I tend to like music that is dated or otherwise out of place, like the lamplighter in The Little Prince: “It may well be that this man is absurd. But he is not so absurd as the king, the conceited man, the businessman, and the tippler. For at least his work has some meaning. When he lights his street lamp, it is as if he brought one more star to life, or one flower. When he puts out his lamp, he sends the flower, or the star, to sleep. That is a beautiful occupation. And since it is beautiful, it is truly useful.”
Tony Kushner had his finger on the pulse when he wrote, in A Bright Room Called Day, “Feel feel feel feel feel. So much feeling. Don’t feel. Think for a change.” Well, I dissent. Not to get too Sasha Frere-Jones about it, but there’s too much thinking in music these days and not enough sentiment. (The same with fiction, perhaps?) So I give you Mariza—Portuguese by way of Mozambique—who feels for all of us. Her form is fado, wherein European, African, and Arab traditions mix into something unbearably sad but never maudlin. Mariza is young, of course, and fado old. To hear from whence she comes, check out Amália da Piedade Rebordão Rodrigues (“Maldição” [Mp3]).
2. La bohème – Charles Aznavour
Charles Aznavour is French by way of Armenia, and if one were to consider the entire globe, as CNN did in 1998, then he is bigger than Bob. Bigger than Frank. Bigger, even, than Elvis. (Which is something for a guy who stands only five-foot-three.) “La bohème,” from 1966, finds him at his lounge-lizardy best, imploring his audience with passionately rolled r’s and screeching violins.
3. (We’re Not) The Jet Set – George Jones and Tammy Wynette
No one takes the air out of those old European tires like George and Tammy. I’m not going to lie and say that I have any clue what a “flamin’ suzette set” is (I picture something gooey and liberal, like fondue), but I do know a thing or two about the lovely town of Festus, Missouri.
I first heard of Johnny Dowd toward the end of a Robbie Fulks essay called “Maine Kampf,” in which Fulks (see below) admires Portland’s “persnickety old crustacean fetishists and taciturn descendants of the founding fathers.” He also wonders why no one in “Pavementland” listens to Johnny Dowd. Indeed. Who else could have transformed a cheery Chuck Berry standard into something so gothic and violent? When Dowd moans that “all my sins have come home to roost,” I, too, am worried.
5. The Bluest Eyes in Texas – Nina Persson & Nathan Larson
Restless Heart topped the country charts with this one in 1988 [Mp3]—and yes, I was recently caught singing along, totally oblivious and off-tune—but Nina Persson’s version is so much more melancholy. Maybe that’s because of the Scandinavian distance I hear in Persson’s voice; maybe it’s because the 1988 arrangement is just so . . . 1988; or maybe it’s because I picture Chloë Sevigny crooning along on the karaoke stage in Boys Don’t Cry. Whatever the case, this is a gorgeous tune that reminds me how much I love to feel sad.
6. Memphis Soul Stew – King Curtis
I once tried to impress my friend Rick with a bit of musical trivia: “Did you know that King Curtis was murdered?” I asked. “Oh sure!” he bellowed. “He was stabbed in the heart outside his apartment. He pulled the knife from his chest, chased down his attacker, and stabbed him with it. All before he died.” Which is to say, Rick wins again. Still, it’s a tragic story—Curtis was just 37 when he died—and I hope not the only reason this all-purpose sax player is remembered. “Memphis Soul Stew” was one of his biggest hits and shows why he was more than capable of leading Aretha Franklin’s backup band.
7. Glow Worm – The Mills Brothers
As Wikipedia helpfully informs us, “‘The Glow Worm’ is a popular song.” In fact, it was so popular, it hit number one on the charts in 1952, just a few short years pre Elvis. The compilation on which the version I own appears is called (in the French) “pre historie,” as if the music of 1952 were unaccountably old and quaint. But “Glow Worm” is anything but—its lyrics are as witty and alive as ever. It turns out that the original was penned in German and published in 1902; Johnny Mercer did the English translation and his version is remarkable [Mp3]. I’ve always loved The Mills Brothers, though. They were something like the original beat-boxers, performing a full jazz ensemble’s worth of instruments with only their voices. Listen to their “Tiger Rag” from 1931 [Mp3] to hear what I’m talking about.
8. Love Itself – Leonard Cohen
I’ve never been a huge fan of Cohen’s self-conscious poetry (the joy of “Glow Worm” seems so much more genuine to me), but here my cynicism melts, even amid crappy synthesizers and fake drums. Cohen’s weathered growl delivers these lines not as some kind of transcendental manifesto but as hard-earned wisdom: “All busy in the sunlight / the flecks did float and dance / and I was tumbled up with them / in formless circumstance.”
9. Cette chanson est pour vous, Madame – Jean Sablon
Sablon was a French cabaret singer—the first ever to use a microphone, apparently—whose jazz goes down easy in the manner of Django Reinhardt and Bing Crosby. In fact, that’s Django’s distinctive, two-fingered picking you hear. This song is for you, Monsieur.
10. The Old Lamplighter – Kay Kyser
Okay. Kay Kyser is no Mills Brothers; “The Old Lamplighter” no “Glow Worm.” The ancien régime overthrown by Elvis—this is it. (When William Styron, in Sophie’s Choice, described the Guy Lombardo band as “glutinously innocuous,” he must have really meant Kay Kyser, the former cheerleader from North Carolina.) Even the subject matter is hopelessly dated. Still, I include it for reasons that shall reveal themselves in time.
