Favorite Album Friday #4: Joe Henry's Trampoline

For this week's Favorite Album Friday selection, I've chosen the album Trampoline by singer/songwriter Joe Henry.

Never heard of Joe Henry? That's too bad. He's a gem, and he might be one of the most overlooked singer/songwriters of his generation. If there's a word to describe Joe Henry's career, it would be eclectic. His catalog veers from straight ahead rock to folk to alt-country to jazz to trip hop to Tin Pan Alley, and even when you think he's going far beyond his range he somehow manages to pull it off. In a way, his career reminds me of Tom Waits, who started off as a balladeer before venturing into more avante-garde territory. Trampoline, released in 1996, is an album that seems to mark Henry's transition into more varied and experimental territory, both musically and lyrically.

From the opening strains of "Bob and Ray," Trampoline is an album of whispers and sighs, distant voices and dreams, dark and smoky songs driven by sinister guitar lines and snapping drums. Its songs are tales of plane crashes, murder, dreams, and lost love. But mostly it's an album about ghosts, with the word itself appearing in several songs. We all, Henry seems to be saying, are haunted by some kind of ghost.  "I kept your ghost, but I don't know how to give it back to you," Henry sings over a mournful steel guitar in the song "Parade." It's a pretty dark album, but not overwhelmingly so. Pump organ, strings, horns, mellotron, and samples of an opera singers add to the sonic layers of the album, creating a dreamlike quality to the music. And amidst the darkness there is the improbably sunny, mandolin-driven "Go With God," a song in which Henry channels Paul Simon.

Ultimately, as I'm finding, Trampoline is an album that's hard to capture in words and defies categorization, so best to just go and listen to it yourself. Here's a taste:

Appreciating Jeter

On Tuesday I attended the MLB All Star Game at Target Field. Now, going to an all star game hasn't exactly been a top item on my bucket list. I'm a huge baseball fan, but the game simply isn't the event it once was. Maybe it's because of free agency, or interleague play, or the fact that on most nights you can find a way to watch any of baseball's great players. When I was younger, the All Star Game was exciting because there were certain players you rarely got to see play. And seeing a member of your team (in my case, the Mets) playing among baseball's greats was a vicarious thrill. That luster is gone. Nonetheless, when the opportunity to attend this year's game arose, I gladly took it.

The star of this night, aside from Target Field, was New York Yankee shortstop Derek Jeter, making his final appearance in the All Star Game before his retirement. I'll admit upfront that I've never been as enamored of Jeter as other, and that's put me in a lonely place. I'm not going to argue that he's over-rated. His career numbers will speak for themselves. But I have always believed that he benefits from the Yankee myth-making machine and from playing in the country's largest media market. Maybe that's a distinction without a difference. But had Derek Jeter spent his career in a smaller market (say Pittsburgh or Kansas City), would he have become the face of the game? That's the question I've always asked myself.

Of course, I'm not a Yankee fan either, and Derek Jeter was the face of the Yankee dynasty of the late '90s. I despised those teams. And Jeter was everywhere for them, getting big hits when they were needed, stealing bases, playing solid (and sometimes spectacular) defense. There were times it seemed he came up to bat every single inning, especially late in the game. And every time he came up he'd work the count, taking balls, stepping out of the batter's box, and fouling off pitches until he found just the right pitch to do something with. If you were rooting for the other team, it was spirit crushing. Especially in the playoffs, where Jeter excelled. And he did it all cleanly, in an era that will always be tainted by the widespread use of performance enhancing drugs.

That, of course, is what made Derek Jeter so great. And the flip side to my argument that Jeter benefited from playing in New York is that he not only withstood the intense scrutiny of the city's baseball fans but flourished under the white hot spotlight. Yankee Stadium is a place where many previously great players have failed. And unlike players like Reggie Jackson and Alex Rodriguez, who wanted to be the brightest stars on and off the stage, Jeter somehow managed to go about his business as quietly and as professionally as possible. He could hold a master class on how to conduct yourself as a professional athlete.

So, in the end, I was happily among the 41,000 fans who gave Derek Jeter four standing ovations on Tuesday night,  a night on which he (of course) got two hits and scored the first run. I even found myself getting a little choked up (forgive me, Mets fans) as he walked off the field to the strains of "New York, New York." It was probably a little bit more than he wanted, but he handled it with his usual grace. One would hope the other players on the field were taking note.

