http://littlewretches.com/blog.html Robert A. Wagner +/- The Little Wretches: Blog Jannis' PHPRss class - http://www.jannis.to/ Sat, 03 Dec 2011 10:07:08 -0800 http://littlewretches.com/blog.html/thanksgiving_in_pittsburgh Friends who quit gambling because gamblers would hurt them for being unable to pay what is owed are gambling again.
Family with advanced emphysema who can't breathe or walk without an oxygen tank are chain-smoking cigarettes.
Family battling depression can't get off the couch.
Friends are still reeling from last week's loss of Bryan Longo under pitiable circumstances.
As I'm leaving the house, a loved one asks, "If you knew someone who was considering suicide, would you tell them to go to the emergency room?"
Yes. If I knew someone who was considering suicide, I would get him or her to the emergency room.
But I've got to go, see you later.

Friends have seen their children grow strong, healthy, well-educated, full of hope and promise.
Friends battling chronic illnesses are in remission, working, in healthy, loving relationships.
Friends who parented lost sheep have seen these sheep find purpose and go on to live heroic lives.
Friends who were near death are smiling, laughing and singing in the presence of people they love.
Friends who I didn't expect to see show up unexpectedly to share an evening of music with me.
Even MORE friends who I didn't expect to see show up unexpectedly to share an evening of music with me.

My vehicle is running. I was able to put gas in the tank. The light and shadows are amazing. I get to see The Warhol Museum, Heroes and Villains by Alex Ross. I get to see the Teenie Harris exhibit at Carnegie Museum of Art. I get to see J Edgar starring Leonardo Di Caprio. I have dinner with a lifelong friend and his family. I watch the Steelers. The Steelers win a close one.

I have medical insurance. I see one of the world's leading orthopedic surgeons regarding arthroscopic surgery on my long neglected injured knee. The prognosis is excellent.

More and more and more fun and good. And I know that when I return to Eastern Pennsylvania, I will be greeted by people who actually missed me. And while I am in Eastern Pennsylvania, dear friends in Western Pennsylvania will miss me.

Life is good. God is good. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Get well. Don't do stupid things. Don't hurt yourself. Ask for help if you need it. Don't worry. You are loved.]]> http://littlewretches.com/blog.html/thanksgiving_in_pittsburgh Sat, 03 Dec 2011 10:07:08 -0800 Home of The Little Wretches - Robert A. Wagner +/- The Little Wretches - Blog http://littlewretches.com/blog.html/gasoline_and_whiskey
Sometimes, you mix a little bit of this and a little bit of that, just to see if it will explode or catch fire, nothing too dangerous. And sometimes, stuff you expected to explode just sits there and does nothing.

I recently completed a major revision of my “Red Beets and Horseradish” project, adding new songs, radically revising others and remixing everything. The new recordings were posted and a link sent to a moderate number of people who’d previously expressed interest in my concoctions. I asked for feedback but received few responses.

So I’m asking again.

The Writing Program at the English Department of the University of Pittsburgh didn’t necessarily teach me anything about writing but DID teach me the value of giving and receiving good feedback. All you do is say, “This is what I noticed. This is what stood out to me. This is what I found surprising. This is what I thought I didn’t understand. These are the questions I found myself asking...”

This information helps a communicator in the process of distilling and refining. The best-case scenario is that the reader/listener not only succeeds reveals to me the stuff I couldn’t see because I was blinded by my own assumptions. Honestly, even if I didn’t succeed at what I was setting out to do, I’ve done well if your car started or you caught a little buzz

In the early days of NO SHELTER and THE LITTLE WRETCHES, for example, some performances had the effect of causing members of the audience to want to approach us and share their responses. They’d obviously gotten something from whatever we were doing and were so moved by the experience that they wanted to give back. On one occasion, a homeless woman ran to the market to buy us oranges and sang for us as we ate.

It can be pretty painful, though, to pour your heart into a performance and receive NO FEEDBACK AT ALL! But it happens. OK. So the car didn’t start. Maybe it wasn’t a problem with the fuel-system. Then again, maybe it was. Let’s open the hood and diagnose this thing.

To be sure, it is more fun to get a response than to be ignored, and performers can use manipulative little tricks to engage the audience. Your thirst for a connection to the audience comes to control the form and content of your work, and you descend into the world of gag and schtick. You go from making magic to performing sleight of hand. The audience goes home satisfied, but you feel like a charlatan.