11. If Jesus Drove a Motor Home – Jim White
On his hometown of Pensacola, Florida: “It’s a very strange town, imbued head to toe with Jesus. Everything that happens here happens as a result of Jesus. I grew up as an outsider; I would try to embrace Jesus, and I’d feel like I had just put on a feather boa, and the boa didn’t suit me, so finally I’d take it off, and then I’d feel naked and put the boa back on. When life doesn't seem to make sense or approximate how you feel inside, then you go looking for myths to clutch hold of for some solace.”
12. Nothing Can Stop Us – Saint Etienne
An English indie dance band. No feeling at all. Glutinously innocuous. But I dig it anyway.
13. Nescafé Frappé – Lemzo Diamono
A wildly percussive commercial jingle that celebrates both instant coffee and the music of Senegal (in particular, Mbalax).
14. Jerusalem (Out of Darkness Comes Light) – Matisyahu
By way of transition, let me point out that “nes,” in Hebrew, means “miracle,” which has made Nescafé popular among many of the world’s Jews. Also popular: Jerusalem. Here, a Lubavitcher Jew from New York uses Jamaican reggae rhythms to pine for Israel. (The Swisha House Remix [Mp3], on the other hand, takes the song in a different direction altogether.)
15. Born Here – DAM
Speaking of stuff that’s mixed up, here’s the other side of the coin: Palestinian hip hop. From their recent profile in Nextbook: “But though DAM—an acronym for Da Arabic MC’s—means ‘blood’ in both Hebrew and Arabic, the name isn’t meant to indicate a violent stance. ‘I have a lot of rage, but I express it with a microphone, not a weapon,’ says [group leader Tamer] Nafer, in Hebrew. ‘We 1948 Palestinians see the conflict through a different lens. We live a double life, and I understand the language of both sides. That is why I am writing songs in Hebrew now, so I can explain the Palestinian side to the Israelis.’” Just so we’re straight, though, “Born Here” is in Arabic.
One of the more infuriating reviews I’ve read in a long time was of Medúlla, Björk’s 2004 album that weirdly and joyfully explored the possibilities of all-vocal arrangements. Nothing, the (lazy) Irish journalist decided, could “save a record that is ultimately a journey into experimentalist hell, Icelandic style, that nobody in their right mind would want to take. Avoid.” Too bad for you, man. Follow Björk and you’re following a musical imagination that is as thrillingly wide as it is frighteningly deep; she’ll take you places you might have otherwise missed. And here I’m not talking about Medúlla; I’m talking about “The Old Lamplighter,” that glutinously innocuous piece of pre-history which she updates marvelously on Gling-Gló, her underappreciated 1990 jazz album.
17. Love Ain’t Nothin’ – Robbie Fulks
Fulks is a witty and cynical songwriter who’s at his best when mimicking the styles of others. “I think that’s been one of my weaknesses as a songwriter,” he told me several years ago. “I’m really good at genre songs, but they’re not always that original. When you’re young, you spit out all these styles. And when you collect enough styles in your bag, then that ends up being your style.” At the time of that interview, he had just released his ultra-sincere Couples in Trouble, and it bombed. I guess originality isn’t everything. This one is off his best-of compilation. Oh, “and sex may be somethin’, but love ain’t nothin’.”
By my reckoning, “Tehachapi to Tonopah” is right up there with “Bix to Buxtehude.” Here’s Wiki: “There are three legends about the genesis of Little Feat. One has it that [Lowell] George showed Frank Zappa his song ‘Willin’,’ and that Zappa fired him from The Mothers [of Invention], because he felt that George was too talented to merely be a member of his band, and told him he ought to go away and form his own band. The second version has Zappa firing him for playing a 15 minute guitar solo—with his amplifier off. The third version says that Zappa fired him because ‘Willin’’ contains drug references (‘weed, whites and wine’). Ironically, when ‘Willin’’ was recorded for the first, eponymous Little Feat album, George had hurt his hand and could not play the song’s slide part, so Ry Cooder sat in and played the part. This was one reason why ‘Willin’’ was re-recorded and included on their second album Sailin’ Shoes.” This is the second version. As cynical and ironic as Robbie Fulks is, that’s how sincere Lowell George was. (He died of a heart attack in 1979 at the age of 34.) He reminds me of the late great Townes Van Zandt in this respect; you can hear it on this live radio version with Linda Ronstadt [Mp3] (courtesy of Boogie Woogie Flu). My introduction, however, was this Steve Earle performance [Mp3].
19. Quand je marche – Arianne Moffat
I don’t know too much about Arianne Moffat (I can’t read this), but I love the absurdly French introduction she receives here. The music, meanwhile, is just lovely. She’s covering this song by chanteuse Camille [Mp3] off her Medúlla-esque album Le Fil. That droning note you hear at the beginning and, in the background, throughout the song links all of the record’s fifteen songs. Hence le fil, or the thread.
20. Che Tango Che – Gidon Kramer
Argentine by way of Italy, Astor Piazzolla was the proud father of “nuevo tango.” Kramer, on the other hand, is Latvian, a violinist, and an admirer of Piazzolla. “Che Tango Che” appeared on Kramer’s 1997 Piazzolla tribute album, El Tango. Which takes us back to Kushner: “Feel feel feel feel feel. So much feeling.” And that’s a good thing.
21. Vi Luz y Subi – Carlos Libedinsky
On his 2003 record Narcotango, Libedinsky gets ultra nuevo with his tango.
ADDITIONALLY: Download the complete mix in a zip file.
PREVIOUSLY: International Mix of Action; The Bix Mix; In the Lounge; My Sweet Hunk o’ Trash; Twins (The Cover Mix)
IMAGE: A Chicago lamplighter making his rounds, December 20, 1947
UPDATE: Lamplighter Redux
This is a great looking playlist. I love the songs I recognize, and I'm fascinated by the ones I don't. How can I get a copy?
Posted by: Gurldogg | November 27, 2007 at 01:54 AM