Tag: music

A Quick Trip with Leonard Cohen

I can see the room.  It’s a little scruffy and smells like pot and incense. (Yes that’s a cliche but there you are.)  There’s a mattress on the floor, crazy Berkeley posters on the wall, a turntable and speakers, one window over the bed, another on the long wall.  Lots of bookcases, record albums, a coffee grinder for stems and seeds, a big old stuffed chair, and us.

It was a long time ago.  Hasn’t crossed my mind in years.  Then, right there, on the Spotify singer-songwriter channel, comes a young Leonard Cohen singing this:

Music is dangerous.  Suddenly I was back in Massachusetts almost half a century ago, when Suzanne, and Sisters of Mercy too, were part of my lexicon, along with everything from Milord

to Ruby Tuesday

to Blowin’ in the Wind.

Years ago Garry Trudeau published a Doonesbury thta included the line “You’ve stolen the sound track of my life!”  I don’t remember the context but it’s disconcertinly accurate, as he usually is.   Every song is a movie of the past, running — sometimes joyously, sometimes with enormous sadness, in my head.

It was such a different time, full of righteous anger and, at the same time, joy at being alive, sometimes in love, always part of the changes taking place all around us, many at our instigation.

Now, as we face the rage and disappointment of many of our children and their peers, it’s kind of heartbreaking to look back with such nostalgia at a time that they clearly see as debauched and destructive and, even worse, egocentric and selfish.

It’s paricularly hard when these songs rise up, so transporting.  Everyone, if they’re lucky, has fond recollections of the younger times in their lives.  But for me, as the music carries me there, it was so much more.  Hope, freedom, equality, beauty, love and peace — every song an anthem moving us forward.  And  lovers in a scruffy dorm room, a little bit stoned, listening, and sometimes, singing along.

To Letty and Marlo with Thanks: My Free to Be Grandson

My grandson Nate turned two yesterday.  He loves music.  And, a child of his era, music video.  We are avid watchers of Free to Be…You and Me clips. 

 

This morning, this song, and the others, ran on a loop in my mind as I walked passed strollers and playgrounds in the park.   Not for the first time, I was overcome with gratitude to the two of you and the others who brought these songs to what is literally now generations of children.  It was a major factor in our home when our boys were little; it was even the school play at their elementary school.  Now it belongs to their children.  And, I suspect, those who follow.

It's become my go-to baby present to young families who don't already know it – and sometimes to those who do.  And, within a few bars Glad to Have a Friend Like You or When We Grow Up, can bring me to tears.  

It's everything we wished for our kids when they were little – all of us; it's a myriad of memories of all the hours we spent loving, dancing to and singing these wonderful songs as they became part of us.

And so I presume, for all the moms and dads, sons and daughters, sisters and brothers  and teachers and friends — to thank you one more time, as I enter the third year of the second generation in our family to be "free to be."  

Glad to have a friend like you!

 

 

 

Memories of Peter, Paul, and Mary Travers

Peter Paul and Mary 2

The first time I ever heard Peter Paul and Mary I was 15 and spending the summer at a writing program at Exeter Academy – the first year they ever let “girls” into the school at all. I remember loving Blowin’ in the Wind, If I Had a Hammer and of course, Puff.   I remember visiting another student’s home in Concord where her older brother, already in college, told me that the three were just “popularizers of Bob Dylan songs” and scornfully complaining  that I should be listening to Dylan not them.  (I didn’t find Bob Dylan until later – junior year, I guess.)  I thought he was nuts  To me, Peter Paul and Mary were an introduction to  music that was about things I cared about: civil rights, war, peace and love —  from a more political perspective.

From then on, through high school, into college and “out into the world” Peter Paul and Mary held a special place in my life.  We seemed to cross paths often.  We played their music all the time, of course.  My sister and I saw them at a summer concert in Pittsburgh (my long-suffering mom driving us, of course.)  I remember watching them sing at the 1963 March on Washington,  and later seeing them at Wolf Trap with a blind date.  And, most profoundly, I remember seeing them quite literally, save lives in Grant Park at the Democratic Convention in Chicago in 1968.  Hordes of demonstrators were coming over a bridge into the part of the park right outside the Hilton.  There had been trouble, lots of trouble, for at least days and this would be another terrible confrontation.  Then, from nowhere, Peter, Paul and Mary started to sing.  The demonstrators slowly converged around their platform, diverted from certain misery.  It was quite a thing.

