Cover This and That

My musical education began among the stacks of my parents' record collection. They had a pretty good mix of stuff, a wee bit of classical, a whole bunch of 20th century vocalists, dixieland, some straight up jazz (pre-1950), show music of course, and a nice collection of American folk music. Names like Bessie Smith and Leadbelly, Pete Seeger, Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Ella, Dinah Washington, Bobby Short and Billie Holiday, Judy Garland and Mezz Mezzrow, Louie Armstrong, Benny Goodman, Oscar Levant, The Weavers, Odetta and The Kingston Trio. They had one Beatles record.



My favorite time to listen to them were the rare days I'd stay home from school and have the living room to myself. I would pretend to be Judy or Ella or even Frank and then belt out tunes to the empty room. The dog didn't care that I sang off key.

Eventually I moved on, but I didn't move on completely. I had a brief relationship with AM radio pop music until I discovered FM radio and it blew my world to pieces. From there, I found my own little two-lane blacktop road to outlaw country, then bluegrass and off into whatever hip hop, pop or rock caught my attention. The thing is that no matter what anybody says, it's all connected. Rap to country to show music to pop to R&B to bluegrass to punk to hip hop and on back to rap and every other kinda way you want to play it. Seriously, there ain't no Kanye West without Kurtis Blow and their ain't know Kurtis Blow without George Clinton and no Funkadelic without Little Richard and no rock and roll without Hank Williams and no Hank without Leadbelly and no Dylan without Odetta. Round and round you can go.

My tastes run pretty wide, but I'm a sucker for great lyrics. Must be the writer in me. I think this also comes out of my formative music education -- the stuff that had the greatest impact on me, from the 60s anti-war folk music to the songs of Gershwin and Cole Porter to Dylan and Springsteen, was as much about lyrics as melody.

The one test of a good song lyric is how often it is successfully covered. Back in the day when the songwriters mostly worked for hire, it was not uncommon for popular songs to covered by many different singers and bands. When I was a kid, I used to make a game of finding as many recordings of a particular song as possible. I would collect them on one cassette tape (remember them?) and note how each singer interpreted them. It can be an interesting education in how to sing a song when you hear how two different great singers do the same song.

In today's music world, of course, singers write their own songs and those who do are at the top of the food chain, Covering a song takes on all sorts of mechanization's. It's not so easy -- or even marketable -- to cover a big artist's big song. You're bound to be compared to the original. And almost always not in a favorable way. But occasionally, just like the sequel can be better than the original, so can the cover of a good song.

With that in mind, this is going to be the first in an occasional series featuring interesting cover songs that are markedly different than the original.

The first of these is a song by Radiohead, called "Black Star." Radiohead is, of course, a major British band, one of the most critically acclaimed of recent years. Full disclosure: I tried to get into them but I never really got their thing. Frankly, I find them a bit pretentious. But they are enormously praised by music critics so they must have something going for them. It was their second record, Bends, that brought them critical acclaim and launched them into the stratosphere of big-league bands. The last track on Bends was this little song called "Black Star," which you can listen to in my Vox Stash here.

It's a fine song with a nice riff, very typical Radiohead, somewhat overwrought and maybe slighly over-produced, filled with the requisite guitar mashing. In their hands, it's just a notch below power-pop rock and roll, the kind of songs that precursed bands like The Shins, The Decemberists and Death Cab For Cutie.

It doesn't stand out as being great. In fact, I don't think I ever played it again after listening to it the first time. And I would have completely forgotten it if not for Gillian Welch and David Rawlings.

Welch and Rawlings are what I like to call modern throwbacks. Welch was born in New York and raised in Santa Monica, California but her musical style is firmly middle-of-the-country. Combining traditional forms of folk, bluegrass, country with a dose of rock and roll, she and her musical partner Rawlings, have developed a signature style all their own. In her four studio albums (and one live one), they have performed original material, traditional songs and covers by artists like Emmylou Harris and Neil Young.

