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Here’s another YouTube find from the ‘they just don’t make ‘em like they used to’ bin.

My ears perked right up; the guitar playing is sooo good here. I normaly don’t think of Huddie as a bottleneck player, but he has this one nailed down tight. Huddie learned to play by busking with Blind Lemon Jefferson in Dallas and later performed with Josh White, Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee and it really shows in this performance.

I can only reflect on how different this version is from the one Carl Perkins popularized from his rockabilly sessions at the Sun Studio.

Huddie made his reputation with popular melodies like Good Night Irene and folk songs and I sometimes forget that he was in fact a real-deal bluesman. John Lomax first recorded Huddie when he was serving hard time at Louisiana’s notorius Angola Prison Farm. Huddie’s first recordings were hundreds of blues tunes recorded there in Angola.

John Lomax described Huddie as ‘emotionaly volitale’. There is a real visceral anger to In the Pines and Bourgeois Blues. Huddie had killed one man, had tried to kill at least four others and threatened to kill Alan Lomax (John Lomax’s son and Huddie’s touring manager) several times.

The process whereby this all gets turned into compelling, beautiful music is still a great mystery to me.
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Wow.

Just when you think it can’t possibly get any worse in the American political landscape along comes a rough beast slouching toward Conneaut, Ohio; Conneaut City Manager Robert Schaumleffel Jr.

Don’t get me wrong. I am a proud resident of Cuyahoga County (practically next door to Ashtabula) where we have learned to shrug our shoulders at the antics of our own wildly corrupt, arrogant and retarded political class. We have determined over time that ‘corrupt, arrogant and retarded’ is a ‘lifestyle choice’.

No, we here in Cuyahoga are no pikers in that regard, I assure you. In fact, I would put our corrupt, arrogant and retarded politicians up against your corrupt, arrogant and retarded politicians at any time and at any place.

I can almost certainly say that in any such contest our corrupt, arrogant and retarded politicians would leave your corrupt, arrogant and retarded politicians in the dust, binding their wounds, crying for their mothers and otherwise turning tail from the radiant corruption, the epic arrogance and massive retardation embodied by Cuyahoga’s elected representatives.

I say this without boasting.

working man reading socialist newspaper

Or at least that’s what I used to think until I read the Ashtabula Star Beacon earlier this week. It seems that Conneaut, Ohio City Manager Robert Schaumleffel Jr. had some concern over a local blog posted by Ms. Katie Schwartz.

It seems Ms. Schwartz had the temerity to publish ‘information concerning City offices, fees and other City government information…without the express (sic) written permission of the City.’ In his hubris Conneaut, Ohio City Manager Robert Schaumleffel Jr. demanded that Ms. Schwartz immediately ‘cease and desist’ publishing any and all material related to Conneaut city government and under threat of court order remove any and all material related to Conneaut city government from her site.

Evidently, no one in Conneaut, or anywhere else for that matter, was ever going to publish anything regarding Conneaut city government without the ‘permission’ of the city’s political class. Presumably public information would hereafter be communicated in hushed and reverential tones only by certain officialy annointed individuals and only then after some sort of vetting process held deep within the dark bowels of the Conneaut Star Chamber.

That is, at least, if Conneaut, Ohio City Manager Robert Schaumleffel Jr. was going to have anything to say about it.

According to the Star-Beacon article, it didn’t take long after Katie Schwartz posted her blog until Conneaut, Ohio City Manager Robert Schaumleffel Jr. corralled lick-spittle thug Council President James Jones, lap-dog stooge Councilman-at-Large Chris Castrilla and lackey idiot Ward 4 Councilman Tony Julio to join him in attempting to crush Schwartz’s web site under the hobnailed heels of their collective jackboots.

The site is still active. The site and all its archived posts are there for anyone to read.

The site is pleasant, conversational and full of a charming, straight forward, mid-western boosterism. Nowhere does Ms. Schwartz stoop to calling Conneaut, Ohio City Manager Robert Schaumleffel Jr. ‘an arrogant little snot’, ‘a martinet’, a ‘neo-Stalinist’ or ‘The Pig’. Nowhere does she suggest that Conneaut, Ohio or even the entire world would be better off if only Conneaut, Ohio City Manager Robert Schaumleffel Jr. would crawl back into his dirty little worm hole and leave everyone else alone. She never describes Conneaut, Ohio City Manager Robert Schaumleffel Jr. as ‘silly’, ‘puffed-up’, desperate’, ‘clawwing’ or even ‘laughable’. She never once declares that Conneaut, Ohio City Manager Robert Schaumleffel Jr. is ‘just another stupid asshole’. Not once.

Because she doesn’t have to.

Close your eyes for a moment and imagine Conneaut, Ohio City Manager Robert Schaumleffel Jr. goose-stepping around his office in full SS regalia, grasping his riding crop and monocle, stomping his foot, shaking both fists, flailing his arms and screaming ‘But-but-but…she does NOT have my PERMISSION!’. Imagine Jones, Castrilla and Julio standing in a circle holding tire chains, and ball bats and with stupid, vacant smirks across their jowly faces pointing to Schaumleffel and muttering ‘yeah, what he said…’.

men and women of america - the militant

I think Schaumleffel and his goons are suggesting that the open exchange of public information is an idea which is probably too abstract for most of Conneaut’s huddled masses. It only follows that spirited public debate among free citizens in a free society will almost certainly lead to contention, ill will and possibly even (shudder) speech privilege abuse.

