Dan Schorr

The Hackensaw Brothers appeared first: very high, but not at all infectious energy; song forms, melodies etc. all from the public domain; their intentions were virtuous.

The Punch Brothers were next: a technical level that is unsurpassable; singing, and composing, and soloing that, when faced with the choice of "I can add this chord - I can play the most notes - I can use the most words" and "I will seek the most compelling melody - I will seek lyrical economy" unfailingly chose the former. They made the case for practicing one's instrument, but for ends other than the ones they strove to achieve.

Jason Townes Earle was the most original stylistically of the performers, though through the medium of songs that hewed in both melody and form to the work of Jimmy Rodgers and ( maybe unsurprisingly) Townes Van Zandt. One struggled with one's own inflexible demand always to have to hear originality in composition, as his performance was so striking, especially as a guitarist/accompanist. Jason Earle brilliantly avoided the assumed innocence that detracts from the work of the majority of roots music performers. In a genre where the word is almost never a compliment, Earle's urbanity was part of his authentic take on the tradition established by his father and his father's slightly older mentors.

Nothing could be less interesting, I'm certain, than my reasons for not wishing to review CD's, or music in general.

However, I have one criterion of musical judgment that I do wish to share. That is, when faced with the choice of listening either to "Jet Airliner" by the Steve Miller Band or another piece of music, I usually select the former.

About this I will say no more than that an ever-present yearning to hear a good rock band that plays with spontaneity and energy, a memorable melody, and a lyric that does not strain to convey anything much beyond its literal meaning is consistently satisfied by "Jet Airliner" (and also by "Take The Money And Run" by the same group). It goes without saying that "Jet Airliner" also does not strive for my betterment as a person, or to create a sentimental portrait of middle-class childhood, in the manner of my own genre, independent family music.

I'm sure the composer(s) of "Jet Airliner" did not intend for this song to become the standard by which all music would be measured; however, for me, that is what it has become.

Looking back at the period 1980 to the present, it is difficult to think of a single band whose style and identity would be (or have been) significantly changed by the replacement of certain members*. The only band member who, it seems, may not be replaced is the principal songwriter or singer (and even this rule does not hold in all cases). Bands have become solo acts in everything but name, the instrumentalists having become pretty much interchangeable accompanists, however capable they might be. One now looks in vain for the chemistry that characterized groups up to 1980. If this generalization seems broad, then try to name any drummer, or bass player, or even lead guitarist coming onto the scene in the last 3 decades who has become widely known, either as a musician or as a personality, apart from his or her participation in a group.

The generic quality of contemporary pop music recordings has many origins, many of which do not stem from the musicians playing on them. However, the bland professionalism that is now prevalent both on records and in live performance is, without question, related to the disappearance of the unnameable chemistry that used to lend magic to pop music groups. This chemistry depended absolutely on the interplay among all the group’s members, and would be altered irremediably or disappear altogether if one band member were to be taken out.

*Los Lobos is a significant exception

By July 15, 2010, new music by me will be available at the iTunes Music Store, Amazon, CD Baby, and other online music realtors. If you like *ROCK* and the Dan Schorr lyric style, you will definitely enjoy my new "3-sided single": "Super Smart Guy", "Don't Like No Tattletalers", and "I Block You From My Mind". Check out samples on the music page.

Everyone is welcome to listen to and download the instrumental versions of our graduation music. Happy singing!

For those who aren’t aware of the unstated mission of this group, Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings recreate early-70’s funk with meticulous accuracy. They wear matching suits on stage (though the suits seem to be missing details here and there). They dance to some degree while they play (though, here again, they don’t seem completely comfortable with reproducing this aspect of period stage performance). They have copied the instrumentation, compositional style, and arrangement choices of James Brown, circa 1972.

Eschewing digital recording technology, they record exclusively on tape, using vintage microphones; they do not use computers, as far as I am aware. I’m not sure if their music is even available on CD or as digital downloads; at any rate, they make a point of having the old-fashioned LP their primary release format. The album covers themselves are faithful recreations of the soft borders and bold colors of records from the period 1969-1975.

Without question, the group reproduces the sound of the early ‘70’s with admirable precision. There are, however, a few details that they have not been able to copy as successfully. One is the songwriting brilliance that marked the best work of the Dap Kings’ models; the Dap Kings’ songs, as well played as they are, have a generic quality that doesn’t bear up under extended listening. The second is the singing, which, while competent, is not at the level it ought to be for the musical borrowing to be a complete success. Lastly (this is a less tangible quality, admittedly), the music, while disciplined and well thought-out in most cases, is lacking in the abandon of the original practitioners of their style.

Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings re-create their chosen genre about as well as I believe it is possible to do. However, they face the same inescapable problems that bedevil all those who would reproduce an earlier style. The musical culture is different from the one that spawned the original music, so it is impossible for even the most earnest imitators to achieve complete authenticity. And for some reason, it is impossible to compose memorable pop music that is consciously imitative, as is the case with the Dap Kings.

Their critical acclaim stems, in part, from a well-founded dissatisfaction with the pop music environment of today, whatever the intrinsic merit of the Dap Kings' music.

This was my proposal for the theme song for "The Absolutely Mindy Show" on XM Satellite Radio. It was not adopted, unfortunately, but you are welcome to listen to it or download it.

Find our 2009 graduation song, "Going To A New Phase", on the Music page. You may download it.

One trait of great pop vocalists (this, to me, is in fact their one true measure of greatness) is the ability to convince their audience that they have actually experienced what they sing about. This is often termed 'sincerity', 'soulfulness', and the like (though these terms somehow don't seem adequate). And though it does often happen that great singers "live the songs that they sing", many mediocre vocalists also have eventful personal lives, frustrating any correlation between life and art. To make matters even more confusing, the physical virtuosity of a singer's voice may distract from an inauthentic performance; by the same token, the inability to hit certain notes or to maintain a pitch is not necessarily the sign of authenticity that it is on occasion claimed to be.

Since it is probably impossible to pinpoint what goes into making emotionally authentic vocal talent, it would be difficult to explain the common artistic traits of Hank Williams and George Jones, Marvin Gaye and Otis Redding, and others like them. What I will suggest is that the main problem that faces pop singers (apart from the physical challenges that singing inherently poses) is not so much one of vocalizing, but of acting. Great pop singers are gifted naturalistic actors, at least in musical performance terms. They create a vocal persona that is unmistakable (this persona may have common traits with the private personality of the singer, but is not interchangeable with it). They have a point of view that one would have difficulty describing in words, yet is fully elaborated and ever-present. For example, Sinatra could consistently portray a sense of personal failure and an inescapable feeling of apartness. He accomplished this (as do all great singers I can think of) by doing less with his voice, not more. When, in his later work, he began to lose his sense of restraint, his performances became less authentic. The genius of country singer George Jones lay in his ability to admit, as it were, to an inability to control events. At the height of his powers, he conveyed a dignified sense of injury as well as any other American singer, in any style of music.

The work of Sinatra and George Jones endures, in part, because in real life, one can not abide apartness, failure, and powerlessness. The accomplishment of these two singers was to have what amounted (in my opinion) to the artistic courage to embrace these experiences, so unwanted in day-to-day life, and yet omnipresent. In their artistic personae, they did not shy away from commonplace or otherwise undesirable experience, and we can't help but be arrested by that tendency.


To my mind, the self-abnegating qualities evident in so many great pop vocal performances are much harder to find nowadays than formerly. The reasons for this are cultural, in my opinion. Self-abnegation is itself a notion that is completely alien to our contemporary mindset. As a corollary, true emotional vulnerability in pop vocal performance is also absent, again, for cultural reasons. What we value now is virtuosity and professionalism in pop singers.

But if singers are more consistently able than they have ever been, I think we have nonetheless lost out. To listen to radio stations such as WFUV in New York, and WPKN, based out of Philadelphia, is to expose oneself to a string of technically very competent performers who, for all that, are completely lacking in a distinguishing vocal personality. We once had singers who could live up to the well-worn phrase 'larger than life'. Many of our singers of today, at least on record or in live performance, seem a good deal smaller than it.

One does not wish to single out any individual singers, in light of what I have said above. However, some examples may prove illustrative.

As a physical instrument, Elvis Costello's voice is unequalled in contemporary popular music. Yet, I wish Lucinda Williams had chosen a duet partner other than him on her most recent album, on the song 'Jailhouse Tears'. The words in his part of the duet were simply not credible. Apart from the mannered quality of his singing, his musical point of view was that of someone who merely would wish to be the character in the song, rather than fully embodying that character. His part stands in somewhat awkward contrast to Lucinda Williams' performance, which in contrast to Elvis Costello's, was effortlessly convincing.

