Top 10 CDs of 2015 - #6 & #5

You have landed on one singer/songwriter's list of the Top 10 Albums of 2015. What makes my list more important than someone else's? Nothing. Just some ramblings from me to you. Me giving praise to CDs that got me through the year. CDs that inspired me. CDs that I think you should consider for your own collection because I am obviously egocentric and think you should like what I like.

I am releasing two CDs a day in new blog posts until I get to all ten, so you do not have to bother yourself with scrolling to get to the new information. For those jumping in mid-list. If you want to know what's come before, you can read the full blog HERE.

#6 Jason Isbell – Something More than Free: Those that know me and follow my daily drops of music on Facebook, probably thought by name alone this was going to be #1. There was a period of time when I assumed it would be too. There is no question that I think Jason Isbell is one of the best, if not the best, singer/songwriters, and not of this generation, but of all generations. For years, Nighthawks at the Diner by Tom Waits was my all-time favorite CD, and then Southeastern happened; it assumed the #1 position. During his recording process, I remember reading Tweets from Isbell indicating that he believed Something More than Free was gonna be better than Southeastern, and maybe it is, maybe its genius is above me or maybe I am such a glutton for sadness that the vibe on Free just doesn’t hit me like Southeastern did. That is not to say it is not a great CD; obviously it is. I mean, it’s on the Top 10 of the year. Isbell continues to write songs that I wish had come from my pen. He paints pictures so vivid that I can see them unfold before me like 8mm shorts. “Speed Trap Town,” “Something More than Free,” “To a Band that I Loved,” and “Hudson Commodore” were standouts for me. I think what placed this mid-pack wasn’t the songwriting but the production. I am infatuated with the starkness of Southeastern, the woody sound of Isbell’s Martin, the way that it makes me feel like he is sitting in my room singing to me. I realize it isn’t fair of me to expect an artist to duplicate the sound of previous recordings, to stay in their foxhole for another 12 songs, but life ain’t fair and I love what I love. While Something More than Free reinforces the strength of Isbell’s storytelling and word choice, the distance of the recording prevented me from becoming fully obsessed.  Knowing how calculated he is, I am sure that there is a metaphor here, maybe the distance in sound represents the distance from his demons, and for that he deserves applause.

 #5 Chris Stapleton –Traveller: I am a fucking lemming. I’ll admit it, I had never even heard of Christ Stapleton before the CMAs and his breakout performance. And even then I didn’t immediately buy the disc, but after seeing it pop-up on some respected end-of-year lists, I followed the masses, and I am glad I did. This dude is brilliant. Sincere. Eloquent. Weathered. Earnest. And he sings with the soul of an old church pastor who has caught the spirit. I thought I was gonna get a disc with a bunch of throwaways, trite modern country ditties with weak metaphors and obvious pop-culture references, but Traveller is the exact opposite. It is timeless. I could listen to “Tennessee Whiskey” on repeat and never grow tired. “Sometimes I Cry” has me coming back for more with Stapleton’s husky voice at full growl and single coils screaming into a dirty amp, but “Whiskey and You” captures the starkness that I love so much, just a woody guitar, an incredible voice, and a story that plays on the strings of emotions coursing through my body.

One’s the devil, one keeps driving me insane

At times I wonder if they ain’t both the same

But one’s a liar that helps to hide me from my pain

And one’s the long gone bitter truth

That’s the difference between whiskey and you

Top 10 CDs of 2015 - #8 & #7

You have landed on one singer/songwriter's list of the Top 10 Albums of 2015. What makes my list more important than someone else's? Nothing. Just some ramblings from me to you. My attempt at giving praise to CDs that got me through the year. CDs that inspired me. CDs that I think you should consider for your own collection because I am obviously egocentric and think you should like what I like.

I am releasing two CDs a day in new blog posts until I get to all ten, so you do not have to bother yourself with scrolling to get to the new information. For those jumping in mid-list. If you want to know what's come before, you can read the full blog HERE.

As always, comments are appreciated, especially if you have a list of your own for me to read.

