Category Archives: Melancholy music

Every Musician Has Stories …

Every musician has stories. It comes with the territory. Here are two of mine.

In the years before I was with After Midnight, I was a member of the Waco Musician’s Union. I was in good company – Don Henley was a member in Waco, too. The late Johnny Vanston (another drummer) and his wife headed up the union until it finally closed and was folded into the Dallas/Fort Worth Music Union about 1996.

My day job back from 1978 to 1986 was as arts & entertainment editor with the Waco Tribune-Herald, back when it was still owned by the wonderful Fentress family. One night, I was assigned to cover a fund-raiser for The Art Center. It was held in an aircraft hangar on the TSTC campus. In addition to an auction, there was a dancing – provided by a big swing band made up of top Waco musicians.

It was an easy assignment. Get a few interviews, describe the decorations, food, and auction items, wait for the final tally on the auction, then phone in the story (or physically drive back to the paper – this was the days before portable computers, of course – and write it up there). I quickly finished the interviews and was enjoying the various food stations when Johnny came up to me. The bassist for the big band, for whatever reason, hadn’t shown. Would I sit in on drums? Johnny switched to bass.

So, for the one and only time in my life, I got to play in a big swing band. We did everything – Glenn Miller, the Dorseys, Benny Goodman, Guy Lombardo – and I had a ball. The bassist never showed, I filed the story, and I hummed “Chattanooga Choo Choo” for weeks. I’m sure Bob Sadler at the paper knew, but he never said anything if he did.

Story #2:

If you’re a member of the union, periodically you’ll get offered “transcription” gigs. This is one of the things the musician’s union negotiated with the big corporate publishing houses years ago. Essentially, it offered bands the going rate to play places that otherwise couldn’t afford a live band.

In those days, I was in a country-pop band called Bits & Pieces (don’t ask). I don’t remember the names of the lead singer/keyboard player (a gal) or the lead singer/guitar player (a guy), but the bassist was a friend and college buddy from several bands in those days, Scott Pelking. One evening, the guitarist called and said we had a transcription gig that weekend at the Waco VA Hospital.

If you’ve never been to the older buildings in the back of the Veteran’s Administration complex, there is an old-school amphitheater. We set up, did a sound check, and waited. After a while, nurses began to lead dozens and dozens of old soldiers into the auditorium. Some were ancient – clearly veterans of World War I. Many – too many – were grievously injured. A few were pushed into the hall in wheelchairs.

The vets crowded around the stage in front of our female keyboardist.

After a few more minutes, a bus pulled up and out came about 20 middle-aged women. I didn’t recognize any of them, but one of the nurses said that every three months, a number of women from Waco volunteered to dance with the old soldiers. Many wore the “blue stars” of Blue Star Moms – meaning they had had children who had served in the armed forces.

There were many more soldiers than there were volunteers, but each man waited patiently for his turn. On the slow songs, some of the volunteers took the men in the wheelchairs out on to the dance floor, where they slowly swayed and rocked together.

As you might imagine, the guys and gal in Bits & Pieces were speechless. We played every song we knew, especially the old ones. We played songs that I’ve never heard since, songs from the ‘20s and ‘30s. (Our two leaders had done this gig before and came prepared with massive “cheat” books.)

When the dance was over, the old soldiers filed out and the volunteers boarded their buses and went home.

I’ve never forgotten that evening, those men, those women. It was a lovely evening, but a troubling one. As the son of a career officer in the Air Force, I’m sensitive to how we as a society treat those who have given so much on our collective behalf.

Our little gig clearly meant a lot to the men who danced that night.

But very quickly I came to realize how pitifully little it was … and how little I’ve done since.

 

After Midnight

After Midnight

The only thing harder than forming a great band is leaving one. After 14 years (or so – we’re not quite sure when this actually began) of drumming for the best cover band in Central Texas, I had to reluctantly tender my resignation from After Midnight last week. While this isn’t exactly John Lennon leaving the Beatles, it still hurts. A lot.

I’ve grown to love these guys. Barry Hankins (guitar, vocals) and I had played together at 7th & James for several years, usually backing other people for youth talent shows, 7th’s Up, and even Cool Yule when I asked him if he’d be interested in forming a band that specialized in R&B and Texas shuffle. He said yes. Barry had been in a number of bands through the years and has this wonderful Bob Seger/Detroit rock voice that was just achin’ to be spotlighted.

