I note with sadness the passing today of the great Clyde Stubblefield, for 50 years the funkiest cat in the world. Catch you on the other side, Clyde.
I note with sadness the passing today of the great Clyde Stubblefield, for 50 years the funkiest cat in the world. Catch you on the other side, Clyde.
I have loved the music and words of Leonard Cohen since I first encountered him in 1964.
I used to joke that if you dared to listen to a whole Leonard Cohen album at one sitting you’d have to have a counselor on hand, because you would become so sad you might decide to take your life.
Today, however, I am listening to DJ Chris Douridas’ sweet tribute to Leonard on KCRW in Los Angeles. My heart is in pieces, but the music is graceful and healing, melancholy and uplifting. I’m grateful that Leonard was in the world at the same time as me, and that his spirit was woven through my life in the best and worst of it, and that he shared with us his graceful sadness and his gentle smiles.
I say goodbye today, but I will return to him for the rest of my life.
In keeping with my annual practice of choosing a song that I can’t really sing…
…and then struggling to get it right in time for Christmas, I present my 2014 effort, “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.” It was written in the war year of 1944 by Hugh Martin and Ralph Blane for the movie “Meet Me In St. Louis,” although later Martin told everyone Blane had nothing to do with it. I have personal experience with this kind of rebuff, so my sympathies lie with Mr. Blane.
This one was hard to sing. It’s not my style at all, and I have new respect for all those — cheesy and otherwise — who have recorded it before me. Except for Buble. He just pisses me off.
I think this is my fifth time to record a song for the holiday. At this rate my new album, “A Clinically Depressed Christmas,” should be ready in another seven or eight years. I know: that joke never gets old.
You might notice that I have used a slightly older version of the lyric here. Frank Sinatra made Hugh Martin “jolly up” one line for Sinatra’s album “A Jolly Christmas With Frank Sinatra.” The song had already been fixed up for Judy Garland to sing in the movie, after several copyists had attempted suicide while working on the early versions of the song, including the line “Have yourself a merry little Christmas; it may be your last.” So I didn’t go all the way with the historical rendering of the song, but I like the line about muddling through, and that’s the one you may not recognize from most of the popular recordings. Because of Frank Sinatra.
The pictures in the movie are the homes of my neighbors here in Bixby Knolls. They don’t know they’re in the video, so keep it under your hats, OK?
Merry Christmas, everybody! My heart beats only for you.
I’m a sap for all things Christmas.
The commercial trappings notwithstanding, I get all warm and affectionate toward my fellow man, and I suspect a lot of folks feel the same way. So Christmas is all right with me.
Here’s my Christmas song for this year. I spent about a week recording it, playing and singing all the parts, and I took the pictures myself, strolling around my neighborhood at Christmas time. The pix were taken last year, but all my neighbors are using pretty much the same decorations this year, so I think we’re cool.
In keeping with my holiday tradition of trying to perform music that is beyond my abilities, I have made another Christmas recording for you, the Precious Few.
This is my fourth such presentation here on the blog, so I figure at this rate in about eight more years I’ll have a complete half-assed Christmas album. In the meantime you could,Â if you were so inclined, listen to the entire collection by clicking on the “Categories” menu in the right sidebar over there, selecting “Musix,” and scrolling down to whatever looks Christmas-ey.
I do almost all my writing and recording all by myself. I like to work that way because I can do things at my own pace and make all the final decisions myself without having to argue with anybody about it. Mind you, I don’t claim that all my decisions are the “right” ones. It’s just that I’m no longer trying to make hit records or satisfy music publishers or record companies, so why shouldn’t I give myself the final, undisputed say on how the project sounds?
This year, however, I decided to try “Baby It’s Cold Outside,” which is a duet, so by definition I’m not alone on this one. Frank Loesser wrote this song in 1944, and sang it at parties with his wife, Lynn, for years. But Frank, being a professional songwriter, eventually sold it to MGM for a movie. According to the story, Lynn was furious, because she considered it “their song.” On the other hand, it won an Oscar for Best Original Song in 1949, and Frank could always write another song for him and Lynn.
