Essential Song #4

Moonlight Mile - Rolling Stones – Sticky Fingers, 1971. [5:56]

When I was a freshman in college (in 1990), I was hanging out in a friend’s dorm room when I noticed a dusty Rolling Stones cassette on a shelf. I had gone to high school with this guy, and he didn’t seem the classic rock sort. When I asked him about it he gave it to me without hesitation. I had liked the Stones a lot in high school, but besides a couple of hits compilations, I had never heard any of their albums. The cassette my friend gave me was 1971’s Sticky Fingers, and I fell in love with it instantly. It quickly became my favorite album, and (amazingly to me, in all sincerity) it remains my favorite today. It’s the only album I have in three formats (cassette, CD and vinyl). Its virtues are many, and I could go on about it for days.

One of those virtues is the way the album cleverly winds to a close. Sister Morphine is a slow, dark, harrowing depiction of drug horrors. The music is stark and unsettling, but when it fades out the Stones launch into the disarmingly wonderful country honk of Dead Flowers, a belt-it-out sing-along (“Take me down, little Susie, take me down…”), Mick with that faux-twang in his voice and a twinkling barroom piano ending the tune. It’s an emotional swing from the previous song, and afterwards the listener is ready for anything. And the Stones deliver a stunner, THE PERFECT album closer: my favorite Stones song, Moonlight Mile.

The elements in play are: Jagger’s near-constant strummed acoustic guitar, Charlie Watts’ cymbal washes and minimal drumming, Mick Taylor’s lilting electric guitar, Jim Price’s tasteful piano, and Paul Buckmaster’s gorgeous strings. The lyric is a testament to the loneliness and weariness of the road, and a longing to be home. The words are heartfelt and plaintive and are borne by a sweet melody and fine, restrained musicianship. Supposedly Taylor worked a short Keith Richards guitar phrase into a full song and pulled in Buckmaster to augment it. The result is tremendous: a beautiful song that builds to a crescendo and then fades out in a flourish of piano and strings, bringing a great album to a memorable close.

Essential Song #3

What Goes On – The Velvet Underground – The Velvet Underground, 1969. [4:55]


My college roommate turned me onto Lou Reed and the Velvets. I couldn’t believe it had taken me so long to hear this music, and I instantly loved it. We spent long hours digging those great Velvet albums. I remember one intense evening staring at the huge Warhol banana poster on the wall with Heroin playing on the stereo and some substance or other causing me to see some really captivating and strange things coming out of that poster. Back then my favorite VU song was the instrumental version of Ride Into the Sun, but when Ethan and I had parted ways and he’d left me with a “Best of…” CD, I latched onto What Goes On, and it’s my all-time fave Lou tune.

If there was ever a song that recommended its creator for immortality on the basis of the rhythm guitar alone, this is it. The ultimate rock groove, Lou’s guitar chugs along for five minutes, insistent and undeniable. Just try to sit still during this song. Impossible.

Other elements augment (organ and blaring lead guitar, Lou’s wonderfully gravelly vocal), but it’s that rhythm guitar that propels this tune. The momentum it creates is palpable, and towards the end it only intensifies, with Lou attacking the strings with vigor. The song could be thirty minutes long, and it would still feel too short. All hail Lou.

Essential Song #2

Scarlet Begonias > Fire on the Mountain - The Grateful Dead 5-8-77 Barton Hall, Cornell University, Ithaca NY. [appr. 25:00]


One of several “peaks” in the Dead’s long history, the spring ’77 tour saw the band hitting on all cylinders. The 5/8/77 Barton Hall show has appeared on so many “best show” lists that it started popping up on some “overrated show” lists as well. But, its accolades are well-deserved; and this lengthy two-song suite, which opened the second set, stands for me as the high point in the band's catalog.

