Jeff VanderMeer is a diabolical villain and other fun things

Last month I finally went to see Ivy Ford at the North Street Cabaret.

Holy cow, can she play a mean guitar!

I'd been meaning to go to a show of hers for a few years after seeing her on a bill at the Red Rooster and other joints around town. She plays blues in an Albert Collins/B.B. King vein - more or less - with forays into something more like blues-inflected rock, perhaps a bit Hendrixy.

Great stuff.

Maybe a week ago I finished reading Absolution.

The first thing I thought upon reading the final words was "I should have re-read the first three books." I think a lot of what happens here is mentioned in the original series but I have forgotten so much as it's been years since I took them in.

Absolution has 3 parts. The first section is called "Dead Town" which describes the fate of an expedition in the Forgotten Coast some 20 years prior to the formation of Area X and serves as a prelude to the horrors to come.

"Dead Town" is as chilling and uncanny as anything in the original Southern Reach books. The carnivorous rabbits made the simple act of mastication into a nightmare and were disturbing enough on their own but then they are slaughtered with ruthless efficiency via flame throwers making for a genuinely horrific scene in which I could almost smell the burning flesh and fur. Just when I thought it was safe to take a breather, we get the scene wherein the Rogue visits the biologists and it was simply disturbing and twisted - diabolical even. I could just see Jeff VanderMeer twirling his moustache and laughing as I realized that there was no going back, that I'd been beset by an uneasiness that I would not, could not shake until days after having finished the book. When that scene was done, I had to stop and think about it. Recover, in a way. I wasn't quite sure what had happened to the expedition in it but it was all bad.

The biologists had reached the white rabbits and did not care or notice that they trampled blackened corpses and living creatures both, weapons slack at their sides like a muscle memory that was amnesia, this onrushing surge toward the Rogue behind his veil of silver. Nor did the living rabbits care if they were trampled.

...

Now the Rogue kept opening his mouth wider and wider and the words came out louder and more brutal above the downpour. Those words could not be extinguished by the rain. Those words rose and permeated and cascaded outward and around the Rogue - even as the first wave of biologists surging against that "fey weaponry" crumpled, fell to their knees, slid down on gurgling mud as if they could evade the fire "that called our names"...except it kept calling and each time the desolation within became more final and complete.

The second section, "The False Daughter", concerns Old Jim, a retired(?) Central operative who is lured back into service for one last job. He is estranged from his daughter and, quite disturbingly, Central casts a younger agent to play the role of his daughter which makes for a weird plunge into Old Jim's psyche. For his part, Old Jim has been sent to the Forgotten Coast to investigate the strange happenings there which are related the expedition from "Dead Town". He is obsessed with finding the Rogue and encounters the Tyrant, an alligator that the biologists let loose nearly 20 years prior to his mission. The Tyrant has grown quite large and seems to have become sentient. The mere potential of the gator still being alive is enough to loosen the veteran agent's grip on reality.

This section ended with a Solaris (the film) vibe for me with Old Jim seeming to return to the "normal" world of the Forgotten Coast but I wasn't convinced. The camera could have pulled back and shown Old Jim at the Village as merely some twisted diorama sitting alone amid alien corn. It reiterated what "Dead Town" revealed to us: whatever alien or intelligence or force is loose in the Forgotten Coast, we humans are unable to divine its purpose or makes sense of its methods.

The book closes with "The First and the Last" which takes place a year after the border that defines Area X has descended. We witness the first expedition into Area X from the point of view of Lowry who drops hundreds, if not thousands of f-bombs. I found his dialogue to be annoying but eventually got used to it.

We know the mission failed and here we get a glimpse of madness settling in and members dying one by one as flesh melts into hazmat suits and other dreadful and bizarre happenings befall the crew.

Absolution was a great read. VanderMeer nails the cosmic horror thing perfectly as people descend into madness before an incomprehensible presence.

Last weekend my ladyfriend and I went to see The Claudettes, Chicago's premier band who does what The Claudettes do. It was the Madison release party for their new album Garage Glamour and the show was sold out. Also there was Hannah, The Leaf Queen, who shared her photos with me. She was seated right up front while I was off to the side and so her pics are better than mine.

Liz Ele is the new drummer having replaced Michael Caskey earlier this spring.

She seemed to be more of a rock drummer and she drove the songs forward with her steady push. She added a controlled manic energy to the music.

It had been a while since I'd seen the band perform and singer Rachel Williams has settled into being the frontwoman. Her performance that night had more energy and, for lack of a better way of saying it, she put on more of a show. When I last saw the band it was shortly after she had joined and she seemed to be reacting to the music onstage then but now she is part of it, as if the beat was emanating from the movement of her lithe figure, her singing tacking a course for the melodies.

The new album really puts her range on full display. There's the pleading of "(You Are My) Whole World", the sultry seduction of "Touch You Back", and my favorite at the moment, the Zack de la Rocha-like delivery on "Don't Give It Up to the Thieves".

Johnny Iguana's piano was as bracing and melodic as ever while Zach Verdoorn effortlessly alternated between bass and electric guitar. Plus I think he sang more that night as well.

A great show.

Also thanks to Rachel for helping me clean up a spilled beer.

I have visited the planetarium a couple times recently. The first was for a screening of Beyond Our Senses: Bank Swallows.