Favorite Album Friday #3: You've Heard This Somewhere Before

When I was younger and first beginning to appreciate rock/pop music, I often wondered if there would ever be a point where there would be no more "new" songs to create, if there was a finite limit to the melodies, choruses, and hooks that bands could invent. One could argue that we've already reached that point, and that bands now are simply regurgitating material we've heard before. The trick is making it sound fresh and original.

In that vein, today's selection is the album Egyptology by the band World Party. Created by English singer/songwriter Karl Wallinger in 1989 after he left The Waterboys, World Party is essentially a one-man band, with Wallinger handling most of the duties in the studio. World Party had a pretty good run from the late 1980s through the mid-90s, releasing a string of critically praised and modestly successful albums (Private Revolution, Goodby Jumbo, and Bang). Though he never had any major hits, Wallinger's smart, meticulously crafted, socially conscious pop became a staple on college and alternative radio.

Egyptology, World Party's fourth studio album, continued with the template Karl Wallinger had established on his earlier albums. Beatle-esque harmonies and chord progressions, layered and lush arrangements, and lyrics that channeled some of the optimism of the late 60s with a dash of Gen X cynicism. It's joyously and unapologetically retro. Even a casual listener will hear the chiming Sgt. Pepper guitars, horns lifted from Van Morrison's Moondance, and operatic jams reminiscent of Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon. It's musical time travel.

 

While Egyptology is probably not as much as an artistic statement as Goodbye Jumbo or Bang, its become my favorite World Party album simply because it's a joy to listen to from start to finish. From the opening drumroll of "It Is Time to Remember," and the  ELO-inspired "Call Me Up," each song on the album is a highly buffed pop gem. Sure, almost every element in every song is familiar, but Wallinger puts them together in a way that makes it more than musical mimicry. He's channeling his love of the music he grew up with into something new, and the joy that comes through is hard to deny.

 

Here's a taste (and a really cool video, to boot):

 

 

Riding the Rails

My daughter and I took a ride on the Green Line the other day. It was a lazy summer day, with nothing planned, and my attempts to get Martha away from the TV and her various devices were being met with resistance until I mentioned, off the top of my head, taking a ride on light rail. "Where are we going?" she asked excitedly. "I don't know," I replied. "Maybe we'll just take it St. Paul and back." For some reason, that piqued her interest.

Though it seemed like nothing more than a time-killing, I was pleased that Martha wanted to join me on this urban adventure. Since I don't actually have a reason to use either of the the Twin Cities' light rail lines on a daily basis, I was curious to see what the experience was like. And I also like riding on trains. Having grown up in New York City and lived in another major city (Boston) for several years, I'm a supporter of a varied and thriving transit system, even if I don't use said system very often. To me, any city that has designs on being considered a modern, world-class city should offer people as many options to get around as possible, and understand that those options will always require public subsidies. I'll happily pay for that with my tax dollars.

I know there are many in this region who fundamentally disagree with my views on transit. And for those people, light rail is a lightning rod, another example of liberals, public officials, and urban planners shoving an expensive, unnecessary, and unsustainable transit system down people's throats. And even among supporters of light rail, questions remain about costs, ridership estimates, speed, equity, and the ability of the system to promote development. As a result, it seems every step in the creation and expansion of the light rail system has been a battle, and that is certain to continue with the contentious Southwest LRT line.

To me, the addition of more transit options is a way for the Twin Cities to come closer to the ideal of New Urbanism, which promotes the creation of denser, more compact and walkable neighborhoods that contain a mix of housing, commercial buildings, and open space. When I first moved to Minneapolis in the mid-1990s, it seemed like the embodiment of everything that New Urbanism intended to correct. I was struck by the delineation between where people worked and where people lived, and by the fact that so few people seemed to actually live downtown. I took the bus to and from work, but felt like I had to use my car for everything else. And walking to a destination, even in the city, just wasn't very interesting.

I knew that not every city could be like New York, where walking is not only a way to get around but a way to entertain yourself. But Minneapolis, aside from the chain of lakes in the summer, felt like a city whose street life had been decimated by car culture and suburban sprawl, and no one seemed bothered by that. I didn't want to live in New York, but I wanted to be in a place that felt more like a city.

