Friday, November 13, 2020

Songs 2020 #3: "Esta En Ti," Adriana Rios

 

Rios starts with a deep breath, like she's uncertain before a big statement, maybe she's bracing herself for saying anything at all in the middle of the pandemic. Guitar arpeggios lay a path for her careful first steps. 

It doesn't take long for her to pick up the pace and emphasis, singing of people stripped of the familiar, losing their past identities and finding unity in a common cause. The guitar bangs out flourishes that expand the music's limits. Her voice pushes harder with each verse.

As she sings of doctors and nurses fighting a war that others fight from home, the sound grows epic in its reach. She finds a way to hope and a new kind of freedom, against a rising sun. 

Sure, it may be romantic. She may even sound naive. 

But she's not wrong. 

This is the world the pandemic could show us, is showing us in our best moments, and, as this record's playing, you hear the echo of your own flickers of hope in quiet moments, those moments when the reason for hope seems plain as day. Not just the possibility but the practicality of the vision is unmistakable. 

Of the moment and more demo than finished record, Adriana Rios's "Esta En Ti" ("It's In You") still matters now and matters deeply. After all, Rios isn't talking about anything intangible. She's talking about a real fight to contain a real virus and what it all means. 

Some of us have had the sense of possibility she expresses, at least at the beginning of the pandemic. We thought surely we would come together before a million died, before 11 million in the U.S. alone (versus 1 million in Mexico) contracted this unpredictable and deadly illness.

The fact that no one came through with PPE until too late, the fact that whole cities lay under siege while many speculated about hoaxes, the fact that the public good failed to take precedence over the hungry maw of the stock market, the fact that billionaires grew richer than ever while eight million Americans faced evictions, all of these things may well have cost us our sense of possibility.

But if you listen to this voice, you can't turn away, and if you can't turn away, you can't miss her call. And if we could find ourselves talking about what it would take to answer her--past our old identities and ideas about how things work, we might live in a better world, overnight. Listen to Rios sing and tell me you can't hear that new world aching and fighting hard to be born.

Esta En Ti

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zU5US8h7u5E

 

Tuesday, November 10, 2020

Songs 2020 #2: Lil Baby's "Bigger Picture"

 It’s hard to imagine a musical form more suited to 2020 than trap, and it’s hard to imagine an artist tackling it better than Lil Baby does here.

The record starts with the sound of thunder and striking (but halting, uncertain) piano. It’s a soundtrack for the uprising after George Floyd’s murder. It ends with the crowd shouting, “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.”

Then, as if harnessing breath control from the streets, Lil Baby begins to talk about what he’s seen all his life, memories and thoughts on memories spit in desperation. People being shot after being told to freeze, moms breaking down with sons in prison, friends packing weapons to keep their heads, everyone being harassed every second of every day by what can only be called an occupying force.

That kick drum and 808 has turned the thunder into another force under the crowd’s control, the keys all but doubled with the snare in insistent emphasis on each shift in the lyric.

He’s telling you why he’s here in the streets even if he knows it’s just a step in a process—“You can’t fight fire with fire, I know, but at least we can turn up the flame some.” He knows he’s surrounded by the blind following the blind, but they’re working this chink in the wall that’s beginning to shine some light.

And then there’s that refrain:

“It’s bigger than black and white/It’s a problem with the whole way of life…”

He’s clearly not turning that call inward, it’s outward. As he’s already mentioned, it’s the whole system. It’s all the questions we can’t even figure out how to ask.

He continues, “It can’t change overnight ---right.” He knows he’s at a stage in a process, and he knows it’s a leap of faith to work it. “But we gotta start somewhere/Might as well gone head start here/We done had a hell of a year.”   


Truer words have never been spoken, and a truer rap, a truer use of hip hop, musically and politically, shouldn’t even be looked for. This is an anthem for 2020 in the streets. And it’s all the better for being reflective. It deals with fears and vulnerability and limitations and the greatest yearning of them all, for a little bit of peace only possible with justice.

 Bigger Picture Official Video                        Bigger Picture Rap Life Live

Monday, November 09, 2020

Songs 2020 #1, Mavis Staples, "We're All In It Together"

 A record that helps me get out of bed.


