iPod of the Damned

The other day my iPod was approaching song #666 on its ongoing shuffle to song #5,274. What song would it be? Iron Maiden's "Number of the Beast?" Pretty close, actually. It was Robert Johnson's "Me and the Devil Blues." I shit you not! It's one of Bob's most tormented songs (the protagonist is so haunted by his devils and The Devil that he's going to "Beat my woman 'till I get satisfied").
Song #667 was by The Zombies, so maybe my iPod has a sense of humor, is a monster, or just wanted to celebrate Halloween early.

Seen some great shows this month: Sufjan Stevens at Zellerbach—very heavy on songs from "Seven Swans." Orchestrated the way Mr. Stevens must have always wanted to do, and now can since he's working with a bigger budget.

The Easy Star All-Stars were good. A great band, but marked down because they had an annoying white hippie lady who sang some of their songs. The other guys, especially the guitarist and the toaster/singer who sort of looked like Flavor Flav (without the big clock or the insanity) interpreted the Radiohead and Pink Floyd songs very well. It would be great to see these guys back a world class Reggae singer like Horace Andy or Sugar Minott or Toots Hibbert.

The other night The Psychedelic Eskimo and I went to see English folk legend Bert Jansch at the Great American Music Hall. Another terrific show! Bert's still got it on the guitar (soulful virtuosity, always respecting the song), and his voice is pretty much the same, if a little lower in timber. Apparently, Neil Young was there, watching from the upstairs seats.

Looking forward to seeing Andrew Hill on Sunday night.

Prisoner of iPod Shuffle

Another quixotic task I've set for myself: listen to every one of the 5,274 tracks that I've loaded onto my iPod. In shuffle mode. Realize the enormity and absurdity of possessing that many songs. How long will it take me to listen to all of these songs I so obsessively loaded onto this fancy piece of white plastic? The one limit I set for myself is that I can only listen to the iPod within the course of my normal listening day. I started last week. I figure I'll finish some time around Christmas (I'm currently at song #361. "Partyline" by the Kinks).

I've been buying a lot of records and CD's lately. The other day, feeling nostalgic, I bought cheap vinyl (the price, not the vinyl) copies of The Who by Numbers and There Goes Rhymin' Simon. The Who by Numbers is a pretty good late Keith Moon era record. The opening track, "Slip Kid," is the best track, and By Numbers also features the catchy abomination "Squeeze Box." Beyond that, it's a mixed bag of tracks about Pete drinking too much and being exhausted by fame. The Baby Boomer Turns Thirty. Worth checking out.

I grew up with There Goes Rhymin' Simon but haven't listened to it for years. Listening to it again, and studying the liner notes, I wonder if it didn't initiate my fascination with gospel quartet music, New Orleans R&B and Southern Soul. Sounds silly, right? But check out There Goes Rhymin'...It's Paulie's black southern music record. Most of it was made at Mussel Shoals Alabama with the backing of The Dixie Flyers. The Dixie Hummingbirds and Rev. Claude Jeter from the Swan Silvertones make appearances. Even though the subject matter is about Paul, not the south, I think it's a nice companion to Randy Newman's Good Ol' Boys (predates it by one year, actually). It's Paul Simon's Randy Newman record. Sorta.

Elvis Is King!

Along with about half a million other people I was at the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Bluegrass festival in Golden Gate Park for parts of this previous weekend. Despite the obnoxious presence of the Blue Angels, I enjoyed seeing Jimmie Dale Gilmore and Butch Hancock, Elvis Costello, Steve Earle, Emmylou Harris, Gillian Welch, The Coward Brothers, and Richard Thompson.

I wish that I could have seen others such as Earl Scruggs, Del McCoury, and The Drive-By Truckers, but schedules did not permit.

For me, the highlight was Elvis Costello and The Hammer of the Honky Tonk Gods on Friday. Although a pretty decent sized crowd showed up, it was more like the crowds that were at the festival in its early years. It felt more intimate, people didn't talk through the songs, and there weren't as many drunks. Elvis seemed pleasantly surprised by the size of the crowd ("A lot of you must have skipped out on work on a Friday afternoon!") and by the fact that they were singing along from the first number ("The Angels Want to Wear My Red Shoes"). E.C. did five or six songs solo then brought out his band, including longtime drummer Pete Thomas and the fantastic honky tonk guitarist Bill Kirchen (sp?). After a few tunes, Miss Emmylou Harris came out and they duetted on several numbers. I'm sure Elvis was thrilled to play Gram to Emmylou's Emmylou. They did a fine version of the Everly's "Love Hurts." Then, as if that weren't special enough, Gillian Welch and David Rawlings came out for a few songs. Everybody up on the stage jam sessions don't always work, but this one did. It seemed as if they may have even rehearsed together once or twice. A loose but not sloppy set, good vibes, good humor. I've been waiting twenty nine years to see Elvis and this couldn't have been a better experience.

Back in the park on Sunday with the Psychedelic Eskimo, we saw The Coward Brothers (Elvis and T-Bone Burnett) mostly disguised as a pine tree branch, but they sounded good. It's always nice to hear George Jones and Merle Haggard songs.

Following that, Richard Thompson, also disguised as a pine tree branch, did a fiery solo set. I know that my guitar solo homie Big Game James was probably at The Drive-By Truckers performance, but he missed some serious guitar slinging in our little pine grove.

Random Scare

The other night, I was walking around the store in the dark about to leave for the night. I had my iPod on shuffle. Up comes a song from Scott Walker's current terrifying album, The Drift. Just what you want to hear in a spooky old building with all the lights out. I fumbled to advance to the next track when I happened to glance down and see the glow in the dark ghost face cover of Chuck Pahliunuk's (sorry for the misspelling, Chuck) Haunted (The Haunting? The Haunted?). I nearly jumped out of my skin.

There's one of the problems with iPod shuffle. You've got difficult music on your iPod because of need? duty? compulsion? and then you're scared out of your wits at a vulnerable moment.