T.S. Eliot

I have trouble with poetry. It's the foundation of what I do as a lyricist, yet so often when I try to read poetry, whether classic or contemporary, I just can't connect with it. The language often comes accross to me as ethereal, pretentious and removed from daily experience. Maybe it's my problem, I don't know. But I'm always happy to find a poem that I can connect with on first reading.

So, on the occassion of a freakish cold snap that started out yesterday morning as rain and ended up as a late-October snowstorm that lasted all day, as if Fall has been cancelled this year, I share with you a poem by T.S. Eliot that I stumbled upon in a book this morning.

It may be set in Boston where he went to school or it may be set in London where he was living at the time this piece was published. No matter, it feels like a city anywhere I suppose.

Preludes I

The winter evening settles down
With smell of steaks in passageways.
Six o'clock.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves about your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On broken blinds and chimney pots,
And at a corner of the street
A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.

And then the lighting of the lamps.

T.S. Eliot
(1917)

I've posted 5 new songs for free download. They're free because they're the first new songs I've written since 2007 and I want to just go ahead and complete the cycle of write-record-release without having to get wrapped up in a new album project right now.

The recordings are straight-ahead solo acoustic performances, just guitar & vocal with no overdubs. It's a quieter approach this time and I've found that these songs work best late at night or very early in the morning, or maybe on cloudy & rainy days. These are the conditions under which the songs were written, after all. Don't take 'em to the gym or to the park on a sunny day...it won't work!

Each song title is also is a link to a lyric sheet that includes a little blurb about each song.

Songs are here. I hope you enjoy!

I’m moving back to New York this week after 7 years in L.A. When I get settled on the other coast I’ll finish mixing those 5 new songs I promised some months ago and I’ll post them here for download.

I was in a certain mega-bookstore chain this morning (doesn’t matter which chain…there are only 2 left in the world and they’re both the same) when I heard a song playing on the in-store sound system that convinced me that the end of Western civilization is indeed at hand.

It was one of those cut-and-paste, let’s-take-a-very-famous-oldie-hit-and-put-fresh-“beatz”-under-the-original-vocal-track-of-the-rock/jazz/soul-icon-and-call-it-Art (and make lotsa $$$) sorta things. Kinda like what Kenny G did to Louis Armstrong and what some other low-lifes did to Billie Holiday…but only worse.

This was Elvis Presley’s original vocal track for his version of “Blue Suede Shoes” put to, yes, a crazy new beat but also to some real cheese-smokin’, hot harmonica licks and –I kid you not- scratching. You know, like you used to hear on Run-DMC records 25 years ago?

I only just heard this abomination today but I realize, especially when I consider the scratch-scratch overdubs, that it’s quite possible that this thing was released years -if not decades- ago and that I’d simply managed, through the grace of a kind and merciful God in heaven, to escape the mind-numbing pointlessness of this particular exercise in cultural destruction through bad taste and lack of originality.

There’s something deeply ironic about the fact that a dead singer’s stern warning not to step on his blue suede shoes somehow inspires the guilty party to go one step further and to actually s#!t on his blue suede shoes…and for all to hear! The only bright spot here is that Carl Perkins, the guy who wrote “Blue Suede Shoes,” is spared the indignity of having his own fine version sullied.

At this point I should say two things:

1) I realize that a simple Google search will reveal exactly who committed this atrocity and when, but I’m deliberately delaying that discovery so as to allow myself the freedom to express without prejudice what I feel is the appropriate amount of derision.

It’s possible that I’d discover any number of mitigating factors which could make me less angry and convince me not to write this post. I might find that the artist, producer or artist/producer behind this has met with a tragic and untimely death and I would then see that he was merely a flawed human being like myself doing his best to get along in the world. I might also find that it’s part of a benefit album and that sales go to help stop something horrific like breast cancer, starvation, torture, genocide or American Idol. Or I might find that it’s a famous and well-loved artist/producer in which case I’d be asking for nasty comments.