According to Rolling Stone, early in the pandemic, Mavis Staples called up her buddy Jeff Tweedy and said, “Tweedy, have you heard them saying the title of our song on the news every minute on the minute?” And they released this outtake from 2017’s “If All I Was Was Black,” all money made going to My Block, My Hood, My City, a Chicago mutual aid group turned to the pandemic. My Block My Hood My City
It’s like they released the cut thesis, and somehow it works.
It’s really the simplicity of the thing. Two refrains acting as a verse and a chorus, a two line bridge to the same thing three (and a half) more times. But the simplicity allows it to build, subtly and unforgettably.
It starts off folkie, Tweedy’s acoustic, bluesy and off beat. Mavis quietly doubling her vocal as gravely front woman and aching back up. Then, the second time through, the band kicks in, backing vocals shimmer and bottleneck guitar finds some joy in expressing the pain of the thing.
“I gave up on hating you, just for hatin’ me/I gave up on hating you/A long time ago….”
Guitar sustain and hard fought desperation, “I need you/You need me.”
So the bottleneck shoots fire in the darkness, and the honky tonk keys kick up the dance. And it becomes a party to end all parties--when we know how much we depend on each other and celebrate how much we push each other yet save each other.
There’s a timidity here, like it’s a song afraid of itself, but maybe it should be. It’s tackling the hardest divisions we face, but it’s doing so knowing the stakes. That self-awareness more than redeems it.

Saturday, February 15, 2020

On All the Lines and Crossing Over: Jimmy Webb with John Fullbright at Knuckleheads


             
   After seeing last night’s Jimmy Webb show, I imagine most of the house agrees we have to read his memoir, The Cake and the Rain. Webb spent much of the evening turned to his right on his piano bench, telling stories, and what stories he had to tell....

Of course, it’s not surprising Webb has tales, a man who made records with the Supremes, Johnny Rivers, the Fifth Dimension, Thelma Houston and Carly Simon, whose song recorded by Nina Simone, “Do What You Gotta Do” was turned into Kanye West’s takedown of Taylor Swift, “Famous” (a story he delivered with hilarious ambivalence),  whose work is all-but-inextricably tied up with the heights of Glen Campbell’s career, and whose 1977 song “The Highwayman” inspired two country supergroups, 1985’s collaboration by Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson and Kris Kristofferson, The Highwaymen, and in 2019, The Highwomen, featuring Brandi Carlisle, Natalie Hemby, Maren Morris and Amanda Shires.  


                He led off with that "Highwayman" song, feeling like a nod to all the fine women songwriters in country today. He also wanted to get to this story about Waylon Jennings hung over in the studio, laying back on a couch, muttering with his cowboy hat over his face. Webb was giddy over the success of the new Highwaymen record but a little concerned that he was having problems with his own voice. Jennings grumbled, “How can you tell?”

                It's funny because Webb doesn't sing like Jennings, but Webb’s voice is fine. It's tough to sell songs that have been recorded by the finest vocalists in the business—from Frank Sinatra to Isaac Hayes to Art Garfunkel to Donna Summer. But he had fun with it. He freely acknowledged his own limitations, calling out, “now help me here!” when he broke into the high-reaching refrain of “Up, Up and Away” with its “beautiful balooooon!”

                He also didn’t mince words. He introduced “Galveston” as a “thinly veiled antiwar song” after asking how many veterans were in the house tonight. He added, “Many vets have told me over the years how much it meant to them.”
              
  Then, sensing some disruption in the room around the threat of politics, he dived right in, talking about how Campbell was to the Right of him when he met him and to the Left of him later on. “We’ve always had Right and Left in this country! Hell, the Democrats used to be the Righties!” The crowd laughed.

                He took it a little further. “Music is about more than politics. Love what you love and hate what you hate, but don’t love it or hate it just because of politics.” This received applause. It was the right note, and it was, in its own way, a higher level political statement than can typically be found among the smokescreens and gamesmanship of the nightly news.

