Bye Bye Love

Few things are as pure, as beautiful, as the sibling harmonies of the Everly Brothers, and I simply cannot let brother Phil's passing go unmentioned.

No machine, no technology, can match their pristine sound.

They influenced The Beatles, The Byrds, Dylan, Simon and Garfunkel, Nick Lowe and Dave Edmunds, and even my recent faves Teenage Fanclub.

And what a catalog. This concert, backed by a crack band with Albert Lee and Pete Wingfield, is simply staggering.

Their second album, "Songs Our Daddy Taught Us," stands as one of the triumphs in all of American music, an audacious record far ahead of its time.

We couldn't have gotten to where we are without them.

Time passes slowly when you're lost in a dream

With Richard Thompson on the horizon, and tickets in hand, I have begun getting ready by watching old videos and listening to various tracks. A somewhat-recent BBC documentary featured a comment that described Thompson as the British Bob Dylan and that maybe a better description would be that Dylan is an American Richard Thompson.

I won't get into that as both are obviously certifiable giants. But that comparison has me listening to Dylan's new/old "Another Self-Portrait." It's yet another reminder of his prodigious talents, especially this collaboration with George Harrison. Love this video too:

Tomorrow there'll be sunshine and all this darkness past.....

Death paid another visit to my circle this week – an old friend long ravaged by MS finally “slipped the surly bonds of earth,” which are words from his obituary. I hadn’t seen him in quite awhile, but we spent many, many hours together: baseball, rock and roll, and girls.

Almost like a Springsteen song, and we sure listened to plenty of those together.

There are many, many songs to commemorate his life; he loved Dylan, Neil Young and Bruce, among many others.

But one night while we driving around, this came on the radio, and he instantly bonded with it.

RIP Mick, you finally found your way home.

 

To live outside the law, you must be honest....darlin'

The kids and I went to a "rock" show on Saturday morning. Farmer Jason, AKA Jason Ringenberg of the underrated cowpunk band Jason and the Scorchers, was doing one of his children's shows as his alter ego.

Jack and Ruby had a good time, especially Jack, who judged a dance contest during the show and later ended up on stage (see photo) during the encores.

After the show, we talked with Jason and had pictures taken with him. We reminisced a bit, and I mentioned that I had seen the Scorchers in the 80s at the Bonham Ballroom in San Antonio. He said something to the effect of, "you saw us open for The Ramones? That was a legendary night for us."

I stammered for a few seconds before nodding my head. I honestly forgot they were on the same bill; I knew I had seen both bands there, but didn't remember they were together.

This is frightening that such a moment is now jumbled in my head. So, I am going to take some time and list every show I have seen, in one place in this space. It will be alphabetical and comprehensive, because history such as this calls for some sort of preservation other than my mind.

And, in honor of Jason, here is perhaps the best Dylan cover of all Dylan covers:

Jason and the Scorchers -- Absolutely Sweet Marie

Fire on the fingertips

When I think of bluegrass, I don't think of Bill Monroe, Jimmy Martin, Dr. Ralph Stanley or Del McCoury.

I think of Earl Scruggs, the Master from Flint Hill, one of the most electrifying and innovative musicians in history. Scruggs may not have invented bluegrass, but it was his unique 3-finger style on the five string banjo that helped to define the genre better than almost anyone else.

As Steve Martin said, "Before him, no one had ever played the banjo like he did. After him, everyone played the banjo like he did, or at least tried."

After joining Bill Monroe's band in 1945, he influenced everyone who has ever picked up the instrument. Scruggs was one of the giants of American music, on par with anybody of the 20th century. His importance can simply not be overstated.

I saw Scruggs several times in his later years at festivals, and once in a hippie band with his sons (The Earl Scruggs Revue) at Bloomsburg State College in the 70s. That night he was mostly content to stay in the background, accompanying his sons and playing Dylan covers and other country rock.

But a few times, he stepped to the forefront and ripped some thrilling and unforgettable runs, so effortlessly that you might have thought he invented that style of playing the banjo.

And you know what? He did.

Earl Scruggs died today; he leaves a legacy of being the best damn banjo player who ever lived.

Period.

"Bob Dylan is the father of my country"

- Bruce Springsteen/May 2011

The father turns 70 today.

