A Quick Update for the New Year
January 11, 2010
Part I: Blog plans
I’m going to try to write a lot more this year. I know I said that last year, but somehow planning a wedding, running a marathon, researching hipsters and teaching about rock and roll and music history got in the way. It’s as though I’ve been working four jobs, because I was! I’m going to be doing some new classes this semester, though, so I think I should have plenty to write about. Let’s find out what I end up leaving out about hip-hop! I can tell you one thing–I won’t give short shrift to Run-D.M.C. like Jeff Chang did!
(I do like Can’t Stop Won’t Stop quite a bit, but I’m sad that there’s such little room given to Run-D.M.C.)
Part II: New Commenting Rules
I have not approved many comments recently, since they violate the very rule I set down in my classroom: the “It’s awesome/It sucks” rule. This rule is very simple in the classroom. You can disagree with me about the importance of a band. You can hate what I play in class. You can love it. But if your only comment is, “It’s awesome” or “It sucks,” you are not being particularly insightful or revealing any sort of engagement.
Want to disagree with me about Damon Albarn? Okey doke. But do it in a way that indicates you at least read my critique of him, rather than tell me I don’t know anything about world music. I love his music, but I still believe that we can critique music and musicians we love, acknowledge problems with them, and still enjoy them.
Part III: Lost in Translation
Soooo, despite being a delinquent blogger for about a year now, I keep getting lots of comments regarding one particular post, “Anton Corbijn and the Curse of Death.” I’m not posting these comments, because they should be embarrassing to the posters. Why? Because they took it seriously. It is a joke. It reads, “Of course, this entry is tongue in cheek. I don’t really think that Anton Corbijn is a curse.” I realize I am not a standup comic, and maybe you don’t think it’s funny, and that is fine. But it is absolutely not meant as “conspiracy theory” as one idiot noted (who then continued, “I didn’t read any of your examples.” Well, then you also didn’t read the part where I note it’s not serious.).
I do understand that some of the people reading and commenting on this post are, in fact, from the Netherlands and may not get idiomatic U.S. English or my sense of humor. Maybe they are some of Corbijn’s relatives or view him as the pride of Groningen, but what about the sentence “I don’t really think that Anton Corbijn is a curse” indicates that I do think that?
Here’s what I really do believe about Anton Corbijn: His work is a fairly distinctive body of photography, yet his portrayal of different artists includes strikingly similar lighting, filters, and imagery. In his photography, U2 looks like Depeche Mode looks like Echo & the Bunnymen looks like Control. This reveals a strikingly limited and static visual vocabulary, as well as a restricted vision of his subjects, who become Corbijn’s ciphers of the moment. In terms of dynamism and individuality, he is no Annie Leibovitz, or Richard Avedon, or even Charles Peterson.
I also view his depiction of women in his film Control and in his videos and photography to be troubling at best. Control featured cardboard characterizations of Deborah Curtis and Annik Honore, who become stereotypical poles of responsibility and passion between which our troubled hero Ian Curtis cannot choose. In much of his late 1980s and early 1990s work with Depeche Mode, naked women frequently appeared as vacant sexual objects along with the band. Perhaps Corbijn viewed this as some sort of ironic commentary on gender relations, but mostly it just seems like Depeche Mode wanted to reinforce an idea of their heterosexuality in the quickest, cheapest way possible after their gender-bending dressing in the 1980s.
At any rate, if you still think that I believe Anton Corbijn is a curse, you are not reading. If you think my post was unfunny, that’s fine. We don’t all have the same sense of humor. If you lurve his work and disagree with me, that’s fine, too. Just don’t violate the “It’s awesome/It sucks” rule, and we’ll all be OK.
Inauguration Special! Songs of Hope & Change Part 2
January 20, 2009
I started writing this post last night, but really couldn’t find the words. I was in that middle realm, waiting for the end of Bush’s regime and the excited for the something bigger, something brighter. So this playlist is half “We’ve had eight years of crap and I’d really like this to be over with, thankyouverymuch” and half “Things can get better…things WILL get better.” So yeah, it’s probably not as cohesive as Elizabeth’s playlist and I didn’t give thorough descriptions of each song, but I pulled a quote from each song that hammers home why I chose that song.
Crime in Stereo – “I, Stateside”
God please save these troubled states.
Embrace – “No More Pain”
No more petty love/No more petty hate/No more pettiness/No more pain
Against Me! – “From Her Lips To God’s Ears (The Energizer)”
After all this death and destruction/Do you really think your actions advocate freedom?
Black Flag – “Rise Above”
We’re gonna rise above
Comeback Kid – “Wake the Dead”
Don’t lose hope/Don’t let it happen to you/Which side are you gonna choose?/Because I believe, I believe it’s in you.
The Decemberists – “Sons & Daughters”
Here all the bombs fade away
Also, I made an imeem playlist of the songs but couldn’t embed it into the blog. So, yeah, get with the clicky here to listen to the songs: Ryan’s Songs of Change and Hope.
So, what’s on your Inauguration Day playlist?