                All night long, his touch on the piano was stunning, and he eventually did a gorgeous cover of Billy Joel’s “Lullabye, Goodnight My Angel” as an instrumental. This is on Slipcover, Webb’s all-instrumental tribute to what he calls “The Great American Songbook, Volume II,” featuring music by Stevie Wonder, Joni Mitchell, Randy Newman, Warren Zevon, the Beach Boys, the Beatles and the Stones.

                Of course, Webb’s original “The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress” also deserves its place on that album because Webb just about wrote a new Great American Songbook on his own. Bruce Springsteen’s obviously spent the last few years leafing through it, and British music journalist Dylan Jones just wrote a book about one of those songs, The Wichita Lineman: Searching in the Sun for the World’s Greatest Unfinished Song. Yeah, that’s right, it is unfinished, and perfect. Webb drew out the ending last night, repeating the modified refrain, “hanging on the line,” perhaps suggesting where it might go, certainly underscoring the perfection of form and content—that song’s left all of us caught up for five decades. It’s agonizing and perfect as it is.

Still, I might have to read that book, too.
Looking more than ever himself like a young Glen Campbell, opener John Fullbright played solo guitar and piano on a greatest hits of his own. As fine a bandleader as Fullbright can be, there’s something unparalleled about the power of his solo performances. I turned to a guy who was clearly rocking in his heels, having never seen Fullbright before, and I said, “This was my dad’s favorite,” on “Forgotten Flowers." The first time I saw Fullbright do a whole show, I was with my father, and I remember how he kept talking about that one; it felt like a bridge between our worlds. That guy was high-fiving me all night, too.

Of course, the night was about bridge building and the many forms it takes. Long after recalling how he and Dustin Welch wrote “Gawd Above” so it could either be “a Christian song for atheists or an atheist song for Christians,” Fullbright covered Frankie Laine’s “That Lucky Ole Sun.” Though the song isn’t strictly gospel, he then remarked, how he didn’t think that much of gospel until he lost his faith; then it became just about his favorite thing. In the current climate, Fullbright’s “Fat Man” felt like some sort of political pipe bomb, but, if anything, it seemed to unite the crowd.

At Oklahoma City’s The Blue Door, music lover and club owner Greg Johnson made sure that Fullbright encountered Jimmy Webb’s music early in his career, and Webb and Fullbright seem deeply bound together today. It makes sense. They both write timeless music that absolutely defies the boundaries that form pop genres while sounding nothing at all like today’s pop, ironically disproving the concept that we have arrived somewhere “post-genre."

When I think of now and then, back when I first heard Webb's music, having no idea the songwriter was from my home state of Oklahoma, I think of those strings on those Webb/Campbell records. I think of sitting in the Penn Theater or the Eastland Twin in my hometown, waiting for the lights to go down and the movies to come on. Those Wrecking Crew strings were so cinematic, I could imagine them moving from a Glen Campbell record to the muzak before the movie to eventually back him on the screen in True Grit. 

While Webb clearly identified with the rock and roll generation (when he first met his musical hero Campbell, the singer told him he stank and he needed to cut his hair), he made music that dared to serve whatever intuitive leap the songwriter wanted to make, and those strings are absolute signatures of that ambition. Whatever you think of “MacArthur Park’s” cake in the rain, its wildly ambitious vision lit the imaginations of artists as varied as, yes, Richard Harris, but also Andy Williams, Waylon Jennings, The Four Tops, Giorgio Moroder and Donna Summer….and this little kid, sitting in an Okahoma movie theater or the backseat of my parents' car. I was enchanted by it all then and I am even more so today, when it seems such wide open visions, particularly among artists dealing with adult, universal themes, come fewer and farther between.

John Fullbright—
“Until You Were Gone”
“Forgotten Flowers”
“Gawd Above”
“Daydreamer”
“Jericho”
“She Knows”
“Fat Man”
“Very First Time”
“I’ve Seen Stars Before”
“That Lucky Ole Sun”
“The One Who Lives Too Far”
“When You’re Here”  


Jimmy Webb—
“The Highwayman”
“Galveston”
“Up, Up & Away”
“Where’s the Playground Susie?”
“The Poor Side of Town”
“Lullabye (Goodnight, My Angel)”
“Do What You Gotta Do”
“Wichita Lineman”
“MacArthur Park”
“Adios”