I’ve always been amused at the story underlying the words to this song. The girl is acting as if she can’t and won’t stay with the guy, but even she knows that she will in the end. And the guy seems pretty sure of himself, too, though he continues to make his case all the way to the end, as if the outcome is in doubt. Personally I like the charade.
My singing partner is my friend Kitti Lynn Pagano. I love her sweet voice and her perfect pitch. I called her during the summer and asked if she wanted to sing a Christmas song with me. She might have thought I was kidding or crazy, but she agreed. Then before I knew it it was almost Thanksgiving, and time to get started.
First I called Kitti and suggested we make sure we agreed on a good key for us both to sing in. To my relief she not only remembered, she said she’d been about to call me! I sent her a couple of MP3’s of different versions of the song, but it turns out there are many, many versions of it on YouTube, and she found one that was just right for her. Turns out it is a little low for me, but I can hit all the notes, at least theoretically, so we went with it (It’s B-flat if you’re keeping score).
I recorded a rhythm guitar part, and immediately started regretting my choice of song, the deadline that I had (Christmas!), and occasionally even being born. This kind of music is not in my wheelhouse. I love it, but I’m no good at it. Add to that the fact that I do not play piano — and there is a piano part on this — and I was not feeling very good about the endeavor.
But it was too late to back out, and finally I had enough music recorded to invite Kitti over to sing. I had already sung a rough version of the boy vocal part and sent it to her, so she’d know what she was getting into. Kitti’s not a recording artist, so when she came to the house I tried to make her feel at home, gave her some Celestial Seasonings Bengal Spice tea (I highly recommend this, especially at the holidays), schmoozed her for a while, let her choose from four different headsets to wear, and generally tried to put her at ease.
I need not have gone to the trouble. As soon as I pressed record Kitti delivered a series of near-perfect takes, and while I did try to coach her about her delivery, in the end I felt as if I could use any one of them as the “final.” Still, I’ve worked with a lot of singers in the studio, and they always want to “correct” something after they’ve gone home and listened to the rough mix for a while. So when we were finished for the evening I told her I’d email her a rough mix and she could come back in a week and sing it again if she wanted.
I was about half right: When I spoke to her on the phone a few days later she did want to come back and fix something. But when we got back together the following weekend it turned out that what she wanted to do was go back and sing it the way she sang it before I coached her. And so she did, and she was right. I shouldn’t have been meddling with such a sweet sound in the first place. I’m lucky Kitti ignored my “help,” and went with her instinct.
After that I sang my own part again, enough times to convince myself that it wasn’t going to get any better, and then returned attention to the music track. The problem was that it didn’t have much spark or bounce. The piano playing sounded like a junior high school teacher accompanying a student recital. I brought in the great Don Wittsten to play bass, and he added some jazzy motion to the track with his homemade Schecter fretless bass, but maybe not enough to cover my own amateur playing on everything else.
I kept messing with the mix and trying different guitar parts. I think I ended up keeping four guitars, the piano, drums and bass, plus the charmingly out-of-tune synthesizer bells. I learned a lot during this project. I probably should have started doing this kind of thing decades ago. Then I might be able to pull it off better by now.
At last, here it is: Baby, It’s Cold Outside. I hope you enjoy it, even with the blemishes that I couldn’t fix. It’s a little awkward, but it’s heartfelt, and so is my wish that you all have a very merry Christmas.
A happy, rockin’ Solstice season to all!
I love this time of year. I like the short days, the long shadows, the cold weather (I know, I know, you people in Minnesota could tell me a thing or two about cold weather). I love the way my neighbors put lights all over their houses and yards, and the way the hardest hearts soften just a little. Even my own heart beats more warmly for this cold, cold world.
To celebrate I have recorded a holiday rock’n’roll song, my third such effort in three years. I should have my Christmas album finished in time for the 2019 holiday season, so stay tuned for that.
The other day I heard a segment on NPR about Senator Orrin Hatch’s Chanukah song, and when the question arose Why were there not more Chanukah songs? the answer was that all the Jewish songwriters were probably too busy writing Christmas songs.
This was exactly what Johnny Marks was doing. He was a Jewish songwriter who wrote a ton of Christmas songs, including “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree, ” “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,” and the awful “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas,” currently in heavy and sickening rotation on KOST-103.5 in Los Angeles.
