July 2004

Let’s just say I’ve learned to hate it. A pretty perplexing statement for someone with my record collection. In fact what I hate is what it is perceived to be, not necissilarly what it is. To me folk music is a somewhat odd mixture of traditional American music, mostly from the South played by primitive rural amateurs and contemporary singer songwriters. I know, I know, a pretty broad definition and even somewhat diametrically in opposition. But what most people perceive as folk music these days, and indeed since the “great folk boom” of the ’50s and ’60’s, is liberal North Easterners singing real white bread-no crust topical music that’s mostly political in nature. That is the folk music I have learned to really, really despise.

Contemporary folk music (which I’ll call topical music for the remainder of this diatribe) gets under my skin the same way that contemporary Christian music does. It’s just as dishonest and transparent. Although I am a theist and on top of that, a theist of Christian theological extraction, the whole contemporary Christian music thing just makes me want to hurl. Why? Because this music form is nothing more than a group of marketers using the guise of music to further their religious and political ambitions. These folks making this pabulum that calls itself “Christian music” would be just as happy to use cinema, finger-painting or even porn (if they felt they could get away with it) to further their presuppositions. It’s dishonest and on top of that, most of it is regrettably bad.

Topical folk music is stuck in the same reality distortion field as contemporary Christian music. Most of the people that find themselves in this musical wasteland, in much the same way that the folks behind modern Christian music, are in reality more interested in propagating their political beliefs than they are interested in music. In fact, I’d actually argue that most of them aren’t really interested in music at all. They’re just using it to further their (usually leftist) political beliefs. Let’s face it, most of this garbage started with the great Northeastern Folk boom. Political activists such as Pete Seger hijacked the music of the rural south to use for their own political aims. One thing that I do find interesting about most of the liberal elite that now control the content of what is wrongly called “folk music” have little knowledge of this music’s roots beyond the 1960’s. There is no real knowledge of the rural southern blues music or the music of the Irish and Scottish immigrants of the Appalachians. Their world view of “folk music” usually begins with Pete Seger, The Kingston Trio or Phil Ochs. In fact, they completely ignore the “secular” works (that is the music not of a political nature) of Woody Guthrie or even the new/old poster child of the uber-left folkies, Phil Ochs. Even worse, there is a whole schism of these neo-folkies that don’t have any knowledge of folk musics roots beyond Joni Mitchell or Ani DiFranco.

So in the end what are we left with? A bunch of lunatic neo-socialists using music to further their political aims in exactly the same fashion the radical Christian right uses music to further their theology. In both cases, much of the music is just as counterfeit and corrupt as their morals . The left that’s hijacked this American musical form for their own political gain are just as morally corrupt and dishonest and the Christian right in their adoption of bad pop music for their theocratic gain. And this music lover is sure buying and listening to a lot of Alt-Country and Americana music these days. Why? I’d have to say I love it’s honesty. And in reality, it’s really just folk music, without all the baggage and finger pointing.

I watched the Wim Wenders directed film for the Martin Scorsese blues series again a couple of nights ago. “The Soul of a Man” is loosely based around the lives of Blind Willie Johnson, Skip James and JB Lenoir, and it’s voiced from the perspective of Blind Willie Johnson. Johnson has always been one musical figure that I’ve gotten just a ton of inspiration and joy from. After those recordings he pretty much gave up on “music” and spent his life preaching the gospel. This man who wrote a song that is literally on a one way trip out of the solar system, died of pneumonia sleeping in his burned out shack, shivering under wet newspapers gazing at he stars. Johnson’s music has inspired generations of musicians. Skip James and JB Lenior were two of the most brilliant songwriters in the history of the blues, and their work would stand up against anything and everything written today. How did Johnson put everything down and walk awy? Did it continue to live in him and eat him alive or was he really able to quench the beast and not look back. “As far as I can understand, it’s nothing but a burning light.”

I appear to still be holding a moratorium on songwriting. It’s nothing intentional, at least I don’t believe it’s intentional. As I said before, I just don’t see much point in it. When it comes to writing a song, you pretty much have to have a reason to do it, even if it’s purely selfish. For some songwriter that still believes he or she can change the world through political means, they can go write some political diatribe. If it’s a love song you’re after, then sling the arrows in that direction. You’re either writing for Jesus, or politics or your lover or sailing or jumping out of airplanes or war or whatever. I just can’t seem to find a reason to write. And it’s not like I’m searching for one, I just don’t really care. Maybe this is a good place to be. But if it is, why do I keep thinking about it?.

