Michael Hurley has been writing and recording songs since the early ’60s. He was born in Pennsylvania, lived in Vermont for twenty years, and currently resides in Astoria, Oregon. He has made up a lot of songs, forgotten a lot of songs, made up better ones, forgotten those, and then remembered them again. If you haven’t heard his own recordings you might have heard one of his songs covered by Cat Power, who recorded two of his tunes on her Covers Record and another one for her album You Are Free. Violent Femmes and Devendra Banhart have also recorded versions of his songs.

I’ve never officially interviewed someone before, but the editor of this website asked me to talk to Hurley. It turned out that there wasn’t much free time to talk, so I had to double-up on the interview along with a writer from Vermont. I’ll focus on the parts of the interview that don’t go into details about joint acquaintances in rural Vermont towns. Michael Hurley is a kind man who initially answers a question very abruptly. The conversation falls silent, you think to yourself that maybe you didn’t ask a very good question, and then you look at him and he has this far-off look in his eyes like he still has more to say. If you give him an extra moment, he’ll keep going.

Nick Jaina: What was it like playing music in the late sixties and early seventies? Did the gigs pay well? Were the crowds more receptive than they are now?
Michael Hurley: They didn’t pay too well. Not where I started out. I had played before in Boston and California and New York City. I was like a solo folkie, but I’d never played up in the boondocks where I kind of had to improvise my methods. But no one was making a living. After a while a few of us were, not me, but a few of my friends were kind of making a living, but now here in Portland I know a lot of people that are making a living from music, but I never made a living at it or expected to. All the 20 years I was in Vermont I just never expected to. It was just fun.

How did you keep food on the table?
Just many other things… painting houses, selling stuff, growing stuff. A lot of odd jobs. Where I really started to get ahead was when I started to sell my paintings. It was after I started going down to New York City in the early 80’s, and I brought about 12 of my watercolor paintings in these gallery frames, matted and under glass, and I hung them up behind the stage. And I sold eleven of them. So I left with more money than I ever had in my pocket, in New York City, leaving a gig. So after that I was always bringing paintings to my gigs and that was a big difference in my life, financially. I guess it was a year or two after that that I stopped painting houses and doing farm work. If someone said that they wanted a painting and they couldn’t buy it right then or maybe I didn’t have what they wanted, I’d take their name and address and follow up on it. I’d find them and say, “I’ve got a painting for you now.” I think the music moved ahead of painting somewhere along the line. Anyway, I’m painting less. There’s a big demand for my paintings, but there’s no supply. (laughs)

Are you just less interested in it now?
Less interested now, I guess. What I do now is cartoons and albums covers and posters, and a few paintings. I do just a few, but I’d much rather play music. And then, since that takes me out of my home, when I get back to my home I kind of relax. Instead of painting I goof off, or I write more songs or learn more covers. I think that’s the most active creative thing for me is music. I’ll do it no matter what. Just alone in my home, I’ll be doing it.

You’ve been writing songs for over forty years. When you sit down to write a song, do you feel like all the songs you’ve written are standing over you shoulder? Is there a pressure to do something different, or is it just “I’m gonna write another song.”
Not really. Usually, I catch something, something runs through my mind. I figure well, I’d like to do a song with this, or develop this into a song. It could be words, some phrase. Or it could be some piece of musical notes. Sometimes it’s a whole melody that just runs through my head. I think it was once last year, I dreamed a song. I woke up and sang it into a little recorder early in the morning as soon as I got out of bed so I wouldn’t forget it. And then I listened to it later, and said, “What’s that melody about? From that melody, what is this song about?” Sometimes I just pick up an instrument and start strumming a whole verse and a melody. I just make it up right there. The song “Light Green Fellow,” I wrote that a long time ago, about 1965. I had a reel-to-reel tape recorder and I think I just thought, “Well I’ll record something” Click, well it’s on. I just started playing and I played the entire “Light Green Fellow,” and that’s it. That’s what it was.

Is it weird to have something that you didn’t put relatively that much time or effort into be something that everyone likes? Does it make you think that you shouldn’t work so hard sometimes?
I don’t know. I like the song myself. Some of these tunes I probably would’ve forgotten if people hadn’t kept asking for them.