Here’s what else I remember.  Mary Travers herself, who died today.  She was a powerful model: not just her deep, resonant voice but also her powerful, sure presence, on stage and off. She was brave and funny and looked amazing.  We all knocked ourselves out trying to have straight hair like hers: ironed it, slept with it wrapped around orange juice cans.   She was a powerful presence.

Of course, part of her power, and that of Peter and Paul was their commitment.  Where they were needed, they came.  Civil rights marches, peace marches, the McCarthy presidential campaign” even regional and local union struggles.  It was a signal to the rest of us: if we can show up, so can you.  And we did.  As another friend wrote to me tonight:  “I just saw the news story.  Can’t believe how much of our history was tied up with them.”

Making my way out of my office, thinking about writing this, I started singing to myself: “Leavin’ on a Jet Plane.” But I couldnt finish.  I was close to tears.  It’s happened so often this summer – icons of my life fading from view.  Teddy Kennedy, Walter Cronkite, Robert McNamara, Don Hewitt, Ellie Greenwich, Patrick Swayze just yesterday, and now Mary.  Each representing so many lives; so many memories.

I keep writing here because somehow I don’t want to stop.  This ought to do it, though.  (The other guy is John Denver)

 

For Ellie Greenwich, Who Really WAS Leader of the Pack, With Thanks

Ellie_GreenwichWhen our kids were little, we used to sing.  All the time.  And early on, many of the songs they loved were written by this woman:  Ellie Greenwich. She was a tough cookie I think.  She was also one of the great song writers of her generation.  Ever heard Be My Baby? (“Bee my, bee my bay bee, my one and only baybee…”)  Chapel of Love? (“Goin’ to the Cha pull and we’re gonna’ get ma a a reed”) River Deep, Mountain High ?(“Do I love you my oh my, river deep, mountain high” that was Tina Turner.)  Ever hear of girl groups?  Then you’ve heard of Ellie Greenwich.  There’s a reason she’s in the Song Writers Hall of Fame.  She died August 26, the same day as Senator Kennedy, so I’m a little late, but I have a lot to thank her for.

Freshman year we lived in a dorm with a big porch facing Seelye Hall, the main classroom building.  We’d put our stereo speakers in the windows over the porch and blasted  whatever we liked at the time, especially in the spring, as the snow melted and spirits rose.  One of our classics was “Leader of the Pack.”  All of us, the Gang of Four as we were then, could re relied upon, for no reason, to belt out “Hey there, where’d you meet him?”  to which another would reply (in song, of course, and I know you know this) “I met him at the candy stoh – ore.”   It sounds so silly, doesn’t it?  But it wasn’t.

The tribal music Greenwich gave us was alive with the spirit that was all of us, before the War tore everything apart, when we just had fun and our minds were full of ideas and ambitions, and songs, and romantic daydreams, and songs, and learning how to be grown ups (slowly) and songs.  And her songs were so universal, so full of a love of living and living for love – way before we even heard of our sister alums Gloria Steinem and Betty Friedan.  Somehow, as things became more serious, Doo Wa Diddy Diddy Dum Diddy Doo didn’t flow off the tongue so easily.  That’s why I was so glad when a Broadway musical, Leader of the Pack, opened in the 80’s and gave us another chance – and a great cast album, full of many of her greatest songs.

My own favorite is all tangled up in a memory.  It was a sunny fall day and my six-year-old and I were walking down a street someplace in the Village.  And we were arm-in-arm.  And our walk had a rhythm – right feet at the same time, left feet at the same time, just the two of us.   And the rhythm?  It came because, together, crossing the nearly 30 years between us, together, we were singing –Da Doo Ron Ron.”

Not quite this great, but not bad, either. So thanks Ellie. And the rest of you – see for yourselves.

Colbert, The Word and Woodstock

The Colbert Report Mon – Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
The Word – Hippie Replacement
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor Tasers

I know, I"m in London and I should stop putting up videos of TV shows.  But I love this one.  And, it's what we call "timely" since the 15th is the 40th anniversary of ..  well watch this and see for yourself.

Avenue Q, in London! How Did We Miss It Before?

It’s more than a little crazy to come all the way to London, see an American musical – and find it so familiar, so real and well-observed, witty, loving and even joyous, that you wonder how it is possible that you hadn’t’ seen it before.  The play is Avenue Q, and for most people it will be a “yeah, and???” because it won so many Tonys, including Best Musical, Best Book, Best Direction of a musical, Best Performance by a leading actor in a musical, and Best Performace by a leading actress in a musical, and because everyone has written about it for years.  Hah! And Cindy thinks she made some great discovery!

