Zapruder Point
Consumer/Songwriter

“Wallace became the chronicler of a world where it was ‘tough’ to be human, but not impossible. This was the subjective world of his readers, themselves animated by an anxious consciousness of their limitations and contingency. It was an article of faith for him that the educated person still came to serious literature for answers to the desperate questions of existence. If literature’s response was that this person, despite all appearances, no longer existed in any meaningful sense, this was a way of ending a conversation, not starting one. Wallace did not shrink from depicting an inhuman world in his novels, but he returned to the problem of what it felt like to carry on a human life in such a world. This is why it is a mistake to connect his own textual experiments—jump cuts, essayistic digressions, endnotes—with the distancing techniques characteristic of his postmodern predecessors.”

–John Baskin, from his essay on David Foster Wallace in the debut issue of The Point magazine

I’ve been using eMusic–a download subscription service–for over a year now. Each month, I’m allotted 30 downloads for $12. That’s a quarter a song, which is pretty much what I think MP3s are worth, so I’m happy with the arrangement. I’ve re-constructed the otherwise out-of-print and/or expensively imported Slowdive EP-collection-thing Blue Day, and I’ve collected some of the work of my favorite comedians. But mainly what I use eMusic for is to check out new music. At that price, it doesn’t hurt too much to discover that, for example, I’m just not a Jay Reatard person. Delete and roll on.

But… And this question will only be relatable to music nerds of a certain age, but: What about the ones I like? What about the ones I fall madly in love with? Any sane, modern American would say, “Umm, listen to it a lot?” But for someone who’s been conditioned to bond with albums via some physical form, it’s unsatisfying on some ghostly level to have these songs “just” in my iTunes library, “just” in MP3 format.

So, I’ve taken to burning CD-R’s of whatever I don’t dislike, so there’s some physical copy around. Why? In case I want to throw it into the kitchen CD player, or take it with me in the car. But lately I’ve been realizing how silly that is, since both of these players have iPod jacks. Indeed, the only stereo in my house that can’t handle an iPod is the big one in my office–and that can be remedied with a $15 iPod dock.

Not to mention the storage problem. Even in slimline cases, burning a CD or two a month above my regular, non-experimental purchases (like the Thermals’ latest) starts to expand rather robustly. I look at my shelves and think of what Amy’s done, what a lot of my friends have done–put their boxless discs in zippered binders, just in case, leaving the digital copy as the main library. Shelf space liberated.

I have no conclusion today. But I will say that those of us raised on CDs–we got the worst of both worlds. As a tactile experience, they pale in comparison to vinyl, hanging on a hinge and a flimsy booklet. But then from the perspective of convenience, the things aren’t small ENOUGH by today’s standards, having the gall to take up more than hard drive space. They might as well not exist, and every day that becomes more and more likely.

Meanwhile, I love the new Metric album so much that I want to have a “proper” copy of it. I could just burn it ($0.30), but the CD is also available for cheap on Amazon ($7.99), and I think I’ve seen it on vinyl at Reckless ($10 – $15). So how much do I love it? And is spending extra money for it a fulfillment of that love, or merely an expression of it? Is either possibility sad and/or unhealthy? At least economically? Is this a rich man’s dilemma or what?

Whether records or furniture or puppets, treasuring things is a joy, and one I’ll probably indulge for the rest of my life. But when I lean on that pleasure too much, when I fool myself into thinking it contains nutrients it simply doesn’t, that’s where the problems start.

p.s.
For further reading, Chris Day has an excellent blog about the collection-compulsion from a comic-book perspective. Also, as an introduction to his 2008 top tens, glenn mcdonald explores the CD format and how it relates to music vs. the music business, etc.

The tie is pink, by the way.

I was honored to be a part of friends Jessica and Jet’s “Not-a-Wedding” a couple of weeks ago. The State of Illinois doesn’t recognize their commitment yet, hence the name of the ceremony. I was asked to perform a song that they’d heard at me and Amy’s wedding, Ron Sexsmith’s “God Loves Everyone”–a song which we’d nicked in turn from the wedding of our friends Justin and Chris. As a wedding song, this one gets around. I understand it’s become particularly popular at same-sex events like this one, which is cool.

At Justin and Chris’ wedding, Liam Davis (from Chicago power-pop masters Frisbie) sang the song, and at the time I was deeply impressed with the line about everyone getting into heaven, “queer or straight / souls of every faith.” Speaking to Justin just a few weeks ago about the song, he enthused that it “talks about God in a way people usually don’t,” and I couldn’t agree with him more.

I remember getting the song from iTunes when it was merely a candidate for our wedding ceremony, and being on the el while listening to it in full for the first time. Receiving each lyric loud and clear, I nearly burst into tears right then and there. If there is a God, surely its omnipotence would preclude any concerns it would have with what church you went to, or if indeed you went to church at all. If there is a heaven, surely you wouldn’t be barred from it based on whether you fancied boys or girls…or both. Yes?

I’ve been phrasing things that way lately, saying “if there is a God” before my statements of faith. It’s mostly out of courtesy towards those who don’t believe in God, I guess. It’s also, cornily enough, a nod to Springsteen’s intro to one of the songs he did on VH-1’s Storytellers. I’m paraphrasing, but he said something like, “If we have any claim on the divine, it’s through our connection with each other.” Like it’s possible, but it’s not necessarily so. Like he was saying, “I’m just sayin’.”

