Tag Archives: New York

Music Without A Trace

 

Photo by Carol Highsmith/Library of Congress

The old Trace movie theater, refurbished (at least inside) into the Westside Theatre nightclub and meeting place in Port Gibson, Mississippi. The Trace burned twice, in 1948 and 1968 — the latter blaze putting it out of business for good. Abandoned theaters and concert halls, clubs left empty. The photo evoked thoughts of the future in the aftermath of the pandemic of 2020. 

It’s week number whatever here in New York and the social isolation experiment seems to be working. They say that thanks to our efforts, we’re flattening the curve. Unfortunately, the death count in this state sadly keeps hovering between seven or eight hundred poor souls each day, so I highly doubt that any friends or family of the departed are experiencing jubilation over this particular flattening episode. People are usually unable to say goodbye to their loved ones, but instead can see a daily video feed of the refrigeration trucks parked outside of hospitals holding the corpses or the mass burials on Hart’s Island.

I’m reminded of a recent Facebook post from a friend of mine that read:

January 1: It’s going to be a great year!!!
March 15: I wiped my butt this morning with a coffee filter.

Despite the spin from a certain somebody who is hawking an unproven COVID-19 miracle drug on his daily infomercial/campaign rally with the slogan of “What have you got to lose?” and receives his consultation from the guys who run wrestling and mixed martial arts extravaganzas, things aren’t looking too good. While some say we’re just days away from reopening the country for business, many government and public health officials are whistling a different tune. For example, this past week both the mayor of Los Angeles and the governor of California have indicated that mass gatherings, such as sporting events and music concerts, are likely not to start up again for at least a year. Let that sink in.

This past month has been a bonanza for livestream and online concerts, with most having no entry cost and a few that offer a virtual tip jar to leave a donation for the performers. I don’t know how that’s working out, but it’s likely not paying anyone’s bills. New albums, which are introduced along with plans for press, publicity, and tour dates, are still being released minus the exposure, support, and revenue. And we still haven’t figured out how the creative participants of the music industry can or will survive the streaming model, let alone with live performance opportunities now taken away.

I keep an eye on Chris Griffy’s biweekly ND column Crowdfunding Radar, and many of the recent projects he’s featured have been hitting their rather modest targets in a pre-COVID-19 world. But the question remains if it’s sustainable, and perhaps more important will be the public’s ability or appetite to commit to a monthly donation through a platform like Patreon. Given that we are on the edge of a full-blown depression, I must admit that I am not hopeful of this model.

Every few weeks I enjoy going to The Strand, one of the oldest and largest indie booksellers in the country. It’s three floors of incredible inventory and selection, and the last time I was there it was just a week before it closed down. It was oddly empty; the city’s fear was just beginning to take hold. The store, on the edge of Union Square and the NYU campus, is always bustling with people and now it stands shuttered. I wonder about its future in the same way that I think of record stores. These are tactile environments where we all touch, hold, and check out the product. I don’t think disinfectant wipes will work well on paper or cardboard.

Guess it might be a good time to offer my apology for wasting your time with all this doom and gloom. As is often the case when writing a weekly column, I try hard to seek out a topic of interest that may help expose new musical avenues for y’all to explore. That was my goal when I sat down and flipped open the Mac, but I’ve lost both my will and the way forward.

So here’s what I’m going to do. No Depression is a nonprofit entity and for my services, or lack thereof, I receive a small salary. (I’m reminded that ND’s co-founder Peter Blackstock once said that I was lucky to even be making a cent. Non-working music writers can be found for nearly a dime a dozen.) Anyway, when I get my check this month I’m going to drop it all into a few of those virtual tip jars, or perhaps support a project or two. It’s just a tiny drop in a big bucket, but I don’t know what else to do. I guess I’m helplessly hoping for better days ahead.

This was originally published at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music’s website, as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column.

