nostalgia as cultural usurpation/impotence, but oh well

eulogy of sorts;

nostalgia.

i don't particularly care for it. to loosely paraphrase whitman, there has never been any more stars, moon, sun or atoms; never more love, peace or war than now. to lapse insensibly into the paeans of how illustrious and brilliant X time was, how futile, empty and banal present conditions are - in any form or context - is dubious, self-defeating and does nothing to incense the procreant urge, the principles of creation. if anything, it engenders a kind of complacency and numbness, within which creativity is inured to the environments that would otherwise propel it forward. within music lately, the governing principle is the utilization of nostalgia for creative ends. rather than simple inspiration from past figures, there is an accelerant adoption of past forms, styles and configurations, all of which become unfavorably grafted onto the present. whenever i hear a new band described, it is done with terms ensconced and enslaved to prior ghosts; nobody "sounds" new, they sound like the feelies, or they sound like the butthole surfers, or they sound like dylan, or they sound like whatever band was underappreciated and discovered at a later time (big star, the velvets, the silver apples -- especially the silver apples lately). i'm speaking exclusively of independent music, which has been devouring itself lately with nostalgia, with the inconquerable, fruitless notion that everything in the past is worth emulating. the respective scenes that emerged in the 80s underground are impossibly romantic, almost to the point where they have become a lure and bait upon which entire new careers have been slung, though somewhat dispassionately. listen, i love the replacements, the feelies, big star, the silver apples, the united states of america (band), can and all the other krautrock visionaries, the tall dwarfs and all the other "kiwi" rock progenitors, and amon duul and all that; there's no merit in debating their relative worth, because their inventions and attitudes were invaluable. however, where is the break, where is the advancement, where is the singular cultural or subcultural voice of which we are unanimously deprived? influence is inseparable, its anxiety is choking - but to presume it must color and clothe every aspect of our emerging cultural life is maniacal, myopic and deadening. it is possible to bear the stain of influence but to create something supplemental, to transcend it or climb its scaffolds, aware of the past but triumphant of its inertia. oddly, i know so many people who have gone to school and obtained masters degrees by studying childhood obsessions, but applying a kind of cold, intellectual process to them so as to render them "academic" or analytical (i kid you not, there are people who have finished their graduate thesis on the "golden girls" for chrissakes).

whatever constitutes the "independent" music scene is built - however surprisingly - upon tradition. nothing that was created since its theoretical inception (somewhere in the late 70s/early 80s) existed with amnesia towards its past; it recognized it, took liberally from it, but was cognizant of its own time, frustrations, possibilities and stricture. maybe begin with punk in the late 70s, as a reaction -- patti smith, television's marquee moon album, the ramones, devo, pere ubu, the talking heads; destruction and creation. it extends with the no-wave scene of new york that so quickly, happily collapsed upon itself -- james chance and the contortions, DNA, teenage jesus and the jerks, glenn branca, mars, etc. startlingly different things begin raising themselvs from the ground in every conceivable part of the country and the world, whether it's sonic youth, the minutemen, r.e.m., the dead kennedys, the replacements, husker du, the rain parade, half japanese, butthole surfers, galaxie 500, the verlaines, feelies, the smiths, tall dwarfs, fugazi, etc -- there's far too much wonderful music from the era. nearly every band you can name of any worth took its inspiration from the velvet underground, as is exhaustively noted whenever the subject is broached, but how many of them sounded perilously close to being their inheritors or immediate descendants? scant few. after the velvets, something inconceivably beautiful happened within music: every decade defined itself with its own voice, so of course DNA sounds nothing like neu, or devo bears no resemblance to morrissey or the smiths. emulation in that regard, simply didn't exist. currently, the production of music seems more centered around who you want to "sound" like, as opposed to what you have to say, what you have to express. of course, the primary weight of the problem (the lack of vision) hovers around a form that has been dragged of whatever excitement it could possibly possess, and the form is pop music. no matter how disparate the bands that have been itemized, none of them strayed too far from having recognizable verses, choruses and structures. you could sing along with a buttole surfers song or a james chance song -- no matter how maladjusted you would appear in public doing so. rock/pop music is old, old, old -- it is, by now, a septegenerian, and within its age and context how can it possibly remain alive, intact and exciting? other forms of music have evolved to a certain extent to avoid the predation of patterns - what is refered to as "classical" music, began gradually incorporating new rhythms and forms with successive artists like satie, bartok, penderecki, ligeti, cage, partch, young, stravinsky, even moondog could be considered classical. jazz enflamed itself - though with much reluctance and harangues from its traditionalists - with cecil taylor, charlie mingus, albert ayler, ornette coleman, anthony braxton, roscoe mitchell, davis and coltrane. rock and pop music has failed to evolve much in this manner, so as to bear so little resemblance to its former selves, and perhaps the closest it came was with "trout mask replica" or pere ubu's early albums. there has been adventurousness, but it has been tepid and reserved in comparison. now, it's just an old whore that can't stand on its own two legs, constantly requiring the stability and balance of its ghosts.