I think that Schaumleffel and his thugs are suggesting that the Little People frankly need to speak only when spoken to and otherwise keep their eyes lowered and their mouths shut in deference to their betters. The Little People frankly do not know what their best interests are and must never be trusted to use either words or ideas.

Far better that Conneaut, Ohio City Manager Robert Schaumleffel Jr. and his brown shirted bullies take that gate keeping responsibility to themselves.

And anyway, aren’t the complexities, subtleties and nuance of city government best left to the great architects, the giants of public administration, the great and selfless Philosopher Kings such as are Conneaut, Ohio City Manager Robert Schaumleffel Jr., Council President James Jones, Councilman-at-Large Chris Castrilla and Ward 4 Councilman Tony Julio?

It’s for Conneaut’s own good, after all.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The current and continuing 20 year depression here in the rust-belt is not an economic failure; it is a failure of our political class who lined their own pockets and consolidated raw political power rather than advocate for the citizens upon whom they fed. Like a grotesquely bloated, insatiable and ultimately fatal parasite feeding on a sallow and wasting patient, our politicians grew corpulent and morbidly obese while willfully and systematically starving their constituencies.

Think Jabba the Hutt gurgling ‘I’ll teach them what it means to offend the Empire. Send me Solo and the Wookie…and then send me Kathie Schwartz’.

Which brings us back to our first question: what would Woody do?

What indeed.

this machine kills facists

Woody was no stranger to thugs, bullies and goons. Woody’s autobiography Bound for Glory is one tale following another of individuals betrayed by their institutions and left to fend for themselves in the face of desperate circumstances. Bound for Glory is that one simple story repeated in variation again and again.

Woody wrote of the worst of times and the worst of people in 1913 Massacre, Dead or Alive, All You Fascists, Don’t Kill My Baby and Son, Hangknot, Slipknot, Pretty Boy Floyd, The Outlaw and hundreds of other songs.

I imagine that Woody would shrug with a familiar ‘seen it all before’ attitude, pick up his six string and begin to document with simple melody and rhythm the names, places and details of each affront, each insult and each abuse. Woody would build a picture of each and every insufferable fat-head, each self-important Kommissar and each of the creepy sycophants with which they surround themselves.

And in each song Woody would let those people speak in their own voice and he would let them strut and preen and posture and stomp in their own gait through their own stories of petty insult, intrigue, greed and malfeasance.

And he would let them tell their own story without editorializing, without adding any artificial emphasis on their insolence and venality and criminality and stupidity.

Because he wouldn’t have to.

And then Woody would move on to the next song. And the next. And the next. Because it would be just one simple song repeated in variation again and again.

Here’s hoping that Katie Schwartz tells Conneaut, Ohio City Manager Robert Schaumleffel Jr. and the rest of his bully boys to take their ‘cease and desist order’ and go straight to hell.

Because THAT’S exactly what Woody would do.

I’m tired of all the political and corporate scoundrels and I’m tired of all their mischief. My brains are roiled and I am otherwise distressed. I believe my circuits are overloaded and I am in danger of blowing a fuse.

I am forcing myself to take drastic measures.

I’m returning to First Principles; caves and American traditional music. Here’s a great way to enjoy both – Vernon Dalhart’s Death of Floyd Collins.

vernon-dalhart-first-star-of-country-music1

The folk and Americana purists among us (and you know who you are) consistently wrinkle up their dainty noses at the odor of commercial success surrounding poor Vernon. The rap against him was that he was a little too popular and that his vocal delivery was a little too polished due to his conservatory training and that he sold a few too many records (over 400 titles for Edison, Victor and Grey Gull) to completely qualify him as a ‘folk artiest’.

But to my ears, Vernon Dalhart contributed hundreds of great performances in the service of hundreds of great tunes (The Wreck of the Old 97′, The Prisoner’s Song and the wonderful depression tune Eleven Cent Cotton and Forty Cent Meat come quickly to mind).

Vernon had a huge hit in 1925 with The Wreck of the Shenandoah. To those of us here in Ohio the crash of the dirigible Shenandoah was the stuff of legend for our parents and grandparents. The great ship went down in Nobel County not far from my Grandmother’s childhood home and I can remember her telling of how my great-grandfathered drove out to survey the wreckage strewn over many acres. Vernon and Carson Robison wrote the tune and published the song under the pseudonym “Maggie Andrews”.

wreck of the shenandoah

There’s a solid streak of populism and down home charm that shows itself all the way through the Dalhart catalog. Vernon built a twenty two year recording career by capitalizing on tragic topical stories and by combining morality tales with wry observations of the world around him – in short, by using the palette of the American folk musician.

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Here’s a link to Josh Hurst’s wonderful review of Ramblin’ Jack Elliott’s newest studio release “A Stranger Here“.

a-stranger-here

At better than 77 years of age, Jack is still very much the performer. Jack’s last new release I Stand Alone” was complex, dark and touching. It wasn’t too long ago that I had the great good fortune to watch him up-close-and-personal deliver a strong performance and encore to a packed house at the Beachland Ballroom. It was a powerful set and I thought he was still at the top of his game. He’s going to be up at the Kent Stage in a few weeks and I am going to see him then.

Here’s a YouTube find of Ramblin’ Jack performing Woody Guthrie’s Talking Merchant Marine on one of Pete Seeger’s Rainbow Quest TV programs.