Within a couple of weeks, we’d heard about Steve Gardner (keyboards, vocals) at Lake Shore Baptist. We approached Steve, played a few tunes at his house and found an immediate musical/personal fit. Steve had also been in bands growing up in Oak Cliff In fact, Jimmie Vaughan, Stevie Ray’s brother, once asked Steve to go on the road with him. Steve instead chose to go to college. Jimmie’s loss, our gain.

Several other wonderful musicians came and went — Jim LePeyre, Scott Rasnic, Andrew Armond, John Haskett and others — before we finally found Lance Grigsby (bass) who, at the time, had an office across from mine in the Department of Journalism, PR & New Media. Lance is a multi-instrumentalist and good-naturedly set out to master the bass guitar. Which he did. In the process, he became After Midnight’s youngest member and token eye candy.

But between the commute from San Antonio and my knees and now my shoulder, it has gotten harder and harder. I never dreamed it would get so difficult I’d have to leave something I love this much. When I told the guys, they were disappointed, but supportive. In time, a good band becomes like family. And I had come to regard our Saturday morning and Tuesday evening practices as an anticipated family reunion. Relatives by choice.

I’ve strongly urged them to continue and I believe they will. After Midnight is certainly a lot bigger than one broken-down drummer. It gives too many people too much pleasure to stop now.

In those 14 years, we’ve played every possible gig – private parties, the Bosque River Stage, the Carleen Bright Arboretum, fund-raisers, benefits, wedding receptions, smoky dives off the Circle, La Fiesta, Hog Creek, Common Grounds, 40th, 50th and 60th birthdays, even a particularly unsettling gig on the old Brazos Queen, where we were repeatedly asked to play the Eagles’ “Desperado.” And when we didn’t replay it immediately, the entire party left the dance floor, never to return.

And, oh, the stories …

We once played a reception for an academic conference in Austin on Halloween. I had had a kidney stone the day before. But in the great “the show must go on” tradition of rock’n’roll, I played the gig with a catheter and on some serious pain meds. That night, as Mary drove us out of the downtown hotel where we’d play, we were stopped by the midnight Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender costume parade. Still loopy from the meds, I watched hundreds of beautiful LGBT people – mostly dressed as slutty nurses – parade by. Strangely, nobody remembers this but me.

We eventually came up with a two-tiered fee system. We had one fee for afternoon Southern Baptist wedding receptions where only punch was served and a lesser fee for everything else. I didn’t become a drummer to play softly.

Over the course of the years, we got to be very good. Actually, Steve, Barry and Lance were pretty good to start with. I was the one who got better. Playing with real musicians will do that for you. I’m not enough of a musician to be a great drummer, so I concentrated on keeping a funky beat when a funky beat was called for. My drumming idol is the late Al Jackson Jr., the great minimalist drummer with Booker T & the MGs. But then, the Stax/Volt and Atlantic soul/R&B eras of the ‘60s are my musical foundation.

Being a drummer in a rock band, of course, is the greatest gig in the world. You make people happy. There is nothing I like better than watching people dance and enjoy themselves. The bass player and the drummer, relieved of the added burden to be the featured soloists and sex symbols, usually people- watch. Lance and I have seen couples come together and break apart, shy guys ask a girl to dance for the first time, tipsy 70-year-olds emulate the Solid Gold Dancers, and – at the many outdoor gigs we’ve played – shooting stars explode on the horizon.

When After Midnight is cookin’, I would get totally lost in the music and the beat. I never thought about what would come next, which drum to hit, which cymbal to crash. I would get caught up in it. Making music. Having fun. Watching people smile.

In songs like “Walking to Memphis” or “Brown-Eyed Girl,” I could just play and listen to the band at the same time and marvel at their skill and my luck to be a part of it.

We eventually adopted “Mustang Sally” as our “theme” song – or, perhaps, our audiences adopted it for us. As Lance would begin the intro, our most faithful fans – Mary and Kathy and Ann and Becky and Linda and Dana – would rush the dance floor. And when we’d hit the “Ride, Sally, ride!” chorus, everybody would sing along. Magic.

Jesus, I’m going to miss that.

 

 

Melancholy Music, Part II

 

 

 

 

Melancholy Music, Maybe. Part II

We’re still talking about/listening to great melancholy songs. One thing that quickly struck me as I began assembling this second part of the list was the number of native Texans (or, at least, songwriters with strong ties to Texas). Why? Who knows…

Which Kris Kristofferson song to choose? The man’s written a bunch of ‘em. Of course, looking back on his acting career, I’d be melancholy, too. How about “Sunday Morning Coming Down”?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qYvkhDMU5Mg

Rodney Crowell is one of our best living songwriters. Like Kristofferson, he’s most comfortable singing about loss and love and a fragile kind of hope that never quite gives way to despair – “Ashes by Now.”

