Joe Jackson in Chicago

In 2012 when I last saw Joe Jackson perform, he led a 7-piece band that showcased interpretations of Duke Ellington originals.  Last night at the sold-out Thalia Hall in Chicago, it was back to the basics.  Only four musicians graced the stage, including Jackson’s long-time bassist Graham Maby and two fabulous session musicians: guitarist Teddy Kumpel and drummer Doug Yowell (whose crack of the snare is still ringing in my ears).  Together they blazed through a set that included Jackson’s usual fare, a couple of surprises and several new songs that held up very well against the older material.

Jackson – sporting an olive suit, white shirt and black shoes – began the evening as a solo artist, playing familiar versions of “It’s Different for Girls,” “Hometown” (a sentimental song about “a place that’s hard to be sentimental about”) and “Be My Number Two” before covering The Beatles’ song “Girl” (yawn).  He then played the first of seven songs off of what was supposed to have been four EPs but instead became the full-length Fast Forward due to record company pressure.  It was during the complex title track that it became abundantly clear that Jackson was reading his own lyrics – he even pressed the button on his tablet to “fast forward” to the next page of lyrics (and/or chord changes?).  Unfortunately, he spent the rest of the evening squinting in what I can only deduce was mock emotion as a way to conceal his reading of the written word.  Embarrassing?  Well, if he’s suffering from memory loss, then I’ll give him a free pass.  Otherwise it comes off as sheer laziness, as he even appeared to be reading lyrics that he’s played live for over thirty years.

After “Fast Forward” the band came up one by one during “Is She Really Going Out With Him” (an act that would be reversed in the closing encore of “A Slow Song”) before kicking it in for “Real Men” – with Kumpel’s lead guitar effectively taking place of Jackson’s original “Oh ohhhh” chorus – and “You Can’t Get What You Want.”  The new album then took center stage.

I don’t own Jackson’s first album of original material in seven years (yet), but if last night’s performance is any indication, Fast Forward is a collection of strong, complex songs that – when in the capable hands of last night’s supporting cast – are urgent, energetic and poignant. The album was recorded in four sessions (hence the original idea of releasing four EPs) from four different cities with four different groups of musicians, and last evening’s selections showcased what has become Jackson’s greatest skill – weaving memorable, tuneful melodies against unpredictable chord changes.  You won’t hear any three chord songs here, and I’m impressed with how Joe continues to find new ways to compose what are essentially pop songs.

Aside from Jackson’s personal teleprompter, the only other criticism I have of the show is his tendency to lean too heavily on familiar territory.  I get why he plays the hits, and sure, “Hometown” and “Be My Number Two” are great songs, but why not “Shanghai Sky” or “The Best I Can Do” as substitutes?  Instead of “It’s Different for Girls” why not “One to One”?  The only surprises of the evening were “On the Radio,” “China Town” and “Love at First Light” from Volume 4.   All sounded superb, and I wish there had been a few others.  As for the cover songs, “Peter Gunn” – with lyrics! – was a terrific example of one of only two reasons a band should ever play a cover song:  to offer a completely different interpretation than the original or to play a song people don’t already know by heart.  As for The Beatles’ “Girl” – what’s the point?

When Aspirations Fall Short

I’ve never met author Hannah Goodman, but I’m fortunate for having made a long-distance connection with her back in 2011 that led to the publication of two of my short stories.  Earlier this year, Ms. Goodman announced that the young adult periodical she founded, Sucker Literary Magazine, was on hiatus, which was a bummer, but more of a concern was the reason for the hiatus, which Hannah has bravely blogged about at www.writerwomyn.com.  For the past year or so she’s shared her journey with depression, anxiety and overcoming feelings of low self-worth in the midst of trying to find a publishing deal for her YA fiction.

In her most recent entry, she describes how the nurturing environment she experienced while obtaining her MFA took a sharp turn upon graduation, when she began to encounter "a serious problem with envy and comparing." Social media played a significant role in her struggles as she immersed herself in Facebook and Twitter to help bolster her career, and over time, as she sunk into a hole of constantly comparing herself to others' achievements, her self-esteem took a big hit.