I’m a great fan of the old Rainbow Quest shows. I think the black-and-white presentation and the el-cheap-o production values made these absolutely jaw-dropping acoustic live-in-the-studio performances stand out all the more.

And anyway, who says el-cheap-o production values don’t have their own charm?

The Honorable Representative Luiz Gutierrez (D-Illinois) can now count himself along with Maxine Walters as among ‘the best politicians money can buy’. And don’t think for one moment this is some aberrant behavior restricted to a few yahoos in the House. There is a very good reason Joe Biden was know as Senator Master Card.

This is, in fact, the entirely predictable behavior of a hopelessly corrupt, arrogant and retarded political class feasting next to a vomitorium built on the backs of ‘citizen’/slave labor and with a never-ending supply of special interest money.

There will be a day of reckoning in this country for the pigs and carrion feeding vultures that have grown fat picking the bones of decent Americans. It will not be pretty and I sincerely hope I get to watch it all happen.

from The Consumerist
by Carey

A House subcommittee wants to legalize payday loans with interest rates of up to 391%. Lobbyists from the payday industry bought Congress’ support by showering influential members, including Chairman Luiz Gutierrez, with campaign cash. The Congressman is now playing good cop, bad cop with the payday industry, which is pretending to oppose his generous gift of a bill.


“While they may not be JP Morgan Chase or Bank of America, they’re very powerful. Their influence should not be underestimated,” Gutierrez, the top Democrat on the Financial Services subcommittee in charge of consumer credit issues, said in an interview this week.

Indeed, the payday lending industry is strenuously resisting Gutierrez’s measure, which it says would devastate its business. The measure would cap the annual interest rate for a payday loan at 391 percent, ban so-called “rollovers” – where a borrower who can’t afford to pay off the loan essentially renews it and pays large fees – and prevent lenders from suing borrowers or docking their wages to collect the debt.

a new broom

a new broom

A newer player representing Internet payday lenders – a growing segment of the market – also ramped up its lobbying and political giving efforts. The Online Lenders Alliance, formed in 2005, nearly quintupled, to $480,000, its lobbying expenditures from 2007 and 2008. It contributed $108,400 to candidates in advance of the 2008 elections compared to about $2,000 in the 2006 contests. Gutierrez was among the top House recipients, getting $4,600, while the top Senate recipient was Sen. Tim Johnson, D-S.D., a Banking Committee member who got $6,900.

After watching members of the military fall prey to exorbitant payday loans, Congress in 2006 capped the interest rates for military payday loans at 36%. Fifteen states have similar caps or outright bans.

Congressman Gutierrez is competing with Congressman Joe Baca to see who can author the biggest giveaway. Baca’s legislation would allow rollovers, higher fees for online banks, and would pre-empt state laws banning payday loans.

Someone—maybe Carolyn Maloney, who did an excellent job with the Credit Card Bill of Rights—needs to step up and punch the payday lending lobbyists in the face.

a YouTube find from Blind Blake

they just don’t make ‘em like they used to…

Elvis Costello’s upcoming Secret, Profane & Sugarcane CD was recorded with producer T Bone Burnett over a three-day period at Nashville’s Sound Emporium Studio.
from MusicRadar.com
by Joe Bosso

The last time Costello and Burnett worked together yielded 1986’s King Of America, which, like the new album, explored American roots music.

Costello’s trusty touring band The Imposters sat these sessions out. Secret, Profane & Sugarcane (due 2 June) sees Costello surrounded by bluegrass and traditional country musicians such as Terry (sic) Douglas (dobro), Stuart Duncan (fiddle), Mike Compton (mandolin), Jeff Taylor (accordion) and Dennis Crouch (double bass).

Emmylou Harris turns up on one song, and producer Burnett adds a Kay electric guitar sound to several cuts – the only times that an amplified instrument is utilized on the album.

secret, profane & sugarcane

secret, profane & sugarcane

Costello originals, with notable co-writers
While most of the the record is filled with Elvis Costello originals, two are co-written with Burnett; I Felt The Child was co-authored by Loretta Lynn; and two others – Hidden Same and Boom Chicka Boom – were originally penned by Costello for the late Johnny Cash. The closing track, Changing Partners, was written by Joe Darion and Larry Coleman and made famous by the late Bing Crosby.

elvis costello

elvis costello

A vinyl version of the album will feature an acoustic arrangement of Lou Reed’s classic Femme Fatale, along with Costello’s ’sequel’ to an old Appalachian murder ballad entitled called What Lewis Did Last.

In June and August, Costello will perform a select number of dates to support the album with a band called The Sugarcanes, featuring a number of musicians who played on the record.

Over the last few years, we have all witnessed the decline of the music business, highlighted by finger-pointing and blame directed against record companies, artists, internet file sharing and any other theories for which a case could be made.
from The Huffington Post
by John Mellencamp

We’ve read and heard about the “good old days” and how things used to be. People remember when music existed as an art that motivated social movements. Artists and their music flourished in back alleys, taverns and barns until, in some cases, a popular groundswell propelled it far and wide. These days, that possibility no longer seems to exist. After 35 years as an artist in the recording business, I feel somehow compelled, not inspired, to stand up for our fellow artists and tell that side of the story as I perceive it. Had the industry not been decimated by a lack of vision caused by corporate bean counters obsessed with the bottom line, musicians would have been able to stick with creating music rather than trying to market it as well.

john mellencamp with vintage 0000 martin (?)

john mellencamp with vintage 0000 martin (?)