Is that the only time you had that experience where a song came out in one shot, or has that happened again?
Well, “Werewolf” was like that too. We were sitting around, a bunch of people jamming, about six people in a little circle playing all these songs. And we figured we don’t know any more songs. We had played for probably three or four hours and we didn’t know any more songs. And we figured there should be more songs. We figured there should be a song about a werewolf. And I just rattled that one out.

And now there’s a song about a werewolf.
Yeah.

And other people have recorded that song. Cat Power recorded it. What did you think of that version?
It’s very cool. It’s really a different entity. It employs a different … there’s kind of a yodel break in there, and when she does that it’s totally different. The chord progression is different. When you actually look at the notes she’s doing, they’re different too. One time I heard her on the radio in San Francisco and she said, “I’m going to do a medley of Everly Brothers tunes now.” And she starts singing them and she’s not singing the right tunes, and she’s not even playing the right guitar chords for what she is singing. But it’s totally okay, the way it comes out. It’s just fine. Although, why do you call this the Everly Brothers? Why aren’t you playing guitar to go with your singing? Anyway, I like that version of “Werewolf.” It’s in a movie now, “Powder Blue”… I haven’t seen it yet. I just heard about it. I was told that the Cat Power version of “Werewolf” was on there, and the actress in the scene is doing a pole dance, like she’s working in a strip joint.

How do you generally feel when you hear that somebody has covered your song and you listen to it? Is it weird, or flattering? Does it seem like someone is reading pages of your diary?
No, it always feels good. I’ve never really been unhappy with someone singing one of my songs.

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You are probably not interested in reading any more words about the death of the recording industry and the end of compact discs as the dominant medium for transporting music to the public. But I’m guessing you might be interested in reading about dinosaurs riding in rocket ships. Am I right? But maybe you didn’t realize that these two things are essentially the same subject.

Imagine the Earth 65 million years ago. Dinosaurs ruled. (And I don’t mean “ruled” like “they were awesome”—which they were—but rather that they RULED the Earth. They were in charge.) But just also imagine an intriguing twist to the known history. A twist that could make for a blockbuster movie if someone with Hollywood connections were interested in adapting this column into a screenplay. In this version of our Earth’s history, dinosaurs managed to develop sophisticated technology. Let’s say they evolved to the point where their civilization looked pretty much like ours. They had dinosaur warehouses with dinosaur security guards. They had dinosaur swingsets, dinosaur gift baskets and dinosaur walkie-talkies. That is to say, they MADE it as a species. They developed internal combustion engines, microchips, George Foreman Fat Grilling technology. Everything. Now, let’s say that despite all this success, they still had some rough times. After all, it happens to any civilization at some point. They had trouble maintaining their food supply. The rich dinosaurs became richer and the poor became poorer. They failed to continue investing in their infrastructure. They got lazy, complacent, greedy. The dinosaur glory days had passed them by. Their whole species was vulnerable. And just at that moment of weakness…

Something to rally around! A bright light in the sky! An asteroid the size of Texas headed towards the Earth! (And following closely behind it, an Aerosmith ballad.) There wouldn’t be much time to argue about the proper response. The head of the dinosaur space program—a drawling but compelling Billy Bob Thornton-esque dinosaur, let’s say—would have to just go find some bad-ass dinosaurs who were experts at drilling. He would have to get a rocket ship together and train the drillers to become astronauts and send them up into space. He would assemble a team of rough-and-tumble dudes, who were intent on saving the world. Meat-eating, hard-working dinosaurs, like Triceratops, Stegosaurus, etc. A couple of them wouldn’t get along, there’d be some arguments about the best way to do things, and the leader would be resentful of the kid because the kid was dating the leader’s daughter. The kid and the daughter would sit in a field as the sun set and she would say, “Do you think that it’s possible that anyone else in the world is doing this very same thing at this very same moment?” And the kid would say, with strings swelling behind him, “I hope so. Otherwise what the hell are we trying to save?” Crescendo. A scrawny little dinosaur who looks a bit like Steve Buscemi would make wisecracks in the corner while a hunky Bruce Willis-looking dinosaur would strengthen his steely resolve…you get the idea. (This is all going to relate to the music industry in approximately three paragraphs).

