Screenshot from ‘Marianne & Leonard: Words of Love’ / Roadside Attractions
When Nick Broomfield’s documentary about the relationship between Leonard Cohen and Marianne Ihlen was released in the summer of 2019, it quickly jumped to the top of my “must see” list … but fell to the bottom within a week. Part of the reason was that the reviews for Marianne & Leonard: Words of Love were mixed, and the retelling of a love story that I’d already known of, although not in great detail, simply held little interest for me at that moment.
This week I noticed that it was added to Kanopy, a movie streaming service that is available to universities and patrons of sponsoring public libraries. With a runtime of only 97 minutes, I pressed that play button. Before I begin what I imagine will turn out to be a review of sorts, I think it might be best to start with a short clip from another film project: Leonard Cohen on Hydra – Songs and Tales of Bohemia.
It’s always troubled me a bit through the years that whenever Ihlen’s name comes up in regards to Cohen, whether in an interview, profile, or biography, she is always described as his muse. While I understand the concept of someone who artistically inspires someone else and I know that it goes back to Greek and Roman mythology and the nine goddesses, my impression has been that it also has the elements of male dominance and female subservience.
Cohen was an established poet and author from Montreal when he went to Hydra, a Greek island, and eventually bought a home. When he arrived in 1960 it was a community of locals, artists, and expatriates that offered a hedonistic lifestyle of open relationships and experimentation in sex and drugs. Norwegian author Axel Jensen and his wife, Marianne, had moved there in 1957, and she and Cohen grew close romantically. Eventually she moved in and they lived together with her young son, Little Axel.
Throughout the ’60s, Cohen wrote and published several novels and books of poetry, often returning alone to Montreal to promote them and visit family and friends, but financial success eluded him. In 1966 he decided to focus on songwriting, and he moved to New York to connect with the folk music scene, leaving Ihlen. Before leaving Greece, he wrote “Bird on a Wire” and “So Long, Marianne.” He also had written a song titled “Suzanne” that his friend Judy Collins recorded, and it became a hit single. Collins’ introduction and promotion of Cohen as a performer somewhat parallels the assistance that Joan Baez gave to Bob Dylan’s early career.
As Cohen’s popularity surges and he begins to tour at the end of the ’60s, the film’s focus shifts from the love story to showcasing a period of what can only be described as his unabated sexual addiction and extreme drug abuse. The interviews of fellow musicians and friends about that time period are not flattering. Over the next several years, Cohen and Ihlen continued to connect romantically, even when he was involved in other relationships, yet their time together slowly wound down from months to weeks to days, until it finally came to an end. Ihlen eventually left Hydra, moved back to Norway, and began a new family and life.
The final third of Marianne & Leonard offers a condensed story of what transpires separately in their lives over the next four and a half decades, and Broomfield manages to thread the needle for one of the most touching endings to a film I’ve ever seen. It’s a 97-minute ride that captures much cultural and musical history and offers a close view of the intricacies of secret and sacred relationships and the emotional moments we hold onto forever.
Cohen’s story of moving to a monastery for a life of servitude and solitude, and having his life savings stolen while living on Mt. Baldy in California, is often told. His latter years are feted for his comeback to the stage, the albums he released, and extensive touring at an advanced age with youthful joy, humor, and vigor. And like us all, he was a complex and imperfect person who vacillated from lovable rascal to inglorious bastard. My suggestion is to catch this one if you can.
This was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music’s website.
Between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day there is a seemingly endless flow of articles from music writers, along with reader polls from publications, that attempt to come up with a definitive list of albums, songs and musicians which are the best, greatest or favorite. With about a hundred thousand new albums released each year, it would be impossible for any one person to listen to every single oneWith about a hundred thousand new albums released each year, it would be impossible for any one person to listen to every single one in order to somehow quantify or offer an objective opinion, but it makes good copy and click-bait.
With such a public thirst for lists, wouldn’t it be of disservice if I at least didn’t attempt to offer my own? Although I don’t like ranking systems when it comes to artistic endeavors and I adhere to a “there’s no such thing as bad music” personal standard, the reality is that the collective we all like some lists. In our hyperactive and volatile modern lives it’s the fastest way to catch up on what we may have missed. Since nobody wants to be left out of the loop, Wikipedia publishes an article that links lists of lists of lists, which are indexed by subject matter and linked to other lists. So whether you’re looking for the greatest unsolved scientific questions, all the characters in The Walking Dead or Brazilian Films of the 1930’s…there’s a list for it.
Below, in no particular order or rank, are twelve albums that I have enjoyed over the past twelve months. There are no rules I abide by, it’s neither definitive nor complete of what I’ve listened to, and the music doesn’t even need to have been recorded or released this year. Hope there’s something here you’ll discover for yourself.
Emily Scott Robinson – Traveling Mercies
Robinson travels across the country in an RV with her husband, and she recorded her third album, Traveling Mercies, in East Nashville with producer Neilson Hubbard. This one has been on my playlist longer than any other, and I’ve also added her other work.