During the late 80s and early 90s the industry underwent a transformation and restructured, catalyzed by three distinct factors. Record companies no longer viewed themselves as conduits for music, but as functions of the manipulations of Wall Street. Companies were acquired, conglomerated, bought and sold; public stock offerings ensued, shareholders met. At this very same time, new Nielsen monitoring systems — BDS (Broadcast Data Systems) and SoundScan were employed to document record sales and radio airplay. Prior to 1991, the Billboard charts were done by manual research; radio stations and record stores across the country were polled to determine what was on their playlists and what the big sellers were. Thus, giving Oklahoma City, for example, an equivalent voice to Chicago’s in terms of potential impact on the music scene. BDS keeps track of gross impressions through an encoded system that counts the number of plays or “spins” that a song receives. That number is, thereafter, multiplied by the number of potential listeners. SoundScan was put in place at retail centers to track sales by monitoring scanned barcodes of units crossing the counter. A formula was devised whereby the charts were based 20% on the SoundScan number and 80% on BDS results. The system had changed from one that measured popularity to one that was driven by population.

Record companies soon discovered that because of BDS, they only needed to concentrate on about 12 radio stations; there was no longer a business rationale for working secondary markets that were soon forgotten — despite the fact that these were the very places where rock and roll was born and thrived. Why pay attention to Louisville — worth a comparatively few potential listeners — when the same one spin in New York, Los Angeles or Atlanta, etc., was worth so many more potential listeners? All of a sudden there were #1 records that few of us had ever heard of. At the time we asked ourselves, “Am I out of touch?” We didn’t realize that this was the start of change that would grow to kill, if not the whole of the music business, then most certainly, the record companies.

Reagan’s much-vaunted trickle-down theory said that wealth tricked down to the masses from the elite at the top. Now we’ve found out that this is patently untrue — the current economic collapse reflects this self-serving folly. The same holds for music. It doesn’t trickle down; it percolates up from the artists, from word of mouth, from the streets and rises up to the general populace. Constrained by the workings of SoundScan/BDS, music now came from the top and was rammed down people’s throats.

Early in my career, I wrote and recorded a song called “I Need A Lover” that was only played on just one radio station in Washington, DC the first week it came out. Through much work from local radio reps at the record company, the song ended up on thousands of radio stations. Sing the chorus of “I Need A Lover.” It’s not the best song I ever wrote nor did it achieve more than much more than being a mid-chart hit, but nevertheless, you can sing that chorus. Now sing the chorus of even one Mariah Carey song. Nothing against Mariah, she’s a brilliantly gifted vocalist, but the point here is the way that the songs were built — mine from the ground up, hers from the top down.

john mellencamp with good looking vintage dove.

john mellencamp with good looking vintage dove.

By 1997, consumers, now long uninvolved, grew passive, radio stations had to change formats. Creative artistry and the artists, themselves, were now of secondary importance, taking a back seat to Wall Street as the record companies were going public. The artists were being sold out by the record companies and forced to figuratively kiss the asses of their corporate overlords at the time these record companies went public. In essence, the artists were no longer the primary concern; only keeping their stockholders fat and happy and “making the quarterly numbers” mattered; the music was an afterthought.

Long-tenured employees of these companies were sacrificed in the name of profitability and the culture of greed was burned into the brains of even the most serious music lovers. It seemed that paying attention sales, who had the #1 record from one week to next, and who fell or rose on the charts was all that validated music.

One of my best friends in life was Timothy White who had been the editor of Crawdaddy, then Rolling Stone and, finally, Billboard. As a music critic, he championed singers, songwriters and musicians of all stripes. He was a music lover, beloved in the industry and by artists. Timothy, as many of you know, died suddenly, at the age of 50, waiting for an elevator at Billboard’s office in New York. Artists including Don Henley, Brian Wilson, Sheryl Crow, James Taylor, Jimmy Buffett, Roger Waters, Sting and me thought so much of him that two sold-out concerts — one in Boston and one at Madison Square Garden — were produced to raise money to support his widow, Judy, and family that includes their autistic son. Each of you, who care enough to read this, should ask yourself if people would be there to celebrate your life so lovingly as this.

In the early 90s, Tim started talking to me about the new service called SoundScan. Then the editor of Billboard, he was leery about the whole idea, realizing its potential to turn the record business upside down. He was pressured by his boss, publisher Howard Lander, who had warned that if Billboard didn’t buy into SoundScan, its competitor, Hits, would become the premier music industry trade magazine. I remember performing at a City of Hope benefit dinner in 1996 where he and I argued with Howard on the pitfalls of SoundScan and BDS and how there would be consequences that would not be good for the music business once it was embraced. It was a very unpleasant evening.

Let’s pause here to note that the record business has always been known for its colorful characters like Colonel Tom Parker, Ahmet Ertegun, John Hammond, etc. The most important thing is that different artists were able to express themselves in ways that were uniquely original, expressing their hopes and disappointments. That kind of artistic diversity and the embrace of eccentricity made the recording business great. It also made the record business horrifying in some ways. Look at what happened at Stax Records where financial finagling and skullduggery brought a great enterprise to a screeching halt that ended so many brilliant careers.

