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The latest from here....
December, 2011:
Some of the Music on "Ashmore's Store"
The clips below are going to take a couple of minutes to load. In the mean time, maybe scroll on down and check out what was written in entries from a previous month or two. (The "August, 2010" entry got a lot of nodding agreement, for instance—take a look.)
When ya get back up here, click one or two of the clips to get a taste of what's on "Ashmore's Store", my brand new album. Song clips run from around 40 seconds to almost two minutes, so you can get some feel for what's what.
And if you think it's the kind of songs you'd like to hear in full, well hell, email me your request, and I'll mail ya a copy—with a stamped envelope you can use to mail back some bucks. It's that simple. Just email Michael@MichaelKoppy.com—and your copy(ies) of "Ashmore's Store" will be sent out that very same day.
If you're getting copies of "Ashmore's Store" as presents, be sure to tell me the names of the recipients and how you'd like each one inscribed!
"One Great Mornin' (The South's Gonna Rise Again)" —The song The San Francisco Chronicle called "an ultra-left wing Confederate call to arms" !
"A Filled-Out Shirt" —A simple man's plea for, um, unh—understanding?....
"River" —A reflection on past life and the possibility of salvation.
"Behind Every Great Fortune" —Why it's good not to trust rich people—inspired by a quote by Honoré de Balzac.
"Nineteen Years Old" —From a true story, told me on a rainy afternoon by a man who never fell out of love....
"'Til Hell's Dang Done Froze Over"
—I think of this as a kinda "Roger Miller / Ray Stevens" bit of fun—done with a nod to that great old rollickin' Bakersfield Sound !
"We Shall Overcome" —Me on solo acoustic guitar playing variations of a song that is, musically, even more than the stirring social anthem we all know and love.
"All in the Timing: A Hollywood Romance in Seven Chapters" —You have never heard ANYTHING like this! The whole song is 27-1/2 minutes long—and so the clip here doesn't even get to the first chorus! It's been described—by my lead guitar player in an email—as "Snoop Dog and Eminem, drunk on their butts, meet Leonard Cohen reading James Joyce at 4:00AM in a redneck bar." (Yeah, that's a tortured simile, ain't it? But okay by me....) Look, just trust me, would ya? GET THE ALBUM—it'll all make sense, promise....
"The Cloths of Heaven" —An adaptation of an 1899 poem by William Butler Yeats.
"Track Ten" —A sound collage, recorded on the street in Tallahassee some 40 years back.
Send me an email and get a copy of "Ashmore's Store" mailed to you postmarked today!
Click here: Michael@MichaelKoppy.com
November, 2011:
It's About Damn TIME !
And just in time for Christmas, too!
"Ashmore's Store", my brand new album, will be ready to mail in the first week of December! After three-plus years of writing, recording, mixing and preparation, this effort will finally be available to all those folks who've endured my endless promises. It's been a long, LONG haul—but the end is in sight.
And the wait, and work, has been worth it.
"Ashmore's Store" comes in a 116-page hard-bound BOOK—with type that AIN'T so damn small it resembles the fine print on some bank's legal contract. So no, this ain't yer usual, run-of-the-mill plastic so-called "jewel box" CD case that breaks at the hinges and cracks and is generally a pain in the butt.
(The book is Smyth-sewn bound, which means the pages are literally sewn in—not glued and so easily ripped out when the spine gets cracks like some cheap check-out line romance. Smyth-sewing is top-of-the-line binding since it was first developed—yes, by a guy named David Smyth—in 1868.)
And the music—the real "guts" of the release—is stuff you're just not gonna find anywhere else. Top of the line as well. All original songs—from the 1:25 long "The Cloths of Heaven"—an adaptation of a poem by William Butler Yeats—to the 27:26 long "All in the Timing: A Hollywood Romance in Seven Chapters—a rampaging freight train of instruments, lyrics, images and voices that is (according to everyone I've asked anyway) unique in the entire history of pop music! Musicians including John McEuen, leader of The Nitty-Gritty Dirt Band, on banjo; Norman Hamlet, for forty years Merle Haggard's partner and leader of his group, The Strangers, on pedal steel; Woody Paul of Riders in the Sky and Richard Greene of Bill Monroe and the Bluegrass Boys, on fiddles; Roy Blumenfeld of The Blues Project—AND Cliff Carothers of the heavy metal band Malice, both playing drums at the same time on several songs—and many more!
Everyone on my email list—all nearly 5,000 of ya—will get an email notification in a couple of weeks. But if you've just clicked by and aren't on my email list—or don't know if you are—send me a quick "hello" and I'll make sure you're added. (And as everyone who IS on the list knows from experience, I DON'T flood your inbox with endless self-promotion—in fact, it's been well over a year since I last sent out a mass emailing. So trust me to not pull on yer sleeve unless I honestly think what I'm sending has some legitimate value. And THIS album, "Ashmore's Store", is something I truly believe is worthy of folks' attention.)
Your Christmas hassles—what to get co-workers and friends who share your interests and who have similar taste and intelligence—is taken care for this year! I can just about guarantee you that "Ashmore's Store" will be a hit with all of 'em. It's certainly unique, that's for sure. And I'll inscribe a personal "hello" inside the CD book to each person whose name you ask me to sign it to—adding to the thought you've put into the gift.
Watch your email inbox right before Thanksgiving! And if you shoot me an order by December 15 or so, you'll have the book and CD will arrive in the mail well before Christmas. You'll be the hit Santa Claus to all your friends and family!
October, 2011:
Stand Up for the Truth
A fellow emailed me a couple of weeks ago, pretty much agreeing with the things I wrote in my July entry (below) called Four Simple Solutions, ending his email with the well-known observation that "everyone is entitled to their own opinion, of course". And indeed, yes. Although kinda strange to read coming from someone who agrees with ya—as that line is usually used as an escape hatch by those on the wrong side of history and morality, to give them freedom to maneuver and continue spouting the dishonest and mean-spirited crap they read in the corporate media or get from crypto-fascist Fox News and right-wing talk radio.
But let's think about it for a moment.
Because it's a line we all hear with some frequency when discussing the world—a variation being, "Well, you've got a right to your opinion; and I've got a right to mine".
And, of course, that's absolutely true—or most certainly should be!
But whenever I hear that coming from some right-wing idiot—some Republican-Nazi Party supporter (because that's really what the Republican Party has formally become: the Republican-Nazi Party Of America) or from some "Jesus-Is-A'comin'-Back-And-The-Bible-Is-The-Word-Of-God!" American Taliban extremist—I don't just let it pass. Not at all.
Again, everyone most certainly SHOULD have the right to his or her own opinion—but that DOESN'T mean they also shouldn't be SHAMED for having a viciously hateful, arrogantly mean-spirited, or simply downright uninformed and stupid opinion!
If it's just a matter of the speaker being factually wrong—innocent of malice but just ignorant of the real facts—then the job is to calmly set 'em straight. And we have a duty to do so, really.
But what if it derives from that mean-spirited and malicious selfishness that the right wing constantly preaches? In that case, let 'em have it full on and don't back down!
Shame on those who think the rich are better than the poor, that the well-off simply "work harder" or are "better Christians". Shame on those who think gay people shouldn't have every damn right straight folks have. Shame on working men and women who don't support unions, the one institution that is designed solely to help them and their brothers and sisters. Shame on those who think immigrants are the reason jobs are disappearing in America, and not the so-called "free trade" agreements simply shipping them all overseas for ever-greater corporate profits and executive bonuses. And shame on poor idiots who buy into all the other nutsy, provably wrong arguments championed and propounded by the Republican-Nazi Party and the American Taliban.
September, 2011:
Coming Soon....
