blue in green

aspiring human; struggling lover

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watched this scene for the first time in a long time. might be my favourite Tarantino scene he ever wrote. remarkable.

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miss(ing) sharon jones

the first and only time I saw Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings was in Rochester, New York in the summer of 2015. They were sharing the bill with the Tedeschi Trucks Band and Doyle Bramhall II. It was the kind of lineup a guy like me dreams about, so on a work day I drove for 3 hours to a city I had never been to just so I could be there.

The week before this show a young man named Dylann Roof went to a prayer meeting at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina and murdered 9 African-American people. He stated afterwards that by doing it he had hoped to start a race war. America was reeling and I could feel it the minute I crossed the border. Sadness in the air that was unmistakable. On the way to Rochester I was listening to NPR and a story came on that put words to this feeling. The story was about an African-American man named  Chenjerai Kumanyika, a professor at Clemson University, who attended a prayer vigil for the victims of the shooting. During this vigil everyone was asked to hold hands with the person next to them. Chenjerai was standing next to a white woman and he recalled feeling that he could not will himself hold her hand. He said that in that moment he felt the full weight of every injustice done to African-Americans, and especially every way that African-Americans had to stand by or comply with these injustices that were happening. That story stayed with me as as I drove into Rochester and sat down in the theater. It was a vivid reminder of the deep divisions that continue to exist between black and white folks in America.

Then Sharon Jones and her Dap-Kings came on.

First off, when you see them live you are instantly reminded that everything you’ve heard about them is true. Sharon Jones was a force of nature. The minute she gets on stage your eyes don’t leave her. Watching her I saw her become this open channel that music pours out of freely and joyously, no hesitation or second-guessing. And there could not possibly be a band more tight and in sync than the Dap-Kings. Hearing them on a record is one thing, but seeing and hearing them in the flesh is something else entirely. They were so lightning quick in their stops and turn-arounds that it made you question if you were watching live music. They were so perfect and disciplined in their craft that it almost made you wonder of they were actually enjoying themselves up there. But what stuck with me most was this: before starting another song Sharon Jones asked if there were any women who wanted to come on stage and dance with her during the number. At first there was nothing, but then one woman came up on stage. And then another. And another. And another. Until there were 10 women on stage with her. The stage was suddenly full of both African-American and white women. The song started and all of a sudden there was whole stage of black and white people joined in song and it hit me like a ton of bricks. When I saw this happening I couldn’t help but cry. I became very aware of what I was seeing and it overwhelmed me. I immediately thought of Chenjerai Kumanyika‘s story on NPR that I listened to on the road and hearing his uncertainty that black and white people could ever be reconciled to one another. And there in front of me I was seeing a picture of that same reconciliation that Americans were (and are) hungering for so deeply. United through the never stopping power of soul music. Sharon Jones made that happen, if only for a moment. A glimpse of how the world should be. I will never forget being a part of that.

Goodbye Sharon Jones. I’m going to miss you. Thank you for bringing light into dark places. Thank you for sharing your soul. There will never be another like you.

[backtojm]

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now I am as happy as a little girl

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“B.B. wasn't a star, He was the moon. Stars can burn out, and the moon never does.” -- Rufus Thomas

Growing up in my house B.B. King was the soundtrack. Saturday morning was usually when you heard him loudest, from the stereo in our living room. And, sure, everyone else got plenty of air time too. Muddy, The Wolf, Buddy, Eric, Stevie Ray, Taj. But B was king in our house, hands down, no questions asked. He was such a constant figure in my life growing up he might as well have been an uncle or grandfather. 

Hearing B.B. and Lucille come out of the speakers throughout my life makes it even more surreal to know that he’s gone now. When someone has such a steady presence in your life it makes it easy to assume on some level that they will always be there. But I suppose in some sense that’s still true. Sure B’s dead but is he really? I don’t think so. Believe me, whenever you put Live at the Regal on B.B. is alive and well. Whenever you bend a guitar string with even a little bit of feeling, B.B. is with you. 

And then there was that tone. Man oh man. You’d have better luck finding the fountain of youth than you would getting anywhere near that tone. Everything that’s beautiful and transformative about the electric guitar was expressed through B.B. King and Lucille. You see, there’s the electric guitar...and then there’s the electric guitar as B.B played it. Thrilling, exciting, stirring. That kind of electric. That’s the difference. And it’s humbling to realize just how much of my own guitar tone is fashioned after B.B.’s. An ES-335 with out-of-phase humbuckers. A black face Fender amplifier. But in reality all of those things have just been components of the crude dingy I've constructed that I thought might one day float towards the island B.B. King lives on. But I've never come close, and I never will. Neither will you. Because while you and I spin our wheels with, as one writer put it recently, “adolescent finger-mania”, B.B. King was articulating the highs and lows of the human experience with every soul-filled bend and trill of the strings. If you've ever wondered what the point of guitar playing is, or why anyone would want to do it, B.B. King will remind you. 