I got to talking with these 2 guys I see fishing on the beach every once and a while. So I get to shooting the shit with them and they are “old time” Fort Lauderdale guys. One of them was in my graduating class of Fort Lauderdale High. I don’t remember him, but to tell you the truth, I don’t remember much about those years. We did get to talking about some other folks we knew from “back in the day” and it’s surprising how many of them are dead. What an uplifting thought. One guy got his head bashed in in front of Shooters, another one OD’d.

My daughter is away at UCLA this week attending a a summer camp thing for high school students interested in film making. So far she hates it. I’ll be heading out there in a few days to meet her and spend a couple of days breathing the smog. I’ll also get a chance to spend some time with one of my oldest and dearest friends. That will be good. I can’t think now. There are too many annoying people in Starbucks.

Yesterday I was waiting for a parking space to open up in a part of town where it’s really hard to find a spot. I spied a guy coming out of the establishment in question heading for his car. He really took his time. Finally after playing with his package and getting in the car, he starts it up. For the next 10 minutes he tunes the radio, adjusts the mirror, picks his teeth, looks at his ugly mug and then finally backs out… as… slowly… as possible. As he’s passing by I just can’t help but stare at the guy, some old geezer from Michigan, and as he’s going by, he flips me a bird. Now you just know this guy knew I was waiting for the spot, he just wanted to be a prick. I guess being a prick makes him happy.

This morning at Starbucks, this really handsome couple sitting next to me are at each others throats again. Now from where I see it, the woman is just a ball buster. From what I could gather she’s pissed off about something and is just happy busting his balls. I’ve seen these two go at it before. He finally had enough and got up and walked out. It’s obvious that these two really like each other, and that he really puts up with a lot of shit for her, but it appears to me that she has made a career out of busting his balls. (It’s amazing that anyone is involved in a relationship at all. Some really horny people in this world) All of this is going on while some farking Guido is yelling at the top of his lungs at someone about something on his cell phone. All I’m thinking about at this point is “kill all cell phones.” I’d like to tell this guy that no one cares or gives a shit about his farking phone conversation, but I’m afraid by the telltale sigh of black knee-high nylon socks, cheap bonded leather Beatle boots with buckle and day glow shirt, this guy would probably pull a knife.

My time to be pissed off is certainly coming, I’ve got to drive to Palm Beach today. I gotta remember to bring my rocket launcher.

Other than the fact that my job, my current job, the way I do it, is not a good job for someone who tends to have hermit tendencies like I do. I pretty much have to force myself out of the house in the AM and down to Starbucks to get the bulk of my work done early in the morning. My profession, as a talk show host or even as the Program Director of a radio station in many ways was custom fit for a lunatic like me. I was able to communicate with many thousands of people in the comfortable confines of a little padded booth. When you think about it, it’s a pretty insane profession. Sitting in a little room talking to imaginary people. Of course you convince yourself in your head that they really do exist, and that you are having an intimate conversation with them one on one. Of course you do get interaction, via phone calls, but for the most part it’s a pretty bizarre profession.

Since I’ve been working in the consulting side of things, and not in an every day radio station or at a network, I’ve become even more insulated. Getting my morning work done at Starbucks or grocery shopping or lunch is pretty much the highlight of my day, as far as human interaction goes. I guess some might think this is a pretty sad state of affairs. Of course, I do have my parental duties. Taking my daughter to school, making dinner, laundry, cleaning the toilet, washing dirty underwear and the usual exciting stuff that people do. Is this really the extent of our lives? Endless drudgery of boring everyday activities? I think it may be so. I think in hindsight it’s the people you spend your time with that make the difference. Not necessarily the people per say, but who those people are. But what about all of the exciting and beautiful people of the world? Don’t they have immensely exciting lives surrounded by other amazingly beautiful people offering endless neural excitement? Maybe. But in the end, even those beautiful people. or the people we are told are beautiful people, just end up in a bedroom sucking someone’s toes.

Maybe it’s all just a question of who’s toes you want or are willing to suck.

I saw this thing on TV yesterday about this guy in New York that started putting up flyers on the street selling everyday things. He would have a flyer selling a cracker or a paper clip for 15 cents or something. The short, called “Have You Seen This Man” is an attempt by Geoff Lupo to engage an audience for his art (work) in New York. This guy is inspiring. I was thinking on how to transpose this into music. One possibility would be to place posters or adds for songs. I’d be willing to either sell them a song for the typical price that someone would be paid by ASCAP or BMI. I could even play the songs for them live. Let’s say, 5 cents a piece to perform a song per person. They could then, if they were so inclined, even gather a room full of people and I’d perform the songs for 5 cents a pop per person. I also like the idea that this isn’t original. I would have stolen the concept from Lupo. It somehow makes it more honest.