But he totally redeemed himself by creating this gem for Chuck Berry, which is not only a Christmas song by a guy who should have taken more time out to write a few Chanukah songs, but sounds so much like a song that Chuck himself would write that even I was fooled until I looked it up. I now present my version of “Run, Rudolph, Run.”
It’s an ambitious project. My ambition was to get it posted here before Blue Girl and Neddie Jingo post their annual Christmas collaboration, which, if this were a competition, they might win, but they won’t, because it’s not, and I’m not competing. (I don’t know about them, though.) If you notice any shortcomings in the playing or singing, you can put it down to me trying to get finished in time to beat them to the internet. [UPDATE: BG & NJ finally posted their Christmas song, and the links above now point directly to it.] I did play and sing all the parts, except the drums, which I programmed, and the bass, which was played by the great Don Wittsten. Thanks, Don!
How many girl singers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Answer: Just one, because the whole world revolves around them.
On the small-time cover band level that I’m on, girl singers are a mixed blessing. True, they allow you to perform Sheryl Crowe songs and lots of other material not easily adaptable to being sung by guys. You have to face it — when you’re doing covers, sooner or later you’re bound to run into an audience that wants to hear something by Alanis Morisette. Naturally, you’d say no to that request under pretty much any circumstances, but what about Tracy Chapman or Fleetwood Mac? No matter how much pride you have in your musicianship or the integrity of your song selection, eventually you’ll at least have to consider such requests.
I stopped working with girl singers 30 years ago, not on purpose, but it just worked out that way. When I worked with them, they always arrived late, left early, and carried nothing but their own microphone and maybe a tambourine. On the road they always got their own room, while the rest of us shared. On stage, they were always the complete center of attention, even though musically everyone else in the band had equally important parts. During performances they could never hear enough of their own voice in the monitors. In those days we were lucky even to have monitors, much less separate monitor mixes, so we all had to listen mainly to her.
To be fair, some of them had great voices, some of them had great looks, some of them worked hard to front the band and entertain the people. Self-centered whiner that I am, though, I grew resentful of them. I had to learn an instrument in order to be in the band. I had to buy an instrument to be in the band. And when I sang, I still had to keep playing the guitar. So it didn’t seem fair to me that the girl didn’t have to bring anything to the table but her voice, which she was born with and — in most cases — was completely untrained. Then during the breaks people would say to her something like “You’ve got a good band,” as if somehow the band — and I — belonged to her or were taught how to play by her. In my bitterness I turned to strong drink.
Childish, I know.
So to penalize me now, at this late hour of my life, the universe has thrown another girl singer at me. It’s temporary — just for one show — but things don’t seem to have changed much. We only had time to rehearse with her once, and she arrived almost an hour late for a three-hour rehearsal, and she didn’t even bring a microphone or a tambourine. Then it turned out that she hadn’t had time to listen to the CD I made for her or look over the lyric sheets I gave her. All true to form as I remember it.
It will be fine, of course. We invited her to sing with us because we think she has a following around town from her extensive work in karaoke bars, and frankly, we need to put some butts in the seats. This compromise of my principles is nothing compared to what I would do for a chance to play with Aretha or Tina Turner or Linda Ronstadt.
Our girl didn’t knock my socks off at the rehearsal, but I can see she has the pipes, and nothing focuses you like an impending gig in front of a live audience. The show is Wednesday this week, and she’ll have a microphone, a tambouine and her own separate monitor mix. I expect she will practice her parts like crazy until then, and come out rockin’.
And then the whole world will revolve around her.
You can’t sleep.
You lie awake for what feels like hours before you finally lose consciousness, and even then you see her in your fevered dreams. In the daytime you are distracted, nervous. She keeps slipping into your thoughts. What would it be like? you wonder. You got a thing for her. An animal thing. You want to know what it smells like, that velvet skin on the back side of her knee. You want to touch that area with your tongue, and feel her shudder.
But she gives you nothing, just sweet innuendo and sexy texts.
So you get up in the morning, drink coffee, get dressed, and get on with it.
Call me, Gwyneth. I got a great big honkin’ thang for you, baby.
I got a thing for you, baby.
I got a great big lovin’ thing for you, baby.