During the time of the upheaval wrought by SoundScan, BDS and the “Wall Streeting” of the industry, country music seized the opportunity and tacitly claimed the traditional music business. Country has come to dominate the heartland of America, a landscape abandoned or ignored by the gatekeepers of rock and pop. Great new country music stars came from seemingly nowhere to grow to tremendous popularity; think Garth Brooks.

While all this was going on, technology, just as it always does, progressed. That which, by all rights, should have had a positive impact for all of us — better sound quality, accessibility, and portability — is now being blamed for many of the ills that beset the music business. The captains of the industry it seemed, proved themselves incapable of having a broader, more long-range view of what this new technology offered. The music business is very complicated in itself so it’s understandable that these additional elements were not dealt with coherently in light of the distractions that abound. Not understanding the possibilities, they ignorantly turned it into a nightmarish situation. The nightmare is the fact that they simply didn’t know how to make it work for us.

The CD, it should be noted, was born out of greed. It was devised to prop up record sales on the expectation of people replenishing their record collections with CDs of albums they had already purchased. They used to call this “planned obsolesce” in the car business. Sound quality was supposed to be one of the big selling points for CDs but, as we know, it wasn’t very good at all. It was just another con, a get-rich-quick scheme, a monumental hoax perpetrated on the music consuming public.

john mellencamp

john mellencamp

These days, some people suggest that it is up to the artist to create avenues to sell the music of his own creation. In today’s environment, is it realistic to expect someone to be a songwriter, recording artist, record company and the P.T. Barnum, so to speak, of his own career? Of course not. I’ve always found it amusing that a few people who have never made a record or written a song seem to know so much more about what an artist should be doing than the artist himself. If these pundits know so much, I’d suggest that make their own records and just leave us out of it. Nora Guthrie, Woody’s daughter, once told me a story about a reception she was at where Bob Dylan was in attendance. The business people there were quietly commenting on how unsociable Dylan seemed to them, not what they imagined an encounter with Dylan would be like. When that observation about Dylan’s behavior and disposition were mentioned to Nora, the response was very profound. She said that Bob Dylan was not put on this earth to participate in cocktail chatter with strangers. Bob Dylan’s purpose in life is to write great songs like “Blowin’ in the Wind” and “The Times They Are A’ Changin’.” This sort of sums it all up for me. The artist is here to give the listener the opportunity to dream, a very profound and special gift even if he’s minimally successful. If the artist only entertains you for three and a half minutes, it’s something for which thanks should be given. Consider how enriched all of our lives are made by songs from “Like A Rolling Stone,” a masterpiece, to “The Monster Mash,” a trifle by comparison.

Now that the carnage in this industry is so deep you can hardly wade through it, it’s open season for criticizing artists, present company included, for making a misstep or trying to create new opportunities to reach an audience, i.e., Springsteen releasing an album at Wal-Mart and, yes, we all know what Wal-Mart is about. The old rules and constraints that had governed what was once considered a legitimate artist are no longer valid. When you think about it, you must conclude that there really is no legitimate business; there is no game left.

Sadly, these days, it’s really a matter of “every man for himself.” In terms of possibilities, we are but an echo of what we once were. Of course, the artist does not want to “sell out to The Man.” Left with no real choice except that business model of greed and the bean counting mentality that Reagan propagated and the country embraced, there is only “The Man” to deal with. There is no street for the music to rise up from. There is no time for the music to develop in a natural way that we can all embrace when it ripens and matures. That’s why the general public doesn’t really care. It’s not that the people don’t still love music; of course they do. It’s just the way it is presented to them that ignores their humanity.

If we have any hope for survival of the music that we all love, compassion must replace name-calling, fairness must replace greed and we need to come together as a musical community and try to understand each other’s problems. I once suggested to Don Henley, many years ago after I had left Polygram, that we should form an artist-driven record label, much like Charlie Chaplin did with the movies when he, more than 90 years ago, joined forces with Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks to form United Artists. Don’s response was correct. He said that trying to get artists and business people together to work for the common good of everyone involved is akin to herding cats. When all is said and done, unfortunately, it’s not really about the music or the artist. It’s about you and your perception of yourself and how you think things ought to be. And we all know that this very rarely intersects with what actually is. Just because you think this is how it should be only makes it just that: what you think; it doesn’t make it true. So let’s try to put our best foot forward and remember that anyone can stand in the back of a dark hall and yell obscenities but if you want a better world it starts with you and the things you say and do.

They take to the platforms and passageways of the MBTA each day: stoic classical guitarists, polished blues musicians working on their chops for the next club gig, up-and-coming singer-songwriters hoping to emulate the success of such former T troubadours as Tracy Chapman.
from Boston.com
by David Filipov

This year, their ranks have been swelled by a new wave: people who decided to play to the crush of commuters chasing rush-hour trains at a time when landing traditional employment aboveground is so challenging.

They represent a small, creative offshoot of the nationwide trend that has seen some of the recently unemployed reinvent their careers, often in occupations they find more rewarding, if less well compensated.

Jeremy Ross, 24, playing at Park Street's Green Line platform. (Globe staff/Barry Chin)

Jeremy Ross, 24, playing at Park Street's Green Line platform. (Globe staff/Barry Chin)

While some of the newer performers are talented musicians, others display a command of their instruments and voices that is rudimentary at best. They are all living a dream – even if they do not always get paid much.