If you’ve heard of her for the first time this year it’s likely because of the song “The Dress,” which deals with her experience of rape. She was 22, drugged in a bar, and assaulted. Like many others, she didn’t report it, and dealt with the aftermath by falling into depression. She went through therapy and eventually became a social worker and crisis counselor before dedicating herself to music full-time. I’m unable to explain exactly how or why this song has affected me in such a powerful way, but it tears me up every time I listen.
J.S. Ondara – Tales of America
A large part of American folk and roots music has come to us from Africa through the forced migration by abduction into slavery. This year a young man of 26 from Nairobi, Kenya, who came to America by choice has released what I believe to be one of the finest debut albums ever. He chose to settle in Minnesota in 2013 because it was once the home of Bob Dylan, whom he discovered in his teens and memorized many of his lyrics. After taking online guitar lessons and doing the open-mic circuit, he developed a unique songwriting style and added in a sense of fashion that’s not often in a genre seen beyond cowboy couture.
The Milk Carton Kids – The Only Ones
Clocking in at less than 30 minutes, it’s fitting that when The Milk Carton Kids released this in the UK, it was on a 10-inch vinyl pressing. With their glorious, luxurious harmonies, Kenneth Pattengale’s 1954 Martin 0-15, and Joey Ryan’s 1951 Gibson J45, this is a completely stripped down seven-song set that was recorded last summer. Not only do they still hold the Paul and Artie vibe, but are getting mighty close to exceeding it.
Various Artists – Come On Up to the House: Women Sing Waits
Here’s something that is totally uncool to admit in public when among music people: I’ve never liked Tom Waits all that much. He’s written some great songs, but I’ve felt that his voice and instrumentation have gotten in the way. There was a six-month period around 1983 when I listened to Swordfishtrombones every day while under the influence of some heavy duty weed, but that’s about it. So it’s been a joy to listen to this tribute to his music sung by women who make it more melodic and bring out the best in them. I’m a cover song freak anyway, so this one works for me.
Justin Townes Earle – The Saint of Lost Causes
A confession that I never thought I’d share: with each year that passes, I find myself looking forward to the next album from the son rather than the father. Ten years ago, when I started listening to Justin’s music and following him on social media, it felt as though he might not make it past his 30th birthday. In 2010, after a nasty public fight at a club, he entered rehab — not for the first time — and it seems to have kicked his butt down a better path. He was married in 2013, they had a baby four years later, and now comes his ninth album, The Saint of Lost Causes. In a recent interview he shared that he and his dad are working on some sort of collaboration for 2020, which I sit on the edge of my seat awaiting.
The Delines – The Imperial
It took five years for this Portland-based band to release a follow-up to their 2014 debut, Colfax. In January 2016 vocalist Amy Boone was hit by a car in Austin, breaking both of her legs, which required several major surgeries and a long recovery that put the band on hiatus. Author and songwriter Willy Vlautin’s lyrics seem perfect for Boone’s approach and style, and the band is seasoned, soulful, and tight. The Delines are Amy Boone on vocals; Willy Vlautin on vocals and guitar; Sean Oldham on drums and vocals; Cory Gray on vocals, keyboards, and trumpet; and David Little on bass and vocals.
Better Oblivion Community Center – Better Oblivion Community Center
Phoebe Bridgers and Conor Oberst teamed up for a folk-rock-pop album that is far less duo and more about the band. They’d been writing songs together since spring 2017, and kept the project quiet until earlier this year. This is unlike each other’s solo work, and whether you’re a fan or have no clue who they are, it just works.
Audie Blaylock and Redline – Originalist
Back in 1982, at age 19, Blaylock joined Jimmy Martin and the Sunny Mountain Boys as a mandolin player for nine years. After stints with Red Allen, Rhonda Vincent, and others, he formed Redline back in 2004. This year they’ve released their seventh album, and the current lineup has Blaylock doing lead vocals and guitar, with Evan Ward (banjo), Mason Wright, (fiddle), and Reed Jones (upright bass) filling out the lineup. The Originalist is split with six new songs and six classics. I love the powerful sound and harmonies, and have been delving into the catalog. (Just a note about the video: This is a performance from Mike Huckabee’s show, and I want to be clear that this is not a person I support, with his right-wing political views and rhetoric. But Blaylock’s music is great.)
Ordinary Elephant – Honest
Crystal and Pete Damore met at an open mic in Texas in 2009, got bitten by the creative bug, bought an RV, and hit the road to play wherever they could. Performing and recording under the band name Ordinary Elephant, they were named Artist of the Year at the 2017 International Folk Music Awards. Crystal handles lead vocals and acoustic guitar, while Pete plays clawhammer banjo and sings harmony. I’d also recommend checking out their first album, Before I Go.
Hank Williams – The Complete Health and Happiness Recordings
This set was released back in June and includes eight shows that Hank recorded on two successive Sundays at WSM-AM in Nashville in October 1949. These transcriptions were sent out as radio shows that had spots left out so the local announcer could read ads or other copy. Including the theme song below, there are 49 tracks on this set, presented for the first time the way they should be heard. In previous years, beginning in the early ’60s, these performances have been sliced and diced umpteen ways. Even though these recordings are 70 years old, they’re of excellent quality and Hank and his fellow musicians are simply outstanding.
