Amazing, the things you find when you comb through old e-mails… my friend Marc sent this out about a week ago but I just looked this morning. If there were ever a song meant to brighten your Monday, this is it. It’s the true “We Are the World.”
Stand By Me from David Johnson on Vimeo.
Amazing, the things you find when you comb through old e-mails… my friend Marc sent this out about a week ago but I just looked this morning. If there were ever a song meant to brighten your Monday, this is it. It’s the true “We Are the World.”
Stand By Me from David Johnson on Vimeo.
When we got up here I quickly settled on WERS from Emerson College as my favorite radio station. I’m scrolling through a playlist right now and there’s Sly Stone, Wilco, David Byrne/Brian Eno, Radiohead, Lucinda Williams — pretty much right in my wheelhouse. What I didn’t know was how they filled airtime on weekend afternoons. What I didn’t know was that I would fall in love with college a cappella music.
I don’t think this was a big deal when I was in college 25 years ago — at least it wasn’t a big deal at the University of Georgia, where we mainly concentrated on football and trying to get girls to ride out to the Iron Horse. (What happens at the Iron Horse stays at the Iron Horse.) But now, if what I’m hearing is any indication, pretty much every university in America is crawling with four-part (and five-part, and six-part, and seven-part) harmony.
The best part is that they cover stuff you’d never expect — so far I’ve heard great versions of The Postal Service’s “Such Great Heights” (by the Suffolk University Ramifications), Justin Timberlake’s “Sexyback” (by the Colorado College Back Row) and that goofy Darkness song “I Believe In a Thing Called Love” (by the University of Rochester Midnight Ramblers).
I have also decided to marry one or all of the Wellesley College Tupelos, sight unseen, based on their version of the Counting Crows’ “Accidentally In Love.” Yes, the Shrek song. Never cared for it. But then the Tupelos get ahold of it and the lead singers make it sexy and the harmonies are flying around in the back and I’m bouncing around in the car seat. It’s about 18 million times better than anything the actual Counting Crows have ever done.
Being a writer, I thought, wow — this stuff would make a great book or a great documentary. It turns out somebody else thought the same things. (This happens to me a lot — I get a great idea for a book approximately one week after someone has published a book on the exact same topic. Have you heard about my idea for a book on Andre the Giant?)
So for now I’ll be content with Saturday and Sunday afternoons with “All A Cappella” , and I’m seriously thinking about laying down 25 bucks for a live show in a couple of weeks. I realize this might permanently damage my reputation among some of my cooler friends. Then again: Ben Folds agrees with me. (And if you don’t think I’m getting that CD the day it comes out, you’re nuts.)
Did Bruce Springsteen, on the leadoff track from his new album, rip off… KISS?
For a little more Springsteen news, check out my friend Liz Clarke, the biggest Springsteen fan I know — she is not happy about the Boss playing the Super Bowl. Bruce is one of my favorite musicians ever. I’ll be hitting Ticketmaster first thing Monday to get tickets to his show up here in April. But for 12 minutes at halftime of the Super Bowl, I’d rather see Gene Simmons spit blood.
Sometimes your iPod knows things before you do. Last night I had it on shuffle for a couple of hours and it kept coming back to Lynyrd Skynyrd. Then I got home this afternoon and found out that Billy Powell died.
John Updike died yesterday. He was an amazing writer and deserved all the front-page obits. But when I look at the thing honestly I know that Billy Powell has meant more to my life than John Updike ever has.
If you think about Lynyrd Skynyrd at all, you probably don’t think about the piano player. They had Ronnie Van Zant out front and three guitars behind him. The band started out without a piano player; Powell was their roadie. The story goes that one night in Skynyrd’s early days, as they were setting up to play a high school prom, Powell sat down at the piano and played an intro to “Free Bird.” Van Zant heard it and put him in the band right there.
In our house, growing up, there was nothing but country music. When I was 10 I could have told you every one of Charley Pride’s hits but maybe only one or two of the Beatles’. Somewhere in there we went to visit one of my cousins. She must have been in her early 20s then — old enough to have her own apartment — and she smoked and wore cutoffs and had the first Skynyrd album on her stereo. I stared at those longhairs on the album cover and listened to the music and my life changed right there. I didn’t acquire great musical taste on the spot (some of my friends might say I never acquired it) but at that moment I knew there was a bigger world of music than I had ever imagined, dangerous and fun and beautiful and irresistible.
A lot of postmodern Southern boys are conflicted about Lynyrd Skynyrd. They used to hang a giant Confederate flag at the back of the stage, and they defended George Wallace, and they would no-show concerts or show up too strung out to play. That first album came out in 1973, and if you’ve read this far you probably know that Van Zant and two other band members died in a plane crash in 1977. Less than five good years. A new version with some of the old members (including Powell) formed in 1987, and still plays today, but to me that band doesn’t count.
I don’t know how to reconcile the flag and the drugs and all the other stuff with the beauty and power of the music. I’m not sure you’re even supposed to reconcile things when it comes to art. In the end you love what you love. All I know is that I love Lynyrd Skynyrd and I love to hear Billy Powell play.
You don’t even see him in this clip — the camera crew can’t seem to find him — but about halfway through it comes time for his solo and you sure enough hear him. Billy Powell versus three guitars turns out to be a fair fight. This, y’all, was one hell of a rock and roll band.
We watched the inauguration today with some of our new international friends, and one of them surprised us all — he had never heard of Aretha Franklin.
It was a good lesson. Our country is so important, and our culture pushes so deep into every corner of the world, that we forget not everyone knows everything about us. There are lots of people around the globe who live rich and fulfilling lives despite never having heard of the Dallas Cowboys or “30 Rock” or Stephen King.
Having said that, our lives would all be richer with more Aretha in them.
As soon as CNN called the election for Obama, I suspect Aretha started expecting the call from the White House. She was the only possible choice to sing at the inauguration for the first black president. If Ray Charles had been alive, maybe. James Brown… too many troubles there at the end. Al Green… almost, but not quite.
I could write a million words about Aretha, but all I’ll say for now is that no one has ever been better at making music that stayed out all Saturday night and still went to church on Sunday morning.
It’s going to be an interesting four years. A new president, and a country that just elected a new president, both need a lot of strong character traits. It probably doesn’t hurt if one of them is soul.
God bless America and let the Queen of Soul take us home.