Favorite songs of 2009

Dan inspires me to keep my list going, even if it's not as well thought out as his. Here's a slew of songs I listened to a lot in 2009, in no particular order.

1. "Poor Boy" from Blind Pilot's 3 Rounds and a Sound.
2. "Bracket, WI" from Bon Iver on the Dark Was The Night compilation album.
3. "All My Friends" from Broken Social Scene's To Be You and Me.
4. "Banshee Beat" from Animal Collective's Feels.
5. "La Llorona" (The Crying Woman) from Beirut's March of the Zapotec.
6. "A Nervous Tic Motion of the Head to the Left" from Andrew Bird's Andrew Bird and the Mysterious Production of Eggs.
7. "Black River Killer" from Blitzen Trapper's Furr.
8. "I Wish I Was The Moon" from Neko Case's Blacklisted.
9. "Easier" from Grizzly Bear's Yellow House.
10. "Levelland" from James McMurtry's Where'd You Hide The Body.
11. "Just Breathe" from Pearl Jam's Backspacer.
12. "Rome" from Phoenix's Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix.
13. "Fake Plastic Trees" from Radiohead's The Bends.
14. "You Really Gotta Hold On Me" from She & Him's Volume One.
15. "Family Tree" from TV on the Radio's Dear Science.
16. "Vincent O'Brien" from M. Ward's Transfiguration Of Vincent.
17. "Heart Skipped A Beat" from The xx's XX.

More from Calexico

Joey Burns does another of my favorites, "Not Even Stevie Nicks." Takes a while to load, but well worth the wait.

My 2008 playlist

This year's list didn't receive as much deliberation as last year's. Nonetheless, here are 15 songs I found myself listening to over and over this year (and as with last time, the songs weren't all released this year):

1. "The Wolves (Act I & 2)
Bon Iver; For Emma, Forever Ago
Dan and I caught them live at one of the few shows I made it to this year. This song has a sing-along that hooks me every time. It's better still in person.

2. "All the Wine"
The National, Alligator
How can you not love a song with lines like, "I'm a perfect piece of ass" and "I'm a festival" in the first verse?

3. "Fade"
Calexico, Hot Rail
Q and I finally caught this band (one of my favorites) live -- the night before Jasper was born. Although they didn't play this song that evening, it is the one I find myself returning to as I listen to their material. The jazzy undercurrent to it all entrances me.

4. "Golden"
Red House Painters, Old Ramon
Another one linked to Q, who introduced me to this band just in the past month. The whole album has a feel, to me, like another of my all-time favorites, Big Head Todd and the Monsters' Midnight Radio.

5. "Cath..."
Death Cab for Cutie, Narrow Stairs
Just because.

6. "Random Rules"
Silver Jews, American Water
Had me from the opening line.

7. "Say It to Me Now"
Glen Hansard, Once (Music from the Motion Picture)
Loved the movie and the album, but this is the one song I can go back to time and time again without feeling too sugary sweet. A little yelling never hurts.

8. "Hasir"
Modeselektor, Hello Mom!
Found this in one of my Radiohead benders. Thom Yorke recommended the band in a podcast he participated in. Good for the gym, among other places.

9. "Your Hand in Mine"
Explosions in the Sky, The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place
Came across this -- and loved it -- this spring. Then a co-worker died and his children, who are about my age, had this as one of the songs playing as people filed into his funeral. Completely changed how I think about the song, but still a favorite.

10. "Hold On, Hold On"
Neko Case, Fox Confessor Brings the Flood
Casey introduced me to Neko by saying something along these lines, "If God had a voice, she'd sound like this..."

11. "Come Pick Me Up"
Ryan Adams, Heartbreaker
Hard to go wrong with this guy. Really need to get to one of his shows sometime.

12. "Go First"
Damien Jurado, Caught in the Trees
Another of Q's tips.

13. "Outfit"
Drive-By Truckers, Austin City Limits Music Festival (2003)
Reminds me of where I grew up. I liked it before Jasper's birth. I like it more now that he's here.

14. "Love and Some Verses"
Iron & Wine, Our Endless Numbered Days
Makes me think of Amy.

