Welcome to Forgotonia

Q. What do all those things in the subject heading have to do with one another?

A: Answer: we’re all linked by a new tune about a train.

Here’s the story:

As some of you already know, I have a new obsession: the Chicago Public Radio show “Sound Opinions,” which is broadcast locally on Tri States Public Radio, but which I tend to save as a podcast so I can listen to it while making the drive up to the Quad Cities to visit C-Nor.

Listening to this show—on which two respected rock critics review new albums, analyze old ones, and interview artists they think are worth your attention—is like my version of following sports. It’s hard to explain, but … I need rock/pop/music industry chatter and following-of-facts-and-analysis in my life the way Cubs and Cards fans seem to need theirs. (I couldn’t tell you who is playing in the World Series if my life depended on it, but ask me who is producing the next Regina Spektor album and well, I will either know or at least want to know.

Yes, this show is rock-nerd heaven.)

Anyway, driving back from Davenport on Sunday and catching up on a podcast, I have to admit I wasn’t overly excited when DiRogatis and Kott started their review of the Jay-Farrar/Benjamin Gibbard collaboration. This album, released in 2009, features music set to lyrics inspired by a Jack Kerouac novel. It’s called One Fast Move or I’m Gone: Music from Kerouac’s Big Sur.

Normally this kind of project would be up my alley; I mean, hello, English major-y enough? Like a lot of Farrar/Gibbard fans probably do, I’ve got both Uncle Tupelo and Death Cab albums in my stack and several Kerouac books on my shelves.

But,

1. I’m kind of so-so on the Jay Farrar front: he’s obviously got an incredibly unique voice, but I’m not sure I like the sound of it enough to listen to whole albums of it.
2. Even though I was obsessed with Kerouac during my late high school/early college days…well, the sincere awe I used to feel over Kerouac and the life he lived and the way he wrote has been tempered by the voice inside me that says, “Ok, how many women are you going to brag about screwing in this section?”
3. And on top of that, do we need another Picking-Up-Where-Dead-Hero-Left-Off Project? (“Hey Jay, ever heard of Mermaid Avenue? The name Jeff Tweedy ring a bell…?”)

However—and even though the critics on Sound Opinions seemed to agree with my issues about Farrar’s voice—they deemed it a “Buy It” record (out of “Burn It, Buy It, or Trash It”), and you can read more about that on the Sound Opinions web site. (You have to scroll down to footnote #7).

And then they played a song from it, and my ears perked up—and now the album is on my Amazon wishlist.

The song, “California Zephyr,” describes, and is named after, a certain country-crossing vessel which has an important local tie and also plays a big role in my life. (It also pays homage to a song by the same name written by Hank Williams, I think.)

The train in the tune:

The real-life California Zephyr route stops in nearby Galesburg and Burlington, Iowa, and of course at Union Station in Chicago, before heading westward to cross the plains and then head for the Rocky Mountains.

I have taken the California Zephyr out west a small handful of times. And while it may be a bit schmaltzy and sentimental, I consider my trips on this train to be some of the most awesome and important moments in my life.

When I was a kid, the summer after sixth grade, my mom planned a trip for us to visit her brother and his family on the west coast. My dad decided that we were going to do things the old-fashioned (i.e. cheaper, and non-up-in-the-air) way.

Please let me stress what this means: my family and I rode a train, sitting next to each other for several days in a row, all the way from Burlington, Iowa to Seattle, Wash.

(And yes, we are still speaking to each other.)

I’ll save the tales of that trip for another day. But allow me to say I remember it vividly and always will. I got to see the world through those train windows, and through watching the actions of so many other train-travelers from all over the map.

Later, when I was in college, I got on the Zephyr in Burlington and rode out to Winter Park, Colo. (And yes, both my mom and my sister thought I was crazy for choosing to take the train again. Apparently I have a higher tolerance for not bathing, and for sleeping upright in a coach seat, then most.)