A few years back, a collection of duets with bluegrass legend Ralph Stanley was released under the title "Clinch Mountain Country". Instrumentally, the album is impossible to fault (as is so often the case with bluegrass on record). But it becomes a bit off-putting after a while to hear singer after singer strain for the authenticity that in Ralph Stanley is inborn. Dwight Yoakum, for example, is a very fine singer, with an obvious love of country music history. But his duet on this album he tried much harder than he had to; the twang comes off as a bit precious, however well-intentioned. So many roots-music singers seem to feel they must do what they feel is expected of them, rather than obey their own inner voice, if they are in possession of one.

You turn on the radio and tune it in to WFUV. The announcer states that Singer X has just released her 6th studio album. Though the previous five albums had gone unnoticed, as far as you were concerned, you lend your ear to the piece from Singer X's album that is about to be played.

When the piece comes on, you concede at the outset that Singer X has a voice that you would have to be quite churlish to show any objection to. It is polished, with the requisite bluesy inflections that are the sine qua non of the family of performers Singer X exemplifies. It does not come as a surprise that the underlying theme of the song is difficulty sustaining a satisfying romantic relationship. You notice that the melodic and harmonic sensibility, as well as the instrumental backing of Singer X bear a great deal of similarity to Singer W and Singer Y, whose songs you heard the day before, also while listening to WFUV.

While acknowledging that Singer X must have had a great deal of ambition and conviction in order to get to the point in her career where WFUV would make it a priority to broadcast her music, you nonetheless find it a bit hard to focus your full attention to her song, having been so much exposed to other singers with a nearly identical approach to lyric writing and musical composition. And though you feel ungenerous to harbor such thoughts, you must concede that though the song's subject is an intensely personal experience, the voice itself is, strangely, lacking in feeling. Finally, you acknowledge that while Singer X is, without question, quite talented, you will not feel inclined to explore her recorded output any further.

In our society, we have become far too intrusive ever to allow talent to develop by chance. In the case of popular music singers and musicians of all kinds (and possibly in the other arts as well), we have sought to take command of talent, develop and train it, set it on a course for success. The notion that talent might develop on its own, and might, through isolation, take on a supremely interesting form is one that is alien to contemporary thinking. As a result, we have a popular music culture that, however active it may be, is lacking in the vibrancy that it had formerly.

You may download "Friends of Carroll Park" and "Carroll Park Epiphany" from the music page. These songs are part of a planned song cycle about Carroll Park, Brooklyn.

See this website for my piece on Waylon Jennings.

It has taken a long time for the keyboard instrument family to find a permanent role in rock. After enjoying dominance in early rock and roll, the piano was soon outshone by the guitar, with which it could not compete in cachet (or in volume, versatility, and portability). For a time, keyboard instruments found a role as suppliers of coloration – I am thinking most notably of the harpsichord, as well as of the very first synthesizers. Various types of organs became more popular as well, and ever more elaborate as the years went on. But the piano has become, with some famous exceptions, essentially a rhythm instrument in most of the pop music that doesn’t take its cue directly from jazz.

Many keyboard instruments are inconvenient to move around and keep in tune (the pioneering synthesizer sounds of the 60’s and early 70’s were also difficult to recreate on stage). When rock artists feel the urge to simplify, to pare down their sound, it is often the keyboard that is jettisoned. However, there is one keyboard instrument that has found almost universal and unquestioned acceptance. I thinking of the electronic keyboards that have come into their own during the last 25 years or so. They are often used to simulate other keyboards (most often the piano or organ) on stage and very often on record as well. They are affordable, easy to transport, and durable.

Possibly because of their ease of use, the use of the electronic keyboard, like that of the guitar, is rarely questioned. They are considered essential as a conventional piano or organ never would be.* It would be considered churlish to say that these keyboards almost always sound artificial, that they bring inauthenticity to musical performance.

But the way keyboards really do their harm, in my opinion, is by filling in all the empty spaces in a band’s ensemble sound, with the result that all the instruments end up lacking articulation. I don’t have the knowledge to prove this scientifically, but it has always seemed to me that the keyboard, while it may sound enough like a piano to give the impression of being ‘real’, occupies a wider band on the sound spectrum than a live piano. The notes are ‘fatter’, which gives the keyboard a bit more presence, but also causes it to take up a lot of sonic space. When you add to this the tendency of many guitarists to sustain their notes, it becomes that much more difficult to establish tonal contrasts or to use dynamics to any advantage.

If we took a more judicious approach to the portable keyboard, we might end up not using it at all in most cases, and allow for more empty spaces in the music. A real piano or organ could sometimes be substituted.

*not just for wedding bands and the like, but in the music that is most highly regarded by critics and discerning fans.

...just scroll down until you find your topic.

Montgomery Gentry is a mainstream country vocal duo – aside from that I know little else about them. I have not heard any of their albums in their entirety, and for some reason, I am not seeking to do so. But I have listened to their singles from 2000 to the present, closely, and with as much enjoyment as I have experienced with almost any other records. I will contend that these half-dozen songs are the best American roots music that has been released in the last ten years.

(The fans of “roots” music, who are a devoted lot -- sometimes religiously so -- might well dismiss this out of hand.)

Every kind of pop music has its purists, but few are more unbending than the adherents of “classic” country music. Modern commercial country music is not even ‘country’ music to them. It is a watered-down, deracinated music, not of the farm, but of the exurbs that have been built over the farmland.

Actually, it is hard not to agree with this argument. What people don’t realize, or at least don’t take into account, is that country music has always been influenced by the mainstream of pop music, to a greater or lesser degree. Eddie Arnold showed the influence of the pop crooners of his day. Bob Wills embraced jazz. Decades later rock styles and even disco would seep into country music (Of course, some of the most distinguished country artists resisted the commercialism both of pop and mainstream country).

Nowadays things are no different. The weakness of modern country is the weakness of pop music in general. Country gets its sentimental power ballads from pop, its lyrical and musical bombast from stadium rock; it has lost its connection with the British Isles ballad and American swing, just as rock has lost its connection with
R & B and gospel. The mediocrity of country songwriting forms part of the mediocrity of popular music songwriting as a whole.

So, one day I’ll buy a Montgomery Gentry album, and hope for the best. Meanwhile, I’ll revel in the singles masterpieces they have thus far created (no doubt with the help of brilliant producers and, yes, songwriters). Their first one came out in 2000 or thereabouts: “Daddy Won’t Sell The Farm”, with its brilliant lyric that, while not taking itself at all too seriously, is able to remark upon cultural and environmental decline with a subtlety that all singer-songwriters should emulate. “Gone” and “What Do You Think About That?” are two more gems that were released subsequently. My favorite, though, is one of their more recent hits, “Hell Yeah”, a lyrical tour de force, and a musical composition whose taut development is worthy of closer analysis by aspiring songwriters.

I find so much to listen to in these songs. Every arrangement choice is purposeful and well articulated. There are bluegrass instruments: the mandolin introduction and marvelous dobro solo in “What Do You Think About That?”; there is guitar work that displays the unlikely combination of virtuosity and musicality; there is rhythmic drive that is seldom found in contemporary popular music of any type. Even the best independent roots music seems a bit fussy when compared to Montgomery Gentry’s best work.

If you find yourself frustrated by the lack of spontaneity, the lack of articulation between instrumental parts, the lack of point of view and a sense of humor, the generic quality of the music you hear, then you should consider Montgomery Gentry, unless you can’t abide contemporary country on principle -- which I would have to accept is likely.

Go to the "Music" page to download "Moo Cow In My Backyard", a favorite from 3rd grade music class. You can also get "The Lady In The Tree" and "ABC Animal Adventure".

When I compare more recent and contemporary popular* singers with their forebears from earlier decades, I am struck by how fundamentally different people's singing voices used to sound (even taking into account improvements in recording technology). I am referring both to vocal quality and the emotional character of the voice. It is as if past singers came from a different culture altogether from our own.

I don't believe pop singers used to try consciously to insert emotion and expression into their voices -- 'getting the emotion across' is much more the the order of the day now than it was in earlier decades. One reason for it is that (I believe) performers are now very conscious of the legacy of the great singers who came before them: Aretha Franklin, George Jones, Otis Redding, Sinatra, to name just a very few of the most influential. Self-consciousness may be one reason some pop singers nowadays seem to strive for emotionalism, sometimes to excess.

However, I think that however hard singers of the past worked to be successful, they were not always striving so mightily for a tour de force. Another way to put it would be to say Otis Redding, for example, never tried to be 'Otis Redding'; he stayed in his own skin, never trying to manipulate how the audience experienced him. However strong they may be technically, some contemporary singers do not seem to trust that we will hear them for who they are, so they over-interpret, putting emphasis where it doesn't belong; they can be uncomfortable with their organic selves.

The pitfall for singer-songwriters is an over-awareness of following in a tradition. I believe traditions are inherently enriching, should be approached with respect, even reverence. But in music, tradition can also be burdensome -- a pitfall. Revering a certain musical tradition can make us think that adherence to a particular style is just as important as songwriting and composing, as creating an original vocal persona. There are so many talented vocalists in folk music and related genres. But their singing and songwriting styles can oftentimes be generic. I listen for whether a singer truly 'inhabits' the songs he or she is singing. To me, Lucinda Williams is an example of a singer-songwriter who accomplishes this.

