Alex Chilton - RIP

Alex Chilton, the great singer of the Box Tops & Big Star, died yesterday at the age of 59—Chilton's music was such a big part of my life in the 1980s, as I discussed several months back in my review of the Big Star box set. That music could be dark & heartbreaking or sweet in a way that almost unavoidably led to a different sort of heartache—a fond memory perhaps, a smile for someone cared about deeply in youth, a glimpse of morning sunshine after a long dark night.

From what I understand, Chilton's life was difficult & perhaps filled with demons at times—still, his legacy in the field of pop/rock music is enormous, even among people who don't know him, simply because his influence on the indie bands of the 1980s was so pervasive.

I'll be "on the move" today & won't have the time necessary to write a more full appreciation—but I must say that Chilton's music was a huge influence on me in the mid to late 80s, & most certainly crept into the poetry I wrote at that time—especially the music from Big Star's Third Album (AKA Sister Lovers). I'll let Alex sing for himself: "Stroke It Noel," from Big Star's Third:

“Independence Day” – Vic Chesnutt, Rest in Peace

I feel remiss not to have weighed in earlier on the death of singer-songwriter Vic Chesnutt earlier; he died at age 45 this Christmas Day after lapsing into a coma on December 24th. There is no question that Chesnutt was a big influence on me, both in terms of his music & his words; I’ve written here in the past how much I listened to music while writing poetry in the 90s, & it was an oversight not to mention Vic Chesnutt then, because albums like Little, Drunk, & Is the Actor Happy were a big part of my life’s soundtrack at that time, both poetical & otherwise.

For those of you who don’t know—& that may be a number of folks, since Chesnutt was always a cult figure & never a star—Vic Chesnutt was paralyzed from the waist down following a car accident in 1983. He had been a musician, but something about the accident galvanized his talents—amazingly enough, since the accident certainly affected his guitar playing skills, forcing him to rely mostly on simple, open chord shapes. But as folk song has proved countless times thru the years, simplicity, when followed all the thru, is no liability but rather a great strength; & Chesnutt combined compelling music with moving & literate lyrics. To say his voice was able to communicate deep & complex emotion is an understatement.

Chesnutt's death may or may not have been suicide; the cause was an overdose, & he apparently had some history of suicide attempts. There already has been much written about Chesnutt’s medical situation, & the amount of debt he owed for medical expenses, despite being insured. According to Rolling Stone:

It’s unclear whether Chesnutt’s overdose was accidental or intentional. His close friend Kristin Hersh tweeted, “No one knows much: another suicide attempt, looks bad, coma,” on December 24th. Chesnutt’s persistent medical problems had made him a harsh critic of American health care. Earlier this year he told Spinner that he was $35,000 in debt to a hospital despite the fact that he was insured.

I am no fan of a system in which insurance companies dictate health care, because it strikes me as an inherent conflict of interest—how can a business be responsible both to its shareholders & to its insured? But having said that, I’m not in a mood to rail against the machine, & I'd rather not politicize this post. As an artist, Chesnutt was about music & words, & that's how he'll be remembered in the long run. I debated whether or not to post a video of Mr Chesnutt performing one of his songs, or whether to “cover” one of his songs myself. I’ll be posting about Vic Chesnutt's song "Rabbit Box" on Just a Song a bit later this morning, so I decided I’d record one of my favorites, “Independence Day,”for this post.

Now, hoping I do the song justice….

Tom Trusky, R.I.P.

Eberle & I received some very sad news on Tuesday evening—Audrey wrote to let us know that our dear friend Tom Trusky has passed away.

Tom’s name has come up from time to time on Robert Frost’s Banjo, & with good reason: he was one of the most enthusiastic supporters of our music & was responsible for us being commissioned by the Idaho Film Colelction (of which Tom was director) to write & record a score for Nell Shipman’s masterpiece, The Grub Stake. Mr Trusky could have had pretty much his pick of silent film composers to write that score, & yet he decided to assign this to two completely unknown musicians from a small Idaho town, based solely on the one score we’d written, for Nell Shipman’s earlier film, Back to God’s Country.

That was the beginning of Tom’s importance in our lives, but he was always wonderful to us. Perhaps the most down-to-earth academic I’ve ever met, Tom had a wonderful sense of humor & a sparkling joie de vivre. He was always accomodating, whether our performances took us to Claremont, California or to the small town of McCall, & he was always a marvelous presence during those performances with his witty & informative talks about Nell Shipman. Of course, his warm & witty presence at dinners & chats before & after the screenings were most welcome, too.