But I doubt it. There’s just something very self-serving and desperate about taking the Mona Lisa, adding your own little brush strokes to it and then presenting it as yours. That’s a fair comparison, I think. (Wow. Come to think of it, that’s actually been done…a lot!)

2) I  realize that I’m breaking the unwritten rule that an artist, especially an “unknown” artist, should never publicly criticize another artist’s work lest he should appear either snobbish, envious, judgmental or bitter...not to mention the bad karma that certainly comes to the artist who does anything other than pretend that he thinks all other artists “rock.” It’s that thing about how people who live in glass houses (and I do) shouldn’t throw stones.

My answer is that this unwritten rule doesn’t apply when the artist in question makes no attempt at originality and goes so far as to use someone else’s legendary voice as a Trojan horse to get people to listen to his own “voice”…which in this case appears to be the above-mentioned cheese-smokin’ harmonica licks. Also, I can indeed be snobbish, envious, judgmental or bitter at times and I might as well cop to it.

Why is any of this important? Because at a time when it seems like everything’s been done and when Western Civilization is evidently out of ideas, stuff like this is just salt on the wounds. It pains me to think that some kids out there will come to think that this is Elvis Presley singing “Blue Suede Shoes” and they won’t know (or care about) the difference.

Before leaving the store I decided I’d go over to the music section and, with a quizzical look on my face and my finger pointed up toward the source of the sound, ask the salesperson something like, “Who’s making Elvis turn in his grave?” or “Who is this…so I know who to blame”? But when I got there I saw that it was a young gal…maybe 30 at the most and I just didn’t want to be that jerk after all. So I walked out of the store in defeat.

I’ll find the answer to the question of who stepped on his blue suede shoes and I’ll add it below as an update. Hopefully it won’t make me regret posting this!

UPDATE: Wow, I didn't see this coming. The culprit is Cirque du Soleil and the track is part of some Elvis tribute extravaganza called Viva Elvis that's currently playing at a resort hotel in Vegas. And there are actually 11 tracks more of this rehash on the soundtrack album! Out of new ideas indeed.

A few months ago I got caught up in the mystery of the diner that inspired the iconic Edward Hopper painting Nighthawks. Did it exist? If so, where exactly was it? Was the building demolished or was it still standing?

Nighthawks by Edward Hopper (1942)

There were some long-held assertions and assumptions out there about the location that didn’t stand up to scrutiny. The only real evidence to go on was that Hopper said in an interview that the diner was on Greenwich Avenue in New York City. He also claimed that he took liberties by simplifying the scene and by painting the diner as larger than it was in real life…which means that it wouldn’t even look the same if someone were to find it! But Greenwich Avenue is only about 9 short blocks long, so you’d think it would be easy to find the little joint that inspired the painting, right?

Wrong.

At the time, I linked to Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York because he’d taken the lead in doing some additional legwork and research after some back-and-forth between he, myself and another blogger named Teri Tynes. Jeremiah posted a week-long series that managed to capture the obsessive/addictive aspects of the Nighthawks hunt. While beautifully written and informative, it ultimately failed to reach a conclusion about the location of the diner. The problem was not so much that there weren’t enough possibilities…there were too many. Between old photos of now-demolished buildings and the buildings that are still standing today, you could picture that diner in about a dozen different spots.

Oh well, that was fun. Time to let that one go, I thought. But then another possible location popped up when I wasn’t even looking for it.

Just a couple weeks ago, my wife and I were watching a great old film called Blast of Silence. It’s a stark, black & white, noir sort of thing about a hit man in New York City. It was filmed in 1959, almost 20 years after Hopper painted Nighthawks. In one scene, the hit man is trailing someone around the streets of Greenwich Village after leaving the Village Gate nightclub on Bleecker. Suddenly, the camera pans past a tiny corner diner that looks a helluva lot like Nighthawks. Check out these screenshots from the film:

screenshots from Blast of Silence (actors Larry Tucker and Allen Baron) 

Big windows that allow a through-the-corner view? Check. Round stools with no backs? Check. Rounded counter? Check. No tables or booths? Check. Staff dressed in white with little pointy hats? Check. Men in fedoras looking pensive? Check.