1. One Great Mornin’ (The South’s Gonna Rise Again) 7:18
2. We Shall Overcome 2:20
3. Behind Every Great Fortune 2:52
4. Nineteen Years Old 6:18
5. A Filled-Out Shirt 2:51
6. River 3:52
7. ’Til Hell’s Dang Done Froze Over 2:57
8. All in the Timing: A Hollywood Romance in Seven Chapters 27:25
9. The Cloths of Heaven 1:29
10. Track Ten 2:40
Good Track Records
PO Box 461194
West Hollywood, CA 90046 USA |
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August, 2011:
Here's a song I wrote a while back, but that won't be on the imminent "Ashmore's Store" album. A girl I know laughingly calls it "The Conceited Guy Song"—an' that's a pretty fair shot indeed. Properly performed with more oblivious swagger and bravado than one can rightly imagine....
"The Man You Gave Up Lookin' For"
© Copyright 2010 by Michael Koppy. All Rights Reserved.
Babe, you've been settlin' for less, some good news overdue,
You just never found that man you're lookin' for.
But surprise, surprise, believe your eyes, yes miracles come true.
'Cause here I am, just now walked in the door.
After all those wasted years, you put yer hopes up on a shelf,
So dang, I sure must be a welcome sight.
Now do I really need to introduce myself?
Okay—hello babe, I'm Mister Right.
(Chorus:)
I'm yer answered prayer, yer breath of air, your dreams have just come true.
I’m Superman in the nick of time, yer fire department rescue.
All those wishes on a star, guess what, they all came through.
I’m the man you gave up lookin’ for, and babe, I’ve come for you.
That pretty face it only took you so far.
With too many boring guys along the way.
But fearin' things might never change is over
Halleluiah, babe, today’s your lucky day.
You looked under every rock, you kissed way too many frogs.
Hell, you’ve dated every loser—and his twin.
There were men who just liked other men, and some guys dumb as dogs,
But I’m here now—so finally you win!
(Repeat chorus:)
I'm yer answered prayer, yer breath of air, those dreams have all come true.
I’m Superman in the nick of time, I’m your fire department rescue.
All those wishes on a star, ma’am they finally came through.
I’m the man you gave up lookin’ for, and babe, I’ve come for you,
I’ve come for you.
Sure, it’s hard to trust those baby blues, after all you've seen,
A shock as big as me must be alarming.
Just mindin' your own business, resigned to dull routine,
Then lightnin’ flash and here I am: Prince Charming.
(Repeat chorus:)
Yeah, yer answered prayer, yer teddy bear—that’s right buckaroo!
I'm your cavalry in the nick of time, wavin’ the red, white, and blue.
All the clouds done blown away—the sun is shining through.
I'm the man you gave up lookin' for, and babe, I've come for you.
I'm the man you gave up lookin for, an’
How could any woman ever ask for more?
I'm the man you gave up lookin for,
And babe, babe, babe, I’ve come for you.
(Spoken:)
What's that Darlin'?
You think I'm a little "self-deluded"?
"Selfde"-what?
Oh, heck, Darlin'—I'm not "a little" ANYTHING!....
July, 2011:
Four Simple Solutions
The decade of the greatest economic expansion in American history was during the postwar Eisenhower presidency—the 1950s.
The income tax rate for the richest Americans—and by “richest” we mean that if they lived today they’d be the ones making over $2.5 million in 2011 dollars—was ninety-one percent.
I’ll repeat the above statement: During the Eisenhower 1950s—the decade of America’s greatest economic growth—the richest were taxed at a rate of 91%.
The 1950s were ALSO a period of powerful, growing labor unions.
So to all the selfish, self-entitled Republicans—and to all those working people duped into believing the lies being promulgated by the extreme racist, sexist, mean-spirited and religious extremist American Taliban that runs the Republican Party—let me propose four simple, VERY simple, solutions to the current Deficit Debate. Solutions that will KEEP this country moving forward—which is what the right-wingers always claim they want, right?
1.) Tax the richest Americans at DOUBLE the current highest rate. The current highest tax rate is 35%. Double it—make it 70%. It'll still be sharply less than it was before 1970. The selfish rich immediately threaten to move from the country? First off, they won't. It's an argument—a threat—that the most selfish individuals and their lackeys always bring up. But in actual practice—in Europe and in America—there's NEVER been a mass exodus of rich swells in response to even rather high rates of taxation. (And, indeed, when they paid 91% here in US, they pretty much all stayed.) But second, ask them: Are they Americans first? Or rich first—and fuck America if America makes them pay their fair share? Oh, I see, they claim “the rich create the jobs”? So how well has that theory worked in the past thirty years, since the scumbag Reagan and his gangster entourage started promoting that lie? The gap between rich and poor has never been this great since the era of the Robber Barons of the late 1800s! And the unemployment rate is the highest it's ever been since the previous Republican Great Depression, in the 1930s.
2.) ENCOURAGE union organizing! Unions and union membership is what built the middle class in this country! They are what made America the richest nation on Earth! Eliminate all the Right-to-Slave—so-called "right-to-work"—laws! The states that HAVE those laws ALSO have the greatest poverty and lowest wages—and they have had them for the entire fifty years those laws have been on the books! ANY argument that such anti-union laws HELP working people has been proven sadly—criminally—wrong by a half-century of actual history!
3.) Institute a sliding scale “franchise tax” for businesses. For every new outlet, each time a new franchise is opened, their corporate taxes keep nudging slightly higher and higher. After all, by getting bigger they are enjoying the fruits of capitalism—bulk buying—so let them pay for that privilege of the capitalism they never fail to champion! Is it fair and honest to expect small businesses to EVER compete on a level playing field with the rapacious Walmarts, Targets, Starbucks, Guitar Centers and McDonalds of the world when those monopolies have all the cards stacked in their favor?
4.) Institute strong, effective inheritance taxation! This is the one scumbag idiot right-wingers like to call a "death tax"—the kind of dishonest stupidity we've come to expect from the American Nazi-Republican Party. They WANT all wealth to stay with the rich for ever and ever. So is America feudal Europe? Do the REST of us really want silver-spoon-in-their-mouths "Amero-trash" as our answer to the cliché idle rich "Euro-trash" royalty?!? Gangster families forever in power, generation after generation after generation—hoarding the nation's wealth, getting all the advantages, keeping hard-working Americans in veritable slavery to their ill-gotten gains?!? A STRONG "Paris Hilton Tax" makes sure that YOUR children get the same chance to succeed—on a level playing field—as the pampered kids of the Rockefellers, Gates, Koch Brothers, Murdochs and the rest of the rapacious "I got mine / screw everyone else" crowd. Level the field! Give everyone a fair and equal start in life!
Class warfare has been going on since the very founding of America—since humankind first walked upright on the Earth. And the rich are winning. Fuck 'em! Let's take back our futures—and rebuild, re-awaken, the American Dream!
June, 2011:
The Long Mix
"The Long Mix". Maybe that’s what I’ll call the mix-down for “Ashmore’s Store”—as in “The Long March”, when the Chinese Red Army slogged 8,000 tortuous miles to escape being surrounded by Chiang Kai-shek’s rival Koumintang Army.
And maybe I’ll start calling the album “The Inevitable Interminable”. It’s a-GONNA get done—but getting just to this point has given a whole deeper dimension to the term “deliberate speed”....)
So what does a mixer actually do? We’ve all seen pictures of the guy—usually a guy—pushing the volume levels up and down in a recording session.
He ain’t the mixer.
Mixing takes place after the guitars have been packed up, the drugs all consumed and the empty pizza boxes stacked into an impressive tower in the corner.
The mixer engineer takes all the recorded tracks—the separate recordings of each of the musical parts—and puts ‘em all together. And that doesn’t mean the number of tracks are easy to figure out—one track for the guitar, one for the drums, one for the vocalist, etc. The drums, for instance, will usually have several tracks—because the drum kit was recorded with many microphones directed at different individual drums or cymbals. There’ll even be extra mics hung in the corner to get the overall sound of the drums in the room. Guitars may be picked up both by a microphone and a cord—and it goes on and on.