#8 Samantha Crain – Under Brand & Thorn & Tree: Samantha Crain has probably appeared on my Top Ten lists more than any other artist. She is prolific and continues to grow CD after CD. Her songwriting gets stronger, and she continues to sonically advance her music, making creative choices that prove she cannot be tamed. Under Brand & Thorn & Tree opens with “Killer,” lyrically earnest but musically whimsical, offering a synth part that tries to distract the listener for the subject at hand, “The killer of girls, the killer of self; turned the Garden of Eden into a fiery hell.” Her voice is as distinct as I have ever heard, and I have seen her pull it off live for years whether backed by full band or just her and her trusty Martin. The album is full of gems. Standouts for me: “Outside the Pale,” “You or Mystery,” “Moving Day,” and “Cold Hands.”

#7 Death Cab for Cutie – Kintsugi: I cannot pronounce it, but I sure do love to listen to it. I hate to say it, but a sad Benjamin Gibbard is better than a happy one. He was too content when he was married to Zoey, as evidence on Codes and Keys and his solo recording, both decent recordings, but Kintsugi is Gibbard at his best, scorned and passively letting us know it. Okay. I cannot prove any of that, but in my mythical land of star relationships this was a contributing factor to the brilliance of this recording. Of course, Chris Walla is also at his best on Kintsugi, and we are all still mourning his departure from the band, but the tapestry of sounds he has created is inspiring. I cannot stand this disc because every time I think I’ve solidified four or five standouts, I listen to the next song, and I am equally enamored. Lyrically, Gibbard is up there with Waits, Foucault, Isbell, and Farrar. He tells universal stories, and he makes them accessible to all while applying every poetic device available. Kintsugi deserves an hour of your time with headphones and no distractions. You’ll emerge better from the experience. 

When a Trinity Exists: Show Reviews

The concert season is upon us. Well, if you are me, there is no season. It always is, just a matter of how cold you are willing to get while waiting in line. I am kind of built for sub-zero line-standing, so I complain less than most.

Earlier this week I got to see the Fray, thanks to my friend Liz. I had seen them before at Riverport and really enjoyed the show, so the thought of seeing them at a smaller venue, the Pageant, was pretty exciting. I will say they put on a fantastic performance; however, I do not think they did a great job of acclimating to their environment. They are used to big venues with big production, and at times I felt they overwhelmed the Pageant, turned her up to eleven when she should have stayed on four. Instead of giving us some really intimate moments, they gave us a spectacle, and I had already seen that from them.

Tonight, I got to witness something totally different, an icon, a legend, and a huge influence on me as a songwriter, performing in a very small venue, comparatively speaking. Amy Ray, member of the Indigo Girls, came to St. Louis to play the Old Rock House, a stage I have played many times, and I was there to witness it. I don’t think I can do this experience justice in prose. I mean, in my opinion, Amy Ray probably has the best female rock voice, ever. And I, subconsciously, jacked more shit from the Indigo Girls than any other band. When I was first learning to play guitar and transition from poet to songwriter, there were a few bands in constant rotation: Edwin McCain, Duncan Sheik, and the Indigo Girls.

Rather than dribble on about the evening, I will speak the way I know best…

When a Trinity Exists

She moved me

Like a child

Moved by first experience

Her ten fingers

Overwhelmed six strings

And I

Felt her sincerity

Heard the urgency in her flat pick

And when she sang

I remembered why I sing

Why I crave the stage

Like most crave sex

Why I sacrifice lower order needs

To self-actualize

In rare moments

When a trinity exists

Between

Music

Me

And you

Before I end, I do have to mention Larkin Poe. They opened for Amy Ray. This was my second time seeing them, and both times I have been totally impressed. Also, at the Fray show I got to see Dia Frampton open, and that was actually the cooler moment. She did a great job of capturing it for me, well all of us in attendance. Liz and I are in the purple box.

 

Nameless; the Beauty of Dancing as a Woman

I can't recall if I have talked about this or not, and frankly I am too lazy to search my own blog, but I have season tickets to the Dance St. Louis season. I have for the past three or four years. I am completely enamored with dance, the artistry and athleticism. It just amazes me. 

