This Ain’t Rock and Roll. This is…

…Ragtime. On Saturday morning I take the exam for a course I’ve been slogging through, on Folk Music in the British Isles. Twas interesting, I learned things, but found it ultimately irritating to study a music without many actual examples. So when the option came up near the end of the course to study Ragtime, of which there are some examples, I took it. I now know more about ragtime than I ever expected to. I don’t love it, but it’s interesting history about which I am glad to know. It happened right just before jazz started, around the beginning of the previous century, and sounded like this:

Maple Leaf Rag.

That track may sound familiar – it’s among the most famous songs from the era, which spanned a couple of decades between the 1890s and the 19teens. Ragtime existed during the time of the first gramophones, but was mostly recorded on piano rolls, for player pianos, which is neat. The track above is a recording from one of these, recorded by its composer Scott Joplin, who was the James Brown of ragtime.

Ragtime went through a remarkably familiar pattern in American pop. It was created by black Americans (who were doing their take on the Marches that were popular at the time) and then became popular among white Americans. It was reviled during its time by conservatives as low-class, immoral and youth-corrupting, which is hilarious and should be kept in mind next time a new music is given a knee-jerk kick. From our perspective it sounds pretty stiff, but in 1895 its rhythm was outrageous to white people - that’s crazy jungle music! - which should sound familiar if you’ve checked out early rock and roll.

Eventually, its popularity among white people caused it to become massively commercialized, watered down, and when it was all done, it was essentially a novelty music. Black Americans had of course gone off and invented Jazz. So no biggee.

Ragtime had a brief resurgence in the 1970s when the film The Sting featured it.

Songs About Cheese.

That’s right: Cheese.

You Like-a The Cheese? by the Monkey Power Trio, from their 1995 recording The First Hour.

I Like Cheese - The Cheese Band, from Party Fun With Tape Recorders.

Can’t You Hear Them Dancing?

Found while filediving on soulseek, a long time ago. The collection was called Party Fun With Tape Recorders, and this particular track, Hello Everybody.

If you felt like eavesdropping on a kid’s imaginary party, this is for you. I love the bit where she stomps erratically to make the sound of the dancers. And the little falsetto cries. M made tapes like this as a child, apparently, so I like to imagine a 6 year old her bouncing off the bedroom walls one summer afternoon. (I myself had an on-tape radio station called WIMP, on which me and my buddy Brad from across the street would sing rude lyrics over songs by J.Geils and the Police. Wish I had that tape. )

Never throw anything away.

Hello Everybody – Karen

[Found the source: for more of this sort of thing, go here]

Toronto Rocks. Back and Forth.

NOTE: This here is the post I ARRRGHed about last week. Somehow last week it was disappeared forever, and today, I find it in my drafts. Right on. So: although nobody asked for it, here’s the thing. Wherever it says “this week”, read “last week”. Wherever it says today, read, “a few days ago”. Wherever it says anything stupid, read something clever.

This week Toronto voted down a new tax proposal. It would have cost more to buy a house and own a car, so our illustrious city counselors said no. “Miller’s tax” is dead. Long live extra spending money.

Now the city faces large cuts to a system already ailing. Failing. Less transit is a possibility, which I find hard to imagine – I regularly let three subway trains go by before I find one I can bear to squeeze myself into, and the whole system is pretty beat up. Parks and recreational programs – already bare bones and largely fee-for-service – are looking grim. Even the po-po need to cut something from their budget, and they have guns! (I recommend cutting back on mirrored shades: bullet proof vests and jackboots are seriously already scary enough.)

Of course, what do the papers say this morning? “Miller’s cuts” are coming. “Miller’s Axe” is going to fall. “Miller’s soul”, I’m imagining, is turning to dust – mine would be, anyway. That guy – a well-intentioned, smart, practical, well-spoken and progressive mayor – has not been able to get shit done since he came in, not even a no-brainer like usable bike lanes. And every time, it’s because some self-centred, short-sighted bastard cries “not from my wallet!” I feel for Miller, I really do. If I were him I would be sickly sad. Hell, if I were him, I’d have quit already. Thank god he isn’t me.

I have a very similar feeling to the dull ache I felt when Mike Harris was elected in 1995 (as premier of the province): I had a recurrent impulse to go to Speaker’s Corner and scold the province. Instead, I got very bitter and tried to ignore politics (and the world) until he was gone. Took eight or so years, and we’re still reeling from the screwing he gave us. I want to scream and yell at nobody in particular – except maybe those lousy career politicians who make up (the majority of, apparently) our city council. I feel winded. I take things too seriously.

But on that note, still taking things too seriously, here’s my idea: David Miller ought to quit. He should raise his hands to heaven and say, Fine, fuck you guys, I’m gone. THEN he ought to start a new federal political party, call it the City Party, and run with a promise of giving the cities of this country a fair deal (ie. give cities the money – our money – needed to be an unshitty city). The majority of Canadians live in cities. We’d win. It would be awesome to win. It would be awesome to have bike lanes, hospitals, water and subways that worked well.

I have no ending for this rant, really. I’m feeling very torn. My intention is to try and get my zen on, but I don’t know whether that will look like activism or blinder-wearing. This world makes me tired, more than half the time, and really mad on days like these. What songs for that? Hmmmm.

Beauty On – Martin Tielli. I think this song a lot on the subway during rush hour. Any song that starts with “I hate you all” and contains the lines “Are you with me Cincinatti? Are you ready to rawk?!” is okay by me.

Fuck This Shit – Belle and Sebastian. Exactly right: belligerent title, melancholy guts.

and Andy Kaufman losing his mind on TV. The sound quality bites, but Andy’s unbridled rage is one of the sweeter things in life.