That’s why I’m attracted to the Jack Kerouac thing about spontaneity and first idea / best idea. You practice your craft. You prepare yourself. You study and learn. But you honor your gifts. You’ve got divine intentions. Even if you’re completely deluded and your silly little songs don’t mean nothing to nobody, you go out and deliver them as though the fate of the universe is at stake.

But I want a larger audience. I desire a broader platform from which to present my work. I’ve been working in virtual isolation for several years, and now that I’m hoping to have somewhat of a “coming out,” it’s a little unsettling to be met with silence.]]> http://littlewretches.com/blog.html/gasoline_and_whiskey Sun, 06 Nov 2011 06:05:27 -0800 Home of The Little Wretches - Robert A. Wagner +/- The Little Wretches - Blog http://littlewretches.com/blog.html/sunday_morning_laundromat
In passing, I learn that the Laundromat Lady is sixty years of age, but she appears to be well-kept: slim, her hair still bleached the color she probably bleached it back in 1970. She is even wearing bell-bottom jeans. I also learn that she reports for work at 5:30 AM, or is supposed to, at least. She was late this morning, and for this, her adult daughter is to be blamed.

She doesn’t understand that I need to be at work at 5:30. She thinks I’m supposed to be there to help her get ready with breakfast and clothes.

The Lecturing Coach mentions that he considered visiting the laundromat earlier this morning, dropping the hint that he enjoys conversing with the woman and has considered going out of his way to see more of her. Did she catch the hint?

I (and everyone else in the laundromat with no choice but to listen to this conversation) learn that the Lecturing Coach has two children at home in their late-teens. Good kids. Obedient kids. But that girl has a mouth on her.

Where did the girl learn to speak in such offensive and demeaning terms?

From her mother.

And where is the mother? (I imagine him saying, “And where is the bitch?”)

She left him.

We learn that the wife had sworn off her use of weed and cocaine soon after hooking up with the Lecturing Coach. He wouldn’t stand for it. He saved her from a wasted life, literally and figuratively, but she never fully abandoned her fondness for these diversions.

When she inevitably returned to their pleasures, she left him for another, less judgmental man. Of course, the man beat and abused her. She appears to have aged twenty years in the period of five, but that’s what coke and weed do to you.

Laundromat Lady nods knowingly.

But the kids got to see for themselves. They saw firsthand the truth about what weed and coke can do to an otherwise good and loving mother. That’s where the girl got her mouth, though. The little monkey does what the big monkey does. What did she think the little monkey would do when she heard her mother acting badly and using bad language?

Laundromat Lady observes that both kids are probably so exceptionally straight and upright because they saw their mother’s failings and took the natural swing in the other direction. Herself a child of the revolution, Laundromat Lady proposes that kids are naturally rebellious. It’s a good thing they had a bad example to rebel against.

Neither the Lecturing Coach nor Laundromat Lady seem to notice that she has just cut the man’s premise about good parenting.

At this moment, all he really wants is the attention of Laundromat Lady. He may be old, but he’s still got it. But he’s without a woman. And he wants a woman. And she’s made no mention of a man at home. And she’s approximately his age. She’s attractive.

I’ve got needs, and you’ve got needs. I’m fit, and you’re fit. And we enjoy conversing, don’t we? What else might we enjoy? A cup of coffee together. Dinner. Maybe some miniature golf.

At what point will he abandon his mating-ritual preening and posturing and confess his attraction? But what if she isn’t she really interested in him? What if she is just being polite?

I’m not going to hang out at this Laundromat long enough to find out. As I haul my basket through the exit, I can still hear them talking.]]> http://littlewretches.com/blog.html/sunday_morning_laundromat Sun, 15 May 2011 10:29:44 -0700 Home of The Little Wretches - Robert A. Wagner +/- The Little Wretches - Blog http://littlewretches.com/blog.html/proud_parents_and_subterranean_homesick_blues
Does anybody notice? Who here knows the song? Who here cares about the song?

When will I walk into a WaWa and hear Phil Ochs?

As I wait in line at the cash register, a man tells his buddy that his son made the dean’s list and started sixteen games as a freshman. He played in twenty but started sixteen and made the dean’s list.

