After almost two years of silence on this blog, how do I write something that might be music to your ears – or eyes?
This won’t be the most conventional way back in to writing about music in my life but that’s me, unconventional at best. This is not a story about a Thin Lizzy concert, either, despite the photo above. This is just a story about me and music, a relationship that does not feel as it should right now.
On a beautiful end-of-summer/early fall day in Silicon Valley I stood in the sun for hours waiting to get into the grounds of Stanford University’s Frost Amphitheater for my first full live concert in 19 months. Many artists had recommenced post-pandemic touring at the beginning of that US summer, and by the time I saw Brandi Carlile on this stage she had played through the summer at various outdoor venues as well as appearing at AmericanaFest and Ohana Festival. I had been somewhat preoccupied as I had taken off on a solo road trip around the United States, an epic odyssey that connected me more deeply to music – so often it was just me, my RAV4 and my music – and it also disconnected me from much of what was happening in the rest of the country and the world.
It needs to be said, unequivocally, that Little River Band’s album Sleeper Catcher is one of the most beautiful, exquisite, perfect rock albums ever recorded.
I say “one of” because of course there are many, and my tastes are particular, and don’t encompass a lot of the music that my friends and colleagues swear allegiance to. But as I recently wrote in “What was I thinking?” about the shameful, unforgivable culling of my music collection, and have had cause to look down the list of what vinyl I had owned, and what I still do, and what I have in my huge digital library, and make comparisons, I understand that there are some albums that really should only be heard in their original formats, and Sleeper Catcher is one of those. You need to play it on vinyl, as it was released to the world in 1978.
One year ago Andrew “Greedy” Smith of Australian band Mental As Anything died suddenly. While we lose our music icons more and more as we all get older, this one was even more horribly upsetting because Greedy hadn’t been ill, he was way too young, and he was one of the nicest guys you could ever meet. To pay tribute to him on this first anniversary, I’m sharing the entire chapter from my book Songwriters Speak on the Mentals’ two key songwriters, Greedy Smith and Martin Plaza, Hope you enjoy.
So I’m watching the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony a couple weeks ago on HBO, like all awards shows this year being a largely virtual event, and the Doobie Brothers kick it off with some terrific archival footage and heartfelt acceptance speeches. Yeah, I think, I really need to give the Minute By Minute album a spin on my newish USB turntable.
So I go to my media cabinet, slide open the door and look through my small collection of vinyl that I preserved after culling so many of my possessions in 2014 when preparing for my big move from Sydney to Los Angeles.
I got into my car yesterday morning to head to the beach. I’m rarely in the car nowadays. I have spent most of the past nearly eight months self-isolating at home so mileage has been low. But if I am in the car on a Saturday morning it’s fun to listen to an old episode of Casey Kasem’s American Top 40 on Sirius XM’s 70s On 7 channel, and yesterday morning’s was a ripper. It featured the countdown from this weekend in 1973. Oh yes.
This month I’m taking some time out to celebrate the 15th anniversary of my book, Songwriters Speak, on my social media platforms. So I thought I really should acknowledge it here, too, now that I’m expanding the content on Debbie Does Music to cover the Australian music I was raised on and worked with prior to moving to Los Angeles.
Because I am in fact starting work on a new book about music, I’ve been diving back into the memories and archives of the conception, writing and publishing of Songwriters Speak.
I’m not at an Eagles concert, which I would have been, twice, this weekend.
I’m not at any concert now or any time for the foreseeable future, as one by one the music events I was looking forward to – Joan Osborne at Pepperdine University’s Center for the Arts concert hall, Beth Nielsen Chapman at McCabes Guitar Shop, a Julie Andrews talk at the Skirball Cultural Center, the Eagles Hotel California shows at The Forum – were crossed off my calendar, along with other music and non-music happenings. My calendar is a mess of things crossed out. I sure hate a messy calendar.
The live Australian Cast Recording of Jesus Christ Superstar and Remembering Jon English
Or: How to Clean Your Home When You Don’t Want To
Easter has come and gone for another year, Passover is just about passed over, the Angel of Death didn’t get me thanks to my parents’ mezuzah on my doorpost, and I have a clean bathroom thanks to my favourite stage musical. Read on to see how these things are connected.
3 March 2020, Fred Kavli Theatre, Thousand Oaks, CA
I guess it’s just complicated. Like so many relationships in life. Relationships to family and loved ones, relationships to work and relationships to certain music. Music I love, musicians I am ambivalent about as time goes on.
“As time goes on I realise just what you mean to me…”
It’s hard not to throw in lyrics and even pun some when it comes to talking or writing about Chicago.