Hannah had gone “all-in.”  She’d made huge sacrifices to obtaining her dream, but a few years after graduation she was in a therapist’s office, concluding that she was “a complete and utter failure and sham of a writer.”  Her perceived failures as a writer were projected on her roles in life, most notably those of wife and mother.  Fortunately, she is in much better place today. 

Hannah certainly isn't the only one to be adversely affected by social media. Several studies have shown a link between Facebook use and depressive symptoms, and as rough as social media can be for any of us, I think it can be especially cruel to the aspiring artist who’s sacrificed so much to follow a dream.   

Of course, following one’s dream doesn’t mean that you’ll earn a living at it, but society sometimes pushes us into thinking that we will.  I wrote about this last year after watching the marvelous film Twenty Feet from Stardom, in which the amazing Mary Clayton laments her failed attempts to achieve her own stardom.  In this blog I asked the question, “Are we entitled to earn a living doing what we love?”  I argued no.  It reminds me of a story a friend of mine told me about his son who decided to pursue jazz guitar performance a number of years ago.  During his first jazz ensemble rehearsal the instructor said, “All of you who are here to make a living playing music need to leave right now.  Those of you who can’t fathom living without playing jazz can stay.”

This is tough advice, but it’s good advice.  I don’t know if Ms. Goodman received a similar message while pursuing her MFA, and I don’t know if she would have stayed if she had, but she is now taking a break from pursuing a book deal (but not a break from writing) and is studying to become a licensed therapist.

We do what we love because we love to do it.  If we can make a living at it, even better, but we should never stop doing what we love.  Hannah certainly hasn’t.  She’s continues to write, and goodness, if there’s ever any doubt about whether she’s capable, read her marvelous entry, “We Need to Talk.”  It's amazing.

Um...now I’m making an envious comparison.  I better get off-line and start writing!

Stevie Wonder in Chicago

@@If Stevie Wonder ever begins to look his age and lose some of his ridiculous vocal range, take heed: the end is nigh.@@  Fortunately, neither has come to pass, as witnessed by a huge crowd at the United Center in Chicago on Friday night.  I was expecting to enjoy the show but ended up loving it, partially for the Man himself and for his amazing ensemble of backing musicians, but also because of the diverse and enthusiastic fans that left me leaving the arena feeling positive about the status of American racial relations.  Music can indeed bring people from different backgrounds together, something I learned back in 1987 when I attended Paul Simon’s Graceland tour, but in light of recent events and seen through eyes that are almost three decades older, Friday night’s concert was even more special to me.

Wonder came on stage first to talk to the audience – something I am not a fan of as it detracts from the thrill of the opening number – but quickly charmed the audience with what was for me a surprising sense of humor along with his well-known appeals for peace and love.  When he introduced the first song of his magnum opus Songs in the Key of Life, one certainly couldn’t argue that “More than ever, love’s in need of love.”  Six vocalists began the haunting opening phrase of the 1976 release, and Stevie followed with the familiar opening line, “Good morn or evening friends…” 

I thought Arcade Fire crammed a lot of musicians on stage last year, but Wonder put that band to shame, as six horns, six backup singers, two drummers, two percussionists, two guitarists, two keyboardists and a bass player graced the stage.  During peak numbers such as “Pastime Paradise,” an eight-piece string ensemble and approximately ten-piece choir joined the crew, and along with a harmonica player and conductor the total number of musicians exceeded forty.  Wonder highlighted just how thrilling it is to play with “real musicians” and allowed each to shine at various points throughout the evening, most notably a playful competition with his backup singers at the conclusion of “Knocks me off my Feet.”  While all the backup singers naturally held their own, I was amazed at how Wonder’s range continues to defy human physiology; he sounds as strong at sixty-five as he did at twenty-six when he recorded Songs in the Key of Life.

Stevie’s mastery of keyboards and the chromatic harmonica is well known, but during the second set he displayed his chops on an instrument that I thought was a stick but have learned since is actually a newer tapping instrument called a harpejji.  A cross between keyboards and guitar, it offered a terrific accompaniment to several songs, including what appeared to be the only off-the-cuff track, a Buddy Guy tribute of “Hi-Heel Sneaker.”