Many of my past columns, articles, and essays can be accessed here and at my own site, therealeasyed.com. I also aggregate news and videos on both Flipboard and Facebook as The Real Easy Ed: Americana and Roots Music Daily. My Twitter handle is @therealeasyed and my email address is easyed@therealeasyed.com.

Alive On Video: The Last Waltz At 62nd and Amsterdam

(L-R) Larry Campbell, Anderson East, Bob Weir, Lucinda Williams, Buddy Miller and Teddy Thompson perform as part of ‘The Last Waltz’ 40th Anniversary Celebration in Damrosch Park at Lincoln Center in New York City on August 6, 2016. Photo by Ebet Rogers/Elmore Magazine

This Thanksgiving, when we sit down for our turkey or tofu dinner, those of us who care about such things might take a moment to mark the 40th anniversary of The Band’s farewell concert. It was filmed by Martin Scorsese and released two years later as The Last Waltz, and remains not only a superb documentary, but also one of the seminal events in American roots music.

Earlier this year, Warren Haynes assembled a tribute show in New Orleans during JazzFest, and this past weekend it was New York’s turn, with a different cast of characters. In a collaboration with the folks at Lincoln Center and the Americana Music Association, several thousand souls squeezed into the mostly concrete Damrosch Park to enjoy a free concert with Larry Campbell and the Midnight Ramble Band, featuring special guests Bob Weir, Lucinda Williams, Dr. John, Buddy Miller, Patty Griffin, Howard Johnson, Teddy Thompson, and Anderson East.

I’m sure my editor would prefer that I earn my keep by turning in a proper and concise review, but I just read Scott Bernstein’s post over at JamBase and, to be honest, he pretty much captured the night. I completely agree with his observation that it was an “all-killer, no-filler version of The Last Waltz” and that “no one is better suited to play the music of The Band in 2016 than the Midnight Ramble Band.”

Having Larry Campbell as the evening’s music director, badass guitar-slinger, vocalist, fiddler, mandolinist, host, and emcee further solidified his standing in representing Levon Helm’s spirit and legacy. Vocals from his wife Teresa Williams and keyboardist Brian Mitchell cut through the summer humidity like a sharp knife. The horn section included Jay Collins, Erik Lawrence, Steven Bernstein, and Clark Gayton. Jacob Silver played bass, Shawn Pelton drove percussion, and 1980s Band member Jimmy Weider smoked and soared on guitar.

At the beginning of the show, each member of The Band was mentioned, and each received loud applause. The last name spoken was Levon Helm, and the roar of the crowd at the mention of his name was so charged it almost lifted me off my seat. I don’t mean to stir up the pot here, but if there is any question as to who the leader of The Band was, I know a few thousand people who would testify.

A large contingent of the crowd seemed to be there for Bob Weir, but Lucinda and Dr. John were greeted loudly and all three received standing ovations. Maybe I’ve been hanging out at No Depression too long, but I was really surprised at how many people sitting around me had no idea who Buddy Miller, Patty Griffin, or Teddy Thompson were. Perhaps just a reminder that in this great, big world of music, we’re still just a subgenre.

On the morning after, before I even got out of bed, I checked You Tube to see if any videos had been uploaded yet, and discovered Front Row Dave. A professional music videographer in the Hudson Valley, Dave Beesmer has a channel on You Tube with lots of concert videos and he’s closing in on almost four million views. He shot the show along with Joey Calderone, and I appreciate that he’s allowed me to share them with you here.

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside at No Depression dot com.
The photo at the top of the article was originally published by Elmore Magazine and the photographer is Ebet Rogers.

Record Store Memories Revisited

rstoreIt’s the night before my column’s deadline, and instead of thinking about music and coming up with some snappy subject matter, I’m sitting in front of the television watching CNN for what’s become the daily Trump outrage. Today he called out the press after they caught him in another bucket of lies. There were more details about the fraud case for his make-believe “university,” he insulted Native Americans, a US Senator, women, and Mexican-Americans. So in other words, it was a pretty slow news day. Yawn.