What It Means to Be a Diva: Patti LuPone in Gypsy
January 15, 2009
For those of you who expect this blog to deliver on topics of pop music, today’s post marks a short diversion into Broadway show tunes, without which the popular music industry would not exist.*
I love live music. I love live theater. I even love live musical theater. Within that genre, I especially love Sondheim; among performers, I love Patti LuPone. That’s why, when I heard that Gypsy was closing–in less than a week!–I had to get tickets. I called up Agent Taco, asked if we had plans for Saturday, and then bought the cheapest available tickets (I *don’t* love Broadway pricing.)
Patti LuPone is a diva, in every sense of the word, and she was my real motivation for attending the show. As I explain to my students in my music history class, the term “diva” was not new when VH1 applied it to “Divas LIVE” in the mid-1990s. Before we get to the divine Patti, a little background on the diva.
Surprisingly, the word’s implications have remained somewhat consistent throughout its history. Starting in the early 1800s, with the rise of bel canto opera in Italy, women singers received a new emphasis: most often, a soprano would perform the lead role, sometimes inserting her signature songs from other operas into each performance, and always, always demonstrating a virtuosity that would overwhelm and enchant the audience.
On the flip side, the diva often makes more demands than your average female performer. She is not known for quietly settling into a role, or for taking affronts from the audience or other performers in stride and unruffled. No, a diva makes demands. And she can make demands because she is just that good.
Of course, we have added a lot of gendered aspects to the diva (no one really talks about “il divo” anymore, though he did exist in bel canto), but the two important sides remain: she has a lot of talent, and, because of that talent, she can be demanding.
Patti Lupone’s show-stopping performance on Saturday night brought that out. As Mama Rose, her brassy, wide-ranging, full-chested voice finds a perfect characterization. And I could definitely call her a diva for that alone, since the character herself is also somewhat of a diva, a pushy stage mother who desperately wants her children to succeed in vaudeville.
But LuPone’s performance was more than this. It was, in fact, show stopping. As in, the show stopped. In the second to last scene, a tense scene between Gypsy (Laure Benanti) and Mama Rose, a cell phone rang. Both performers visibly cringed, and a piece of the drama of the moment disappeared.
This tense scene leads directly into “Rose’s Turn,” Mama Rose’s “I-coulda-been-great” moment. The performer, whether LuPone or anyone else, has to put everything into this moment. In the New York Times review of the show in March 2008, Ben Brantley wrote of this scene: “In “Rose’s Turn,” in particular, Ms. LuPone takes you on a guided tour of all Rose’s inner demons, from sexual succubus to shivering infant. (Be warned: they will live in your head for a while.)”
Nothing, however, prepared me or anyone else for what did happen. LuPone entered the stage, began the song, took off the grubby smock, revealing her more form-fitting red dress, and then…
“STOP! Stop the music!” The orchestra stopped. “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?” A pause, confusion. “I saw you take a photo THREE TIMES! You heard the announcement before the show and at intermission. Who do you think you are?” LuPone stood stubbornly on the stage, refusing to continue until the offending party had been removed.
By now, most of the audience was in LuPone’s court. I certainly was–who did that person think he/she was?
Finally, after a tense minute or so, a voice came over the loudspeaker, saying that the offending party was no longer in the theater; cheers erupted throughout the theater. LuPone addressed the audience, stating that there had been an erosion of manners in the country, but that she would do the song from the top.
… And it was amazing, filled with the swirl of emotions that someone truly angry (as Mama Rose is with Gypsy/Louise at that point in the show) and disappointed and egotistical and regretful would bring to it. I’m sure it would have been wonderful to see uninterrupted, but, you know, I wouldn’t trade what I saw for a run-of-the-mill, paint-by-numbers Broadway show. Instead of being perfection, it was an unforgettable experience.
Cheers to you, Patti LuPone, for demanding what you do deserve.
*One could argue that the constituent elements of rock n roll were more “of the people,” i.e. hillbilly and race records. However, the music industry prior to the advent of rock n roll largely depended upon the popularization of Tin Pan Alley novelty songs and show tunes. The structure that this industry created later allowed for the genre of rock n roll to flourish.
Record Collecting for Fun and Profit: The Compact Disc Store
January 5, 2009
Okay, well, maybe not for profit, but hitting a kickass record shop to rifle through their bins of vinyl records? That’s some A-plus fun, folks. We recently went down to Baton Rouge, Louisiana and Elizabeth took me to The Compact Disc Store, a local record shop she’s quite fond of. In fact, she wrote about the store back in August, more or less proclaiming it dead!
Luckily enough for us, the store’s still alive and kickin’ and we gave it a healthy cash injection. She picked up some cool import CDs, but I made out like a bandit and scored an armful of magnificent vinyl. Sure the music’ll be good, but these 12″ sleeves must be displayed like the works of art they really are.
As you can see, it was like finding sunken treasure.
Hopefully Elizabeth will jump back into the fray soon and raise the IQ of this blog back to where it belongs.
We’re Back: Now with Twice as Many Bloggers!