What do I know about these men, their lives, this friendship and the son-in-question? They could have been buddies in a rat hole in Vietnam or casual acquaintances at Sacred Heart Church. But I immediately speculate as to the proud father’s motives.

See what a good father I was? My son is a good young man because I raised him right and taught him well. Me, I never got the chance to be on any dean’s list or play on any team, but my boy is showing the world what I was made of.

Or maybe the other guy knew the boy, asked about him, and the whole thing exchange was only a polite conversation that I had no business listening to. Obviously, my commentary says more about me than it does about them, and I would do better to observe and enjoy without commentary. I’ll never really know the man’s feeling of pride, gratitude, triumph and relief because I have no children of my own.

Attaboy. Sixteen games? As a freshman? And making the dean’s list? All that study, all that practice, all that time invested? Praise the Lord, he’s a blessed young man. I’m sure you’re very thankful.

It doesn’t take a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.

Sometimes, I don’t know which way the wind blows when I’m standing in the middle of it.]]> http://littlewretches.com/blog.html/proud_parents_and_subterranean_homesick_blues Sun, 15 May 2011 10:22:59 -0700 Home of The Little Wretches - Robert A. Wagner +/- The Little Wretches - Blog http://littlewretches.com/blog.html/the_personal_journal_of_charles_j_wagner_dated_april_12__may_26_1981
While emptying my father’s house after his death and its sale some years later, I found several bookshelves with religious pamphlets and other assorted materials my mother had used in preparation for her volunteer job of teaching Catechism to mentally retarded people.

My mother died tragically (suicide? homicide? accident? who knows?), and I couldn’t bear to throw away any of her remaining effects so I put it all in boxes and have taken it with me to the various homes and apartments I have subsequently inhabited.

Had my mother lived, it is a certainty that my father and brother would still be alive. Her death took away my father’s will to live and robbed my brother of any reason for hope in this world.

I recently purchased a new printer/scanner and thought it would be fun to make scans of some of the religious images in my mother’s old library. As I worked my way through the boxes, I discovered a hardback book that did not have a title. To my amazement, I had stumbled upon a journal kept by my brother in 198, the year he turned eighteen.

What follows is a transcription of my brother’s journal:

(inside cover)
LaRaine 881-7448 Tammy H. 884-9296 Bob 571-1508(crossed out) 731-0152

AL 561-8143 Patrick 344-6942 crossed out 563-4657 Mike Flynn 343-4251

Mark Golebie 531-3670 Beckles 243-7260 Fred 561-1069 Coleen 341-4309

(page opposite inside cover)
Fini 563-5986 Deb 833-3442 (crossed out) Sharon 344-3549 Joy 244-1710

Amy 421-5240 aune 521-1066 (crossed out) indecipherable

Gina 563-5819 Alice 824-2830

Lynda 882-0835 Sandy 561-8339 Sue 372-0328

(Pages 1 -16 have been removed, apparently burned and cut. The remaining edges are charred AND appear to have been removed with scissors. The remaining fragments indicate that there had been at least sixteen pages dating from August, September and October, presumably 1980. It is unclear whether these pages were destroyed prior to the composition of the journal entries that follow or if the pages were selectively removed at a later time. It can be supposed that the pages were destroyed by Chuckie, himself.)

April 12 1981
9:40 PM

I saw --I listened
to the running water.

creeping up behind
I turned around and caught her

we watched the sun go down
way #### beyond the mountain

Love thoughts were flowing
like a spurting fountain.

seeping in was moisture from
the clouds above

Rain began to fall and flew
away the dove.

Animals were fleeing for
there was something coming

Trees began uprooting, mountains
were a rumbling

Our flesh began to
stretch as the green all
turned to brown.

sight was getting harder
and soon the fish all drowned.

the pasture where we sat
became a barren desert.

Our minds started imploding
how could we stand the pressure?

temperatures were rising
although I felt so colde

space was getting tighter
I wish we had been told

Love became impossible
we must fight for our lives

How can one kill what isn’t
there and soon she’s lost
an eye.

A mighty sound was pounding
but in my ear a drone

We should begin a running
but we have no toes.

My skin was dripping off
my body, I saw it the ground

my one good eye was staring
the sky was falling down.

My muscles disappearing
the cloud was all around.

existence is no question
the answer you have found.

April 13 1981
4:40 PM

I have decided to seek
something out that will enhance
my state of being. I am willing
to experience new things. I
will try to push myself in a
positive direction. I must change what I am now.