I got a thing for you, baby.
Won’t you have a thing for me?
You make me think about love when I see you walking down the street.
My heartbeat is racing, baby can you feel the heat?
You do something to me.
I want to do something to you.
Listen to me, baby, I’m trying to get a message through.
I got a thing for you baby, blah, blah, blah.
If you want me, you want to please me.
Why do you taunt me? Why do you tease me?
You make me crazy!
I only want your… I only want your…
You lied to me, baby, when you told me that I was the one.
You were playin’ with my heart and then going out and having fun.
Make up your mind tonight!
You could make everything all right.
Aw, listen to me, baby, I’m trying to get a message to you.
I got a thing for you baby, why don’t you have a thing for me?
I guess I don’t have to go anywhere to be home for Christmas.
I have two brothers and two sisters, but both our parents have long ago left this world, so we will not all be getting on planes tomorrow and traveling somewhere to get “home” for Christmas. The notion always appealed to me, though, when we used to do it. Now that I think of it, I realize that home was where Mom was, wherever that might be. It felt good to be together with them all, in her warm home.
As I mentioned in my previous post (and elsewhere), I love Christmas music, and after Blue Girl teamed up with Neddie Jingo to give us all a song for Christmas two years ago I decided I’d like to get in on the fun. Since Blue Girl wouldn’t do it with me (sing, I mean) last year I performed alone. It was so much fun for me that I’m doing it again this year, and since I really am home, the song I chose is “I’ll Be Home For Christmas,” by Buck Ram, Kim Gannon and Walter Kent, made famous by Bing Crosby in 1943.
Too late, I realized that it was beyond me to pull this one off. I ended up spending this evening just trying to make it presentable. I promise next year I’ll tackle something that is within my power. In the mean time, won’t you please give a listen to my 2008 Christmas song?
For last year’s selection, go here.
I wish every one of you a very Merry Christmas, unless you celebrate something different than me, in which case I wish you peace, love and beauty.
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For those geeks who might like to know this stuff, here’s how this was recorded: I used a monster PC that I built myself, and a multitrack recording application called Sonar 7. The gorgeous electric piano is actually a Roland D-50 Linear Synthesizer, an 80’s-era relic that can make sounds which have still never been duplicated. The guitar is a Schecter Blackjack solid body with Seymour Duncan humbucking pickups (I used only the neck pickup) played through an old Line 6 Pod. The orchestral sounds are string samples from a Roland software synth (inside the PC), triggered by me playing the D-50. So there are just three instruments and one voice on the recording, all performed by me, even though I don’t know how to play keyboards.
Here’s my log of the evening’s activities:
7:13 PM (PST): Have to finish this thing tonight, or else I might as well wait until next year. Six vocal takes last night, for a total of 13. I think I finally got a usable one, but was too tired to listen to it. This really makes me feel like an amateur. I hope my singing is good enough. Nuts to those jerks who say “Good enough, isn’t.”
7:48 PM: OK, the vocal will have to do. A little reverb, and brighten it a bit. Now must fill up long, boring passage in the middle where nothing is happening. I’d like to do something with chimes or some Christmas-y sound, but no time. Must be guitar – only instrument I actually know how to play.
8:28 PM: This would sound better on acoustic guitar, but I’d have to put new strings on the Gibson, plus it would really hurt my fingers. I’ll try for a Larry Carlton vibe with the Blackjack.
9:44 PM: FUCK! I’ll never finish this. I’m in over my head. What was I thinking? I can’t play this kind of song. Plus, I used the electric guitar, and my fingers hurt anyway.
10:10 PM: Well, the guitar part ain’t good enough, but it isn’t gonna get any better tonight. Now, let’s see about the string part.
10:54 PM: Strings. Ha! Who needs string players, with their prima donna attitudes?
10:56 PM: It’s sparse, but I think it’s finished. I should learn to stop before I clutter it all up.
11:10 PM: Why is the mix so lopsided?
11:11 PM: Barb’s gone to bed, so I have to finish this on headphones. I hope it doesn’t suck when I hear it in the morning.
12:25 AM Christmas Eve: OK, I’m putting it up. I’m worried about the mix, but it’s too late to fix. Must get some sleep.