Directed by Wisconsinite David Andrew Busse, it portrays colonies of bank swallows who migrate to the shores of Lake Michigan just south of Milwaukee. We witness males on the prowl for mates, the youngins hatching and growing quickly to become fledglings.

Busse was on hand for the screening and he talked about how the idea for the movie developed from observing the birds on walks and wanting to know more and to document what he was witnessing.

Not only was this a fascinating look at an animal that I knew nothing of until watching this, it was really neat to see the birds in action on the full dome of the planetarium. There's much more happening there than just stars in the night sky. (Which are really hoopy, don't get me wrong.)

More recently I was at the planetarium to take in a screening of Sounds of the Oceans.

It's not really a documentary and is more of an immersive experience. We are shown footage of orcas and whales and dolphins as they glide through the ocean waters. Their calls are mixed with music and the combination makes for a relaxing journey beneath the waves.

While there was definitely a New Age vibe to be had, I found it an interesting impressionistic ride. What were the animals' calls about? Were they having a chat or trading insults about the diver with the camera?

The movie ended with suggestions for how to be kinder to the oceans and their inhabitants. Is chilling out your audience to the graceful movements of some ocean life the best way to build empathy for them and to lead folks to action? I don't know. Nonetheless Sounds of the Oceans is a serene getaway from the workaday world that invites viewers to seek kinship with the life beneath the waves.

My ladyfriend and I went to see Baskerville: A Sherlock Holmes Comic Mystery last weekend down at the Bartell.

It was great fun and, truth be told, I was surprised at how old fashioned its comedic attitude was. I know nothing about the history of this play but it felt very old school to me. Its humor was for all ages and there was lots of Watson making faces at the audience and faux mistakes that let the audience know the characters knew they were in a play.

Fun was the watchword instead of grand themes.

Last weekend a friend and I went to the Gamma Ray to see Souled American, a pioneering alt-country band from Chicago. I heard about them briefly on Sound Opinions shortly before seeing that they'd be stopping here in Madison and figured we had to go.

Joe Adducci and Chris Grigoroff were joined by an unknown (to me) guitarist and they proceeded to play some stripped down, country-inflected balladry. 

I thought the tunes had strong Townes van Zandt vibes. (It's snowing on Elston. Ha!) They seemed to have a fatalism to them. The music may have been sparsely arranged but the bare bones aesthetic combined with gritty performances for an achingly genuine experience.

I watched Errol Morris' latest documentary, CHAOS: The Manson Murders. It was really neat for me as I knew only the barest of details of the Manson Family and their deadly exploits.

In classic Morris style, the truth behind the Manson madness and the hideous murders is called into question. Prosecutor Vincent Bugliosi (who was a resident of Hibbing, MN at the same time as Bob Zimmerman) put forth the idea that Manson wanted to start a race war in his book Helter Skelter: The True Story of The Manson Murders. Here Tom O'Neill's book, which gave the movie its title, calls that into question and throws in CIA involvement along with a mind control conspiracy.

Bugliosi's hypothesis is further brought into question by former Manson follower Bobby Beausoleil who paints a more mundane picture of Manson. It's one of a scorned wanna be musician turned maniac and not a fiend bent on bringing to fruition some crazed apocalyptic vision of interracial strife.

The movie does a good job of giving the details of Manson's life and the sordid, murderous affairs he was involved in. Plus it ponders just how a crazy man who lived on the fringes of society when he wasn't in jail could command a commune and convince his followers to commit those sadistic murders in the summer of 1969.

I also appreciated the use of Manson's music. It fits into the narrative, yes, but it had been a long time coming for me. Guns N' Roses covered one of his songs on their album "The Spaghetti Incident?" and I recall well the uproar that caused. And so it was just interesting for me to finally hear Manson performing his songs at long last.

Song of the day, 10 April 2026

The bright side of life

Despite Piper's death and a large cat-shaped hole in my heart, life goes on and there really are many wonderful things in mine. Sometimes it is difficult to enjoy them or even recognize they exist when I get bogged down in my sweetpea's absence. For instance, it was very difficult to come home from work that first day after her death. I walked in the door and tearfully stared at the couch waiting for her to walk around the corner and jump on it to patiently wait for me to give her a pill pocket.

It gets better a little every day but I still miss her greatly. 

I baked a loaf of rye bread recently.

I used some insta-sourdough dust. 

It was nice to finally give this stuff a go as I had bought a packet last year when I was still living with my wife but never used it while in the grip of divorce miasma.

It turned out well with a nice rye flavor and a good tangy zip to it.

Look what arrived a couple days ago! 

I simply adore this picture. Winter! A kindly cat! Birds!

This was a gift given to me maybe a week or so before Piper passed. I need to get it framed so that it can sit on my desk.

Another recent gift was some coffee from Puerto Rico. 

Very tasty stuff. Very roasty and a bit nutty.

I hung my print of Grabby.

One of Piper to follow.

Lastly, for now, I'll mention that Shemekia Copeland put on a great show last week. 

Lousy picture, I know. One thing I love about her is how positive she is. In addition to catchy melodies and booty-shakin' grooves, her songs are often about hope and being kind to one another. She certainly recognizes hardships in life but she emphasizes beauty.

She mentioned that she'll be back here in Madison this summer at one of our numerous festivals.