That being said, the industry is not free from fault. The pressure they place on dancers to obtain an unrealistic body image is unnecessary. I remember the dancers in college, who were already thin, constantly dieting to get skinnier, and girls with breasts being berated because of their boobs. I definitely understand that a slender person makes a better line, but once slender becomes emaciated the boney ridges of a gaunt arm or torso or leg can distort the line. It seems as though female dancers are forced to lose their femininity to pursue their passion. As an ardent supporter of women that look like women, this crushes my soul, just a bit. 

Luckily, there is usually the one standout. The girl that somehow fought the system and won. She manages to steal my focus every time. Last Saturday, I took my dad to the Joffrey Ballet, and she showed up, only for the first piece In the Middle, Somewhat Elevated, but she was there. And not only did she look like a healthy woman, she was a ginger in a sea of dark hair fading into dark curtains. So I wrote this for her, whoever she is.

Nameless 

You 

With angry hair 

Tamed 

Steals focus 

Even when moving in unison 

You 

Eclipse her 

Like moon hiding sun 

Allowing but a rim of light 

While your milky radiance 

Illuminates dark corners 

Then 

You 

Reach center stage 

Full breasts and soft skin 

Your smoldering movements 

Force eyes upon you 

To bear witness to woman

I could not find a photo of her, in this piece, on-line, and I did not want to distort the image by providing a picture of someone else, but I did find a snippet of the piece performed by another dance company which I thought might help you get into the mood.  

Within Her Arms: Recalling the Movement

The day before I went in for my surgery I had the pleasure of seeing Hubbard Street Dance Company, out of Chicago, perform with the St. Louis Symphony. It was the merger of so many passions, exploding through each of my senses, leaving me mind numb and in love, as all great art should do. 

What the wonderful haze of anesthesia made me forget were the notes I jotted down during the performance. One dance, Twice (Once), choreographed by Terence Marling and set to "Within Her Arms" by Anna Clyne, had a powerful affect on me. There is something about hearing the dancer's breath that always moves me, but this piece went to the next level. The music was inspired as was the movement. After finding the notes, I wrote a little something in response to my experience.

Feather Light

Their breath rose above bowed bass drone
Exhaled in unison
While moving in opposition
Counter balance
Fabric
Sheer
White
Innocent
Released
Effortless as limbs launched into air
First flight
Controlled by extension of hands on waists
Now draped over grounded limbs
Stage right light shadowed statues
She
Feather light and shallow breath
Resolved independently
Within her arms 

While I was unable to find a picture of the exact moment I tried to capture with my words, I thought this shot would help you to see what was in my head while writing.

Portaits from Lemonheads

By Wednesday, February 1st I will have gone to six shows since Wednesday, January 25th. One of them is my own, but it still counts; right? Everyone knows I see a lot of concerts. It is what I do, but this is a bit much, even for me.

I kicked this string off with Samantha Crain at Off Broadway. I saw Samantha for the first time three years ago, and I have made it a point to see her every time she comes through town. She puts on a great show and is a brilliant songwriter. Friday I headed out to Plush, which is a really cool new venue in town, to check out My Molly. You all know how much I love this band, so I will just stop there. After seeing their set I bounced over to the Firebird to check out Gubenthal. I had a pretty chaotic drive home in the pouring snow-rain-muck that evening, but I made it safely and Saaby only took on one pot hole she should not have.

Last night...last night was the Lemonheads at Old Rock House. If you are a fan of people watching, I HIGHLY recommend checking out a band that is 20 years past their prime. Shows like that bring out the most amazing cross section of fans. You get the diehards that never grew out of the era, the superfans that went to tons of shows back in the day but have since allowed life to consume them, the fans that never got a chance to see them in their hay day but didn't want to miss this opportunity (that is the group I fall in), and even a good selection of kids that weren't even born when the band was big but they heard the legend. I went to the show with a fellow writer. It is always a dangerous situation to be with a fellow writer when people watching is involved, inevitably it becomes less about the show and more about painting the moment. Here are a couple portraits I jotted down. They are kind of #MicroPoetry, but they were too big for Twitter, so I thought I'd just go to the blog with them.