No redhead in a red dress, though.

Keep in mind that Blast of Silence was a low-budget film and that these are not extras in the background and the diner is not a set. This is how this particular corner on this particular New York City street looked on that night in 1959 when they shot the scene.

Because I have some kind of history-geek disorder, evidently, that compels me to pursue these kinds of things, I decided I would find out where that corner diner was and whether it could have been the Nighthawks diner. I followed some clues in the film (reflections in the windows, numbers on storefronts, and business names) and discovered that, lo and behold, this the Southeast corner of W. 8^th Street & 6^th Avenue…right where Greenwich Avenue begins just on the opposite side of the intersection.

But so what? The painting was made 20 years earlier. What are the chances that it looked the same in 1941? The answer to that question came from New York Public Library’s online photo collection. I found a 1939 photo of that corner that shows it to be a Nedick’s, which was/is evidently a hot dog chain.

1939 shot of Nedick’s at SE corner of 6^th Ave & W. 8^th St., NYC

This is what was there in Hopper’s day and the building was only a few years old when this shot was taken. (The previous building had been demolished for the burial of the 6^th Avenue subway sometime in the mid-30s). The annoying difference between the 1939 Nedick’s storefront and the 1959 diner in the film is the lack of that distinctive 45-degree angle entrance from the corner. Hopper’s painting shows no entrance there (in fact it shows no entrance at all), so Nedick’s could work. That alteration to the building must have been made sometime after Nedick’s but before the film. Either that or the building on that site was demolished yet again after standing for less than 20 years…which is entirely possible in New York City.

Incidentally, this little diner/hot dog stand is now part of the Barnes & Noble store that currently stands on that corner. A second story was added sometime in the 70s or 80s (someone out there probably knows) and several different storefronts were combined to become what is now Barnes & Noble. (One of those storefronts, as seen in the film, is Marboro Books, a chain which was bought by Barnes & Noble at some point in their history).

Current SE Corner of 6^th Ave & W. 8^th St. as seen in Google Maps street view

Ultimately this is all just another “what if” to join the other what ifs in the Nighthawks mystery, but if I ever walk into that B&N again it'll be fun (and weird) to picture those old men in fedoras sitting at the rounded counter in the little restaurant that I now know was once there.

UPDATE (1/9/11): A reader has pointed out in his comment below that photographs (at www.robertotter.com) show a Nedick's on that corner as late as 1962/1964...meaning that the "diner" in the film is indeed Nedick's. This leads me to believe that what we see in the film (screenshots above) is most likely what Edward Hopper saw when he walked past that corner (as he must have many, many times...as his studio was only a few blocks away) twenty years earlier. In my own mind, I'm satisfied that this is very likely the place that inspired the Nighthawks painting.

Though that could very well be wrong (!) and there's almost no way to prove it at this point.

(I can't provide a direct link to the specific Robert Otter photos of Nedick's because the website is very right-protected. There's one on the first "gallery" page of the site. Another is on the 9th page)

I’ve finished 4 new songs, which I plan to post here for free download as soon as I get a chance to record some good, solid demos.

It’ll probably take at least a few more weeks as I’m still getting to know the new songs and finding out exactly which keys and tempos they want to be in. One of them wants to have a modulation after the bridge but I find that annoying in terms of having to remember too many chords. Another one can’t make up it’s mind about what it wants to be. One day it’s a bittersweet country shuffle then the next day it’s a cranky garage-folk manifesto.

I won’t be making a new album any time soon because I don’t have the time, budget or patience for that right now. I’m just happy to have new stuff to put out after such a long time. I may yet finish a couple more songs to add to the first four. If that all goes well I might even start actually playing live again. Stranger things have happened…like ceasing to play live in the first place.

The other night when I was in the mood to listen to something live, I turned to two of the most enjoyable live recordings I’ve ever heard in any style of music; Donny Hathaway Live (1972) and Junior Wells Live at Theresa’s 1975 (rec: 1975, rel: 2006).