Luther Dickinson and Sisters of the Strawberry Moon – Solstice
This is a stellar one-off production that has Dickinson surrounded by a group including Amy Helm, Amy LaVere, Shardé Thomas, Birds of Chicago, and the Como Mamas. The concept took three years to put together and was recorded over a four-day session at the Dickinson family’s Zebra Ranch Studio in Independence, Mississippi.
Echo in The Canyon Original Soundtrack
Doing an album of cover songs from the ’60s for a film rather than using the originals is taking a big chance, but the recordings are so intertwined with the documentary that I think it works well. I’m a fan of Jakob Dylan’s work with The Wallflowers, as well as his vocal style, so perhaps that’s part of why I find this collection palatable. He did a fine job of bringing in a strong group of modern-day songsters and a solid backup band to support him. I know this collection has been panned by many reviewers, but I’ll stick my neck out and give it two thumbs up. This clip features Jade Castrinos.
HIDDEN TREASURE #13:
The Starbugs – Kids Sing Bob Dylan
I consider this one of my greatest discoveries of the year. Released back in October 2011 under the name The Starbugs, the group features Jessie Hillel, Rebecca Jenkins, Sarah Whitaker, Ben Anderson, and Roisin Anderson, who at the time were aged 7 to 15 and are from New Zealand. Produced by Radha Saha and David Antony Clark, it must have taken quite some time to go through 40 Dylan albums to find songs that would work with preteens. The entire album is a pure delight, and the man from Minnesota himself gave his personal blessing for using an alternative version of “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere.”
This was originally published in an altered format as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music’s website.
The Cowtown Ballroom interior, circa 1947 (From the collection of M. Lawrence Gallagher / Cowtown Ballroom Friends Facebook page)
Many of our collective memories about the ’60s didn’t actually occur during that decade. In fact, most cultural events we ascribe to that decade today actually took place in the 10-year period after the Summer of Love in 1967 and up until the 1977 release of Saturday Night Fever. While we choose to look back at the ’70s as happy faces, cocaine, velvet ropes, and disco, it was really a special time where music was experienced and enjoyed outside of the strict business-first paradigm, and where the notes, beats, and lyrics served as an aural wall against the political and cultural-social shifts that were occurring at lightning speed.
Especially during the first half of the ’70s, large festivals and stadium rock were not yet the norm, and there were just a tiny number of musicians and bands that could regularly fill 20,000-seat venues. There was no Live Nation or even Ticketmaster, each city and town had its own concert promoters, and most venues didn’t have the capacity to handle more than two or maybe three thousand people, if even that. Probably the best-known halls were the Fillmore West and East, in San Francisco and New York, respectively.
Where I grew up in Philadelphia, it was The Trauma and Electric Factory. In your hometown it was likely something similar: an old ballroom or empty factory floor with a stage, no seats, and a light show. When the bands came to town it wasn’t a calculated pre-planned business transaction to secure a ticket and buy a souvenir T-shirt, but rather a gathering of the tribes to experience the unplanned, unexpected, and uncharted. As someone who ambled between the both the front and back of the stage, I observed that sometimes the musicians were just as surprised at what occurred each night as the audience was. These were not concerts; these were experiences.
Cowtown Ballroom was a legendary concert venue in Kansas City, Missouri, that opened in the summer of 1971, and over the next 38 months it established itself as one of the finest venues along the concert trail. A little over 10 years ago I happened to see a documentary about the venue titled Cowtown Ballroom … Sweet Jesus! that was filmed as an oral history from many of the musicians that played there, along with the people who helped run it and the fans it attracted. If you were lucky enough to see it, you’ll probably agree it’s a tale of both geography and that small, special period of time in 20th-century music history.
For two Kansas City filmmakers, Joe Heyen and Anthony Ladesich, it was a labor of love that took years to put together. Some of the musicians interviewed included John McEuen, Jeff Hanna, and Jimmy Fadden from the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band; Brewer and Shipley, Jim Dandy of Black Oak Arkansas; B.B. King; Charlie Daniels; Steve Miller; The Ozark Mountain Daredevils; and a few more that escape me. It made the rounds at a number of film festivals and was screened often in Kansas City, but so far it has yet to land on one of the many streaming services. Which is a damn shame, because I know it remains as vibrant today as it was when I first saw it. (Heyen runs a website where you can buy the DVD.)
My then-15-year-old son attended the screening with me, and when the lights came up, I turned to him and said “You just saw my life … you just heard my story.” I never spent time in Kansas City, but the same story played out throughout those times, throughout the country. For a great walk down memory lane, although it’s a bit of a long one, below I’ve posted the list of concerts during Cowtown Ballroom’s four-year run. It reflects a time when music was not yet pigeonholed into distinct genres catering to a specific audience, and when promoters put together shows that might not have seemed logical or profitable but were a helluva lot of fun to go to.