Portraits from Lemonheads

He
With intent eyes
Stares down flat screen flicker
As if he witnessed Jesus
Too awkward to join the masses worshipping at his feet
Too timid to look God in the face

Mom bob
Bops inverse to driving rhythm
Tonight
She revisits youth
Dreams deferred
Tonight
She is 18
Free
Life’s trappings years away from reality
Tonight
She is Mrs. Robinson

This evening, Sunday, January 29th, it is my mid-day show at Broadway Oyster Bar. Definitely one of the coolest venues in the city, and I am covering a full 3 hours (there will be a set break, of course) which is always a fun challenge for me.



I'll end this string of shows on Tuesday, January 31st at the Peabody Opera House watching Ryan Adams and Jason Isbell. Gonna go out on top!

Hope you have been seeing some great music or dance or art...Let me know in the comments below what you have been up to lately. I'd love to know...Eric

Tracing Fissures

In my line of work, I have the opportunity to meet a lot of cool people. Some are just SM acquaintances that I follow because they have interesting things to say, but others I will actually get to physically meet, like Rachel and Chris. They are my absolute favorite couple. I love reading their Tweets and Rachel's blog because they give me hope. Their relationship is a shining example of what all marriages should be and what I dream of having, again. When I was in Birmingham last October, we made it a point to meet-up, and I absolutely loved being able to witness love they have for each other.

This week, I was able to connect with a fellow writer, Rebecca, who was kind enough to share some of her work with me. This is often a hazardous situation because you never really know what you are going to get. Most of the time, sadly, writers are not as good as they think they are, and they are looking to me for validation. Not wanting to destroy anyone's dreams, I'll respond with comments like, "Oh, that was nice" or "interesting." But Rebecca is getting her Master's in Writing, so I figured the risk was worth the reward, and it was. What she sent me were these amazing vignettes of Creative Non-Fiction. I was entranced, hanging on each word in anticipation of the next. It left me wanting more and my mind dreaming its deep poet dream.

What Rebecca is great at, like my friend Rob Woerther, is painting her past. I was able to share those moments with her, see them, hear them, smell them, feel them. This is an area that I struggle with. I always write in the now or in dreams of what I want my now to be, but I want to write my past, want to celebrate the parents that helped me become the man that I am today, the friends, the lovers who have left their stamps on my personality.

Heading home from a Valentine's Day Sucks party at Vinnie and Julie's, these words started building. When I got home I jotted down some themes on my phone and then I flushed them out this morning. The title comes from my process. Unlike my dad who is a great Crafter or words, I trace the fissures, meaning where I start I may not end, but rather than fight the words to stay within the lines, ensure the trees are brown trunked and green leaved, I let them be what they are because what I love about my poetry is it is the purest look into my mind.

Tracing Fissures

Memory
Fragmented
More auditory than visual
My father’s lecture tone like verbal Tia Chi
Slow
Calm
Powerful
And with furrowed brow and eyes tracking left
Trying to scrape sounds out of parietal lobe fissures
I am exhausted
I cannot hear his laughter
My mother’s laughter like sunshine breaking through morning fog
The first thing I hear when I think of her
Followed by the way she ends judgment with “well”
Slight pitch elevation towards the end
Spoken ellipses
There is more
She doesn’t say it
The moment left unresolved
Tell me I made a bad decision
Tell me my actions are unhealthy
Tell me I am screwing up my life
Tell me how to be a better person
Just pass the final judgment
Because when I am left to judge myself
I am a murderer
Able to look past any redeeming quality I may have
Find myself in the pit
Deliver blows like Spartacus delivered to the dregs of society as he fought to save her
And I remember the tongues of lost lovers
The way one phrase
With varied inflection
Could mean 4 things
And in the larval stage
The months spent cocooned by sheets
Between interruptions of hot kisses and fingernails in flesh
I would try to learn these tonal differences
Like learning a new dialect
Each one adorning me with a new name
A bitch marking her territory
As if the one my mother had provided for me was not good enough
Sometimes many names
With each one comes a new set of meanings
Sweetie far different than Baby
Sweetie reserved for tender moments like Valentine’s Day morning
When the sacrificial Teddy Bear has been delivered

“Oh, thank you sweetie”

But he is not allowed in bed when aromatics are flickering
Still controlled by a Victorian ideal blurring the lines between love and sex
It is Baby that reaps the benefits of the sacrifice

“Ooh Baby, yeah right there...yes Baby”

Whispered softy with a lobe nibble
As the conversation grows deeper Baby becomes Beast
Then
At the climactic close
With the 3rd $15 Target lamp laying broken bedside
It comes full circle

“Yes Eric!”

