Update on our Memphis & Nashville trip.

First news: my wife did great on her triathlon. It was an Olympic size triathlon: swim a mile, bike 25 miles, run a 10K (6.2 miles). She did all of this in 3 hrs & 24 minutes. I'm married to a cool, bad-ass jock-girl!

Museum news: I had a lot of time to kill. My buddy Andy came over from Nashville, and we took in some of the sights in Memphis.

* The National Civil Rights Museum. There was a woman out front protesting the annex on the grounds that it cost $10 million, and added nothing, while neighborhoods in Memphis suffered in Third World conditions. She's right, but I'll get to that in a minute. The first part of the museum was built around and into the Lorraine Hotel, where Martin Luther King, Jr., was shot. The information was prodigious. I did a ton of reading on the various stages of the Civil Rights Movement while working on my master's degree, and every little detail I could think of showed up in various forms: the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters, the NAACP in Birmingham and Montgomery, the Nashville Movement and the birth of SNCC, the Rev. James Lawson, the disorganization in Greensboro, the influx of white students from the North, the relative disregard for the role of women in the movement. Andy and I were there for 3 hours, and we rushed through the last part. Anyway, the first part of the museum culminates at the balcony where MLK was shot. There are hotel bedrooms (in disarray, as they would have been on that morning) behind glass on either side and a window looking out at the balcony, with a huge wreath marking the spot. The final statue exhibit shows the Memphis Sanitation Workers on strike, with signs that simply say "I AM A MAN" as they face down the police. A plaque mentions that the mayor of Memphis capitulated to their demands after the death of MLK, in an attempt to quell the riots across town. It doesn't mention that the Sanitation Workers were biracial, and or say much at all about the Poor People's Campaign that King launched right before he died. There is nothing about the Movement after King's death. It is as if the museum is saying that the sacrifice of King ended any racial issues in America. There is an exhibit about Gandhi, and then you may walk across the street to the protested annex. In this part, the room from which James Earl Ray allegedly shot King is preserved. There is a large exhibit afterwards mentioning that many people do not believe that Ray acted alone, and mentioning some other potential co-conspirators, including the Army, the FBI, and the Klan. The exhibit does not mention that King's family has endorsed this position. It is amazing and heartening that a taxpayer-sponsored museum in the South would mention the potential culpability of the military and the police in the death of this country's most prominent civil rights leader, however. I don't know if that's worth $10 million, but it might be, especially considering the unlikelihood that any of that money would have gone for social services or neighborhood-building.

* The Stax Museum of American Soul Music. We went directly to Stax from the National Civil Rights Museum. I recommend this approach to anyone visiting Memphis. The Stax Museum is in a poor black neighborhood in South Memphis. Right across the side street from the beautiful sign to the parking lot, for instance, is a two-story house looking as if it was only days from collapse. A couple of guys sat on the porch, watching the tourists and drinking beer. It was later in the day when we went into the museum, and they were trying to close by the time that we finished. Open for about a week when we went, the Stax Museum is a rebuilt replica of the original Stax studio & record store, which was located in a former movie theater. Pictures in the lobby show the theater falling apart and finally disappearing throughout the 70s, 80s, and 90s. The most striking was a historical marker before an empty field saying that the legendary Stax studio had been located there. And yet there we stood, inside the building.

The first thing you do in the museum is watch a movie stressing the multi-racial Stax approach. Most of the people involved were still alive when the movie was shot (and, indeed, are still alive today), so we could hear firsthand from Steve Cropper and Rufus Thomas (since deceased) about the studio and what it meant to Memphians and to soul music fans at large. The museum next emphasizes the role of the church to soul singing, before going on to the numerous exhibits. Many are interactive, demonstrating how the Stax approach to soul was different from Detroit's or even Muscle Shoals's. There are some eye-popping examples of excess, such as Isaac Hayes's gold-plated, white-fur-lined Cadillac. There is the original studio space, a large room with a sloping floor reminding one that you are standing in a theater. After seeing that room, I don't know how the Stax sound was so crisp. It seems like a cavernous space with weird corners and all the musicians playing at once would lead to a murky sound. Instead, the house band (Booker T & the MGs, if you don't know) managed to get a sound so crisp that I can tell how many strings Steve Cropper hits on a typical upstroke. It was just amazing to see and read about the racial unity involved in the Stax sound, especially after being pummelled by the evils of crackers at the National Civil Rights Museum.