April 13, 1981
10:00 PM

Is it possible that
someday there will be no
means of transportation
other than that of the mind?
mechanical #### movement
could be the death of us all.

(on the page opposite the following entry, there is a doodle-drawing of a round head speaking into what appears to be a receiver connected to a cable. further down the page, a cable appears to run into some kind of industrial building with a smokestack. From the building a coiled cable runs to another device that might be a telephone earpiece aside a giant ear connected to a round head with spiked hair and large gaps between the teeth.)

April 14, 1981
3:40 PM

A telephone is such an
interesting device. It enables
me to speak with whoever I
wish. With a telephone, space
between to parties has no meaning.
miles become centi-meters. There is
only one problem. Everyone is thought
of in numbers.

Think positive
Hear the tone
Press the digit
through computers I go.

electrical charge
Gives me life.
make the ring
I have arrived.

April 15 1981
6:45 pm.

Another year of my life
will be over soon. On the
calendar of time it says that
in nine days from now I will
be able to change my number.
Age seems not to matter to me.
Time of times does not matter
either. Only life, that’s all that
counts. Time and age are
only man-made ideas that
seperate(sic) one thing from another.
Because everything is allready
different why should one
discriminate or designate.

Another day
one less dollar

(indecipherable)
(indecipherable)

April 15 1981
12:45 Am

my circulation stops
my hands go numb.
everything hurts.
everything is hard.

my joints will not
bend.

my body still sleeps.
I must turn the light
on.
Shake in the life.

April 16, 1981
11:00 p.m.

I’m not sure what kind of
enjoyment I’m getting out
of all this#. Everything is
so hard and its tough having
to make myself acceptable.
Its such a shame that people make
standards and expect things of
people. We all live a tragic
comedy. I don’t think it
strange that I want to escape.
I often wonder who ###
or what is going to clean our
great mess when this is all
over. I hope that I’ll be
able to live my whole life
without interference from the
major assholes of this world.

(On the page opposite the entry that follows, there is a drawing of an alien/devilish face, a television set with a rabbit ears antenna, and a sledge hammer.)
April 17. 1981
after 12:00

What good comes out of
destroying what someone
else has built?

Of coarse there are some
things that need to be
destroyed but when a
person works so hard
just to make something
that might please some-
one else others should
have the consideration to
try and preserve whatever’s
existence.

April 22 1981
12:25 A.M.

Razor blades are opening
up corners of this world.
Butcher knives are stained
with blood of pigs behinds.
A weapon in my hand
could raise me up so high.
When faucets are turned
on what runs is not foreseen.
men beat men ### on heads
with clubs made of wood.
Children cry # ##### and
bleed in streets that shine with
shattered glass
When fire grows from home to
home and smoke clouds fill the air

An understanding will appear
and we will not despair.

Green trees try and grow
Chain saws have new use
millionare’s build great bon-
fires silver turns to gold
waves and sand and fish
and birds no longer can be seen
fat old things with bloody
mouths eating babies dear.

Lift my heard and cover
thy face we have extremed
the human race.

April 30 1981
6:00 pm

I am an empty page
in a dead book.

May 1 1981
9:00 am

It is as it always has
been.

May 6, 1981
5:54 pm

Today I just noticed
how many people snub
one another. Such a
fucking social structure.

Why don’t people
understand real rock
roll?

May 6 1981
11:## pm.

Bring me your huddled
masses, says the nice
green lady.

Keeping us inside it, will
make us so cray

I cant understand it.
No, I cant understand it.

Sign my name to paper
an alias won’t do

I’ll tell my friends a good-bye
I’ll tell the government too.
I don’t understand it.
No I don’t understand it.

See the sights around
the world and keep
your weapon clean

tell your maiden mamma
She’s some kind of queen.

I won’t understand it.
No I wont understand it.

I’d rather play my records
but thats not possible
they tell me what I can do
And I tell them to blow.

I cant understand it.
No I wont understand it.

May 13 1981
10:10 pm.

What bad news has
come today. my life
is such a mess.
I don’t think I care at all, how much
should I confess.

(the following entry is written in red ink)

May 21 1981
11:32 pm.