I appreciate that kind of inclusiveness, because it’s the exclusiveness of “religious folks” that gives them such a bad rep with just about any thinking person I know. As in, “Not only are we certain that there’s a God, but we’re certain we believe in the right one, and if you believe in the wrong one, you’re going to burn.” Certainty’s a good feeling and all–I certainly like it. But the very fact that I’m writing this, that I struggle with my faith–this seems to me to be the point of it. If I just read some book one day and unlocked everything and then spent the rest of my life telling everyone I “had” the answer… How presumptuous. Not to mention unadventurous, the answers all referenced and squared away like that.

So I’m still iffy and probably will be for the rest of my life. My faith dips and halts and circles around again. “God” is a decent way to frame the narrative, and it’s convenient to use a word so many other people use…but on the other hand, when some people say it, they mean “The Guy Upstairs Who Hates Homos.” So what can you do?

I am reminded of Obama’s line about abortion. I think Rick Warren was pushing him during the campaign on whether it was basically right or wrong, and Obama said that the question was above his “pay-grade.” So it is with me and God, I think. If you claim to KNOW one way or the other, then you have to know that many people disagree, and so you risk being disrespectful at best, dogmatic and intolerant at worst. It’s better, I think, to frame it with an “if.” Better, I think, to not really think of it as an argument in the first place, a debate to win or lose. And, okay, if it IS an argument, then I’m willing to admit, since we’re talking about something supposedly gigantic and un-graspable, that it’s one that is way above my pay-grade.

Meanwhile, if it’s not an argument, and if it’s anything like the Boss suggests, I get to connect with people and continue the struggle. The unsure verb of it sustains me in spite of its flux, in spite of its built-in uncertainty. I don’t think I’d have it any other way. Or, as Jessica’s mom hollered at the conclusion of my song, “amen.”

“God Loves Everyone”
by Ron Sexsmith

God loves everyone
Like a mother loves her son
No strings at all
Unconditional
Never one to judge
Would never hold a grudge
About what’s been done
God loves everyone

There are no gates in heaven
Everyone gets in
Queer or straight
Souls of every faith
Hell is in our minds
Hell is in this life
But when it’s gone
God takes everyon

Its love is like a womb
It’s like the air from room to room
It surrounds us all
The living and the dead
May we never lose the thread
That bound us all

The killer in his cell
The atheist as well
The pure of heart
And the wild at heart
Are all worthy of its grace
It’s written in the face
Of everyone
God loves everyone

There’s no need to be saved
No need to be afraid
Cause when it’s done
God takes everyone

God loves everyone

The Killers are, to me, like the new Smashing Pumpkins. In interviews, Brandon Flowers always high-wires that line between plain- and endearingly-pretentious, just like Our Man Corgan. Also like the Pumpkins, his band can mine a startling directness–usually in their singles, which is pretty great and kinda rare.  I always thought this one would be hard to learn, but this past weekend, by golly, I figured it out. Here it is, captured about an hour ago in a sparse, one-mike fashion.

When You Were Young [One-Mike Demo]

p.s. I’d like to send this one out to the class of ‘89.

My last gig was half a year ago. Cruising the path of least resistance, I’d emailed the nearby coffee shop with my MySpace link, and when they said they had Halloween night open, I said sure. Some of my co-workers live near the place, and it was a Friday, and maybe it would be cool.

Or maybe not. It was one of those places where you’re not sure why they let people play, since no-one seems to want it. I hate that sinking feeling, setting up your gear, getting dirty looks from the people whose reading you’re about to interrupt. But of course you soldier on, and so I plugged in…and the guitar and amp that had worked fine back in the basement refused to work. So I dashed back home, grabbed the acoustic two-string, and sat down at the back of the place (no stage, no mic, just like any other patron who happens to be noodling on a guitar) and proceeded to shake and stutter through about four songs before deciding it wasn’t worth it. Amy got to hear me do my Frightened Rabbit cover, but other than that it was a horrible experience.

I’ve reflected on that night many times since, and I have two basic thoughts on it. First, it’s inarguably lame that since Tom and Casey moved back to Ohio, I’ve literally only played when asked to, taking NO initiative to get gigs myself–the “path of least resistance” gig on Halloween being the only exception. I played Lilly’s twice last summer as a fill-in for my fellow-ex-Raleigh compatriot Denise Hradecky, and I’ve done Hoot Night whenever it’s made its way back to Chicago (thanks, Tom). But sending out CDs? Or whatever it is you’re supposed to do nowadays? Nope, can’t be bothered. I used to think this was a cool, low-stress way to go about it. And maybe that would make sense for a successful, full band in a “smaller market.” But I’m not so sure it holds for me and Chicago. All it’s done is shrink my profile. (“Profile.” Yech.)

The second thought I have about that crappy night is what a wuss I was for not sucking it up, pasting on a smile and plowing through a full set. Is it because I’m so unaccustomed to playing in general that I go full diva at the prospect of a non-rapt audience? What happened to the fun of playing for its own sake? I can’t shake the feeling that, like so many of my peers (hi, Eric Z), I should be able to stand down any audience, however small, unruly or uninterested, and just…do what I do. Because I’m pretty good at it, and there’s a chance that someone within earshot will like it. Couldn’t it–SHOULDN’T it–be as simple as that? Getting to that mental space is the challenge, anyway.

Well, in the spirit of all the above, I sent out four gig-grubbing emails this past weekend. Wish me luck. Meanwhile, I’ll make a note to myself that if I want to post again on this topic of playing out generally, the jump-off sub-topics would be 1) confidence vs. vanity, and 2) defining “worth” and “it” when wondering if a gig is “worth it.”