In 2004 or so, I also took the train from Galesburg to White Fish, Mont., to meet my family at Glacier National Park, only to discover that it was on fire (but yes, that too is another story.)

All of this is to say, I was delighted to find that one of the songs on the Kerouac-inspired album captures the feeling of sitting in a lounge car, watching the fields and lonely towns and cows and streams and pickup trucks go by, taking in something about American life that feels like it might not always be there. (And yeah, really wishing for a shower.)

What about you? Farrar fan? Death Cab lover? Fan of taking the train despite lavatory facilities being a bit lacking? Know any more about the Hank Williams original? Leave me a comment below.

The song features Gibbard alone (without Farrar), and here’s what I found when I Googled the lyrics:

Up the Hudson Valley across New York State to Chicago then the Plains
All so easy and dreamlike crashing the salt flat daybreak
I hear “I’ll Take You Home again Kathleen” sad fog winds out there to blow
Across the rooftops of eerie old hangover San Francisco

Now I’m transcontinental 3000 miles from my home
I’m on the California Zephyr watching America roll by
Now I’m transcontinental 3000 miles from my home
I’m on the California Zephyr watching America roll by

I’ve hit the end of my trail can’t even drag my own body
I’ve been driven mad for three years
Too much fame keeps a body busy and the mind full of tears
Terrified by that sad song across rooftops
mingled with the lachrymose cries of the salvation army meeting
on the corner saying, “Satan is the cause of it all”

Now I’m transcontinental 3000 miles from my home
I’m on the California Zephyr watching America roll by
Now I’m transcontinental 3000 miles from my home
I’m on the California Zephyr watching America roll by

I just learned from picking up the free River Cities Reader during our trip to Hy-Vee that Freedy Johnston is playing in town tonight. The show is sponsored by the amazing Daytrotter outfit, and I don’t think the tickets are too expensive.

(For my imaginary readers-who-are-not-my-friends, it’s my weekend to be in the Quad Cities; my bf, C-Nor, and I have to commute 2 hours one way each weekend to see each other.)

I don’t know much about Freedy Johnston, other than I remember his weird name, and that I seemed to like a song of his at some point in the late-ish 90s. (With help from the article above, I remembered it: the catchy, tuneful “Bad Reputation.”)

Upon reading this information about tonight’s gig, I went through the following mental process, which I thought I would try to describe for you, since I seem to go through it on a weekly basis or more:

“Cool, that’s a somewhat decent event for where we live!”

or

“Hey, here’s an example of the arts that I should go out and support.”

But, this is then followed by,

“If it’s more than 10 bucks, can I really justify it? After all, I already paid for ______ that I haven’t read/watched/listened to yet” (in this case, it’s 500 Days of Summer that’s been sitting in C-Nor’s Netflix queue for weeks now).

Which is then followed by,

“But hey, you always complain about how there’s nothing cool to do around here…”

Which is then followed by:

“But…is it really worth going to? I mean, if I’m gonna purchase tickets to something, shouldn’t it be to some show/band/singer-songwriter/comedian/speaker I really wanna see? I should save up for that.”

Which is then followed by,

“Yeah, but the shows you really wanna see are always in Chicago, and even if the tickets are cheap for the small clubs, they require an overnight stay in a hotel, and a 3-hour drive one-way…”

Which is then followed by,

“Aw, man, you used to be so cool. What about how ‘you were gonna live in a city so you could  go to shows every night of the week,’ huh? Remember that?”

Which is then followed by,

“Aw shut up, teenaged-self-in-my-head. You don’t have to work in the morning.”

Which was, then, in this particular case, was followed by,

“Sorry, Freedy-with-two-e’s, I’d like to support you but I only get 2 days off and 1.5 of those to see my guy. So we’re staying in.”

Yeah.

That goes through my head. A lot. What’s in yours?