In earlier times, pop music performers tended to be gifted amateurs, whereas now one has to be much more professional, and usually more polished, in order into enter into the the pop music field and remain successful. There was a time when pop singers did not have an 'approach'; singers did not usually take their craft with the seriousness (sometimes it is self-seriousness) that we see more nowadays. Or they did, but the seriousness was not heard in their vocal style. Today, singers are much more conscious of their craft; they are more competent and professional than in any previous era. We need to remember that the voice is not only an instrument, but an expression of personality.

*by this term I mean all genres that could be grouped in the category of popular music: popular standards, blues, country, bluegrass, rock, many kinds of 'world' music etc.

Go to danschorr.blogspot.com to read this essay.

The importance of playing a musical instrument extremely well varies according to the musical style in question. In Western classical music and jazz, it is not possible to have a meaningful professional career unless one is very accomplished on one’s instrument; the same seems to be true for performers in the classical traditions of non-Western cultures. The matter is simply not up for discussion in these cases, nor should it be, perhaps.

Obviously, though, there are other musical areas in which there is more latitude regarding technical ability on an instrument. Pop music (in the broadest definition of the term), has successful performers whose skill level ranges much more widely. There are those who are the technical equals of classical musicians, in some cases because they have been trained classically; some people can move back and forth easily between the classical world and that of their particular pop genre (Mark O’Connor is one of the foremost examples of this class of musician). But this case is obviously exceptional. It goes without saying that there are also musicians of limited skill who can make memorable music. And songwriters can also vary widely in instrumental skill level (though nowadays, successful professional songwriters tend also to be technically adept on an instrument).

I should mention that bluegrass should probably be grouped with jazz in that, ever more over the years, the community that plays bluegrass professionally and semi-professionally demands that its performers be technically very able; the audience for the music seems to want this as well. Also, as pop music grows ever more professionalized, with its performers boasting conservatory training in many cases, the average level of musicianship that you will see at a folk festival or major club venue is very high, particularly among the musicians in the bands backing the featured performers.

However, in pop music, virtuosity can still be an aesthetic choice, particularly when at least some of the instruments play parts that are improvised, or at least semi-improvised. And with this as a premise, it is useful to examine the strains of virtuosity that are seen in the pop world.

Virtuosity became one of the tools of rock musicians in the late ‘60’s, as it has been plentifully noted by rock historians. During the '70’s, the virtuosic abilities of some performers entered into the realm of self-parody. The stereotype of the guitar player who strives to fit the most notes possible into a measure, the drummer with the 3-bass-drum kit who embarks on 20 minute solos, the Royal Conservatory-trained organist who plays rock fugues, is a less true one than 30 years ago. However, virtuosity-for-its-own sake has taken a permanent place in the performance culture of musicians. Those players who are masters of their instrument – I envy them all – must struggle, in some cases, with deciding when to avoid playing too much. I would imagine they must also fight against ‘voluntary simplicity’ – playing too little in an attempt to establish a kind of musical humility, only to appear inauthentic in the final result. Soloists in pop have, it would seem, far too many choices. They have not just one, but multiple sets of traditions and vocabularies to draw upon (‘Should I play this line like Hendrix, or John McLaughlin? What would Neil Young have done here? Or Steve Cropper or James Burton?’) The balance between instinct and training can be lost, and perspective with it. I confess I hear a lot of skill in pop music (again, the term ‘pop’ is being used as broadly as possible) – and again, I would love to have much more of it myself than I do – but less personality than I would wish for as a listener. Even some of the best players in contemporary music I find to be indistinct stylistically. Too much knowledge is reflected in their work; it is oftentimes culturally ambiguous.

The greatest pop music instrumentalists of today clear their minds of their predecessors’ legacies, and strive only to ensure that the intention of their musical ideas is unmistakable. Those who can bring focus, or even ‘narrative’ to their performances, are to my mind the best of the very distinguished lot of musicians we now have.

There is a species of ant -- the fire ant -- that has moved up from the tropics and established itself in the South. When I was a child I had heard the fire ant was a pest, so I resolved to search the property for fire ant nests and eradicate them. I believed I had seen the fire ants before, but I could not distinguish them in my imagination from other harmless kinds of ants. I believed the only way of becoming familiar with fire ants was getting bitten by one. They could kill animals with their stings; this frightened me, but also attracted me to them.

There was a number of small dirt mounds scattered around the yard. I could see tiny red ants going in and out of holes at the tops of these mounds. Surely these were the ones. Only wicked, fearless insects would have established themselves so conspicuously and so near human habitation.

In appearance they were not fearsome creatures, but something in their comportment was unsettling. Their movements seemed deliberate, even measured. I believed they were conspiring in some way, and would accumulate in numbers until they became invincible.

The only appropriate way to kill them would be in a duel of wits. I wanted to challenge them on their own level, test their defenses, find and exploit their weaknesses. I hoped for circumstances that would require me to devise ingenious and bizarre weapons against the ants.

I first chose a certain ant nest off the side of the house. Once I had destroyed it, I would move on to the others.

The fire ant is very tough, and can withstand a blow. The only way of destroying one by force alone is by rubbing a stone or some other hard object over it repeatedly. At first I thought of digging the nest out of the ground with a shovel, then crushing the ants with my shoe. But this would have been too hazardous. Then the idea occurred to me of burning the ants to death with a magnifying glass.

I found this weapon worked well on isolated ants that were simply minding their business about the mound, if they were moving slowly enough. Surprise was necessary to get the beam of sunlight squarely upon them. If they detected the heat, they scurried away before the light could do harm. After a time I realized I was not killing enough of them to affect the life of the nest. They had to be drawn out and killed in numbers.

The ants were sensitive to disturbances around the nest. When I pulled on a blade of grass that was on the mound, or pushed a stick into an entrance hole, ants would stream out, ready to attack. In this defensive mode they were very agitated. But as soon as they sensed there was no intruder they began merely to mill around, and then they were easy to pick off with the magnifying glass. In this manner I increased the number of ants killed by two- or three-fold.

My methods of drawing out the ants were very damaging to the mound itself. Soon it was completely razed. The ants began to come out in smaller and smaller numbers. I assumed this was because I had killed most of the worker and warrior ants. The next step was to get at the higher castes, and eventually, the queen ant.

(Eventually, I did get get stung by some of the ants. The sting felt like a violent pinch, although it did not leave a welt. The stinger is in the abdomen, and the ant applies it by raising the rear of its body up, then pushing the stinger down into the skin.)

To reach the lower levels of the colony, I set off firecrackers in the gound. The explosions drew swarms of angry ants. After the smoke cleared I would light a second firecracker and drop it on the ants themselves. They would swarm over the firecrackers and sting them -- apparently thinking them living creatures -- and scurry away just before they exploded. Afterwards all the ants would be gone.

I began to see ants of other castes. There was a type with a larger abdomen that looked very fierce. There were also puny winged ants that were less aggressive than the others.

I could not tell how deep the nest went underground. I had made a crater about four inches deep with the firecrackers, but each explosion revealed new tunnels. Moreover, the ants seemed to be getting used to my attacks. I jammed sticks deep down into the tunnels and exploded quantities of firecrackers to draw them out, but they reacted less and less angrily each time. After a while, I felt they were ignoring me.

Finally, I decided to destroy the nest in one quick blow. I boiled water and poured it slowly over the nest, allowing time for the water to sink in. It was satisfying to know that the ants would be destroyed in the lower reaches of the colony, where I had not been able to reach. I left, expecting that when I returned I would find the nest completely lifeless.

When I came back some time later there was a neat pile of ant carcasses and destroyed larvae in the middle of a crater. The surviving ants were bringing more dead from underground and adding them to this pile. They went about their work with what seemed a horrible patience. Now and again a winged ant crawled to the surface and flew away -- later I surmised that these flying ants would begin new nests elsewhere. After that time I did not kill any more of the ants.

If Paul Revere And The Raiders are not as well remembered today as they should be, it may be partly because of the way the group presented itself during the 5 years or so (1965 until about 1971) it was before the national public. Drawing on the comic sensibility of silent movies, and performing in Revolutionary War costumes, the Raiders' stage presentation seemed somewhat behind even its own times, for all the popularity they enjoyed.

The Raiders also underwent many changes in personnel, beginning from the very first days of the group and continuing onwards throughout its career -- only the leader and keyboard player, who went under the stage name "Paul Revere", and Mark Lindsay, the singer and occasional saxophonist, remained constant. This undoubtedly prevented the band from forming a distinct public personality, in the way that other famous contemporary groups were able to do. Moreover, they were principally a singles group, never quite able to make an LP that could capture artistic notice on its own.