At some point the dinosaur-astronauts (dino-nauts?) would reach the asteroid and drill on it or blow it up or whatever they would have to do to save the Earth. And the dinosaurs of the world would rejoice and they would go on living. They would continue to dominate the planet for millions and millions of years. A touching, uplifting story. BUT, you see, their dominance would mean that other species would never be able to gain sentience. Dinosaurs were such efficient predators that their continued existence wouldn’t have allowed any mammals bigger than rats to survive, and the whole dinosaur species would rally around their successful asteroid mission and continue to live for millions of years. And human civilization would never exist. We would never be given a chance, because the dinosaurs would never have moved on. They built their rocket ships, they blew up the biggest threat to their existence, and they just stayed King of the Mountain forever. (Unfortunately, the Bruce Willis-looking dinosaur had to stay behind to personally detonate the asteroid and therefore didn’t survive to see the wedding of his daughter to the kid.)

Now, maybe this whole scenario is something you never really considered before, but now that I’ve brought it up aren’t you glad that dinosaurs never had rocket ships? That would’ve really screwed us over. I’m not saying that one good thing has to die for another good thing to live, but…no wait, I AM saying that. For the purposes of this particularly awkward analogy, imagine if a similarly Texas-sized asteroid were headed toward the Earth today. Humans would certainly make every effort to find a way to blow it up and save ourselves. And if we succeeded, if the Bruce Willis-type fella accepted the mission and diverted the asteroid, we would all rejoice We would have saved everything we’ve ever known, everyone we’ve ever met, every scrap of matter and culture on the Earth.

But. At. What. COST?

Now. I hope you’ve kept in mind that this is not just an article about dinosaurs riding rocket ships (although, just to reiterate one more time, wouldn’t that be SO AWESOME TO SEE?) but it is indeed simultaneously an article about the state of the recording industry. Permit me a few words about that and try to forget about dinosaurs for a second.

Speaking as a musician, it is strange to be at a point in the evolution of recorded music where you can be working on material and you have no clear idea as to what the best way to release that material is. And this matters for two reasons.

One is that in the past the medium has dictated how long a work of music is. When it was vinyl LPs it was around 35 minutes. When it was compact discs the allowed length expanded to 74 minutes. Now that compact discs are declining in popularity and will never again be the dominant medium, it is unclear how long a work of music should be. Should a musician just focus on making one song? Three songs? Twelve songs? A hundred songs? Where do you find bigger arcs or themes in what you are doing? Should a musician bother sequencing songs in a special order and tying them together sonically, or will they all inevitably be broken up into pieces because the dominant medium is currently undefined?

The other reason that it matters what medium is ideal is because a working musician packaging and selling his music needs to know in which format his fans want to buy his music. Should a musician invest in CDs with cardboard covers? Won’t those just be thrown away after they’re ripped? Should a musician put the music on a memory stick? Isn’t that kind of crude and inelegant? How about a download card? Does anyone feel good about spending $12 and walking away with a card? What if the musician were to have a laptop available at the show, and people could just plug their iPods in and download the music directly? It’s as if a farmer didn’t know how many eggs should go into a carton, or a car-maker didn’t know how many doors to put on a car.

Certainly music is as at least as popular as it has ever been, it is as integral to people’s lives as it has ever been, but no one knows how to properly package and sell it. The death of compact discs is coming and perhaps there is no other tangible medium that will follow. (Strings swelling.) There is an asteroid on its way, and we probably realistically can’t blow it up. Maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe what seems like the end of the world only seems that way because our world is the only thing we’ve known, and we can’t imagine anything else.

We could frantically try to load up our rocket ships, train Bruce Willis to trigger a nuclear warhead and blow up the asteroid that is about to decimate us. Or we could just presume that something better is waiting to evolve in our place. (Strings still swelling, becoming overbearing.) Let the asteroid come and we’ll just see what happens. The dinosaurs before us never had a chance to survive. They never walked directly towards the camera in orange suits, carrying their space helmets in slow motion. They never had rocket ships. (Oh man, can you imagine if they had been able to build rocket ships? That would’ve been so cool.) The end of one thing is the beginning of the other. If something can’t save itself, maybe it wasn’t meant to survive. (Drums kick in, Steven Tyler’s voice bends up to an uncomfortable note while his daughter bites her lip.) Maybe WE are the dinosaurs. Maybe we’re not the best thing the world has to offer.

