What Else Do You Need?

Check out Jesse Winchester on Elvis Costello’s Spectacle. Jesse might not be everyone’s cup of tea. Some my find him too straightforward or sentimental. To those I say: hey, there’s no accounting for the taste of such cold-hearted wretches like you who can’t recognize brilliant songcraft when it is staring you in your sad old bitter face. So go and pull out your Nitzer Ebb records and have a good time.

Look at the faces in the crowd. Look at my girlfriend, Neko Case, tearing up. Look at Elvis’s face. One of the greatest songwriters of our generation is sincerely humbled. As well he should be.

Now, Elvis is one of my favorite all-time songwriters. And I think he should get a Nobel Prize simply on the basis of forming this new television program (which I have only seen clips of, by the way, as my cable company wants to charge me $14 more a month to get this “tier” of programming) where he provides a wide audience for someone like Jesse Winchester. But Elvis has often seemed to let his cleverness, his words, and his concepts get in the way of good pop songs over the years. Don’t get me wrong: I am all for pushing boundaries and ambition, and the wish to write something that moves the head as well as the heart. Costello perfected that delicate balance for many years and still pulls it off more times than not. Waits is a pro at this. Dylan still manages to hit it from time to time, but now his brilliant lyrics are often backed by a 12-bar blues crutch.

It is extremely difficult to write a simple, beautiful song -- lyrically and melodically -- like this Jesse Winchester example. And Jesse has done so repeatedly. I’m only a recent fan. Look for “Little Glass of Wine,” or “Foolish Heart.” I would not be surprised to find out that Nick Lowe turned on Elvis to Jesse, but Elvis has apparently long had an amazing deep record collection, so perhaps not. Lowe has always done a good job with the above-described balance, as has Elvis, delivering the goods since “Alison.” But, like Tom Waits, Nick Lowe has been a guy who seems to get better on his later records. Sure, I loved the early catalogs of both of them, but as with Tom, Nick’s later records -- I’m talking about those from the past 5-10 years even -- leave me breathless.

So, if you don’t like that sort of thing, there is nothing I can do to win you over from the side of evil to the side of good. After all, I was told last night by a bunch of musicians, in the dressing room at Hot Stove Cool Music, things like “you must not like music,” and “everyone likes those first two records at least. How can you not like it? What’s not to like?” This was, of course, in response to my admission that I have never liked any Van Halen. Don’t start listing songs. I do not like them. I don’t hate them; I simply found nothing in any of it to enjoy. My brother Scott agreed with me, as did a few older musicians, who might have been more reluctant than I to alienate themselves at first, but sheepishly came around eventually. Who was on the side of good and who on evil in that situation? I feel like I stood with the Force in that instance Hot Stove Cool Music is a big tent.

*****

As is well known by now, the danger of having a blog, and of the internet in general, is the impulse to comment, write, and/or post something can be fulfilled in a matter of seconds and sent off to view with the push of a button. Like this video, for example. A friend of mine, Brendan Gilmartin, posted it on Facebook (sorry, I forgot who you were that did me the favor) and I react here. Immediately. Everything is instantly publishable. And for an impulsive personality like mine, this poses potential pitfalls that can easily end up as nagging regrets. In the past, I might get ginned up and make an off-color remark at a party, wake up with a throbbing head and queasy stomach at the crack of noon the next day, and slowly work my way into making an apologetic phone call or two. But after some Alka Seltzer, an afternoon on the couch watching some NFL game in which I have nothing personally invested, and a roast chicken dinner, the faux pas or sore feelings from the night before would quickly be receding in the rear view.

I don’t mean to imply that I am about to rail off on anything or anyone; I am certainly not. In fact, I am about to get all mushy. Again. You see, the perils of instantaneous modern mass communication also offerw the potential for one to pour his heart out, straight, no chaser.

I have been involved with Hot Stove Cool Music for nine of it’s ten years. We held the 10th anniversary event last night. In those early, pre-2004 World Series says, I never thought it would be more than a one-off, then two-year thing, and so on. But as a result of those first couple of years, I got drawn in seemingly forever -- by the charity, by the music, by it’s Boston-ness, and, most of all, by the bonhomie of the people involved in making it happen -- musicians, managers, baseball writers, baseball players, club managers, actors, bartenders, fundraisers, guitar techs, wives, husbands, kids...

I brought in my then-relatively-new buddy, Mike O’Malley early in those first few years. He immediately became MC and chief auctioneer. He is so good at what he does, that various Red Sox and the Red Sox Foundation tap him for virtually every event that they have. He flies out from his home at least a dozen times a year just to help on these charitable events. Friends of mine who watch him in this milieu never fail to remark to me how impressed they are at how he handles these things, as well as all the glad-handing and promotion before and after the actual shows. He works extremely hard. Imagine, for example, flying in on the red-eye only to have to sit and listen for two hours to the braintrust who typically make up the “talent” on wacky morning radio shows.