It is too bad that so much about the Raiders has been forgotten. For along with with the costumes, the pratfalls, and the choreographed stage moves, there was also the singing of Mark Lindsay, which was as distinctive and versatile, and in hindsight, at least as appealing as that of other, better-remembered rock vocalists from that period (The Raiders' best work as a group has also not been given its due).

The Raiders, as some of you may know, were at the outset a rock and roll dance band from the Pacific Northwest. They had, at least at the beginning, a garage-band sensibility (among other things) that they unfortunately began to depart from on record. However, as a garage-rock singer, Mark Lindsay had no equal. "Just Like You", their first big national hit from '65, is maybe the best example for supporting this assertion, but one could also draw upon "Get It On" (an album track from the '66 LP "Midnight Ride"), and "Good Thing" and "Louise" (from "The Spirit of '67" album).

However, Lindsay was capable of much more even than this. At his best, Lindsay was also as good a pure pop/rock singer as any in the business. On "Him Or Me (What's It Gonna Be?)" (a single from late '66/early '67), Lindsay creates wonderful emotional tautness in the verses, then employs his trademark garage-rock intensity in the refrains -- at no time does he 'push' the feeling into the song (as some rock performers can do). This track is a textbook for rock singers.

Lindsay's voice had other distinct characteristics worthy of mentioning. On the track "Undecided Man" from "The Spirit of '67" (composed by Lindsay and Revere), he displays a pop sensibility influenced by nothing if not musical theatre. Another small masterpiece of the Raiders was for a TV commercial for a Pontiac muscle car known as "The Judge" (I don't think this song was ever put on record, but the commercial itself may be seen on YouTube). In this performance (the lyrics are nothing more than a list of "The Judge's" custom accessories) Lindsay's voice takes on a richness and smoothness reminiscent of the best of surf music.

The Raiders were unable to adapt to the increasingly ambitious and experimental direction of rock, and by 1967, they seemed at a loss as to how to proceed -- the attention of the listening public gradually went elsewhere. Over time, the Raiders' legacy was seen as less important than that of some of their contemporaries (however unjustly). As a result, Mark Lindsay's contributions to rock singing have not been recognized as much as one would have hoped.

I have put up a review of Teddy Thompson's album, "Upfront And Down Low" on upfrontanddownlowreview.blogspot.com

I have other webpages for writings less related to music: danschorr.blogspot.com for essays; danschorrfiction.blogspot.com for fiction pieces; hoobahboobahland.blogspot.com for history, culture, and politics of Hoobah Boobah Land.

Feel free to listen to and download my new composition: "Those Who Live Upon The Land Are Fools"

There have been many virtuosic achievements in studio recording in the last 50 years, and many of these have been exhaustively (I won't say 'obsessively') chronicled. I am as enamored of the studio-as-instrument as anyone, and take delight in learning rock recording trivia. I loved learning, for example, how the sword mandel, or dilruba, or whichever Indian instrument it was that George Harrison played on "Strawberry Fields Forever" would barely fit into Abbey Road Studios (or maybe it was that it took 2 or three people to carry it in). All that for probably a 30-second overdub. And I'm certain the Abbey Road engineers had to hot-wire their equipment in some ingenious way in order to record the instrument at all, etc. & etc., and that it is now all the stuff of recording legend.

I buy into this bit of recording studio legend, along with all the other ones that color the history of pop music, with untrammeled delight. Certainly, some pop music has been marvelously, ingeniously recorded over the years. And some of the overlooked examples of great rock/pop/country/soul recording would be worth looking into on their own.

But in thinking back through all the recorded music I've listened to over the years, I still feel that, outside the world of classical music, the greatest overall achievement in recording instrumental groups was made by Blue Note Records during the period from about 1955-1965 (to the jazz historian Phil Schaap: in the unlikely event you are reading this, go easy on me if I'm a year or two off on the dates).

If you're unfamiliar with Blue Note Records, they put out hundreds of milestone (no pun intended, Miles Davis fans) albums by Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers, Lee Morgan, Wayne Shorter, Dexter Gordon, Eric Dolphy, and other jazz greats.

I am no expert in the technical side of recording, and have not taken the trouble to read any books or articles about the way in which Blue Note artists were recorded (I'm sure some informative ones have been written). But somehow the engineers for Blue Note were able to obtain a combination of warmth, fidelity, balance, and presence that, to lesser or greater degrees, have eluded all who came before and after them. Listen to Lee Morgan's masterpiece "Sidewinder" album, to give just one example. It sounds as if it were recorded yesterday*.

While I personally am in favor of overdubbing, especially on pop and rock recordings (though I am ambivalent about many of the more recent recording innovations, such as pitch-correction software, the capability ProTools gives us of moving individual notes around with a computer mouse, the demise of recording tape in favor of just recording onto a computer hard drive), it should be noted that all the Blue Note recordings were done as full ensemble takes, without overdubbing. They would do more than one take at times, and seemingly just use the best one (on CD re-releases of the Blue Note catalogue they often include a couple of the alternate takes from the original sessions).

The intimacy of Blue Note recordings never feels forced, the presence of each individual instrument never exaggerated (listen, in contrast, to some jazz recordings of the 70's up to the present, on which the acoustic bass is so aggressively 'live' you feel the need to escape into the next room). I'm glad there is such an extensive tribute to focused understatement in recorded sound as exists in the Blue Note catalogue.

*in the sense that the recording still sounds fresh and vivid. However, it now occurs to me that if it had literally been recorded 'yesterday' (that is, on November 19th, 2007), even with the same musicians performing the exact same compositions, I would predict the recording would be lacking in the warmth and vivacity of the original, because of 'advances' in recording practices and technology.

I feel uneasy bringing up the topic of social class at all. To assign anyone to a particular class seems so alien to our time, to our unspoken aspirations to liberated classlessness. It might be seen as reductionist to try to describe the attributes of social classes -- to say that a person is from a certain class (in our country at least) is to do violence to that person's individuality, even to deny his or her humanity, in the eyes of some.

Yet so long as the class we're talking about is more or less an abstraction, and if we are at a physical or historical remove from the parties being described, we have less trouble with speaking of social class as a determining force in people's lives. The "working class" of pre-1939 Europe, or the "landless peasantry" of pre-communist China, colonial India, or of Central and South America in very recent or contemporary times are objects of impassioned allegiance with many people in America and in other affluent democracies. The above-named groups, to our minds, have definite characteristics; they can be thought of almost as individuals with their own personalities, thinking and acting in a certain ways which can be charted and predicted. It seems to me also that we have ascribed a great deal of virtue to the class groups mentioned above, as well as to the working classes in many other places around the world.

We read a statement such as "The urban working class in pre-Revolutionary Russia was almost as virulently anti-Semitic as the rural peasantry" (I am not actually quoting, though I could well be), and might be inclined to accept it uncritically, but if we were asked to take in the proposition that "In our times, the American working and lower-middle class is suffering from the effects of weakened family bonds, as well as from high consumer expectations frustrated by reduced spending power", we might well be offended.

Actually, I shouldn't say whether you would be offended or not. But I do know that honest discourse about social class and how it influences people's choices is very rare. I find this baffling, though not surprising in that we don't conceive of ourselves in terms of where we would be ordered in a class system -- the very notion of a class system itself probably seems arcane or irrelevant to most people.

Again, I share your distaste for even broaching the subject. But my interest in the connection between how the middle class (especially the upper-middle class) views itself and the phenomenon of family music is too great.

You may be aware that within the family music genre there is a division between the kind that is viewed as highly commercialized (The Wiggles, Disney, Barney) and another kind that has arisen at least partly in reaction to and even in protest against the first kind: 'independent' kid music: Dan Zanes, They Might Be Giants, Justin Roberts, and many others (the list is constantly lengthening); at any rate the latter category tends to be more home-grown, quirkier, less produced, etc.

The self-aware, conscientious subset of the middle class (which may be wealthier and better educated than the middle class as a whole) has embraced this latter-day flowering of independent family music. But I am struck by how sentimental so much of this independent kid music is, both musically and lyrically -- every bit as much as its 'unhip' counterpart. This is surprising, because the audience for this music is skeptical about institutions and authority figures, and is highly discriminating in how it goes about life in general -- it instinctively rejects the inauthentic or artificial in almost all arenas of life.

But in the music and lyrics of indy kid performers, maybe people are just looking for an appealing reflection of themselves: celebrations of looking for bottlecaps, your favorite childhood dog, sitting on front stoops, going to the thriftshop (this last activity is exclusively engaged in by upper-middle class, when it is done as a diversion). There are no dark corners, no misgivings, no regrets sung about in indy kid music (I am emphatically not referring to 'unhappy' childhoods, only to normal feelings experienced by children). I find this frustrating, because even placid-seeming childhoods are chock full of these things (the joyous experiences of childhood, which I would agree strongly deserve celebration in song, are, on the other hand, often written and sung about with a self-satisfaction that can be off-putting). It just doesn't ring true to me (the irony and the pop-culture throw-aways I hear in some of the music also seem somewhat glib). The indy kid music audience is very demanding about most other things in life: schools, pediatricians, food ingredients, toys, TV viewing (if that is even allowed at all). But I would have expected such people to want music that was a little more challenging (which does not necessarily mean louder or more dissonant).