Donny Hathaway Live was recorded at the Troubadour in Los Angeles and at the Bitter End in New York City. Amazingly, both rooms are still there in their original locations today, 40 years later. Having been in both venues, I can picture the scene and I sometimes think I can tell by the ambience which songs were recorded where. (The Bitter End is smaller than the Troubadour by about half with a much lower ceiling so it makes sense that you’d be able to hear the difference).

In his life Donny Hathaway suffered from depression and he committed suicide at age 33. What you hear on this album, though, is anything but depression. As a singer, he’s got a commanding, deeply soulful style. The crowd on this record is really into it and they’re as important to the listening experience as the music itself. They sing along with some of the choruses and women in the audience shriek with delight at the right moments. There are covers of John Lennon’s “Jealous Guy”, Carole King’s “You’ve Got a Friend” and Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On” (all then-current hits) and the band is so good that I don’t even mind the extended solos! My dad had this record when I was a kid but I didn’t think anything of it then. So glad I rediscovered it just a year or so ago.

Now we’re going to the South Side of Chicago for some gritty funk/blues. Junior Wells’ Live at Theresa’s is also a very present live album and another commanding performance but one with quite a different atmosphere. I’ve never been to Theresa’s (it’s long gone) but you just know from the sound that it must have been a small, divey place and the audience sounds like all of about 40 people* hanging out in a room that’s comfortable and familiar. It’s said that this was Junior Wells’ regular hometown gig in Chicago and his casual, punchy banter between songs is one of the best things about this recording. He talks to the audience and they shout back. The relaxed and disarmed vibe is evident when Junior cracks an off-hand joke about the ethnicity of a young photographer in the room and then proceeds to crack himself up by using a modified version of a well-known slur to describe his own ethnicity. Distasteful by today’s standards, yes, but evidently it was no problem for a crowd of regulars in a South Side bar in the mid-seventies.

The recording quality is a little raw and the band makes a couple mistakes, but that just goes with the spirit of the performance. It’s not supposed to be a big deal, it’s just a tough little blues band playing another gig in the neighborhood. The whole thing really takes you back and makes you feel like you’re there…or like you wish you could be.

* Turns out that’s about exactly the right number. The liner notes to this album state that “Theresa’s could barely hold 40 people”

Post Script: I thought I should have something to show for the time spent sitting on the couch listening to music, so I decided to sketch after a photo of jazz pianist Willie “The Lion” Smith. The photo was taken by Jeff Albertson in 1974 and shows the old musician looking appropriately cool if not outright “badass” (as the kids say these days). I normally sketch characters from my imagination because it’s quicker and more fun, but the little bit of discipline and time it takes to render something is good for keeping up my chops and for helping to rebuild my atrophied attention span. The sketch came out better than I expected. I messed up the hand and I made his glasses too small, but I like it enough to post.

Willie "the Lion" Smith (ballpoint pen), after a photo by Jeff Albertson

“They” say that the famous, legendary, iconic (and oddly triangular) diner seen in Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks painting was a real-life restaurant that existed on the corner of Greenwich Avenue & 7^th Avenue in New York City in the 1940s. It turns out that “they” are most likely mistaken and that this widely-held belief may be little more than an urban legend.

Jeremiah at Vanishing New York has a series of posts this week called Finding Nighthawks. (Part I is here, Part II is here. Part III to be posted tomorrow - update: Part III is here) The re-opening of this mystery was sparked by a series of communications a couple of weeks ago between Jeremiah, myself, and blogger Teri Tynes of Walking Off the Big Apple (who some time ago created & posted an enticing composite image showing the Nighthawks diner sitting like a ghost in its widely-assumed site. This is the image below that made me want to look into it further).

The three of us did some serious geekin’ out for about a week, digging up historic photos and little bits of clues to try to figure out if this diner ever actually existed at all and, if so, where it may have been other than at the site that has (wrongly, we think) made it’s way into popular art history.