December 31, 2008
Hi. My name’s Ryan. This blog’s been on hiatus for the last two months while badcoverversion (aka Elizabeth) busted her butt working and putting her career on track. And that hasn’t fully changed, but I’m hoping to kickstart the blog again for the new year by joining the team–at least in a guest capacity.
I may not have a PhD, but I write reviews for Performing Songwriter Magazine, do the 9-5 as Editor for Marvel.com and co-author the Tacos Por Vida food blog with Elizabeth, so I’m confident I’ll hold my own here.
Holler at me on Twitter, here in the comments or on TPV.
Dear Mr. Echo
October 2, 2008
In all my years of living in New York City, I had never been to Radio City Music Hall, not for a Christmas show, not for a rock show, not even for a tour when I was an intern at Rolling Stone, a mere two blocks away. In all my years of adoring Echo & the Bunnymen, I had never seen them live. The former finds its excuse in the old adage that New Yorkers never take advantage of their town. The latter–well, I became slightly obsessed with Echo & the Bunnymen two years after they broke up (the first time), in 1990.
During that summer, a remaindered copy of Ocean Rain (1984) made its way into my burgeoning remaindered-vinyl collection (Yes, I have a ton of worthess vinyl records, purchased in 1990, during the Great Vinyl Discontinuation). I spent about a month listening to Ocean Rain–and very little other than Ocean Rain, except for maybe some Depeche Mode. Like many of the albums I have obsessively listened to over the years, I still know every word to every song. Unlike most of the albums I’ve had similar obsessions with, I don’t know a damned bit what they mean.
Ocean Rain is not about song lyrics. If it were, then it would be a fairly nonsensical and incoherent album. From the opening lyric of “Silver” (“Swung from a chandelier / my planet sweet on a silver salver”) to the much-more-sensible, but still obscure closer, “Ocean Rain” (“Screaming from beneath the waves”), it doesn’t make much sense. (I did find myself very proud at the time for having known what a silver salver was, having learned its definition via Barry Paris’s biography of Louise Brooks. Second obsession of early teen years: silent film star biographies.) No, Ocean Rain is not about song lyrics.
Ocean Rain is about exactly two things: dense, orchestral textures and Ian McCulloch’s wide-ranging voice. His voice was warm and delightful, emerging from the speakers and surrounding you like drinking a hot toddy while wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. And that is exactly why I had to go see Echo & the Bunnymen at Radio City Music Hall. The show advertised Echo & the Bunnymen performing Ocean Rain with an orchestra! Of course, then I wondered: would Ian McCulloch still sound good after all these years? He’s done lots of drinking, smoking, and other things that are not exactly conducive to vocal longevity. And would he still have that hair?
Yes, that hair.
When we got to Radio City Music Hall, I realized with dismay that I could not answer the last of these questions. Our seats were in the very last row of the very last mezzanine. Ah, well.
The opening band, Glasvegas, might have been good. I think they were; their songs seemed pretty catchy. But there was a horrible, horrible microphone issue with the band’s bass drum, which the standing drummer played on its side. I could hear little else, but the boom-boom-boom-boom of the steady beat.
After hearing nothin’ but bass for a good 40 minutes, I worried that the Bunnymen would similarly suffer sound problems. Thankfully, I had nothing to worry about: their sound guy was aces. Their first set included energetic, sometimes extended versions of their non-Ocean Rain hits, including “Bring on the Dancing Horses,” “The Cutter,” and “Rescue,” but also their much richer cover of The Doors’ “People Are Strange.” Between songs,
I honestly don’t know if the years of boozing and whatnot have affected Ian McCulloch’s voice–there was a fair amount of reverb on his mic, which probably corrected a lot of mistakes. But he could still sing, and his voice is still timbrally cozy. He used his lower range a bit more, but who knows what that means? I do highly suspect that he was drunk off his ass–his stage banter was completely incomprehensible, and it was not due to his Liverpudlian accent–by the end of the first set.
The second set, with a small orchestra (really, I’d call it a “string ensemble, plus French horn and percussion”), toured through the songs from Ocean Rain. It was incredible for me, as a fan of the group, to see it performed with an orchestra (however small). The strings added density and acoustic richness, harmonic fullness, and varied textures. On the other hand, as a classical music snob, I was not exactly happy with violins’ intonation at times, and the French horns were not quite up to task (but when are they?).
In completely nonmusical aspects of the show: there was a woman, similarly in the last row, who flashed her boobs during EATB’s first set. Seriously, what was she thinking? That Ian McCulloch has eagle-eyed boob-o-vision?
And FYI: Radio City Music Hall has the best bathrooms in New York City.
This blog entry is for Andrea Lam, who could not be at the show last night, since she has real responsibilities, but who is the biggest Echo & the Bunnymen fan I know.
Radio Silence
September 24, 2008
October 1 presents a lot of deadlines for me: three postdocs, article revisions for an academic journal, getting the dissertation all good to go for the deposit, and various job applications. Ergo, I have to take a short break from writing things for fun.
Bad Cover Version will resume Thursday, October 2, 2008, and will keep to a regular schedule.