That’s some of what Tom meant to us. But of course, he has a larger importance, because without him, it’s possible that Nell Shipman—a true great of the silent film era as actress/writer/director & more—would be practically unknown. Before Mr Trusky got interested in Nell, after reading an obscure article of hers in an old Atlantic Monthly, only one of her films was thought to have survived—Back to God’s Country. Thru Tom’s efforts, six other films were discovered, & he also was her champion. Although Shipman has yet to garner the recognition her work so richly deserves, the fact that she is recognized today, that a film like Back to God’s Country can be screened on Turner Classic Movies, that there are the Nell Shipman awards for women filmmakers, & that her complete surving works are available on DVD (including our score for The Grub Stake).

But Tom seems to have been generous by nature, one who could champion the overlooked: he not only tirelessly boosted Shipman, but also Idaho artist & bookmaker James Castle & others, including a couple of unknown musicians from a small Idaho town.

The music I’ve selected as a tribute to Tom isn’t mournful; although we didn’t know Tom very well, I suspect he wouldn’t necessarily want that. It’s a piece I posted a few months ago, Eberle’s “Red Piano Stomp” from our score for The Grub Stake—Eberle is playing a Schoenhut toy piano & I’m plunking along on my old Stromberg-Voisinette plectrum banjo. The fact is, Tom loved the toy piano. It also played a small role in our score for Back to God’s Country, & while we were afraid that our use of this & other oddities such as slide whistle or kazoo would shock an academic sort, they in fact delighted him—& none more than the little red piano. Eberle & I have often said, only half-jokingly, that we might not have been commissioned to score The Grub Stake were it not for the red Schoenhut.

Our thoughts go out to all of Tom’s friends & family & to his long-time partner. His death at 65 is sad, because Tom had so much to offer & had such a wonderful spirit; still, I’ll remember him for all his kindness & generosity & wit & his incredible ability to support artists, whether great or completely minor, who needed a hand up.

(The pic at the top of the post was taken by Audrey Bilger, & shows Tom Trusky, Eberle & me at the Mary Pickford Auditorium of Claremont-McKenna College, before our ’05 screening of Back to God’s Country.)

Maddy

Some sad news today—our dear friends Audrey & Cheryl have had to send their beloved Maddy on her way to where the good dogs go. Maddy lived a long, & joy-filled life with her two human companions; she was much loved & gave freely of her love & joy in the amazing way that dogs do this.

When I think about the sentience of animals (which I actually think about quite a lot), I usually go back to these great lines by Blake:


How do you know but ev'ry Bird that cuts the airy way,
Is an immense world of delight, clos'd by your senses five?

There is no question in my mind about the depth & quality of animal thought & feeling—simply because animals find no need to write or discuss The Critique of Pure Reason doesn’t mean that they don’t lead full mental & emotional lives; of course, as Blake pointed out, we only have limited access to this intelligence & feeling because our own perception is circumscribed.

But some animals allow us to share in that immense world of delight, & Maddy, like many dogs, was one of those. It’s been my impression that Corgis are generally amiable & happy, but Maddy was very friendly & joyful even by those standards.

Audrey provided an audio file of a song she & Cheryl wrote for Maddy about 10 years ago—it’s quite lovely, & appropriate, too. The audio came with an animation (not of Maddy), but unfortunately, Blogger doesn’t seem to like AAC audio, which meant I needed to convert the original file to an MP3 & then a video file for posting. The song appears at the bottom of the post. Audrey had this to say:

Here's a song Cheryl and I wrote about Maddy for the Pajamathon lullaby record put out by "The Sleepytones." It didn't make the record, so it's an outtake. But very sweet. The vocalist is our friend Frank Lopez. Lyrics: me; music: Cheryl. The album was released by EMI Special Projects in 1999. I would love for people to get to hear it, if it's something you could include on RFB.

Audrey & Cheryl are wonderful people who’ve lost a dear friend; of course, Audrey is known to Robert Frost’s Banjo readers from her delightful posts about Lesley Gore & our current featured post, “A Reformed Rake Makes the Best Husband?” Our thoughts are with them in a sad time, in hopes that they can reflect on the great happiness that was Maddy.

Brief Memorial for Odetta

A great singer passed away on Tuesday—Odetta, a huge force in both the folk music & civil rights movements. The New York Times obituary can be viewed here.

Odetta sang with one of the most moving & beautiful voices I’ve ever heard. Her range spanned octaves—but more than that, she sang with passion & an emotional honesty that could really give a listener the chills—I certainly got the chills from her versions of songs like “No More Cane on the Brazos,” “I’ve Been ‘Buked & I’ve Been Scorned,” “Wade in the Water,” “O Freedom,” & many others. She was a central force among the folkies—she’s credited with helping start a number of music careers, including Dave Van Ronk, Bob Dylan, & much later, Tracy Chapman. The Washington Post’s obituary (fittingly titled, “Odetta, 77; Sang the Soundtrack for the Civil Rights Movement”) quotes Pete Seeger as saying, “"She was one of the great singers of late-20th-century America. She sang straight, no tricks." A moving quote from the Times’ obituary: “Rosa Parks, the woman who started the boycott of segregated buses in Montgomery, Ala., was once asked which songs meant the most to her. She replied, ‘All of the songs Odetta sings.’”

