Red Sneakers!
This band played at Gonerfest 5. They flew to Memphis from Japan, asked to play Gonerfest and were added after a band cancelled. They were so much fun. A recent Youtube search proved that they are still out there doing it. Cool.
Fuck Elvis.
May 1 would have been Jay Lindsey's 31st birthday. The fact that he's not still here to make music and wreak havoc is a loss for many of us.
For a long time, I have been hesitant to try to write anything publicly about Jay Reatard. First of all, the best writing about Jay has already been done by Andrew Earles. I also didn't get to know Jay beyond appreciating his music and seeing him at shows. I understand that my grief is minor compared to many of my friends who knew Jay as a complete human being. I can't claim any special understanding or insight into what made him tick. Frankly, I am not sure I have much to add to the conversation about him. Yet, even if it's only for my own comfort, I feel the need to try to write something. I can only try to untangle my own feelings about Jay and looming despair over his short life.
I didn't realize how much Jay's life impacted my own until he was gone. He was a walking reminder for me that it was possible to do great things, to create and to live freely. I loved so much of the vast amount of music he released in such a short time, but even more than that, I admired his energy, his lack of compromise, hard work and his dogged determination to do what he wanted to do.
The fact that he did these things in Memphis, Tennessee only made these qualities all the more appealing to me. It made me proud when I would think about a guy--roughly my age--doing great things while living in Memphis. Maybe it's a product of growing up in and around a place where it sometimes felt like greatness had come and gone before I arrived. It's impossible to argue the timelessness of Otis Redding, Big Star, Al Green and Willie Mitchell, but those artists were echoes of the once-loud buzz of greatness that defined Memphis for the decades before I was born. That music always made me swell with pride in where I grew up, but it wasn't happening now. There is an extra excitement associated with being close to greatness as it is happening. There is a constant awareness that something great could very well be going on at this very second. Even if I wasn't creating any of the wonderful things I sometimes felt I had lurking around inside, it was comforting and energizing to know that someone out there was. Jay was often that someone for me.
For a long time, I have been hesitant to try to write anything publicly about Jay Reatard. First of all, the best writing about Jay has already been done by Andrew Earles. I also didn't get to know Jay beyond appreciating his music and seeing him at shows. I understand that my grief is minor compared to many of my friends who knew Jay as a complete human being. I can't claim any special understanding or insight into what made him tick. Frankly, I am not sure I have much to add to the conversation about him. Yet, even if it's only for my own comfort, I feel the need to try to write something. I can only try to untangle my own feelings about Jay and looming despair over his short life.
I didn't realize how much Jay's life impacted my own until he was gone. He was a walking reminder for me that it was possible to do great things, to create and to live freely. I loved so much of the vast amount of music he released in such a short time, but even more than that, I admired his energy, his lack of compromise, hard work and his dogged determination to do what he wanted to do.
The fact that he did these things in Memphis, Tennessee only made these qualities all the more appealing to me. It made me proud when I would think about a guy--roughly my age--doing great things while living in Memphis. Maybe it's a product of growing up in and around a place where it sometimes felt like greatness had come and gone before I arrived. It's impossible to argue the timelessness of Otis Redding, Big Star, Al Green and Willie Mitchell, but those artists were echoes of the once-loud buzz of greatness that defined Memphis for the decades before I was born. That music always made me swell with pride in where I grew up, but it wasn't happening now. There is an extra excitement associated with being close to greatness as it is happening. There is a constant awareness that something great could very well be going on at this very second. Even if I wasn't creating any of the wonderful things I sometimes felt I had lurking around inside, it was comforting and energizing to know that someone out there was. Jay was often that someone for me.
"What kind of music do you like?"
I was thinking today about why I love the music I love. It's probably a losing proposition to try to completely deconstruct something as personal and emotional as music preference. Most of the time, I know I love something when I hear it. It just feels right. It's difficult to put into words. I can talk about why I love Two-Lane Blacktop, Gates of Heaven, The Wire or Louie for hours at a time. I am more passionate about music than other kinds of art, but it's a little more difficult to take apart.
Music has been such a constant in my life since early childhood. Throughout my 30 years, I have been a dedicated fundamentalist, conservative, liberal, anarchist and many things in between, but my love for music has never changed. It's such a large part of who I am. It's also been a consistent source of curiosity and happiness for me. I have never lost that excitement I felt when I went to my first show. I am still moved by great music. I am still thrilled when I find a new band I love.