One theme running through family music (this theme is certainly found in indy kid music as well) is that there may be much wrong with the world, but there is much to celebrate in ourselves. I would not go so far as to call this attitude a smug one, but I'm not sure how much the rest of the world sees things in this way. Or maybe it does, and I am wrong: some of the most prominent indy kid performers are getting mass exposure, and their popularity could prove broader and deeper than anyone would have thought. But the following is either an unscientific, unprovable generalization or a truism: children outside the warm confines of the comfortable, secure segment of the middle-class have not been much affected by indy kid music. Indy kid music (though some of it will certainly stand up to the test of time) speaks mainly to the upper middle-class world-view. And though I am uncomfortable admitting it, I find this view to be unconscionably restricted.

Recently my wife and I were purchasing Indian food at Whole Foods. I noticed the strains of "Please, Please, Please" by James brown above the hubbub. I expressed my annoyance aloud, an annoyance to which I could not give a name. My wife pointed out that the alternative could have been some kind of Muzak, and that I should appreciate the James Brown.

I agree that things could have been a lot worse. If I feel I have to object in writing to hearing James Brown at Whole Foods , or hearing Howlin' Wolf played over the speakers at Starbucks, then I know that my life may not be beset by insurmountable problems.

I can't argue that my aesthetic objections are significant enough to complain about publicly. I want to write instead about another subject -- one which I believe is legitimately raised when you hear a singer like James Brown at Whole Foods. That is, I would like to recall a time when not all music was considered equal.

In the 50 years before I was born, and up until when I was about 15 (more or less --I am about to turn 45), some kinds of pop music (in the broadest sense of the term) were considered vulgar. Shamefully for the society at large, much of that music was the music of African-Americans. When my mother (probably -- she is not absolutely certain it was him) saw Chuck Berry in Mississippi or Lousiana in the 50's, it was certainly without my grandmother's knowledge. We all are aware that 'race' music was marginalized. We are all also probably familiar with the oft-told story of how rock and roll and the folk revival changed people's attitudes towards 'vernacular' styles like gospel, blues, etc.

Of course, black music was not the only music that was scorned. The Hodges Brothers were a white string band from Bogue Chitto, MS., and played in southwest Mississippi honky-tonks in the 50's and possibly into the early 60's (they made only one record that I'm aware of). According to my uncle, many of their venues were burned down by the Ku Klux Klan. Since most of these were establishments frequented by whites only, the presumed reason for their immolation must have been the immorality to which some of the patrons became susceptible while inside. As for the music, I'm pretty sure my grandmother wouldn't have liked it any more than she would have Chuck Berry. I know for certain that she didn't like Jimmie Rodgers, for she told me as much just before I set out for Meridian, MS to visit his birthplace.

Now, at least outwardly, the American people, particularly the influential ones who are founding 'progressive' store chains like Whole Foods, who program radio, especially public radio, who write about music for a living -- but also the larger body of citizens who are drawn to progressive forms of consumption, are much more egalitarian. To suggest James Brown was not on the same order as any other composer would be considered barbaric. (I myself would never suggest this -- quite the opposite.)

So personally, I think it is wonderful that all musicians have the opportunity for acclaim. I just wonder how healthy this cultural conscientiousness of ours is for popular music as a whole. As I stroll through a Whole Foods (a not unpleasant experience, for sure), and see the profit motive suavely concealed under professions of environmentalism, of enlightened values; as I hear "Please Please Please" being played, with the probable intention of giving shoppers the feeling that their consumerism possesses some kind of 'edge', I draw back.

This may be my problem, and certainly not yours; you can call this a cynical view, if you must. You can also say it is cynical to maintain that some of the background music played in Starbucks, Barnes and Noble, etc. is infinitely more vital than the culture that has spawned these self-consciously benign chains; that there is a jarring disconnect when you hear "Beautiful Delilah" being played while people wearing handsome eyeglasses work on laptops and drink delicious (I think they truly are) caffeinated beverages.

Please don't interpret this entry as an expression of nostalgia. I am just observing that when pop music did not try to cross genres or reach unfamiliar or forbidden audiences, when the studious cultural egalitarianism of today would have been an inconceivable idea, American pop music, especially roots music, had a life force that is not present in our contemporary milieu. It is an awkward thing to acknowledge, but people who are 'apart', whose modes of expression are particular to a time and place and not representative of the general society, and who do not enjoy exposure and acclaim of the mainstream can oftentimes create the most interesting products. Taboos do not only repress.

At one time, parents merely tolerated their children's desire to play the drums. In recent years, so I've read, some parents have taken to encouraging their children take up the drums and other rock instruments, and then to form their own rock bands (again, with their parents' explicit approval).

In the Great Britain of the 1950's, from what I gather, such a notion would have been madness. But something I suspect would have been equally alien to that time and place would have been studying rock and other popular and semi-popular genres at the conservatory level (as is now commonplace). Rock musicians who came of age around 1960 would have to be self-taught, if they were to learn their instrument at all.

Rock is so much part of our cultural 'landscape' that buying our children drum kits and getting them a teacher seems perfectly normal. But 50 years ago, this would have been seen as 'daft'.

Without claiming to know a great deal about the childhood of Keith Moon, the original drummer for The Who, I am still fairly certain that he learned the first stages of his craft in a more or less unsupportive environment. His first kit was probably very cheaply crafted by today's standards, and the semi-detached house that I would wager he lived in scarcely would have room to practice. The neighbors, to say nothing of his own family, would have objected to the
" 'orrible row" he created. They also would have derisively rejected the notion that an instructor could teach someone to play the drums; paying a drum teacher would have been throwing good money after bad.

Whatever one's opinion of The Who as a group, it would be difficult to deny the utter originality of Keith Moon's drumming. No drummer I have ever heard from before, during, and certainly not after his time sounds even remotely like him. And no one has ever satisfactorily determined how he developed his style; Keith Moon himself was never much inclined to talk about his craft. He did not seem to be the kind of musical overachiever of which we have so many examples nowadays, patiently developing his or her craft over a long period, formally studying music theory and history and acquiring proficiency on other instruments, such as the piano, and venturing into other musical areas, such as composing and arranging. Not only his talent, but his ability also may well have been completely natural and untutored, developed mainly through recording and performing with his group. From what I do know of his personality, I can't imagine he set aside time to practice drums a great deal on his own -- though perhaps I am wrong on this.

He played in a way no teacher would ever sanction, and that no other group beside his own would tolerate (I have heard that his few efforts to play with other musicians were disastrous failures). He did not use the "ride" cymbal on stage that nearly all other drummers rely on to make an articulated 'ping'; he would make instead a constant crash -- imagine the sound of a wave breaking constantly -- on two or three smaller cymbals -- he never used a hi-hat on stage. And, interestingly, unlike many rock drummers of today, or of back then, his snare drum was not louder than the rest of the drums. Indeed, he rarely played straight time; he would punctuate the cymbal wash with elaborate fills that were (I can describe them no other way) created by his id -- attention-getting, to be sure, but, strangely and refreshingly, lacking the showboating quality that you often find in the playing of rock drummers.

Two Keith Moon performances that stand out for me are 1) The Who's appearance on The Shindig TV show in 1965. You can see it on YouTube, and it shows him when he played with a one bass-drum kit; and 2) The Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus, where they performed "A Quick One". I would compare the drum performances to a car driving fast along a precipice, threatening to fall off but never doing so.

The Who's career spanned several musical eras, and while I prefer their music prior to "Tommy", there is one post-Tommy performance of Keith's that I feel is not only stylistically but technically inimitable. I'm referring to the song (or if you prefer, the 'track') "Bargain" from 1971's "Who's Next" LP. You may say the kind of spiritual yearning expressed in the lyrics of "Bargain" seems quaint; you can rightly say this song is if anything overplayed on "Classic Rock" radio; but if I could I would like to claim that this song contains one of the best ever studio rock drumming performances.

I never tire of experiencing the spontaneity of Keith Moon. To me, our popular musical world nowadays seems so overly considered, so thoroughly mapped out. Self-consciousness dogs and bedevils our every move; we are told there is a precedent for everything we do, and unfortunately, many of us write and play songs as if we were just a bunch of influences with a human embodiment. But Keith Moon seemed utterly indifferent to how audiences, or for that matter, other people reacted to him; he had no precedent, and was not himself the precedent for anyone else. I am envious of this quality being free that he had. Of course, it was a double-edged sword both musically and personally for him. Sometimes his playing could be so undisciplined that the musicality he usually displayed could suffer -- he could cross the fine line between wildness and sloppiness. But I've always marveled at the musical risks that seemingly he had no fear of taking.