Since I heard the news I’ve been honouring B’s memory with this tune. It’s a version of Sweet Sixteen he did in the early 70s off a record that didn’t too much called L.A. Midnight. For me, this is the track that sums it all up. The highs, the lows, the restraint, the horns, the buildup, the sadness, the joy, the tone. It’s all there. 

Goodbye, B. Rest in peace, the peace that comes from knowing that your legacy will be carried on in the hearts and fingers of many, many people.

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“I've thought about it often,” said Leone heavily. “If I didn't marry - and I'm, not sure but that’s what I needed to make me halfway human - I’d be a country priest with just enough theology to hear confession, and just enough Latin to get through Mass and the sacramental formulae. But with heart enough to know what griped in the guts of other men and made them cry into their pillows at night. I’d sit in front of my church on a summer evening and read my office and talk about the weather and the crops, and learn to be gentle to the poor and humble with the unhappy ones… You know what I am now? A walking encyclopaedia of dogma and theological controversy. I can smell out an error faster than a Dominican. And what does it mean? Nothing. Who cares about theology except the theologians? We are necessary, but less important than we think. The Church is Christ - Christ and the people. And all the people want to know is whether or not there is a God, and what is His relation with them, and how they can get back to Him when they stray.

-- Morris West’s The Shoes of the Fisherman

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If one were to draw up an indictment of this government’s approach to politics and the public purpose, one might mention its wholesale contempt for Parliament, its disdain for the Charter of Rights and the courts’ role in upholding it, its penchant for secrecy, its chronic deceitfulness, its deepening ethical problems, its insistence on taking, at all times, the lowest, crudest path to its ends, its relentless politicization of everything.

Andrew Coyne on Harper’s administration 

[ladytruds]

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forty

Easter and Christmas have become so disfigured by all manner of bastardizing that their own mothers wouldn't be able to pick them out of a police line-up at this point. No two ways about it. Lent, however, has a face only a mother could love. Lent is not pleasing to the eye. It walks with a limp. It has no trappings, no soft pastel colours. It has death, and blood, and sin. But what it lacks in meaningless kitsch it more than makes up for with substance and reverence. It offers something real. So who would guess that would be the part of the Church calendar that our culture won’t touch with a ten-foot pole? And as it turns out, practising Lent is downright counter-cultural. Arthur C. Brooks put it really well in a op-ed he wrote in the New York Times recently: “In a post-modern era, where death is taboo, pain is pointless, and sin is a cultural anachronism, what could be more rebellious than Lent?” 

But regardless of the wider cultural implications, I for one am thankful for it, and not just for its existence but also what it witnesses to. I am thankful that it reminds us of what it means (and doesn't mean) to be human. It brings perspective to our lives by encouraging us to acknowledge our inadequacies and mortality. 

This year I have been living out Lent as follows:

1. I’ve stopped trimming my beard and haven’t cut my hair. I was initially not going to bother with this as it seemed pointless but after some thought it occurred to me that their might be some merit to it. One of the most brilliant things about Jewish culture, especially as it’s portrayed in the Old Testament, is it’s emphasis on tangible, physical reminders of one’s faith. Things like the prayer shawl, the tzitzit, and the tefillin were all designed with one thing in mind: remember. Remember who you are and what God has done for you because in no time at all you’re going to forget. And while my take on this is far less meaningful it nevertheless speaks to the same thing. I need reminders just like everyone else, but instead of using a garment I used the hair growing on my face. 

