““History Lesson – Part 2″ is their single greatest songwriting achievement and I’m not sure this is debatable. For all of the gigs and flyers in this band’s densely-packed 6-year career, this tune reflects the gigantic heart of the band. What did they stand for these Minutemen? Where did they come from? Where did they fit on the rock ‘n’ roll continuum? What will they mean in the future? If Joyce encapsulated the history of the English language in Ulysses, Watt encapsulated the history of punk rock in “History Lesson – Part 2.””—I Stand for Language, I Speak for Truth, I Shout for History | The Adios Lounge
I had one of my periodic thoughts on the subway last night that Loving Cup is the greatest song the Stones ever recorded, and one of the best ever by any band. I searched soundcloud and there doesnt seem to be a link to the Stones version of it but, not surprisingly, there are hundreds of covers. This is one
“In a Time.com article doubling as a U2 PR blurb, Bono claimed: “I don’t believe in free music. Music is a sacrament.” Set aside for a moment that communion wafers are themselves free”—U2 and Apple | Wondering Sound
“A look of shock comes over fan’s faces when you tell them it is your first Phish show, and they want to make sure you enjoy it. We told some fans it was our first show and they immediately explained why they love the band and related stories of the many memorable experiences they have had at shows. They also usually offered free drugs to help enhance the first time. While in the woman’s bathroom, a young woman came in and announced to the packed room that it was her first show, and everybody cheered, including a mother with dreads who was changing her baby’s diaper.”—Proof That Phish Has the World’s Most Dedicated Fans
I’ve spent the last two summers in southeast Alaska, in a town called Sitka, situated on a series of islands in the Pacific. There are about 9,000 people who live here - worlds away from my life in New York City (I’m fond of saying that there are more bands in Brooklyn than there are people here). I’ve come to Alaska through the Sitka Fellows Program - a new residency program. Essentially it means that I’m here to live simply and to play the guitar and to sing into the ocean.
In no particular order, here are the things I’ve learned to cherish here:
-the long, lazy arc of the sun as it rises and sets, staying up in the sky past well past 10pm
-the ever-uncanny, screaming calls of ravens in the woods and in parking lots
-the deep, happy, living smell of wet spruce trees
-swimming in cold ocean water with the silhouette of a volcano in the distance
-swimming near the airport runway and under planes as they take off
-the quiet persistence of thousands of fish making their way upstream
-the constant movement of water, in the waves and in the tides and in the sky
-a small, icy waterfall nestled deep in the woods - I’ve stood under it and hollered for joy
It’s very beautiful here, laughably so at times. But what’s more is that there is time and space to do things. Time to walk miles and miles into the woods and up mountains. Big, empty rooms that I fill with sound. Time to talk on the phone with my friends. An abundance of space in which to consider my tiny body against the sea, the mountains, the starry veil of heaven.
Writing and playing music here is so easy. It just flows. In New York, I do my work in spite of the world - in spite of rent, in spite of student loans, in spite of the loud fun of bars gently calling me out into the night. Here, in Alaska, due to some potent combo of well being and natural awe, the words and tones just are. My voice and my guitar astonish me with their clarity. And when I sing,