[Source: AthFest 2010 Venue Lineups]

[Originally posted to Facebook on February 3, 2009 as part of that "random things about you" meme. Posted here for posterity. See also Things he got.]

Ben Ratliff has a sobering review of the latest reissue of Exile on Main Street, the classic Rolling Stones album from 1972, over at The New York Times.

One of the selling points for the reissue is its 64-page booklet, which features tons of photographs by French photographer Dominique Tarlé. Tarlé had incredible access to the private world of the Stones during that very crazy, very hedonistic, very creative time in their career.

Crazy? Hedonistic? Creative?

Yep. Ratliff writes:

[Exile on Main Street] is often called one of the best rock records ever made, and framed as an after-the-fact concept album: a wise horror show, an audio diary of rock stars finally facing the rigors of marriage, children and addiction. (“‘Exile’ is about casualties, and partying in the face of them,” the critic Lester Bangs wrote in 1972. “The party is obvious. The casualties are inevitable.”)

Tarlé shows us a little of what Ratliff and Bangs write about and a whole lot more.

See more of Tarlé's photographs and go back and listen to Exile on Main Street. Neither are perfect, but they each capture a very important time in rock and roll history.

After reading it to him a couple of times I kept thinking that this illustration looked really familiar.

Then it came to me. It reminds me of the cover of the King Crimson album In the Court of the Crimson King.

Prog rock meets children's books. Worlds collide.

I wonder if David Shannon is a King Crimson fan?

NPR's Fresh Air devoted part of a recent show to the memory of musician Alex Chilton. (Chilton passed away suddenly on March 17, 2010.) Portions of interviews with Chilton from 1991 and 2000 were aired.

Here's a quote by Chilton from the 1991 interview that struck a major chord with me:

It seems to me that the world is full of great musicians who don't have any record companies interested in them. It seems to me that the record companies are interested in bands of teenage guys — you know, with long hair and playing heavy metal music or whatever the next trend will be.

I'm not really so concerned about it. I've got my sort of scene going and have carved out a little niche, however little it is in the music business, and I manage to play as many gigs as I want every year and make money doing that -- and make a little money here and there making records -- and it's OK with me.

I look to guys like Chilton for inspiration all the time. Respected, revered, not overly famous, and knockin' out a modest living doing what he loves. What more could you ask for?

Children by the million sing for Alex Chilton when he comes 'round
They sing "I'm in love. What's that song?"
"I'm in love with that song."

from "Alex Chilton" by The Replacements

I'm in love with that song, indeed.

My musical education consists of years and years of diligently listening to every song that played on the radio while I was growing up, working as a music director (among various other jobs throughout the years) in radio, and citing and filing away anything and everything with a beat or lack thereof that floated into my ears -- no matter how significant, classic, epic, cheesy, schmaltzy, or sugary the sound.

The other day, as a particularly sappy tune by Toto (yes, Toto) from 1986 (I was 16 going on 17 that year) came on in a store I was in, I was reminded of a speech by good ol' Rob Gordon from the Nick Hornby book/Stephen Frears film High Fidelity. It goes a little something like this:

What came first, the music or the misery?

People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss.

Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?

[source]

That last question always enters my head -- even to this day -- when I hear those priceless pop gems from my younger days. I tend to side with the latter, but some days I'm just not sure.

So, dear reader, what came first, the music or the misery?

He's been one of my favorite musicians from the get go. Actually got to meet him a couple of times back when I worked at WNCW. He was always a real nice guy.

Anyway, Steve has been part of the Nashville music scene since 1975. He was 19 when he first got there and it took about eleven years for him to break through with Guitar Town in 1986. It's a fun record that kicks off with the following words:

Hey pretty baby are you ready for me
It's your good rockin' daddy down from Tennessee

Check it out.

Fast forward 21 years. A lot can happen to a good rockin' Nashville guy in that time: wives, kids, drugs, politics, more wives, jail time.

The upshot is that throughout all the drama Steve has made the most honest and well-received music of his career. Classics, I'd say: Copperhead Road, El Corazón, I Feel Alright, Train A Comin', and Jerusalem -- just to name a few.

Then in 2007 Steve made a record called Washington Street Serenade. Having lived in New York City with his seventh wife, singer Allison Moorer, for a couple of years had an intense effect on him.

The first song on the record, "Tennessee Blues," begins as such:

Sunset in my mirror, pedal on the floor
Bound for New York City and I won’t be back no more
Won’t be back no more, boys, won’t see me around
Goodbye guitar town

And then the kicker:

Fare thee well I’m bound to roam
This ain’t never been my home

Have a listen.

This ain't never been my home. Wow, man. Strong words.

I gotta say that I know how the guys feels. Life can change you profoundly. It can make a man whose life and music were synonymous with Nashville kiss the town goodbye and realize that it had never really been the place for him.

Sometimes you figure that out quickly, other times you go to hell and back several times before you do. But when you do figure it out and you take action you end up happier than you've ever been. Steve is living proof.

Goodbye guitar town, indeed.

I knew I had been transformed, moved by the revelation that human beings create art, that to be an artist was to see what others could not.

Just Kids is the story of Patti Smith, one of the greatest performers in music, and Robert Mapplethorpe, one of the most significant and controversial photographers of our time.

This book, however, chronicles their lives before the fame and recognition. Patti and Robert are two fledgling kids living in New York City and full of a longing to live a creative life full of unconditional love and support.

   I was particularly moved by the drawing he had done on Memorial Day. I had never seen anything like it. What also struck me was the date: Joan of Arc's feast day. The same day I had promised to make something of myself before her statue.
   I told him this, and he responded that the drawing was symbolic of his own commitment to art, made on the same day. He gave it to me with out hesitation and I understood in this small space of time we had mutually surrended our loneliness and replaced it with trust.