After much success with the Fugees, she became pregnant with the child of Bob Marley's son, Rohan. She took a break. During that time, she worked with CeCe Winans, Aretha Franklin and Whitney Houston on various projects. She took these influences and an outpouring of newly written songs to Bob Marley's studio (Tuff Gong) in Jamaica to record this amazing album.
There are times when nothing else matches the intensity of your emotions. When this album is the right choice, it is because it is the only right choice... the only friend who understands.. the only thing that will let me feel the way I feel with complete understanding and lack of judgment. In it, I am able to rest with these emotions. It stirs them around and allows them react with each other like ingredients in a cauldron, setting off release.
(I'm sorry this one is so long. This song picked itself today. Part of why it "works" is because it is long enough. If not, there is another hour and a half of it on the album.)
Monk was born 100 years ago today. New Yorker music critic Whitney Balliett once describe Monk's playing as feeling like, "missing the bottom step in the dark". His uncanny sense of syncopation, timing and chord changes matched with an ease with familiar sounding melodies made him special. He heard what others heard. He just heard it differently. And, he was uncompromising in his approach.
He came from the bebop era and refused to go along with the commercial turn of early 50's jazz. He had a resurgence in the mid 50's and became one of the giants of that time. He produced several great recordings through the 60's, but all but disappeared during the 70's. Health and mental health issues kept him sidelined until he died of a stroke in 1982.
Mitch and I are on a real quest -- one of the most worthwhile quests I've ever set out on. We are on a quest to find and place ourselves in the middle of "hipness" in Lexington. It is the winter of 1993, we took an apartment in an affordable complex a couple of miles from campus, on the Winchester side of town. Never mind school for now. I wasn't into it. There was too much else going on.
It's Friday night. River Runt Spook Floaters are playing at Lynaugh's. They are one of the best around... from Cincy. Have you heard their version of "Peg" (Steely Dan)? Sometimes they bring the horns section. I can't wait to use my newly acquired bomb proof ID (the one time I was glad I looked so much like my big brother). Mitch says, "before the show, let's stop by this guys house over off Waller and smoke down." That sounds a little nervy to me. Everything does. Going around all of these new ("cool") people, going to the show... some after-party, I'm sure. And smoking down just amplifies it times a million. But, this is the trip we are on. I am rarely comfortable these days, but I am, at the very least, along for the ride.
These guys have a whole house, with an upstairs, framed things on the wall, nice tapestries, a swanky ash tray, tons of cds, and yes -- some really good weed. We commence. Cue Herbie! Loud! Crystal clear! From space! I have not heard this. I guess I have not heard anything like this. What? No electric guitars? No white boy angst and ego? Is it Jazz? Is it club music? It's the opposite of folk music. It's alien to folks. No oovy-groovy change the world thing. It's not of this world. This music that was released the year I was born, before most of the great funk albums, before disco... It's 20 years on and it still sounds so tomorrow. This sound busted open so much space in my musical mind. I can feel myself becoming cooler now... now that I know about this.
Thank you, guy from Mitch's chemical engineering class. Thank you Herbie! Let's head to the show. Don't fail me now, Don's ID.
We had a late 70's model, red Jeep Wagoneer growing up. Mom drug us all over the place in this thing. I remember riding in the 'way back'. We took it on a trip to Colorado to see Aunt Teresa one year. Daddy borrowed a big luggage carrier for the top. We took Granny Granny, so there were 6 of us in there all of the way to Denver and back - reminiscent of the Griswolds (but Granny lived, although she did get concussed in Cripple Creek).
Anyway, the Jeep had an 8 track player and we only had a limited number of 8 track cassettes. Well, you guessed it. This was one of them (The Oak Ridge Boys Have Arrived). I also remember an Emmylou album, although it wasn't the one with this song (Quarter Moon in a Ten Cent Town). This was the country music I grew up on. Oak Ridge Boys, Barbara Mandrell, Kenny Rogers, along with the classics like Loretta and George Jones.
This song was written by Rodney Crowell, who is a great songwriter and collaborated with Emmylou after Gram Parsons died. I remember this song being a sing-a-long in the car and I loved the story. It's just an ordinary story about the way the things go - round and around nobody knows, but the highway goes on forever.
(The jeep pictured is slightly different than the one we had. Ours didn't have a white top. Oddly, I couldn't find one that looked just right. I wonder if my memory has altered things. I do remember it was not a woody, though. Davy Dave had a Jeep Cherokee that was a woody and was cooler than ours - I was a little jealous. I'm pretty sure they bought it because the wanted to one up us.)
I had a full album (tape) of the Coasters, which I wore out. I love the energy, the innocence, the tightness in their performance. These guys were from a long line of black vocal acts that perfected their harmonies and played their voices like horn sections. I still have a soft spot for anything influenced by those recordings.