Jeremy Ross was working in a cafe in December when one day the ax just fell. Instead of looking for work, he takes his Taylor 110ce guitar and Vox amplifier into the T station, where he belts out a mix of covers and his folksy, rhythmic original tunes in a brash, earnest voice, his face red, his foot tapping time.

“This is my job right now,” Ross, 24, said last week between songs during rush hour at the Park Street Green Line station. “Perhaps I haven’t been as ambitious as I should be about getting a new job. But I am happier this way.”

As T performers go, Ross was doing pretty well. The open guitar case beneath his feet had far more bills than the three singles he put there to “break the ice” at the beginning of his gig. Sometimes he makes $2 an hour, sometimes it is more like $20. He has a 12-song demo CD that he sells for $5, but those do not exactly fly off the platform. He plays well; he can solo on harmonica over his steady rhythm guitar, his voice does not waver or warble. Performing on a platform does have its downsides: the drunks, the loud trains, the people who walk by without listening.

“There’s problems, you know,” Ross said. “It’s strange waking up and saying ‘Geez, I need a couple of bucks, I better go play.’ This is my biggest audience, but no one stays for the whole set. The truth of the matter is, it’s fun.”

He kicked into the next song, a cover of “Two Coins” by Dispatch. “I reach into my pocket for some small change,” goes the refrain. No one in the crowd rushing by practiced what he sang.

Performers have to apply to play in the T. They pay a $25 fee, they provide references, they agree to perform in designated spots, on a first-come, first-serve basis. They agree not to play drums or trumpet (instruments deemed too loud). In 2008, from Jan. 1 through March 16, 45 musicians received permits, according to MBTA spokesman Joe Pesaturo. For the same time period this year, 76 were issued, he said.

Not everyone is as polished as Ross. A man plays a fiddle very badly at Park Street on the Green Line. Other legendary clunkers have included a singer who accompanied Stevie Wonder tunes blaring from a beat box at the Harvard Square Red Line stop (where Chapman got her start), and a guitar player who scratched out solos to canned music at the same station. Recently, at Government Center on the Blue Line, a harmonica player has alienated passengers.

“He just blows,” said Eva MacLeod, who commutes on the line. She had just dropped a dollar in the case of a musician whose work she found more appealing, Pablo Mendoza, 70. He was plucking Spanish guitar music from a bench at the station, almost completely ignored by the crowd as his simple, melancholy phrases echoed off the bare concrete walls. Mendoza has been playing here for four years; he stared impassively as a man in a Yankees cap sat next to him, absorbed in his iPod. Mendoza does not speak English, and he does not have a job. He does not remember the names of the songs he plays. He had four dollar bills and change until MacLeod made it five.

Pablo Mendoza, 70, playing Spanish guitar music from a bench at Government Center Blue Line station.  (Globe staff/Barry Chin)

Pablo Mendoza, 70, playing Spanish guitar music from a bench at Government Center Blue Line station. (Globe staff/Barry Chin)

Mendoza, MacLeod said, “is better than the crazy harmonica guy.”

Bobby “Clumsy Ninja” Bishop and Terelle “Miss Model T” Brown, who were playing blues at Downtown Crossing on the Orange Line, are probably better than that, too. Rush-hour passersby stopped to swing and sway to their stylish rendition of Elmore James’s “Done Somebody Wrong.” They dropped cash in the duo’s case as his smoky vocals and her fiery electric guitar solo, played over a silky rhythm loop track he had recorded to start the song, reached a crescendo.

Bobby \"Clumsy Ninja\" Bishop and Terelle \"Miss Model T\" Brown playing blues at the Downtown Crossing Orange Line platform. (Globe staff/Barry Chin)

They met here six years ago; Bishop taught her to play. Now their band, Steppers Heaven, plays clubs more than they play here, though they still like to come down.

“The intimacy here – there’s no parallel to it,” Bishop said in the clipped English of his native Gloucestershire. When Tamaki Hosoe, a physical therapist from Japan who works in Malden, started whistling to the music, Bishop held the microphone to amplify Hosoe’s makeshift solo.

Brown said she has noticed the arrival of new musicians in recent months.

“There’s a couple of guys and girls who got laid off,” she said. “Rather than look for a job, they have come down here to fulfill a dream. They’re doing what they want to.”

At the Orange Line stop of Downtown Crossing, Beth Fridinger was doing what she has always wanted to do. Strumming a simple, steady rhythm on her white Yamaha electric guitar, she made her way through a throaty rendition of “Dirty Old Town” by the The Pogues.

At the Orange Line platform of Downtown Crossing, Beth Fridinger strumms a simple, steady rhythm on her white Yamaha electric guitar.  (Globe staff/Barry Chin)

At the Orange Line platform of Downtown Crossing, Beth Fridinger strums a simple, steady rhythm on her white Yamaha electric guitar. (Globe staff/Barry Chin)

Fridinger started here in July, after playing open mic gigs for a year. A professional photographer, she decided to commit to playing music full time.

“Times are really tough right now,” she said, as she fingerpicked the chords to “House of the Rising Sun.” “It’s very hard to get a job. But if I got a job, I wouldn’t be able to do my music. I couldn’t do this and work a full-time job. I’d lose the spot.”