Of course, the question in the title of this blog post is virtually impossible to answer. "Everything" sounds dumb and "Everything but (genre X)" IS dumb. The best answer I can come up with at the moment is that I am drawn to music with soul, power and feeling that comes from a genuine place. Songs and albums that GO somewhere. I can't think of a better example of what I mean than "Try a Little Tenderness" by Otis Redding.
Music has always felt a bit magical to me. Maybe it's because I can't sing or play an instrument, but the fact that a person can take their voice and a few instruments and make a noise that's never been heard before is endlessly fascinating to me. It feels like one of the truest and most personal forms of expression. Connecting with music is a lot like connecting with a person for me. I have certain qualities I love in other people, but I generally connect with another person because something in their soul connects with something in mine. Examples of music that has connected with me on a profound level include my favorite pop song of all-time, "Where Did Our Love Go" by The Supremes:
Music has always felt a bit magical to me. Maybe it's because I can't sing or play an instrument, but the fact that a person can take their voice and a few instruments and make a noise that's never been heard before is endlessly fascinating to me. It feels like one of the truest and most personal forms of expression. Connecting with music is a lot like connecting with a person for me. I have certain qualities I love in other people, but I generally connect with another person because something in their soul connects with something in mine. Examples of music that has connected with me on a profound level include my favorite pop song of all-time, "Where Did Our Love Go" by The Supremes:
The yearning, sadness and regret is all there in one 2:30 pop song. It's an amazing achievement, really.
I also feel that way about "Loose" by The Stooges:
"Loose" is one of those songs that can instantly change my mood. There's so much power, fury and groove in this song. It hits harder than almost any other song I've ever heard. It's rock and roll all the way through.
When I think about the kind of music I feel a connection with deep in my soul, Curtis Mayfield is the first artist I think of. His music has been a source of encouragement, strength and heart for me throughout my life. I am a creature of pop culture---most moments in my life have been accompanied by some music, film or book. Of all of the art that has made a difference in my life, I probably owe the largest debt to the late Curtis Mayfield.
Thee Oh Sees! Tonight.
Thee Oh Sees play at the Hi-Tone tonight. They put on my favorite show of Gonerfest 7. Tonight should be a lot of fun.
Jam Messengers. Saturday.
The Jam Messengers play the Goner store on Saturday night. It should be great.
Nice...and easy.
1972 Tina Turner for Pearl Drops---incredible.
It is shocking this commercial was ever made. But I'm glad it was.
It is shocking this commercial was ever made. But I'm glad it was.
The Black Beards or The White Beards.
Incredible history lesson from the wonderful Nixonland:
In 1968, nervous LBJ aides were worried about the youthful appeal of Robert Kennedy and Eugene McCarthy. A memo from then-press secretary George Reedy (described as a "white haired, pipe-sniffing" man) proposed the following:
"Organize one of those electric guitar 'musical' groups to travel around to meetings. It is not too difficult to get some kids with long hair and fancy clothes and give them a title such as 'The Black Beards' or 'The White Beards' and turn them loose. They don't have to be very good musically to get by as long as they have rythym and make enough noise."
The president responded that this idea "may deserve attention."
In 1968, nervous LBJ aides were worried about the youthful appeal of Robert Kennedy and Eugene McCarthy. A memo from then-press secretary George Reedy (described as a "white haired, pipe-sniffing" man) proposed the following:
"Organize one of those electric guitar 'musical' groups to travel around to meetings. It is not too difficult to get some kids with long hair and fancy clothes and give them a title such as 'The Black Beards' or 'The White Beards' and turn them loose. They don't have to be very good musically to get by as long as they have rythym and make enough noise."
Take You Higher.
Ike and Tina Turner on Playboy After Dark in 1969.
Good God. One of the greatest performances I've ever seen.
Jay Reatard, May 1, 1980 – Jan. 13, 2010.
"You can't kick me out of Gonerfest. That's like kicking Jimi Hendrix out of Woodstock!"
-Jay Reatard to Eric Friedl.
RIP Jay. Memphis is a more boring place without you.
-Jay Reatard to Eric Friedl.
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| Photo by Kandi Cook |
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