I’m told that at some point, usually around age 30 or sometimes later, a great many people basically stop seeking out new music. They circle back around to the same old albums, their favorite albums – the albums of their childhood, or of some time when they were happiest. Their iTunes library (if they have one) may slowly grow, but the amount of records they actually listen to contracts. It circles around the same twenty records, and then fifteen, and then maybe ten. They might occasionally be curious about their favorite band from fifteen years ago putting out a new record, or doing an overpriced reunion tour, but mostly they’re indifferent or even hostile towards the idea of new music. And then – and I’m scared to tell you guys, because I don’t want to believe such a thing could be true – it’s said that somewhere out there are people who have actually stopped listening to music.
Little Beaver made music that deserves to be the soundtrack everyone forevermore associates with Florida; if there were any justice in the world there would be Beaver-themed bars all over America and nobody would ever mention that Buffet fellow ever again. It is impossible for me to separate Beaver from Florida, from humidity, from relaxation, from jocularity. His songs all wear a tipsy perma-smile, and you can feel a hot, sticky sheen of sweat across them.
I’ve been hearing lots of chatter about Sparks bubbling up on the internet these days. I’m not sure why this is, but it makes me happy, because Sparks makes me happy. In my younger and more naïve days I would have taken this internet murmuring as an indication that Sparks are ready for some kind of popular comeback, but I’m older and wiser and more disappointed in the human race now and I’ve learned first of all that these things go in cycles and second of all that – in America at least – Sparks are never going to get the respect they deserve. Though Russell and Ron Mael spent four decades making some of of the most creative and iconoclastic pop-leaning music put on tape, that music was always a little bit too creative, too iconoclastic, and too “quirky” to have made them the household name they could have been. There just aren’t enough cool households in America I guess.
Over at the Okkervil River website there’s a video for the first song from the new Okkervil album The Silver Gymnasium. I went down and filmed the video last week at the Plainfield Town Hall, where a hand-painted backdrop by Maxfield Parrish has sat for decades. The backdrop was created so that it could be lit to simulate different times of day, and in the video Nancy Norwalk – Plainfield’s Head Librarian and one of leaders of a 1990 restoration of the backdrop – takes us through the different lighting schemes, from dawn to nightfall.
In the early days of touring with Okkervil River, the van would be filled with boxes and backpacks of CDs from home, personal favorites we’d all brought with us, that we couldn’t imagine going several months without. We’d observe a strict rotation on the van stereo; if Jonathan wanted to listen to Lou Reed’s Berlin and I wanted to listen to my weird CD of Irish octogenarians singing a capella jigs with nonsense syllables it was tough shit; Jonathan needed to wait for his turn to roll around. We brought a log-book with us where we’d write down every CD we listened to every day, in what order, and who picked it. I suffered through some stuff I hated and I was turned on to some stuff I will love for the rest of my life.
I decided it would be fun to use this website as an excuse to get together with other artists – friends of mine I’ve worked with a lot or people whose work I like – to talk about creativity, the creative process, and pretty much any other thing that comes up without a lot of topic-steering. We’d get together and I’d set up some mics and we’d have not so much an interview as a conversation – hopefully the kind of conversation I’d have with that person anyway, ideally at 1 AM after a number of drinks were consumed. I’d focus on people I liked or was interested in, not necessarily the standard folks and not necessarily people who have a new record or movie or painting or architecture thing or shoe or plate of linguini in stores now or whatever.
I figured I’d write about George Jones for First Song of the Month, and I figured I’d jump the gun and put it up today instead of on Wednesday. He was one of my very favorite singers of all time, someone I would think about on a daily basis. When an artist like that passes away, suddenly the whole world feels cheaper. I can’t think of a country singer better than him, past, present, or future. Country music has its towering, legendary writers, and its icons, and its total-package musicians, but it only had one George Jones and everybody pretty much knew no one else could touch him when it came to that voice. Like Johnny Cash, I imagine that as time goes on it will get harder and harder to believe there really even was a real George Jones, that the legend is going to devour the man, because those records are just going to grow and grow in stature until they loom above all the puny contemporary efforts of everyone who is still somewhat sincerely trying to make country music.
A new Lovestreams single.
Today I’m putting out a video for another one of the Lovestreams songs. The song is called “There’s Video.” This is a shorter edit of it – maybe at some point in the future I’ll put out the longer version. I did this video with my close friend Scott Coffey, the actor and director. Scott was in a bunch of films including several John Hughes movies and several more David Lynch movies before graduating to directing with Ellie Parker in 2004. He shot this video on an early-generation DV camera, the same camera he’d used for Ellie Parker, and it was already outdated then – with this weird early-digital video quality to the picture that manufacturers have since gotten away from, have improved on. Almost all of the effects are in-camera.
My Blackberry (when I had a Blackberry) did that thing of letting you put words it didn’t recognize into a “custom dictionary” so that it would recognize them and not try to correct them in the comical way that Apple phones do. I recently found the drawer with all my old phones, going back years, and looked at that custom dictionary file and realized the list of inputted words reads like this weird glimpse of my touring life circa 2009 or so. It’s like a tour diary where I don’t need to tell you too much more because you can fill in the blanks yourself.