I guess I had more to say about dinosaurs than I did about the record industry. That’s probably because dinosaurs are so much cooler. And they lasted a lot longer.

Links:
Nick JainaSpace

Jaina illustration drawn by Casey. For this one, imagine there’s a dinosaur riding a rocketship in the background.

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Very few songwriters have an ear for melody and composition like Knopf does, and whether he’s recording for Menomena or his new band/almost solo project Ramona Falls he often writes using many loops and the much discussed Deeler looping program he built before Menomena’s first record. In this clip, Knopf is joined by Mr. Toad for an instructional video that shows the process behind his work. It’s cool stuff.

Ramona Falls’ album Intuit is out now on Barsuk, and it’s one of our favorite releases of the year. If you have any money leftover after buying the remastered Beatles box consider picking it up.

Links:
Ramona FallSpace

Screen capture taken from the video

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Zoologists will tell you, if you ask them, that there is no need to try to parse the vocabulary or understand the grammar of animal language. It would be missing the point, in fact. Various independent researchers have determined that every animal, from simple to complex, is trying to get across the same message. Whether it’s a dog saying, “Ruff” or a cat saying “Meow” or a dolphin saying, “Eeeh-eh, eeeh-eh,” every animal is saying just one thing, over and over. And that thing is this:

“Hey”

That’s it. There’s nothing else to say, really. There are different ways to interpret “Hey,” based on contextual clues. “Hey” can either be interpreted as, “Get away, Predator!” or it can mean, “Come over here, Lover!” or it can convey, essentially, “You there! I am over here!”

Likewise, when you speak to animals, “Hey” is probably all they really hear. You can teach them their name, and you can fool yourself into thinking that your pet has learned to connect the sound of a name like “Fidel” to its identity, and that when you call your Fidel he is responding to the incantation of his name and the desire on your part for you to be nearer to him, his person, his being. But in fact the animal just hears you make a sound that it interprets as meaning “Hey!” It has heard this sound before and recognizes it as something you say when you want to get the animal’s attention. Usually the sound means that the animal should either come closer or go away. Body language will fill in the details.

It’s not really any different with the language of humans. Even though we dress up our “Hey” in fancier clothes than the other animals, it is still just a “Hey” here and a “Hey” there. And by extension, so it is with human musicians, who spend copious amounts of time learning instruments so that they can put on clothes that look intentionally un-thought-out and then stand up in front of other people, strum the strings of their instruments, toss their delicately dirty and ruffled hair and say, more or less, “Hey!”

Sometimes with music this sentiment is overt and easy to identify. Sometimes people say exactly what they are thinking with no subtext. Sometimes. Rock and roll music started in the ’50s and beckoned a whole generation of kids with a simple sentiment. “Hey!” The kids listened, and they stood up and danced and freaked out. The music became popular. People paid attention. The message changed in the ’60s when Bob Dylan elaborated on “Hey” by adding the subject of his beckon: “Mr. Tambourine Man.” People who heard this new style of songwriting sat and puzzled at what he meant by it. Who was the Tambourine Man? Why did Bob want this guy to play a song for him? It was a metaphor, perhaps, but this time it was in a popular song instead of in a book. And it was attached to “Hey” which everyone understood already. But ultimately it didn’t matter so much what Bob Dylan was trying to say with those words. When he was saying, “Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man,” he was still just saying “Hey.” He found a new way to say it and get people to listen. But getting people to listen– being somewhat an end in itself, being what popular music was founded on– proved that the only concrete meaning in the song was still just “Hey.”

The Beatles confused things around this same time by changing the vocabulary briefly from “Hey” to “Yeah”… People were stunned by this startling change of the landscape. “Yeah” was sort of like “Hey” but less direct and with a positive spin on it. This word was initially more revolutionary than even the many pronouncements of “Love” throughout their catalog, or even the more overtly revolutionary songs to come later. But ultimately the Beatles turned their backs on “Yeah” after the first couple years. They became more sophisticated in their lyric-writing and returned to “Hey” for their biggest hit and most iconic song, “Hey Jude” which pushed the ostensibly more revolutionary “Revolution” to the B-side. But “Hey Jude” didn’t have much more to add to the lexicon, and when it ran out of things to say to the protagonist Jude after his/her attention was received, it slipped into several minutes of “Na na na”s. And then a fade-out and that was the end of that.