15. "A Change is Gonna Come"
Sam Cooke, 30 Greatest Hits - Sam Cooke Portrait of a Legend 1951-1964 (Remastered)
Thought about this song a lot in the run up to Election Day. Then the day this summer that about 75,000 people gathered in Portland to hear Obama speak (as documented by my colleague Bruce Ely below), I began to wonder if he and the future first lady might dance to it months later at the inaugural ball. I hope they will. Amy, Jasper and I will, I suspect, that night in our basement.



That's it from me. What'd you listen to this year?

If only...

... more people in OKC were this cool.

Dolorean, almost

Got to see Al James, the lead singer of Dolorean, play an opening set at Mississippi Studios last night. He performed some material from the upcoming release, "The Unfazed," which focuses on turning 30. That - coupled with my liking of his band, which wasn't playing - was the big draw. Friend Dan was kind enough to come out for the show, too.

James did some of the "Unfazed" songs, read some poetry by Robert Bly and apologized to his mother - who was sitting behind us - for playing some songs with curse words. He talked a lot - in words and music - about the challenges of reaching 30 as a musician who hasn't got that big break but who keeps plugging away for something he's clearly passionate about. And really, what's life without something you're passionate about?

In a weird twist of fate, Oklahoman Garth Brooks, retired country music superstar, played a show in Los Angeles last night. Part of it was televised live on CBS. Thing is, Brooks doesn't exactly need the money. In fact, he was donating proceeds from that and a few other shows to firefighters who battled the wildfires in Southern California last year. That crowd on CBS last night - which I caught a bit of before heading to Mississippi Studios - was going absolutely berserk for that old guy who, for the most part, was playing 10- to 15-year-old material.

So it was kind of bittersweet when James started talking about watching all these younger bands in Portland making it, and how he'd taken - for one day - a job in a cabinet-making shop, but quit after having a box dropped on his hand and shooting a nail in his finger. Kind of a bum deal for a guy who plays guitar. Then, amid a set of gorgeous mostly new material (and a sweet Dylan cover), he said it all made him want to play, of all things, a Garth Brooks song that's always been distinctly country to me, but last night seemed decidedly less so: "Much Too Young (To Feel This Damn Old)."

The chorus pretty well sums it up:

And the white line's getting longer and the saddle's getting cold
I'm much too young to feel this damn old
All my cards are on the table with no ace left in the hole
I'm much too young to feel this damn old

So go check out his stuff if you haven't already. As the headliner, Barton Carroll, said in his set: CDs are available in the back, for those of you who still buy them. If you don't, if you get your music free online, maybe you can buy me a coffee sometime. Like a six-dollar cappuccino. I mean, I drink two-dollar coffee, but I gotta make a living here.

Year-ender benders: 10 4 07

First, a disclaimer: These year-end music lists are wildly overdone. That very fact is what's kept me from ever doing one of these before, and what might keep me from ever doing one again. That said, it's been a very good music year for me, all around. I've seen more shows and been introduced to more new music than ever before and I've even played a little music myself - poorly but happily - on several occasions.

Basically, if you know me, you know I'm a big music fan. I'm not a music snob; not that there's anything wrong with those folks - some of them are my very good friends, and they're among the people who've introduced me to some of the best music I've come across. (Thanks, Quentin.)

So, with that said, here's my top 10 songs of 2007. I'm posting them now because I'm on vacation this week and I fully expect December to be chaotic. My twist on the traditional list: The first five are from bands I was lucky enough to see in person this year. The second five are ones I discovered, rediscovered or was introduced to otherwise this year. Clearly, they weren't all released in 2007. And they're listed in no particular order.

Whether you're a music snob, fan or novice, I hope you find something here to enjoy. It's been fun listening to all of it this year.

1. "West"
Lucinda Williams, West
June 10, Crystal Ballroom

We went to see her on the night of my 30th birthday. I don't think she played this one, but it's one of my bittersweet favorites from her latest release nonetheless. It includes these two verses, which are a fitting description of one of the driving forces - to me, at least - behind our migration here almost a decade ago now:

Come out west and see
The best that it could be
I know you won’t stay permanently
But come out west and see

Who knows what the future holds
Or where the cards may fall
But if you don’t come out west and see
You’ll never know at all

I think often of the sentiment behind those lines. In particular, it hits me each time we drive as far west as these roads go - which we don't do nearly often enough - and watch the sun sink into the Pacific.