ARRRGH! Techmology!

I just spent an hour writing and refining a post, and when I hit publish, the fucking thing disappeared! Oh man. It was long and well-articulated. Well, fine. Now you don’t get to have the fun! You’ll just have to guess how these songs are related, and why I think David Miller should be Prime Minister instead of Mayor, and why today I am reminded of the day after Mike Harris got elected, and how I’m going to try and deal with it better than I did that (less cigarettes, for starters).

Beauty On – Martin Tielli, which I sing in my head on the subway when I’m feeling crowded.

Fuck this Shit – Belle and Sebastian, which suits my belligerent outside/melancholy inside

and

Andy Kaufman freaking out.

Hey John!

A friend – you can read her blog here – sent me a tune in the email last night, which is a nice surprise and still a novelty to me. It’s by Blossom Dearie, whom I had never heard of before, but whose name is amazingly perfect for her voice, and is a nice song to John Lennon, who had apparently complimented her. She sent it to me knowing of my deep love for the Beatles and master Lennon especially.

All the other John Lennon songs (I mean songs about John Lennon, like Empty Garden, and All Those Years Ago and John Lennon) are memorials, and so tinged with the ugly sadness of his murder. So this one is really nice: it’s just a thank you letter to a guy who was still quite alive in 1975. Here it is. Thank you Tracey.

Hey John – Blossom Dearie. From Blossom Dearie 1975: From the Meticulous to the Sublime

Read about Blossom Dearie on Wikipedia.

The Music Industry is Dead? Long Live Music.

So apparently the music industry is dying. Apparently all the big labels are going to come crashing down. I read it in the Rolling Stone. I heard it on the radio. I listened to the podcast. And I’ve said it before but I’d like to chip in my two independent cents here:

GOOD!

Okay, I’m sorry for the people whose lifestyles or prospects are going to change or diminish – same way I feel bad when a fishery closes down (though maybe ‘a gold mine’ is a better comparison). But all this conversation leaves out a simple and reassuring truth: the music industry is not about music. The music industry is about money.

I’m not naive – I work for money too. But industry and art are not friends, not really. Sometimes they benefit from each other, but more generally, the music industry has treated artists as badly as they could get away with treating them. Sometimes the art itself has flourished from injections of cash – neither Sgt Peppers nor the Soft Bulletin could have existed without big dough – but business and industry are also responsible for the unlimited numbers of pale imitations of those, for the loss of local radio, and for the CD-price-gouging scam. Industry, and not art, is behind the Humungous 300$ a Seat Show.

I think right now is a very promising time for music: right now DIY bands can record on 200 tracks. Right now the White Stripes are playing Nunavut, and REM are rehearsing for their new album and asking the audience to record and share what they hear. Right now Catl are playing in a living room for their friends. Right now you can find any number of interesting bands sharing their music online for the pleasure of being heard and the possibility of gaining an audience for shows. There’s a lot going on – and never mind the obvious and undeniable truth that music is as human as talking, and is not in any danger of disappearing.

If corporate folks (note I did not say weasels because they’re feeling vulnerable and I am a gentle man) lose this particular pot of gold, that’s got almost nothing to do with music. For one thing, little bands and small labels never did make much money, so they’re not going to disappear; it was tiny animals that lived through the dinosaur extinction, because small plants were enough for them. The only labels and bands that are going to fold now are the ones that require zillions to stay afloat – because they’re bloated and immobile.

Finally: Every technology, production system, and resource that’s been added to the making of music has altered the way it sounds and is shared. So, I think, it follows that the removal of certain elements will be equally interesting. And I myself am quite keen to see what happens next. Beause when the music industry’s bottom falls out, you know what comes pouring from that hole?

Music

Music

Music.

This is me down here. With a bucket.

Top Whatever Continued.

I just spent 20 valuable minutes writing a cruel bit about Kanye West’s performance with the Police at Live Earth, and then something went wrong and it all evaporated into the ether. So I can take a hint: god – Kanye West’s god anyway – doesn’t want that blog entry.

Well how about this one, mister bossy? I’ve been listening to Vic Chesnutt a lot this week, having been inspired by the recordings on the Southern Shelter blog I mentioned last post. PLUS, I have not paid much attention to the “Top Whatever” section of monkeyX for a while. So guess what?

Here’s my very favourite of the many incredible songs by Vic Chesnutt: Myrtle, from 1997’s About to Choke album. Not only is the tune a contender for Top One Song Ever, but it’s also among the saddest songs of all time – a tune to lick your wounds to. The last lines in the song are pure gold, seriously beautiful, and a quick example for the uninitiated of Chesnutt’s lyrical power:

“It was bigger than me
and I felt like a sick child,
dragged by a donkey
through the myrtle”

Here, listen:

Vic Chesnutt: Myrtle.

Vic Chesnutt and Elf Power.

Found this linked from Vic Chesnutt’s website: Southern Shelter is the blog of a dude who posts live recordings of shows in Athens Georgia – I’m guess he works the soundboard, but I don’t know for sure. A lot of good stuff there, including two shows by Vic Chesnutt. And I thought, since this is clearly Genius Week here at MonkeyX, a Vic Chesnutt post would be good.

This track is from a Dec 2006 show at the famous 40 Watt Club with Elf Power as backup band; the song Withering is from Chesnutt’s seminal West of Rome album, which if you haven’t heard, you should go get right now.

Dig it. Also enjoy the crazed yellers at the end of the track. I think I may go out this weekend and scream too.

Withering.

And here’s a link to the big huge BadMonkeyX career overview for mister Vic.

Fine! One More!

But right after this, you go straight to bed. No complaining. Right? Okay?