From 1968, when it was released, to around 1971, when the label that released it folded, probably no more than 50,000 record buyers purchased the album "George Jones Sings the Songs of Dallas Frazier". George Jones is one of the more amply recorded artists in American music, and over time, with changing tastes and ever more albums and singles to take up his fans' attention, this record was more or less forgotten. To my knowledge, it was never re-released on CD -- only a few of his records from 1960-1971 have been re-made into commercial CD's. From online retailers, it seems you can only get a couple dozen of his best-known songs from that period.

But insofar as it is possible to make a case in writing for this record to be one of the greatest long players ever made in the history of country music, I shall now attempt to do so.

For as much as I love country music, I would admit, if pressed, that much of it is indistinct melodically. Yet the most brilliant composers in the genre (of whom Frazier is certainly one), have been able to wrest consistently distinctive melodies from the 2-, 3-, 4-, and at most 5- or 6- chord progressions upon which the idiom is founded. I have heard novelists say they wish they could write a book of only one page. I have long felt that Frazier was able to express as much or more in an 8-line lyric than most songwriters could do in an entire album:

"Surely there's a place to rest a tortured mind/
Oh what I would give, if I could find/
A place where there's no memories of all those wasted years/
They all say I can't get there from here."

-- excerpted from "I Can't Get There From Here" (by Dallas Frazier)

Though Frazier wrote many novelty songs as well, there is a bleakness that runs through his writing that sets him apart from most songwriters. In that regard he was every bit as unsparing as Hank Williams. This bleakness, along with an melodic sensibility steeped in the Baptist Hymnal (if you like, see my entry on that influential song collection from earlier), may have consigned him to eventual obscurity, for all the success he enjoyed from 1960 through the early 70's.

But it is that very lyrical starkness, along with his particular melodic sensibility, that made him the perfect match for the voice of George Jones.

For all the superlatives that George Jones has (justly) had attached to his name over the years, one would also like to know what it is that has set him apart from other male country singers. He is able to convince listeners that any song he is performing stems from his own experience. Personally, I've always heard an unbearable resignation in his voice; his vocal persona is, at bottom, terribly rational and purposeful.

Maybe all this is why his voice is the ideal instrument for expressing remorse (a repellant sentiment if it comes with any trace of insincerity), and why he is the most qualified interpreter of Dallas Frazier, the master of the remorseful country song.

"George Jones Sings the Songs of Dallas Frazier" contains 10 brilliant songs performed by one of country music's greatest singers at the height of his powers. For those listeners (like myself) who are drawn to the 'worldview' of songwriters like Frazier, I cannot recommend this album highly enough.

(For those interested in buying hard-to-find records, the best source I've found is Old Homestead Records, in Michigan.)

Webb Pierce's 'moment' was the mid-1950's; his signature songs, "There Stands The Glass" (reputedly the first song to employ a pedal steel guitar -- or was that "Slowly", another W. Pierce standard?), "More And More", "Wondering", and others were recorded during that time.

However, some of Webb's most haunting records were made when he was past his commercial prime. During the 60's he continued making albums and mostly unsuccessful singles for Decca Records. The albums are somewhat formulaic and inconsistent. But a few of them were actually, on close listening, rather brilliant. And one in particular, "Country Music Time" (from 1965), is in the second category.

Webb's haunting tenor vibrato was the product of a different era, one with very different sensibilities from our own. I never heard Webb talk about his influences, but aside from the normal ones (Jimmy Rodgers, Hank Williams, etc.), I would not be surprised to hear that Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, and even Enrico Caruso helped form the Webb Pierce vocal style. Not that Webb was a crossover star, like another of his idols, Jim Reeves -- he was a pure hillbilly singer, and one of the things that may have contributed to his decline in popularity was a seeming inability or unwillingness to adapt to the more varied influences that began to seep into country music by about 1970.

Webb may have made as many as 20 albums in the period 1960-70. Proof that pop music history is written by the winners is found in his iTunes catalogue, which only contains about 20 of his best-known selections from the 50's. Only a couple of the 60's Decca albums were ever re-released on CD; most of these albums are only available on vinyl record, as far as I'm aware.

Back to "Country Music Time", which is, like the other albums, just a song collection. But at this time in country music, a mere song collection could be a potent thing. Side 2 begins with a song by Webb's frequent collaborators Wayne Walker and Max Powell, "Loving You Then Losing You": classic mid-tempo honky-tonk music. Later on that side, you'll find 2 great ones that Webb co-wrote: "It Took The Heart Right Out Of Me", and "Let Me Live A Little". These gems were probably composed on the back of his tour bus -- lost classics. On the other side you'll find the great Bill Anderson tune "I Don't Love You Anymore", Ernest Tubb's "Try Me One More Time", and the chestnut "LOnesome 7-7203".

Webb may not have had a style that could convert non-country fans, but as I listen to Webb's voice (I actually have the record on right now), I hear a vulnerability and a completely unpretentious conviction in the material -- here was Webb's distinctive signature. It's possible that Webb represented something in Southern culture that may have vanished by now; we're fortunate to have some trace of it left in "Country Music Time".

As we all know, in recent years a new style of family/kids' music has appeared that, though a little self-consciously in some cases, claims to be as enjoyable to adults as it is to children.

And these claims are totally merited. Parents say all the time, "I listen to the songs of [independent kid artist X] when my kids are asleep; I listen to his/her/their songs in the car on the way to work," etc.

But I am respectfully suggesting that it could be made even more enjoyable for adults than it is presently.

I don't know if you're familiar with Steve Earle. He is sometimes categorized as a country artist, which is inaccurate (though he was a 'mainstream' country artist very briefly in the 80's, and has collaborated with the Del McCoury Band on one album). He is really descended from the folk/country tradition of Townes Van Zandt. But rock also 'informs' his work, to be sure.

At any rate there is a song from one of his late-90's records called "The Unrepentant". I think it's a great song in its own right, but most remarkable for the drumming. Steve has as good a sense for a good rock tune as anybody out there today, and has worked with great rhythm sections, at least on record.

The drums on this track (I don't know who the drummer is) are smouldering, yet at the same time are played solely in service of the musicality of the song (with skill, power, but also discipline). I find this combination to be rare. Drums can end up being an afterthought, played with undue caution, or, in the case of most rock bands, are more like an extreme sport than an instrument -- and even worse, are played very predictably. Another noticable trend in contemporary drumming is the chilly competence of drummers who can play in most styles very well, but who stylistically are indistinguishable. Though it pains me to say so, one drummer is usually as good as another; drummers with really distinctive styles (Keith Moon, Ringo, Charlie Watts, etc.) are not as common as one would like.

On family records, it would be very satisfying to me if the rhythm sections would play with more energy, even aggression. In their laudable efforts to be as inclusive as possible, indy kid rockers sometimes take a generic approach, playing all styles "fairly well". There is an argument to make for doing that -- you will offend no one and engage the majority of your audience -- but it's a double-edged sword. You don't play reggae, but instead "reggae", not country but "country", and frankly, not rock but "rock."

I have difficulty because tunes like "The Unrepentant" (and another good one, "If You Fall In Love" from Earle's "El Corazon" record) for me set the standard. I should also have shared with you that the sounds that Steve Earle's electric guitar players obtain are just as brilliant as the drumming, and just as worthy of emulation by kid rockers.

I accept that a kindie rock band that played in a style (or in a spirit) similar to Steve Earle or Lucinda Williams would perhaps not engage audiences; maybe it is unfair/unreasonable to expect that anyone would or should take such an approach. I'm just putting forth the possibility.

These are just guitar/vocal demos that will sound quite different when finished. The "music" page needs a bit of cleaning up, but you can find "Super Smart Guy", "G-O-A-L-I-E", and "When Do I Get My Cell Phone?" there fairly easily.

I wonder if songwriters are as conscious of their own motives as they sometimes claim. "I wanted to write something really romantic" or "I came up with that as I was watching my newborn daughter sleeping" seem not so much overly sentimental as misleading statements. I am convinced that it is the songwriter's circumstances, combined with whatever talent the writer has to compose -- neither being under the songwriter's full control -- to which song creation is mainly due.

Historically, the main spur to write songs appears to have been pressure. Some of the greatest composers in rock have said that they wrote because they had a new album due and they needed 14 tracks. Ray Davies stated, no doubt truly, that he wrote "Tired Of Waiting" because he led his producer (Shel Talmy) and/or his label (Pye Records) to believe he had far more original material than he actually had, and had a half an hour prior to a session in which to show something to back his claim. When hit singles drove the music industry, groups had to deliver hit songs several times a year, at least. Motown, The Brill Building, and other 'hit factories' are additional proof that memorable songs are often written to order, under a deadline.

The pressure to write is obviously not the only force that brings songs into being. There are intangibles that make certain eras and locales particularly disposed to produce great songs. The 'cultural ferment' of these times and places connects somehow to the individual talents of songwriters to make a memorable body of work. Texas during the 70's, which I have referred to earlier, is such an instance. 1966-68, as it has been often observed, was a time when rock songwriters began to feel more freedom to experiment.