Also around this time Mick Jagger used “Hey” to get the attention of someone he wanted to get off his (probably metaphorical) cloud. Jimi Hendrix used it to get the attention of a man named Joe who was walking ominously with a gun in his hand. None of these great pop musicians would be considered poets, for sure, but even great poets working in the medium of pop music have used “Hey” to great effect. Leonard Cohen used it in “Hey That’s No Way to Say Goodbye,” and even after elegant verses such as “Many have loved before us/ I know we are not new/ in city and in forest/ they smile for me and you” Mr. Cohen still went back to “Hey”– and the ultimate sentiment was, “You there. I’m here. I exist.”

Can “Hey” ever be improved upon? Is there any further for it to go? What do we have that we can count as assets?

Some things that I have learned:

A facepainter once told me that there are three magical states in the U.S.: Mississippi, New Mexico, and I can’t remember the third one. Anytime you are in those states, he said, the normal rules don’t necessarily apply, and magical things can happen. They are healing places, where you can go to repair yourself. I wish I could remember the third state.

A theater director once told me that there are only four profound things you can say: I love you, I want you, I want to kill you, and something else. I wish I could remember the fourth thing.

A drummer once told me that every performance conveys something to the audience, whether or not it’s the thing that the performer intends. The audience comes away with something. It has to. Maybe all the audience gets out of a performance is “Wow, that performer is nervous,” but that is still something that was conveyed from performer to audience. The audience could also come away with, “That performer has a lot of money to afford that guitar,” or “That performer hurts inside,” or “That performer apparently wants us to dance,” or a thousand other things. Something is always being said.

But maybe it just comes down to “Hey”… Whatever comes after that is less important than how you feel once the singer has your attention.

Whether or not that is true, lyricists have still tried for more. One of the biggest experiments in moving popular music into the realm of something approaching opera in its thematic scope came in 1980 with Pink Floyd’s double concept album The Wall. The second record started with a song called, “Hey You.” A plaintive call from behind a barrier, no different than a bird looking for its brethren. Still just someone trying to get attention. But the focus of the call was now becoming simpler and more specific. “Hey!” it was saying. “You! You there! Hey!” Of course the “You” was us the listener, and we were suddenly in the midst of a discussion that had previously only included the Tambourine Man and Jude. Popular music was becoming more personal as a way to remain popular.

A few years later the Pixies reduced it all further into a song simply called “Hey.” The Pixies were the ultimate “Hey” band. Everything about them said “Hey” as directly and unpretentiously as anyone before. This particular song started out with, “Hey,” and continued with, “Been trying to meet you.” (Translation: “Hey. Hey hey hey hey hey.”) Finally there was an anthem for “Hey” that made it clear exactly what “Hey” meant. And the conclusion we were left with was that “Hey” doesn’t ultimately mean anything. It has no definition. It just has a purpose, which is to call attention to something or someone. It’s less like a word and more like a punctuation mark, an exclamation point. And maybe that makes it the perfect word to represent all of popular music, for popular music also has a purpose but no meaning. It moves you, it holds you up, but beyond that, as to what it means… well, there is no real need for meaning. And that is because the definition of popular music, the umbrella that links the Beatles to the Pixies, is just that people pay attention to it, that people notice it, that it is popular. And the fact that it is popular makes it something that connects us to everyone else. And that is its purpose. It is easiest to notice things that are calling out to you distinctly and unmistakably.

The culmination of all that came just a few years ago, when a man with the quasi-robotic name of Andre 3000 wrote the definitive song linking the two most meaningless and purposeful words in music history: “Hey” and “Yeah.” Except he simplified it further so that “Yeah” was just “Ya.” Together these two words could get people’s attention better than any two words ever could, and then move them to dance, to laugh, to forget, and also to, “Shake it like a Polaroid picture.” The word, “Hey” was what got you to notice, and “Ya” ended the sentiment bluntly and sharply. Yes positively, but also so succinctly that there was no room for misinterpretation or other thought. Between “Hey” and “Ya” is nothing. There is no meaning, only purpose.