“Yes Eric!”

“YES!”

Eric Has a Big Boy Blog...

I just realized that the title of this post, my first post, depending on how well you know me or if you know me at all, can produce multiple interpretations. If you only know me through the interwebs then maybe it means nothing to you, other than conjuring up some fond memory of a 30 foot statue of what seemed to be a 5 year old carrying a plate of rather large burgers, maybe every post from here on out will be comprised of my experiences with the Bob's Big Boy restaurant chain, and why not really. If you know KNOW me, you know I am a big guy, minus a 4 year period in the Navy and my Senior year of high-school, have always been a big guy, will probably always be a big guy, despite an insane workout schedule and an active lifestyle. Maybe this blog has been created to discuss what it is like to live as a big man in a heroin sheik society, how daily we all pray to have been born during the Ruben's period when big truly was beautiful. Maybe it is none of that and all of it.

I have been blogging for years, just through MySpace. Being a singer/songwriter MySpace is an essential part of my Social Networking life. It provides me with an opportunity to post songs and share them with anyone willing to listen, so I have used its little antiquated blog page to post my thoughts on recordings, songs, tours, musicians...whatever. Well, having crested 35 this year, I decided the great record deal and tour bus may not be in my future. It was a sad day, but I have always been one to find new cheese. This year marked a swing in focus from Music to Career. I will NEVER stop playing and performing, just reigned in the dreams a bit, so I can be content.

With new direction comes reflection, and reflections deserves a better platform, hence this blog. I actually decided to do this a few months ago, but I wanted to get a logo and make it all slick. The logo is still in production, and the words could not wait any longer. My friend Stephanie Tolle, the famed ironstef, besides being a foodie, a fantastically inspiring blogger, bowler and pretty decent golfer, is also a Graphics Designer, so she is helping me out with that, stay tuned for a logo that will melt your face...yes I said it, it is high-school cliche, and I don't care!

I wanted this first post to be an introduction of sorts, maybe lay out some acceptable assumptions about this blog. So here they are:

1. Because if the nature of my job, I am choosing to reign myself in, don't go corporate bashing, this is a choice I am making because I believe it is the right thing to do. Although I enjoy a Christmas Story cusstantrum as much anyone, probably more, my dad taught me years ago a good writer can write the moment more powerfully without the language.
2. I will almost always be doing laundry when I post, don't know why I wanted to share that, but I did. I actually own more guitars than pairs of pants, so I do lots of laundry.
3. I will include some type of poetry in every post, could be a haiku, short form, epic...there will be poetry.
4. Music and how it touches/moves me will be a recurring theme, lots of posts about great concerts, new albums I am in love with, and what I am doing with my own music, new songs, shows, recordings....
5. I am an out of the closet Teen TV addict: Friday Night Lights, Gossip Girls, One Tree Hill, as well as SYTYCD and AI, will definitely appear in posts.

I think those are five simple assumptions which should help you determine whether or not you want to read this thing.

That being said, laundry needs to be flipped, but first I wanted to share a quick poem. I am a very muse driven writer. I can force my pen but prefer not to. I prefer to allow an event, emotion, moment to guide the ink, so I write a lot when I travel, newness seems to impel me to write. He is a quick one or you...enjoy!

Nawlins

New Orleans drips energy
streets filled with winos and women
masses march to rhythm of “City Beneath the Sea”
smell of coffee fills squares
where people dance in conversations
over jazz movements
Creole flavors burn tongues
open nasal passages
allow pungent scents
that excite and sooth
New Orleans sleeps beneath
sounds of sweepers and Hymns