Twenty years later, the Twin Cities feel more like the type of urban environment I want to live in. It has become denser and more walkable. Downtown Minneapolis, at least, doesn't feel like a ghost town on a weeknight. But I've changed too. I no longer look down on the suburbs. Hell, I live in one, though I'm right on the edge of Minneapolis. I shop at strip malls on occasion. People shouldn't feel bad about wanting to live in a place that's less dense, less urban. There are many good reasons to live in the suburbs. But I do think that public officials should do everything they can to make it easier for people without cars to get from point A to point B. And having those options could help knit the city and the suburbs together.

I thought about all of this as Martha and I rode the Green Line from Target Field to Union Station and back. I'll admit that at first I found the ride to be annoyingly pokey and much less efficient than your average big city subway line, and I wondered how tolerable the 55 minute end-to-end commute would be on a daily basis. But as we crossed over the Mississippi and cruised through the University of Minnesota campus, I began to enjoy the ride. Even if only in a passing manner, I was introduced to parts of St. Paul that I hardly, if ever, see, and hopefully will explore more. After we reached the end of the line Martha and I played ping pong in the echoing great hall of Union Depot and I pondered how many hours behind schedule the Amtrak Empire Builder would be. And then we made the return trip, taking turns sitting in the backwards facing and forward facing seats and talking about which we liked better. We both agreed that sitting backwards was kind of cool.

That conversation alone was worth the price of the ride.

Favorite Album Friday, Fourth of July Edition

It seems fitting on Independence Day to select an album that speaks to the American experience, so my nominee for today's #faf post, in all its sepia-toned glory, is The Band, the eponymous second album by The Band.

Released in 1969, The Band evokes a different time in America, but not the time you would expect. While other bands of their generation were addressing the tumult of the era, The Band put out an album of songs that seem as if they could have been composed in 1869. "You can feel the wood in this album," guitarist and primary songwriter Robbie Robertson has been quoted as saying. And it's true. The songs have an organic, homespun quality that goes beyond the music itself. In the immortal words of former Red Sox pitcher Oil Can Boyd, "it feels old-timey." And for a group that was made up mostly of Canadians, the album captures America in its beauty and its contradictions in a way that maybe only outsiders could. From the heights of the Rockies ("Across the Great Divide") to the shores of Lake Erie ("Lookout Cleveland") to the bayou ("Up on Cripple Creek") and to the front porch of a home in Virginia ("Rocking Chair"), The Band takes you on a journey across an America that feels real and yet mythic at the same time.

The most well-known track on the album is "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down," a song told from the perspective of Virgil Kaine, a Tennessee farmer and Confederate soldier who's seen everything around him destroyed by the Civil War. It's a beautiful song, sung by drummer Levon Helm in a voice that's as old as the hills, highlighted by a lovely three part harmony on the chorus with pianist Richard Manuel and bass player Rick Danko. But it's also a difficult song that gives me pause every time I hear it, because it asks you to step in the shoes of a man fighting who's fought for the South and all it represents, even if it's not a fight he's asked for. Ultimately, songwriter Robbie Robertson doesn't seem to be asking you to sympathize with Virgil Kaine, or celebrate the South, but rather understand that the Civil War had many victims.

One of the things I've always enjoyed about revisiting favorite albums is that every time I do, I find something new to appreciate. Maybe it's a song I haven't previously paid attention to, a bass line I've never noticed, or the phrasing of a lyric. In listening to The Band over the last few days, I've discovered the song "Unfaithful Servant," a song about betrayal, dignity, and regret. What stands out to me now more than ever is the gorgeous vocal performance by Rick Danko, who sings the song in a plaintive, melancholy voice that makes you ache. Like Helms's vocals on "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down," Danko's performance makes you feel the emotions of the narrator.

So whatever you're doing this Fourth of July, take some time to listen to this album and reflect on our shared history. Here's a cut to get you in a celebratory mood:

Crazy.gov

American politics has historically been full of colorful characters, a motley assortment of goofballs, cranks, and crooks. And for whatever reason, the Governor's mansion seems to have a magnetic attraction for many of them. Maybe because, outside of the presidency, it's one of the few political  positions of real power in this country, a place where politicians who are smart, ambitious, and politically savvy can craft policy, make a name for themselves, and build a case for higher office. And they can generally do so while avoiding some of the glare of the national media (unless your name is Chris Christy).