Welch has a distinctively beautiful voice that is at once angelic and just a little rough to be interesting. But if it's her voice that brings their songs to life, it's Rawlings' guitar playing that gives them a soul. The guy can seriously pick. I don't like to throw the word "genius" around too much but if anyone deserves the title, it's Rawlings. Even if you don't like their style, it's hard not to appreciate just how great a musician he is. And his star shines extremely bright on their cover of "Black Star."

The live recording is included on an EP from last year (and available through iTunes). Their version bears almost no resemblance to the original. It's almost as if it's a completely different song, from a teen-age emo piece to a sweet, achingly soulful folk tune. Welch sings it with a pathos that seems forced in the hands of Radiohead's lead vocalist Thom Yorke and Rawlings, well, listen to his solo guitar stuff -- he tears it up. (Seriously, even if it's not your flavor, listen to it all the way through -- that's how you play acoustic gui-tar).

Check it out here, on my Vox stash.

Old Timers, New Songs

There’s been a minor cottage industry over the past 20 years or so of so-called over-the-hill artists making CDs of modern cover songs. I’m not a music historian but I think it all began with the Rick Ruben-produced American Recordings by Johnny Cash.

Cash was 62 when he made the first of a series of CDs ("American Recordings" 1994), containing mostly cover songs by a wide range of artists from Nine Inch Nails to Gordon Lightfoot and U2. The CDs work in part because Cash did them in a spare, mostly acoustic style, one that Ruben recognized was his strength. They are credited with not only reviving Cash's career but for starting a trend of imitators.

Other old-timers have followed, some more succesful than others. But even the relative failures are noble -- if it’s the only way the kids get an introduction to, say, the Man in Black or Solomon Burke, it’s all good.

I think there's a bigger benefit though. The best of these CDs give artists a chance to reinvent themselves in a way they couldn’t or wouldn’t do when they were at the height of their popularity. Ruben produced a CD last year by by Neil Diamond entitled "12 Songs" that was critically praised for it’s expressive songwriting. I'm not the worlds' biggest Diamond fan, but I have no guilt that ‘’Hot August Nights’’ is in my music collection. Still, he made his rep as a pop showman and listening to the new work, even if it's not your flavor, is proof the guy has big-time talent.

It's these explorations into craft and style that make these kind of CDs so interesting and while I'll always give them a listen, no matter who's behind the mike. It's a real case of you never know.

And it's great when you're not only surprised, but pleasantly so. Like last year's “Meet Glen Campbell”. That’s right, the Glen Campbell. The guy who gave us "Wichita Lineman" and "Gentle on My Mind," and was a pretty big country star 40 years ago. Now in his 70s, he's not the first guy you might expect to make a record of modern rock songs. But he not only did, he did it well.

Not that he's not got the right pedigree. He toured with The Beach Boys, filling in for an ailing Brian Wilson for tours in 1964 and 1965. And he's the guitar player on their classic "Pet Sounds" record. Throughout the 60s he was in demand as a session player and sat in on discs by Frank Sinatra, The Monkees and The Righteous Brothers (playing on their hit "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling").

He later struck gold with "Rhinestone Cowboy" and "Southern Nights" and had his own CBS TV show, "The Glen Campbell Goodtime Hour"

I am, to the surprise of my parents, a serious country music fan. Not the country music radio shit, but the outlaw singer/songwriter tradition that began with guys like Hank Williams and Bob Wills and rolls through Waylon and Willie, Billy Joe Shaver with side trips to Townes Van Zandt, Guy Clark and Lucinda Williams. This is great American roots music with influences from blues, jazz, country, folk and rock and roll. While I wouldn't put Campbell in this group as a solo performer, from his other work, it was clear he was a serious musician, "Rhinestone Cowboy" aside.

Still, this record floored me.