there are the exceptions that are too preciously few, but they are hardly consolation. radiohead isn't really a rock band anymore, luckily. they are inevitably under the spell and influence of much of the krautrock music from the 70s, but in a way that is less than begging, so that they appear less like disciples or apprentices and more like an interesting band. perhaps it isn't too much of a stretch to suggest that their recent influence from scott walker's latter day work has immeasurably been of benefit. it also brings the name of scott walker to mind -- frankly, i've probably exhausted my verbal authority and capability to speak of him with any renewed energy, but if you haven't listened to scott walker's last three records (three decades apart), then take a listen to what the future of music should sound like. there is celerity, there is vision, there is apathy toward melody and familiar patterns, hardly anything summons the phrase "hey that sounds like..." no, there is none of that in the universe of walker's past three records, particularly his last, "the drift," which moves so unspeakably far from the history of popular/rock music as to beg for its own place, its own terminology - there is no genre or category that exists to cover a song like "jesse." it hardly surprises me to see walker and radiohead speak favorably of one another, it is essential. if more people actually knew who walker was, perhaps there could be germination. as of now, there is mere speculation. meanwhile, above ground, music as a whole has ceased to really find its own cultural voice. even within mainstream pop music, everything sounds the way it did in 1989. there is no shift in its stylistic voice, only sycophancy and anonymity. hip-hop, driven continually underground, wherever it exists in popular form, has reduced itself to a kind of materialistic game of three-card monty, void of soul, politic and passion. from the impression it endows, one would think the only concern within the black community is where to park their bentley. when i think about it, hip-hop is about the only popular music form that in no way resembles its prior incarnation, and that's only because grandmaster flash or public enemy would probably spend time decrying social injustice or the racial divide, as opposed to endless observations on the shape of a stripper's ass or the taste of a good champagne.

i have been thinking of nostalgia because it is pervasive, especially the past two weeks, both within "underground" (as if such a thing exists any more, musically) and mainstream circles. three things in particular have been floating about the air: the 20th anniversary of nirvana's "nevermind," the peremptory demise of r.e.m. as a functioning, recording band, and the reunion/imminent return album from guided by voices. it is almost unthinkable that all three should be so closely-aligned and occuring in proximity of one another, as nirvana was arguably the last great "big" rock band, guided by voices was something of the last great "indie" bands, and r.e.m. was the only band to be both consecutively, a great underground band and a great above ground band (incalculable are the bands that cite their career dignity as being a model to follow when venturing into the mainstream, radiohead and nirvana among them). is radiohead a "big" rock band...i don't know. they certainly are "big." a great diversity of people pledge devotion eternal to them, in so many different social circles and cultural bogs that it's nearly impossible to avoid calling them such a thing; but are they a "rock" band in that lumbering, "classic" sense. i mean, considering the fact i went the majority of my life hearing only "creep" on the radio (even when "ok computer" was released). that's not meant as a derisive statement, either, i respect the fact they have succeeded with such a magnitude of enthusiasm without any real support from traditional means. it is arguable, though, that they could have anything near the impact of something like "nevermind," despite how great "kid a" or "amnesiac" were -- yes, i happen to care for the latter especially. this isn't because their records are inferior or less visionary than "nevermind" either, because really, there wasn't really much "vision" on "nevermind," just perfectly pronounced anguish that is as american as bigotry, zealotry, senseless wars and fabulousness. i'm digressing horribly, and the more circuitous i become, the more amputated from my own logic, the less coherent any of this will be, in the event it is being read at all. but regardless...