I always thought Songs in the Key of Life had some filler tracks on the second two sides, or at the very least some filler minutes of some otherwise decent tracks, and I stand by my conclusions after hearing the album in its entirety, but when you have kick-ass musicians on stage performing for a full three hours, it hardly seems to matter.  After the album's completion, Wonder’s alter-ego DJ Chick Chick Boom took over, playing snippets from a series of songs including the crowd-pleasing “My Cherie Amour” and “Superstition.”  Had he been able to find room for “You Haven’t Done Nothin’” I would have been beside myself.

Wonder’s creative output since 1976 has been sporadic, and – at times – embarrassing, but no one can deny that from 1972 to 1976 he was one of the best, if not the best, composers.  Forty years later, there’s no denying that he remains one of the best performers, and one of the few who can attract an audience of equal parts black and white, a special ability in a culture that so often separates itself along racial lines whether by circumstances or by choice.  It felt good to buck this trend, if only for evening.

A special thank you to my kids who bought me and my wife the tickets for our twentieth anniversary!

Taking the Plunge

It turns out that good things can happen as soon as you commit to them happening.

After dilly dallying for the past several months, on Sunday I began to work in earnest on my next album, a forthcoming effort to be entitled The Palisades. For me I always have to overcome a bit of reluctance to start one of these things, as I know that saying yes to recording an album means saying no to a host of other things that interest me, and I know it’ll take the better part of the next nine months or so to complete the project.

There’s also the fact that of the eleven proposed tracks for the album, only four have been written in their entirety.  Most require another verse or two or a bridge or a better chorus, so the songs I’ve committed to recording might ultimately fall by the wayside in a few months. But for now I’ve chosen eleven out of approximately twenty-five (largely uncompleted) compositions that will provide an overarching theme: mainly that of relationships, something I’ve largely avoided in most of my past efforts.

What’s cool is that once you truly delve into completing something, good things happen.  On Day One of my pursuit, I noodled around on the keyboard downstairs on a track called “Why Can’t You Be More Like They Are” – a song I started well over a decade ago – and determined that it needed an interesting intro.  After about a half an hour I came up with a solid chord progression that will serve quite nicely, and lo and behold, after playing it several times I decided it would also do well as a bridge to the song.  Sure enough, about ten minutes later I had a brand new bridge for a song that heretofore had none.  I’ll have to let it percolate for a few weeks before I determine if the new material makes the cut, but if asked today I’d put money on it staying.

Which only goes to show that @@once you set your mind to DO something, you do in fact begin to DO it.@@

There’s a pile of paper on my ping-pong table that includes countless ideas for a novel I’d like to begin writing, but lately the prospect of actually sifting through the material and beginning to write has been such daunting one that I’ve pursued almost anything else I can think of: vacuuming, dusting, walking the dog, cleaning out the litter box – you name it.  All are preferable to delving into the creative work that needs to be done.

Which explains why I’m recording a new CD.  It’s basically a way to avoid writing the book!  But hey, at least I’ll end up with something more fulfilling than a temporarily clean house.  Once the CD is complete, I will – I WILL – tackle the novel.  And I’ve no doubt that once I commit to doing so, it’ll all fall into place in a more effortless way than I might now imagine.

After I complete the book, I might even commit to painting the family room. Even writing a book seems preferable to that.

The Death of Communication

Communicating with each other has never been easier; what used to take days or weeks can now be accomplished in a split-second, and distance is no longer the constraint it once was.  My daughters both attend college in different time zones from me, and in the short time they’ve been way we’ve already texted, Skyped, emailed, called over the phone and even sent a few notes via US Mail.

So if communication has never easier then why are so many of us doing so little of it?

Much has been written about how young people’s personal communication skills are on the decline since the advent of texting and social networking, and to be sure, even anecdotally my daughters have reported difficulty meeting people – at college, no less – due to the lack of urgency: after all, when a person is alone, she can use her phone as a security blanket and therefore has little incentive to go through the awkward ritual of having to seek someone out, shake hands and make introductions.

But regardless of what’s happening in the huge social experiment of today’s youth, what about older folks?  I’m in my 40s.  Surely my generation communicates well with each other, right? 