The mixer—with the producer and performer—deals with all sorts of technical sonic arcana. There’s EQ-ing the track—deciding if the piano should have a low-sounding rumble or sound like a children’s toy. Tools include “compressors”, “high-pass filters”, “low-pass filters”, “noise gates”—which can make the sound of an instrument “explode” on the scene rather than just happen naturally—and the list goes on. But there’s also tools we’re pretty much all familiar with—adding reverb or echo or fading things out at the end. It’s all a part of mixing down a song or album.
A mixer can even get into matters of song arranging—taking a short musical riff and high-lighting it and editing the recording so that the riff repeats during the song.
It’s a real art. And it’s just begun on “Ashmore’s Store”. Since we’re under no time pressure (though maybe that’d been helpful since the get-go—just to get the danged thing completed!) it’ll take a few weeks.
But things be a-movin’!
May, 2011:
"The secret of great fortunes without apparent cause is a crime forgotten."—Honoré de Balzac (1799–1850), Le Père Goriot (1835)
"Money is the root of all evil"—St Paul (c. AD 5–c. AD 67), King James Version Bible (1611)
"Behind Every Great Fortune"
© Copyright 2011 by Michael Koppy. All Rights Reserved.
My grand-daddy taught me a long while ago,
The important things here on this Earth,
Like to measure a man by his integrity,
Not how much his bank book is worth.
But money it still had a story to tell; a true story most every time:
Behind every great fortune there lies a great crime.
I remember myself sittin’ down at his feet,
Lookin’ up into his weathered eyes.
He said he’d lived fair and he'd always fought hard,
'Cause with evil you don’t compromise.
Though a frenzy for riches bewitches this country,
Pull back the curtain, you find,
Behind every great fortune there lies a great crime.
He said a war’s ragin’ since long before Jesus,
Big money against you and me.
Them drinkin’ champagne say it's simply God's plan,
And the way He must want things to be.
But the Good Book says different: for everything there's a reason,
And for every reason a rhyme.
Behind every great fortune there lies a great crime.
A man he once told me that I’d be rich too,
If I clawed my way into the sun.
But I ain't risin' out from the workin’ class Mister,
We’re all risin’ up now as one!
Every brother and sister, each daughter and son—
United and all of one mind,
Behind every great fortune there lies a great crime.
Now the stage has been set and the overture’s over,
There ain’t nothin’ more to discuss.
We’ll rebuild this country and reclaim the future,
Raw greed's tried to hi-jack from us.
We ain’t turnin’ round and we ain’t standin’ down,
And we know that real justice ain't blind.
Behind every great fortune there lies a great crime.
And behind every great crime there lies a great fortune.
April, 2011:
"Broadcasting from the Creative Capital of the World!"
The only radio I listen to—and that indeed rarely—is pretty much just the classical music public station that’s run by the University of Southern California, KUSC. (A big difference between a public classical station and a commercial one, by the way—well, other than the commercials, obviously—is that a public station can generally incorporate a wider range of music, not self-restricting itself to a “classical’s greatest hits” format.)
But there’s still station IDs, news and such. And one promo tag line they use at KUSC is the bombastic boast, “Broadcasting from the Creative Capital of the World!”.
It never fails to make me undecided as to whether I should guffaw insanely—or throw up. Or both at the same time.
The creative capital of the world? Los Angeles?!?
Are they kidding? Or sadly, do they actually believe that?
LA is many things—an urban planning disaster probably being foremost. But just because so many entertainment industry corporations are located here, and so much money is derived from foisting all that derivative and mindless garbage on the rest of the country and the world does NOT make it in any way a creative Mecca!
In fact, of course, it’s just the reverse.
Name one single artistic movement, innovation or direction which began in Los Angeles. There are none. Technical improvements and advancements? Sure, of course—and exactly what one expects from an industrial manufacturing center—and Los Angeles IS the manufacturing center for corporate entertainment, no doubt about it.
An old adage goes “There’s three ways to make a lot of money quickly: the stock market, entertainment, and crime”. (It’s also possible to lose a lot of money really quickly in those three pursuits. And let’s pass over the fact that crime is often a large component of the other two going in, and just acknowledge that one can make a quick financial killing if this or that entertainment venture is properly marketed and sold.)
So—with all the potential quick profit—and the profligate, albeit ultimately empty, lifestyles built on being cogs in the machine, the people making the money and the people guarding the gates are EXTREMELY wary, PROFOUNDLY frightened and JEALOUSLY insecure. They know, deep down, they've no clue, really, why their most recent “success” made a barrel of money—or if they’ll ever make any more. And so they attempt to drive down the same tried-and-true—“proven”—avenue again and again, and pounce upon any real creative and noteworthy idea (always created elsewhere) in the attempt to dumb it down, paint it up, thin it out and commodotize it to sell to a mass consumer culture. Which is about as inimical to being creative as one can get.
While this may all seem like unfair generalizations—and generalizations they most certainly are—they aren't at all incorrect or unfair. It's just the way things are. And it's no big news—myopic masturbation is as pervasive and expected in Hollywood Studios as cheap trinkets are on Hollywood Boulevard. And despite the liberal social and political public posturings, Hollywood culture is in fact very conservative, derivative and timid—the antithesis of a creative milieu.
Are there creative people in Los Angeles? Of course. But the primary impulse governing EVERY exchange and event in the Entertainment Industry has nothing to do with that potential. It is all about fear: fear of losing the so-called "glamour" and "success"—or fear of never getting it. The Great Fear of Never Becoming A Money-Machine Celebrity, essentially. Fear so deep that a better characterization is profound, pandemic cowardice. Creativity, and integrity as well, are liabilities—and to say the words "I hadn't thought of that" or "I don't know" or "I've never actually done that, but I can figure it out" is to risk career suicide. One has ALWAYS known this or that, NEVER makes mistakes, ALWAYS has the exact required experience....
While there's a lot morally and intellectually dishonest, patently wrong, about this, it's not intrinsically 100% pernicious. After all, there's always a market for mindlessness—H.L. Mencken was right—and jobs are created. Further, no matter how cynical we are, every one of us is amenable to engaging in our own "guilty pleasures"—be it dumb disaster movies, some idiotic reality show or another, having some inane song hook embed itself in our brain, or even following this or that gossipy and tawdry celebrity scandal. This is America, after all, and idiotic tidal waves of sludge just inundate the land. You can run from the garbage, but SOMETHING will overcome your defenses. C'est la vie....
What's laughable, though, is the pompous assertion that churning out this déclassé and derivative drivel is "being creative".
Los Angeles may be “The Sales Capital of the World”—indeed, I’d assert that's certainly the case, because everyone wants to play in the sandbox and call themselves an Artist (with the paychecks that are somehow supposed to substantiate that)—and getting the chance to become The Next Big Thing means getting your smiling, acquiescent and plyable face into the job. Schmooze, finagle, swagger, kiss ass, posture, preen, never ever say a critical word—because, you see, that makes you a "hater"—pretend to be just too busy already, dress-for-success-and-drive-a-flashy-car, buy some boobs, brown nose, feign profound injury at the slightest inadvertancy, lie about experience, pontificate using the latest insider jargon, show some skin, smile manically and suck up, steal if you have to (and can get away with it), play the angles and percentages—and sell, Sell, SELL, SELL, SELL !!!....
The twin goals—the only measures of "merit"—are Money and Celebrity. In LA, that's how you know who's um, uh...well, An Artist.
So yes, tawdry Los Angeles is “The Sales Capital of the World”—no doubt about it. But it sure as hell AIN'T no “Creative Capital”!
March, 2011:
Another song from the upcoming album:
"Nineteen Years Old"
© Copyright 2011 by Michael Koppy. All Rights Reserved.
When she was just nineteen years old and I was twenty-three,
It seemed the right place and time for us to part company.
No arguments, no big regrets, perhaps we’d meet again.
And small town life was closin’ in, a world without enough oxygen.
While a voice kept whisperin’ to me, “Go find some great grand destiny”.
What with all the other fish out in the sea,
An’ she bein’ just nineteen years old; me just twenty-three.