"nevermind" is 20 years old, which necessarily means that i - and everyone else alive during its release - am 20 years older as well. whatever insights i have of that time, however, seem tertiary and vague, perhaps malformed, owing to the fact that i was only 6 years old when it was released. i was conscious of it, in that tolerable newborn way, of it being something that was happening, but not altogether different from my evolving perception of the environment. i was fortunate to have a certain precocity and memory from a young age, and am able to recall things with alarming clarity (sometimes for the worst). in the case of "nevermind," the perennial "smells like teen spirit" is not what i immediately think of, but the "come as you are" video. i remember sitting in front of the television after school, watching this frail, red-haired figure swing across a chandelier, swaths of water coursing over the screen, in absolute rapture. as a child music was nearly the only thing of which i was conscious, as i spent my solitary youth either wandering in front of my father's revolving musical involvements (he was a jazz, country and blues drummer), pretending to play a frayed, wooden desk like a piano to emulate jerry lee lewis (my favorite childhood film - in addition to nightmare on elm st, was the lewis biopic great balls of fire) or listening to my mother's madonna and jon secada tapes. i remember a particular fondness for babyface and tracy chapman as well. by the time "nevermind" and its phenomena was over, nirvana released "in utero," for which i was more than conscious, but religiously enthusiastic. along with ace of base's "the sign" (yes, yes yes) and green day's "dookie," "in utero" was one of the first cassette tapes i personally owned. so while i can't claim much cultural ownership of "nevermind," "in utero" feels - in retrospect - much more "mine," in the sense that i was "there" in a way i couldn't have been for "nevermind." i absorbed everything i could with cobain, taping songs from "nevermind" off the radio with a crude, barely audible cassette deck until i could wrangle my own copy, sitting cross-legged in front of the television for the mtv unplugged concert, bowled over and paralyzed by the leadbelly, bowie and meat puppet covers, reading every interview imaginable and purchasing a guitar to learn nirvana songs. when he killed himself in april of 94, i was between 8 and 9 years old, crestfallen, whittled to bone by tears, unable to grasp what exactly such a gesture meant (aside from the fact that there would be no more nirvana albums). when my friend david similarly killed himself (by way of his father's pistol in a damp, scarcely-lit basement) in the seventh grade, two months apart from both of my grandfather's dying, the only sense of cohesion and sanity i felt was graciously felicitated by the "unplugged" cassette tape that never left my tape deck. nostalgically, nirvana would mean something to me irrespective of its actual content and music. i find, however, that i returned to listening to them - after a 10 year absence or more - with renascent vigor, in a way that i will never listen to the unutterable garbage i listened to during the same formative time; green day, rancid, offspring, marilyn manson -- typical white-boy aggressive shit, really. i don't put on any of these groups or even think about them with any warmth, aside from the fact that the suicided dave gave me his cassette of manson's second album during 4th grade lunch. i listen to nirvana genuinely and not to reclaim whatever bullshit "halcyon day" fodder of the "good old days" or "oh my youth;" i listen because it is - to me - worth listening to, and what they conveyed still resonates somewhere within me.