2. "Impossible Germany"
Wilco, Sky Blue Sky
Aug. 22, Edgefield
Previous post

This was one of the songs I most wanted to hear at what was my most anticipated concert of the year. And about an hour or so into the set - in a night full of great songs - the band delivered just as I'd hoped. My favorite lines remind me of our adventure out here, alone together, each rounding out the other:

This is what love is for
To be out of place
Gorgeous and alone
Face to face

With no larger problems
That need to be erased
Nothing more important than to know
Someone's listening
Now I know, you'll be listening

Great lyrics and my all-time favorite guitar duet, between Jeff Tweedy and Nels Cline. Or as Paste Magazine put it: "(T)he two-and-a-half minutes of vocals are merely the set-up for the three-and-a-half-minute instrumental coda that delivers the emotional impact at which Tweedy’s words have already hinted. ... Their twin melodic lines diverge and converge again and again like lovers seeking both individuality and intimacy, a combination as elusive as 'an impossible Germany, an unlikely Japan.' "

Sappy? Yeah, but it's my list. Don't like it? Make your own.


3. "Your Ex-Lover is Dead"
Stars, Set Yourself on Fire
Nov. 15, Crystal Ballroom

Clearly, sappiness is out the window here - as is any illusion I'm too terribly plugged into the music scene. Although it was released more than three years ago, I hadn't heard the song until this year, and I hadn't seen this band from Montreal until this November. (Can't find an image of the concert poster from that night, so the cover of that particular album appears instead.)

Bottom line, though, is this is a great song for those odd - and here, thankfully, impossible - occasions of running into an ex:

God, that was strange to see you again
Introduced by a friend of a friend
Smiled and said, "Yes, I think we've met before"
In that instant it started to pour,
Captured a taxi despite all the rain
We drove in silence across Pont Champlain
And all of the time you thought I was sad
I was trying to remember your name...

Really, for much of the show, the band was too precious for my liking - with an almost "Breakfast Club"-like vibe full of '80s earnestness, complete with the members hurling flowers into the crowd. So that's what made it all the more delicious when the band delivers such jaded lyrics amid such sweeping, elegant, layered and almost orchestral music. And it was all topped off by what my friend Jann calls the "live-music experience moment" when Torquil Campbell and Amy Millan turned their mics to the crowd at the song's peak and hundreds of us all chanted along, joyfully:

Live through this, and you won't look back...
Live through this, and you won't look back...
Live through this, and you won't look back...

For those of us lucky enough to have lived through those bad ex's and moved on to domestic bliss, those lines are all the sweeter.


4. "Road to Joy"
Bright Eyes, I'm Wide Awake It's Morning
May 2, Crystal Ballroom

I was tempted to pick "Cleanse Song" from this year's "Cassadaga," which I like very much, and which was all the trippier amid the all-white stage setup/band attire and psychedelic-like video backdrop that was running nonstop at this show.

But as I thought back through the shows I saw this year, the version of "Road to Joy" (2005) that Conor Oberst and his crew closed the May 2 show at the Crystal with was the single-best show-stopper I experienced. (Wilco's "Via Chicago" was my favorite live song of the year, but it was the second to last song they played that night.)

"Road" kicks off fast and only gets better, with Oberst coming ever-closer to losing it as he runs through versus like these:

So I'm drinkin', breathin', writin', singin'
Every day I'm on the clock
My mind races with all my longings
But can't keep up with what I got

And so I hope I don't sound too ungrateful
What history gave modern man
A telephone to talk to strangers
Machine guns and a camera lens

So when you're asked to fight a war that's over nothing
It's best to join the side thats gonna win
No one's sure how all of this got started
But we're gonna make 'em goddamn certain how it's gonna end
Oh yeah we will, oh yeah we will!

Then everyone pauses to catch their breath, some militant-like drums come in and then it leads to this:

Well I could have been a famous singer
If I had some one else's voice
But failures always sounded better
Let's fuck it up, boys; make some noise!