“Join the Navy, See the World”; turned out just Vietnam.
Came back worked factories, fields, and farms, across this great wide land.
A man believes what he wants to believe, but he becomes what he does.
After too many battles, so many scars, his reasons devolve into “just because”.
But in my mind from time to time, she’d still appear to me,
Smilin’ back there in my memory,
When she was just nineteen years old, and I was twenty-three.
I heard she’d married, raised two sons; now full-grown, on their own.
Divorced and teachin’ school these years; comfortable, alone.
Me I’d gone from gal to gal, with impatience I couldn’t shake.
I don’t really know what I was lookin’ for, were the decades—just a mistake....
If we’d stayed on those years ago, how different might things be?
Oh, the effect she had on me,
When she was just nineteen years old, and I was twenty-three.
Now I’m back here in this place I thought I’d never see again.
Buildings and streets all put in since I left way back then.
My ragged shoes retrace the stones that lead to her front door.
I guess what I left so long ago was what I ran off lookin’ for.
Once fancy-free, now refugee; then a kind woman opens the door to me.
And behind all the lines in her smile I see,
She’s still just nineteen years old.
And to her, I’m twenty-three.
February, 2011:
A Demanding Critic Praises Some Great Work for a Change
I'm known as a really tough critic who's generally unswayed by popular (read: hyped through advertising, publicity and celebrity) perceptions. I've been quoted disparaging the output of LOTS of "major voices" in the arts. Because the truth is that incompetence, careerism, phoning it in, hack work—and the lack of even anything of intelligence and/or merit to say—are pandemic.
Sure, there ARE differences in taste, and even such mundane matters as the "mood" one is in when introduced to a new work—or if the traffic was bad, or it's rainy outside, or ya just had a fight with a girlfriend or boyfriend, etc. The objective should be, however, to divorce oneself entirely from extraneous influences—and pandering hype—in developing an appreciation, be that "appreciation" ultimately positive or negative
And so this month I'm going to heap praise on a CD album that until just recently was unknown to me. (I don't listen to much, frankly—BECAUSE most is just a waste of time....)
That two-CD album is called "Leave Your Sleep" by Natalie Merchant. Apparently it came out last April or so.
I'd heard of Ms Merchant and her one-time band, called "10,000 Maniacs"—or was it 100,000 of 'em?—even recall seeing her on television once a long time ago. (She had that mannerism of twirling around in circles at the microphone between verses while performing, yes? Or am I thinking of someone else?) In any event, while researching how best to package this upcoming album of mine, "Ashmore's Store"—as print-heavy as it will certainly be—I was informed about "Leave Your Sleep" by a guy at Nonesuch Records, which is her label (and which also handles the impressive Gershwin Brothers show reconstructions, that being why I had gone there for advice) and went out and picked up a copy. Yes, I picked it up solely to study the presentation—the package design—not at all interested in the music intself!
(The package design is brilliant, by the way. And also clearly expensive, unfortunately. "Ashmore's Store" will also be packaged with ancillary stand-alone booklet—as opposed to the usual cheap stapled CD jewel box "booklet" with impossibly tiny type and hack design—but it'll be hard to pay for something as substantial as what they did here with Ms Merchant's beautiful album.)
But the creation and presentation of the songs themselves—what's actually INSIDE the packaging "frame"—is almost flawless as well! How often does one encounter a piece of work that actually sails firmly and squarely BETWEEN AND ABOVE those two dreaded Pillars of Hercules that circumscribe and define contemporary American profligacy and intellectual poverty: pretentious posturing on one shore and cynical "shiny object" merchandising across the straits?
"Leave Your Sleep" is a collection of extant poems adapted by Ms Merchant into musical settings and songs. I'm ambivalent about her choice of poems—but this truly is just a matter of personal taste, and her choices are so panoramic and inclusive that it'd really just be carping to dwell on such superficial objections. There's works by well-known literary lions and near-complete unknowns lost in history. And the intellectual curiosity and diligence is simply astounding. The two CDs total about an hour and 45 minutes of music—risking imposition on an auditor's time and patience, certainly. BUT IT WORKS. And it works brilliantly. Every setting of every poem is unique and clearly approached musically with intelligence, respect and talent. This album literally floats through the air.
Let's be clear: anyone can pretentiously (and presumptuously) appropriate poems written by this or that great writer—and essentially leach off the writer's achievements in a smarmy and sanctimonious career move. We regularly see such careerist posturing —the hack actor asserting himself or herself as "artiste" by doing a Broadway play, for instance, or the band self-importantly hawking a "concept album" that has no coherent—or even worthy, were one to impute coherence—actual concept....
"Leave Your Sleep" is nothing of the sort; it is a legitimately great achievement on its own merits; refined, moving and accomplished. Done with soul and class. (By the way, the print informaton in the ancillary booklet written by Ms Merchant is itself impressive—she didn't just click to Wikipedia and transcribe the various poets' biographies found there! She and/or "her people"—don't forget she IS indeed a star with collective entourage and financial resources—did actual shoe-leather field research. Good for her! How rare is that, huh? Wow!)
"Leave Your Sleep" displays exactly the kind of taste and intelligence—and respect for our own intelligence—most of us find just near-totally lacking in the corporate entertainment tsunamis flooding our lives.
Congratulations, Natalie Merchant. What you accomplished here is all-around brilliant work. My hat's off to you—a cold beer this evening will be lifted in toast to yer singular accomplishment with this album. Great work is truly and sadly rare; but you achieved it with "Leave Your Sleep".
January, 2011:
A Little Bit on Learnin' to Play Guitar
I sometimes get asked for advice by people wanting to take up, or take back up, playin’ guitar. So here’s the general way the thinkin’ goes here....
There’s essentially three kinds of guitars one can get: an electric, a steel-string acoustic or a nylon-string acoustic.
A lot of people—perhaps even the majority—start out with a nylon-string (aka “classical”) guitar, because it’s easier on tender finger tips to press a plastic string against the guitar fret board than to push down metal ones. And there are people (often girls) who shy away from the very idea of getting calluses on their fingertips—which is what happens with consistent regular practice on even a nylon-string instrument.
What’s not understood in that reticence is that once the fingertips have been strengthened—once calluses have developed—they eventually disappear and only you know they’re there—they become invisible and under the surface. Literally. And what yer left with are fingertips that can handle the guitar strings, but that are visually indistinguishable from your grandmother’s manicured digits.
How much should you pay? Hell, as little as ya can—TO GET A GOOD SOUNDING AND EASY-TO-PLAY INSTRUMENT.
Do not—repeat NOT—think that price or maker tells you a whole lot. I’ve heard $350 guitars that sound way better than the $5,000 ones hangin’ next to them. I’ve heard $3,000 guitars I wouldn’t be caught dead wasting my time on. Martin makes a lot of real crap along with their top-end guitars—and so do Taylor, Gibson and all the others. And "top end"—expensive—doesn't necessarily mean "great", either. You can look at and play FIVE guitars—all from the same manufacturer, all the same model, all the same price, and all hangin’ on the same music shop’s wall—and discover one is a dud-and-a-half, three are “okay”, and maybe (if yer lucky) one is a true gem. Trust your own ears! Do NOT trust the ears of the salesperson! And do not buy a guitar mail-order, or via internet! Buy one you have actually touched and played and heard!
Now, given the above, there IS a reason great players generally play expensive guitars: the odds are the sound and construction ARE much better than the Third World Import selling for $99.
But trust your own ears. Okay? And come back tomorrow to compare the ones yer lookin' at a second time. Don't get in a hurry or get pressured—the one you like WILL still be there tomorrow....
And trust your own fingers! How hard is it to press the strings down at the half-way point? If it’s too hard, you likely won’t continue to practice after a few days or weeks—that’s just human nature. A process called “guitar set-up” can make all the difference in the world. A craftsperson adjusts the “action”—that distance you have to push down on the strings to get 'em to the fretboard—and makes sure the guitar you just purchased is in as good shape as this particular instrument can be. It's something that may need to be done on a guitar of any age or quality—and done again when the guitar needs it, which could be years away, or right after the next rainy season; no way to know in advance.