Throughout my musical listening journey, I have had several 'episodes', where I latch onto a music genre or sub-genre and dig in obsessively. This has happened with Classic Rock, Southern Rock, Jam Bands, Jazz, Bluegrass, Old-Time, Nashville and Texas songwriters and many more. The first thing I remember doing this with is "Oldies" - 50's and 60's Rock'n'Roll. Somewhere between my obsession with Michael Jackson and The Smiths, my parents browsed through their high school yearbooks and told me a bunch of old stories and explained the social structure and events of the day ('59-'62).
Here are a couple other of my favorites that are referenced in the post above. Hanky Panky - Tommy James & the Shondells (1966) - This was a 45 they had that really stood out to me. Runaway - Del Shannon At the time, I remember saying this was my favorite. I would listen to it over and over.
Not to mention, the Coasters had plenty -- Their big hits
Joni is songwriting royalty. Not just among female songwriters, but all of them. She is up there with the best. When I saw her perform this in The Last Waltz, I was blown away. I wanted to be the Coyote and to have had that, even if fleeting, intimate encounter with this beauty and energy. I was familiar with her early stuff (almost picked Big Yellow Taxi for today's song) and her connection with Graham Nash and CSN&Y. But, the difference between 'Big Yellow Taxi' and 'Coyote' is like the difference between 'Blowin in the Wind' and 'Tangled Up in Blue'. It demonstrates a real evolution in her craft.
The imagery in this song is like a short film. It is a visual tale laden with sensation as much as with emotion. The arrangement creates the perfect feel, using only guitars, Jaco's smooth fretless bass and congas. She strums the ease of "No regrets, Coyote" while Jaco bounces through the story from scene to scene. It comes across as autobiographical - about her realizing her lifestyle is not compatible with that of her new love interest. But, it's okay. It is clear by the ease of pace of the song and her matter-of-fact delivery of the lyric -- she may be fully taking it in, but she's not slowing down for regrets. Her independence is not stated, but it is apparent. To me (just a dude), the over arching theme is a story of feminism in the "post sexual revolution" 70's. Near the end, when she says she's a "prisoner of the fine white lines of the free, freeway" with that strum and bounce of the music, the closing credits are framed by the dashboard and windshield, looking out at that expanse - the possibilities. She sounds more committed to this way of life than imprisoned by it.
The summer before 9th grade (1987), I was hanging out with Andy Cecil one day at the Country Club. Evidently, I was trying to act like some kind of punk to be cool around some older guys (Matt Lynch and another guy I don't remember his name). I was primed for it. There was so much angst and anxiety running through me in those days, but I so wanted to stay cool. So, this other guy asked me what music I listened to. I don't remember what I said, but he didn't approve. It was too mainstream.
"Why don't you listen to music with meaningful lyrics... somebody who's got something to say?"
"Like who?"
"The Smiths sing about hanging the DJ. You should listen to the Smiths Louder Than Bombs."
I went on to buy the cassette twice (cheap tape broke) and the cd twice (stolen). This was a primer that led me into some of the most important music of my life (REM, Cure, Depeche Mode...). Obviously, there were no brotherly influences here. Don thought I had gone fag. I wore this album out. Listening to it now, it doesn't speak to me as the most revolutionary song. And, even though I still love this album, it is not close to my favorite song on there. But, you can imagine a boy at 14....
This is a song that's about the musicians playing it. A real band. And, it really doesn't matter the instrument - as demonstrated by southern rock's only flute player, a bad-ass flute player. The lyric is just enough to carry you into the lonesome feeling and the solos are enough to take you deep and let you wallow in it. I don't know anything about their intention in structuring this performance, but to me it seems perfect that the instruments are kept sorta singular. The rhythm section is solidly there throughout, giving you the feel out being 'out there' on your own. There is an occasional twin guitar or fiddle and guitar playing the same phrase. But, mostly each instrument is given ample time and space for their solos.
Col. Bruce had the 4 T's of playing. Tone, Timing, Taste and Threat of Vomit. I can imagine on a hot live version, there may have been the Threat (See "Ramblin" for T.O.V.), but not on this performance (other than the lonesomeness). But, I believe this song to be a masterpiece of the other 3 T's. There is no guitar player with better tone or taste than Toy Caldwell. The way the piano comes in at the end of the fiddle solo around the 3:15 mark and the guitar at the end of that solo..... is the timing that pulls it all together. Taste is everywhere, from the sparseness of the solos - the notes they are not playing - to the individual voice of each player, to the southern accent of the cowboy (Toy Caldwell's vocals). At least once, ignore the lyric and the solos completely and listen to what's going on behind it. And, listen for the subtle bass fills from Toy's brother Tommy - gorgeous!
I suggest turning this one up a little louder than you're comfortable with. Around the 2:45 mark, go ahead and turn it up some more. You will fall into it.