guided by voices. as is clearly evident on this blog, i am a continuing proponent of the genius of robert pollard, however faded it may now be. growing up in ohio, it is easy to think of the lou reed song "small town," wherein he sings "when you're growing up in a small town, you know you'll grow down in a small town, when you're growing up in a small town you say 'no one famous ever came from here.'" in a place like ohio, particularly the more isolated, rural and bombed-out sections of its landscape, there is an inescapable feeling that you are doomed to an anonymous death, incapable of doing anything remarkable, beautiful, enlivening. the more intellectually curious i became, the more i discovered that people of inestimable worth actually originated from the murky, fog-strewn back roads and leveled townscapes and cities; of note, jim jarmusch, kenneth patchen, ghoulardi, pere ubu, devo, albert ayler, jimmy scott, kim deal of the pixies, the breeders, brainiac, the cramps, the pretenders, scott walker (!), hart crane, ambrose bierce, sherwood anderson and guided by voices. maybe regional pride of any kind is negligible or small-minded, but when you've lived in the burned-down empire of cleveland's shadow, the desolate, dreary streets of akron, or the agrarian ineptitude of bowling green and toledo, such things become a secondary lifeforce. like most people, "bee thousand" was the first guided by voices album i had encountered, and it became something with which i was obsessed. i had no idea the backstory of their music, but the more i learned the more fixated i became. robert pollard was a grade school teacher in dayton, ohio; in his spare time, he recorded unthinkably brilliant pop albums with his drinking buddies in various basements throughout the area on a 4-track machine, lending an unearthly, spectral quality to the recordings. when he was something like 38, after years of being the point of derision amongst his family members and neighbors, he was able to quit his job and record music full-time, producing so many goddamn brilliant pop songs that to enumerate - even half of them - would require an hour of my time. he recorded more brilliant pop songs than the beatles, and i am still unable to properly articulate my enthusiasm for him and his band. of course, by the time i fell into their orbit, in 2004, guided by voices had announced its retirement so pollard could embark on a solo career (which proved half shits/half hits). i was fortunate to see pollard in concert twice during his solo tours, once when playing with his side-band the boston spaceships, and once recently on the reunion tour with the "classic" era lineup of guided by voices. a few years ago, i was even able to meet pollard at a bookstore in cincinnati, which resulted in the largest neurotic flush of anxiety and convulsions i've ever experienced. i remember shaking his hand tremulously, soft-voiced and uttering "thank you so much." he hugged me and i think my skeleton deliquesced into in a swamp-like mass of flesh and eyelashes. the last time i was that combustible and excited, i was meeting tom servo from mystery science theater 3000 when i was 10.

reunion tours are in constant fashion now, and invariably, every conceivable band from the past will reintroduce itself to the public with celebratory handshakes, smiles and photo sessions; "here we are," they say, "it's time to cash in on your longing for a past of which you were never a part." gang of four, public image ltd, the butthole surfers, pixies, pavement, olivia tremor control, the new york dolls, the feelies...my god the list just lumbers on like a drunken Lear, spiraling out in every direction with visons of cash-outs and dancing dollars. i was skeptical when guided by voices announced a reunion tour, but of course i attended despite my reservations. luckily, they were more vital and alive than bands half their age (pollard is 52?), and there was genuine enthusiasm and passion abundant in every note enunciated. the reasoning behind their reformation is comparatively earnest -- the "classic" line up that recorded the most beloved of the early records, until pollard excised the attendant members and gathered an assembly of "professional" musicians for the duration of the group (1997-2004). virtually no one was able to see this specific line up play live, and judging from the recordings of shows they did actually play, they sound light years better now than in years before (another atypical instance with these reunion shows...notice how bloated and bloodless the pixies performances seem now). so, i took this as a good thing. however, recapturing the spirit of those recordings by making another album seems ill-advised to me; especially considering how awful every pollard-related release has been since 2005 (and there have been, roughly, 200 albums, singles etc since them...he is astoundingly prolific, which until recently was a good thing). i am hoping for the best, but expecting the worst -- so maybe i'll be surprised.