The absolute BEST advice I can offer about how to learn to play guitar—no matter the age you are when ya start out?
TURN OFF THE DAMN TV! Hell, sell the fuckin' thing.
Next in importance—I wasn't a-kiddin' that the MOST important thing is gettin' the insidiously pernicious television outa yer life—is the obvious one: practice. And despite what you're told by everyone—except me—DO NOT keep the guitar in its case! It will just sit in the case, in the close—perfectly safe, and never played. Get a guitar stand for $15 and leave the guitar right there in the living room, ready to pick up immediately when the inclination hits. Open a beer, pick it up, sit out on the front porch and play the same basic, dumb things over and Over AND OVER again.
Yer playin' will get better and better. An' that ain't just more "advice"—that's an ironclad, personal-from-me-to-you, take-me-to-court guarantee.
Okay, enough for this month. Maybe a little more on this topic on down the line.
December, 2010:
Let Us Pause to Remember Ronald Reagan
This Christmas season, let us take a moment to remember the legacy of two-term President Ronald Reagan and what he and his ideas and achievements accomplished here in America. They'll be makin' a big to-do outa the upcoming 100th anniversary of his birth.
Every time you see a homeless person or family camped out on the sidewalk this Christmas-time, or seeking shelter and a place to sleep under a freeway overpass, there's two words that should immediately pop into every American's thoughts.
Those two words?
Ronald Reagan.
If you're unemployed and presently collecting unemployment compensation, you're concerned about every penny of course. Unemployment compensation is the safety net. But because you pay income tax on it—income tax takes out part of even the safety net(!)—reflect on when that came into law, and thank the person responsible for the change. Ronald Reagan.
If you take AMTRAK somewhere—perhaps to visit relatives or simply to get out and see America—you expect as a given that the train might be late. Hours and hours late. But AMTRAK trains were NEVER late when the system started. Then the rules were changed—as soon as the Reagan "pro-corporation/anti-people" administration got their clutches on it. So during your wait, cooling yer heels there at the station or stopped on a siding while a freight passes by, think of those two pertinent words: Ronald Reagan.
If you or a loved one has AIDS—or died from it—those two words again should pop immediately to mind. His initial complacency and contentment—and "contentment" really is the only proper description—that at first it infected mostly homosexuals was evident month after month. Ronald Reagan.
The list of things he and his henchmen did to destroy the American Dream—to destroy America—goes on and on. I've purposely cited just a few of the lesser-known effects of his criminal administration, 'cause it's the little ones that surreptitiously wiggle their way into law and into practice—an' eventually become "the norm". We all know about Iran-Contra, the Carter election Iran hostage deal, the obscene transfer of national wealth and ghoulish tax cuts given to his silver-spoon rich supporters—and the other major historical crimes and disasters. But the lingering effects of his destructive handiwork lives on and on, and are buried so deeply and widely that few of us ever even realize how profoundly and pervasively his evil has been lodged.
But for just a quick glance at the Big Picture, keep in mind two things: one: when The Great Clown—er, sorry, "The Great Communicator"—came into office the United States was the biggest creditor nation in the world. But when he left office just eight years later, America was the biggest debtor nation on Earth. And two, that while the silver-spoon rich got their taxes cut dramatically during those eight years, working class and poor people actually ended up paying MORE after his two terms of malicious, mean-spirited "leadership" . True. He TRIPLED the national debt, and picked the pockets of working people—to give tax cuts to the rich.
I've a good friend who was amazed at the veritable "royal funeral" held for Ronald Reagan—the casket in the Capitol, the endless eulogies in the press, Saint Nancy, etc, etc—and told me he'd actually like to go to Washington for the services..
"Why?!?!" I asked, incredulous..
"To put a wooden stake through his heart—make sure he's not comin' back." he replied.
A little shocking, perhaps, since yer not supposed to talk bad about the dead—even
dead vampires.
But ya know, whenever you see a TV show or a mention of Count Dracula, also remember those SAME two words: Ronald Reagan. Because there was a real-world embodiment of that vampire character—a man whose ideology continues to suck the blood out of the promise of America. And his zombie army of undead brethren is still out roaming the land. (Cheap shot coming, but honestly—didn't he even kinda resemble the Count? All plastic and lacquered and oily? Think about it....)
See that homeless family? See the people lined up looking for jobs? See the crumbling roads and falling bridges? See the barricaded neighborhoods of the idle rich? See America slide down almost every scale when compared to other industrialized nations?
Think about those two words: Ronald Reagan.
November, 2010:
Thanks, Mr McEuen
Just got some great banjo playin' added into this never-fuckin'-endin'-damn-album—er, I mean, uh, this carefully thought-out and planned developing CD—from John McEuen, founder of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band.
I don't wanna get into what he and I came up with—and when I say "he and I" that means solely HIM—but it fits really well with all the other elements, the other pieces—the instruments, voices, gaffers tape, eye of newt, and toe of frog, and etc—a-goin' into this aural concoction....
Thanks, John McEuen! I think you—and all the folks who hear the Finished Product—will be happy with how this all comes out. Even the eye of newt part....
October, 2010:
So you like Obama? Fine. Who the hell cares?!?
If I run into one more person who can’t stop gushing about how much they like Barack Obama—how he’s just so a.) smart, b.) refined, c.) well-spoken, d.) such a welcome change from his Idiot Predecessor, e.) all of the above—I’m a-gonna lose my breakfast.
“So what?!?” I ask ’em. As a person, he sure as hell seems like a great guy—I agree with ya! But—again—so what?!? WHO GIVES A DAMN?!?
Look, the night he got elected, I cried—partly tears of relief that we were done with The Slimeball and Criminal Bush Administration (tm), of course. But mostly—most assuredly—because we’d elected a black man to lead the nation. Indeed, on top of that we’d elected a person who was obviously a.) smart, b.) refined, c.) well-spoken, and d.) a welcome change from his Idiot Predecessor. What a truly glorious and wonderful event.
But basing your primary view of the job he’s doing on the fact you happen to like the guy's public persona is idiocy as far as I’m concerned.
How's using that metric any different from the right-wingers who voted for The Idiot Bush “because he seemed like a guy you’d like to have a beer with”?
Give me a complete BASTARD—a bastard who stands tall and fights strong! Give me that uncouth dufus Lyndon Baines Johnson. Or give me that self-entitled rich guy, Franklin Delano Roosevelt.
Look, the one and only thing Republican thugs have going for them is that they truly, adamantly, incontrovertibly REFUSE to compromise on, and never stop FIGHTING for, all the selfish mean-spirited things they want!
And here we get a guy who's effectively a wimpy college professor looking for “consensus” and “looking forward / not back” and “bi-partisanship”.
No, I don't wanna “look forward, not back”! We hafta do BOTH. Not hauling Bush and Cheney in front of the International Criminal Court on war crimes charges means, ipso facto, that we as a nation see their acts as “simple policy positions” that we at least now (because we temporarily have the other party in power) won’t use for a while. It dishonors everything America presumes to stand for.
Because if it's just policy differences, torture and unlawful detainment and suspension of habeas corpus—and mass murder—may indeed RETURN as “American values” the next time the Republicans win the White House. Really?!? Is THAT what we want and condone?
How about if a guy comes and tells ya, “Yep, I used to beat the fuckin' crap outa my wife all the time, because I thought it was right. But now I don’t do it, because—presently anyway, so it could change, but why dwell on that?—I think it’s wrong. So hey, let’s forget about the past—and talk about the big game this weekend....”
And do we want to “negotiate” with Wall Street—or fucking disembowel the rapacious criminals who have sent working people to veritable bread lines across America?
