White Christmas
It was New York City’s first white Christmas in 30 years. And it was one of my favorites in a long, long time…
The lyrics below are from a song I wrote and recorded a few years ago for a Christmas single. Better heads prevailed, and I left it off the single (which included my covers of John Lennon’s “Happy Xmas (War Is Over)” and David Gray’s “Babylon”) — too depressing. It’s a rough sketch of my memory of a Christmas day now some 20+ years ago when my divorcing parents swapped my brother and me for the first and final time. So as you may gather, Christmas has always been something of a heartbreaking time of year to me. The days are short. It’s cold. And my family never quite feels whole. All of which is still true.
This year was different. I made my own Christmas, started my own thing. Got a tree. A yule log DVD. Some Nat King Cole and Tony Bennett CDs. Hung lights all over my apartment. Hand made a stocking. Ran all over the city shopping. Spent time — just enough — with loved ones. Had a pint of Guiness in a dive bar mid-day. And after crafting my own rituals and enjoying every sparkling block of New York City, it started snowing. Big, huge wet flakes.
And then there was lightning, and thunder. And is the light faded, and the streets turned blue, the snow just kept falling, and falling, and falling. I walked home through Central Park, 30 blocks of horse path in dress shoes, jaw agape at the beauty and stillness of the night, my heart filled with gratitude for the past year, and hope for the year to come.
Christmas, 1980
I’m going home now. So, until December 26th, have a safe and happy holidays.
Christmas, 1980
Christmas day the snow is drifting, light is growing dim
I’m in the backseat, I am listening, I am buckled in
On the backstreets no one whispers, no one makes a sound
Over rivers choked and frozen through the quiet towns
Halfway between the cradle and the star
Angels and Kings left us where we are
It’s cold outside, it’s safe here in the car
On the window ice is forming clouds against the sky
Write my name in cursive letters to make the time pass by
Lookinng through I see a farmhouse in an empty field
It’s warm inside a fire’s breathing on the family meal
Halfway between the cradle and the star
Angels and Kings left us where we are
It’s cold outside, it’s safe here in the car
Everything is perfect in its way
We’ll start over again on New Year’s Day
But it’ll never be the same
Under covers singing softly an old familiar song
The night is silent, I am lonesome, we’re not going home
Halfway between the cradle and the star
Angels and Kings left us where we are
It’s cold outside, it’s safe here in the car
Meet Andrew Wagner
My cousin Andrew released his debut solo CD today, “Horse Year.” The kid who remixed “Summer’s Gone” for the “Summer’s Gone EP.”
It’s very Chris Isaak meets Tom Waits meets Wilco. Very cool.
So there’s another Wagner on the web at www.andywagner.net.
Do check him out.
My “Corners of the Sky”
Well, I was being a little ambitious last week when I said I was going into the studio to demo. What with the holidays and all, Kev and I were hard pressed to find a time that worked for both of us. So it’s gonna’ have to wait until early next year. None the less, it’s happening, rest assured. And I’m psyched.
So meanwhile, what’s goin’ on? I’ve mostly been wrapping up the year for MTVNews.com (I have most of the last two weeks off), painting my the huge canvas on my wall (and the accompanying 1′x1′ panels, or “Corners of the Sky” as I like to think of them), and getting ready for the holidays with shopping and stuff. It’s been fun. I like giving gifts. And I like Christmas lights. Good light. When I’m not grimacing over the grotesque commodification of the holidays in general, I’m grinning at the carols, the smell of pine, the bustling city. It’s a good time to be in New York.
Speaking of New York, have you seen the WTC redesigns? I say build the world’s tallest building there. I’ve always been an advocate of going big. The new designs are pretty progressive. I think I like United Architects Sky Memorial the best.
Anyway, Happy Holidays.
The Year In Rock ’02
It’s Sunday. I’m at work. Which kinda’ blows, except that I’m working on me.com. I just finished my “Year In Rock” piece. Sometimes I think this whole website blog thing — for that matter, this whole rock-n-roll thing — is more about figuring things out, like, outside of my head, as much as it’s about, I dunno’, whatever else motivates it (being heard, appreciated, paid, etc.).
Anyhow, it’s done. One thing I couldn’t quite write into it, though, is my Top Ten, er, make that Top Eleven, Albums of The Year. Here they are (plus some other stuff):
1. Benjamin Wagner, Summer’s Gone EP
2. Aimee Mann, Lost In Space
3. David Gray, A New Day At Midnight
4. Coldplay, A Rush of Blood to the Head
5. Counting Crows , Hard Candy
6. John Mayer, Room For Squares
7. Wilco, Yankee Foxtrot Hotel
8. Beth Orton, Daybreaker
9. Sheryl Crow, C’mon, C’mon
10. Wallflowers, Red Letter Days
11. Cornershop, Handcream for a Generation
What old CD have you listened to most this year? Joni Mitchell, Blue
What was your favorite concert(s) of the year? Mine, September 25th at The Point in Philadelphia.