This is all a long way to say, “Hey. Look at this. A column about music. It will last as long as it lasts and then it will end.”

Or, more simply:

“Hey.”

Links:
Nick JainaSpace

The city behind Nick in this photo-illustration is Omaha. It has nothing to do with the content of this column.

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How did you decide on your DJ name? What’s your real name?
HWY 7 (Highway 7) runs North and South through the hill country of North Mississippi (Holly Springs) through the Delta and in to southern Mississippi (Belzoni). It’s along this stretch of highway that a lot of the artists that I play records of live or were from. It has a history steeped in blues and soul music. It’s an incredible stretch of highway and very scenic—tons of kudzu, wildlife, great roadside markets to buy BBQ, catfish sandwiches and beer from…I love it. And I always look forward to driving it.

Are you from the South yourself?
Yes. I am originally from Virginia, but have ties to Georgia, Tennessee, Mississippi and Louisiana, spending time in each place frequently to this day. I often use Memphis and Oxford as a base and drive the highways in search of musicians and records.

As the Rapture say, “People don’t dance no more, they just stand there like this” – how often do you encounter this?
I encounter this all the time. But no worries. I might just be there enjoying my drink and the music, too. If people want to dance, great. If not, no worries. I just like playing the music and that’s that. It all just depends on the venue, the mood (despite the music), whatever.

Ideal crowd?
Anyone really. As long as they are enjoying the music. Sure it’s fun when folks are dancing, but even when they aren’t, as long as they seem to be diggin’ the music. That’s all that matters.

How do you feel about requests?
I’m cool with requests – as long as people take in to consideration what they are hearing before they ask. If you are listening to what I’m playing, don’t ask for Prince or Michael Jackson—I won’t have it. Go to Tube for that—ha! Really, though, the genre(s) of music I play are pretty specific, so I’m fortunate that I don’t end up in situations where someone asks me to play something silly. If someone asks for something, and I have it, I’ll definitely play it.

Do you have a story about a particular request or requester?
Nope. Luckily, most of my requests have been cool. People that are around generally pick up on the vibe bein’ put down. More than anything, it’s just great when folks come up and ask what song has just been played or just say that they dig what they just heard.

‘Bout the only thing “funny” that ever happens is when I drunkenly kick the power cord out and the music dies. Ha. That’s my own drunken fault though—and seems to happen a lot. Ha!

Do you DJ full time? What do you do outside of DJing?
I wish. Not really, but it’d be interesting, I guess. During the day, I design and develop clothing for a variety of sports and lifestyle brands. I’ve been doing that a long time. The DJ thing is just for kicks (and free drinks, Ha)!

Where can we find you venue-wise?
Just about anywhere that’ll have me, I guess. Really though, I’ve DJ’d a ton on places in Portland, but places like Valentine’s, East End, Tonic seem to find me back there frequently, as of late. I’ve DJed at Dunes, Slabtown, Billy Ray’s Dive, Aalto Lounge, Lola’s Room, Matador, The White Eagle, The World Famous Kenton Club and Club 21. A buncha other places, too….

I dig DJing with bands—before, in between and after sets—so I’ll get put on bills at Dante’s, Berbati’s Pan, wherever bands play like some aforementioned places, etc. I’m sure I’ll never be invited back to Aalto Lounge though. Ha ha!

I like the spontaneity of not having a “regular” thing. I’ve done that (have a regular gig) – and most recently at Billy Ray’s Dive and Valentine’s – but I gave it up. My day-job sometimes keeps me from it, too. I travel a lot for work.

Does why you likely won’t be back at the Aalto have to do with alcohol?
The why I don’t spin at Aalto anymore has to do with alcohol and attitude, I’m sure. Mine and a patron’s… It’s kind of a long-ish story, but basically it was a pissing-match as to who was ‘more right’ and in the owner’s eyes, ‘the patron is always right.’ So be it. Haven’t missed it. Doesn’t even need to be talked about.

How long have you been spinning?
Oh man. I dunno. How long has Dunes been open?! The “original” Dunes, when it was “really” underground. I started DJing there with Sean Croghan, just as a way to hang out and listen to records together. Mark and Honey were in to it, and it just stuck. Back then it was real quiet for the most part, and we just listened to old jazz records and hung out. It kinda grew from there. So whenever Dunes really opened. That long.