So no, I don't want a “Nice Guy President”. Hey, it'd be great to have the Obama family live down the street and come over for barbecues! It’d be wonderful. They appear to be just a great family. But for president, what I want's a street fighter who revels in taking on and obliterating the enemies of the American dream—shaming them openly and bluntly, and mercilessly destroying them. Who cares if he's a nice guy or not....
September, 2010:
A recent song, just for fun....
"Til Hell's Dang Done Froze Over"
© Copyright 2010 by Michael Koppy. All Rights Reserved.
I....ain’t....no....rich and cool sophist-o-cated guy, you know that’s true,
I ain’t all smooth an’ ed-u-ma-cated like the fellers yer used to.
Cain’t buy ya purty diamond rings or a big car an’ a chauffer,
But I’ll love you ‘til the cows come home and Hell’s dang done froze over.
Now you got lotsa book-learnin’, an’ me I ain’t got much.
But I’d gone on and grad-u-tated too—if third grade just waren’t so tough....
Can’t write too good, an’ as ya hear, ain’t no great song composer—
But I’ll love you ‘til the cows come home and Hell’s dang done froze over.
(Chorus)
‘Til Hell’s dang done froze over and pigs sail through the skies,
When the Pope’s done bein’ Catholic, and bears act civilized.
We’ll turn that trailer house I rent into yer bed of clover,
‘Cause I’ll love you ‘til the cows come home and Hell’s dang done froze over.
(Instrumental break)
(Spoken:)
Yeah, I still count stuff on my fingers—an' higher math, that ain’t fun.
But if I take off my socks an' shoes—an’ underpants—I can easily count right on up to twenty-one!...
(Key change)
So good Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise, I’ll git yer love fer me,
I’ll be yer frisky horny-toad, an’ you’ll be my sweet pea.
If yer pop’ll swap straight up fer you, I'll trade my best dog, Rover!…
Then I’ll love you ‘til the cows come home and Hell dang done froze over.
I’ll be mostly sobered up when I come courtin’ you.
An’ take a bath that month, fer sure—th’ain’t nuthin’ I won’t do.
Won’t pick my nose, or fart, when we watch TV on yer sofa,
An’ I’ll love you ‘til the cows come home and Hell’s dang done froze over.
(Repeat chorus)
‘Til Hell’s dang done froze over and pigs sail through the skies,
When the Pope’s done bein’ Catholic, and bears act civilized.
We’ll turn that trailer house I rent into yer bed of clover,
‘Cause I’ll love you ‘til the cows come home --
(Spoken:)
Mooo-o-o-o. Moooo-o-o-o. Mooooooooo-o-o-o. --
(Return to singing:)
And Hell’s dang done froze over.
August, 2010:
Hollywood Movies, Anyone?...
Got into an interesting, indeed revealing, conversation the other day—about movies.
Three other solidly blue-collar guys and I were just killing time, talking about our weekends just past. I would guess the ages ran from around 22 to around 55 or so, probably none of the other fellas had any college education of which to speak—but (as we all know) education ain't no sine qua non of intelligence....
Anyway, one guy mentioned that he'd seen a great movie over the weekend. He rents DVDs, and apparently will often simply pick one up based on the cover or title—or simple whim—essentially taking a flyer on a completely unknown commodity.
He said this one film had actually "touched" him. He reported in a soft voice that it had got to him so deeply that afterwards he'd phoned a good friend to tell him about it as well. It had nearly brought this macho Latino workingman to tears, he admitted to us. That revelation in itself, in this kind of company, can easily open one to ridicule. But we were caught up in the sincerity of the emotion he showed, and held off on the cheap shots.
One of the others, upon hearing him speak so respectfully about the film, asked if it simply "hit home" on some events in his own life. But he said no, that wasn't the case at all; it was just that the story and acting was so "real" and "honest"—his words—that it deeply affected him and made him think about life.
My own comment was to note, "Well, that's not a Hollywood movie."
To which he responded, "It's not?"
"No."
"Where is it from?" he asked.
"Damned if I know," I answered.
They all looked at me quizzically, and things got quiet.
"I mean I don't know that movie, or anything else about it," I continued, "but it's not a movie made here in Hollywood."
The guy who'd seen it asked, "So how do you know that?"
I paused before responding, to give full force to my words. "Because it touched you", I answered. "It was a film that actually affected you. Hollywood movies don't do that."
They each were silent for a moment, before they all nodded in unanimous agreement.
The name of the movie we were talking about isn't important. (And, for the record, it indeed isn't a Hollywood film.)
But the insight we unfortunately all recognized as true is....
July, 2010:
Myspace/Yerspace, Twitter Twaddle, Face Book and Spamo-rama
I signed up fer all o' them things—just so's anyone stuck with my name elsewhere won't hafta worry himself (herself?) about getting mixed up with me.
But I'll be damned if I'm a-gonna actually INFLICT these presumptuous things on people. Oh, sure, when there's actually something potentially interesting I'll send out an email—and the email list I've gathered over the years is right around 5,000 names long.
But "social networking"? As they say in Hollywood—where everyone DOES social network and nobody has enough cajones to say "yes" or "no"—I'll just "pass".
Just ain't real crazy about bein' a self-appointed "star" whose every fart or trip to the laundromat merits anyone else's attention.
Maybe that'll change when one o' my ships does come in, though—so fair warning to everyone. And I got a whole fleet of boats out there right now, as a matter of fact, headin' back into harbor!
Which ships are those? And when are they due?
Well, there's the Exxon Valdez—that's one o' my ships that's a-comin' in. And the Titanic—gonna make a bundle when she docks, that's fer sure. Can't forget my stake in the Edmund Fitzgerald, either. And believe it or not, I'm actually the majority owner of the Battleship U.S.S. Maine! And there's the Lusitania—got a lot of money invested in her, I'll tell ya....
So when they all start a-comin' in, THAT'S when ya should prepare yerself for me to begin spamming everyone to death....
June, 2010:
My Acquiescent New Partner an' Me
Just finished writing a new song—with my new songwriting collaborator! Yep, that's right—I collaborated! My partner on this one is named Billy B. Yeats—although you educated folks might know him better by his full name, William Butler Yeats, born 1865, died 1939; winner of the 1923 Nobel Prize in Literature. I adapted a poem of his entitled "He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven" into a song—and he was really easy to work with, too. We agreed on pretty much everything.
All smart-alecky humor aside, the effort brings up interesting points—matters I've been discussing with friends yesterday and today. (First off, understand that the poem is in the public domain—meaning the copyright has expired, and so it can indeed be legally worked with. That's not an issue.)
But how much fidelity must one—should one properly—maintain when adapting an extant work—especially a work by one of the true greats of literature?
"You imply that you altered his words, Michael?!?"
I sure did. Not many, of course—if I'd thought it'd require major surgery the notion of adapting it would've never occurred here in the first place. But a few minor alterations were warranted—in fact, I (perhaps arrogantly?) assert, arguable improvements. Certainly to the end of making the material work as a song. So there.
"Well, you can't do that! How dare you!"
That's pretty much the reaction—friendly reaction, because I was talking with friends, after all—I got from most (though notably not all) folks with English literature degrees.
My musician and songwriting friends were much less alarmist. Indeed, they were more puzzled at my concern—implying both that they trusted my taste and ability (I hope, anyway) AND that they were nonplussed there should be any real trepidation about making some careful alterations.
Ultimately, though, it comes down to the quality of the work, doesn't it? I mean, an adaptation means exactly that, doesn't it? One is adapting an extant work from one medium into another. And, in this case—because many people mistakenly think that poetry and song lyrics are one and the same—an extra layer of suspicion is easily imputed to an effort that doesn't retain the exact language of the source material. "Why not just use the poem exactly as written?" (Of course, that's pretty much the avenue usually taken by those turning extant poems into "art songs"—this poem by Yeats has been adapted to that end at least 19 times in the past 111 years (!)—but frankly, to my thinking that approach is one of the things that usually renders such material rather anemic.)