And yet Mike never fails to thank me -- thank me -- year after year, for bringing him into this organization. And that pretty much summarizes HSCM. Jeff Horrigan, Mike Creamer, Kay Hanley, and Peter Gammons constituted the foundation on this thing in year one and remain at its heart. Creamer does most of the heavy lifting -- from the bulk of the booking of music, to arranging the venue, comp tickets, car services, hotels -- everything to who is out of beer in the dressing room. But there are so many other folks who come back year after year to lend a hand. Egos have rubbed over the years, some people have joined, some have left. Often it is merely attrition. Sometimes it is a difference in opinion, philosophy, or vision. Rarely is it a heavy conflict.

The astounding thing about HSCM, though, is how few people have left the fold. It is like the mafia. You can’t get out that easily. It is heartwarming to see how much of a close group of people it is, how much we look forward to seeing and playing music with each other, hanging with each other’s families, etc. And we are fully aware of less charitable views of the event: we’re just a bunch of the same crusty old Boston rockers playing behind a baseball writer/commentator, baseball players and general managers strapping on guitars, the same group of people year after year, etc. Am I more known as a sideman for Peter Gammons than for my Buffalo Tom-acity? I don’t think so, but it is not an absurd question. Who cares? Seth Justman, keyboardist and principal songwriter for the J. Geils band certainly seems not to care about such trivialities. Can I tell you what a thrill it is for a rock & roll lifer, a deeply committed fan, to play and sing “Must of Got Lost” while one of the song’s authors is playing organ? I got to do so in practice and soundcheck and then Mike O. came in and shattered everyone with his lead vocal on the song last night.

The J. Geils Band! Seth Justman! A man who knows a thing or two about writing a classic, simple, beautiful song. A man who knows soul, the blues, roots, and pop songcraft. Though, you would not know it was him, lurking there in the shadows. In fact, when Mike came in to rehearsals to sing the song the first time, he brought it. Knocked it out of the park -- which is a good thing for him because I was having such a great time singing it that if half-assed it (which he never does with anything), it was going to be mine. When we finished, I remarked at how great he sang it and, most impressively, while one the song’s authors stood right next to him playing organ. It soon became apparent Mike had not made the connection. I still don’t think it would have fazed him. Maybe it would have made him more nervous. But no one else would be able to see it. Mike comes in and owns the situation. He sells it.

Seth is not going to intimidate anyone. Until they know who he is, perhaps. But he is one of the sweetest guys you’d ever want to meet. And that’s why he fits right in to a band led by Peter Gammons. Mike Gent, Ed Valauskas, Pete Caldes, Phil Aiken, Paul Ahlstrand...you’re not gonna form a band with more heart than that. Generous of spirit and truly great musicians, I am humbled repeatedly.

We have a great time and , more importantly, have raised and continue to raise a boatload of money -- well over $3 million and counting -- for organizations like the Jimmy Fund for pediatric cancer research; the Home For Little Wanderers; the BELL Foundation’s Red Sox Scholars; and more. Anyone who has a problem with this is probably the same guy slagging off Jesse Winchester.

Straw man? Perhaps. Hopefully. I wish.

And part of our mission is to encourage bringing new blood into the event each year. How many such events have had such disparate acts as Low Anthem (last night -- I love them); For Peace (hip hop); James Taylor; Dropkick Murphys; Juliana Hatfield; John Legend; Pernice Brothers; Nada Surf; Lori McKenna? Last night, the band State Radio was probably responsible for selling at least 75% of the tickets, at $40 a pop. When I took the stage with my aging fellow “Hot Stove All Stars,” I looked over a sea of 20-something faces, all of whom seemed open and eager to hear all of the music being played. That warmed my heart. Maybe the day will be soon where we have grown this brand to such a spot where we can walk away and leave it to the youngsters. Believe me, I would love to have someone else take it over from us, build it, and get the same love we get from it.

But that would mean saying goodbye. None of us want to let go. I do think the House of Blues might have been too big a venue. And we always have post-game chats where we try to think of ways to make improvements. And we are always open to suggestions. Maybe we take it back to the beloved Paradise. Maybe it keeps growing. I know we need to get more ball players committed to showing up like they used to when the thing was lousy with the “idiots” of yesteryear. Maybe some of us old-timers will walk away for good someday. Just not yet. We’re having to great a time.

“Never thought about tomorrow/Seemed like a long time to come.”

(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

My Hero

I don't care how self-serving this is, I am re-posting this because it makes me happy.

Old BT photos

For those of you not on Facebook, here are some links to galleries of old photos I recently scanned:


Facebook 1


Facebook 2


Facebook 3

Speaking of the Reach of the PTMOR Blog....

As noted in the below post, the PTMOR blog has been getting around -- to the Alps in the Italian-speaking region of Switzerland, e.g. I see, via Google Analytics -- an amazing tool, by the way -- that I have been getting page visits from 44 countries in the past month. We would love to hear greetings from all of the different places -- I see a scattered few visits from Russia, Turkey, India, Argentina, Poland, etc. Please say hello in the comments. All of you in more predictable places like the U.K, Canada, Australia, Benelux, etc., don't be shy either. I appreciate the give/take. Feliz Navidad, and happy holidays to you all.