Then they did just that, all hell broke loose and the Crystal's floating floor was bouncing like I'd never felt it before as they ran through the song's final verse. My friend Quentin said as we were walking out that he was initially surprised to hear "Road" as a closing song, but I came away thinking it was just about the perfect rock 'n' roll finisher.


5. "Spitting Venom"
Modest Mouse, We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank
March 15, Crystal Ballroom

Image from stop.down @ Flickr

Another great show-stopper, but this time it's from a show I - like many others - remember entirely too little of, unfortunately. Opens with these great lines:

We were spitting venom at most everyone we know
If the damned gave us a road map then we'd know just were to go

From that oh-so-happy opening, the song builds to a near frenzy before coming to an almost complete stop about halfway through. Then the band introduces some horns, then drums, then some Johnny Marr guitar, then Isaac Brock comes back in with these decidedly more optimistic vocals:

Cheer up, baby
It always wasn't quite so bad
For every venom then that came out
The antidote was had

And then - on that night - they pushed everyone the rest of the way into that full-on frenzy before walking off the stage and leaving us all to somehow make our ways home.


6. "Just Like a Woman"
Jeff Buckley, Live at Sin-é (Legacy Edition)
Previous post

My favorite musician covers Bob Dylan. I bought this late on a Friday night in January as my qualms about the impending arrival about 30 began to set in. Was up reading about Buckley and his short 30-year life. Now, here in December, I see it has been covered by Charlotte Gainsbourg and Calexico in "I'm Not There," the new Dylan bio-pic. Out of all the versions - from the original on down - I've since heard, this is far and away my favorite.


7. "Crayon"
Caribou, Up in Flames

Sugary-sweet electronica by mathematician-turned-musician Dan Snaith of Ontario. His group has a new one out this year - "Andorra" - but this 2006 song was my introduction do the band, and it still makes me smile whenever I hear it.




8. "Weird Fishes/Arpeggi"
Radiohead, In Rainbows

My favorite band from college returns with its groundbreaking, screw-The-Man, pay-what-you-want epic album that's sure to be on many best-of lists for the ballsiness of that move alone. I loved "OK Computer" back in the late '90s, and while that one is unsurpassed in overall concept, I have to say I've been wearing this one out from Day One. Especially this track, and the one after it, "All I Need." The layers of sound, led by wave after wave after wave of guitar are almost enough to put you in a trance.




9. "Heretics"
Andrew Bird, Armchair Apocrypha

This one's been stuck in my head since the day I got it as a free download for buying tickets to a now-canceled Decemberists concert. Maybe it's just me, but does anyone else hear a little Lou Reed in Mr. Bird's voice?



And this from a guy who was once associated with the Squirrel Nut Zippers, those swing-dancing, jazz hipsters of the late '90s fame.

10. "We Winter Wrens"
Dolorean, You Can't Win

This little Portland band - recommended by my friend Quentin a few months back - is my favorite find of the year. Their music is, as I wrote a recently, something I can listen to for hours. I'm no man of great faith in any traditional sense, and while their music is full of religious overtones it's still enthralling stuff, to me, at least. Classic lo-fi alt-country. The occasional Wilco-esque sounds don't hurt, of course.

I've been listening to song after song of theirs as I've put this listing together and their selection has been the toughest choice, hands down. They're just all good for the listening. It's a album to put on, hit play and walk away. If I had to pick favorites, I'd go with "We Winter Wrens," "Beachcomber Blues," "33-53.9°N / 118-38.8°W" and the title track - the only and prettiest song I know of to have simply one line and repeat it over and over. In doing so, though, it somehow shifts from a resigned acknowledgment of defeat to a beautiful acceptance of life's unending challenges. (Again, sappy. But it's my list.) All three of their albums, though, are well worthwhile and all too overlooked.

So, for good or bad, that's my list. All of these are available from your favored sources online. Check them out. And let me know what you liked this year.

Life, lately

From last weekend's annual McPrince carving party

My friend Quentin recently tipped me off to a good, little-known Portland band called Dolorean that I've been listening to a lot lately. Good stuff for this time in life, at this time of year, as the last of the leaves pile up and the mornings turn from crisp to see-your-breath cold. Just this week I started having to scrape my windshield in the mornings before leaving the house.