Your favorite movie? Punch Drunk Love / Adaptation
What line or lyric do you wish you had written? “There comes a time when you swim or sink/So I jumped in the drink/’Cuz I couldn’t make myself clear” -Aimee Mann, Invisible Ink
What is your New Year’s Wish? Sufficient capital to finance my next release. And travel.
I started a huge canvas this weekend, raw canvas stretched across my bedroom wall. I’m going to paint the sky, bright blue with billowing white clouds. It’ll give all the balsa wood gliders hanging from my ceiling something to fly through.
Glass Half Full
Here’s some good news for you, dear reader, you who’ve (aptly and hilariously) characterized recent postings as (for example) “a little ‘glass half empty-ish’ or as possessing an “underlying vibe of frustration.”
I’m going into the studio next week to demo my new songs.
Why the sudden action, you ask? Well, firstly, see below. Secondly, long story short, I’ve found my dream label and dream producer, and am endeavoring towards them both. (Ha ha — they’re both in L.A.!) Trampoline Records is Pete Yorn and Wallflower Rami Jaffe label — and they’re accepting submissions. And Aimee Mann guitarist/producer Michael Lockwood has graciously agreed (via email) to have a listen to my demos and consider producing. Consider. So I’m headed into Control One with Kevin Anthony to record these songs solo acoustic:
Golden Wings
California
Hollywood Arms
The Matador
Shiver
Radio
I’ll Be Waiting
Maybe I’m Wrong
Omaha
Intent On St. Paul
Never Be The Same
Stay
Aimee Mann Jacked On Latte, Won’t Play Her ‘Freebird’ At NY Show
NEW YORK — It was fitting that Aimee Mann took the stage Friday at the Beacon Theatre completely wired on latte, as Mann’s recent release, Lost in Space, is an 11-song treatise on addiction. The singer/songwriter was so jacked on caffeine, by her own admission, that she paused after her second song, “Calling It Quits,” to calm herself down.
“I’m so f—ing wound up tonight!” she laughed. “This feels like the kind of night where I might forget the words or break a string. But if I go down, I’m gonna go down Fiona Apple-Roseland style!”
In fact, Mann did not suffer a meltdown comparable to her friend’s notorious 2000 performance at New York’s Roseland. Instead, from the serpentine grunge of “Susan” to the delicate intimacy of “Invisible Ink,” Mann and her band ably rocked and revealed in equal measure.
Suitably grounded, Mann returned to her set with the four-chord stomper “Choice in the Matter,” before switching clumsily to bass and settling into the more plaintive “Amateur.”
The centerpiece of Mann’s performances is typically her songs from the “Magnolia” soundtrack. With two albums between this night and her Oscar-nominated effort, though (“I thought Elliott Smith should have won,” she said), Mann seemed eager to get the “Magnolia” tracks out of the way. Still, “Wise Up” was undiminished. White stagelights flooded the audience during the indicting refrain (“It’s not going to stop / Until you wise up”), reversing the gaze uncomfortably. And the psychedelic, peppermint-striped lighting during “Save Me” heightened the already palpable sense of intoxication.
The flow was interrupted when an audience member shouted out a request for “Voices Carry,” Mann’s 1985 hit with her band ‘Til Tuesday.
“Dude, you may as well yell ‘Freebird,’ ” the singer retorted.
Mann’s public radio-groomed fanbase expects to rock, albeit with adult restraint. The drum loop of her early hit, “That’s Just What You Are,” got them dancing in their seats. The unlikely sing-along chorus of “This Is How It Goes” got them crooning along (“It’s all about drugs/ It’s all about shame”). Finally, Mann traded in her acoustic guitar for an electric and pounded out a highly distorted version of “Long Shot.” Stomping and staggering across the stage, she vamped emphatically on the song’s well-timed refrain, “Please love me,” before heading off into the wings.
She returned alone seconds later and performed a sparsely arranged “4th of July” before being joined by her band for a spirited run-through of “Red Vines.” The intricate finger-picking and articulate wordplay of “Invisible Ink” (“There comes a time when you swim or sink/ So I jumped in the drink/ ‘Cuz I couldn’t make myself clear”) rose to anthemic heights as Mann urged the audience to clap along. And again the band was gone.
The band sauntered casually back to a chorus of requests. Mann joked that she had something prepared, but urged the audience to submit its requests on a slip of paper onstage. Sure enough, as she performed her cover of Harry Nilsson’s “One” (also from the “Magnolia” soundtrack), Mann seemed distracted by the stream of people depositing scraps before her. True to her word, she gathered the band together and pored over the requests (“We already did ‘Choice in the Matter!’ ” she chided). After fudging its way through “Ray” and “Stupid Thing,” though, the band threw in the towel. “That’s enough of Aimee Mann Band di–ing around,” she quipped.
This article first appeared on MTVNews.com.