Richard Wilbur

The House


Sometimes, on waking, she would close her eyes

For a last look at that white house she knew

In sleep alone, and held no title to,

And had not entered yet, for all her sighs.

What did she tell me of that house of hers?

White gatepost; terrace; fanlight of the door;

A widow’s walk above the bouldered shore;

Salt winds that ruffle the surrounding firs.

Is she now there, wherever there may be?

Only a foolish man would hope to find

That haven fashioned by her dreaming mind.

Night after night, my love, I put to sea.


-- Richard Wilbur




Taken from the New Yorker August 31, 2009

Back to Work

This page has gotten a bit self-indulgent, I would say; an awful lot of "sharing." Thanks for your patience, especially those mentioned in some of the more personal ramblings. Back to a basic music blog with shorter posts, I promise.

Signed Exile books

We sold 30-something books at the Exile show last week. I can either return the balance (I ordered 50 to be safe), or I can send out signed copies. If anyone is interested, please email me at janovitz.bill@gmail.com. I am not sure how much they are to send, but I will figure $2.00. So let's say they will cost $12. You can send check or money order (or try cash). No bartering yak milk or shoe shines.

Clams

Hey, someone asked me what a "clam" is, as referenced in my last post. Well, I assume more people don't know the term either. So, a clam is a mistake/bad note. Old music-dude terminology. See: Buddy Rich balling out his band on a bus.



"...while you clam all over this fucking joint....

Public Radio Piece

I think I forgot to post this here, though I had posted it over at Facebook. It is a piece I wrote and narrated about my childhood friend Chris Campion for the "Here and Now" program produced by my poker buddy, Chris Ballman, for Boston's NPR news station, WBUR. Campy wrote a highly engaging memoir called Escape From Bellevue: A Dive Bar Odyssey, about his struggles with booze and other substances, while trying to get his band off the ground in the 1990s NYC alt rock world.

Older Guys

Now on Twitter

I needed yet another way to waste time and connect to "the people."

Find me on Twitter @billjanovitz or click the icon on the right below the links section.

Well, it was nearly all summer we sat on your roof
Yeah, we smoked cigarettes and we stared at the moon
And Id show you stars you never could see
Baby, it couldn't have been that easy to forget about me

Wow -- Some Sort of Translation

I found this in a feed I get. I have no idea, but it is clearly some sort of aggregate translator of blog content. The wording is hilarious and I am thinking of replacing everything I wrote with it. This is a translation of my most recent post.

The Ballad of Tim Wakefield ({Non}Cover of the Week 29)

Wake and me rocking Hot Stove Cool Music at Fenway 2005 (photo by Steve Latham)

Buff Tom was in the studio this week working on new songs. Work has also been very busy in my day job. I feared not being able to get to the Cover of the Week this week and, while that is technically true, I did get inspired by another dazzling knuckleball performance by 42-y.o. Red Sox legend, Tim Wakefield last night. So with 2 cups of coffee in me, I whipped this little homage up this morning. Also, finding it's way into the song is this article from the Boston Globe this AM.

When rock and rollers hit a certain (middle) age, many of them feel compelled to write a baseball song. But having one of our own still going at 42, well, that just begs a song. So in the tradition, hopefully, of Zevon and Dylan (and not so much Fogerty), here is mine:

The Ballad of Tim Wakefield



Lyrics:


The Ballad of Tim Wakefield


He don't need no injections in his ass
He makes the ball flutter, it don't need to go fast
Hitters swinging just like a cartoons when it passes
The knuckleball from Timmy Wakefield

I remember all the late innings of June
But there came a night with a big harvest moon
And an October game when a Yankee named Boone
Hit a long one off of Tim Wakefield

But fishing off of Melbourne in the off-season glare
Knowing that middle-aged men everywhere
Are harboring dreams that they could be up there
Pitching just like Timmy Wakefield


When the boys are all flailing as the weather gets warm
He always remain the calm eye of the storm
There are 18 year-old people who might have been born
When a night game was pitched by Tim Wakefield

Batters strike out, pop up, heads bowed low
And into dark dugout tunnels they go
And still confused as the video shows
They were defeated by Timmy Wakefield.

Boston may not be the easiest place
It's not every player they warmly embrace
So just go ask Keith Foulke if he would trade places
In history with Tim Wakefield

You know what they say about saving nine
Well Doug Mirabelli was his stitch in time
The State Police escorted him for no crime
We just needed him to receive Tim Wakefield

Taking the mound or offering his time
for charity's sake and then on down the line
There are plenty of people who will be crying
When they hang up the spikes of Timmy Wakefield

Dylan has written all about Catfish
I may never write like Bobby, Wake like Pedro won't pitch
But true Red Sox fans will always know what they wish
To have nine players just like Timmy Wakefield
Nine players just like Timmy Wakefield
Give me nine players just like Timmy Wakefield

Buffalo Tom Tonight

http://www.volvooceanrace.org/ports/boston

Live at the Fan Pier.

Free, full set, starting at 9:00