the guided by voices reunion album was announced on the same day that r.e.m. disbanded, and it's a small wonder that such events could transpire parallel of one another, given how underappreciated and forlorn r.e.m. has been (in its critical reception) in the past 10 years. r.e.m. still represents something unimpeachable in my brain, and i can shamelessly call them the greatest american band since the velvet underground without exception or hesitance. their early music was fog-filled, gothic (in the proper sense), mysterious and alive in such an exceptional way as to exist without comparison. nearly everything they touched from 1982 until 1992 was brilliant and beautiful, nothing redundant but continually arresting, evolving; summoning visions of abandoned railyards, broken viaducts hanging over discolored rivers, haunted fields, their music alternated between jangling, anthemic and vibrant pop and the moody inflections of folk music. r.e.m. was one of the very few bands who could conjure the darkness of the american landscape, a darkness that is particular to america, the darkness of leadbelly and skip james, inherent in folk before its unfortunate rape by peter, paul and mary. after '92 they faltered only slightly, completing two relatively straight-forward rock albums with interesting internal detours, "monster" and "new adventures in hi-fi." when their drummer left, they produced a beautiful electronic album - upon which everyone took a massive, unforgiving shit - called "up." if it's any consolation, radiohead took kindly to it, to an extent that "kid a" was predicated on the initiative shown on "up." their two albums following that flailed and seemed uninspired, until their last two records, "accelerate" and "collapse into now" showed visible signs of vitality and pulse (i am growing hopelessly fond of the songs "oh my heart" and "uberlin" from the latter). they decided to disband after this last record, and maybe that's for the best, retaining dignity and all that. no one should aspire to look like the rolling stones right now, or to - god forbid - sound like them. i lament that i won't be able to see them perform again, but not out of novelty of having "seen" them; more for the fact that they were always an astoundingly good live act, and every performance seemed impassioned, venomous. r.e.m. was never a "cool" band, and barely anyone i know listens to them - quite a same given their role in independent music, but the perception of them as being entirely too sincere and nebbish hasn't lent them the mystique of other bands. r.e.m. never had much of an image -- look at the drummer's eyebrows for chrissakes -- but their music hardly begged for one. though they don't have as many amazing songs as someone like pollard, they have infinitely more effecting compositions, songs that are emotionally interesting. "try not to breathe," "gardening at night," "e-bow the letter," "daysleeper," "nightswimming," "monty got a raw deal," "sweetness follows," "laughing," "sitting still," "world leader pretend," "turn you inside out," "tongue," "feeling gravity's pull," "maps and legends," "west of the fields," "electro-lite," "half a world away"....my god, "country feedback," jesus, that song...ah...listen, let me combat myself and the loquacity with which i am crippled by simply stating, r.e.m. is a fucking phenomenal thing, and i love them more than i can bear. one of my active dreams (however meager it may be) is to have someone say to me, "hey, would you make me a mix of r.e.m. songs? i don't really know how fabulous they are, how beautiful their music is...tell me all about it." i wish one day to extend my enthusiasm, so that others may appreciate r.e.m. in their collective lack of cool. i lament their death, but i celebrate them all the same.

anyhow, whatever purpose existed in this post has quietly bowed out, left me with my enthusiasms, etc. i wanted to put one more post on this specific blog before moving along to another blog that i'm trying to summon the necessary strength to populate. i don't feel like i can write about music in this capacity any more, however self-serving or fun it may have been -- there are too many other things i want to write, primarily removed of their relation to other things (however much they move me). i needed an expiable entry to purge myself of my music obsessions, solely to move on to writing other things. i despise that feeling - you begin writing something and then are submerged by opposing interests. if i want to write imaginatively, i need to extricate myself from these critical capacities, to write disconnected from whatever tethers me to the reality of subjects already flanked with analytical apparatuses and devices.