Song of the day, 12 December 2025

 

Feeling blue...

... but looking forward.

The Songs Remain the Same

I listened to Led Zeppelin quite a lot when I was a teenager and into my 20s. Nothing unusual here, nothing that countless other young men didn't indulge in as well. At some point, though, I moved on. It wasn't a falling out so much as me just finding lots of other musical rabbit holes to go down. As the years wore on Zeppelin would occasionally return to my musical diet after long periods of absence. A song of theirs might come on the radio or I would just get a hankering to hear one of their tunes.

One sad day I unceremoniously disposed of most of my tapes and records and found myself having to rebuild my music collection. I was in no hurry to buy any Led Zeppelin. At some point or other, I decided it was time to buy some of their albums but found that, in my 30s, I had become less enamored of Robert Plant's wailing and keener on listening to the blues artists that Zep had covered and been influenced by than their interpretations.

But I never lost sight of the fact that the guys were extremely talented and had a body of work that was much more eclectic than riffs and orgasmic moans. Some of their songs remain classics for me and have aged very well. Just like your humble narrator.

One Led Zeppelin song that I still love is "When the Levee Breaks". Yeah, it's a blues cover but it's really a re-working of a country blues song and not just a traditional blues tune put into overdrive with heavier guitars and a faster tempo. This is something altogether different.

I first heard this song when I was about 10 years old and loved it immediately, as I recall. I also remember thinking of it as being quite different from the rest of that album, Led Zeppelin's untitled 4th, a.k.a. - Led Zeppelin IV, a.k.a. - Zoso, a.k.a. - Four Symbols. "When the Levee Breaks" wasn't riff rock and it wasn't acoustic balladry. It was...just hypnotizing.

It opens with what is probably the most famous drum line in all of rock history. John Bonham's bass drum is drenched in reverb and right up front pounding away while his snare has a that great woody pop to it. The drums echo just enough to be readily noticeable and give the listener a sense that there's simply something different about them but not done with too heavy a hand to make them sound thoroughly unnatural.

Then harmonica, bass, and guitar come in. The guitar has a rather clean sound - no big fuzzy chords. It churns away in the background instead of being the main melodic component that your ears grasp onto immediately. The original version of the song by Memphis Minnie and Kansas Joe McCoy is a rather bouncy country blues. But Led Zeppelin transform it into a sludgy, raga-like epic.

There are no typical Jimmy Page guitar solos. In their stead we get breaks of distorted slide guitar that pay homage to the blues but don't really sound like it. The song just sounds dark and slightly surreal. If Jimi Hendrix took the blues into outer space and gave them a crazy, psychedelic sheen, then Zeppelin take them underground here, rolling them in the raw earth. That catchy drum beat and the jangly, churning guitar just don't stop and draw you in until you're lost in their rhythm.

Sometimes the guitar is clean, other times it has a wooshy effect - tape flanging, apparently. I've also heard that the tape was slowed down just a bit so the whole song steps down in key and, if you compare the released version to versions of the song that are more works-in-progress and not so adulturated, the instruments kind of meld into one another as in an alchemical blending of base elements.

No one element sticks out here with the others playing support roles like in other Zep songs where things seem to built around a guitar riff. This song feel orchestrated with everyone's contributions making a whole greater than its parts.

When I finally did buy a Led Zeppelin CD, it was Led Zeppelin III.

While the album has some classic riffing and more traditional takes on the blues, it's known for being the acoustic album in their catalog. They decamped from the big city (I think) and settled into a cottage in the Welsh countryside and returned to the city with several more acoustic, folky-flavored songs. That's the rock lore, anyway.

Of that bunch of softer songs, "That's the Way" stands out for me.

The gentle strum of an acoustic guitar opens the song but is quickly joined by mandolin to provide a sprightly rhythm that goes up and down with the first part ending on a high note followed by a decent into lower ones. Steel guitar adorns the acoustic instrumentation and adds a dreamy quality to the bucolic scene. Towards the end of the song as it meanders to a close, there's a little bit of a sound played backwards as you can hear delicate whooshes, as if the wind is gently lifting something up into the air. It's subtle, though and doesn't drag you off into some psychedelic landscape like the Stargate sequence in 2001: A Space Odyssey. Rather it's more like when Jessica Chastain's Mrs. O'Brien floats and glides around that big old tree in that scene from The Tree of Life.

Robert Plant eschews the wailing here, for the most part, as he takes a mellower approach to singing some rather impressionistic lyrics that only give glimpses of various scenes. The first verse begins with what appears to be the end of a childhood friendship before quickly zooming out and then in on a young man being ridiculed for having long hair, as one did in 1970. Later there are what seem to be more environmentally conscious lyrics where someone concerned with the state of environment has their concerns shrugged off - "all that lives is born to die".

The song feels like you're sitting by a window as the sun streams in and you look out at the tall grass bending in the wind as the leaves rustle and you let your mind wander, wander down the years to childhood and back up to the present with anxiety over the future. "That's the Way" is just a very pretty song with a hint of the wistful that floats along like a daydream.

Also check out the rough mix. The steel guitar is missing but it has some lovely dulcimer runs that the finished version lacks.

Sonny Boy

Seen after losing at music trivia.