The answer (again) is that poetry and lyrics are not, in fact, indistinguishable—lyrics that sound good in a song often read like lead-footed doggerel. And poetry simply piled on top of a score usually ends up so UN-musical—think airy "parlor song"—that any real guts inherent in the text, potential or realized, have been completely obliterated. Nothing is truly sacrosanct—if it is, it becomes ossified (cf "opera"....)
So does my work with Billy Yeats measure up? Have I maintained fidelity both to the intent and insight of the poem and the simple poetic musicality of the writing—indeed, further, have I actually added to them? Have I turned William Butler Yeats' poem into a legitimately affecting and intrinsically meritorious song?
My simple answer is a firm "yes". I certainly believe so—and less confidence in the resultant adaptation would be cause for concern and re-thinking the undertaking. But you can decide for yourself when "Ashmore's Store" is finally a finished CD. (Hey, maybe I AM clueless—if so, this'll give ya evidence!)
"The Cloths of Heaven" is a very short song, playing just shy of 1:20 long—in the first-draft, scratch-track version that is. (And writing it coming right on the heels of 27-minute long "All in the Timing", too! Hmm, I wonder if there's some kinda "middle ground" in between there somewheres....)
May, 2010:
"All in the Timing: A Hollywood Romance in Seven Chapters"
Yesterday we finished recording a scratch track version of a song I wrote a while back called "All in the Timing: A Hollywood Romance in Seven Chapters". And it times out to be 27:15 long. That's right, twenty-seven minutes and fifteen seconds. That's without any instrumental break or extended jam or whatever—no, just cram-packed with lyrics: ideas, observations, references, allusions, questions and digressions. It's in 6/8 time (which for non-musicians means it's a somewhat unusual—not at all rare, understand, but unusual—time signature) in the key of E, with two key changes (to F# and to A) along the way.
Almost five-hundred lines of lyrics—down from an original, first-draft of way over a thousand. Wrote the very rough basics up over several days in a cheap Paris hotel—well, as "cheap" as a hotel in Paris can be, anyway.
I don't believe anyone's ever written anything quite like this before—though admittedly, what the hell do I know? (And if not, maybe there's a REASON no one's ever written something like his before, eh?...) It's a behemoth.
There's references and allusions to everything from Isaac Newton's Third Law of Motion to blackface minstrelsy to the French Foreign Legion to the failed invasion of England in 1588 by the Invincible Spanish Armada; from Marty Robbins' great song "El Paso" to the operas of Giacomo Puccini to Buck Owens' great song "I've Got a Tiger by the Tail"; the films "The Gods Must Be Crazy", "La Ronde", "The Lady from Shanghai" and "City Lights"; historic and mythic personages from Plato to Muhammad Ali to Diogenes to the Lone Ranger to Ulysses to Albert Einstein—and from Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire to Ferdinand and Isabella to Barbie and Ken; the poems "Evangeline", "La Belle Dame Sans Merci" and "The Charge of the Light Brigade", painters from Heironymous Bosch to Andy Warhol; books from "One Hundred Years of Solitude" to "The Little Engine That Could".
And all kinds of show-biz insider jargon, of course—I mean it's subtitled "A Hollywood Romance", after all....
But of course, this is a song, not a novel—most of the allusions are just that: quick passing references used to illustrate points being made.
We'll record an old friend of mine, the brilliant drummer Roy Blumenfeld, who used to be in the bands the Blues Project and Seatrain back when, up in Marin County in August. I'm really looking forward to getting with him and putting his sure-to-be-exciting efforts on this unusual song.
Not sure what the final instrumentation will be on this (apparently) ground-breaking song—and when yer dealing with something this long, it's really pretty much uncharted territory. Who the hell writes lyric-driven songs this panoramic (or is the word megalomaniacal?) Bob Dylan's longest songs, for instance, all turn out to be just over 11 minutes—and those are all slow ballads: "Joey", "Desolation Row" and "Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands". Leonard Cohen's longest ones come in at about eight or nine—and his stuff is ALL slow. This song, "All in the Timing", just races along like a freight train in a snow storm. So it's a-gonna be interesting!
April, 2010:
Fightin' 'Em With Yer Wallet
I have a "Principled Boycott List" of six companies I simply WILL NOT patronize under ANY circumstances. I'll pass along the idea here, and maybe folks clicking by can consider doing likewise themselves.
The point is that for anyone to actually function in America, this selfishness-run-amok land that continues to drift farther and farther to the right and make life tougher and tougher for honest working people, we can't just boycott ALL the slimeballs and criminals who are destroying the country. But we CAN each pick a few who are the worst offenders—our "Principled Boycott List"—and never make a single exception to our promise to never spend a single penny there, no matter what the circumstance.
But my "rules" are that ya can't just pick places you'd never go to anyway. No, that's not fair. There has to be some actual determination displayed in adhering to your personal Principled Boycott List. And the list has to be written in big flaming letters in your mind and heart, so you don't slip up or forget.
So who's on my list? Number One is easy, of course: Walmart. (Can we all just shout out together here, on the count of three—one, two, three: FUCK WALMART! Feel better? Me too.) But there ain't no Walmart near me, so it doesn't take any extra effort for me to avoid 'em.
Some of the others do, though. Filling out my own Principled Boycott List are Home Depot, McDonald's, Starbucks, Whole Foods and Guitar Center. (The two closest supermarkets to where I live now, for instance, are BOTH Whole Foods. And I refuse, even if to buy an emergency quart of milk, to set foot into either one of 'em. Guitar Center, the most rapacious musical instrument marketer around, is also the closest music store to me. But they don't see my face, either—even for a set of strings.) Every one of these companies is not just mildly, but VIRULENTLY anti-union, for starters. And most all of them operate in ruthlessly, predatory and monopolistic fashion. These companies are NOT helping to build a better America—they want an America of a few very rich and everyone else forced to buy at the company store. Some, like Home Depot and Whole Foods, don't even hide that they're run by profound and vocal right-wing extremists.
So boycott Starbucks! Go to the mom-and-pop coffee shop down the road—and if there isn't a family-owned place, choose a smaller corporate competitor. Sure, the competitor may indeed be just as politically pernicious as Starbucks, but they're smaller.
Got the picture? Good. If you like the idea and are so-inclined, email me your own Principled Boycott List. Pick five—and never ever give in. NO EXCUSES! Just put it in your mind that they don't even exist—that they aren't an option under any circumstances. I'd love to learn who in other folks' minds are the Worst of the Worst. We can't stop fighting the reactionaries, scumbags, racists, homophobes and anti-union exploiters—and every day, with every penny, we collectively have the power to eventually wear 'em down and crush 'em.
March, 2010:
Sisyphus Pushes the Rock
Work continues on this seemingly never-ending recording of songs for the next album, "Ashmore's Store". But we are (believe it or not) getting into the home stretch. In fact, we have too many songs—most all of 'em originals I wrote up over the past several whenevers. Gonna hafta pick and choose which and what to put on here—could make two whole albums with the songs we've got in various stages of completion. Not sure if that's what ya call "an embarrassment of riches" or "a mess"!....
February, 2010:
"Wildwood Flower"
I recorded three abbreviated versions of that country and bluegrass standard known to most as "Wildwood Flower", written by Alvin Pleasant "A.P." Carter of the Carter Family on my first album, Red River Redux. But I didn't pay one penny in royalties to Peer International Music, the holder of the copyright to Carter's song.
Why not? Wasn't I supposed to?
Oh yeah. Legally.
So why didn't I?
Because A.P. Carter DIDN'T WRITE "Wildwood Flower"! And furthermore, the US Copyright office should NEVER have issued a copyright for the song in the first place!
"What the hell are ya talkin' about, Michael?" ya may be thinkin' to yerself.
"I'll Twine 'Mid the Ringlets" was written by Maud Irving (lyrics) and J.P. Webster (music) in 1860. (Truth be told, it's also a better tune than the eventual derivative version recorded by the Carter Family in the famous Bristol, Virginia, sessions in 1927.) I won't go into all the convoluted specifics of the history of the song here—pre-and post-Webster and Irving—but suffice it to note that the law makes quite clear that once a song has gone out of copyright—once the original copyright has expired, the work is in the public domain AND REMAINS THERE IN PERPETUITY.