–

(P.S. Freedy has a connection to the QCs other than playing here tonight. He was married to a woman from here and lived here in the early 00s, according to the article linked above.

The article above, though, also has him mentioning that he had “a relationship go south,” which contributed to his lack of output in recent years.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t feel too talkative with the reporter from the QCs, eh?)

P.P.S. Just found out/was reminded of the fact that (according to Wikipedia) that “Bad Reputation” was featured in the movie Kicking and Screaming from 1995–one of my favorite movies of all time. Aha! Anyone remember this song yet?)

The story of how a spat between the local cops and a record store owner in Macomb—a spat that indirectly involved a certain Lollapalooza-founding band member—caused a controversy that got the attention of the ACLU and apparently some national news outlets.

Stay tuned!

(*oh and um “soon” may mean “after the holidays.” But do stay tuned!)

Singer/songwriter/famous daughter and sister Martha Wainwright recently dropped by Daytrotter in Rock Island and recorded a bunch of songs, which you can download for free here.

That’s right, for zero dollars.

Long live Daytrotter!

Here’s me remembering the goat named after The Gloved One, if ya wanna read/ take a listen.

Check out some of my other radio essays here.

The following was originally aired as a commentary on Tri States Public Radio, the NPR member station for Macomb, IL.

(Listen to the audio version online on Tri State Public Radio’s web site)

Every summer during fair season, I want to be a kid again. But it has nothing to do with cotton candy or riding rides. It’s the kids in the livestock barns. When I see little girls who know how to lasso, I want a re-do of my own childhood.

I had every opportunity to develop farm-cred. My parents put me and my sister in 4-H. And I actually lived on a farm, unlike the rest of the kids in our club, which was called the Peppy Peppers.

But the town kids, somehow, were the ones who showed hogs and cows come fair-time.
Me? I did Drawing. And Photography.

My sister didn’t show animals, either, but she did crochet and counter-cross-stitch her way to the state fair. The best I ever did was a blue ribbon for a latch-hook rug but I made it from a kit I bought at Ben Franklin. (All my 4-H work, I made sure, could be done in front of the AC and the TV.)

Dad must have begun to notice his daughters were getting away from the fundamentals of farm life. Because one day he came in for supper announcing he had a surprise for us.

We ran out into the front yard, me hoping for a new 10-speed. Or a pool.

But it was a goat. A little black billy goat.

And instantly, it charged at me. It was being affectionate, but I screamed. “Get it off me!”

My sister laughed. She thought it was cute. So we’ll say she was the one who picked out his name.

Dad came outside with an old Pepsi bottle he had filled with milk and topped with a gray rubber nipple. He got hold of the goat, tipped back his little head, and gently yet forcefully got it to suckle.

I guessed it was kind of cute (standing still).

Later, there was a knock at the kitchen door. (That’s a big deal when you live out in the country.)

Mom went to see who it could be. But no one was there.

She was still looking out when there was another knock.

“Wait a minute.” Mom peered down through the top half of the screen door. “Aha!”
Michael Jackson had gotten out of his pen and was bashing his little head against the metal.

“It’s the goat!” we giggled. “You’re so silly, Michael Jackson!”

Later in the summer, my sister and I had an official chore: to rub a stinky ointment on the goat’s head twice a day. I guess it was like goat Orajel for horn cutting pain. Or maybe horn control.

But we couldn’t get it on him. It was impossible to get him to stand still. He was like a four-legged, black-furred junebug, banging constantly against his pen and against the kitchen door, because he always got out.

Soon, Dad was the one doing horn-deterrent duty.

We didn’t have him a whole summer. Did we even have him a full month? I think Dad finally foisted him off on our cousins, who were also farm kids though I’m not sure why they were expected to do better at keeping him in his pen than we had.

Now I realize the Michael Jackson episode was a foreshadowing of the poor excuse for a farmer’s daughter I was to become. The few times I was ever asked to do chores like walk beans I whined my way out of them.