if you've actually read this, here's the last musical link i'll post on here - fitting, probably - for the original mix of "nevermind." it will probably be taken down by administrators soon, so act fast if you care to.

http://www.mediafire.com/?uhkih0wfb3tpjwk

Alex Chilton - "Dusted in Memphis"

and to flesh everything out



this completes the best of chilton's solo career. "dusted in memphis" exists somewhere between "like flies on sherbert" and "bach's bottom" for me, as it trumps the latter while being subservient to the former. aside from the excellent seeds cover, another great song is "walking dead," appearing here in its most stark version. "windows motel" is also wonderful - disarming, but wonderful all the same. i can't say enough about any of these three records, despite some of their obvious failings. anyway, enjoy any or all of them as you may.

here's a link to a great blog where this can be nabbed:

http://knowyourconjurer.blogspot.com/2010/03/alex-chilton-dusted-in-memphis-1980.html

Alex Chilton - "Bach's Bottom"

continuance of a theme (of sorts)



and yet another installment from the "troubled genius whose life was derailed by self-destructive behavior and emotional instability" category...honestly, that's such an anonymous story, one hardly befitting a person whose music was as intuitive and wonderful as chilton's; yet, his "legend" (for lack of a less pious and platitudinous term) seems wreathed by such descriptions. sadly, chilton became less inclined to write and perform his own material as the years went on, leaving a surfeit of albums blemished with cover versions and the implacable suspicion that he'd kind of ceased to care. however, his first few solo albums - "like flies on sherbert" happily included - were more than adequate, approaching a different kind of feeling from that of big star. forsaken though his early solo records are, i think both of them are wonderful in their own delirious way. "bach's bottom" is admittedly inferior to "sherbert," but whereas that album espouses the same scattershot, disintegrating brilliance that gave birth to "3rd," "bach's bottom" settles for more modest aims, instead merrily announcing itself as a fun, albeit highly strange and alternately disturbing record. the first four tracks - "take me home and make me like it," "every time i close my eyes," "all of the time" and "oh baby i'm free" - are actually well-assembled pop songs with humorous lyrics, especially the first track with its line about "call me a slut in front of your family." by the time the beatles cover arrives, though, everything has fallen straight to hell, with spaces opening in the music, mistakes, incidental noise - documentation of things going horribly wrong. the music kind of falls apart after that, making it an uneven record that doesn't reward as nicely as "sherbert" or - from the same period of time - the wonderful "dusted in memphis" album. "bach's bottom" is less essential than either "sherbert" or "dusted," but it serves its purpose, as to my personal psychology: any chilton is better than no chilton.

here's a link from recessed filter (the actual album ends at track 9...everything thereafter is supplemental):

http://recessedfilter.wordpress.com/2010/04/09/alex-chilton-bachs-bottom/

Alex Chilton - "Like Flies on Sherbert"

something different.



it's almost hysterical trying to count how many times "shambolic" is used in conjunction with this and several other chilton-related albums ("bach's bottom" and big star's "3rd" especially), but as to what such a thing genuinely expresses fails me on any level - the language seems impenetrable, moribund and inflexibly grey. many, many derogatory and shitty things are said about "like flies on sherbert," seemingly on the basis that it bears scant familial resemblance to big star. well, if i may affect a bit of an ironic pose momentarily, i could easily riposte that little music on earth sounds like big star, but i don't judge everything with a guitar by whether or not it sounds like big fucking star. that aside, yes, this album sounds like one unending, cacophonous mess that seems extemporaneous, performed without rehearsal, see-sawing in whichever damned direction with the rudderless, directionless tumble of a drunk and seasick man, both of which mr. chilton could have conceivably been - but what matter? it's alive, unpleasant, poorly-recorded and self-negating; it effortlessly creates black vortices in which any listener sinks, profaning your ears and sensibilities with its complete lack of aesthetic concern, aim of composition or attention to form. the lore signifies that this album - recorded after the beautiful, bleak "3rd" - was truly the epitome of alex chilton vocalizing nothing short of oblivion and excess, drifting into the blah-blah-blah-blah. it helps never to read anything anyone ever writes about anything meaningful, especially pertaining to music, as most people cannot help but write about it ineffectually, with supreme, unsettling crudity and self-promotion.