First thing, it ain’t a country music record. Campbell and his producers came up with an interesting and quite eclectic mix of modern rock and pop songs that aren’t always readily recognizable. This is a good thing. Campbell does a fabulous job re-imagining stuff by the artists as different as Travis, John Lennon, Jackson Browne and even Green Day, his own without diminishing them. Even if you don’t like his style, you can’t argue that the guy doesn’t know what he’s doing. Instead of just covering the songs, he’s made them his own.

It’s a lesson a lot of younger artists would benefit from learning – the idea that you can pay homage to a good song by finding a way to put your own voice on it, literally and figuratively.

For this reason, I find myself going back to this CD a lot. There’s just a lot to appreciate about it. I especially recommend his cover of John Lennon’s “Grow Old With Me,” which is affecting but not overly sentimental, even when the arrangement almost takes us there. Campbell always had a nice voice but the miles he’s put on it have made it more interesting and expressive. He has an obvious appreciation for phrasing in that all of the songs sounds like he’s paying attention to the words. Clearly, this is a pro at work who is old enough to know what he's doing but not too old to get the new generation.

I’ve uploaded “Grow Old With Me” to my Vox stash, as well as his uplifting version of Travis’ “Sing” so you can meet Campbell again, too.

Van the Man

Louie, November 2007
In honor of Itunes just recently adding Van Morrison's catalog to its virtual world of musical goodies, I thought I'd offer a few Van oddities. The guy is certainly prolific which is a nice way of saying there's a lot of mediocre stuff out there. But still, he has some seriously amazing pipes and more important, he knows how to use them. A real treasure in a big world of soul singers. Never content to settle for just one style, Morrison has explored everything from traditional Irish ballads, to spoken word, to soul, pop, rock and roll and even country.

My favorite time to listen to Van is on Sunday mornings, with the windows open and the stereo turned up loud. Now if that don't get your seventh day started, you might as well stay in bed. Think about that as we're gifted that extra hour of sleep tonight. That's my reminder that if you didn't set your clocks back Sunday morning, you'll be an hour early for the next six months.

I digress. Today, I offer a trio of unusual covers for your listening pleasure.

The first is his version of the country ballad, Til' I Gain Control Again. And for you grown-ups, a very young Van's version of Dylan's It's All Over Now, Baby Blue. He makes it sound like a whole different song. And last but not least, a classic of a classic, his take of Leadbelly's Goodnight Irene, a song recorded for his Skiffle Sessions CD. The other dude on this is Lonnie Donegan.

One thing about Morrison you'll really get from these recordings is that the guy always has the best session guys playing backup. Take a listen and hear for yourself.

Waylon's Blues

Harvest Season, Healdsburg 2007
Whoop and holler, this is my 100th post. I'm surprised I actually got this far. I'd like to give a special shout out to my friend David who kind of infected me with the blog bug. So thanks, David, even though I can hardly hold a candle to your prolificness, I'm happy to be in your blog universe, nonetheless.

To be sure, I should have gotten here a long time ago. It's been a strange summer and I haven't been able to post here every day. Still, a milestone, even a small one, seems worth celebrating. So.... yippee.

Woo hoo.

Now that that's done with ...

I can't write about the Mets today. It's too hard to watch them disintegrate, even though y'all know I have long wondered whether they're really good enough to make any kind of serious post-season run. With all that's happened and their near-epic collapse, they could still make the playoffs with a win tomorrow (or a loss actually which I could explain if I wanted to go through the various scenarios). Make it or not, there will still be time to put this season into perspective. For now, though, on to more interesting things.

I admit to being a snob about some things. Beer, for one. I’d rather go thirsty than drink a Budweiser. Same way with country music. I mean what passes for country today is, well, crap. You can keep your Faith Hill and your Rascal Flats and definitely Brooks and Dunn. Not one of those shit-kickers can hold a candle to Waylon Jennings.

That’s why I offer Waylon as one of my fav artists.

Waylon died in 2002, way before his time. But all those years of hard partying finally got to the old guy. It was actually diabetes that killed him – he was only 64 – but his history of addiction and recovery was a long one.