It begins with a quick three-hit signal from the drum section, and they’re off… with Phil Lesh’s bass diving down to the depths and bouncing back up, booming, and they move right into the first verse of Scarlet Begonias: “As I was walking down Grosvenor Square...” Jerry is in fine vocal form and the instrumental break is sublime (it always lasts one more bar than I think it will – how is that?). It’s a great version all around, and even Donna Jean is having a good night belting out the words. As it winds down around the six-minute mark the band settles into the ride-out groove: Keith tickling out a calliope-like tune on the ivories, dummers clinkering away at their expanded kits, bass bobbing and weaving, Bobby’s guitar sparkling away, low in the mix, Jerry’s dancing up high, Donna channeling the goddess with her moaning… then, so subtle you might miss it, Keith changes his tune, and the other players fall in line. The groove melts ever so slowly into the next song. The rhythm becomes hypnotic. Fire unfolds in its own sweet time. It’s a blissful eternity before Jerry sounds the familiar wah-wah melody and croons “Long distance runner, what you standing there for?”

There are few fireworks for the next ten minutes, just the uber-pleasant groove the multi-headed beast has settled into; although Jerry’s playing throughout is shimmering, it’s the dreamy trance that prevails. This is the golden sound of the Dead, with all members locked into the groove and riding the wave for miles until the shore, which arrives at the appointed time, and not a moment before. Plus, Keith Godchaux is sitting at the piano bench; and the Dead never had a better keyboard player. It’s one of the finest pieces of music I’ve heard.

Essential Songs

*This is the first in a series of short essays on my favorite songs (and I've got a ton of them). Hope you enjoy*









Sisters of Mercy – Leonard Cohen – Songs of Leonard Cohen, 1967. [3:32]


I first heard this song around 1991 while watching McCabe & Mrs. Miller, Robert Altman’s 1971 western, which featured a few Leonard Cohen tunes. I was not familiar with Cohen’s music and had only heard his name once before (as the punch line of a great joke from the British comedy The Young Ones. Stoner hippie Neil ponders aloud, “Nobody ever listens to me. I might as well be a Leonard Cohen record.”). The Altman movie takes place in a snowy old west town, and I sometimes picture Warren Beatty staggering through the drifts looking for a good place to die when I hear this song.

It was years later that I bought Songs of Leonard Cohen, the Canadian’s remarkable 1967 debut. You can’t recreate the experience of hearing an astounding record for the first time, but I was completely awed by that album. I loved the melodies and spare arrangements, I dug Leo’s nerdy voice, and I thought the lyrics were just dynamite: they had depth, class, humor, magic. Almost instantly, my favorite song on the album was Sisters of Mercy. On a record filled with amazing songs, it managed to stand out, and remains my favorite LC song today.

It starts with Cohen’s intoned “O” met with a simple plucked guitar, in waltz time. “O, the sisters of mercy, they are not departed or gone.…” Cohen begins to relate his encounter with the mysterious sisters, who comfort him in his weariness and inspire him to write this very song. At the start of the second verse Cohen is joined by tinkling percussion and squeezeboxes. I imagine LC singing and playing on the dusty, dimly lit porch of a saloon as the other musicians stroll up behind him. Cohen continues to croon, his voice rising higher over the swelling music.

The lyrics glorify the sisters in religious terms. The narrator makes confession to them. There is talk of love and grace to cure unholiness. But, just who are these sisters? Nuns? Prostitutes? Groupies? Cohen once said he wrote the song for two women who visited him in a hotel once and inspired the song. Yeah, sounds like groupies to me. Whatever the case may be, Cohen the narrator is transformed by the encounter and urges his listener to seek the sweet salvation of the sisters. I’ve always cherished the line “Don’t turn on the light; you can read their address by the moon.” Like the whole record, this song is pure poetry set to a pretty, hummable tune. A true masterpiece.