1971
The Flying Burrito Brothers with White Eyes 7/16 and 7/17
Ewing Street, Chet Nichols, Sound Farm 7/23 and 7/24
Nitty Gritty Dirt Band with Ted Anderson 8/1 and 8/2
It’s a Beautiful Day & Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee 9/26
Leo Kottke with Joy of Cooking and Joyful Noise 10/10
Steve Miller Blues Band with Grits 10/8
Frank Zappa (Flo and Eddie) with Rich Hill 10/23, two shows
Brewer and Shipley with Tide 11/13
Savoy Brown with Pot Liquour and Chicken Shack 11/24
Poco with Jerry Riopelle 12/4
Alice Cooper with P G & E 12/16, two shows
Freddie King 12/31
1972
Kansas City Philharmonic Jorge Mester, cond., with Chet Nichols 1/9
Westport Free Clinic Benefit 1/30
KC Philharmonic with Mike Quatro and the Jam Band 2/13
Poco with John David Souther 2/11
Brewer and Shipley with Danny Cox and White Eyes 2/15
Detroit with Mitch Ryder and Tide 2/18 & 2/19
Five Man Electrical Band with Tide 2/26
Mason Proffit with Morningstar and Commonground 3/12
Kansas City Philharmonic with Ted Anderson 3/19
Badfinger with Ashton, Gardner and Dyke 4/7
Ravi Shankar 4/8
Up Against the Wall Ball with Pilgrimage, Nation with J. C. Storyteller 4/18
Linda Ronstadt (backup band Glenn Frey, Bernie Leadon, Randy Meisner, Don Henley) with The Raspberries and Danny Cox 4/22
Savoy Brown with Malo and Long John Baldry 4/26
Benefit Westport Free Clinic KC Grits, Nation, Bulbous Creation,
and Shock 4/30
Hot Tuna (Jorma Kaukonen, Jack Casady, Papa John Creach, Sam Piazza) with Chet Nichols 5/6, two shows
Nitty Gritty Dirt Band with Hope 5/21
The Peter Yarrow Band with Lazarus 5/20
It’s A Beautiful Day with Stoneface 6/1 & 6/2 & 6/3
Black Oak Arkansas with White Eyes 6/9
Dan Hicks 9/21
Poco with Chet Nichols and Danny Cox with Chet Nichols 9/29
Benefit for Westport Free Health Clinic KC Grits, Morningstar, Chessman Square 10/8
Steve Miller with Wishbone Ash 10/31
Robin Trower with White Eyes 11/10
Hot Tuna with Ozark Mt. Daredevils 11/22
Jorge Mester and KC Philharmonic w Danny Cox 11/26
Seals and Croft with Lawrence and Roselle 12/1
Frank Zappa (Petit Wazoo) with Steely Dan, 12/2, two shows
Black Oak Arkansas with Tranquility 12/15
Brewer and Shipley with Ozark Mountain Daredevils, Chet Nichols, Ted Anderson, KC Grits 12/31
1973
The Byrds with Flash 1/21
Nitty Gritty Dirt Band with Danny Cox and Steve Martin 2/2 & 2/3
Ozark Mountain Daredevils 2/8
Logins and Messina with Leo Kottke and Casey Kelly 2/10, two shows
B.B. King with Chet Nichols and KC Grits 2/19, two shows
Brewer and Shipley with Loudon Wainwright III and Ozark Mountain Daredevils 3/9 and 3/10
Paul Butterfield with Foghat, Ted Anderson, and Mark Almond 3/15
B.B. King with Malo 3/19
Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show with Hookfat and Tide 3/31
It’s A Beautiful Day with Bloodrock and Sylvester and the Hot Band 4/7
Wishbone Ash with Finnegan and Wood and Vinegar Joe 4/13
King Crimson with Gentle Giant and Charles Lloyd 4/22
Fanny with Sanctuary and Backwods Memory 4/27
Poco with John David Souther 5/11
Canned Heat with Hookfoot 5/13
Commander Cody with Earl Scruggs 5/26
Nitty Gritty Dirt Band with Steve Martin 6/16 & 6/17
Charlie Daniels with Garland Jeffries and Hot Ice 7/3
Dan Hicks & the Hot Licks with Billy Spears Band 9/21
John Mayall with the Ozark Mountain Daredevils 9/29
Arlo Guthrie 10/21
Mike Quatro Jam Band with Bryan Bowers 10/31
Mott the Hoople with Kinky Friedman & His Texas Jewboys 11/2
Robin Trower 11/10
Ozark Mountain Daredevils with Danny Cox 11/16
Foghat with John Martyn 12/5
Jesse Colin Young with Leo Kottke 12/9
Blue Oyster Cult with Charlie Daniels 12/28
Sugarloaf with Pilgrimage, Stone Wall, One Thing at a Time 12/31
1974
Climax Blues Band with Speakeasy 1/9
Van Morrison & Caledonia Soul Orchestra 1/17
Nitty Gritty Dirt Band with Steve Martin 2/2 & 2/3
Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen with Ozark Mountain Daredevils 2/8
The Strawbs 2/23
Bachman-Turner Overdrive with Pilgrimage and NRBQ 2/27
Nitty Gritty Dirt Band with Steve Martin 3/1
Harry Chapin 3/11
Redbone with Pilgrimage 3/16
Rory Gallagher with Tide 3/24
Bill Quateman with Hoyt Axton 4/6
Fanny 4/11
Captain Beefheart with Kansas 4/22
Firesign Theater 4/25
The Electric Light Orchestra with Suzi Quatro Band 4/26
Climax Blues Band with Black Sheep 5/10
Jesse Colin Young with Royal Scanlon 5/29
Golden Earring 6/13
Nitty Gritty Dirt Band with Brewer and Shipley, Larry Knight and Friends (Steve Baker, Steve Starr, Gary Signor), Country Heir 9/16
This was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music’s website.