I write today in red
wishing it was blood of
people I despise. I
don’t want to take any
more bullshit from people
that dont understand that
it is my life and not
theirs. It seems unnatural
that one person directs
others. Split pea and
ham soup. I understand
most everything she says
but it doesn’t all
come together.
They are all

hung-up on pety little
things that don’t concern
anybody. Mostly I
just think ## they’re
sick. Put poison on they’re
coffee beans. Grind it
up so they won’t know.
Who gives a shit about
cockroaches in a hole in the
wall. Its as clean as
you are. Lets have cock
fights till the end. Stupidity
takes the form of
intellect. So does
the advocate of
death.

(the following words appear in blue ink)

May 26 1981
10:10 pm.]]> http://littlewretches.com/blog.html/the_personal_journal_of_charles_j_wagner_dated_april_12__may_26_1981 Sun, 24 Apr 2011 07:44:31 -0700 Home of The Little Wretches - Robert A. Wagner +/- The Little Wretches - Blog http://littlewretches.com/blog.html/album_review_of_boogs_the_walking_club
(For those who recall, the opening strains of Love Sick were lauded by many as the rebirth of Bob Dylan.)

Enter Boog’s vocals, sounding like a resurrected Shane McGowan minus the brogue and lamenting the experience of being accosted and perhaps enslaved through both violence and seduction. There is no particular mention of resistance, but the singer notes that some survived and remorsefully announces that he was unable to save “them.”

I imagine scenes from films like APOCALYPTO or THE MISSION or maybe the scenes in my imagination conjured by lessons in Catholic School of missionaries in the new world captured, tortured and martyred by natives for bringing news of a strange God.

On an intellectual level, I consider the do-it-yourself revolutionary fervor of America’s pioneers and founding fathers lost in an orgy of disposable paper plates and plastic bottles in the parking lot of a fifties-style drive-in restaurant.

It is not altogether clear who Boog’s “them” is. It is not altogether clear what they were to be saved from. And that is, perhaps, the palette for this batch of songs. The songs hover in an emotional space in which people love, labor, suffer and celebrate.

They attend parties. They attend funerals. They attempt to maintain relationships. They seek salvation. Their hands are bleeding. The animals come two-by-two: the notion with the nation, the victor with the victim, the louts with the lushes.

And within this misfit circus, the narrator manages to find and pursue enchanted girls and valentines.

The lyrical imagery is crisp and vivid. I am reminded of Dylan’s BLONDE ON BLONDE, especially on the “love” songs (they’re all love songs, really, but I am referring to songs that speak explicitly about romantic longing for a woman):

“The heart is the hardest soft target to hit.”
“Some words will never leave my lips unless they’re dancing onto hers.”
“She’d a dancer’s neck and back though she daresn’t show it now.”
“The midsummer moon fills up my room with the same summer hue as your skin.”

Musically, the tracks alternate between simple voice and guitar to roaring and crashing guitars and drums. The musicianship is expressive, speaking through well-chosen phrases, dynamics and timing, sounding fresh and spontaneous, placed with ragged perfection. No fast-fingered nonsense here, just honest artistry.

THE WALKING CLUB is the kind of album that a fanatic (like me) could dissect line by line, sound by sound, giving the kind of critical commentary you hear in the special features of the DVD releases of film classics.

All I can say is that I REALLY REALLY REALLY love listening to music, thinking about music, and talking about music, and THE WALKING CLUB is the kind of recording that somebody like me loves because I can listen to it a hundred times, and each time, I notice something new.]]> http://littlewretches.com/blog.html/album_review_of_boogs_the_walking_club Sat, 12 Mar 2011 11:16:30 -0800 Home of The Little Wretches - Robert A. Wagner +/- The Little Wretches - Blog http://littlewretches.com/blog.html/samuel_gompers_vs_bill_cosby
On Thursday, my second period class, having just learned about Samuel Gompers, informed me that they were going to go on strike on Friday if I tried to make them do any classwork. They said they were going to make signs and everything.

I explained to them how I would break their strike.

First, I said, I would use the time-honored tactic of divide-and-conquer. I'd secretly offer special incentives to some of them for breaking the strike. Others, I would threaten with punishment, "Do you really want to lose your weekend pass over this?"

Then I played on their own cynicism. I said, "I would love to see you make signs, but let's face it (and you know yourselves), you'd probably start making signs and quit before you finish."

Then, I would co-opt the movement. I'd placate them by giving them something that appeared to be what they were asking for, and as soon as they felt that they'd won, I'd have them working again.