Songwriting partnerships are another interesting proof of the role of serendipity in songwriting. The great songwriting partnerships of popular music have been commented on plentifully -- no need to add to what has been said very well already. But when the members of a successful team work independently, it is sometimes with far less artistic (if not commercial) success. Some songwriters create better work in collaboration than they can individually -- maybe they thrive on creative tension with their partners (competition supposedly drove Lennon and McCartney), or their personalities and talents complement each other so that they are "greater than the sum of their parts."

The Baptist Hymnal (I am using as a reference the 1956 edition by Convention Press, Nashville -- "borrowed" from the Meadville, MS Baptist Church), in addition to its role in the American Protestant church service, is one of the most influential songbooks in American music. It has helped form the minds and thoughts of most, if not all, of the major country, rockabilly, early rock and roll and (obviously) both black and white gospel artists; many of its songs were undoubtedly also learned and sung by African-American folk, r and b, and blues performers who, possibly, did not use the Hymnal in their own churches.

Most of these hymns seem to have been composed during the 19th century, and practically all of them had two composers, presumably a lyricist and a music writer; I am seeing no examples of a hymn composed by one person. I am not religious personally. But in revisiting the Hymnal I don't have to look very long to find lyrics that clearly rise to the level of poetry:

"A glory gilds the sacred page, Majestic like the sun; It gives a light to every age; It gives, but borrows none." ("A Glory Gilds The Sacred Page")

"Holy Ghost, with pow'r divine, Cleanse this guilty heart of mine; Long has sin, without control, Held dominion o'er my soul." ("Holy Ghost, with Light Divine")

The melodies to these hymns are dignified, at times stately. But the songs are distinctive and rippling with an emotional truth that cannot be dismissed; some of them have become part of our larger musical heritage ("Amazing Grace" is the obvious example).

It is difficult, especially nowadays, to discuss, however briefly, a songbook whose purpose was and still is first and foremost to assist in religious devotion. But as a songwriter, it is just as hard to ignore its power and influence.

Country music is not noted often enough for the great rhythm sections it has brought before the public over the decades. One could speculate about why this sin of omission has taken place, but first I'd like to pay tribute to a couple of almost unknown figures who to me represent the 'beau ideal' of rhythm section backing.

1. Willie Cantu -- Willie was the drummer in Buck Owens' Buckaroos band from '64 through '67. He was, to me, the best timekeeper in the history of country music. He rarely drew attention to himself with drum fills; his objective was always to supply rhythmic drive and lend perhaps a bit of color to the transition between song sections. Check out Buck and the Buckaroos on YouTube performing "Sam's Place" on the Buck Owens Ranch show in '67 -- you'll see Willy in top form. For better or for worse, contemporary drummers, whether in country or any other style, no longer employ the drumming techniques that Willy basically introduced with Buck Owens. He often used a tightly-closed hi hat, with a sidestick on the backbeat, with a barely audible kick drum used mainly for 'dropping bombs' (listen to another Willy tour de force: "Roll Out The Red Carpet").

2. Don Adams -- George Jones still tours with The Jones Boys, his backing band; they've had this name since about '65. Johnny Paycheck was an early Jones Boy.

For about 3 or 4 of the early years the leader of the Jones Boys was the bass player, Don Adams. Fortunately we have precisely one (I'm unaware of any others) record of Jones Boy greatness from the early years: "George Jones Live At Dancetown USA". Recorded in 1965 at a Houston honky-tonk, it was deemed unfit for commercial release at the time; fortunately it was found and released in the 80's, and may still be available today.

On this album the Jones Boys band crackles with energy, and Don Adams has a lot to do with that. Playing (presumably) a Fender Jazz bass (the Jones Boys at the time favored Fender equipment) through a single amp, Don expresses the chord progressions perfectly in four-on-the-floor basslines that never draw attention to themselves. The tone is exceedingly pleasing to the ear as well; it could not have been easy to get such a great sound in an airless, hot, and probably very humid honky-tonk on the outskirts of Houston in 1965.

To me, a great rhythm section, no matter what the style, plays sparingly, with discipline and focus as well as aggressiveness. The popular music that has its origins in the Southern United States has brought us many great artists of all styles, but just as notably wonderful rhythm sections that deserve recognition in their own right for bringing our great blues, R + B, gospel, and country and rockabilly songs to life.

It would be quite an endeavor to articulate fully what it is in Southern culture that has engendered musicians with such great rhythmic feel. The blending of cultures in the South -- African, Celtic, English, Acadian French, Hispanic, and others -- is often spoken about when trying to explain the vitality of Southern music.

The word 'primal' has sometimes been used to describe blues, early rock and roll, etc. But 'primal' is now (wrongly, I think) synonymous with 'primitive'. If we apply that term rather to connote having insight into something basic that people respond to in music, then maybe we have a non-patronizing explanation for why music from the South resonates so deeply.

Much has been written and spoken of a new sensibility in family music. Dan Zanes, Justin Roberts and many others of varying degrees of prominence have been said to have brought a more home-grown, a more authentic sensibility to the form than existed previously. There is no question that a rethinking of what family music could be was long overdue; there is equally no question that the listening public feels liberated from the monopoly that Raffi,
The Wiggles, and a few others used to hold.

I was proud to have been included in the Park Slope Parents, Volume 1 CD compilation. One of my favorite tracks was the Dan Zanes contribution, his version of a traditional tune called "The Monkey's Wedding". It didn't get talked about as much as some of the others, probably because it didn't seem necessary to direct any more attention his way. But it is elegant: tuba, accordion, and Dan's mandolin are the only instruments, and Dan's vocal is without the least trace of affectation (one of the qualities that makes him so well liked, I believe).

Being on the CD allowed me to get to know AudraRox and Astrograss, my two favorite family bands to see live. These are two great bands in their own right, without respect to genre, and they deliver their music with forthrightness and spontaneity, and never rely upon sentimentality to appeal to the sympathies of their listeners.

So, what I'm about to say should not be construed as a criticism, but rather a call to embark upon a quest. Why a quest? For all the wonderful sensibilities that independent kid musicians have brought to our form: the indy rock sounds of some of their former bands, the traditional, unadorned Americana styles they draw upon, etc., there is an area of the child's consciousness that I feel is still not being explored in family music. Childhood is a tragicomedy. That is, the events of a child's life seem so much greater to the child than to others, even to other children (of course, this is equally true for adults -- but we are occasionally able to employ mechanisms that help us regain perspective). I do see acknowledgement of this in the songs of some kids musicians, but the perspective seems more to be that of an adult retelling the child's experience, than the authentic account of a child. Additionally, the imagery of even the best children's music lyrics often is unevocative -- it is lacking in the layered absurdism that is, as it were, an essential spiritual nutrient for children.

It must seem like the height of effrontery to ask other musicians to be mindful of these considerations. Obviously, the public (parents and children) have responded so enthusiastically to what we have offered already. Still, I wish we all would look for more ways to acknowledge the elegant irony of the child's mind, to make our humor less broad, and most of all, to fulfill the deep-seated desire of all children to be fooled.

There is a radio station in the north-eastern United States. It is within the borders of a large city, a city larger, in fact, than any other American city. I feel it would be unsporting to give its call letters.

It relies largely on public support, though apparently not exclusively. But this is beside the point.

It plays OK music throughout the day. The musical approach of most of the performers this station plays is not uniformly the same, but it often seems as if it is. This radio station will play a really arresting song from time to time, but at intervals that, to this listener, are frustratingly long.

As just mentioned, the musical approach of the artists on this station offers few surprises. Listening to this station makes one nostalgic for Brian Jones and his use of exotic instruments with the Rolling Stones, or Nicky Hopkins and his harpsichord.

One would have to believe that the programmers on this station are picking out the 1 or 2 outstanding tracks from the albums they receive in the mail or from elsewhere. If this supposition is correct, one could conclude that if these are the outstanding songs, one need not delve any deeper into the rest of the body of work of the artists whose work is broadcast on this radio station.

"Alt Country" has been around as a term for about a decade, perhaps a bit more. If you don't know, it encompasses roots-rock and country-based music that consciously rejects the musical and cultural values of the mainstream country music industry. Gram Parsons is its founding father.

However, there was another alt country movement prior to this latest one, only it wasn't a movement. I'm referring to the primarily Texan singer-songwriters of the 70's: Townes Van Zandt, Butch Hancock, Joe Ely, Terry Allen, and others.

It is interesting to compare the two. Alt Country is often a self-conscious protest music: against the country hunks, the flag-waving, the overproduction of mainstream country. The Texas singer-songwriters, while having at best a troubled relationship with Nashville, acted as if Nashville did not exist. Austin and Lubbock were their geographical and cultural base, and they didn't bother about what anyone thought of them.