So my daughter say’s to me the other night, “Why isn’t there any more rock music?” Well you could have hit me over the head with a 2×4. In the last few day’s we have been inundated with news of the 50th anniversary of the first Elvis hit, an all Elvis channel on satellite radio, and countless stories on the more or less 50 years of rock and roll. But the thought that rock and roll is dead, only we, the generation of it’s birth, never noticed to bury it, is actually quite an eye opener.

Following her honest question: “What ever happened to Rock and Roll?” of course I fired back that rock isn’t dead, there are still great bands out there. The first example that came to mind was Wilco. And in the absolute brilliance that can only come from someone young enough to think truthfully and honestly, I missed the obvious fact that I as an educated and brilliant adult would so obviously overlook, she said: “Ya, but they are really alt-country.”

What if Rock and Roll really is dead? If it really is, it’s been dead since the ’80’s. The first thirty years of Rock and Roll history contains the glorious birth and amazingly brilliant adolescence of rock and roll. But in the last 15 or 20 years, the form has languished like a fat, rotting, bloated dead carcass. Rock music today is more about fashion than form. We celebrate and bask in the glory of the superficial. But you already know that.

If I’m going to be honest with myself, the most interesting music I’ve come across lately would fall into the alt-country orbit. I’m listening to Buddy and Julie Miller right now. “You Make My Heart Beat too Fast” is obviously a rock and roll song. At least it sounds like one. But if I had to label it something, it would definitely be alt-country.

I find it more than a coincidence that Rock and Roll is languishing in the slow pains of death at the same time that radio has become more marginal. God, I got into radio because it was so damn cool. But the cool has been sold from the heart of radio in the same way it has been sold from the heart of rock and roll. And cool can only exist as long as it is cool. Once some advertising genius starts selling cool, as an industry of cool, it no longer is. Manufactured cool isn’t.

Maybe rock and roll isn’t dead. Maybe it’s lying somewhere in cardiac arrest waiting for a swift kick in the ass. But if a 16-year-old thinks it doesn’t exit, it doesn’t. If a teen believes that rock is dead. It is. No matter how much you or I want to romanticize it’s immortality.

I just love this song from the latest Sam Phillips CD, “A Boot and a Shoe.” It’s become for me one of those songs you get hooked into. The simple production, strings, lovely-floating-haunting melody and thoughtful lyrics work so well. It reminds me a bit of something I might have written (lyrically) before the song nazi’s polluted my brain. I think I may have to actually break down and learn this one. As difficult as it is for me to learn someone else’s songs, I’m gonna give this one a whirl and see if I can play it without butchering in too much.

Sam Phillips - Reflecting Light

Now that I’ve worn out, I’ve worn out the world
I’m on my knees in facination
Looking through the night
And the moon’s never seen me before
But I’m reflecting light

I rode the pain down, got off and looked up
Looked into your eyes
The loss opened windows, all around
My dark heart lit up the skies

Now that I’ve worn out, I’ve worn out the world
I’m on my knees in facination
Looking through the night
And the moon’s never seen me before
But I’m reflecting light

(break)

Give up the ground, under your feet
Hold on to nothing for good
Turn and run at the mean dogs chasing you
Stand alone and missunderstood

Now that I’ve worn out, I’ve worn out the world
I’m on my knees in facination
Looking through the night
And the moon’s never seen me before
But I’m reflecting light

So last night I overhear this young lady say “I’m movin’ to Dallas.” So a couple of minutes later I ask her if she’s really moving to Dallas. The answer I received wasn’t even close to what I had anticipated to flow from her pouty mouth filled with perfect pearly teeth. With a big shit eating grin on her face she said, “No… I’m not really moving to Dallas. I just say that because there are real men there. I just get so fucking sick of all the men here in Fort Lauderdale that shave their assholes.” Now how the hell do you answer a question like that? I was, shall we say, stupefied. The only response I could think of off the top of my head was, “What do they do there, pull them out one by one?” At this point she dove deeper into the philosophical reasoning behind her statement. (Amazing isn’t it that “Shaving assholes” could have a philosophical affectation) So she tells me that “All the men in Fort Lauderdale aren’t ‘real men.’” They shave their chests and arms and she always kids her friends that she’s ‘moving to Dallas’ as a joke because of her frustration over all this shaving and from what I can gather male hygiene and metro-sexuality (what ever that is). Now I’ve never considered shaving my backside, but I guess if you are going for that “perfect asshole” look, it’s a good place to start. I do wish this young lady well. And I hope her and that elusive life-partner she is looking for with an incredibly hairy rectum live happily ever-after.