For tonight, though, forget the chill. Amy's upstairs in bed and here I sit, curled up with Wiley, sipping a stout called "Old Viscosity," listening to what one reviewer calls the "ambient folk-rock" sound of Dolorean's three albums - "Not Exotic," "Violence in the Snowy Fields" and "You Can't Win." It has me thinking about something Q sent me in an e-mail about the next album the band's lead singer will be working on. The note, taken from their site, reads as follows: " 'The Unfazed' will be an austere affair focusing on turning 30 years old, growing up, giving up, finding unbelievable happiness in being honest with the people around you and living very simply.' "

Amen, brother.

Last weekend we had, as pictured above, the annual McPrince Halloween carving party. It was a reminder in the inevitability of growing up. It was fairly austere, too - Amy limited her cooking to chili and a tasty bread pudding. Amy and I dressed up as the ghosts of this 100-year-old house's past, playing off the way-too-new slab of concrete oddly placed in our 1907 garage. (She was the dead wife; I, the shovel-wielding dirtbag husband. Maybe Susan can shoot us a copy of the "American Gothic"-esque picture she snapped, or maybe we'll get another shot tomorrow night if we re-create the spectacle for Hugo's legendary neighborhood party.) When we started our little party three or so years ago, it was all big people. Now, I swear, the little ones are soon to outnumber us. Wiley was surrounded and overwhelmed. And, I think, quite happily exhausted by the end of the night.

Back to that quote, though. I'm not one for giving up; Amy would be the first to vouch for how that stubborn-as-a-mule Prince streak will likely preclude that from ever happening, in damn near any capacity. But I am, in a sense, finding ever more enjoyment in living more simply and directly. Being healthier, more balanced, settling down to a greater extent. As my friend Casey noted yesterday, domesticated life ain't half bad. In fact, it's pretty damn good.

Along those lines, we hit a barn dance on Sauvie Island last weekend with fellow Vancooters the Robinwoods and honorary ex-pats the Nieloways. Their wee Anna was a delight all the while, whether the gang was gathered around a big bonfire or two-stepping to the always-entertaining tunes of Lisa and Her Kin.

But enough about the week past. The one to come has potential to bring big - exciting and crazy - change, too.

Or, to again quote the boys from Dolorean: "They all told me at different times to go ahead and go all the way into that feeling and try to come out on the other side. As the project wore on I eventually did, and the sentiment of "You Can't Win" changed drastically. Instead of the frustration that I was feeling early on there was a renewed appreciation of hard work, a belief in the complexity of love, and a newfound joy in creating..."

Big and little drummer boys

I got to help Luke, Dina and Ryan's oldest son, learn to drum last night at the final Mint Tea circle of the summer. Fun night. Luke seemed pretty mesmerized by it all - and really, who wouldn't be at that age?

I think that drumstick is bigger than he is. But that's the way it should be. Let your reach exceed your grasp, right? Today, at work, the whole night reminded me of this line, which - fittingly enough - I read in a story I was editing this morning.

"I tell my kids: ‘I don’t want you to be note punchers. I want you to be able to feel the music and put some emotion in it.’"

Whenever Amy and I have kids, I think that's the way to go. Somethings are not about doing by the notes. Instead, they're about going where the feeling leads you. That's been a lesson I was probably slow to learn.

Anyhow, the hippie-trippy dancing, always part of the show, fascinates the little ones.

Luke played until it appeared exhaustion was setting in. After that, the usual crowd played and played and played. Went for two-plus hours. I left well after dark, bouncing home, drumming all the way with wonderfully sore hands and a huge smile on my face.

Looking forward to next year's circles - and maybe some here and there over the fall and winter.

Red-Eyed and Blue*

Now that was what I needed.

Here, the guys from Wilco - plus a couple of their friends from the Minus 5, or this other band you might have heard of ... R.E.M. - open the second encore of last night's show with the long-awaited and much loved "California Stars." This was the biggest sing-a-long portion of last night's concert, by far. Maybe it's just the Oklahoman in me, but Woody Guthrie's lyrics just seem to call out for that, don't they?