Spelunking
I woke up around 8:45, and lay in bed a while. Outside, the sky was crisp blue. Traffic was stirring. And I could hear the birds in my AC unit chirping about. There was a 15K in Central Park that, if I hustled, I could make. But I was out late, dehydrated, and unmotivated. Plus, I’ve had this nagging sense of dead weight lately. That is, I’ve been feeling boxed in, cluttered. Like it’s time to get lean, before getting on.
There’s all sort of junk in my closets and the storage spaces above just gathering dust. So I went spelunking. And I’m right in the middle of it now. The living room is strewn, literally piled, with every sort of artifact from the last ten years: my broken Takimine acoustic, camping gear, tattered running shoes, old letters and tax records, set lists, rock clothes (pleather, lame, sequins, and polyester from my Lower East Side glam phase), photo albums, books, and every sort of media imaginable (VHS, Beta, DV, Hi8, DAT, CD) all stamped, no doubt, with some visual or aural record of… me. What’s it all worth? What’s it all been for, this spindthrift of my singer/songwriter career, of my time here in New York. It’s busy-work, evidence of motion towards something. But in the end, it’s just sound and fury — ink and paper — signifying nothing.
I’m saving some of it: the promotional buttons, original drafts of all the songs. Some day, I’ll have someone to show. To warn. I’m considering putting much of it online: every song (there are hundreds never recorded or released), every photo, every mailer and poster: the ephemera of the rocknroll fantasy. But most of it is headed to the dumpster out front. Finally, I’m letting go.
Way in the back of my attic was my Macintosh SE40, which was my typewriter through Syracuse University, The Saratogian, and Rolling Stone Online. I poured over interviews with Ben Folds, Ani DiFranco, Buffalo Tom, reviews of Weezer, Goo Goo Dolls, They Might Be Giants, and my column, “B-Side.” Sitting at the kitchen table putting together that tiny monitor’s purple pixels, goose bumps spread slow and steady, like a great warm wave, over me as I read my last column. I remembered why I’m here, and how I got here to begin with.
Aimee Mann At The Beacon Theater
Any weekend that begins with an Aimee Mann show and ends with “Adaptation” can’t be all bad. Even if it is, like, 4 degrees outside.
Aimee’s show was amazing. It was the first time I’ve been in the Beacon Theater, which is odd as it’s just a few blocks from my apartment. It’s a beautiful old thing with gorgeous chandelieres and carved statues and such. Maybe a little dusty. What I failed to note in my report on the performance (see “Aimee Mann Jacked On Latte, Won’t Play Her ‘Freebird’ At NY Show”) is how funny Aimee is. She was droppin’ F Bombs like Andrew Dice Clay. Which was refreshing, as I’m oft scolded for my on-stage potty mouth. Of course, her performance was fantastic, inspiring. She does exactly what I do. Or, I do exactly what she does: acoustic-based pop that rocks. Truly. Her drummer is tight and inventive. Her guitar player, Michael Lockwood, who also produced the record, played tasteful, smart solos. And of course Aimee’s lyrics are genios. Deep, clever. I’m not even close, but I aspire. And they all seemed to be having a terrific time. It was great to see. I sat there grinning for two hours straight. And somewhere in the middle of it all, I realized that I’m a little depressed about my whole music career. Which probably comes as no surprise to you, dear reader, but was a revelation to me. And I figured out that I’m happiest when I’m being proactive about it. That is, I’m happiest booking shows, puttings CDs together, even making calls and sending letters and such. Because at least I’m doing something about it. You gotta’ hit the curb to get up again, or something like that.
“Adaptation.” In the closest thing to a tearjerking moment this inventive, ingenious film offers, Charlie Kaufman (Nicholas Cage) says to twin brother Donald Kaufman (Nicholas Cage), “It’s not what loves you, but what you love.” I’m not sure what else I can tell you short of encouraging you to go see it. It’s smart, deep, clever, funny. It’s meta. It’s post-post-post modern. It’s hopeful, somehow (I, for one, like films where the characters grows). And it’s the kind of thing Hollywood should do more of. And will, if it does well at the box office. So vote with your wallet and go see it!
Wasted & Crazy
Just wanted to check in before stepping out. Entertainment Tonight is on here in the office. The lead stories are “Michael Jackson: Crazy” and “Whitney Houston: Wasted.” So maybe success isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. (I kid, of course.)
Been thinking a lot about growing up, growing older, letting go of the rocknroll fantasy, and other childhood delusions. Wrote a song yesterday morning called,”The Albatross,” about the things, the burdens we carry with us (“The weight of always looking back”). And am anxious to get home to explore a title idea suggested by my pen pal Lisa in Chapel Hill, “Intent On St. Paul.” It’s the title of a book she’s working on.
Don’t know exactly what I’m going to do with all the new songs: “California,” “Hollywood Arms,” “The Matador,” “Stay,” “I’ll Be Waiting,” etc., etc. I expect, at the minimum to demo them in early 2003. I’m thinking way less rock than “Crash Site.” More along the lines of the acoustic guitar/cello/drum trio. We’ll see.
So… “a long December, and there’s reason to believe, maybe this year will be better than the last.”