Waylon will be remembered for a lot of things, but possibly his most underrated talent was his amazing singing voice. He was a rare singer/songwriter with a refined, unique voice. His baritone could be gruff, but he knew how to use it, could phrase with the best of them. It's a voice that would have been at home I am sure in much more demanding musical setting.

And while he ended up a larger-than-life character, he was a legend before his time, too. On Feburary 3, 1959, Jennings, who was then a member of Buddy Holly’s Crickets, famously gave up his plane seat to J.P. Richardson who was better known as the Big Bopper. Richardson was sick with the flu, or so the story goes, and Jennings was doing the man a good turn.

The act of kindness turned out to be lucky for the young Waylon. That plane, which also was carrying Buddy Holly and Ritchie Valens crashed outside Mason City, Iowa, killing all on board.

Jennings lived on to become a true country music outlaw and is credited with starting the outlaw country movement, along with Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, Billy Joe Shaver and Krist Kristofferson, among others. The truth was he was only rebelling against the state of country music, which was being dominated by the docile, sugary sounds of the Grand Old Opry.

Waylon was a Texan by birth and he shared the hard-drinking, rock-and-roll and blues influenced sounds of his fellow maverick singer/songwriters. His music was heavy on guitar and hot on swing rhythms and foot-stomping train songs and honky tonk. He rejected Nashville and those string-laden lost-my-dog-and-my-girl-my-pick-up-truck-broke shit. He was the true heir to Bob Willis and the Texas Playboys and because of guys like Waylon and Willie and Johnny Cash, Guy Clark and Townes Van Zandt and today, Lucinda Williams and Steve Earle, the torch is still lit and the fire burns strong.

Waylon made a lot of records, toward the end of his life more than a few lousy ones, but during his prime and sometime after, he was a force to be reckoned with, both as a singer and a songwriter. For my money, the three absolutely essential Waylon records are “Dreaming My Dreams,” “Ol’ Waylon” and “What Goes Around Comes Around.” But almost anything he did in the late 70’s, early 80’s likely has a few gems on them.

I’ve uploaded three of his classics to my Vox stash. This one called Waymore’s Blues is just classic, anti-establishment Waylon, showing how far he was from the typical saccharin country music of his day (and unfortunately ours). And here’s a medley of Elvis songs, which goes to remind us all where Elvis came from. Finally, my all-time favorite Waylon tune which I guarantee ain’t nothing like you’d expect from a country music superstar -- nice guitar riffing on the way out. I’m gonna use this song in a movie one day.

A lot of you 70's kids might know Waylon from his guitar -- that was him playing and singing the theme song to "Dukes of Hazzard," but he was so much more than that. Check him out and you'll see.

The Boss is Back

Bagaduce Bay. Castine, Maine 2007
I'm a suburban girl from New York. I'm of that age when the first rock radio I ever listened to was an AM station, the first record I ever played was an actual record. Sharing my tunes meant spending a little extra on those black and gold Maxell tapes. Dropping the needle on the right track and staying right there, finger poised on the stop button until it finished playing. It was an art stopping the tape right and rewinding it just enough so one song would roll proper into the next. Touch-and-go if the tape wouldn't run out before the last tune was recorded. I know y'all know what I'm talking about.

Some of you anyway.

Yep, there I was on a fall day in 1978 or '79 in Izzy Smith's bedroom drinking soda pop and listening to some tunes. No, it wasn't like that. Izzy was the cool-ass audio geek of our clique of orphans, the kid that had the sweet stereo system who looked down on the hand-me-down RCA shit. Like what I had. The one with the needle that put more grooves in my vinyl than it was supposed to have. Pop, click used to not be sound effects.