From left: Nels Cline, Scott McCaughey of the Minus 5/R.E.M. on keyboards, Jeff Tweedy, Glenn Kotche on drums, John Stirratt on bass, Peter Buck of the Minus 5/R.E.M. and Pat Sansone on keyboards.

First, the setlist from Edgefield...

Either Way; You Are My Face; I Am Trying to Break Your Heart; Remember the Mountain Bed; Handshake Drugs; Pot Kettle Black; A Shot in the Arm; Side with the Seeds; Shake it Off; War on War; Impossible Germany; Too Far Apart; Jesus, Etc.; Walken; I'm the Man who Loves You; Hummingbird; On and On and On. 1st encore: Bob Dylan's 49th Beard, The Late Greats, Hate it Here, I'm Always in Love, Outta Mind (Outta Site). 2nd encore: California Stars (with McCaughey on keyboards and Buck on electric guitar), Heavy Metal Drummer, Via Chicago and Spiders (Kidsmoke)

That's 26 songs over more than two hours.

And no matter how much pints of beer or bottles of wine people drank or how much pot they smoked - and there was so much of the latter that Tweedy inquired about the "bongfire" raging in the first few rows - they came away in awe of Nels Cline's guitar masterwork.

Holy shit. The things that man can do with a guitar might very well be illegal in some parts of the Bible Belt. I could have spent the better part of the evening just happily watching him get lost in the music whenever that downright possessed, ecstasy-striken expression would overcome him. Every once in a while - such as in the photo above, with Tweedy during a shared jam - Cline would peel one eye open and look up to see whether a) everyone else was still with him and b) his I've-gone-utterly-ape-shit licks had ripped a hole in the fabric of the universe and caused the world to start to collapse in on itself.

Obviously, I never got to see some of the great guitarists of the past, but listening to Cline so intensely rip through a show makes me wonder what Hendrix would've been like in person. Especially considering Tweedy has a reputation for not wanting to be upstaged, what happened at the end of the show during "Via Chicago" was amazing to watch.

In the second half or so of last night's live version there was a section where Cline would create so much feedback from his guitar that it would almost entirely mute the lines Tweedy was singing. They'd go back and forth like that - a run of audible lyrics interrupted by a drenching torrent of notes from which lyrics would suddenly re-emerge - until they brought it all together in a sudden, crisp, perfectly timed stop. As my friend Jann would say, it was a moment to be filed under "live music experiences."

And then, sadly, after one more song the lights came up and it was all over.

* Note: Tweaked the last couple of grafs because I originally wrote - incorrectly - that they were playing "Spiders (Kidsmoke)" when Cline started drowning out Tweedy. In fact, it was the second-to-last song, "Via Chicago." My mistake.

My annual concert fix

Each year, it seems like there's one big show somewhere in or around Portland that I just can't miss. (Funny, this didn't happen so often in Oklahoma...)
Last year, it was Pearl Jam playing a smallish theater show up the street from my office. This year, it's Wilco (pictured above) playing on the lawn at a brewpub minutes outside of town in the Gorge.

My 15-year wait for Pearl Jam was well worth it. And although I've waited only about 10 years to see Wilco, they have gone through damn near that many members in their history. Still, I can hardly wait.

"Being There" was my introduction to the band in the late '90s. It'll finally be nice to do just that - be there - tomorrow night.

And when we are, I hope to hear "Impossible Germany" from the new "Sky Blue Sky" album that's pictured below. It includes this lovely lyric, which always makes me think of our McPrince adventure in the Northwest and beyond, relying on only each other in whatever foreign lands we may encounter:

But this is what love is for
To be out of place
Gorgeous and alone
Face to face

Or you can just watch them perform it live at Bonnaroo earlier this year:

Rhythm of the neighborhood

When we went to Morocco last September the one thing I was determined to come home with was a drum.

Well, I struggle to understand how almost an entire year has gone by since then, but I have got my money's worth and then some out of the little fish-skin topped instrument I brought back from Marrakesh.

