I’ve been neglecting my blog for the last month and feeling inexplicable pangs of guilt about it. I mean, why feel beholden to a blog? My neglect is a sign that my Real Life has been filled with real life!

Fortunately, I recently discovered a writer who has a lot of quirky, wild, insightful, things to say about music, so I thought I’d bring his voice into the conversation.

Steve Almond spoke at Portland’s Wordstock Festival over the weekend, as part of a panel on humor. His basic philosophy of humor is to avoid trying to be funny on purpose. Rather, his approach is to poke at what is most uncomfortable and embarrassing in his life, to explore that pain incessantly, and wait for the humor reflex to kick in, which inevitably happens as a protective instinct. Sounds like tough going, and all for a laugh!

Along with professionally mining for humor through trials of emotional self-torture, Steve is a hard-core music fan and rock critic. In his words, he is a “drooling fanatic,” and in his latest book, Rock and Roll Will Save Your Life, he writes all about the highs and lows of obsessive music fandom.

Here’s an excerpt from an interview with Steve that gets at a Big Picture question for many of us (My apologies for the saucy language. I guess it goes with the rock-and-roll territory):

What, in your fanatic opinion, are songs supposed to do?

They remind us that emotions are not an inconvenient and vaguely embarrassing aspect of the human enterprise but its central purpose. They make us feel specific things we might never have felt otherwise. Every time I listen to “Sunday Bloody Sunday,” for instance, I feel a pugnacious righteousness about the fate of the Irish people. I hear that thwacking military drumbeat and Bono starts wailing about the news he heard today and I’m basically ready to enlist in the IRA and stomp some British Protestant Imperialist Ass, hell yes, bring on the fucking bangers and mash and let’s get this McJihad started. I feel these things despite the fact that:

• a. I am not Irish
• b. I sort of hate U2
• c. The song actually advocates pacifism

I love this. I too have been completely and blissfully swept away by songs countless times. Like books, theater, or any other art form, music can make us feel more deeply and guide us into new and surprising emotional territory.

I couldn’t agree more with Drooling Steve, except for one minor caveat: I sort of LOVE U2, even though I occasionally feel that the band has been playing different versions of the same song for 30 years. But that, my fanatical friends, is the topic of a much longer conversation…

See for yourself, whether U2 holds any sway over you:

Here’s more info about Steve Almond and his writing:

http://www.stevenalmond.com/about-the-book.html

I recently returned from a family performing arts camp in northern California that is an annual pilgrimage for me and my family. This year, I taught a class called Music for Special Occasions, in which I led songs that people can sing to mark births, deaths, rites of passage, and celebrations of all kinds. It turned out to be a quietly powerful experience to teach songs that can summarize the intense emotions of a monumental event.

Now I’m on the prowl for more songs that can be shared to commemorate Big Moments in Life. Randy Newman’s “Texas Girl at Her Father’s Funeral” is one of those songs. It is a compact tune with a long title that paints a vivid picture of characters in a certain place and time. Here are the complete lyrics:

Here I am lost in the wind, ’round in circles sailing
Like a ship that never comes in, standing by myself

Sing a sad song for a good man
Sing a sad song for me
Sing a sad song for the sailor
A thousand miles from the sea

Here I am along on the plain
Sun’s going down. It’s starting to rain
Papa we’ll go sailing

First, a shout-out for lean songs. I am drawn to them and enjoy trying to write them, because each word, phrase and measure counts. No throw-away lines, no wasted space, no long introduction to set the scene, no key-changing bridge that barely relates to the rest of the piece. A concise song is an apt metaphor for life itself: it is essential to be present for the whole experience, because it’s over before you know it. Short songs bait the listener into repeated listens.

I first heard “Texas Girl at the Funeral of Her Father” performed by the British men’s vocal group the King’s Singers, and their recording of it transports me every time. I must admit that generally I admire the King’s Singers more than I enjoy them. Their technique is pristine and their blend soft as velvet, but they tend to “over-choralize” their performances of pop songs. Listening to Good Vibrations on perfectly supported open vowels doesn’t evoke any of the surfer attitude of the Beach Boys, as magnificent as the sound of King’s Singers might be.