Andy and I went from Stax to find Hi Records (which gave Al Green his start, among many others), a few blocks away. We again had to journey through some sketchy areas, but found it. There are no plaques or anything there, just a sign that there is a recording studio inside this building.

We headed down to Graceland next, but it was closed. I'd been before. My wife went to a party there the next day, but I wasn't feeling so good and skipped it. We also found Sun Studios, which was also closed. I'd been there before, too. It wasn't far from the hotel, so my wife & I stopped in for a t-shirt on the way out of town two days later.

In Nash Vegas, Andy & his fiance Jean took us to:

* The Country Music Hall of Fame Museum. Again, wow. They had some incredible relics there, like guitars and boots and outfits from Jimmie Rodgers, Mother Maybelle Carter, Buck Owens, Lefty Frizzell, Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, Hank Williams, and I could go on for days. They had Gram Parsons's pot leaf Nudie suit, Elvis Presley's gold-plated Cadillac (which wasn't near as flashy as Isaac Hayes's), and Webb Pierce's Nudie-designed "Silver Dollar" Cadillac, which featured pistols for the car handle, rifles as hood and trunk ornaments, a silver-dollar-encrusted saddle between the front seats, and fuzzy-cowhide and silver dollars just about everywhere. Very impressive, although the second floor, with its focus on country-rock and new country, was far less impressive.

Afterwards, Andy and I trekked up the street to the Ryman, but it was closed for a private recording session, and the too-cool-for-school Nash Vegas country guys wouldn't let us in to see it.

It was, all in all, a fantastic trip and a fantastic way to spend my birthday (which was the day we were in Nashville).

Richard Thompson, The Old Kit Bag full review:

Within the context of his career, I'm giving it an A-/B+. There's only one standout song that I can see him playing in ten years ("Outside of the Inside"), but the overall songwriting is as solid as he usually musters. The sound is phenomenal, though: as dry and straightforward as Mock Tudor, with some of the most breathtaking guitar as has ever appeared on his studio efforts.

As always, the songcraft is at the heart of the album, but the remarkable effortless layers of guitar and stunning leads take a song like "Gethsemane" (which is basically a re-write of "Hand of Kindness" with more bitter, apocalyptic lyrics) into the realm of the Truly Inspired. There's a few Thompson-copywright miserable love songs, like "Jealous Words", which is most distinguishable by the Lindalike harmony vocals of Judith Owen, and "Word Unspoken, Sight Unseen", featuring Danny Thompson's bowed upright bass. The radio songs will be the poppy "I'll Tag Along" and "She Said It Was Destiny", both featuring very satisfying sudden major-to-minor chord changes. The true standout is "Outside of the Inside", which Thompson introduced in concert as a Taliban's-eye view of the Western world. This song has the feel of Thompson's legendary wrestling with his Muslim faith, and, while it's not "A Heart Needs A Home", it is a classic Thompson first-person narrative that steps away from bitter love to talk about the wide, bitter world.

Thematically, I don't know why Thompson's subtitled the album "Unguents, Fig Leaves, and Tourniquets for the Soul", nor split the album into two chapters, "The Haunted Keepsake" or "The Pilgim Fancy". Sure, the names sound like they mean something, but why this album? Why these songs? Obviously, this aspect is going to require more thought.

Anyway, this is not the best Richard Thompson album, nor is it even in the top five. It is, however, a new Richard Thompson album, and deserving of all the accompanying praise. I like the way that it sounds, and I like a number of these songs. I'm sure that the tour will be incredible, and that the rest of these songs will eventually catch in my ear. Why wait? Go get it, if you're so inclined.

Arbitrary ranking of the Richard Thompson albums, by my taste:

1. Shoot Out the Lights
2. I Want To See The Bright Lights Tonight
3. Rumor and Sigh
4. Pour Down Like Silver
5. Mock Tudor (hey, I'm surprised it's this high, too)
6. Starring As Henry the Human Fly
7. Amnesia
8. Hokey Pokey
9. The Old Kit Bag (made the top ten!)
10. Across a Crowded Room
11. Hand of Kindness
12. Strict Tempo!
13. First Light
14. Daring Adventures
15. You? Me? Us?
16. Sunnyvista
17. Mirror Blue

That list could be more complicated with odd albums like Industry or Sweet Talker, or bootlegs, official and otherwise. But I left 'em off, for ease of ranking.