Abdul hosts drum circles during the summer months at Mint Tea. I have no training, and no skills beyond a natural interest in and love for music. And really, that's all you need. We gather at 6:30 on, roughly speaking, the nights of the full moon. A bunch of folks from the neighborhood and beyond show up -- all ages, ethnicities, backgrounds -- and we just play. And play. And play. We sit on the sidewalk outside the store and, I swear, if you let it, if you let yourself get lost in it all, you can feel the stress come out of your fingertip each time your hand comes down to deliver another beat in the song.

We usually go for around two hours. My hands are numb when I get home and usually sore for two days afterward. And only part of that is because of hitting my drum's hard ceramic edges. The rest is just from getting so into it that you just zone out and play hard.

So, the third weekend of August is always our neighborhood festival - the Uptown Village Festival. We spent a good amount of time today walking up and down Main Street, checking out the classic cars and various vendors. Tonight, HBO was taping a comedy special in one of the stores, but I was counting the minutes until I'd get to go play that drum.

An African band played until 8 and then afterward a bunch of the regulars from Mint Tea's drum circle took over the festival's main stage and got to it. We played from 8 to 10, when we had to stop for the sake of people nearby being able to sleep. But man, what fun.

We started all out of rhythm, with no lead emerging to set the course. But, slowly, sort of like as discussed on a great podcast, "Radio Lab," I listened to last week, one emerged. And when it did, when we all came together -- 10 or so strangers on a stage in the middle of the street in the dark, with people walking by and looking at us funny -- it was a beautiful thing. Strangers climbed on stage and joined in. Others stopped to dance in the street. Some just paused and smiled. But it was one of those magical little moments that reminds me why I love this neighborhood. Abdul and I, I was thinking, could just as easily have been playing on Jemaa el Fna in Marrakesh, amid the snake charmers and all-night food vendors and barbers.

Sorry, no pictures. I was too busy playing. But there's one more drum circle scheduled at Mint Tea this year -- on Aug. 28. Maybe then I'll take some pictures. Either way, I'm looking forward to it already.

"I'm only here for this moment"

Last week -- Tuesday, to be precise -- marked the 10th anniversary of Jeff Buckley's death.

If you know who he is then maybe you'll get some of this. If you don't, I'm sorry, and I hope you'll still read on and maybe, sometime, give him a listen.

If you're in the later category, here's a little something to get you started, from his website:

Jeff Buckley was born in California's Orange County in 1966 and died in a tragic drowning accident in Memphis on May 29, 1997. He had emerged in New York City's avant-garde club scene in the 1990's as one of the most remarkable musical artists of his generation, acclaimed by audiences, critics, and fellow musicians alike.

Before we begin, yes, I realize just about everything that could be said about the man has already been committed to print or pixel. You can read plenty of those - from more eloquent, more insightful, more informed folks - here. Some of the bloggers who have been writing this week were even fortunate enough to have seen him perform live. (Lucky bastards.) And NPR had some good stuff timed to the anniversary that's worth a listen here.

All that said, bear with me.

I'd planned to write about this earlier. Then life got away from me - it's doing that a lot lately - and I figured the moment had passed. I figured I had nothing to add to the discussion, and, I'm still not sure I do. But this afternoon over beers and babies in the Hovdes' backyard, they mentioned their short stint in Memphis back in the mid '90s. And just like that, Buckley was back in my mind.

Now, with that introduction out of the way, I have to say the brief bio doesn't really begin to do him justice. But it'll serve as our point of departure nonetheless. And, yes, I'll be the first to say I'm sure I'm romanticizing the guy. (But really, isn't that what happens to all dead rock stars?)

For a variety of reasons, I've thought a lot about the anniversary's approach the past few months and its recent arrival. Part of it's what his music means to me - how I found it, who was in my life at the time, where my life was headed, where I am now and how his songs have been a constant through it all. Part of it is the mystique of the man himself - that voice, the ethereal range of "Hallelujah", and that guitar, from those entrancing first notes of "Last Goodbye", undoubtedly. But part of it is also his passion and what would seem to be his pain. And, no doubt, part of it is his death, both for when (at age 30, which I'll begrudgingly turn one week from today) and how (a drowning, like my uncle) it came. But, most of all, I think, it is the spirit that seems to bleed out of what he created - one epic studio album released in his life, and a ton of live and unfinished studio material, released after his death.