I don’t know what exact conclusions Jeremiah will draw in the end, if any, but he’s taken the lead on doing additional research and in putting the various photos and alternate site possibilities out there. We’ll just have to see if this information manages to rock the world of 20^th Century American Art history to it’s very foundations…or not.

Last night I took out an old favorite; Bob Dylan’s Blonde on Blonde. It’s a glorious, unrefined, masterful, poetic mess of an album. I’ve been in love with this record since about 5 years after I first bought it as a double LP. At age 19, I just wasn’t ready for it and it took me a few years to warm up to it. At first it struck me as too ramshackle and shrill. It sounded like out-of-tune circus rock with a drunken brass section. His singing on this record has an absurdly comic swagger, with those long, lazy vowel sounds in the phrasing that still stand as the classic Dylan caricature.

All of these reasons why I didn’t like it then are all the same reasons why I love it now.

Blonde on Blonde came out in 1966 and is the final chapter of Dylan’s mid-60s “gone electric” period. After this album, he wrecked his motorcycle and went away for a couple years. This record is not easy on ears that want pitch perfection and polish. It helps to look at it not so much as a rock album but more as a descendant of the bristling mid-50s Chicago blues records that were such an obvious influence on Bob Dylan. To know what folks like Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf and Willie Dixon had done helps you see where this skinny, afro-haired Jewish kid from Minnesota was trying to go.

There’s just too much to say about this record, and this little entry must remain woefully incomplete in the interest of time. Instead, let me just drop a few of his lines on you:

The guilty undertaker sighs
The lonesome organ grinder cries
The silver saxophones say I should refuse you
The cracked bells and washed-out horns
Blow into my face with scorn
But it's not that way
I wasn't born to lose you
from “I Want You”

Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're tryin' to be so quiet?
We sit here stranded, though we're all doing our best to deny it
And Louise holds a handful of rain, tempting you to defy it
Lights flicker from the opposite loft
In this room the heat pipes just cough
The country music station plays soft
But there's nothing, really nothing to turn off
from “Visions of Johanna”

With your sheet-metal memory of Cannery Row
And your magazine-husband who one day just had to go
And your gentleness now, which you just can't help but show
Who among them do you think would employ you?
from “Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands”

Ain’t it clear that I just don’t fit
Yes I believe it’s time for us to quit
When we meet again
And are introduced as friends
Please don't let on that you knew me when
I was hungry and it was your world
from “Just Like a Woman”

When Ruthie says come see her
In her honky-tonk lagoon
Where I can watch her waltz for free
'Neath her Panamanian moon
And I say, "Aw come on now
You know you know about my debutante"
And she says, "Your debutante just knows what you need
But I know what you want"
from “Stuck Inside of Mobile (with the Memphis Blues Again)”

How does he do it?

Okay, I’m sure pot had a little something to do with it, but this isn’t just some random, psychedelic-60s, word-salad type songwriting (see “I Am the Walrus”). It has a poetic logic to it and it works. It’s also just plain fun, the way rock’n’roll was intended to be. This is one of the records I reach for when I need to be reminded of how it’s done.

It’s been 2-and-a-half years since I’ve written a song. I don’t mind admitting to that because the truth is that I haven’t actually tried to write a song in all that time. First I was busy finishing up The Last Dive in Town (recording, mixing, cover art) and then I was busy learning to be a dad (an ongoing project).

That’s why I’m anxious to announce that I’ve got a bunch of new songs in the works. I have little to no idea what they’re about yet. At this point they’re just chord & melody sketches with nonsense lyrics that I recorded off the top of my head over the past year or so and then promptly forgot about.

When I finally went back over these improvised takes a few weeks ago, I found about 15 different song ideas which I’ve now narrowed down to about 10 that I think could turn into something. Yes, I’m counting chickens before they hatch and surely not all of them are gonna make it, but the melodies are fun and my voice is feeling pretty good so I'm optimistic. Looking foward to having something fresh.

Now, let’s see, I used to know how to do this…