So what happened?

They came to class and said, "Remember what we told you. We're going on strike today, and we aren't going to do any classwork."

And I said, "Well, we're going to watch this video of I SPY. Who was the first Black man to be the star and hero of a prime-time television series? Bill Cosby. We're going to watch the very first episode."

In the course of watching the video, we stopped to discuss the Civil Rights Movement, The Cold War, The Vietnam War, The Domino Theory, Colonialism in Africa, the Qualities of a Hero, the Qualities of and Anti-Hero....

I hope they go on strike again on Monday.]]> http://littlewretches.com/blog.html/samuel_gompers_vs_bill_cosby Fri, 11 Mar 2011 21:05:29 -0800 Home of The Little Wretches - Robert A. Wagner +/- The Little Wretches - Blog http://littlewretches.com/blog.html/kill_city
Each song has multiple hooks, a distinctive melody, guitar-riffs worthy of Keith Richards, and memorable lyrical couplets. It's a very "Stones"-ish album.

When I first heard this album, the lines "We don't believe in anything / We don't stand for nothing / Got no V for victory / 'cause we know things are tougher" seemed to articulate a world-view that made sense to me. I'd been very involved in radical politics and had grown up in Catholic school, and I finally realized that it was a courageous thing to shed oneself of dogma. People hide behind their creeds and isms. I don't think it's a nihilistic point of view, though. It's not like he doesn't want to believe in something, it's just that he isn't going to be taken by false promises and easy answers.

He's still searching. And unbridled by the garbage of preconceived notions, he can see clearly.

Of course, the safest and most cowardly point of view is to be against everything. It takes guts to believe. In these songs as in most of Iggy's stuff, he's searching, searching and destroying, maybe, but searching nonetheless.

As for the acoustic performance featuring Iggy Pop and James Williamson playing NO SENSE OF CRIME that has been posted on YouTube, I like the fact that James Williamson looks so old and dumpy (like me). I'm going out to play a few songs in Phoenixville tonight, and I'm sure all the kids are going to take one look at my oldness and baldness and try to dismiss me. Then I'll hit 'em with Thanks for Saving My Life, and they'll say, "Oh, sh*t."]]> http://littlewretches.com/blog.html/kill_city Wed, 09 Mar 2011 16:24:46 -0800 Home of The Little Wretches - Robert A. Wagner +/- The Little Wretches - Blog http://littlewretches.com/blog.html/mary_gauthier She write all night, She sleep all day.
Damnedest thing I ever seen
was that woman in a limousine.--Ray Wylie Hubbard, Name-Droppin’

Mary Gauthier is my new musical hero. I plan on obtaining and studying all of her recordings as I have done with Michelle Shocked, Steve Earle, Lou Reed, Patti Smith, Ray Davies, Phil Ochs and Bob Dylan.

At the Kerrville Folk Festival a few years ago, there was a cancellation by one of the big-name acts on the main stage, and the lady emcee made a big deal about the fact that Ray Wylie Hubbard had agreed to come to the rescue and take the slot. She made him out to be some kind of legend, though I’d never even heard of him.

I was blown away by the performance, and one of the first things I did upon returning to Pittsburgh was get on the internet, research his music and select a few albums from his discography to add to my collection.

And that’s how I encountered the name MARY GAUTHIER. I’ve heard her name in Ray Wylie’s song about five-thousand times. Maybe more.

I was recently invited via email to hear Mary Gauthier at a “house-concert,” literally a performance in somebody’s living. Then last weekend, I heard a performance by Lori McKenna at a municipal building in Zionsville, PA, and Lori mentioned Mary Gauthier a couple of times. Having deleted the original piece if email, I got on the internet, found Mary Gauthier’s website, found her tour-schedule and a link to the house-concert series. Seats were sold-out, but I was put on the waiting-list, there was a cancellation, and I was invited to attend.

I was the last person to arrive, and people being like they are, the only unoccupied seat was on a sofa directly in front of the stool where Mary Gauthier would be sitting--THE BEST SEAT IN THE HOUSE!! I’d still only heard a couple of songs that I’d pulled up on YouTube and had no idea the treat that I was in for.

Mary Gauthier opened with a song called GODDAMN HIV, a story-song.

