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ARTICLES Bleeped and Gagged: Lyrics and the First Amendment - Click Here Keen on outlaws and
dreamers By LINDA EAST
BRADY The salmon-colored state capital of Texas glowed in the background as Robert Earl Keen and his good-time hometown band took the stage on Aug. 13. The occasion was a huge street party to honor Lance Armstrong's record-breaking sixth Tour de France victory. Keen's band also knows a thing or two about touring -- the group is out playing up to 200 nights a year. Songwriter Keen's honky-tonk tales of good-hearted outlaws, dog-tired drifters and lost-at-the-big-party dreamers have generated nine albums and a devoted roadhouse following made up of people ranging from frat boys to cowboys, from poets to partyers. Keen and the band will bring their music to the private club Port O'Call in Salt Lake City on Wednesday. Born to a Houston oil executive and an attorney mother who exposed him to folk and country music from an early age, Keen grew up writing poetry. He didn't start playing guitar and composing music until he was in college and working toward a degree in English from Texas A&M. His first album, 1984's "No Kinda Dancer," was self-produced. Twenty years later, Keen is a reigning member of the Texas literary alt-rock school. It is music that features vivid stories married to music that blends Southern rock, country Western and urban blues. However, the music business has a hard time pigeonholing, and thus marketing, such Texas troubadour stuff as Keen's. "I call myself Best Western music, based on the fact we stay in a lot of motels," Keen quipped during a recent telephone interview when he was asked to define his style. "You call Willie Nelson 'country,' you call Neil Young 'rock'? I mean, they're all kind of the same," he explained. "If I had to be stuck, I'd say I'm country more than anything, because that's what people seem to think. But I just think of myself as part of a touring band. I write songs -- it's entertainment. That's what I'd call it." The Austin scene For many years, Keen has called Bandera, Texas, home. It's a small town just a sprint southwest of Austin's talent pool. Keen insists on keeping his recording days close to home, too. Instead of using studio guys, he uses his well-seasoned road band as his foundation (Rich Brotherton, vocals and guitars; Bill Whitbeck, bass; Tom Van Schaik, drums; Marty Muse, pedal steel). "I got really good road band guys," Keen said of his sidemen. "They're entertainers. They enjoy their position (onstage)." And they can hold their own against most studio guys, too, he says. Living so close to Austin, he has access to that city's music industry and its great talent. He has recorded with such talents as Austin guitarist Gurf Morlix, Shawn Colvin, Gary Tallent of Bruce Springsteen's E Street Band and Bonnie Raitt's sideman, Greg Marinelli. But where does Keen's carefully crafted music get played? "Not mainstream country radio," he said. "I get almost no support there." Instead, Keen relies on community, public and college radio to spread the word. He mentions KRCL in Salt Lake City and KPIG in Santa Cruz, Calif., as two of his big supporters. "I'm in that little group of people that fall through all the cracks and land on that same trampoline," he said of the company he keeps with musicians like himself who are hard to categorize. "A lot of people like what we're all doing, really. That's part of the cohesion of this type of music -- not so much a style as the lack of some kind of corporate spin on it. Never want to be a part of all that. ... I think part of the music's appeal is that it's not all chewed up and digested and re-examined and redigested." The songwriter's art Keen's latest release, "Farm Fresh Onions," is the most musically diverse of his career -- and, he says, the most fun to record. It touches on blues, straight-up rock, country, punkish riffs, even some rap-like spoken word. The stories range wide, following the usual Keenian assortment of good, bad and ugly. "The whole idea of the record was to have fun. When we quit having fun, we'd quit," Keen said. "The only people I have to answer to are my fans -- and by the way, I do just that. There were people who had a hard time with some of that stuff (on 'Farm Fresh Onions'). But my job, the way I'd describe it, is to create. So, if I'm not trying to do something different musically all the time, I don't feel like I'm doing my job." Even such a widely admired songwriter admits to struggling with ideas at times. "You sit there with the guitar in your hands and stare at a window or a door frame and say, 'How did I get myself into this?' " Keen said of composing. "I can't do this, I'll get to thinking. I don't do this. I don't have a clue how to write a song or do anything. I don't have anything going on, and I don't remember how I did it before." His favorite advice from the world of songwriting came from Terry Allen, a Lubbock, Texas-area songwriter/artist whose work Keen has recorded. "One time, Allan said, 'You know, Robert Earl, you just have to sit there and wait sometimes. You don't get up, you don't go and do things -- you sit there and wait, man,' " Keen said. "Well, it's great advice. Otherwise, you