Izzy was a real radio snob. This cat listened to FM radio, you dig? And he was a class below me, too. As big a pain in the ass he was, though, I had to give him credit -- he had some serious good musical taste. Most of what he played, I liked. And, I'm pained to say this now, but most of it I'd never even heard before. Look, I knew a little bit. Knew who the Who and the Stones were and stuff and a little bit of Dylan. You know, the Blowin' in the Wind Dylan. Not the Subterranean Homesick Blues electric kick-ass Dylan. I know. For shame on me.

Anyway, back to Izzy's bedroom. He kept his records in ABC order and he kept 'em nice and clean. Not like me. I'd stack up two, three records on my player and let 'em roll and leave 'em that way. Put 'em in the wrong sleeve. Hell, I wrote all over my Michael Jackson records. This was MJ when he was still black, that old Motown stuff. I can't even look at those records anymore, thinking how much they'd be worth if I didn't write "I love you, Michael" on 'em. (Whatever you're thinking right now isn't half as bad as what I'm thinking about myself). I had some Sugar Hill Gang. I had some Stevie Wonder and some Grandmaster Flash, and a couple of Sly and P-funk 45's. And some stuff I don't even dare mention in public. I'd listen to my Dad's dixieland records, his Bessie Smith, Tony Bennett and Sinatra stuff. But the disc that Izzy Smith spun that day. Now that was something new.

I'll never forget it, that feeling listening to the opening bars to the opening song on Born to Run. That kind of shit changes a girl's life. I am telling you. Come on now: The screen door slams/ Mary's dress waves/ Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays/ Roy Orbison singin' for the lonely/ Hey, that's me and I want you only/ Don't turn me home again I just can't face myself alone again ...

You got to be kidding me. It was magic. This hot guy in a floppy haircut and a scraggly beard with a voice that still makes my knees go weak. And underneath those words, this piano line that just cuts straight on through to your heart, a blast of harmonica and fuck me if that's not an electric guitar.

Lying out there like a killer in the sun / I know it's late but we can make it if we run

There are moments in a teenager's life that you do not forget. Ever. I'm not talking about the serious shit, the living and dying and dealing with the real world shit. I'm talking about those metaphysical line-crossing you-ain't-alone-in-this-world kind of shit. I am not ashamed to say that hearing the opening bars to "Thunder Road" was one of those for me.

The crazy part was it was only the beginning. On that album alone, "She's the One," "Backstreets," "Meeting Across the River," the title cut and the ripping and roaring "Jungleland." Just thinking about it now makes the hair on my neck stand up.

You want a perfect rock and roll album, spin yourself Born to Run. I swear it's like a rock opera but without the pretentiousness of rock opera rock. Not that there's anything wrong with Quadrophenia but I prefer the Jersey version. (No disrespect to Pete T and The Who either.)

The Boss gets a bad rap in some parts for the way he supposedly orchestrated his career, one calculating move after another. But the truth is the man can write music and nobody plays a longer and stronger show -- four-plus hours of hard-rocking, paint-peeling, sweat-flying playing makes laying down your 45 bucks seem like a bargain. Oh, sure, he's had his share of clunkers but pound-for-pound, it's hard to argue with his hallowed place in American rock and roll history, a spot he's carved out all for himself, forget the comparisons to Dylan and Woody Guthrie and God knows who else. Nah, Bruce is Bruce and the next generation is gonna be talking about when the next Springsteen will come along. It's gonna be a long wait I bet.

The occasion of my homage to Bruce is the upcoming release of a new album that marks his first complete studio recording with the E-Street Band in more years than I can count. For one week only, iTunes is making the single "Radio Nowhere" available for free.

From your front porch to my front seat/ The door is open but the ride it ain't free

If you want to sample it first, I got it streaming here up on my Vox stash and I must say it definitely rocks. Guess you can go home again.

For you old fogies like me, I'm also streaming Thunder Road from the aforementioned Born to Run disc. And here's a shout out to my old high school pal, Izzy Smith, for turning me onto The Boss.

Thanks, Izzy, wherever you are. You rock.