Movie Review: Religulous

Bill Maher’s new documentary Religulous is, as the title plainly suggests, a satirical look at religious beliefs and their consequences in modern society. Although he takes swipes at Mormonism and Scientology, two religions which have gotten much media play in the last couple of years (Mormonism, with the presidential candidacy of Mitt Romney; Scientology, with the strange coterie of empty-headed Hollywood fans of L. Ron Hubbard), the three major faiths (Christianity, Judaism and Islam) are the main targets here. Maher finds some rather colorful figures to have fun with, from a gathering of truckers in a semi-trailer chapel, to a Puerto-Rican with a sizable congregation who actually believes himself to be the second-coming of Christ, to a fervently anti-Zionist Rabbi, to a confused Muslim rapper, to a Dutch man whose faith centers around cannabis, even a U.S. Senator who seems to take the Creation myth at face-value. These are easy targets for Maher, and he makes the most of the opportunities. He cracks wise relentlessly, and the film’s editing underscores the effect of his jabs. Maher says or asks something that exposes a hole in the interviewee’s reasoning, the camera cuts to the latter’s face which is locked in a clueless stare.

Yet, we do laugh along with Maher, because a) his shots, even the cheap ones, are funny, and b) these people are truly Wackos. Speaking of which, Maher travels to a Christianity-themed attraction in Orlando and interviews the earnest portrayer of Jesus who demonstrates, maybe more that anyone else in the film, the disconnect that exists between faith and reason. While Maher has fun knocking these softballs out of the park, he also deals with the fundamentals of the big faiths themselves, and ruminates on the absurdity of canonical beliefs in the face of science and common sense. He is an advocate for doubt, a crusader for clear thinking.

This a one-sided attack, as Maher talks with precious few capable defenders of the faith (in fact, two of the more credible voices in the film belong to a couple of older Catholic priests who openly dismiss a fundamentalist reading of the Bible); and he’s preaching to the choir with me, but it’s a good film. It’s lively, fast-paced, with plenty of laughs.

Maher’s travels around the globe are peppered with scenes of violence, presumably religious-fueled, yet it really isn’t until the end of the film where Maher turns serious, pleading for a public revolt against religion. And, this is the serious message underlying the lampooning: that religion is often a poisonous thing, especially when its victims are those with real power in this world.

Top 90s Tunes!

WYEP in Pittsburgh recently asked listeners for their top songs of the 90s. The station compiled the responses and created a Top 100 Songs of the 90s list. And a more hollow, predictable list you could not think up, I tell ya. Here is the top 10, just to give you the flavor of it:

10 Beck - Loser
9 Pearl Jam - Black
8 Breeders - Cannonball
7 The Counting Crows - Mr. Jones
6 Alanis Morrisette - You Oughta Know
5 The Verve - Bittersweet Symphony
4 R.E.M - Losing My Religion
3 Oasis - Wonderwall
2 U2 - One
1 Nirvana - Smells Like Teen Spirit

Yecch. Here is a link to the entire list, should you feel the need.

More importantly, though, it's time for me to unveil my own list. In the spirit of Kasey Kasem, I'm going with just the top 40. This was a difficult task, as I kept thinking of other songs while finalizing the list, and I know that I've left a bunch of gems off of this thing. And the number rankings are kinda arbitrary in some spots. But, I'm mostly happy with the list. Here goes:


40 The More You Ignore Me, The Closer I Get – Morrissey
39 Find the River – R.E.M.
38 Saturday – Sparklehorse
37 Be Mine – R.E.M.
36 Harm's Way - 16 Horsepower
35 Hold On – Tom Waits
34 Cold Brains – Beck
33 Paranoid Android – Radiohead
32 Fast Enough for You – Phish
31 All Apologies – Nirvana
30 Black Wings - Tom Waits
29 Obvious Child – Paul Simon
28 Tracy I Love You - Luna
27 Sexy Boy – Air
26 Last Goodbye – Jeff Buckley
25 Los Angeles - Frank Black
24 Cathedrals – Jump, Little Children
23 Viorar Vel Til Loftarasa – Sigur Ros
22 Glynis – The Smashing Pumpkins
21 Ride Into The Sun - Luna
20 Hallelujah – Jeff Buckley
19 A Spoonful Weighs a Ton – Flaming Lips
18 Not Dark Yet – Bob Dylan
17 Svefn-G-Englar – Sigur Ros
16 Only Son – Liz Phair
15 Goddess on a Hiway – Mercury Rev
14 Motorway to Roswell – Pixies
13 The Boy With the Arab Strap – Belle & Sebastian
12 Leave – R.E.M.
11 Let Down – Radiohead
10 1952 Vincent Black Lightning – Richard Thompson
9 Sound of Lies – The Jayhawks
8 Tender - Blur
7 Jenny Ondioline – Stereolab
6 Olsen Olsen – Sigur Ros
5 Lazy Line Painter Jane – Belle & Sebastian
4 When the Circus Comes – Los Lobos
3 Nashville – Liz Phair
2 Staralfur – Sigur Ros
1 Billy Breathes – Phish