In addition to writing a weekly column for No Depression‘s website, I also aggregate flotsam and jetsam from multiple sources that I post throughout each day on the Facebook page Americana and Roots Music Daily as a non-commercial service to share with fans of the music that falls into that ‘big tent’ descriptor. Some people like to collect coins or stamps, follow a sports team, donate their free time to helping others, or perhaps travel to faraway places seeking thrill and adventure. But I suppose if I had to define my hobby, it’s a never-ending search for music that I’ve yet to experience, staying on top of current news, and digging around the past.
An unintended consequence of this social media experience is that the roughly 3,000 people who have chosen to follow the page have created an interactive community of people who freely share their own thoughts, news, and commentary. In addition to making new friends and connecting with old ones, the greatest gift I get in return is learning things I did not know. An example of this occurred recently when I posted what I’d describe as basically a press release masquerading as a news article that announced Tulsa-based singer and songwriter John Moreland was planning to release a new album in February and will be going out on tour. (I bought my ticket for March 27 in Brooklyn.)
My first awareness of Moreland was his 2013 album In the Throes, and I’ve always considered him to be one of those absolutely amazing performers who exists in the shadows of endless Americana and folk music releases, a treasured secret of mine with a small but rabid fanbase. Nice to be wrong. Hundreds of people reacted to that Facebook post expressing their love of Moreland’s music and anticipation of the new music. He has already released a song from the album, called “East October,” on the various streaming sites.
Like many others participating in the current paradigm of creating, producing, and distributing music, Moreland has always taken the wheel with his career. In a recent interview with The Seventh Hex, he talks about the need for being hands-on:
“I still do as much as I can with regards to taking a DIY approach with my musical career, but I can’t really book my own tours anymore. Also, I used to do all of my own merch mail orders and I don’t do that anymore because I can’t keep up with it. Then again, I still record demos at home and my wife sells a lot of my tour posters on her online store so we run that out of our house together. I guess it’s always good to make stuff in my own way and to know that I can get out there and do stuff however I want to.”
That song is titled “You Don’t Care Enough for Me to Cry,” and it’s on the 2015 album High on Tulsa Heat. Appearing on the podcast Americana Music Show, he expanded on how the album was self-produced and fan funded.
“I did my last record myself too. I produced and engineered that one. I did that one more out of necessity. It’s what had to be done. But this time I was sorta stressing out about what studio to go to if I wanted to find a producer. Just make plans about how I was going to make the record. Kind of on a whim I just got a couple of friends together and we made the record ourselves. My parents were going out of town for a couple of week so we kind of took over their house and turned it into a studio and recorded for a few days. On less than a day’s notice we came in and did that. But I like doing it that way. Just getting some buddies together and pooling together all our gear. And you go, OK, here’s what we have, how do you make something cool with this stuff. And it gives you a direction to go in.”
The new album for February 2020 is titled LP5. It was recorded in Texas with Centro-matic’s Matt Pence producing and playing drums, and with other contributors including Bonnie Whitmore, Will Johnson, and multi-instrumentalist and longtime Moreland collaborator John Calvin Abney.
In many of the interviews he’s done over the years, Moreland talks about spending his teens playing with punk and hardcore bands — until he heard Steve Earle. It’s hard to not hear Earle’s influence (and I think there’s some Springsteen in there as well) on Moreland’s songwriting, and in the vocals as well. From the Americana Music Show podcast:
“I was probably 19 or so and I vaguely knew who Steve Earle was. I knew ‘Copperhead Road’ and ‘Guitar Town’ and stuff. But I heard one of his newer records that had just come out, The Revolution Starts Now, and it blew me away and I got my hands on everything of his I could find. That was kind of eye-opening. I realized that I had always been in bands and I realized that I had always been the guy that wrote the songs, kind of just by default. It was like, ‘We’re a band, we need some stuff to play, so I’ll make something up.’ Steve Earle opened my eyes to this whole different kind of songwriting where you could say something with it. So that led me to songwriters like Guy Clark and Townes Van Zandt and Rodney Crowell. I’d just get on the internet and do all the research I could. So that’s what led me here I guess.”