A woman stopped. “This is my favorite song,” she said. But she put no money in Fridinger’s suitcase. Fridinger – armed with sheets of chords and lyrics, an unabashed alto voice, and a tube of muscle rub – was ready to play a four- to seven-hour gig. She said she has made up to $200 a night, but she can also make much less. One night, her version of “Blowing in the Wind” earned her a quarter.

“In January, I was really sick. I almost starved,” she said. “But this is just so much fun, man. It’s been my lifelong dream to be a musician.”

Next to her sat Patrick “Patches” Vautour.

“If I had the money to buy a permit,” he said, referring to the $25 fee, “I’d do this. I’m unemployed right now. Rough times.”

Patches had not paid Fridinger for her music.

“I told her all I can give her are my two ears,” he said. “I really like her style.”

Fridinger was playing an original song, “Looking in the Mirror,” about an encounter with an old drunk man in a bar. A few faces turned but none lit up.

One man threw 50 cents in her case. He neither looked, nor slowed down.

He was wearing headphones.

David Filipov can be reached at filipov@globe.com.

Mel Brown and his wife, Miss Angel, loved Kitchener. And the city and region embraced the Mississippi Delta bluesman like they have no other. Blues legend Buddy Guy, while onstage a few years ago at Centre in the Square, said to Brown: ‘It’s just you, me and B.B. left now.’ Yesterday, we lost our legend.
from TheRecord.com
by Terry Pender

One of this city’s most beloved musicians–the legendary bluesman Mel Brown–has died. He was 69.

Brown was admitted to the intensive care unit at St. Mary’s Hospital on March 1 with a collapsed lung. He never made it home. Miss Angel, Brown’s longtime wife and partner, was at his side, when he died yesterday afternoon about 4 p.m. of complications from emphysema.

Soft-spoken and humble in life, Brown will be celebrated and remembered in death as one of the most talented blues guitarists to come out of the Mississippi Delta.

Mel Brown performs with oxygen in tow, at the Maple Blues Awards show at the Phoenix Concert Theatre in Toronto, Monday, Jan. 17, 2005. - MATHEW MCCARTHY, RECORD STAFF

Mel Brown performs with oxygen in tow, at the Maple Blues Awards show at the Phoenix Concert Theatre in Toronto, Monday, Jan. 17, 2005. - MATHEW MCCARTHY, RECORD STAFF

Born in Jackson, Mississippi, the cradle of the Delta Blues, on Oct. 7, 1939, Brown lived in the music centres of Los Angeles, Nashville and Austin before settling in Kitchener in 1989.

His first gig was with the famous harp player Sonny Boy Williamson. Brown’s last show was a Sunday afternoon gig at the Boathouse in Victoria Park.

In between, Brown played and recorded with a long roster of musicians, including B.B. King, T-bone Walker, Snooky Pryor, Bobby Bland, Stevie Ray Vaughn, John Lee Hooker, David Bowie, Dr. John, Sonny and Cher, Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson.

Brown was born into a musical family steeped in the art form that would transform popular music. The Delta Blues is the musical foundation for the giants of rock– the Rolling Stones, Eric Clapton and Pink Floyd.

But years before Mick Jagger ever strutted across the stage, the Brown household hosted Sonny Boy Williamson and his band, who were in town for a gig.

This was a common practice in 1950s Mississippi. African Americans were not allowed to stay in hotels. The band needed a guitar player for the gig and a young Brown was tapped for the job.

On the way to the show the car was stopped near a tree. The drummer jumped out and broke off a couple of branches so he could whittle a pair of drum sticks.

In 1955 when he was 16, Brown headed for Los Angeles. Humbled by the competition in the big city Brown returned to Jackson and practised hard for another two years before going back to L.A.

He never looked back.

Between 1958 and 1967 in L.A., Brown played with several bands –Johnny Otis, The Olympics, Etta James, Sam Cooke, Pee Wee Brayton, Johnny Guitar Watson– and started getting regular work as a session musician.

T-Bone Walker, called by some as the Father of the Blues Guitar, heard Brown playing one night at the Sands Club in L.A. and invited him to appear on his next album.

A studio executive was so impressed that Brown was signed to his own deal with ABC/Impulse where he recorded his first album — Chicken Fat. To this day Chicken Fat is a classic among blues guitar fans.

Brown recorded several albums and was touring with the Bobby Blue Band for years. In 1975, the tour bus rolled into Denver Colorado for a weeklong gig. A young woman attended every show and fell for Brown. That’s how Miss Angel and Brown met.

“And when the bus left it was 13 guys and me,” Miss Angel recalled.

“I met him a few days before my 22nd birthday. It was mostly about the party for me.”

Brown and Miss Angel lived together for 13 years, and then they got married.

But, in 1976, the couple moved to Nashville where Brown found steady work until moving in 1983 to Austin Texas to head the house band for Antoine’s.

And that’s where a young blues aficionado from Kitchener named Glenn Smith crossed paths with Brown around 1985. Smith was in Austin scouting for acts he could hire for shows in Kitchener.

“It was at the end of the night and I was leaving Antoine’s, literally the lights were on and everyone was leaving and this guy is standing on the edge of the stage and playing the electric guitar by himself and I was just floored. I said: ‘Who is that guy?’ ” recalled Smith.

When Smith opened Pop the Gator on Queen Street South in 1989, he asked Brown to lead his house band. Brown agreed and settled into a house on Cameron Street in downtown Kitchener.

“It was like having a baseball team and saying: ‘Guess what? We have Mickey Mantle now,’” Smith said.