My own personal experience – albeit not a statistically significant one – indicates otherwise.  Over the past few years I’ve been troubled by an increasing lack of communication among my generational brethren, and oddly enough, it even occurs at the electronic level where back and forth relays of information are particularly effortless.

I started thinking about this topic a few weeks ago, when during a conversation with my mom she mentioned how much she pines for the days when you could pick up a phone, call someone and expect an answer.  No caller ID.  No voicemail.  No waiting period during which you wonder whether your message has been a) received b) given to the person intended; c) forgotten about entirely or d) simply ignored. 

Initially I argued against my mother (surprise!) and suggested that caller ID and voicemail have been huge benefits.  They’ve shifted the power from the person making the call to the person receiving the call.  No longer am I obligated to answer the phone if it’s someone I don’t want to talk to (telemarketers, unknown numbers) or if the timing is poor (during dinner, heading out the door, going to bed).  No more am I forced to speak with a particular loquacious person who shall remain nameless when I know I’ve got to leave in five minutes to take my son to drum lessons.

But I’ve thought a lot about this topic since my mom and I spoke, and I’ve concluded that she’s onto something.  We generally no longer view voicemail messages as something that need to be addressed immediately, but rather view them as suggestions: something than can be addressed (or not) at some point in the future if it’s convenient.  Lately I’ve found this trend applies to other mediums as well.  During the past year I reached out via email to several friends I hadn’t seen in quite a while, and some of my messages were either never answered or were answered after a few months, and often very quickly.  (“Gotta make this short – really busy.”) 

A note to all people who keep announcing how busy their lives are: @@We’re all busy.  Get over yourselves.@@ 

The lost art of letter writing – which I still practice – of course fairs poorly, as most of my letters are not only never returned (which I understand and expect) but are also unacknowledged (which I don’t understand even if I’ve come to expect it), and more and more even texts – heretofore a medium that commanded immediate attention – have been addressed in the same manner as phone calls and emails.  They’re placed in the “get to it later when it’s convenient” pile, and often never followed up on.

Now, to be fair, I still send and receive hundreds of emails and texts every month, but these are typically of the “what time is the meeting on Tuesday?” or “Man the Brewers suck” variety: quick communications meant to share quick information.  For these types of correspondences texting and emails work very well. 

But here’s the question: what’s replaced the lengthy phone conversations and in-depth letters or email correspondences that we used to have with family and friends?  I’m afraid that in many cases those types of interactions have gone by the wayside. 

You might say, “Sure, Paul, but you're kind of an asshole, and it’s clear people want nothing to do with you.”

Fair enough, but I think this trend doesn’t stop with me.  Even among my close friends and family I haven’t noticed a lot of reaching out to others.  The following excerpt is from an op-ed piece in the Wall Street Journal last May:

…we spend so much time maintaining superficial connections online that we aren’t dedicating enough time or effort to cultivating deeper real-life relationships. Too much chatter, too little real conversation.

I think there’s something to this.  More and more I witness people proactively avoiding real communication.  Invitations to parties go unanswered or – and this really kills me – are declined without the offer of an alternative.  So, for example, an invitation to get together is answered with “Can’t that evening, sorry,” instead of “can’t that evening, but what about next Friday?”  This appears to be a growing trend, and I find it sad.

Back in the 90s I kept all of the letters I received and took copious notes of daily events and correspondences.  In an effort to organize some of my old crap recently, I plowed through several years’ worth of paper and was amazed at how many letters and phone calls I received on a regular basis, and not just from family and close friends.  Even people very much on the periphery of my life called to say hello or took a half an hour out of their lives to compose a letter to me.  Upon review, I was amazed by the number of correspondences I used to exchange with people.

These days, even the most modest attempts at real human interaction are often met with little more than a shrug of the shoulders.  I know.  I’m starting to sound like that old codger.  And I’m starting to agree with my mother.  Forecast for hell: a deep freeze.

But I think it’s time for each of us to start thinking about what’s important and what signals we’re sending to each other.  After all, is a person who you don’t see, don’t talk to and don’t respond to messages from really a friend?  If yes, in what sense?  If not, I’ve lost a boat-load of friends over the past few years.

Dang, that’s depressing.

I think to make myself feel a little better I’ll call someone up and leave a voicemail.