won't keep your butt glued to that seat like you should, because something will finally come if you sit there long enough." Getting better Many artists have turned to Keen's material -- outlaw-country supergroup The Highwaymen (Johnny Cash, Kris Kristofferson, Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson), the Dixie Chicks and George Strait, to name a few. He has co-written songs with Lyle Lovett and Nanci Griffith. He also makes a point of recording songs written by such talented contemporaries as Johnny Cash, Dave Alvin and Townes Van Zandt. "See, if you do someone else's song, a lot of people who aren't hip to them might get hip to them," Keen explained. His latest single from "Farm Fresh Onions" is a version of fellow Texan James McMurtry's "Out Here in the Middle." "See, I believe a lot of people ought to hear James' stuff," he said. "He's just one of my favorites. He keeps getting better. I'm a fan of those kind of people who go, 'Hey, I can do this, and then I can do this, and then this!' "I love people who keep getting better because I think life is a process. We should all get better." Recommended Robert Earl Keen albums: * "No Kinda Dancer" (1984), "No. 2 Live Diner" (1996) and "A Bigger Piece of Sky" (1993) have just been digitally remastered and re-released. "No Kinda Dancer" was originally recorded independently for $4,500. Keen seemed especially excited about the refreshed quality of "A Bigger Piece of Sky." He now has the album tracks in the order he wanted them originally, and it is sounding tops besides. * "Gringo Honeymoon" (1994): Strong from start to finish. A nice cross section of what Keen does best: story songs, humorous slices of life and lovable outlaw stories. Perhaps most enduring is "Christmas With the Family," a warm tale about the post-present afternoon hangover of holiday togetherness, replete with convenience-store runs and the combustible combinations of alcohol and AA. Keen has some great sidemen with him on this one, too. * "Picnic" (1997): The songwriting and musicianship are tight on this one, perhaps the most commercial to date of Keen's releases. The cover shot wins top honors, too (showing a 1960s-era Nova and Mustang mysteriously and completely ablaze). Margo Timmons' background vocals add a nice sheen to this album as well. Keen scored a minor hit with his version of James McMurtry's "Levelland" on this record, which also includes Dave Alvin's bittersweet summertime blues, "Fourth of July." * "Gravitational Forces" (2001): A number of originals are sure to make honky-tonkers happy, as will a rocked-up remake of Keen's anthemic crime-spree song "The Road Goes on Forever" (originally on "West Textures," his 1989 release). A pretty version of Townes Van Zandt's "Snowing on Raton" and Johnny Cash's "I Still Miss Someone" are also highlights. * "Farm Fresh Onions" (2003): This most recent work shows Keen moving into adventurous musical territory. Besides his usual brand of Western rock, there are blues, punk and spoken word, too. As a result, it may catch the ear of some people who wouldn't otherwise listen to his more straight-ahead country stuff. By Linda East Brady People who make the evening news aren’t usually featured in James McMurtry’s songs. His colorful characters are more likely to shoot out TV screens, Elvis-style, than appear on them. The Austin, Texas, troubadour has released eight critically acclaimed albums and steadily built a devoted following with his evocative song/stories and roots-rocking live shows. Utah has long been home to one of McMurtry’s stronger fan bases. His seventh album, "Live in Aught-Three," was recorded in large part at Salt Lake City’s late, great Zephyr Club.
"WXRP in Chicago just added the record," McMurtry said via phone from Tucson, Ariz. "They had not played my music in 10 years, not since Columbia (Records) dropped me. And the song they added was ‘We Can’t Make it Here,’ in all its seven-minute glory … which is very odd, because it wasn’t being worked as a single. We’ll take it, though." McMurtry and his outfit, the Heartless Bastards, (drummer Daren Hess, bassist Ronnie Johnson and second guitarist Tim Holt) return to Utah to play the Suede private club on Saturday. .30-06 guitar Though McMurtry has long been praised as a lyricist, his dynamic guitar playing is unrecognized. He first started playing at age 8. Soon, he was captivated by flat-picking bluegrassers like Doc Watson. "But I didn’t take to it when I actually
tried to do it," he said of the style. "I took
more to the blues, players like Johnny Shines." "Where I lived, I could walk around the corner and hear, learn from, Johnny Copeland, Albert Collins, whoever was coming through." McMurtry travels with a half-dozen guitars, to give him an array of tones and tunings. It doesn’t make touring easy, especially when airlines are involved.His solution? Add yet another to his collection – a Fender Stratocaster. "I was looking for a guitar that I can do most of what I do ... and a Strat will almost get it," he said. "I’m new to the Strat world, but I picked it up searching for a ‘.30-06’ guitar." How is a Stratocaster like a rifle cartridge? "A .30-06 doesn’t do anything exceptionally,
but it does everything well enough," he explained.