Movie Review: Into Great Silence

Sixteen years after his initial request, German filmmaker Philip Groning was finally granted permission from the Carthusian monks to spend a few months filming the residents at the monks' Grand Chartruse monastery in the French Alps. The result is Into Great Silence, a nearly-three hour peek in to the austere, contemplative lives of these men of God. We look on as the monks go through their daily routines. Alone in his room, a monk kneels at prayer for a protracted moment, rises, bows, then kneels again to pray some more. In another room, a monk rolls out a bolt of white cloth and begins to measure and cut. One pushes a dinner cart down a hallway. Another pushes a laundry cart. In a great stone hall, a monk approaches a long rope hanging from the ceiling, grabs hold with two hands and pulls it downward. We hear the muffled sound of the bells ringing from the tower. One by one the monks assemble to chant the morning prayers.

These moments unfold in their own time, unhurried and unadorned by the filmmaker. The only light in the film is natural, and there is no voiceover or added soundtrack. The monks speak only rarely and even the chanted prayers are infrequent. What we get instead is an experience of the contemplative life, where every action becomes a meditation: chopping vegetables, mending a shoe, cutting hair, washing hands. In the absence of dialogue and background music, the emphasis is all on the actions, and these simple, everyday actions take on a grand significance and beauty. Simplicity is the theme here.

That being said, there is a great deal of art here, too. Groning has a superb eye for color and angles. In such a film, the cinematography is really the only way for the filmmaker to put his stamp on the film, but Groning's framing and editing serve to highlight the beauty that is already there, without trying to gild the lily or call attention to his own skill. Groning highlights the characters and their setting with style and grace, and without a hint of arrogance or art-for-art's-sake. Of course it helps that the large monastery with its gorgeous stone and wood interior is situated among jaw-droppingly stunning alpine meadows and peaks.

There is precious little interaction between the monks. We see them chant together a few times and eat together once (an apparently infrequent occasion), but that's pretty much it. They pass each other in the halls and rarely seem to make eye contact with each other. Clearly these guys are here to work and to pray, mostly the latter. A few moments of real contact stand out in contrast. We are on hand for the initiation of two newcomers. The novices, after confirming that they indeed realize what exactly they are signing up for, walk around the room from monk to monk, receiving an embrace from each and even a few nods and welcoming smiles. In another scene we see some of the more established monks off by themselvs on a balcony having an actual chat. The topic of discussion? Whether or not the hand-washing ritual before prayers should be maintained. In a scene of understated tenderness, a younger monk rubs lotion into the wrinkled skin of an elderly fellow monk. In another scene, we follow a small group of monks outside and watch them climb up a snowy hill and proceed to slide gleefully down the slope on snowshoes, bellies and backsides. It's a disarmingly funny scene, an unexpected break from the austerity of the monastery.

The religious aspect of the film cannot be denied. We never lose sight of the reason why these guys have chosen to live this way. Their lives are prayers to God, and Groning gives us periodic words from scripture to keep us on track when we get lost in the meditaion on light and shadow. These words are often followed by closeups of individual monks, standing before the camera, sometimes uneasily, for a few moments. When we look into the faces we see regular, ordinary men. We can only wonder at their personal stories and their inner thoughts. It's enough of a wonder, though, that men do live this way, and have for centuries. Such austerity and such devotion is ponderous indeed, and in the capable hands of Philip groning, it makes for a wonderfully fascinating, riveting movie. Nearly three hours and truly over too soon. Marvellous.