little boys playing beneath certain trees. I see this scene so often and I can’t explain why it speaks to me so strongly. Just the images, I suppose, and the dreams I sometimes, or never, have.
4. “Transgender Dysphoria Blues,” Against Me! from 2014’s Transgender Dysphoria Blues. As Laura Jane sings, as the guitars transport me out of me and into another world, I want to participate in these rhythms and keep them pounding. You can still hear the punk sounds they emerged from, but so much else has entered their music, their world. Singing and playing about change, they wake me up. We look back, we should, because we all change in our many ways. Constantly and rhythmically. Listen to the other tunes on the record, and see if you can resist all that’s inside you.
5. “Lover Come Back (to me),” Dead or Alive, from 1985’s Youthquake. Somewhere in 1985, our musical train came to yet another crossroads, and we were wondering how we could take multiple tracks at the same time: rock, techno, glam, hip-hop, disco. Our mistake was thinking that only one or two ways led to departure. Have they ever? The transgenre-ed/gendered ways of the music world kept many of us running to catch up, to jump on, and so when Dead or Alive popped up on the poppy MTV playlists of early rock video, I kept wondering where they’d been all my dreamy life.
6. “Rebel, Rebel,” David Bowie from Diamond Dogs (1974). An anthem of sorts, I can’t believe I’ve waited this long — 44 weeks — to attach it to a playlist. I first heard this song a few months after first seeing a live drag show in a bar called “ChancesR.” In Birmingham, Alabama, of all places. Androgyny was a word back then, but most of us didn’t understand what it meant, and even more, when they saw Bowie, not only didn’t understand, but wanted to fight whomever they could to keep this from appearing before their very eyes. “You’ve torn your dress, your face is a mess.” Beauty comes in many forms — “how could they know?” indeed. And, I wanted his hair to be mine.
7. “Career Opportunities,” 1977, from The Clash’s first record, The Clash. Just go with it: “Career Opportunities, the one that never knocks, every job they offer you’s to keep you off the dock.” In 1977, I was way too comfortable and so didn’t notice or cotton to punk when I did notice — not then, anyway. God, who listened to The Clash in 1977 Alabama? Who played them on the radio? I thought I was “far out” by championing Bowie…and then, a revolution of sorts hit me. Hard core.
8. “Under the Milky Way,” The Church from 1988’s The Very Best of The Church. The night sky, as my old friend Guy keeps pointing out and writing about, keeps me staring at all I can’t understand. Another old friend, Les, pointed this song out to me in an old mixtape he made for our ongoing dialogue about friendship and musical taste. Soaring above me, the guitars and synths swirl and I think I’ll just lie down on our lush fescue grass tonight and stare — after that Riff session, of course. Our stars, our universe. “Wish I knew what you were looking for. Might have known what you would find.”
9. “Friction,” Television, from 1977’s Marquee Moon. I’ve had this tune on my personal playlist, playing it early, late, and in the middle of Finnegans Wake whenever I find room to allow the waking and dreaming selves to merge. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to walk into an east village club back in those 70’s and find Tom and the boys playing something like this. I was 21 in 1977, and so it could have happened, but my first trip to New York wouldn’t happen for another four years, and what I remember most about that ride was driving at night through the Park, getting to an east side theater to see the Polish film, Man of Iron. Nothing makes much sense, until it does.
10. “Break It Up,” Patti Smith, from Horses (1975). She was always a poet, and the only person I knew who bought Horses when it was first released was Jimbo, one of my three oldest friends. Do you still have this record, Jimbo? And if so, is it a first pressing, and do you know what it’s worth, and do you know how I remember being with you at that old record store near Highland AV, and I wondered about your taking such a chance on Patti and punk, and how friendship requires us to stretch and ask each other to come along and remember these scenes, even if I’ve forgotten certain details? Exactly what the f**k was the name of that store? Oh yeah: Charlemagne records.

Okay, here’s the link for tonight’s Riff discussion of all things on Van Halen’s third album:

Join Zoom Meeting

ID: 86278784425 Passcode: HN[tmZ7h

Hope to see you there; Jessica Lee McMillan, Kathryn Dillon, If Ever You’re Listening, MDSHall, Gary Chapin, Kevin Alexander, Magda Szymanska, Sarah Paris, Alexander Briseño, Harry Male, S.W. Lauden, Frank Mastropolo, Walter Bowne, Vince Coliam, Steven Hale, TheWellSeasonedLibrarian, and whoever else you want to invite!

Here’s last week’s list:

https://readmedium.com/american-crisis-playlist-43-424800ece3b2?sk=5f47740639c92edb5ab0d17733ce4775