Rory Block, I’m Every Woman

I must admit that I have never heard any Rory Block prior to this review. The liner notes claim that she is “Internationally acclaimed as today’s master of acoustic blues…” They go on to tempt the listener with “powerful versions of classic R&B with stunning a cappella gospel and stark, traditional ballads.” This set my expectations high.

Before I get to the music, let me say that I’m Every Woman is one of the most polished “blues” albums I have heard in a long time, the last being Guy Davis’ Call Down the Thunder. Davis, to his credit, built a wall around the music and kept the polish at bay by relegating it to the production. But Ms. Block’s effort is clean all-around – too clean. The production values, the musicianship – just about everything is stripped of any visceral punch and the listener is left with a mostly sterile, anodyne pastiche of styles. But similar criticism was leveled at an album I love, Emmylou Harris’ Wrecking Ball. My defense is that Wrecking Ball took folk, infused it with technology, and struck a mutually beneficial balance just as Jethro Tull did on their The Broadsword and the Beast album. I don’t know, maybe it’s just me. The blues that have graced my CD player lately are of Mississippi Fred McDowell as recorded by Alan Lomax in the late 1950’s on the first stereo field recording equipment.

I’m Every Woman is bookended by two short acoustic slide guitar pieces entitled “Guitar Ditty 1” and “Guitar Ditty 2”. When I heard the former, I was enraptured as I love acoustic slide and thought that it would foreshadow things to come. Alas, I was led at least partly astray with the next song. The title track follows and is the Ashford and Simpson tune. While I have nothing against juxtaposing acoustic blues and disco in theory, it doesn’t work for me here. The acoustic guitar that chugs along throughout is catchy but can’t be rescued from the horrid string synthesizers. Block’s take on Curtis Mayfield’s “Fool For You” is next. It doesn’t grate on the ears as the previous song but it isn’t an especial remake either.

The album takes a definite upward turn with the next two songs. Block teams with Gaye Adegbalola for an a cappella version of the traditional “Sea Lion Woman”. This is great stuff! The various vocal parts swirl and pirouette around one another in a truly beautiful dance. Another traditional song, “Ain’t No Grave Can Hold My Body Down”, continues the majesty of “Sea Lion Woman”. Recorded in an Episcopal Church in New York with Jordan Block Valdina, it bucks the trend of sterile sound so prevalent in the other songs. The natural echo of the church is evident and the voices resonate in harmonious wails.

With about a third of album gone by, I must admit to having been impressed by Block’s voice. It is crisp and she has a great range. Best of all, she rarely tries to infuse the songs with annoying vocal flourishes like Mariah Carey and she never tries to make a sound that is foreign to her style or unnatural.

Al Green’s “Tired of Being Alone” brings the proceedings back to the doldrums. It isn’t that it’s bad it’s just that it sounds so uninspired musically. It’s a great song dressed in the most subfusc arrangement. Block’s vocals are passionate and enjoyable, however. Much the same goes for “Love TKO”. Very bland and insipid music is empurpled with some soulful crooning.

The second half of the album kicks off in fine fashion with Block’s sparse arrangement of another traditional song, “Rock Island Line” featuring just hand claps, harmonica, and voice. The song leisurely lumbers along and this suits me just fine. There’s nothing slick or forced about the performance at all.

For better or for worse, Block penned only three songs for the album: the acoustic idylls that open and close the affair and “Talkin’ ‘Bout My Man”. It creaks along like John Bonham’s bass drum pedal on “Since I’ve Been Loving You”. This song bored me to tears. And if this wasn’t bad enough, Block teams up with blues muso Keb’ Mo’ on another tortuous Ashford and Simpson atrocity, “Ain’t Nothin’ Like the Real Thing”. That is all I am prepared to say about this song. But just as every cloud has a silver lining, (almost) every bad R&B cover on this album is followed by a devastating performance of a traditional piece. In this case, we are treated to a superb rendition of the murder ballad “Pretty Polly” with Kelly Joe Phelps. Block’s voice is exquisitely sanguine here and made me wish she had done an entire album of chanteys, ballads, and jodels. This version ranks as my second favorite behind that of Estil C. Ball.

And then the schizo nature of the album continues. The Reverend Herb Sheldon guests on “Hold On/Change is Coming”. It is here that some clichéd vocal mannerisms appear as does the boredom. The penultimate song on the album is “I Feel Like Breaking Up Somebody’s Home”. While it is a bit more raw than most of the songs on the album, it is too little too late. It also demonstrates the limitations of Block’s vocal style. She can sing very soulfully, very passionately and has a silky smooth voice. But when she sings “I feel like breaking up somebody’s home”, I don’t believe her. There nothing thrasonical or threatening about her singing – there’s no braggadocio in it. When I imagine Big Mama Thornton or Koko Taylor singing it, I feel trouble is a brewin’.

I’m Every Woman is a gallimaufry of styles. For me, the gospel and folks adaptations work really well. However, the disco and R&B are uninspired. The arrangements of these songs are strictly rote. Nothing is done to give the songs a twist, to make them interesting or Block’s own. The musicianship is, for the most part, very bland. Each swash of organ and every drum fill is by the numbers. And in 2002, there is no excuse for rhythm-centered songs to have drums that sound like they were recorded in a cardboard box. Personally, I do not recommend this album. Borrow it from the library and turn “Pretty Polly” up to 11. Despite my feelings for this CD, I do plan on going back into Ms. Block’s back catalog to see what gems I can unearth because she obviously has talent and an ear for good songs.