What drew you to DJing originally?
Having way too many records, I guess—and just wanting to hang out with someone outside the house and play them. That’s what I was talking about earlier with Dunes. Sean started DJing at Dunes, and I just started bringing my records down for him to check out. It grew from there. From jazz to blues and soul, to whatever…

What are your thoughts on vinyl versus CDs versus laptops?
No thoughts, but I am vinyl only. And preferably 45 to LP when at all possible. 45s are where it’s at—on so many levels.

What songs will we find ourselves dancing to with you?
1. Abner Jay – Depression
(As Koko Joe & The Jobhunters) on LMI/MRI (Mississippi Records 38)
2. George Perkins – Groove Making (Golden Records)
3. R.L. Burnside – .44 Blues (Fat Possum records)
4. Bo Bo Jenkins – Shake ‘Em On Down (Big Star Records)
5. Lucky Peterson – Good ‘Ol Candy (Today Records)

…and the list goes on. I hate these kinda lists because five songs is too few! I have five other top five songs, too!

How would you describe yourself in five words or less – complete sentence or not:
“Pass me that bottle……”

How do you describe the genre(s) you play?
Mississippi Hill Country, Memphis R&B and Northern Soul (at least that’s what the coupla’ mix CDs I’ve made say…but really it spans blues, r&b, soul, etc. from all over the place)…and you’ll also hear me playing rock inspired by r&b, north/west African guitar music that was inspired by their ancestors and American blues, jazz, vintage Portland punk, whatever, really.

Who are your other favorite Portland DJs?
- Beyonda (my soul sister Casey from Hernando, MS)
- Sean Croghan – who might be DJ Red Robot Walking one minute…and god knows what, the next.
- DJ Petey J. Cool (Patrick Foss from Pure Coutry Gold)
- DJ Yeti (my brother in arms, Mike McGonigal from Yeti Publishing)

You can next catch DJ HWY 7 at Slabtown on Sept. 12 (with Hillstomp, Pure Country Gold & Right On John) and likely at Rotture a couple days prior on Sept. 10 (with DJ Beyonda, Memphix/Daptone’s Chad Jone$ Weekley and Tony Janda) as Hole In My Soul

Links:
DJ HWY 7Space

Photo by Danyel

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It’s still speculation at this point, but Smashing Pumpkins blog Hipsters United is reporting that Bryne—a freshman at the Berklee College of Music and drummer for local band Moses, Smell the Roses—is the replacement to longtime Pumpkins drummer Jimmy Chamberlin. According to his drum teacher Justin Matz, Bryne was selected over 11 other drummers after he sent in a video of his winning solo at the 2008 Beaverton Guitar Center Drum-off. Now, if this isn’t a good candidate for Random Video Tuesday, then I give up:

Dude’s got some chops! Of course, as Hipsters United pointed out, Bryne would also help the Pumpkins (if you can even call them that considering Corgan is the only original member left. Miss you, James Iha!) lower their average age to something in the twenties. Which is impressive considering that Corgan is 42 and the current youngest member is 29-year-old bassist Ginger Pooley. Remember that Bryne was just three years old when Simease Dream made Corgan and his Zero shirt famous. Whatcha wanna bet that he’s listening to “Today” right now?

Today is
Today is
Today is
The greatest day
That I have ever known

And in case you were wondering, Moses, Smell the Roses first influence on MySpace is Starfucker. Do I smell a Josh Hodges remix of “1979″ in the future?

Links:
Moses, Smell the RoseSpace
Hipsters United

Photo courtesy of Moses, Smell the Roses

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But today I wound up with two videos that actually had something to do with our mission statement. So here they are:

First up is the first video from Iame’s forthcoming I Am My Enemy, “Show’s Over Now.” This special Sandperson finds himself rejected as a door-to-door salesman, but because the hustle is strong with this one, I don’t forsee any long-term effects.

You know, I hope he don’t think it’s real weird when I say Iame’s got a great face. It’s just a cool-looking face. There’s some grizzled wisdom behind those glazed-over eyes. I think he could be an actual actor. He doesn’t even need to say anything, just closeups of him looking vaguely disappointed would be pretty compelling.