In her introduction, she said that she was going to devote the night to story-songs, a rare treat and honor, something she could probably only get away with doing in the context of a house-concert. In a larger venue, there’s be some kind of pressure to try to make people dance or tap their toes. In the intimate setting of a living room, though, she could expect the audience to tune in and really listen, to really follow the narratives, to really “get it.”

Okay, so she’s a gay woman from Louisiana, and I’m a straight guy from Pittsburgh, but I felt like I had more in common with her than any performer I’ve ever heard. She sang story-songs about homeless people, people in prison, people who turn to drink because their families are insane, etc. And she did it all without ever sounding negative, depressing or like she was on some kind of soap box. Likewise, she sounded like she knew what she was talking about. She hadn’t simply read about these people, she was one of them.

I’d like to think people would say the same about me and I hope to someday have the opportunity to perform my songs in such a setting.]]> http://littlewretches.com/blog.html/mary_gauthier Sun, 06 Mar 2011 15:30:35 -0800 Home of The Little Wretches - Robert A. Wagner +/- The Little Wretches - Blog http://littlewretches.com/blog.html/together_at_the_bluebird_cafe
Every printed word and the unanimity of the opinion-mafia compels all who appreciate good songwriting to worship at the altar of Townes Van Zandt. But according to the posted reviews, Townes Van Zandt is wasted for this performance, forgetting chords and lyrics, his voice weak and fractured.

Will I really enjoy listening to this? Can I expect to learn anything from it? Can I imagine myself playing it more than one or two times?

When I find something I really love, I STUDY it. I play it over and over till I’ve internalized every beat and phrase, till I can barely remember what my life was like BEFORE I’d heard it.

Steve Earle’s music, I love and have studied. Guy Clark’s music, I have heard and loved but not enough to actually purchase and study. And I have tried without success to study the music of Townes Van Zandt.

At the suggestion of a friend, I went to Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh and obtained a copy of BE HERE TO LOVE ME, the documentary about Townes Van Zandt. Through that film, I was able to glimpse a little of what I’d been missing. There were moments when I was literally moved to the verge of tears (I may have had to wipe my eyes but do not recall a tear actually spilling onto my cheeks), and I had the “aha” moment.

So this is what the hype has been all about!

But even after this awakening/conversion, I rarely make it past a song or two when listening to the Townes Van Zandt CDs and LPs in my collection.

Should I purchase TOGETHER AT THE BLUEBIRD CAFE?

The real question is: Is Van Zandt’s performance a glimmer of light from the depths of the mine shaft or is it food for the vultures, a voyeuristic/pornographic gawking at a slowly dying creature.

Remember how Dylan sounded to you the first time you heard that legendary 1966 recording, like he was totally exhausted and spent thus stripped of his human vanity? The man is dead, and all that remains is the spirit.

Such a promise of a moment of transcendence is what I think attracts people to this alt.-country Americana stuff. Imagery of the road and the honky tonk, the cheap motel and the loss of dignity and pride that comes with abandoning oneself to the sins of the flesh, cheating on your lover and shooting a man in Reno just to watch him die--these are expressions of an instinctive spiritual desire. When we have lost everything and have abandoned all humanly hope, the Divine reveals itself.

In real life, however, I have travelled hundreds of miles after having spent money I could not afford to hear/see concerts by the likes of Lou Reed and Johnny Thunders who rewarded my investment by being too stoned/drunk/indifferent to deliver. I’d known the risks but gambled on the chance that I’d catch a glimpse of the Divine. Instead, I was disgusted with myself for having been taken.

In real life, I have known performers whose talent was so prodigious that it could have come only from God but whose addictions and disorders made their creative lives a living hell. And it sickened me to see that mutual friends would take voyeuristic pleasure in watching the battle.

I have no desire to seek vicarious thrills at the expense of Townes”˜ Van Zandt’s suffering. And I have pretty much everything Steve Earle has ever released. And anyhow, I’m broke.

So there. I’ve solved the problem. I’ll save my money. If the disc ever turns up in the library, I’ll check it out and give it a listen.

In the meantime, I think I’ll take a drive and pop SHUT UP AND DIE LIKE AN AVIATOR in the CD player.]]> http://littlewretches.com/blog.html/together_at_the_bluebird_cafe Sun, 27 Feb 2011 12:13:21 -0800 Home of The Little Wretches - Robert A. Wagner +/- The Little Wretches - Blog