eek. i probably sound as inane as anyone else - i never have been able to properly illustrate or cohere myself in regards to music, and i feel all the better for it (lest i use the word "shambolic" in a sad, half-hearted foundering for adjectives). i love this record. there. let's be terse and pretend anything other than the music matters.

download link casually grabbed from GOOGLE...(is that fine administrators? can you cease pestering me with your copyright laws? nobody gives a shit about cds anyway...even the toddlers have abandoned them)

http://www.mediafire.com/?g5wwmyfxwlj

please download this and piss off the pedants and demagogues who are so worried about this nonsense.

Albert Ayler - "Love Cry"

somehow, no accompanying videos for this album can be found on youtube - rasing many more questions than it answers.

though it's a bit removed from his earlier recordings and signals a slight alteration of his approach, this is one of my favorite alyler recordings.

enjoy!

care of forestroxx

http://www.mediafire.com/?f2zz5mkimzm

Skip James - "1931 Sessions"

as with many others, the first time i encountered skip james' music was when it was prominently featured in terry zwigoff's "ghost world," and my emotional reaction was not unlike the protaganist's - i felt a deep, guttural reaction to his voice, the labryinthine and vermiform melodic lines of his guitar playing, and felt myself dissolve amongst the atmosphere it created. it's nearly impossible to overstate the dramatic, gravitational power of james' musical voice, as its qualities are as intangible and phantasmal as its darkness and beauty. for years i've tried to pry for biographical information on james to little avail, but the most constant fixture of all my sundry searchings proves that he was an intractable, solitary man who felt little need to socialize or keep himself amenable to other bluesmen, distancing himself and concentrating solely on the music. this innate hermetism is evident in some of his compositions, which would be seemingly uncomfortable when heard in the presence of another person. listening at times feels like a private act of solitude.






download "1931 sessions"

http://www.mediafire.com/?ljyimvzbmwt

Rev. Robert Wilkins - "Prodigal Son"

when everything else is a bit too sallow and lacking in conviction



the past two months i've been religiously immersed in old blues music - most of it predating the common penumbra of what properly constitutes the "blues" as it is currently known, instead sharing similarities with folk or (as they were lamentably called) "race" records; primarily, mississippi john hurt, skip james, blind lemon jefferson, blind willie mctell, memphis minnie, blind willie johnson, blind boy fuller, memphis slim...obviously leadbelly is a prominent force within all of this, and i honestly think i could listen to his music for the rest of my life with the same perpetual kind of wonder, affection and beautiful sadness. rev. robert wilkins is a bit new to me, as i just came in contact with his music a few weeks ago. initially, i became interested through the rolling stones cover of "prodigal son" on "beggars banquet" and felt determined to seek out its progenitor. happily so, i must say. wilkins' music collates nicely with all the aforesaid names and artists who are still so sorely neglected, despite the immensity of their influence. it's hard to resist calling this music anything other than brutally honest - it is, almost painfully so. much of the greater capacity for benevolence and beauty - the larger possibilities of music as a form of intimate communication - are reflected perfectly in music of this kind. i have such overwhelming, zealous affinities for this old music (i could probably talk exhaustively about skip james for hours on end like a proper dullard) that i hope to convey that enthusiasm and expose it to others, as i find its charms so undeniable.

there's a 7 volume set of leadbelly that i'll upload soon - to the best of my knowledge comprised of all his various recordings. marvelous.

here's a fabulous blog and rev. wilkins' collection. please do enjoy.

http://onmuddysavariverbank.blogspot.com/2010/10/robert-wilkins-prodigal-son.html