(This was originally published at The Green Man Review back in 2003-08.)

Hound Dog Taylor and the Houserockers, Hound Dog Taylor and the Houserockers

The first word that comes to mind when I think of Hound Dog Taylor’s music is “fun”. His boogies and shuffles make you want to shake your ass, make you want to move any way you can. When he hit a groove, it was infectious. But he also played slow blues. They are songs that lilt along while his aching slide guitar cries out to be heard. Everything about his music has a down-to-earth feeling. There is nothing very complicated about the music from a technical point of view, but the performances are raw and honest without a hint of pretension.  He played an inexpensive Japanese guitar with a slide made from the leg of a chair.

Hound Dog Taylor’s name may not be as instantly recognizable as that of Muddy Waters’, or Howlin’ Wolf’s, but his career had many parallels to those of several post-war blues giants. Hound Dog (Theodore Roosevelt) Taylor was born in Natchez, Mississippi in 1915 and he started playing guitar in 1935. He moved to Chicago in 1942 after plying his trade around the Delta and with such luminaries as Sonny Boy Williamson. (For those whose leanings are towards rock music, Williamson wrote “Bring It On Home” which Led Zeppelin covered on their second album.) Music was a part time endeavor for him until 1957 when he made music his full-time occupation, playing virtually every blues club in Chicago. It was around this time that Taylor ran into blues legend Elmore James who would be a great influence on his own music. In 1959, Taylor invited fellow Mississippi transplant Brewer Phillips to join the Houserockers on second guitar – they had no bassist. In 1965, Chicago native Ted Harvey became drummer. And in 1971, when Taylor was 56, they recorded the first album for the new Alligator Records.

Their debut record was eponymous titled and is a loose, jam-packed disc of ass-shakin’ grooves. At this time, Hound Dog and the Houserockers played all over Chicago on weeknights and had residences at two clubs on the weekends. The album seems to represent an approximation of what those three or four hours shows were like.

The album kicks into gear with “She’s Gone.” It has a persistent, throbbing rhythm underneath Hound Dog’s vocals and slide guitar flourishes. Despite the rather somber tone of the music and the lyrics about a man losing his lover, there is a sense of fun nonetheless which is quite evident when, in the middle of the song, Hound Dog laughs a bit while trying to sing. The song marches on and climaxes at the end with Taylor “It’s alright!!!” and his adroit fingers slide up and down the neck bringing the point home.

“Walking the Ceiling,” an instrumental, follows. It is pure boogie with Hound Dog going crazy on the slide while Phillips and Harvey provide a busy, yet steady beat. It is not hard to imagine Hound Dog having played something like this in a juke joint in Mississippi during the late 1930’s. The first slow blues and first of four Elmore James covers, “Held My Baby Last Night,” is next. A few lonely notes, second guitar, and then the drums enter. I think that this is one of his best performances ever. The verses are tender, though not in a sappy way, but it is when Hound Dog tears into his solo about halfway through the song, that when things really get interesting. His solo is so fragile, the notes are searing and penetrating. I won’t go into formalism vs. expressionism or the psychology of music, but, if the electric guitar could ever cry, could ever relate tears, it is here. Simple yet extremely powerful and moving.

“Taylor’s Rock” kicks things up a notch again. Another instrumental aimed at getting people moving on the dance floor. Taylor tears things up again and Harvey lets loose during this tune several times as well. Like “She’s Gone,” “It’s Alright” is an up-tempo blues number. In it Taylor professes his love for a woman, hoping all the while she feels the same. His vocals are a bit rough but perfect just the same. More great soloing here.

“Phillips’ Theme” is a slow burning instrumental. It sort of lumbers along while Hound Dog solos. Despite its repetition, you still feel like you never quite know where the song is going to go next. The second Elmore James song follows – “Wild About You, Baby” – and it too is a mid-tempo blues but it has a real swing to it. There is also some spirited singing here along with gorgeous, tense slide work.

“I Just Can’t Make It” quickly fades up from silence instead of crashing in like the songs before it. It is a fast bit of blues. Taylor really belts out the words here and his playing is more restrained here than on the previous few songs. Still, he puts in some fantastic soloing which has a different feel to the rest of the album. He repeats a note several times before moving the slide, giving the playing a choppy, staccato feel instead of the smoother feel of the slide moving up and down the neck of the guitar.

Hound Dog’s take on “It Hurts Me Too” by Elmore James comes next. Another mid-tempo song with some really tasteful slide playing. Very faithful to the original yet it has Harvey’s busy drum work to add something new to it. The last Elmore James tune, “44 Blues,” follows. It is a whole lotta fun with the slide work being less showy, more workmanlike. “Give Me Back My Wig” is up next and it moves! It was my introduction to Hound Dog Taylor and it gets you moving with its bouncy rhythm. The lyrics are very funny and it just oozes fun. The solo is rollicking and keeps the mood of the song going and even takes it in a different direction. The album closes with “55th Street Boogie.” Hound Dog and the Houserockers played at the Expressway Lounge which was on 55th Street. It is an instrumental but, like “Give Me Back My Wig,” it really moves. It begins with Taylor saying, “Look out Ted! Let’s do this!” As the song churns onwards, Hound Dog can be heard blurting out comments throughout the song. It just exudes the feeling of being at a party.