The last time I got sidetracked by life and told my editor I had nothing for her, she yelled “No!” and suggested that at the very least I could always go back into my archives, find something of inspiration, and maybe rework it. So that’s where I went hunting, back to over seven years ago, when the hot topic on this site was the (still raging) argument of digital versus physical albums.

Since vinyl was still in the dead zone and streaming wasn’t yet happening, it was really a case of people defending the dreadful-sounding compact discs versus compressed downloads. I was one of a few who loved the ease of stuffing the equivalent of two thousand albums inside a little box that could fit into my shirt pocket, but I was also in mourning over the loss of not only record stores, but what became both a lifestyle and how I earned my living.

I grew up in Philadelphia, which was considered a “music town” due to its many musicians, clubs, radio stations, studios, record labels, and stores. My older sister and I watched American Bandstand every day after school, since it was broadcast live from 46th and Market Street. When I turned 12, I was caught up in the first wave of the British Invasion.

Living far out in the suburbs, I’d shop at places like Sears, Korvettes, and Woolworths after school. Every weekend, I traveled downtown and hit Jerry’s on Market (“All Albums $2.99”), Sam Goody’s, and Record Mart on Chestnut. And, between the adult bookstores and peep shows near 13th and Arch Streets, there was a store that sold “mystery bags,” which held five promo singles for a buck. I still have a few hundred of them stashed in the closet.

My strongest memory of those stores was standing happily, shoulder-to-shoulder, with other kids, flipping albums, and being enchanted by the artwork as the music blasted from huge speakers. I always came home carrying bags of new records, many of which I’d never heard of — I had been tipped over by the covers and liner notes. When I look back, these were the happiest times for a kid like me.

I literally stumbled into a career the last day of college — the job description was “go to record stores.” My new boss gave me the keys to a 1972 VW Beetle, a list of about five hundred stores from DC to New York, three-ring binders of catalogs, and boxes of promos, and he sent me off to sell.

I started with King James and Bruce Webb’s in the city, moved out to Bryn Mawr near the Main Point, to visit Plastic Fantastic, and Keller’s House of Music in Upper Darby. Al’s Record Spot and Levin’s Furniture in Kensington. Mel’s in South Philly. There was Speedy’s and Phantasmagoria in Allentown, the Renaissance in Bethlehem, Spruce Records in Scranton, and Central Music in Williamsport. There was Waxie Maxie, Kemp Mill, Discount Records, and Music Den. There was Eynon Drug Store, Gallery of Sound, and H. Royer Smith’s classical shop, where I scored Skip Spence’s Oar album, which they’d had sitting in the basement.

In the early 1980s, I got to run a store in Santa Monica that specialized in rare vinyl and I thought it was a dream job. But after a couple years, I went back out on the road.  I got to visit hundreds and hundreds of record stores all over the country. It was not a bad life at all, but one that ended nine years ago with the recession. And despite some record shops that still are holding tight, the whole thing is pretty much becoming just a memory. A couple weeks ago, I walked by Other Music in lower Manhattan as they were getting ready to turn out the lights for good. Last week came news that a Chicago store that’s been around for 50 years simply gave all of their inventory away for free.

For those stores that still have a heartbeat, I hope you can hang on as long as you can.

Last week over 39,000,000 songs were streamed in America. No flipping.

This post was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside on the No Depression website.

Bringing Mountain Music to the City

LunchmeatLet me tell you about the night my fingers snapped off and fell onto a beer-stained wood floor.

A tremendous rainstorm had its way with the sky as I moved across the Hudson River. I pulled up to a roadhouse about ten miles north of Manhattan. Juggling my guitar case and an umbrella, I brushed past the determined smokers huddled outside by the front door, walked down the length of the bar to a small alcove in the back, and nodded to a couple of folks I recognized. For a few months I’d heard talk about a bluegrass jam in the neighborhood, and this was my first chance to check it out.