Picked up the new Richard Thompson (The Old Kit Bag) at lunch. Thus far (I'm on track 6), it's not as good as the last one, Mock Tudor, but better than the two previous, You? Me? Us? and Mirror Blue. I haven't yet heard any songs that he'll still be playing in ten years. The guitar playing is breathtaking, though, some of the best I've heard on any of his studio albums.

Just checked out the resume of the producer, John Chelew, who manages to get a refreshingly direct sound (like the one from the last album). He's mostly produced the likes of John Hiatt, Los Lobos, and Britfolkers like Bert Jansch & John Renbourn, but I love that there's a Saccharine Trust production credit on there.

It's been half a month, and yet somehow I have nothing too intelligent to say.


Ah, the magic of the Internet.


Anyway, I hope to have more soon. In the meanwhile, be sure check out some of the blog links to find out what the other smart kids are saying.

Got the nod to do reviews of a few albums for an upcoming book on obscure or lost classics.

1) Jandek, Blue Corpse. Awww yeah! This will be the shiniest and happiest of reviews!

2) The Feelies, The Good Earth

3) The Mekons, The Quality of Mercy is not Strnen and OOOH!

4) The Go-Betweens, 16 Lovers Lane

5) Richard Buckner, The Hill, which I'll compare & contrast with Devotion and Doubt

I'm excited about this. I turned out about 4/5 of a poem the other night (which was junk, but it felt cleansing to write it), and it just does my soul good to be putting words on paper. I'm going to have to toast to self-indulgence the next time I drink like a fish and regale people with my oh-so-witty banter. Then, again...

Weekend roundup:

Lowery 66/Knife in the Water, the Carousel, April 11, 2003

Caveat #1: The lead singer of Lowery 66 is a good friend.

Caveat #2: The Carousel is not a big place, but bands generally manage to play there without making my ears bleed.

Lowery 66 was earbleedingly loud, which is somewhat understandable given that the band is a six-piece that takes the occasional noisy skronk breaks. However, they really needed to cut the volume a bit last Friday. Both guitars and the keyboards were just way too loud. The violinist was all but inaudible (and sometimes the drummer!). The pain was worth it for the songs, though, which are beautiful, beautifully crafted, and quite catchy, like the best work of Yo La Tengo and Wilco. Their set was short, but the material was very strong (I'd say "uniformly strong" but the re-arrangement on the final song was far too Trail of Dead-headed for me), which, given the volume, made for an excellent show.

Knife in the Water were their usual languid selves. The volume was much more controllable and the intimacy of the club suited the band more than some of the other settings where I've seen them. Their songs are less arty than Lowery 66's, but the two bands fit together with this odd grab-bag of influences that seems popular these days. (What is this genre called? It mixes 80's indie-rock with Hazelwood-style chamber-country-pop, alternates between third-album Velvet-y minimalism and lush symphonic-style songcraft, and goes from whisper-quiet to a skronky thrash on a dime. Besides KitW and L66, there's Champale, Richard Davies, the Kingsbury Manx, Lullaby for the Working Class, and, more removed, Yo La Tengo's 2000 album, Bedhead, the Pernice Brothers, maybe Lambchop, definitely others. I'm going to call this style "lush cowpop" until someone comes up with a better name.) Half of the Austin scene turned up for KitW's show, included the aforementioned Trail of Dead guys, and the place was packed. Some young self-involved cool kids even stood between the band and the tables, ensuring that no one but themselves could possibly see the band play. Anyway, KitW wasn't doing much besides playing, so it didn't really matter. The music was excellent, and the beer was cold, so it was quite a decent way to spend a Friday night.

Ladyfest Benefit, Beerland, April 12, 2003

The lineup was the Swamp Girls, the Nice Dynamics, the Meat Purveyors, and All Night Lincoln. The organizers seemed to be looking for a lineup that was at least 50% female.

The Swamp Girls were an all-female trio with acoustic guitar, electric bass, and a harmony singer. Although they were clearly in the Lesbian Music mold, they were far more Freakwater (yes, I know that the Freakwater women are not lesbians, thank you) than Indigo Girls, to my immediate but lasting relief. However, they needed a lead instrument, if only for color, and how.