In fact, I do think I’ve made a great discovery – that it’s still possible that an entire theater full of people from dozens of countries (just seated directly around us were India, New Zealand, Australia and France) can respond to something without helicopters or wild moving sets or TV/film stars in the cast  — something so completely human (well, if you count the puppets who are in fact among the “most” human) that it inspired and moved us all.  That all this can be accomplished with warmth and — I know this sounds corny — a real affection for what makes us human, for the power of laughter and of songs.  Both of us feel that we had a perfect evening, one that inspires gratitude, even.  Here’s a little of it for you, in case you missed it too.(From the Tony’s)

Playing With the Big Boys: Bruce Springsteen’s New Drummer and the Rest of Us

Jay Weinberg 2
Does the young drummer in this photo look familiar? He's definitely not Bruce's long-time drummer The Mighty Max Weinberg. He is, however, a Weinberg, Max's son Jay.. I learned about this from my own son, who IM'd

"Did you know that Max Weinberg's son is now the drummer for the E Street Band?  It's a great story – little coverage.  Seriously – he is 18 and no one has picked up that an ageless band now has an 18-year-old on drums."

He's right.  It's a wonderful story, for many reasons.  Just because it is, first of all.  But also because all parents love it when their kids go into the family business; at least I think they do.  That's not all, though.  To be fair, Jay is only going to tour with them when his dad has to stay in LA to help launch the new Conan O'Brien Tonight Show. Even so, there's something lovely about Bruce calling and inviting him to join the band. Anyone who's ever watched a sound check or read about Bruce knows he's got high standards; this was NOT a sentimental decision. Jay can play the drums.

So why do I love this?  A demonstration of that kind of trust by a national legend close to three times  his age is pretty impressive.  The idea of two generations on stage together as peers is an example of something that's been important to me for years: alliances across generations in all manner of venues.

I've been writing both here and on SVMoms about the tensions between Boomers and Millennials.  There is a growing stress between us.  Just a month ago I heard a young political social media genius – a serious one – mock the Boomers who claimed they helped to end the Vietnam War.  "Dead soldiers ended the war, not you guys." he said with determination.  Permutations of that attitude abound; although perhaps less so in families where parenting was respectful and strong and included a history of those times and a modest explanation of what we were trying to do.  

President Obama, whose attitudes and capabilities I admire, tends to imply that it's time to ditch, at the least, a lot of the rhetoric and style of that time.  I don't disagree.  All that I want is for those of us in my generation and the younger people whose core values we share to be free to travel across the boundaries of style and execution to be allies and friends rather than adversaries.  That kind of sharing emerges from respect in both directions, from engaging younger people more as peers than acoytes.  That's what the Obama campaign did, and look what happened.

I've been fortunate, because of my relationship with my sons, because I've worked in the Internet world for ten years — so much with younger people, and because I am part of a community full of young families, to be able to do the same.  But the divisions are growing for many of us, and they're sad.

So when Bruce, who has so often spoken for so many, crosses two-thirds of his life to, at 60+, add an 18-year-old drummer to his band, it's an example and a message for which I am grateful.  No one who knows his music would ever think he would add a drummer to send a message; he takes his music, and his fans, too seriously for that.  He is, however, reminding us all that, 18 or 80 – talent, music, dreams, ideas, faith or fun, the walls need not be so high.  Whether it's campaigning for a candidate, working for women's rights, writing a poem, cooking a meal, building a house, growing tomatoes or making music, we are all pooer for the walls we build, and richer for the gifts we share. 

Norman Lear Reminds Us Why We Love Music (and Why We’re Right)

 

Leave it to Norman Lear, founder and early funder of People for the American Way and creator of All in the Family and Maude, two of the most successful sitcoms in American television history, to produce the remarkable Playing for Change.  Musicians – street musicians, from all over the world, recorded and filmed separately and combined into a multi-national, multi-ethnic concert, recorded (with high-tech equipment) on city street corners and the red dirt of townships, Congo, New Orleans and right in front of the White House.
The message, as Lear freely admits "sounds like claptrap" but somehow it can't help but sink in: music, the universal language, reminds us how much we have in common across the barriers that separate nation and race, faith and gender. It won't change anything by itself, certainly, but it's a lovely reminder of what could be.