Look for and handful of cameos from such local luminaries as Tope from Living Proof and Gold and Ethic de Sandpeople (the latter is the tall guy sucking on the inhaler).

If you like the song you can download it here!

The second video of the day comes via the Decemberists (and the folks over at Stereogum…nice catch!). It’s the Decemberists doing “Crazy on You,” and it’s not as awkward as it sounds. It’s actually really, really cool despite the shaky handy-cam.

Gonna have that stuck in my head for sure. Maybe I should try singing something else. Hmmm. “You’re so vain/ I bet you think this song is about you (you’re so vaii-aiin)/ You’re so vain!/ I bet you think this song is about you/ Don’t you? Don’t you? Don’t youuuuu?”

Links:
IameSpace
DecemberistSpace

oh, fuck it, let’s all sing! RANDOM VIDEO TUESDAY LIVES!!!

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I have yet to take up the suggestion to try and get a rush ticket to the Portland Opera or the Oregon Symphony, mainly because as I understand it you have to be a student, a senior or a member of the Armed Services to take advantage of them and I am neither of those things. Instead, I spent much of the free time I had last month seeking out free concerts and recitals around the area.

Attending these performances, though, felt just like going to a house show or some other small venue rock concert, as the audiences were most often populated by the lifelong classical obsessive’s who will go anywhere to get their fix alongside dozens more who were related to or friends of the musicians.

This was particularly true of the performance by Portland State University’s Women’s Chorus. The young women singers spent a fair amount of time before they hit the stage giving their boyfriends a rundown on how to use the camcorder or chatting with younger siblings. Whether it was the presence of these loved ones or not, the early parts of the program felt very tentative and shaky. But post-intermission, particularly during their rendition of Veljo Tormis’ challenging Modal Etudes, all the nerves were gone and the ladies provided some stirring moments of raw beauty.

For the Clark College Orchestra, the nerves held strong through the majority of their recent performance. It was fairly understandable considering the fact that the group was tackling a never before heard work by Vancouver-based composer Matt Doran. To add to the tension, Doran was in attendance to hear his Symphony #5 for Orchestra brought to life.

It was a fascinating work, reminiscent of some of Aaron Copland’s rousing symphonies with a bit of 20th century dissonance thrown in for good measure. Music director Dr. Donald Appert seemed to relish the moment, but the band played with a stiffness that held back some of the piece’s more interesting moments. You could almost feel the collective sigh of relief by the Orchestra when they settled into the last piece of the night, playing a comfortable sounding version of The Sorcerer’s Apprentice.

If I’m honest with myself, I have to admit that I wasn’t terribly surprised to hear a bit of wobbly playing from these regional groups. I figure the price of admission alone frees them of any harsh scrutiny on the part of a neophyte like myself. But, I did come across a group that could command at least a nominal fee for their services on the strength of their playing, but instead perform for free out in the hinterlands of Southeast Portland.

The Sunnyside Symphony Orchestra played an incredibly strong group of pieces last month when I saw them, free of any cautiousness and with few distracting hiccups. They tackled everything from a lilting concertino by early 19th century composer Carl Maria Von Weber to a very cinematic sounding work by Aaron Copland, each piece sounding distinct and purposeful. It’s concerts like this one that make me so happy that I decided to take on this odd little project and leave me hungry for the next concert or recital. Who knows—I might actually be willing to pay for the music next time.

Furniture Music cartoon by Casey Jarman

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Links:
Musee MecaniqueSpace

Photo courtesy of Google

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No, we’re not frontin’—that’s the Old Believers and friends from Eskimo & Sons Congratulations, Horse Feathers and Doubledutch covering T.I.’s “Whatever You Like.” The cover is totally sincere and honest and just incredibly fun, a bunch of kids taking their favorite party jam and turning it into a giant sing-along complete with a horn section, cello and and lots of antsy percussion. So great! Did I mention that the Old Believers are playing this SUNDAY, MAY 3 at the next installment of our Portland Makes Music Series with Congratulations? And they’ll probably play this!

It ain’t trickin’ if you got it, girl.

Links:
Old BelieverSpace

Photo doctored by me.

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