I could have learned a lesson about raising animals, a small step in keeping our family’s farming tradition from fading away. But what I really cared about was getting into town, where my friends had cable, so I could watch MTV.

The next summer at the fair, I showed not a cow or a sow but a comic strip about a little girl who tries to get out of doing her homework.

These days, I regret that I never learned any of the 4-H skills that would come in handy in real life. (Last time I checked, you can’t latch-hook a button back onto your blouse.) But I have to accept the fact that when I was actually in 4-H and had the chance to learn about farm life, it just wasn’t me.

I guess I couldn’t help it any more than Michael Jackson could help not wanting to stay in his pen.

What I really wanted was to moonwalk, not walk beans.

Thanks so much to Gburgirl for her commentary on Cornerstone. Not only could she corroborate my claim that MC Hammer performed at the festival outside Bushnell, but nay– she witnessed it!

I’m so happy to know I didn’t make that one up.

But poor, poor MC. It’s kind of a sad story:

Gburgirl said…

I was actually there for the MC Hammer concert! It was so sad because almost everyone from the entire festival showed up to see the spectacle but, after the first song, about 70-80% of the crowd left to go roast hot-dogs & marshmallows back at their campsites. Mr. Hammer, even though a recent convert to christianity at the time (hence the invitation to play) just didn’t fit in with the typical genres of C-stone which typically fit the demographic of white-middle class. (So sorry Mr. Hammer.) Oh, and don’t be surprised by Over The Rhine – they’ve been playing there almost every year since the early 90′s. I have not heard them (live or on a CD) in years but they do put on a fabulous show – you should go! That is, *IF* you can tolerate the craziness that is Kornerstone.

(Now, one more detail: my dear Gburgirl, do you think, if pressed, you could provide a year? Also, thank you for the detail about Over the Rhine. I’ve heard one song and liked it, and had no idea they were Cornerstoners. Also, I have to say, I am lucky/proud to have covered the event twice if not thrice when I was a reporter. Truly some of the most colorful and memorable “work days” of my life!)

In a related matter, I learned from a highly respected news source [ahem] today that Mr. Hammer is not, apparently, too legit to do a reality show–and one that will feature Vanilla Ice!

(Word to your mother.)

Anne and Nan’ have signed on to rock the Illinois State Fair!
(oh and um Kellie Pickler too.)

And Heart’s opening act will be the Bangles!.

I am SO there!

(maybe.)

What’s the latest on the Beatles in Branson front?

As you might remember from previous posts, the somewhat sleepy day-to-day life in Springfield, IL, was thrown into a tizzy when it was rumored that Sir Paul McCartney made a pit-stop in a local gas station bathroom.

This, my friends, is the stuff I live for.

Anyway, as I told you last August, Entertainment Weekly published a blurb saying that Paul may have been in IL and on his way to St. Louis in order to meet with Louise Harrison [whose interesting life story I profiled in The Register-Mail], George’s sister, about a potential Beatles museum in Branson. I went in search of an update recently and found this:

On the Liverpool Legends web site,

LIVERPOOL LEGENDS 2009 Branson show opens on March 10, 2009 at the STARLITE
THEATRE!

and this story from summer 2008 confirms a long-running project of getting a Beatles Museum established in Branson, using Louise’s own memorabilia. “The nation’s only Beatles museum is set to open in Branson by March 2009, if not sooner.”

Surely there are some enthusiasts still around the area. If you can fill in anything at at all, you would make a friend (and me!) quite happy! Leave comments below, or send me your info and I’ll forward it to him.

I’m hoping someone is out there who can help me find albums and/or memorabilia from any and all Western Illinois bands from the 1970′s, especially ones that were doing original country-rock material. For example:

Whiskey Dreams
Shady Grove Band
Ken Carlysle & The Cadillac Cowboys
Rainbow Riders

The talent around here during this time frame was incredible. Any and all information is welcomed!

Thank You!

Bill H.