Last night performed major surgery on my daughters iBook. From the way the computer was acting, it seems I correctly assumed that the drive was hosed. So I pulled apart an old Wallstreet that I have (I use it to run the webcam on this site) and lifted a 20 gig 2.5 inch drive from it to put in the iBook. Took me all of 3 minutes to pull the drive and put an old 4 gig drive back in. Now the iBook took me 3 hours to pull apart, remove the drive, replace it and put it back together. The iBook appears to be working (but it does make a funny little beep from time to time and I have about 5 extra screws). Man what a frustrating piece of shit to work on. I remember when Apple products were easy to work on and that was one of the big reasons for owning one (at least for me). Now they make these damn things so it’s really, really difficult to upgrade a drive or CD burner. They don’t want you to upgrade them, they want you to buy a new one. Can’t blame them, but what a pain in the ass.

Last night I tossed back a few frothy libations at my local neighborhood watering hole. Over a period of a couple of hours I helped hold up the bar, I ended up shooting the shit with a guy who is a recently retired firefighter from Atlantic City. In the course of our conversation we ended up spending quite a bit of time talking about his work at the site of the World Trade Center. In fact, the three months he spent at ground zero was the last three months he spent as a firefighter. On the way back home walking up the beach I got to thinking about the conspiracy theories surrounding the 9/11 disaster. The stories about the Saudi family being flown out of the country within hours of the act (made top of mind again by the recent propaganda film of Michael Moore), the rumors swirling that 9/11 was a Zionist plot and the popular belief in Arab circles that the Mossad moved all the Jews out of the towers before the attacks. (Of course all of this is complete B.S.)

However, one rather conspicuous conspiracy that I have yet to see illuminated is the obvious death grip that Jewish Americans appear to hold over the folk music world. I’ve brought to light before the infatuation that the short haired, Birkenstock floppin, tie die tossin, open tuning guitar strummin lesbians have for folk music. And who could argue with the reach of the long tentacles of the socialist and liberal pinko, pansy, bed wetters have on contemporary folk music. Not to mention the tree huggers! But what’s the deal with all these Jews singing folk songs?

I once read an article by Taj Mahal where he comes to the conclusion that sooner or later you’ll be drawn to the music of your lineage and forefathers. He talked about how imersed into folk music he was, but that eventually your genetics kick in and you become attracted to the music of your forefathers. For Taj it was blues. Now my infatuation with folk music could be seen as somewhat genetic. I mean, at least you can understand why I would be attracted to it. My family comes from a proud line of hicks and sod busting drunks. My granny (who’s name was Elle, you know, like Elle May Clampett) was from the hills is Somerset, Kentucky. My Grandpa’ was from a family of coal miners in Harlan, Kentucky. I grew up listening to them singing this damn hick music that later won the title of Appalachian folk. On my dad’s side they were just poor Irish sods who got the hell out of Ireland to avoid the famine. And boy did they love that “hickety, dickety dow” music. So it might be obvious why an uneducated white boy like myself would be attracted to folk music.

But for the life of me I can’t understand whey the hell Jews would be so frikkin’ fascinated with folk music? Why would Jewish Americans be drawn to this music steeped in the traditions of the old south, mostly sung by uneducated hicks and sons of black slaves? If you don’t think that the Jews have an iron clad death grip on the rotting ghost of contemporary folk music, just check out the elected officials of the local chapter of folkies here in South Florida. Here’s the last names of the latest list I could find of the elected officials of the Broward Folk Club:

Bukstel, Cherkinsky, Cambest, Engels, Feldman, Glickstein, Kaplan, Leibowitz, McBurnett, Moses, Singer.

Now it’s been quite a while since I played “Jew/not a Jew” but it looks to me that at least 80% of the folks in charge of this group are not WASPS. And if you think it’s bad here, head up to Greenwich Village and try and find an Irishman or a honest to God redneck with a guitar.

Is this a real conspiricy on the same playing field as Oswald, Ruby Ridge or the X Files? Why do people of Jewish heritage have such a lopsided role in the recent history of the music of America’s rednecks? Shouldn’t they be listening to showtunes or hanging out with the Cantor? I have no real explanation. I’m not even sure if there is a real conspiracy or if it’s all just a huge, cosmic coincidence. I really wish someone would explain this to a simpleminded dumb ass white boy like myself.

*Yes, of course this is parody. But as with all humor, it contains a hint of truth-jf

Just for the record, here’s a rather bad pict I came across of me wearing my IDF teeshirt.