So Mary climb in / It's a town full of losers and I'm pulling out of here to win

Musical Introductions

I promised a couple weeks back that I would offer up some of my favorite singer/songwriters for sampling. Most of these folks are artists who are toiling in the less hip racks of the music store or in the far reaches of iTunes.

I'm just trying to spread a little love and perhaps earn my favs another fan or two.

I'll start with an easy one.

Patty Griffin was born one day short of a month after me and spent her childhood in Old Town, Maine, the youngest of seven children. She was signed to a record contract on the basis of a demo tape that got turned into a Nile Rogers produced album. But Griffin, to her credit, felt it was overproduced and somehow managed to get A&M to release a stripped-down version of the demo tape in 1996 under the title Living With Ghosts. I first heard it when I was working for an L.A. daily newspaper, writing occasional record reviews and it was one of a very few first albums I've heard that blew me away.

While it's clearly influenced by her time spent on the Boston folk music scene in the early 1990's, there's something richer and deeper in this mainly acoustic album. "Poor Man's House" is a powerful, bigger-than-life song that resonates even though it's basically Griffin and her acoustic guitar. I saw her last month up here in NorCal with Griffin doing a solo set on her guitar and she didn't need a microphone.

I was so moved by the CD that I called A&M and had them hook me up for an interview. I'm proud to say that mine was the first story on her in a major L.A. paper.

Griffin's released five more albums since her first and with each one, she has found more confidence as a songwriter and more range as a singer. Her best songs are soaring pop-folk anthems, a little blues, a little rock, a lot of soul.

Griffin has recently made the musically-rich Austin, Texas her home base, which has brought her into a fairly exclusive circle of musician’s musicians. Her current touring band, for example, includes ex Faces keyboardist Ian McLagan. She’s earned the company, having toured with Emmylou Harris and recorded or worked with the likes of Harris, Buddy Miller and Solomon Burke.

She's currently on tour for her new release Children Running Through which is among her strongest to date. I've heard her talk about her voice in interviews and how she's learning more about it with each new album. I believe it. She was in such fine voice when I saw her, it was mesmerizing.

The best thing about seeing her in concert besides her foot-stomping, paint-peeling band, is her ever-changing collection of covers. She's known to pull out tunes by the likes of Bruce Springsteen, Gillian Welch, Emmylou and even Bessie Smith. When I was there, she did a really lovely version of Billy Joe Shaver's "Live Forever," pairing the song down and delivering it with a solemn poignancy.

I've uploaded two songs from the new CD, Stay On the Ride, Up On the Mountain and the aforementioned Poor Man's House.

S.O.L. Contest

L.A. Freeway P.O.V.
I've been feeling a little nostalgic for Los Angeles.

I'm pretty sure the reason has to do with my first wine country summer heatwave. To say it's hot up here in paradise is a slight understatement. Okay, so it's not Vegas' 120's temps, but 100 degrees is freaking hot, folks.

For all but maybe three of the 15 or so years I spent in L.A., I lived close enough to the Pacific to feel that refreshing sea air. Santa Monica is one of those places in L.A. that isn't always unbearably sunny. Sometimes you can wake up to a haze of ocean fog and it might take till after lunch before it finally burns off and gives way to the sun. The hot, hot heat only hit us for maybe a week or two at a time and never for that long. Just enough to remind us we were still living in the desert. But not long enough to make us remember that when we tried to keep our lawns green.

I miss that ol' Pacific something awful right now. Especially today when I was thinking fondly about that haze as me and the dog lay prone on the bed in front of the Vornado, wrapped in wet towels. The good news is we have a pool and so for part of the day, I was in it up to my neck. But alas, I realized today that I really do miss L.A.

I'm one of those transplanted New Yorkers who came to L.A., fell for the town and never really lost the love. I still love L.A. faults and all. It's the first place I lived as an adult that seemed to match my internal drumbeat and a part of me will always consider it home.

Don't get me wrong. Paradise is fucking awesome. I never get tired of the landscape here or the view but occasionally I long for the big city, you know?