"And it’s the same with the Strat. But then,
some things just don’t sound so good on it, so on
the road, I still carry the Telecaster. Those Teles, you
can really ham-hand them, use a lot of forearm, which you
can’t really do with the Strat." Last summer, when Cindy Sheehan and the Veterans for Peace camped outside President Bush’s Texas ranch, McMurtry provided musical support. He opened one Camp Casey concert for Steve Earle and also played another show with his son Curtis playing sax. McMurtry had heard of Sheehan’s story when the Veterans for Peace asked him to their national convention to perform "We Can’t Make It Here." "The people (Sheehan) marched down the road with
... the people that ran the camp, those were
veterans," noted McMurtry. "The press does not
mention that. They can get their heads around ‘grieving
mom’ — have a category for that — but not
a category for Vets for Peace. … They call them
placard- wielding anti-war activists — which they
were, but some of them knew a little bit about the
realities of combat." McMurtry realizes he runs the risk of alienating some
fans by waxing political. McMurtry realizes he runs the risk of alienating some
fans by waxing political.
"I
AIN'T NO SENATOR'S SON" By Linda East Brady Originally plublished in JUNCTION MAGAZINE, April 2003 Have you seen that TV ad for the jean that uses, out of context, John Fogerty's Viet Nam protest song, Fortunate Son? The gist of the lyric is that said fortunate son, the offspring of wealth and power, isn't the one who actually does the dirty work in wartime. Never more apparent than in the Viet Nam Conflict was the fact that the boys who couldn't afford college or daddy-supplied deferment went straight to the front lines. Though perhaps not as well remembered as other Creedence Clearwater Revival songs, Fortunate Son still broadcasts a vital and timely message. In the hands of the nefarious jeans advertiser, a single line is excerpted, played beneath waving flags and perfect, youthful American wiggling asses: "Some folks are born made to wave the flag, ooh! They're red white and blue." Those fifteen words are artfully looped to sound like a jingle. In the unadulterated song, the balance of the verse is as follows: "And when the band plays Hail to the Chief, boy, they point the cannon right at you." If copyright law allowed, I'd quote the lyrics entirely, so that you might fully appreciate how fundamentally wrong was this application of Fogerty's work in this tacky ad. Sadly, due to unsound contractual choices early in his career, Fogerty no longer has artistic control much of his music, including Fortunate Son. Just imagine his outrage. Perhaps the most famous example of an anti-war song being absconded by the flag-waving right is illustrated by Bruce Springsteen's Born in the U.S.A. Released a little over a decade after the Fall of Saigon, the album of the same name launched Springsteen into the "household word" realm. The narrator of Born in the U.S.A. has been scarred by what he'd seen in combat, by the loss of a brother in battle, and by the lack of opportunities for him once he returns to his homeland. Though there had been numerous protest songs written during the Conflict, Born in the U.S.A. was the first, and perhaps only, major hit that dared examine the fallout awaiting the Viet Nam vet who, at least physically, made it home. But a strange thing happened to Springsteen's song on its way to number one. His concerts began to look like Nuremberg Rallies, with the jingoist chorus being howled by throngs waving flags, thrusting fists skyward. Presidential candidate Ronald Reagan, whose political philosophy is about as similar to Springsteen's as Oil of Olay is to Napalm, was advised by his handlers to quote from the song to sound "hip" during his reelection bid. Springsteen reacted with surprising grace -- but pointedly and repeatedly indicated during Reagan's run that he didn’t believe the president had actually listened to his words. Later, Bob Dole and Pat Robertson also misused the song in their Republican presidential campaigns. This further secured Springsteen's position as the Cassandra of Rock -- his message misconstrued by the very ones for which it had been intended. In both anti- and pro-warfare songwriting, melody is used to catch the listener's ear, to stir the feelings, but the words are the crux of the matter. The folk movement of the sixties was the perfect element for such music to thrive, and it was in that setting that the handle "protest singer" was first used. With such proletariat ancestors as the Weavers and Woody Guthrie showing the way, young folk artists gave a voice to a generation fearful of the undeclared war half a world away in which we found ourselves immersed. Peter, Paul and Mary, Phil Ochs, Joan Baez, and many others accessed mainstream radio to give voice to the protest movement. Protest music quickly crossed from folk to rock, soul and blues. What had once been silly love songs for kids became a thought-provoking forum for ideas. On June 25, 1967, The Beatles -- arguably the most influential voices of their day -- sang All You Need is Love on the first worldwide satellite broadcast. Reaching an estimated 350 million viewers, the song was penned by John Lennon specifically with the power of the medium in mind. Soul music also joined the cause, taking on the Conflict with the likes of Edwin Starr's powerful War (What is it Good For?) and Marvin Gaye's stirring What's Goin' On. Even Willie Dixon, best known as Chicago Blues most prolific songsmith, wrote a classic protest in the anthemic Ain't