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Real Enough for Me
July 9, 2006    File under: America , Information Technology

Thanks, Jeff, for your comment on my last. Just to be clear, for me the question of sincerity and how it's construed becomes most thorny when the history of the music comes into play, so to speak. When I listen to Cash, it's hard for me, especially in the American recordings, not to think about the songs, where they come from, who did them before, what the songs meant in their earlier contexts. After all, though creepy per se, a song like "Thirteen" is at its creepiest and its coolest when Cash's rendition evokes and silences Danzig's original at once.

I'm no longer a very good guitarist, so I can't exactly share Jeff's experience of playing along with the records, in which case, I suppose I'd prefer some of the earliest, most unadorened versions of songs I love, though there would always be versions of songs, like some of live recordings of "Mannish Boy" in which the guitar parts are both more expressive and more clearly audible.

Still, after having been blown away by a sneak listen to Thom Yorke's forthcoming The Eraser, I find myself, though admiring the album's third track, "The Clock," preferring Thom Yorke's live acoustic version, performed recently on the Henry Rollins show where, though we miss the density of Thom Yorke's production, we hear the song's emotional rhythm more clearly.

Certainly there's value and joy in having many versions of each song. My interest, in my lecture, is in how a particular style gains a kind of cultural preference not necessarily because it's easier to hear, but because it's easier to consume, because it abets a specific political relationship to the music and, more importantly, to its makers.

...

Membra disjecta:

  • I discovered this week that the ascendency of the 33.3rpm 12" record lasted approximately 33.3 years.
  • Does anyone know what to call unpopped popcorn kernels left in the bag post-microwave?

Posted by Jake Adam York at July 9, 2006 4:14 PM



COMMENTS

Back in Northport, Alabama, we called unpopped kernals "old maids". But, as the assumption behind the term implies, that was before microwave popcorn. Before microwaves.

God, I'm old.

I guess the ones left in the microwaved bag could be called School of Quietude kernals?

Posted by: Dee Casalaina at July 10, 2006 3:54 PM




Certainly there's value and joy in having many versions of each song. My interest, in my lecture, is in how a particular style gains a kind of cultural preference not necessarily because it's easier to hear, but because it's easier to consume, because it abets a specific political relationship to the music and, more importantly, to its makers.

I see your point. Consumption and hearing are two separate things. I recall being out for beers one night with some guys here in Athens, Georgia, some fellas I'd just recently met. We were talking about music; they were all mad over some singer/songwriters that I'd never heard of.

One asked, "Say, Jeff, what's in your CD player right now?"

I had to think, but remembered: "Robert Johnson."

"Wow," he said over his beer. "I guess I appreciate that stuff, but I just can't listen to it. It's too hard to listen to."

I didn't press the issue, but I found through the conversation that these guys valued melody and "singability" and depth. I think of Johnson as a great performer. I also think that he's got a lot of depth.

This guy's comments got me to thinking about Robert Johnson in general. When I first heard the recordings (through a college friend), I didn't care for them. But, on some level, I knew that I should. I liked the blues, loved it. I'd been playing blues guitar since I was about 17.

But, Johnson's recordings were so foreign to my ear. I liked (at the time) Stevie Ray Vaughan, the Allman Brothers, and Robert Cray--all blues/rock artists who played essentially electric blues. My ear wasn't very developed. But, I knew the crossroads myth and knew that I should appreciate Robert Johnson.

Eventually, I grew to love him. I had the same experience with Bill Evans (a jazz player, I know). Interestingly enough, I did like Miles Davis the first time--but that's a different discussion (probably).

I suppose my point in all this is: yes, a performer's myth and history as well as the history of the songs themselves all come to mind when I hear a recording. Despite what the New Critics taught us, it's hard to separate an artist from his/her work. In many instances, I think that it's a travesty to do so.

Posted by: Jeff Newberry at July 10, 2006 5:24 PM




I've called the partially-popped ones 'old maids' for as long as I can remember. The completely unpopped ones?

uh...trash?

Posted by: ked at July 11, 2006 3:03 PM