The Nice Dynamics were very enthusiastic, although I'd be surprised if they'd been playing their instruments for very long. The band consisted of a female drummer, a male acoustic guitarist, and a female accordionist/violinist. Yes, no bassist. Yes, it mattered. Starting in the back, the drummer's expression alternated between a heartmeltingly cute smile and a steely look of determination. Her rig was the oddest I've seen - a high-hat, some crash & splash cymbals, a tom where most drummers have their snare, and a bass drum that I suspect was a floor tom turned sideways. The guitarist guy was playing fairly cheap equipment, which, unlike, say, the cheap-but-effective equipment I use, produced an ungodly trebly and thin sound. The way that he was jumping around the stage left me wondering what band he thought that he was in, because it sure wasn't this one. The accordionist/fiddler was the truly talented member of the band, and she carried most of the weight by also being the primary singer. She obviously had years of violin in her background, but she didn't play the violin much. On her other instrument, she had a good grasp the button side of the accordion, but barely touched the key side. Anyway, like I said, they were very enthusiastic, and fun to watch in a garage way.

The Meat Purveyors were fantastic. They bitched a bit about playing the benefit, but not being invited to play the actual Ladyfest, which was funny. They played bluegrass with punk style (and even covered a few punk tunes, some of which out-rock-geeked me), and generally rocked the place. I sat & thus couldn't see them for most of their set, because the audience was mostly female and mostly short, and I felt like the Great Wall of China every time I stood up.

I heard-but-didn't-listen-to the last band because I was talking with the Meat Purveyors' guitarist, who's a cool guy, and who I envy. The guy, like me, works for the State, which, unlike me, allows him to do things like touring America and Canada with his band and/or Neko Case, recording with Jon Langford, and being a Bloodshot Man. Goddamn, that's the life. Nice guy, too. He used to play in the Horsies, who put out an album called Trouble Down South in the early 90s. I joked that my band (Trouble Down South) should rename our EP "Horsies" to keep the confusion factor high. Anyway, he's going to try to catch one of our next couple of shows. If he's not playing. Or on tour with Neko Case (the bastid!).

Thinking about why I like Western movies.

I still feel like a dabbler. Never read a McMurtry novel, f'rinstance, although I liked McCarthy's Blood Meridian enough to name a song for it. I tend to like the visual iconography of Western movies better than novels (and that cinematic feel in Blood Meridian was the reason I liked it & haven't much cared for any other McCarthy books). I've never seen a lot of the early Westerns, but it is interesting to me that the quintessential Western situation (man vs. man vs. nature) can be used to create works that are politically deliberate in both liberal and conservative veins (or maybe Lockean and Hobbesian might be a better split, casting the honor-among-men motif of The Wild Bunch as the former, and the strength-through-distrust motif of The Man With No Name trilogy in the latter) or as politically ambiguous as McCabe & Mrs. Miller. Jesus Christ, I'm sorry for the convolution of that last sentence. Anyway, when they're good, Westerns ask the hard questions and undermine their own answers, with plots easily cast as "men conflicted in difficult situations over their philosophical differences". I dig that kind of primordial storytelling.

So, I've seen Stagecoach, Rio Bravo, The Searchers, The Mag 7, The Wild Bunch, Ride the High Country, Deadly Companions, The Man With No Name Trilogy, Unforgiven, the other (less good) Eastwood westerns, McCabe & Mrs. Miller, and probably some others besides.

I'd put Dead Man into my top tier. It does what Westerns should do by subsuming the action into a sprawling meditation on the meaning of life. I also quite enjoyed the hallucinatory picaresque allegory of the "plot," and the conceit of Gary Farmer's character has always rang true to me as a mostly unexplored Western archetype (I mean, he's basically the Noble Savage, but instead of being naive like so many NSs, he's a sharp guy with nothing left looking for meaning).

I've read about a half-dozen Cormac McCarthy books, but only loved Blood Meridian. McCarthy has a tendency to wax poetic in what reads to me like an attempt to honor both Faulkner and Burroughs at once, but, like with Dead Man, I like the hallucinatory approach to the West. It brings home the madness that characters would feel from the hardships of living & surviving in the desert with nothing much in the way of possessions, not to mention the unreality that would creep into people's heads when living with the constant threat of violence. In short: heat, dehydration, solitude, and murder make people crazy. Good Westerns, to me, consider what those conditions do to people's souls.

Also, for the record, I dig Morricone & Calexico.

Quick note: I spent Sunday to Thursday of this week in Big Bend National Park. This is an incredible experience, akin to suddenly finding yourself touring The American West writ large. Though I looked ridiculous hiking in my cowboy hat with shorts, a goofy Euro backpack filled with water, & hiking boots, I felt like Bill Holden in the The Wild Bunch. "When you side with a man, you stay with him. And if you can't do that, you're like some animal. You're finished."