It's not often I hear a song that sums up my favorite former hometown and this one most certainly does, complete with tongue firmly in cheek, sig alerts, canyon roads, big dreams and mudslides and brush fires.

First person to guess the artist and post it in the comments section wins the CD that it's on or, if it's not your cup of tea, you can have the new White Stripes CD Icky Thump, instead.

Click HERE to go to my Vox stash for a listen.

Stay cool out there.

UPDATE (July 24, 2007): We have a winner! I was on the road back to L.A. today -- how fitting considering the song selection -- and didn't see Susie's post until today. It is Loudoun Wainwright III from the new CD "Strange Weirdos," a collection of music from and inspired by the new film Knocked Up. Our winner is Susie -- a brand new CD is being sent on its way. By the way, the album was produced by Joe Henry, an artist I've long been a fan of and will be among the musical hidden treasures I will be highlighting in the coming weeks as I open up S.O.L.'s eclectic music stash. Stayed tuned for some vibes of the Americana roots flavor. Congrats Susie!

Hey Baby, it's the Fourth of July

St. Helena, California, July 3, 2007
I love making my own CD compilations for myself and friends and one thing I've been doing since back in the days of cassette tapes is compiling tapes of songs with similar themes, like songs about days of the week (Stones' Ruby Tuesday and Tom Waits' Looking for the Heart of Saturday Night). It's a great way to get artists on the same song list who wouldn't necessarily go together.

So, in honor of the Fourth of July, which has given birth to more than enough annoyingly lousy patriotic ditties, and with the assistance of my Vox.com audio stash, I give you some of my favorite songs about Independence Day. I didn't post some of the more obvious Fourth songs, like Bruce Springsteen's Independence Day. Instead, I thought I'd offered a few off-the-beaten popular path, as it were. All of these songs are also actually called "Fourth of July."

If you think of any others that I might not have heard of, please post them in the comments section.

With out further, ado ... (Click on the CD covers to listen to the songs).

The first is "Fourth of July," by Aimee Mann. I'm a huge, huge fan of Mann, as much for her lyrics as her pop-infused sound. She's also married to Michael Penn, a wonderful artist in his own right (and brother to Sean). This makes me wonder if he has written a song about the Fourth. I will have to do some research and find out. Mmm, gives me a new idea for a themed CD.

Anyway, this song, from the album, "Whatever" is really a relationship song. Makes sense. I mean what better day to sing about breaking up than on America's day of independence?

The song opens with some of my favorite lyrics of all time about any holiday. I think this says it all, don't you?

Today's the Fourth of July
Another June has gone by
And when they light up our town
I just think what a waste of gunpowder and sky.

The second is a classic by the cult-favorite Americana blues/folk/whatever singer/songwriter Dave Alvin called, um, "Fourth of July." This is the live version by Alvin and his band, The Guilty Men.

Even if you're not a fan of this music, you should go see them play. What Alvin hasn't earned in popular appeal, he has more than made up for in the adoring respect of his peers. So whenever he puts a band together, you know it will include the best players around. And let me tell you from experience, the Guilty Men can peel paint off them thar walls.



And finally, the third "Fourth of July" by a guy named Pete Droge, who came out with a startling great folk/pop record in the late 90s called "Necktie Second." Unfortunately, his career did not take off as expected but fortunately for us, he still plies his trade and his newer tunes can be found on most music download sites.


This song is about a friend who killed himself. I don't know if it's real or fiction, but it's a great piece of folk music and offers a truly different take on independence day.

On the fourth of July
See the sparks in the sky
When you're sick of the trying
and you're tired of the crying
Then the fourth of July
Is a good day to die
They'll celebrate each year
Your independence from here...

As you can see, the one constant about the fourth songs that I know and love is that they're sort of depressing. So along with the three here, I also give you a classic pre-Fourth jam song by Van Morrison, appropriately titled "Almost Independence Day."

Have a blast and keep the music turned up. Loud.