Another difference, in my opinion, is songwriting. Songwriting quality can not be measured, except subjectively. But when I listen to the early Ely records, to Guy Clark's classic "Old #1" record, to Townes at his prime, to Terry Allen's still hilarious satire, I find myself wishing that the alt country community would worry less about possessing musical purity, and concern itself more with writing memorable songs.

In country and bluegrass music, 'authenticity' is the ideal to which performers must aspire. Yet in striving for authenticity, many entrap themselves, or (in my opinion) lose sight of what made their forebears authentic to start with.

It is hard to define what is authentic. Authenticity is interestingly not an issue in many kinds of pop music. But in country and other 'roots' genres it is all important because they are vernacular forms, from the heart, supposedly, not the head.

The 30's, 40's, and 50's are considered the golden age of bluegrass and country, and I would mostly agree. But I would aver that very few performers from that era, whether they sound authentic to you or not, made an effort to be 'authentic'. Such a notion would have been alien in that time period. To me, if the Stanley Brothers and The Blue Sky Boys have authenticity, maybe it is because they were able to convey a core conviction about what they were delivering, musically and lyrically. I doubt it was a conscious process.

Some people seem to confuse pedigree and
geographical origin with authenticity. Don Rich, who since his death in the 70's has been technically far surpassed by the likes of Brent Mason and others, will in my opinion never be equalled musically as a country electric lead guitar player. He was from Tacoma, Washington, and was not of Scotch-Irish descent, yet his authenticity as a player would be hard to deny.

Contemporary bluegrass boasts some great players, yet to me the music often lacks chemistry. Modern bluegrass singers and songwriters are wont to treat the past with reverence; they are conscious -- overly so -- of their forebears. Contemporary bluegrass songwriting also seems derivative to me; the performances are skilled -- virtuousic -- but unspontaneous. The genre is frustratingly rule-bound. To my hearing the 'legends' of country and bluegrass performed with much more fun and abandon than is sometimes acknowledged -- this sense of fun is largely what made their music great.

One quality you used to hear in some pop singers that is less prevalent now in the musical culture is vulnerability. Two country singers whose voices could always convey a sense of being wronged (without seeming like a victim) were Lefty Frizzell and Webb Pierce. In the 50's country artists tried to present themselves as carefree, while singing songs about being careworn. Nowadays male (and most female) country singers put swagger both into their stage persona and their vocal style.

Sinatra's public persona, as is well known, was combative, dismissive, in a word: "masculine", but in his best work he conveys qualities (helplessness, pessimism) that are almost the exact opposite of that persona.

Ray Davies is known as a songwriter's songwriter, not always noted for his singing, but the pathos of many of his lyrics is offset by the conviction and focus of his vocals. "Did You See His Name" and "Big Sky" might sound ham-handed in the hands of others, but as sung by Ray they have delicacy, along with ironic humor.

...and for every rule, there is an exception: "Red Headed Stranger", Willie's 1975 album from when his French braids were already quite long enough, is one of his best albums -- one of the great all-time country long-players. However, a critical eye towards his recorded output from 1971 to the present leads me ineluctably to think that someone should have had the courage to tell the great man not to make many of his albums from the last 35 years.

It gives me no pleasure to dwell on the failings of an artist I revere, so I'd like to call attention to Willie Nelson's output from 1960 to 1970, while he still lived in Nashville. Much of his material from this period lies in relative obscurity; indeed, much of it is dreadful -- risible efforts to reshape one of the great originals of American music to fit not so much country as pop fashion. However, some of it is not just brilliant, but as importantly unlike any other body of work in country, or for that matter any genre of popular music. If you can get a hold of records like "One In A Row", "No Tomorrow In Sight", "She's Not For You", "Darkness On The Face Of The Earth", and many others from the 60's you will be exposed to a songwriting persona that is unlike any other you may have ever heard before. Deeply personal yet without any trace of self-pity or autobiographical reference (though there was plenty of material to draw upon -- for example, the time his wife found the envelope containing the hospital bill for the delivery of his mistress' child), his voice and melodic sense are stark, never over-reaching.

5th graders, or at least my fifth graders, are squarely in the age range that does not listen to family music, be it of the "kindie" variety or the more mainstream kind.

For the last 3 years I have taught music to the 5th grade. Is it harder than kindergarten? Without question. Must I be very judicious in the choice of songs I teach them? Succinctly, yes.

Today we did Civil War songs, as they are currently studying the Civil War in Social Studies. Just a few, for now: "The Battle Cry Of Freedom", "Dixie", and "The Battle Hymn Of The "Republic". We briefly discussed on whose behalf we would have been "...shouting the battle cry of freedom", as well as the meaning of "We will fill our vacant ranks with a million free men more."

After a couple of tries, I admonished them, pointing out that the North (the side that they favor, to a person), would not have won showing the amount of spirit they had demonstrated to that point in the music class. Thereafter they sung with greater vigor.

Apportioning the time of the class is the secret to working with kids approaching adolescence. Few classes will want to sing for the full 45 minutes. As a pedagogical lubricant, some kind of music game during the last 15 minutes of the class will be enlivening both for me and the kids.

...a country songwriter active mainly in the '60's named Dallas Frazier. As is sometimes the case with songwriters, his best known work is, in my opinion, not completely representative. He had a big hit early on with "Alley Oop", a country standard in "There Goes My Everything", and of course "Elvira".

He also had a huge body of lesser known songs, album tracks recorded by many artists, including George Jones, Melba Montgomery, Webb Pierce, and others. Many of these are now only found on vinyl records. Heavily influenced by the Baptist Hymnal (as were many country songwriters of that era), Frazier stuck to a tight AABA or verse-chorus verse-chorus structure, and in most cases kept his lyrics to within 15 or so lines. Check out "Beneath Still Waters" -- Emmylou Harris did a version of this song in the '70's or '80's that you can fairly easily find -- as an example of what they used to call a "heart song".

Many listeners nowadays might find Frazier's world-view quaint. He wrote for an audience that believed in the deterrent power of stigma, and for whom remorse would be (and often was) considered a good song topic.

Frazier, I don't believe, had anything to 'say'; his songs were more expressions of beliefs -- that is why I find them so arresting.

Check out Warren Truitt's review of "Every Word I Say Is True" on his blog, Children's Music That Rocks. Warren is the Children's Librarian at the New York Public Library. (See "Reviews" page for the link).

Check out some selections that were used in the Move 'n' Groove DVD's (see 'news' from 11/29/06). Musicians are Dan Schorr on keyboards, percussion; Jon Gordon, guitar (Remember "Luka" by Susanne Vega? Jon played lead guitar on that!); Andrew Drury, drums, percussion; Taylor Ho Bynum, brass.

My bio relates that I have been "...music director at PS 230 for over ten years..."
This statement is a bit terse, perhaps. Let me tell you a bit more about my school.

PS 230 is a multi-ethnic K-5 elementary school in Kensington Brooklyn. While many schools throughout the country are becoming more diverse ethnically, PS 230 has been so for at least 20 years, and is notable in that no one ethnic group is in the majority. A typical class will have students of the following origins: Bangladeshi, Chinese, Mexican, Albanian, Polish, Pakistani, Yemeni and many others. There are also students (of diverse backgrounds) whose families have been in this country longer.

Well, guess what? They all love rock, country, and bluegrass! Lucky me!

I love teaching at PS 230, and would never want to be anywhere else. My daughter attends kindergarten there (see the Photo Gallery for a picture of me working with her class).

I have many fond memories: a first grader who sang an a capella version of "I Will Survive" while wearing an 'Anastasia' Halloween costume; second graders (who are by now college age) acting out my song "The Big Green Blob"; being told by a second grader that one of my songs was "un-American, because it had no hope" (I never did it again).

More on my good experiences as PS 230 music director another time...

I hope you enjoy my contribution to the PSP Compilation. This song is not autobiographical (I have found in almost 20 years of teaching that most children can't make a conscious effort to improve their own reputation. I myself can remember not wanting to know what my reputation may have been.) One line is an embellishment on an act of spite I committed against my sister in the mid '70's.

I hope I didn't portray the boy character as overly poignant or striving to be virtuous.

See links page for where to get this fantastic new compilation.

Friendly Blob Productions is proud to announce that 2 additions to the Move 'N' Groove Kids series of music and movement DVD's are available as of the first week of December.

Created by NYU Dance professor Deborah Demast, and co-produced by KSK studios of Manhattan, "Move 'n' Groove Kids Go To The Park", and "Move 'n' Groove Kids Go To The Zoo" will take your children on a fun-filled adventure that will get them up and moving. Dan Schorr composed the music, which has been described as "whimsical and infectious". See the "links" page for more information and how to buy.

Dan's first CD, "Monsters Are Absolutely Not To Be Trusted" is not at present available for retail sale. However, songs from it may be purchased from such fine internet music retailers as Apple iTunes. Look for a re-release in the near future.

"Good Boy With a Bad Reputation" won in the "Best Song For Older Children" category in the 1999 Children's Music Web Awards -- the only family music contest judged by kids.