Hound Dog Taylor and the Houserockers is a fantastic album and should appeal to blues aficionados and people who just wanna dance alike. It is full of energy and spirited performances and even the slower numbers have this raw feeling of exuberance to them that makes one want to move. None of the band members are really virtuosos at their instruments but this is perfectly fine. They are more than proficient and hit the right notes at the right time. Taylor put great feeling into his playing and this is obvious here. Brewer Phillips laid down a solid backing for Taylor and even showed off a little bit on  occasion. Harvey was an exciting drummer, much in the way Keith Moon was, albeit a bit more restrained. He kept a steady backbeat but also threw in drum fills which added to the excitement of the music without being distracting. I cannot recommend this album enough and, indeed, the rest of Hound Dog’s albums which are far too few as he died in 1975 after recording just one more studio album, also on Alligator.

(This was originally published at The Green Man Review back in 2003-08.) 

The Corona Diaries Vol. 67: Redux

(early September 2022)

(Enjoy the prelude.)

September started on a musical note. Or rather, many musical notes. A concert series runs during the summer months down at one of Madison’s newer parks, McPike, which is smack dab in the middle of the isthmus. This was to be the last concert of the season and would feature The Cash Box Kings, whom I last saw back in June, and Lost Bayou Ramblers, a Louisiana band that plays Cajun music, sometimes as if the bayou was on Saturn, with the spirit of Jimi Hendrix.

But first I wanted to grab some more photographs of mundane Madison. My task was to get more pictures of buildings with their names (usually set in stone) over the entryway. Like this one:

I believe that Ann Emery Hall is apartments today but was originally built back in the 1930s as an all-women’s dorm. What do you call those things around the doorway? Reliefs? They had some very nice detail.

Is this a Torah?

I used to work at this place.

For a while, I was incredulous at the notion that it was simply and unimaginatively called “State Office Building” but that appears to be its official nom de boring. The interior is really nice and I believe you can still mail a letter by dropping it down the mail chute, even from the upper floors. However, when I worked there, I’d occasionally hear about a letter getting stuck in the chute.

A bit of trivia. When I worked there, I would sometimes have to mail computer equipment for warranty replacement, such as a dead laptop battery. Most of the time I dealt with a really mild-mannered guy in the mail room named Jon. One day someone told me that Jon (French) was a drummer and that he’d played with various luminaries such as Curtis Mayfield back in the day. Well, I just had to know if this was true and so I marched down the hall to the mail room one day to ask him about this rumor. Well, turns out what I'd heard was true as Jon confirmed that he had played with Curtis Mayfield, et al. In fact, I believe you can hear French’s work on the Super Fly soundtrack. Jon was so humble about it – almost to the point of being blasé – while I was standing there with my mouth agog, he was rattling off the list of sessions he played on as if he were telling me what he ate for breakfast.

This in addition to Clyde Stubblefield, James Brown’s long time drummer, who moved to Madison in 1971. Very odd how these great R&B drummers ended up here in Madison.

In addition to building names, I’ve been photographing addresses with halvsies like this one:

That belongs to an entrance at the back of a bakery, hence the spoon.

Evening arrived and I was off to McPike Park for the music. I locked up my bike before grabbing a beer as The Cash Box Kings hit the stage.

Singer Oscar Wilson hails from Chicago – 43rd and Wells, I believe – while the other singer (and harmonica player), Joe Nosek, is a Madisonian who grew up in suburban Chicago. The second guitarist, whose name I cannot recall was a gentleman from Japan. I found this odd as, the last time I saw them perform, the guest piano player was a woman from Japan. You just never know who'll show up with The Cash Box Kings, I guess.

Their drummer at this gig was Kenny “Beady Eyes” Smith, also hailing from Chicago. I know this is going to sound dorky but that guy has great cymbal work. Just the way he moved from high-hat to ride cymbal and back. What a groove!

The weather was great, the beer was great, and The Cash Box Kings were great. There were smiles everywhere and they sounded like they were having fun. And the music was the kind to get your booty shakin'.

After a brief interval, Lost Bayou Ramblers took the stage. I heard them for the first time last September on an episode of Accordion Noir, a radio show out of Vancouver dedicated to the titular instrument. I immediately took to the live version of “Pine Grove Blues” featured on that program. It was Cajun music but heavier, fuzzier, and grittier. Think about how the acoustic Delta blues got electrified when musicians moved to Chicago and that'll give you an idea.

Brothers Louis and Andre lead the band on fiddle and accordion, respectively. I was right up front and could see that Louis had a big grin on his face when he wasn’t singing – mostly in French.

Andre had an array of effects pedals which allowed him to cull some non-traditional, shall we say, sounds out of his accordion.

Lots of people were dancing and I think the band picked up on that. Their set was an energetic mix of Cajun music played with a nod to the traditional, at times, and others when they went their own way.

********

One morning I woke up in the middle of the antelucan hours and began my trek to the bathroom. Turning the corner into the kitchen, I saw in the dim glow from the street light two cat-like forms squatting in front of the stove and staring at it.

We had a mouse.

“This can wait till later,” I decided and continued on to the bathroom and back to bed.