Moreland is married to Canadian visual artist Pearl Rachinsky, who you should search out because she does really exquisite work (she handled the album artwork for Big Bad Luv). They met several years ago at a Folk Alliance confab in Kansas City, which he describes in part as “a lot of white dudes in suspenders.” They live in Tucson, Arizona.
Moreland is not very active on social media; his Facebook and Twitter accounts are primarily used for announcing upcoming gigs. But I thought I’d check in before finishing this column just in case something new popped up. Sure enough, on Oct. 27 he tweeted:
“To the guy in Macon who told my wife he was gonna ‘slap the shit out of the bitch who broke my heart’ please don’t slap any women, and please don’t come to my shows anymore you redneck piece of shit.”
I love this guy.
This was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music’s website.
In a very different time and place in my life I used to sit in conference rooms with my colleagues, sip coffee or tea, eat fruit and baked goods, and listen to music. It didn’t matter the genre; who sang, wrote, or played on it; nor whether we liked it or now. This was certainly not the time, place, opportunity, or solicitation to publicly flip your thumb up or down. No, this was finished product — yes, it was always called product — that was essentially presented to our group simply as a record label ritual with the desired outcome that we’d become inspired and motivated to create the best marketing plan to successfully launch or propel a career.
The enthusiastic person who led the meeting was the liaison between the hipsters who discovered, signed, nurtured, and brought the musicians into the studio and those of us who were simply the dweebs and weasels who were responsible for taking the product to market and selling it through. Quite the juggling act, and I always admired that person’s ability to put a bright shine on even the dullest finish, and in truth our gathering was simply an exercise in groupthink, which the Oxford dictionary defines as “the practice of thinking or making decisions as a group in a way that discourages creativity or individual responsibility.”
The components of our marketing plans rarely deviated from the standard: Define the artist and project by comparing it to something already successful; plug in a timeline of press, radio, television, advertising, visits to record stores and buyers, and a tour; create a budget; and set a sales goal. You’ll notice the absence of social media only because my personal experience predated its arrival. With a battle plan devised and sent out to the field, you might think that there would be a fairly high success rate. Sorry, I just fell off my chair laughing. Imagine a large plate of linguini thrown against the wall with only a few strands of pasta not falling onto the floor.
When the Great Recession of 2007 hit the music industry, it was a reaction not only to the economy in general, but also to the “head in the sand” approach to the technological changes that many executives were sure wouldn’t prevail. Yet, in just one year record retailers and chains that had been standing for decades closed their doors, labels sold their catalogs to larger entities, thousands of people lost their jobs, and an ocean of fish turned into a lake of whales.
The upside for some legacy musicians was that debts they accumulated from recoupable advances were wiped off the books, and the downside, which continues today, is distilled to this simple question: How the hell can I earn a living making music? If I knew the answer to that question, I wouldn’t be spending my golden years standing on my feet eight hours a day at the job site while sidelining a gig as a columnist for No Depression. But I do know this: In a world where streaming dominates the music business and record labels no longer have open checkbooks, you’re pretty much left on your own to figure it all out. That old saying of “I am an artist, not a businessperson” is simply that: old.
With the exception of no more than a handful of companies offering marketing and related services to musicians within the Americana and roots music genre, there is a fairly large cottage industry that has evolved selling hopes and dreams with less than a wing or a prayer.
Many of these folks are past colleagues who flood my email inbox every day, and they are nice, well-intentioned hard workers who enthusiastically attempt to elevate their clients’ craft. I always read what they send me and sample the music. But sadly, for the most part, I pity the poor musician who’s dipped into their savings or borrowed money from friends or family to employ their services. A plan with a significant budget and a large organization to carry it out only works some of the time, but a cookie cutter email is just one delete button away from the trash file.
I’ll leave you with this, a make-believe email about a make-believe musician that I’ve cut and pasted from a dozen actual messages I’ve recently received. We’ll call the make-believe musician Choc O’Chips.
Hi Ed!
Hope you’re having an awesome week! As you are my favorite writer in the whole world, I wanted you to be the first to hear this amazing news directly from me.
Choc O’Chips has announced he is releasing his debut album, No Oatmeal or Raisins, early next year. As I’m sure you’ve already heard through the incredible street buzz he’s been receiving, his music has been favorably compared to great singer-songwriters in the tradition of Woody Guthrie, Bob Dylan, Townes Van Zandt, Gram Parsons, and Steve Earle. Blending a mystical essence of vocals with futuristic and whimsical guitar riffs that harken back to Jerry Garcia, one of his greatest influences, this 16-year-old is poised to become Americana’s next superstar!
Recorded live at the world-famous Sun Studios in Memphis (Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis), each session utilized Uher M537 vintage dynamic microphones and was recorded using the same console that Ike Turner once leaned on. “It was an honor to play my songs in the company of these musical ghosts who my grandparents used to listen to,” said Choc.