A.P. Carter? He simply picked up a tune and words as they became known to folks there in the deep backwoods—handed down and traveled back into the hinterlands—and claimed it as his own. Perhaps he indeed added to the extant song—there's some lyrics in "Wildwood Flower", but not in "I'll Twine 'Mid the Ringlets" that are indeed improvements. Did Carter write those, or someone else in the chain of "hand-offs" the song made as it wound itself deeper and deeper into the back woods? A.P.'s ability can not be denied and should not be disparaged—and the Carter Family were simply brilliant.
Webster and Irving's copyright? It had expired years before—the song and its remnants, bastardized, adapted, re-worked and de-constructed, were free to everyone. So let Peer International sue me—they have the legal right to do so; jus' kinda wonder if they'd care for the whole world to know the actualities.
If I see ya around, ask me about the history of this seminal song. I did quite a bit of research on it those couple of years back—so that even the fellow there at the Library of Congress American Folklife Center asked me to give 'em a copy of the work, since I'd come upon stuff that turned out to be wholly unknown previously. It's what ya call "original research"—information that ain't never been printed up or uncovered before.
But if A.P. were still around, hell I'd certainly buy him a beer!
January, 2010:
Another song from the upcoming album:
"A Filled-Out Shirt"
© Copyright 2009 by Michael Koppy. All Rights Reserved.
My Momma came and told me back when I was just a boy,
She said, "Find yourself a rich girl, so a good life you'll enjoy".
But Daddy said, "No, find a gal who sews and cleans and cooks".
Said "And son, that's more important than her clothes or how she looks".
But I just want a girl with a filled-out shirt—long, long legs and a short, short skirt.
My sister said, "I got a friend, who you just gotta meet".
But dang that gal was homely, from her hair down to her feet.
Now, why does everybody always think they know the best?
They keep on bringin' over Wicked Witches of the West.
And I just want a girl with a filled-out shirt—long, long legs and a short, short skirt.
My uncle said, "I'm givin' up, you're just too hard to please".
But hell, I'll take American, French, Greek—or Red Chinese!
If folks'd simply listen, then we'd get this problem whipped.
An' I ain't a-wastin' no more time on gals don't come fully-equipped.
I want a girl with a filled-out shirt—long, long legs and a short, short skirt.
My teacher said, "Now just hold on, an' I'll give you a tip,
Find a girl with brains, a girl who's smart as a whip".
But who cares if she's smart, or if she's dumber than me?
What gets me titillated ain't no PhD....
My Preacher said, "Now look her, son, I think you're kinda odd.
But I'm gonna introduce you to a girl who's right with God".
I appreciate the offer, sir, but I know where to search,
An' my gal's dancin' in a strip club 'fore she's prayin' in some church.
Yeah, I just want a girl with a filled-out shirt—long, long legs and a short, short skirt.
Oh, give me a girl who's a-bustin' out her vest—with sky-high heels and a short, short dress.
December, 2009:
Oh Yeah? Well Merry MoFo Xmas to You Too, Pal....
We shot an "X-mas video card" to email out for 2009, but danged if I just couldn't get around to editing it in time. So who knows, maybe it'll go out around Presidents Day? July 4th? Or hell, maybe NEXT X-mas. (So set yer spam-catcher accordingly....)
November, 2009:
So Where Ya' Actually Playin' AT these Days?...
Not out performing much here in LA—it's kinda the World Capital of both "pay to play" (meaning you guarantee a certain size paying audience shows up—or pay the difference to the house!) and of everyone (simply EVERYONE) constantly hyping, hyping, hyping, networking, networking, networking, selling, selling, selling. Then ya add in the requirement for vacuous, smarmy "positive vibes" in return—and YEE-OWW. Now me, I'm just too demanding a critic—of my own stuff and other folks'—to glad-hand everyone who bangs away on a guitar singing their um, "poetry", so we can all, er, "love" each other's work. (Digression: ever wanna find out if someone throwin' ya compliments is sincere or not, jus' ask 'em what they DON'T like an' see if they squirm....)
I mean, good and fine; on balance there's no doubt it's good to see folks tryin' to create new things instead of just home watching TV—even if most all the "tryin", here in LA anyway, is undertaken solely for the real and steely-eyed objective of attaining "celebrityhood"—gettin' ON television. But that's The Entertainment Industry for ya, right there in a nutshell....
October, 2009:
A song from the upcoming album:
"River"
© Copyright 2009 by Michael Koppy. All Rights Reserved.
River, show me how to float.
The current's strong and I devote
All my strength fightin' the tide;
Though I don't know if I still even want all that lies there on the far side.
River, show me how to float.
Mountain, tell me what you know,
Beneath the mist and clouds below,
Of wrong turns I made but didn't see.
And roads that led astray from bein' the man my momma prayed I'd be.
Mountain, tell me what you know.
Oak tree, teach me one more time
Which limbs to trust and how to climb.
I promise now, if you agree,
To re-ignite the drive that still remains alive here within me.
Please oak tree, teach me one last time.
Woman, remind me how to love.
This patient heart's seen just too much of
Plans that never stood the chance.
Is there still time to find the blessing of sweet divine deliverance?
Woman, if you remind me...
We'll float down this river and break free;
Slowly past the mountain and that oak tree;
And at last into the welcoming warm sea.
Drift out into the wide red-orange sunset;
The laughing waves baptizing our regret;
As dolphins leap into the fading sunlight;
Before the diamond stars cast themselves, shotgunned out, across the night.
September, 2009:
"A Good Bank"
Just finished up some work on a song I wrote a while back—a tender, sentimental love ballad to the small-town American way of life that don't exist no more. It's called "A Good Bank"—and what with all the economic hardships this country is in these days—hell, HAS BEEN IN since that idiot scumbag Reagan and his acolytes sent the nation reeling headlong in the wrong direction—it seemed to me that I should do more than just be a whiner, and bring some real answers to the table.
The whole title of the song is "A Good Bank: The Financial Institution / Anarchist Solution Talkin' Blues". Yep, a talkin' blues. And extolling the virtues of an actual, honest-god's-truth good bank, too!
It could even become a useful tool when one of those "teachable moments" about the economy come up in life—like when someone realizes they'll never be able to pay off the parasitic credit card debt that keeps 'em enslaved. Or when hard-workin' folks lose the homes they put all their dreams and sweat into.
It's about how a town can go about actually creating "a good bank"—and there is indeed a way to do it, too!
And how many songs have ya ever heard that have the pivotal plot point bein' ten sticks of dynamite?...
August, 2009:
Pedal Steel Guitar with Norm Hamlet
Just got back from Bakersfield, where we recorded Mr Norman Hamlet on pedal steel guitar for three tracks on this when-the-hell-is-it-finally-going-TO-BE-DONE second album.
Norm Hamlet is, of course, one of the pre-eminent pedal steel players in the world, and has been Merle Haggard's band leader for 38 years now. He DOESN'T record with other songwriters—but I guess we caught him in the right mood, with the right songs.
[He's on the full-band version of "One Great Mornin' (The South's Gonna Rise Again)", among others—that's the song ya may recall The San Francisco Chronicle called "an ultra-left wing Confederate call to arms."
So I told him this was his penance—his "atonement", finally—for playing all those years ago on Merle's "Okie From Muskogee" and "The Fightin' Side of Me"! He laughed good-naturedly.]
It was as much fun just talking shop with Norman Hamlet as it was working out the parts during the session.
The pieces, the tracks, are comin' together for "Ashmore's Store"—that's the name of the upcoming album. One thing for sure is that it's a-gonna be one hell of a collection of songs, folks—no filler! The more we get the pieces to fall into place, the more convinced I am that we're building something memorable here. I'll be surprised if most folks won't agree.
Catch y'all on down the two-lane road....
Michael
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