When I got up to begin my day, Piper was still eyeing up the stove while Grabby was over by the food dishes with an anxious look in her eyes. Grabby is 15 or so and I suspect that, after sitting in front of the stove for a while in the dark, she felt like Danny Glover's character in Lethal Weapon and thought to herself, "I'm too old for this shit." I grabbed a pair of work gloves that I keep handy for these occasions and made coffee while keeping an eye on Piper.

With the coffeemaker doing is job, I turned to see her head emerge out from behind a garbage can with the little critter in her maw. It was a rather large mouse and Piper victoriously strutted into the dining room with her head proudly held high for all (i.e. - me and Grabby) to see. Suddenly the mouse jumped nearly a foot in the air and ran behind the cookbook shelf, eluding her embarrassed captor. Oops!

Piper poked around underneath as Grabby looked on with renewed interest but to no avail. I took a peek behind the shelf and saw the mouse hanging onto the back of it for dear life like some kind of rodent Harold Lloyd. My desire for coffee was growing so I grabbed a broom and poked at the woebegone little creature. It ran into the kitchen with Piper close behind.

I zipped around the counter only to see Grabby standing there perfectly still with the mouse in her mouth. The whole scene reminded me of the ending of The Blair Witch Project. She may be an old lady cat but she’s still dexterous enough to snag a mouse when the mood strikes her.

I had the work gloves on at this point and I retrieved the poor mouse from the Maws of Death and took it outside where I let it loose. It hasn’t been seen since.

********

Many an entry ago I mentioned that my Frau and I went out for dinner at a Thai place called Ahan. I ordered the tom yum soup with chicken on that visit and discovered that the fowl been breaded and fried before being dedicated to the broth. While not terrible by any means, I was ambivalent about the saturated breading and made a MacArthur-like vow to return and have the tom yum with tofu. Well, the next time finally came and I made good on my pledge.

It was excellent as the tofu had been fried so it was crispy on the outside yet moist (but firm) inside. I love how they garnish the soup with bits of crispy garlic. The Frau ordered dumplings and lemongrass chicken spring rolls. Those were quite delicious as well.

********

David Lynch’s Lost Highway is back in theaters with a new 4K digital print and I availed myself of the opportunity to see it earlier this month.

I think it’s considered a minor work in his film career but I love it. While not a horror movie, it really spooks me. I really love Lynch because his movies are so uncanny and the first act of Lost Highway is a masterclass in creating unease. The gentleman who introduced the film said that it was going to be shown at Lynch’s preferred volume levels which was neat because he constructs some potent soundscapes that go a long way in unsettling the viewer.

The movie’s first act is just blatantly disturbing and scary. With the volume turned up, all of the low hums and eerie ambient sounds were readily audible and they really heightened the mood. Plus the dialogue is often spoken with distinct pauses and doesn’t have the natural flow of conversation in real life. Add in the occasional jump scare and you have a truly bizarre experience.

 ********

Bonus photo. Here’s another clipping from one of the Milwaukee dailies back in the day when The Birth of a Nation was a new release.

The Corona Diaries Vol. 67 - Prelude: Chicago Blues

(Continue to entry #67.)

The Corona Diaries Vol. 62: The Bird's the Word

(mid-July 2022)

(Listen to this entry's prelude.)

Last autumn I described a venture that my Frau and I took out to Lapacek’s Orchard. With a back seat full of apples, doughnuts, et al we were cruising home down Highway 51 when I noticed one of those brown tourist/point of interest signs on the side of the road. It noted a wild life viewing area somewhere to the west. I made a mental note of this and vowed to check it out one day. Well, that day came earlier this month.

Early one morning I drove out there and followed the sign. It wasn't long before I found myself at the Lapinski-Kitze Prairie. I parked in the smallish clearing at the trailhead and was greeted by the above statue. Signs told the story of how the site had been farmed for decades with the crops having been processed at a cannery in the nearby town. A few years after the cannery closed, the Madison Audubon Society bought the property and began restoring its native prairie. It’s now a sanctuary for several kinds of birds and has trails for those who like to watch our feathered friends. I neglected to bring my binoculars and do not have a particularly long lens for my camera so I was going to be limited in my birdwatching activities. Still, I headed down the trail.

Walking along the edge of a corn field, I scared up what I think was a pheasant but it flew away quickly so I am not sure. Not only was the bird scared, I was too. It was so quiet and peaceful then suddenly it took off about 10 feet in front of me. Continuing up the path I became lost in thought once more as I enjoyed the calm and solitude. Then a squawk startled me back into the world of the mundane as a pair of turkeys, a tom and a hen, took off out of the tall grass and flew away. That primitive part of my brain simply saw big creatures emerge from hiding and I had that fight or flight response going for a second.

While I saw a variety of smaller birds, the only ones I could identify were the red-winged blackbirds which were everywhere.

There were 2 or 3 instances during my walk in which one of them would be perched on a tree or cattail and then fly towards me. It would hover for a few seconds above my head before returning to its perch. After a brief rest, it would repeat the maneuver. At one point there was a whole flock of them circling overhead and I felt a bit like Tippi Hedren in The Birds.

Although I made several attempts to catch one of these guys in flight, only a few of the photos were any good.

I really need to get a nicer telephoto lens because the birds love to congregate off in the fields amongst the flowers.