This album will be released not only on all the major streaming sites, but independent retailers throughout the world will be offering an enhanced vinyl version scented with cookie dough that will be limited, signed, and numbered. We have been assured we may see cover stories from Rolling Stone, American Songwriter, Acoustic Guitar, and Baker’s Monthly, and be on the lookout for dates when Choc will perform on Austin City Limits, The Tonight Show, The Late Show, The Late Late Show, and Trisha Yearwood’s Cookies and Cakes That Garth Loves! Choc’s world tour with dates TBA may take him to the same stages Jason Isbell, Lucinda Williams, Wilco, and Paul Simon might have played on!
As you can see, we’re on our way and below you’ll find links to his website, Facebook page, Twitter account, Instagram, SnapChat, Tinder, and Tik Tok, along with a secret download code so you can be the very first to hear his album.
All the Best, Cookie Cutter Marketing “We Take Your Dough to Make You Dough”
This was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music’s website.
Chris Thile/ Photo by Devin Pedde / livefromhere.org
This morning I came across a BuzzFeed list of “21 Signs You’re Officially An Old Person,” and not surprisingly I connected with about half of them. Indeed, I had to hand crank the windows of my old cars, carried around both a flip phone and an iPod Classic at the same time, used a card catalog at the library, put photos in a photo album, and lately I’ve noticed that I involuntarily make a noise whenever I stand up. On the other hand, I still enjoy listening to new music, have never watched Golden Girls, can’t tell the weather with my knees, and don’t yet need to lower the volume on the radio when I put my car in reverse. Best I can figure, I’m simply a middle-aged man with Peter Pan syndrome, trapped inside a body manufactured in the summer of 1951 and delivered the following February.
Earlier this month I downloaded an expensive meditation app at the suggestion and cost of my employer to improve my emotional health, relieve stress, control anxiety, lengthen attention span, address memory loss, and … I forget the rest. If this program wasn’t also offered to all 120,000 of my fellow team members, I might have thought it was specifically directed toward me and my job performance. But alas, it’s rare to work for a corporation that actually cares about their employees’ well-being, so I have dutifully taken anywhere from one minute to a dozen each day to just do it. Old dog, new trick: I like it.
A week or two before I began my new meditative journey, I was driving home from work on a Saturday night and turned on Live From Here, the radio show hosted by Chris Thile formerly known as A Prairie Home Companion. It was at the precise moment of the above video performance with Thile and Chris Eldridge, minus the spoken introduction, that the notes and interplay of mandolin and guitar affixed to my brain as if by super glue. Not only could I not stop thinking about it, but when I began to meditate it would interrupt my concentration on breathing. And it was not some weird attachment to an old J.S. Bach-written Glenn Gould recording, but an unconsciously unresolved resentment toward Thile that took me weeks to identify.
Call it coincidence or perhaps some sort of cosmic time realignment, but that skit was performed on Oct. 15, 2016. It was the very first show that officially featured Thile as host, taking over for Garrison Keillor. It was a truly a great show, featuring a new house band and guests Maeve Higgins, Lake Street Dive, and Jack White along with a number of special guests and collaborations that included Margo Price, Sarah Jarosz, Brittany Haas, and Paul Kowert. In that week’s Broadside column I wrote:
“Although it wouldn’t have been fair to expect that Thile would offer up the intellectual depth or comedic talents of Keillor, the applause coming through my car radio speakers sounded as if he won over the crowd at the Fitzgerald Theater with a stellar band and great guests. As you can hear for yourself, the show continued with the tradition of delivering the goods in American roots music.”
Thirteen months after that great opening show, Minnesota Public Radio announced it was terminating all of its business relationships with Keillor as a result of allegations of inappropriate behavior. While he denied multiple accusations, a long public disentanglement commenced and, as Keillor owned the trademark for the name A Prairie Home Companion, Thile’s show began broadcasting under its new name, Live From Here.
It was and continues to be a tough time for those who were deeply touched by the talent and spectacle of over four decades with Keillor and his Saturday night radio shows. Throughout the years I’ve loved the music and humor, could picture Lake Wobegon in my mind, read the man’s books, watched a lot of videos, loved the Robert Altman film enough to buy it, and added hours and hours of musical and comedic show snippets into my digital jukebox that remain to this day.
Over the past three years I have dropped in and out of Live From Here. Instead of purposely tuning it in each week and attending the shows when they come to town, I simply punch the dial when I’m in the car on Saturday nights, grabbing musical moments on the fly. Often I’ll visit the show’s YouTube page, which is probably the greatest source and presentation of modern-day roots music performances you’ll find. Kudos to them for posting them each week. When it comes to the non-musical portions of the shows, rarely have I found the comedy to be very funny, and Thile’s “oh boy gee whiz” excitement about almost everything hasn’t yet been contagious to these old ears. And what’s up with shouting “Ahoy!” throughout the show?
That aside, I awoke this morning, did a five-minute guided meditation, and made a mental note that I, or perhaps speaking for the collective “we,” need to acknowledge that we are quite blessed to have Chris Thile both perform and present the music we endear. He has stepped out from the shadow of Keillor that I’ve held onto and resented him for and created a new tradition and pathway. He is respectful of the old, enchanted with the current. And for that, I personally feel I owe him an apology, and am fortunate to have this soapbox where I can do so publicly.