And yet, in the case of “Texas Girl…,” the King’s Singers’ treatment improves on the original. The gender-bending falsetto brings the grieving daughter to life with heartbreaking vulnerability. I am a hopeless sucker for men who are brave enough to sound like a woman in earnest on their recordings. In fact, “If I Was Your Girlfriend” was the turning point for me, when I finally saw Prince as the truly experimental and emotionally daring artist that everyone (including the Artist himself) claimed that he was.

But I digress. The great Randy Newman is the man who is ultimately responsible for crafting this song. As a prolific songwriter who is a master of creating distinct, three-dimensional characters in his work, he is one of those highly skilled heavyweights from whom all songwriters can learn both the literary and musical power of songs – for all occasions.

Sadly, the King’s Singers sublime version is nowhere to be found on YouTube, but I did find a lovely version of their arrangement, performed by the co-ed Dutch vocal group Vocal Chords. Please note that a woman sings the solo, so the thrill of a gender-bending falsetto is absent from this recording:

And for a sample of the King’s Singers’ version of the tune, you can visit Tradebit for a taste.

I’m not an avid follower of the plethora of TV talent shows that have hooked a bunch of my friends, even though I love how American Idol and similar spin-offs have gotten more people singing, dancing, and showing off their talents.  Fortunately, I did manage to catch NBC’s “Sing-Off” last fall, a contest of eight a cappella singing groups from around the country.

As a purveyor of the a cappella experience for adults, I was ecstatic to see it celebrated on national television by a handful of talented and entertaining groups. The high points for me were the all-group songs (bringing the cast total to roughly 60 people) that were performed, which included an exciting arrangement of “Mr. Blue Sky” by the Electric Light Orchestra.

This put ELO on my musical radar, and I spent the holidays reacquainting myself with the band’s songs. As an impressionable middle schooler, I adored “Telephone Line,” and in listening to it today, I’m struck by its dramatic sweep and sonic ambition.

The story of the song is a universal one, grippingly presented. A man makes a desperate late night phone call to his ex. She’s not picking up and has likely moved onto another lover, while he is still floundering and hoping for a reconciliation. As the song moves through a scene-setting introduction, two verses, and a pair of prechoruses to an emotive chorus, the caller goes from rehearsing his lines, to guilt-tripping, to self-soothing, to self-deluding, and eventually onto pleading with no one in particular. His worst fears are realized within the course of the song, yet he doesn’t lose hope completely. He’s willing to wait on the line, to “let it ring forevermore.” What else is a lovesick boy to do?

Jeff Lynne, the singer, songwriter and creative director of ELO, is an unapologetic Beatles protégé, and the Fab Four influence on ELO is unmistakable, especially in its earlier years. However, Lynne’s admiration for the near-operatic, unrestrained grandeur of Roy Orbison shines through on “Telephone Line” as well. He also embraces the power of doo-wop and creates a truth-telling Greek chorus in his use of call-and-response:

Jeff:                            When I look into the sky

Greek Chorus:           The love you need ain’t gonna see you through

Jeff:                              And I wonder why

Greek Chorus:            The little things you planned ain’t coming true

While the sounds and the style of “Telephone Line” may sound dated, there is a lot to love and learn from it. For instance, you can’t help but marvel at how it goes from zero to sixty in such a short period of time. It’s a song that comfortably holds all the Stages of Grief, running the entire emotional gamut of a romantic break-up in under 5 minutes. And Lynne’s nimble, committed vocals deliver the goods at every turn.

Lately I’ve been feeling skeptical about the promise of the pop song, and wondering whether it can fully express the complexity and emotional range that other storytelling forms (like plays and novels) can support. Just when I think that songs are flimsy containers for holding strong ideas and sentiments, along comes ELO. Feels like blue skies are up ahead!

PS One other thing to admire about ELO is Jeff Lynne’s spectacular afro (See attached clip). Like his music, his hair was grand and unrestrained!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zUpPlzeK7RM