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

Featured on that last video is Emmylou Harris. Crowell used to be her band leader. He wrote “Ashes by Now” and the heartbreakingly lovely “Till I Again Control Again.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TMR4ZU1noI4

Some songs are so old that their roots are lost in the mists of time. “Texas Rangers” is a re-written version of an ancient English ballad, filled with intriguing anachronisms. Michael Martin Murphey sings it like it was meant to be sung, a cappella, with just a hint of drone in the background.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2-dYzh_ZA8A

Roseanne Cash released a number of wonderful albums, mostly produced by her husband (and native Texan) Rodney Crowell. Even her happy songs sound a little wistful. “Seven Year Ache” is one of my favorites. Her dad, Johnny Cash, knew his way around a melancholy song, too.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hrUs_FWqj9s

Townes Van Zandt was a tortured genius, tormented and demon-wracked. And he wrote some of the most achingly beautiful songs of melancholy ever recorded, including “Tecumseh Valley.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_rq5GsZHd0Y

Another Texan, equally acclaimed and – fortunately for music-lovers everywhere – still with us, Guy Clark has an extraordinary catalogue of original and soul-searching songs. Which one to choose? How about the quiet desperate sadness of “Desperados Waiting for a Train”?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VbB5TRLF9mo

I’ll be forever grateful for Mike Korpi and Walt Wilkins for introducing me to Itasca native Sam Baker, the heir to Townes and Guy. Nearly killed by a “Shining Path” bomb in Peru, Sam taught himself to play guitar left-handed and has proceeded to write some of the most haunting songs in the English language in recent years, including “Waves” and “Baseball.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ivJva71KaL0

Though not from Texas, John Prine is the only person with three songs on my list, “Angel from Montgomery,” “Sam Stone” and “Paradise.” He’d be considered one of our greatest living songwriters if he never wrote anything but these three. Fortunately, he’s written many, many more equally dour, sardonic, utterly beguiling masterpieces as well.

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

Speaking of “Angel from Montgomery,” I first saw Bonnie Raitt back in the early ‘80s and have been a fan ever since. But I’m not sure she ever recorded a more beautifully dejected song than “I Can’t Make You Love Me.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nW9Cu6GYqxo

One more American singer/songwriter of note – Tom Rush has been doing this sort of thing a very long time. He’s probably best-known for his leaving home song, “No Regrets,” but I’ve always loved the sad and lovely “Merrimack County.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yS6pMotQma0

Emotionally and stylistically, the Irish seem to have the most in common with Texans, at least when it comes to music. Perhaps because so many Texans are of Irish descent. Or, as G.K. Chesterton once wrote, “For the great Gaels of Ireland/Are the men that God made mad/For all their wars are merry/And all their songs are sad.” Sounds like most Texas songwriters to me!

Regardless, I’d have to say that Maura O’Connell’s version of Tom Waits’ “Broken Bicycles” is one of the most serenely melancholy songs I’ve ever heard. Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be a Youtube video of her performing the song, so here’s Wait’s original:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eF-HAAUY45c

This one could just as easily ended up in my list of over-exposed songs of melancholy, but Sinead O’Connor’s version of Prince’s “Nothing Compares 2 U” holds up over repeated listenings and viewings. The stark, honest simplicity of the performance, coupled with the longing and loss in the words, are nearly unparalleled when it comes to MTV-styled videos.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iUiTQvT0W_0

Not surprising, there are a number of artists from the U.K. on my list. (Of course, my Irish friends would say that they’re melancholy because of the Brits!)

Here’s one that you may not remember: Dream Academy, “Life in a Northern Town.” When the music of ‘80s was good, it was very good. And when it was bad, well … This is one of the good ‘uns.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O17MA58P-QY

Dave Mason used to be one of my favorite artists, both when he was with Traffic and as a solo performer. He was/is also an under-rated songwriter. “Shouldn’t Have Took More Than You Gave” is Mason at his melancholic best.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xj2h0LSTY3U

My two favorite songs by the Stones are their bleakest and most melancholy, “No Expectations” and “Wild Horses.” “Wild Horses” is about addiction. Though I’d always known and liked the song, I didn’t really get “No Expectations” until MSNBC played it under a montage of scenes of the aftermath of Katrina. The lyrics are chillingly descriptive – and the somber music matches the mood.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1rIqBeMZAMc

I surprised that only a handful of the many, many great soul/R&B songs I love can be classified as melancholy. Here are three of them:

The Temptations’ “Just My Imagination (Running Away with Me)” has an added layer of regret over and above the lyrics and music – this is the last song with the original lineup, before egos and health issues tore the group apart.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M5Z9-QCmZyw

I never get tired of hearing Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes sing “If You Don’t Love Me by Now.” Teddy Pendergrass at his prime. An aching, stop/start melody line. And sublimely resigned harmonies. Perfect.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UxOZ6gifTjA

And one of my earliest all-time faves: Brook Benton’s moody, mystical, just on the edge of despair reading of “Rainy Night in Georgia.” Some of the most melancholy guitar licks ever pressed to wax. I can remember being a teen-ager and driving around the Piney Woods of East Texas listening to this song as if it were yesterday. It transports me every time.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bDRbF80NKDU

Finally, the four melancholy songs that still hit me at a visceral level whenever I hear them. They are here because they embody the best, most insightful lyrics and most utterly haunting melodies of a truly great song of melancholy and loss. These are bittersweet, autumnal songs of regret … but always leavened with a hint of hope.

I’m not sure I can narrow down the music of Loreena McKennitt to just two songs – all of them are infused with a gorgeous Celtic fatalism and transcendent beauty. “Lady of Shalott” and “The Bonny Swans” are just two of many …

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

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MU_Tn-HxULM

The forever underrated Beth Nielsen Chapman (who happens to have been born in Harlingen, Texas), has written hits for a lot of other artists. But nothing, to my ears, as heart-wrenchingly beautiful as “Sand and Water,” written after the loss of her husband to cancer.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_G6lIpWQXhw

And finally, I don’t know this song always devastates me. It just does. It’s like a fatal attraction. It sends me careening in melancholy every time I hear it, but I keep going back: Simply Red, “Holding Back the Years.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yG07WSu7Q9w

And, as before, I’d welcome/cherish YOUR favorite melancholy songs!

 

 

The Soundtrack of Your Life

What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?”
— Rob (John Cusack), High Fidelity

There are times — even during good times — when you just need a little melancholy in your music. Not sentimentality, but just a touch of blue. When those times come, here are some of the songs (or, more precisely, the lyrics to those songs) that I turn to:

“Banks Are Made of Marble”

I’ve traveled ’round this country
from shore to shining shore
It really made me wonder
the things I heard and saw

I saw the weary farmer
plowing sod and loam
l heard the auction hammer
just a-knocking down his home

But the banks are made of marble
with a guard at every door
and the vaults are stuffed with silver
that the farmer sweated for

I’ve seen the weary miner
scrubbing coal dust from his back
I heard his children cryin’
“Got no coal to heat the shack”

But the banks are made of marble
with a guard at every door
and the vaults are stuffed with silver
that the miner sweated for

I’ve seen my brothers working
throughout this mighty land
l prayed we’d get together
and together make a stand

Then we might own those banks of marble
with a guard at every door
and we might share those vaults of silver
that we have sweated for

Originally by Les Rice. The most famous versions are by Pete Seeger and the Weavers, but Iris Dement does a lovely take on it.

“No Expectations”

Take me to the station
And put me on a train
I’ve got no expectations
To pass through here again

Once I was a rich man and
Now I am so poor
But never in my sweet short life
Have I felt like this before

You heart is like a diamond
You throw your pearls at swine
And as I watch you leaving me
You pack my peace of mind

Our love was like the water
That splashes on a stone
Our love is like our music
Its here, and then its gone

So take me to the airport
And put me on a plane
I got no expectations
To pass through here again

Jagger/Richards, The Rolling Stones. While I could pick nearly anything from Beggar’s Banquet, after I heard this played behind the harrowing footage of Katrina refugees turned away on the bridges out of New Orleans five years ago, it has come to have a special meaning for me.

“O Worship the King”

O tell of his might, O sing of his grace,         
Whose robe is the light, whose canopy space;  
His chariots of wrath the deep thunder-clouds form,  
And dark is his path on the wings of the storm. Yes, the old hymn. There is something about that last couplet …

“Broken Bicycles”

Broken Bicycles, old busted chains/With busted handlebars out in the rain/Somebody must have an orphanage for/These things that nobody wants anymore/September’s reminding July/It’s time to be saying goodbye/Summer is gone, but our love will remain/Like old broken bicycles out in the rain.

The things that you’ve given me will always stay/They’re broken, but I’ll never throw them away.

Tom Waits, “Broken Bicycles” (I must admit I like Maura O’Connell’s version from A Real Life Story better).

Melancholy, but lovely.

See? I feel better already.