I've seen Dylan only a handful of times, and never when he was anywhere near his peak. The last time, at the Smith Center in Chapel Hill, N.C., was a roughshod affair, with a disinterested Bob rambling through a 70-minute set. I've been told that most of his shows in later years have been hit-or-miss affairs, with the pop outs outweighing the home runs.

No matter.

His monumental presence hovers over a great deal of the best music of the 20th century. But I have to say it took me a long time to get what it was all about.

Oh, like everyone else I knew and loved "Like a Rolling Stone," "Blowin' in the Wind" and a few others, but it was two occurences that steered me straight into the direction of the Immortal Bard.

One was a Newsweek cover proclaiming "Dylan's Back!" that Dave Sprout had on his bedroom wall that heralded the reunion tour with The Band in '74. Because that image was on a teenage boy's wall, rather than a Raquel Welch poster, meant something, and I had to find out what it was.

The second was the release of "Blood on the Tracks" the following year, as fine and essential as any album released in my lifetime. It sounds fresh and inspirational to this day, and what can you say about "Tangled Up in Blue" that hasn't been said?

Yeah, it's great, and Dylan has a whole suitcase full of 'em. You forget how stunning and pervasive they are, until you hear one you haven't heard for a while. And it slaps you upside the head with brilliance.

Take "Every Grain of Sand," for instance, which recently came on my ipod for the first time in many months.

And I said to myself, "Jesus." I meant that literally and figuratively.

William Blake with a harmonica and a hymn for the end of the century that shows a faith for the ages. And a beauty that stays with you long after the fade.

Dylan's like that.

Happy Birthday and here's to a Happy Bobfest to us all.

Strictly 100: Number 25: Bob Dylan

Ridin' on the power and livin' on the promise

Growing up and older sure has its moments of melancholy, as people, places and memories leave us behind. For these things, our memories must sustain us. But once in a while, we get some help with these memories.

Yesterday’s news of an upcoming Springsteen Darkness on the Edge of Town reissue news takes me back to a string of defining moments of my life.

I saw my first show of that tour in late May at the Spectrum in South Philadelphia, and although I had seen him several times before this, I immediately knew this was something on a whole other level.

The intensity, the passion, the sense of purpose. I still haven’t seen anything like it to this day. And while subsequent tours were almost always exceptional, they still weren’t ’78.

Case in point is a sneak preview that’s gives a sense of go-for-broke chops and style of E Street Band at its peak. This is a band in a zone; it's as if they were given seven minutes to live and one song to perform. Dave Marsh described this version of the song as something akin to “an unholy alliance between the Yardbirds and Bob Dylan.”

I'll go him one further: This. Is. Rock and Roll.
My only physical artifacts of this tour are some grainy VHS tapes and bootlegs (and, of course, some You Tube videos) -- until now, or least until Nov. 16, the release date of this new set. This package contains more than six hours of film and more than two hours of audio.

I know that Springsteen is a relic to some people. And his cool quotient is not high, especially to those under 40, or whose frame of reference for hipness is Bauhaus, Depeche Mode and The Smiths. And most Republicans will never forgive him for his Bush bashing.

Them things don't seem to matter much to me now.

I was there: The Spectrum, the Cap Centre, Madison Square Garden, the Boston Garden and a particularly memorable second-row balcony show at Pittsburgh’s Stanley Theater. If you weren’t there, you quite possibly never will understand, although this set may help.

I have a friend who once said (seriously) that James Bond played a major role in his persona and who he became as a person. I believe him.

For me, it was the album, the tour, the sincerity and earnestness, and the attitude of Darkness on the Edge of Town.

This is what captured my heart and soul.

And I’m thankful that on Nov. 16, I can be reminded of that power all over again.

Have you seen Dignity?

With all this news lately about the transgressions of Mark Sanford and the questionable behavior of Joe Jackson (to name but two), I got to thinking about how people in general conduct (or don’t conduct) themselves in public. Not that I am without my own issues, but there seems to be a general decline in how people behave and act.

Apparently, I’m not the only one who has this on his mind.

And, of course, the Immortal Bard, was ahead of the game. He is, obviously, talking more about the definition of dignity as a fundamental right of the human condition. But I’m including the song because it made me think that it’s interesting that supposedly dignified people in the public eye can't adhere to any sort of the "dignity code," while others are searching for just a small shred of what so many take for granted.

And also because it is one great song.
Dignity in 1994