Music can be wonderful entertainment, both for those who listen & for those who play. Odetta proved music can be something a lot more, too.

Goodbye, Ukulele Mama

Some sad news that comes belatedly to Robert Frost’s Banjo—Estelle Reiner, AKA “Ukulele Mama” died on October 29th in her home in Beverly Hills. Ms. Reiner was 94, & died of natural causes.

There are a few reasons you should know Estelle Reiner. She was married to comedian & comedy writer Carl Reiner, & she was actor-director Rob Reiner’s mother. Ms Reiner also delivered a well known line while making a cameo appearance in her son’s When Harry Met Sally. In the scene, she watches as Meg Ryan fakes an orgasm in a restaurant; when the waiter comes to take Estelle Reiner’s order, she says, “I’ll have what she’s having.” The American Film Institute rated this as the 33rd most famous movie line of all time, ahead of Lauren Bacall’s come-on to Humphrey Bogart in To Have & Have Not: “You know how to whistle, don’t you, Steve? You just put your lips together and blow.”

Those are both good reasons to know Estelle Reiner, but I knew her as Ukulele Mama. Apparently Ms Reiner always wanted to be a singer, & so took it up as a career at age 65. She released four albums as a singer thru the 90’s, all focusing on “Great American Songbook” material. Then, in 2000, when she was well into her 80’s she put out the wonderful album Ukulele Mama, on which she not only sang but also accompanied herself on ukulele. She was backed by a solid piano-bass-drum trio (Tom Garvin: piano; John Leitham & Trey Henry: bass; & Kendall Kay: drums), & also featured some lovely solos by various musicians on trumpet, clarinet, trombone, & violin. She followed this up in 2003 with Ukulele Mama 2, & then in 2004 with Estelle Reiner Sings Grown Up Songs for Kids, again accompanying herself on uke, & with many of the same fine back-up musicians.

Estelle Reiner was not a uke virtuoso, & she had a pleasant but unspectacular singing voice, if you’re talking about tone. What she did have was oodles of spirit & élan; you only have to listen to about one bar of music to know she loves these songs & that she loves singing them. She also brought her comedic skills to her singing—not in any heavy-handed way, but in the sense of timing & wit, & in the sense of getting inside a lyric & bringing out various meanings, including some of the double entendres in those old songs. Some of my favorite takes from the original Ukulele Mama album are “Lulu’s Back in Town,” “On a Slow Boat to China,” “My Baby Just Cares For me,” & “It All Belongs To Me.” I’ll be taking a trip to the Golden State late this week, & I’ll certainly be bringing Ukulele Mama as a sing-along companion.

If you love uke, or want to hear a unique take on some wonderful old tunes, you should check out her cds, which are available at her website. The spirit Ms Reiner was able to communicate thru her singing & uke playing is one of wit & laughter &, to use an old British word, pluck. She will be missed.

Studs Terkel Travels West

Studs Terkel passed away peacefully yesterday at age 96 in his home. Terkel was a Pulitzer prize winning journalist, a political activist, one of the last of the old New Deal liberals, who "never met a picket line or petition I didn't like."

His writings included Working, Hard Times, Division Street: America, & The Good War, for which he won the Pulitzer in 1985. Fellow Chicagoan Barack Obama said of Terkel on Friday: "His writings, broadcasts, and interviews shed light on what it meant to be an American in the 20th century," Obama said in a statement Friday night. "He will be deeply missed by all who knew him, all who loved him, and all whose lives were enriched by the American stories he told."

Terkel, like my parents & the rest of that generation, was formed by the Depression, the New Deal, & World War II. While government is always flawed, one thing seems clear about the New Deal: it offered opportunities for common folk, whereas more recently it seems that government is about getting out of the way so corporations have a clear field to run roughshod over us. Terkel was a broadcaster for the WPA; my father was a worker in CCC. While it would never do to romanticize the 30s, it does strike me as a time when government was able to respond in a helpful manner to a very deep crisis. As we approach this next election day, we might reflect that our current circumstances are again not good, & ask ourselves how we may best address this thru the electoral process. To my mind, the politics of divisiness, of culture wars, of blaming those who are less fortunate for needing some assistance, is not the way to rise out of this current morass.

Terkel was about the things that we have in common, even while he acknowledged deep divisions; we need more of this, & a lot less of everything that fosters polarization. You can read a lot more about this good man here. As Obama said, he will be missed.