Let's review some of the more notorious governors of recent history.

• Rod Blagojevich, governor of Illinois from 2003-2009. While much of his time as governor was marked by controversy, Blago wasn't content to be just another in a long line of corrupt Illinois governors. He shot to the top of that list when he was caught on tape in 2008 conspiring to sell the vacated Senate seat of newly elected president Barack Obama, then spent two years trying to convince everyone of his innocence. He was ultimately convicted on corruption charges in 2011 and sent to federal prison. But word has it that he might be getting out sooner than expected.
• Huey Long, governor of Louisiana from 1928-1932. Perhaps one of the most famous governors in American history, Long embodied everything we love and hate about politicians. He rose to power as an advocate for the poor and the powerless, and during his time as governor he took on the special interests to push through legislation that provided free schools textbooks, extended public education into the more rural parts of the state, and expanded the state's health and transportation systems. But he was as corrupt and ruthless as they come. Long was the the model for Willie Stark, the governor in Robert Penn Warren's classic "All the King's Men."
• Jimmie Davis, governor of Louisiana from 1944-1948 and 1960-1964. Louisiana seems to come up a lot in these lists. Known as the "Singing Governor," among Davis's other major contributions to U.S. history is composing the song "You Are My Sunshine." He also acted in several B Westerns, taught yodeling, convinced the taxpayers of Louisiana to build him a really big mansion, and tried really hard to keep the state's schools segregated. Still, he seemed to be more universally beloved than Huey Long.
• Jesse Ventura, governor of Minnesota from 1998-2002. No list of colorful governors would be complete without The Body, even though Ventura was in reality much tamer, and certainly less corrupt, than the other listed. Still, he had his moments. During his time in office, the former professional wrestler offended hunters across the state when he told a columnist "until you've hunted man you haven't hunted yet," told a Playboy reporter that religion is a "crutch for weak-minded people" and that he'd like to be reincarnated as a bra, repeatedly ridiculed the state press corps (whose members he liked to call "jackals"), and officiated a WWF event. Minnesotans generally don't like to talk about that era.

And that's just the short list. Remember South Carolina governor Mark Sanford and his mysterious Appalachian Trail hiking trip? Or New York Governor Elliot Spitzer, the anti-corruption crusader who spent thousands of dollars on high-end prostitutes?

What bring this all to mind is a recent story about Maine Governor Paul LePage. Elected in 2010, LePage made it clear from early on that he was no ordinary governor. His tenure has been marked by failed attempts to roll back state environmental laws, making jokes about wanting to bomb one of the state's largest newspapers, ridiculing the state's public schools, and comparing the IRS to the Gestapo and its enforcement of Obamacare to the Holocaust. You know, the basic level of nuttiness that you can get away with when you're the governor of a state that doesn't get a ton of national media attention.

That might change with the allegations in a new book by political blogger Mike Tipping. According to Tipping, LePage held several meetings over a period of nine months in 2013 with members of the Consitutional Coalition, a group of far-right conspiracy theorists who consider themselves part of the Sovereign Citizens movement, a loose collection of groups that generally believe that the federal government is illegitimate and the source of all evil in this country. The 9/11 attacks, the shootings at Sandy Hook, and the Boston Marathon bombing are just a few of the acts these groups believe are hoaxes perpetrated by the U.S. Government to lay the groundwork for the eventual takeover by the New World Order. Standard tinfoil hat stuff.

Among the items discussed during these meetings, according to Tipping, is the belief of this group that the president of the Maine Senate and the Speaker of the Maine House of Representatives should be arrested for crimes of treason. And what crimes would those be? Why accepting and using unconstitutional currency (dollars, as opposed to gold and silver), of course, and conspiring with a variety of international organizations (UN, NATO, etc.) to take away Americans' property rights.

Now, maybe I shouldn't be so quick to judge on this one. Maybe Paul LePage is an open-minded guy who just likes to meet with his constituents and get the pulse of the people. And he ceratinly wouldn't be the first conspiracy theorist to sit in the governor's chair (see Ventura, Jesse). But if Tipping's claims are true, Governor LePage might be setting a new standard of irresponsible behavior for a U.S. governor. And that's no small feat.