Despite having been a finger-style player for over 50 years, with an interest in all sorts of old-time and roots music, I’d never attempted to do any serious flatpickin’ before. Still, I figured it couldn’t be all that hard. Three or four chords, a good capo, and a Fender 451 medium pick would do the trick, right? And after all, this is New York, not the hills of Kentucky. I’d step up, dazzle, and shred.

Right. Can you see where this train wreck is headed?

Tara Linhardt is an award-winning multi-instrumentalist from rural Taylorstown, Virginia, who moved here less than a year ago and has already earned recognition in the relatively small but highly talented New York bluegrass scene. In addition to organizing the monthly jam that attracts a large and talented group of musicians, she also teaches mandolin and guitar, plays in several bands, is an excellent photographer, and has put together a number of festivals and events. She organized and broke the Guinness Book of Records for the world’s largest mandolin group. Tara & The Galax Fiddler’s Convention Mandolin Ensemble featured 389 mandolins that performed four tunes. Including this one:

She’s also a founding and managing member of The Mountain Music Project, which works to preserve, promote, and educate folks about traditional music throughout the world. That project focuses mostly on the Appalachian region of the United States and the traditional music of the Nepali Himalaya.

There’s a film documentary about the project that’s been released on DVD, and a collaborative album that, along with Linhardt, features other American musicians like Sammy Shelor, Tim O’Brien, Curtis Burch, Mark Schatz, Abigail Washburn, Danny Knicely, and Tony Trischka.

That rainy night jam, which I thought would be a piece of cake, ended up serving me a big slice of humble pie.

The 15 musicians who stood in the circle were by and large regulars on the festival and jam circuit, professional performers, parking lot pickers, and other assorted but exceptional players. From the opening notes, which seemed to be going at about 220 beats per minute, it took every ounce of energy in my body to keep up.

I kept my eyes glued to the left hand of singer/guitarist Christian Apuzzo, whom I had met previously when his band opened for Billy Strings and Don Julin. I could strum the chords but felt like I was on a roller coaster with no brakes. My mouth was hanging open most of the time in awe of the musicianship. I thought I did pretty well until about an hour and 45 minutes into it, when Linhardt looked over at me and yelled, “You’re behind the beat … step to the back.” Now I didn’t take that as being mean spiritied at all, but instructive. This jam is a welcoming and friendly place for all players.

Nevertheless, given how easy I expected this to be…cue instant exhalation and deflation.

Two songs later, I called it quits. My fingers were as crispy as fried clams.

I wasn’t quite finished foolin’ around with this bluegrass excursion yet, though. I showed up two weeks later for another shot. This time I swapped the jumbo cutaway for my more traditional dreadnought, put on heavier strings, and grabbed a handful of Dunlop 1.14 mm picks.

I still couldn’t last more than a couple of hours. I apparently, desperately need to lock myself in a room with Tony Rice videos, but as long as Lindhart keeps the door open I’m going to try to walk through it again. Because while it’s great to write about music, it’s even better to make it.

Matheus Verardino, who played harmonica in that first video, and the aforementioned Christian Apuzzo are members of Cole Quest and the City Pickers. They have a new album that’s currently being mixed.  And it might be of interest to know that Cole ‘Quest’ Rotante sings and plays Dobro. His mom’s name is Nora and his uncle is Arlo. You can figure out that lineage.  I like this band.

Linhardt has been touring this year with Shyam Nepali of the Mountain Music Project. At this year’s Grey Fox Bluegrass Festival, they played with percussionist Raj Kapoor, Apuzzo (this dude is everywhere), and violinist extraordinaire and fellow jammer Mary Simpson, who was a founding member of Whiskey Rebellion and now tours with Yanni.

Photo of Lunchmeat Larry by Tara.

This was originally published at No Depression dot com, as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column.