For my money or downloading time, there's an unmatched energy in all Buckley's music to create, and in that act of creation to stretch until hitting that spot where all self-consciousness is lost and an innate gut instinct kicks in. It's in that flicker of time that Buckley (and each of us, in those rare moments in whatever may be the pursuits of our own lives) comes utterly unhinged and sweeps himself and everyone around him away in the ecstasy of the moment that is now.

It's just gorgeous and beautiful and, for me, the epitome of the transporting powers of music. Some of the notes that man pushed himself past all natural limits to hit still give me goosebumps even as I listen to it all again tonight for the millionth time. I burned up I-35 between Wichita and Norman in late summer 1999, damn near wearing out my copy of "Grace," windows down in an old Cougar sans A/C. The wind-whipped roar of the Plains was never any match for Buckley's howl and cry as "Last Goodbye" gave way to "Hallelujah," which in turn gave way "Eternal Life" as I fled the remains of one relationship, pulled back into town and quickly found myself falling into the one - the love with Amy - that would lead to our marriage.

To hear people who saw him live tell it, he'd often stop shows and restart songs because they didn't feel right. Because, in essence, although everyone else in the building might have thought he was spot on, he knew within himself that he wasn't quite in that place that he needed to reach to create the moment he wanted to share.

For those who've been lucky enough to have even one of those moments in our life, I think the simple hope for another one is one of the things that keeps us going. I remember as a kid I'd sometimes get so deeply into whatever I was doing that I would get this tingling feeling, this rippling buzz of energy that would just wash over me at those rare instances, those most graceful and fleeting of gifts life occasionally gives us.

It's rarer still, I think, to see one captured on film. That's why I keep this - from the liner notes of the appropriately named "Grace", Buckley's one studio album released while he was still alive - on my desk wherever I work.

I love that picture. His head is thrown back, his eyes are shut, he's bathed in the light, the rhythm guitar player on the far left is following his lead and the drummer on the right is poised for the next cue Buckley would deliver by the simple nod of his head. He's creating, he's guiding, he's magnetic. He's a force in and of himself. And, beneath it all, rests the image of a clock, ticking ever forward, toward whatever end may await us all, someday, somewhere, sometime, as a reminder to do it - whatever it may be for each of us - now.

Those moments seem harder to come by as I get older. But they're every bit as electric and heavenly, if you will, when they do present themselves. (Whoever created this, which I love, apparently sees a little otherworldliness in Buckley, too.)

All this from the man who wrote, as that NPR piece mentions, what might as well have been his own epitaph, from "So Real."

I couldn't awake from the nightmare that sucked me in and pulled me under

But it's also the man who sang - as fittingly closes disc two of the posthumously released "Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk" - "Satisfied Mind."

When my life is over and my time has run out,
my friends and my loved ones, I will leave there's no doubt.
But one thing's for certain, when it comes my time,
I'll leave this old world with a satisfied mind.

May we all be so lucky.

Housekeeping

As you can see, we've redesigned the site. Here's hoping it's better organized and easier to follow. I was sick of the old, original look. Plus, I just like how the photos pop off the new black backdrop.

Beyond the changes in color and typography (both straight from a Blogger template), new features include:

• Neighbors - links to some family and friends
  
• Escapes (and escapades) - links to this year's Mexico and Morocco trips
  
• Tags - a key-word organizing system to search posts by content

Also, Amy has started her long overdue foodie blog over at The Dinner Hour. Check it out. She'll be writing about food, its role in culture, kitchen tips and tricks and, of course, translating her knack for making up a dish on the fly into easy-to-follow, step-by-step recipes.

Leave a comment here or there to let us know what you think.

In other news:

• Finally got to see James McMurtry in concert. Fitting that we went with friends Mike and Susan, who introduced us to his music in the first place. Line of the night, upon introducing "Choctaw Bingo," "This is for all the crystal methodists in the house..." The man may live in Texas, but he's got Oklahoma down pat.
• We're off next weekend for a crabbing trip at the coast with friends.
  
• More to come on Morocco. The day-by-day retelling was boring even me. So instead, I'll be writing about highlights from various cities as the mood strikes, as with the recent piece on Marrakesh. Look forward to the stories of my new scars - plural. See, this guy wanted to barter for Amy...