Regarding that BuzzFeed list of “signs you’re officially an old person,” I’d like to add one more: You grew up listening to A Prairie Home Companion and are still pissed off that it’s not on anymore. My newly acquired post-enlightenment advice? Get over it.
Postscript: Shortly after publishing this column I went to two successive Live From Here broadcasts at Town Hall in NYC. Damn, they were great. Beyond my expectations and it’s the best place to be in Manhattan in a Saturday night, save for when they venture out or are on hiatus. One note of irony: on the second floor of the venue in a small alcove near the bar, there are about a hundred black and white photographs featuring headshots of people who have performed there in the past. In the middle looking down at the line pf people buying beverages and snacks is Garrison Keillor.
Clive Davis with Janis Joplin in 1969 / clivedavis.com
I’ve recently discovered a new diet. Each evening when I get home from work I put on the television, turn to Fox News, watch Tucker Carlson for five minutes, and then completely lose my appetite. To be fair, while I spend more time catching up on the day’s events with the other two news networks, even they can grate on my nerves with an endless parade of political pundits who say the same things over and over that I already have figured out on my own. And so it is that I’m usually left trolling for televised entertainment on my Roku, searching for Scandinavian noir or possibly a new Korean film.
One night this week I chose to watch the two-hour-and-three-minute documentary Clive Davis: The Soundtrack of Our Lives, which was released in 2017 after the success of Davis’ autobiography that came out a few years earlier with a similar title. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting to watch the entire film, but in a masochistic state of mind I decided to finish what I started. I already know Davis’ story, so there really wasn’t anything new to learn, but some old friends and former colleagues appear in it, and watching five decades of being one of the most successful music moguls squeezed into a two-hour self-promoting infomercial was curiously entertaining.
Now 88 years old, Davis seems to have been spending much of the past six years ensuring his rightful place in the music executive hall of fame. Given that it’s estimated he is worth $850 million, it goes to show you that while money is enough for some, others are more focused on their legacy. To that end, Davis has given dozens and dozens of interviews, has had puff pieces written up in every major newspaper and magazine, and has appeared on endless afternoon talk shows to talk about his life.
It’s hard to imagine that one doesn’t know Davis’ story, but if you don’t, I can give you the condensed version in one long sentence: He was an attorney for CBS; was made president of their record label after two years; got tossed out on charges of fiscal improprieties (and later exonerated); took over a failing indie label called Bell and renamed it Arista; had his thumbprint on a gazillion hit singles as a mentor, producer, sales exec, marketer, and brilliant song-catcher; got fired when he turned 66; was quickly rehired; and continues today as the chief creative officer of Sony Music, the company that eventually bought both CBS and Arista Records. Full circle, and well played.
If you’re a roots music elitist, pop music probably doesn’t hold much space between your ears. But while Davis gave us Tony Orlando, Barry Manilow, Kenny G, and the Bay City Rollers, he is also responsible for discovering and signing an incredible roster of musicians at CBS — including Janis Joplin, Laura Nyro, Bruce Springsteen, Billy Joel, Chicago, Earth Wind & Fire, The Chamber Brothers, American Flag, Moby Grape, and Santana — in less than five years. When he took over Bell Records, he signed Patti Smith, Lou Reed, and Gil Scott-Heron. Whitney Houston, whom he signed when she was just 19, was the cherry on top of his cake, although one wishes he would have taken as heavy a hand in her personal life as he did with her career.
There is a common thread that people who have worked for Davis will share, and that is his commitment to always winning, and an intense work ethic that he has been suitably rewarded for. He has been both ruthless and skillful in leveraging radio airplay and getting top-shelf exposure in print and on television for his artists. When he signed the Grateful Dead to Arista in 1977, ten years later they scored their only career hit single with “Touch of Grey.” Bob Weir would occasionally change the lyrics of “Jack Straw” in concert from “we used to play for silver, now we play for life,” to “we used to play for acid, now we play for Clive.”
Before I wrap this up I’d like to share my own story about Clive Davis. It happened in 1975 when I was a sales rep for an indie record distributor in Philadelphia that handled Bell Records. We were invited up to the Plaza Hotel in New York for the name change and Arista’s launch and were ushered into a freezing cold room with a huge sound system at the front and about five rows of very uncomfortable chairs. As I think back I believe that it was just a bunch of men wearing suits, and Davis welcomed us and announced we’d be spending the next three hours before lunch listening to several new albums in their entirety with no breaks.
About two hours into the session, also attended by a completely disinterested Lou Reed and the overly enthusiastic Bay City Rollers, nature called, and as Davis flipped a record over I quietly stood up and made my way out to the restroom. In a few minutes I returned to a quiet room with Davis standing arms folded and glaring at me. As I took my seat he asked me if he could now resume, and I could feel my cheeks flush as I meekly nodded my head. For all his intelligence and success, the man was also a pompous bully.
Should you find yourself with nothing to do for two hours and three minutes, Clive Davis: The Soundtrack of Our Lives is streaming on Netflix and a few other places. Or maybe you might do better to go listen to some music and skip the infomercial.