“It gave me, as a club owner at the time, huge credibility,” Smith said.

Brown hosted a weekly jam night at Pop the Gator and musicians lined up for a chance to share the stage with the great blues guitarist.

“Guys would come to me later and say: ‘If I never do another thing at least I was onstage with Mel Brown,’” Smith said.

Pop the Gator closed in the early 1990s but Brown stayed in this city, becoming a fixture at the blues festival and other venues.

“Laid back, smooth, consummate bluesman,” Smith said in describing Brown.

“Loved smooth whisky, smooth women, smooth blues, never raised his voice,” Smith said.

Miss Angel appeared on recordings and stages with him.

A lifetime of smoking cigarettes caught up with Brown about six years ago when he had to go on oxygen full time because of emphysema.

He quit smoking then.

In October, 2006, Brown was rushed to hospital with breathing problems from a gig at the Silver Dollar in Toronto.

But the veteran bluesman rallied and returned to the stage.

Before the emphysema got bad, Brown liked to golf.

Scott Urquhart was a partner in Pop the Gator and became good friends with Brown.

“He was a private guy. He liked to keep to himself,” Urquhart said.

“He was the nicest guy in the world. I don’t know how else to describe him, just very patient and very caring,” Urquhart said.

Brown inspired some of this country’s leading blues talents.

Juno-award nominee Julian Fauth faithfully attended the jam nights at Pop the Gator.

“One time I went with my girlfriend at the time and I wanted to impress her so I put my name on the list to play,” recalled Fauth, who now lives in Toronto.

“And there were a lot of people in the room and I thought I wouldn’t have to go through with it. It was getting late and Mel Brown looked around the room and said, ‘Everybody is getting up to play tonight.’ And he looked over at me, and it was obvious I wasn’t old enough to be there, and he said, ‘Even you.’

“And then I got up and played with him and he liked it and he said, ‘Do another one,’ ” Fauth said. “I did another one and he said, ‘You can come back any time.’ I did. I didn’t always come back to play, but I came back to listen almost every week.”

Also at Pop the Gator for jam nights was Shawn Kellerman, another guitar ace and Brown protegé.

“When I didn’t have to go to school he let me play rhythm guitar or I would go up and jam when I could only come in for a couple of songs,” Kellerman said.

On his third and most recent CD, Kellerman recorded a song Brown wrote called Love Is Sweet. Kellerman played that CD for Brown when he was in the intensive care unit.

“So we listened to three or four tunes from my new CD. Angel said to me he really liked it. So that was good. It was really nice. It was great,” Kellerman said.

That emotional meeting was more than 20 years after Kellerman first saw Brown.

“I heard him playing at one of those blues picnics in Frog’s Hollow and he was playing piano with Angela Straley, then all of a sudden Mel switched to guitar and that moment is kind of ingrained in my brain,” Kellerman said.

Steve Strongman, the Hamilton-based blues artist who grew up in Kitchener, followed Brown to different jam nights.

“I used to go and sit in and jam with him, every week, he used to do every Thursday night at The Red Pepper and I would go in there and he would hand me his big Super 400, which was about the size of me and I would sit and play and learn and soak up as much as I could,” Strongman said.

When blues singer Cheryl Lescom returned to Kitchener in the mid-1990s, she was trying to revive her singing career while her marriage fell apart. It was a hard time made easier thanks to the kindness of Brown and Miss Angel, Lescom said.

“He would share his stage generously with you,” Lescom said.

“He would welcome you into his space, and when you’ve got that kind of talent you have to be a special person to do that. And he did that. He was just so gracious and kind. Both of them,” Lescom said.

About 10 years after moving to Kitchener, a Toronto-based label — Electro-Fi Records — signed Brown. Andrew Galloway, who heads the label, marvelled at the relationship Brown had with his fans in this area.

“He loved living in Kitchener,” Galloway said.

“The people were so welcoming to him. He never got over how welcoming people were to him,” Galloway said.

For the past 11 years Galloway worked with and recorded Brown. Brown won the W.C. Handy Award for Blues Comeback Album of the Year in 2000 for Neck Bones and Caviar.

“I asked him, ‘When did you start playing?’ And he said, ‘I can’t remember when I wasn’t playing,’ ” Galloway, said.

For the past 20 years, Brown seldom ventured far from his Cameron Street home. He would do gigs in Toronto and London, but mostly the shows were in this region.

“He loves Kitchener,” Miss Angel said. “He was in the hospital upstairs and he was looking out the window, you know, on the sixth floor so he can pretty much see the whole town, right, and he turned and said to me– ‘I love this place. I just love this place.’ That’s what he said,” Miss Angel recalled.

Mel Brown, Buddy Guy and B.B. King are the last of the originals to take the Delta Blues and send them around the world on the strings of electric guitars.

A few years ago, Guy was onstage at Centre in the Square when he said to Brown, “It’s just you, me and B.B. left now.”

Brown’s importance got the attention of Mako Funasaka, a documentary filmmaker in Toronto behind the talkin’blues productions, a series on Bravo! documenting the blues.

Funasaka filmed Mel Brown -The DVD while Brown recorded Blues . . . A Beautiful Thing.

“I have seen musicians meet Mel for the first time and just be in awe,” Funasaka said. “To me that’s who he was — the coolest guy on the planet.”

tpender@therecord.com

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