 

Next time I shall bring my binoculars to get a better view of all the avian activity that I missed.

I later learned that just south of the prairie is the Audubon’s Goose Pond Sanctuary – you’d have thought that driving on Goose Pond Road would have given that away. So I missed the big pond and the observation area which includes a telescope to check out the water fowl. It’s now on my to-do list.

It was still morning when I left the prairie so I had time for another venture. Over the winter I heard about a county park just a few miles east of town - McCarthy Youth & Conservation County Park. As the name implies, it is a place where kids come to learn about nature through various programs. There are also equestrian trails, hiking trails, and whatnot. As with the wildlife viewing area, I put a visit to the park on my to-do list and I was excited to be able to finally check it out.

I parked and started walking to the trailhead. The wildlife greeted me immediately as I noticed a ground squirrel not too far away that was looking around, perhaps assessing how dangerous this human intruder was.

The trail began on the east side of the park and ran alongside a farm for a stretch. A group of cows were out in the field relaxing under a tree as a pair of sandhill cranes looked on at a safe distance when not pecking on the ground for breakfast. 

The park features gentle hills so my walk was a fairly easy one. The sun shone brightly from the cloudless sky and it got distinctly warmer but it never became terribly hot. It seemed like every time I found an interesting plant and went in for a closer look, there were insects doing, er, it.

At one point I was at a crossroads. I could either take the trail around the wooded area or go through the woods. “Shade sounds nice,” I thought to myself and so I entered the woods.

While it was indeed noticeably cooler, I barely made it out alive as the mosquitos were in full force. I can’t complain too much as this was the first time all year that I’d encountered a swarm of them instead of just 1 or 2 stray bloodsuckers.

I emerged from the woods a half pint of blood lighter but was back on an open, sunny, and mosquito-free path. At one point I ran into some wild grapes.

What a gem of a park! The hiking is easy-going and I didn’t have to dodge too much horse poop. Most of the park is far enough away from the road that you don’t hear any cars and an all-too small section runs along the Koshkonong Creek. There’s a nice picnic area up in the woods too. Well, nice if you have some deet. I look forward to returning.

********

Despite having played Dungeons & Dragons for 30+ years now, I have never been a fan of fantasy literature. While I’ve tried at various time to find something in the genre that interested me, I have never succeeded. Granted, I did read Lord of the Rings earlier this year but it’s like a founding text for nerds so I was obligated to get that under my belt. Well, I went ahead and tried another fantasy novel recently: The Iron Dragon’s Daughter by Michael Swanwick.

I think I heard of it a few years ago in an article that described it as not being your typical fantasy novel and figured it might appeal to me. It definitely was not your typical fantasy novel.

It takes place in a fantastical version of the 1990s, it seems, and begins on a Dickensian note. We meet Jane, a girl stuck laboring within the dark, satanic walls of a mechanical dragon factory. Jane eventually escapes and she becomes a vaguely Holden Caulfield type of character who is a bit aloof and full of sardonic quips. She is alienated in various ways and is working through your typical teenage issues of angst, finding one’s place, and so on.

To be sure, The Iron Dragon’s Daughter is not your typical fantasy novel but I didn’t find it particularly engaging or interesting. Maybe I am just too old for stories chronicling the adventures of a sassy teenager.

********

I’ve been to a few concerts lately. I attended my first show at the new Red Rooster on Madison’s southeast side, where The Cash Box Kings, a blues band with members from Chicago and Madison, were playing.

They play Chicago blues – think Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf – along with some old school rock’n’roll and R&B. The band is fronted by singer Oscar Wilson who hails from Chicago’s south side while singer/harmonica player Joe Nosek is a Madisonian. I appreciate how the music has that 1940s/50s feel yet the lyrics address contemporary issues. Wilson bemoans the illegal downloading of his music (and thusly depriving him of income) in “Download Blues”. “Gotta Move Out to the Suburbs” is a lament for his beloved south side neighborhoods that are being gentrified.

The Red Rooster is a nice live music bar that is tucked into an otherwise industrial area. It was formerly the Knuckledown Saloon but has been remodeled and features fine beer, food, and music.

A couple weeks after that I was off to Milwaukee with some friends to see Blue Öyster Cult at Summerfest.

They’ve been around since 1970 or thereabouts so we probably didn’t have many chances to see them perform if we missed this show and so off we went. One of my friends got us free admission and free parking which was bonus.

I thought the show was a blast and sang along to the entirety of “Godzilla”.

With a purposeful grimace and a terrible sound

He pulls the spitting high tension wires down

Helpless people on a subway train

Scream bug-eyed as he looks in on them

Both the band and the audience seemed to be having a good time with smiles all around.

Most recently I went down to the La Fête de Marquette here in Madison to see the North Mississippi Allstars. The band hails from Hernando, Mississippi and plays blues/blues rock. The festival is supposed to be a celebration of all things French, including the French diaspora, so I don’t understand why they performed but I cannot complain. Perhaps the focus of the festival has changed without me noticing. 

Whatever the case may be, the show was rockin’ and I had a blast. They’re a bit like the Allman Brothers but with more boogie. This was my first time seeing them although I’ve been a fan for almost 20 years now.

********

Bonus photo. Here’s one of Grabby in the cat tree giving the gimlet eye to the humans.