Friday, January 8, 2010

(non)Cover of the Week 63

My friend Vincent T. -- the close friend of my recently deceased Uncle Vince -- called me this morning and let me know that Vince's cell phone is still on. He was not the first to try it. But he and others who have called it told me the same thing: It was therapeutic to hear his voice again.

I have not brought myself to call it yet. His voice is still clear enough in my head. But I have checked in and, recently, posted something on Vince's Facebook page. I have also posted something at the memorial site set up by the funeral home. And when I was down in Miami, though his computer had been taken in by detectives looking for whatever they could find (story here, and here, for those of you wondering what I am talking about), I started thinking more about the digital footprint we are all leaving. There's a voice, there are emails (I came across some funny fan mail and responses printed out, between Vince and Augusten Burroughs, e.g.), there are home pages, blogs, Amazon reviews, and so on. They are all still floating out there, perhaps forever.

I would like to say I have drawn some sort of conclusion, profound or otherwise, from this. But I think it simply is. And that hits us on some deep level. I mean, the shallowness that we associate with this digital culture, what we feel is fleeting and disposable, ends up to be very much the opposite. We are leaving bits of ourselves all over the place for others to stumble upon or actively seek out after we are gone. Sure, a Facebook page is not the same as leaving, say, the library of William Shakespeare (whoever "he" was) or catalog of John Coltrane behind as a legacy. But it is a lot more than the few crumpled and yellowed letters, photos, and press clippings of those who passed before 1990 or so.

There was a recent gag from the Onion about future "archeologists" discovering the lost civilization of Friendster. This is not so far-fetched.

This all got me thinking of a line I wrote and sang in 1990 or so, on the song "Porchlight," which was written around the time that the burgeoning technology of "voice mail" was becoming more mainstream. This was one of those "written from the road" tunes, as Paul Kolderie and Sean Slade used to joke about bands coming back to record their first records after being on tour for the first time. We had a beeper/voice mail system in place for personal calls and business calls, to be reachable in the days before cell phones, email, etc.

The line is, "Your voice got smaller 'til I realized it was gone."

The voice is only another trace, a ghost that lingers.

*****

So, for this week's cover, I cover Buffalo Tom's "Porchlight." And as a change, I do it live from the breakfast table this morning. You can see I really dolled myself up for this brunch concert. Buffalo Tom has played this live only rarely. Tom Maginnis does not like drumming to it for some reason. We have not quite figured it all out. We played it as a request of Jon Stewart on his final T.V. show in the 1990s, well before he took over and redefined the Daily Show.






Vince and John, Bolinas 1970

11 comments:

John Kenyon said...

Bill, this is listed by YouTube as being a private video and that one needs to be a friend of yours to view it... help?

Bill Janovitz said...

Should be all set now

Frankie Morgan said...

Always my favourite BT song. So many wonderful images in the lyrics. For me, the one-two of Porchlight into Frozen Lake is just about as good as it gets.

Paul Daddario said...

Firstly, LMCO is certainly a favorite album of mine, one that can just stay in the CD player with permanent residence; but perhaps "CD players" are being phased out, and new technology has no exact analogy. Albums can get lost in the "shuffle" of the ipod generation. The song porchlight has always been a favorite of the drummer in my band, but he likes to pick up the acoustic guitar and sing it, not drum to it. Last night at band practice we did a ragged but inspired version of "mountains of your head."

With porchlight, you get this great candid song at the end of a very heady album, not that this song is less heady or introspective but it has jam packed lyrical content that is quite vivid and serious but drifts above major keyed yet forlorn pop feeling music.

The voice trailing off is perhaps the audio version of taillights fading; themes of separation. All I can think of is the Russell Crowe Galdiator line, "the things we do in life echo into eternity." With Facebook and the like, perhaps they now do.

noone said...

really surprised to hear that's a live rarity. i've never seen bt live, i just assumed it was an every-nighter cause it's always been a favorite.

Anonymous said...

a great version of one of my favorites - any chance for an mp3 version??

Thanks stewrat

Casey@Good. Food. Stories. said...

My favorite line from my absolute favorite BT song as well. Thanks for this!

Randy Reichardt said...

Not much else to add here, especially to what Paul said. He pretty much articulates how I feel about the song, and I also salute him for mention of "Mountains of Your Head", yet ANOTHER one of my favorites. Thanks for this "live from the floor" video of Porchlight.

Anonymous said...

Thanks for this really nice non cover!

Whirling House said...

Thanks to Youtube, it linked to "Gabi" doing a fairly passionate rehearsal room version of "You'll Never Catch Him". Babies covering babies...

Michael Eisenstein said...

I'm catching up on some older PTMOR entries and cam across this one. I love "Porchlight" and blipped it on 10/28/09 with the following tag "This could be the first song to use "voicemail" in a lyric."

http://blip.fm/usamike