Gonna Study War No More. Today, we find ourselves again in the middle of a war many are questioning, and songwriters are again taking on the Conflict. Examples include Chumbawamba's Jacob's Ladder (Not In My Name), an examination of the inevitable civilian casualties of war. The song is in heavy rotation on Alternative and even some AAA radio countrywide. Springsteen too has released his first album of originals in years with the unsettling THE RISING. Inspired by the horrific attacks of Sept. 11, the CD recently gathered three Grammys. As awards and accolades go to THE RISING, and strange new life comes to Fortunate Son through advertising, free speech is looked on as somehow subversive by some. Then and now, Country radio programmers and audiences tend to be among the most narrow-minded and outspoken. Alt-country legend Steve Earle recently released his brilliant JERUSALEM CD. One of the songs included was John Walker's Blues, a song from the viewpoint of the so-called "American Taliban." Never supportive of the artist, commercial country programmers declared the song all but traitorous. Ironically, this "anti-support" has propelled JERUSALEM into the mainstream, gifting Earle with his best-selling piece of work to date. The Dixie Chick's bestseller HOME includes Travelin' Soldier, a poignant tribute to a lonely G.I. The Chicks' song is certainly pro-serviceman, if not actually pro-war. Yet March 14, 2003, lead singer Natalie Maines managed to utterly piss off the Country music establishment. Offhandedly she commented at an overseas show, "Just so you know, we're ashamed the President of the Untied States is from Texas." At first Maines stood by her comment, though she has now issued an apology on the Chicks' website. Shades of John Lennon and his "We're Bigger than Jesus" faux pas at the height of Beatles fame. A few weeks back, when the first worldwide peace rallies were being held, I had the good fortune to be listening to KRCL's Saturday Sagebrush Serenade radio program. They were playing wonderful protest songs, past and present, as soundtrack for Salt Lake's rally. The composition that most gripped me was Bob Dylan's Masters of War. Now forty years old, the lyrics still have the power to provoke and disturb in their vehemence, and are as timely today as they were when the great American poet first sang them. No doubt Dylan, like Guthrie and Seegar before him, will inspire other young artists to speak their minds. In this time of trial and terror throughout the world, we can still turn to music for comfort and enlightenment. May the music soothe, and the words continue to educate and inspire. CONTINENTAL
CLUB GRAFFITI Originally published in Mid-South Literary Review, Oct-Dec. 2003 Pearl was grateful there was no line in the ladies’ room, a rarity for Saturday night at the Continental Club. The two-stalled can wasn’t much bigger than a walk-in closet. An obvious bleach-blonde reapplied her lipstick in the mirror. Pearl nodded at her, giving a glance to her own reflection – hair still big, mascara still strong despite the heat. She was wearing her husband’s favorite outfit, a leather miniskirt with cowboy boots that matched, and a sleeveless purple turtleneck. She sidled past the girl at the mirror and ducked into her preferred right hand stall. Pearl liked the womb-like refuge of the stall. She liked to consider what other women had written as they sat alone with their pants down. Pearl ran her manicured nail down favorite message in Austin, an eye-level admonition – "You know Elvis died like this." It always made her grin. Then she saw fresh dialogue, new since last week’s gig. The opening message, wrought in flourishing ballpoint, declared: "Blaze Carabello is fine!!!!" Another hand had written
beneath: "Damn straight he’s fine!
I would do Blaze Carabello in a heartbeat!" Pearl considered the gossip on the whitewashed stall. She heard the muffled sound of between-set swing music drifting in through the lounge door. A chattering bunch of women were now queuing up for the toilet. Pearl wiped and yanked up her panties. She fumbled in her purse for a pen. She didn’t have one. She did have nail polish – she never left home without it. Most girls didn’t take care of their hands anymore. Pearl’s mama always told her you could tell if a woman was a lady by the condition of her hands. But then, Mama had also said never to marry a musician – win some, lose some. She pulled forth her Revlon Le Jazz Hot polish and shook it, the mixer ball clacking against glass. At least eight girls waited now for a stall. The air around them reeked of stiff hair, dancer’s sweat and cologne. Washing her hands, Pearl gave each girl in line a hard look, and then stomped into the club, the door banging behind her. The next woman in line shot into the right stall. As she sat, a smear of magenta wetness caught her eye. It smelled like nail lacquer. Underneath the discussion of Blaze’s attributes was a fresh slash of graffiti: "I’m MARRIED to Blaze Carabello!" Outside the bathroom door, the girls distantly heard a man bellow: "No!" A croak of feedback quickly followed. Another woman came in. The women looked to her, the curiosity plain on their faces. "Pearl Carabello just brained her husband with his own guitar," she informed the ladies in waiting. "Oh, my. He dead?" "No. But he ain’t feeling too good. Good thing they make Stratocasters so damn tough. He’ll recover, so long as his precious guitar ain’t hurt." A couple of women nodded, then turned to wait for the next stall to open. End |
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