2. I've tried to change who I “listen” to. I am a middle-class, Canadian, white male, and for better or worse my perspective and world view have been greatly shaped and influenced by this fact. Now, your perspective and world view are by no means inherently bad but the problem is that you can find yourself in a pattern of only seeking out things that reinforce your world view and no one else’s. If left unchecked your life will be nothing more than a constant validation of your biases. Your friends, fellow church goers, the blogs and newspapers you read - all of them will implicitly tell you that your perspective is the only perspective. The problem with all of this is that the Kingdom does not operate in this way. What makes this Kingdom unique is that it seeks out the other. Whoever wants to be a disciple must deny themselves, take up their cross, and follow Me. None of self and all of Thee, as it were. So in light of that, in addition to inspiration from a recent David Henson post, it occurred to me just how necessary it is to take a break from my normal diet of privileged white people’s words and voices. So for Lent I tried my best to listen Aboriginal Canadian voices instead. I could have done much better, but it was a start. I read The Inconvenient Indian by Thomas King, watched CBC’s 8th Fire documentary, got my news from Indian Country Today Media Network, and wrote a letter to our Prime Minister urging him to take more action in regards to missing and murdered Aboriginal women and to call for a national public inquiry. The cynical part of me looks at that list and scoffs but that has to be better than nothing, right? One has to start somewhere. Apathy and saving face be damned. 

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tell me, what do you see?

At the risk of sounding ridiculous, let me say that when it comes to hip-hop I am no critic. I am not a historian or archivist. I have limited knowledge of where rap and hip-hop falls in the pantheon of African-American music and its role and significance within American black culture, nor can I illuminate its context or its roots in the West coast and Compton traditions that one Kendrick Lamar draws from. 

But here we are. And dammit if I can’t stop listening this hands-down masterpiece.  

So in light of that then, let me also say that Kendrick Lamar’s new record, To Pimp A Butterfly, is the first hip-hop record that I have ever really dug deep with. Not only that but it’s actually the first hip-hop record other than Kendrick’s previous release, good kid, m.A.A.d city, that I have actually sat down and listened to from start to finish. I don’t know how it happened but I went from never giving hip-hop the time of day to picking up this record and so thoroughly enjoying it that I cannot stop spinning it. And when I'm not spinning it I'm thinking about it. I have found it so compelling and fascinating and challenging that I can’t put it down. 

I know this may all sound like the ramblings of a fellow who just jumped on the proverbial band-wagon, as it seems that everyone has been pushed to the limits of hyperbole when describing this record, but I'm as surprised as you are. I sure didn't see this coming. All I can say is that when someone really says something with a record, I mean really says something, like Kendrick has, then no longer do the normal categories apply. A record like that bypasses all of those formalities and gets to something deeper. That is the story of me with To Pimp A Butterfly.

[tomboybklyn]

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kendrick have a dream

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may I present Next Church's newest record, Ramshackle Redemption Vol.1. Recorded over a couple days in downtown Kingston. Featuring yours truly on guitar and vocals. 

listen here if you're so inclined. 

[amill9000]

Listening to Black Messiah

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This has been me all day every day since Monday morning. 

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I'm a sinner who's probably going to sin again. Lord, forgive me. Lord, forgive me things I don't understand. 

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Derek works out Clapton’s SG from the Cream years at Allman Brothers rehearsals. — RT from TTB Facebook Page.

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I mean come on. TOO MUCH. NERD ALERT. 

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Queen Of California (meets DRH)

It was raining and I started messing around with this song. Next thing you know, this happened. Gibson J45+Apogee ONE+Singing Quietly So As Not T...

The always beautiful David Ryan Harris ladies and gentlemen. Covering JM no less. 

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Me and the band at a festival we played recently outside of Sauble Beach, ON. The inspiration for this song was equal parts D'Angelo and the Psalms. The drum beat is courtesy of Steve Jordan.

Andrew Cardiff on drums, Jared McMillan on bass, and Josh Lyon on keys. 

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duane for miles

The connection between Duane Allman and Miles Davis has always excited me. It excites me because the connection they have is not initially apparent. They were from two different generations, they ran in different circles, they never met (as far as I know). Miles was an African-American jazz musician who was responsible for most, if not all, new directions jazz took between the 50s and the 80s. He was restless, innovative, and masterful in his technique and his efforts as a bandleader. Duane was a white southerner who started out as an unknown guitar player, then the most in demand session player around, and then the founder of the Allman Brothers Band, all in a bafflingly fast period of time. And I should make clear that these two were not contemporaries - Miles probably had no idea who Duane Allman was would not have cared less if he did. He was Miles Davis after all. But musically speaking they were like soul brothers. 

The connection between these two men had eluded me entirely until I bought Miles Davis's Kind Of Blue in the spring of 2006. Because this particular copy was a reissue it came with more liner notes than just the Bill Evans-penned original. The new liner notes were written by famous music writer Robert Palmer, and as I read them I was surprised to see that Mr. Palmer began his piece on Miles Davis's work not by talking about Miles Davis (or any other musician featured on Kind Of Blue) but Duane Allman: 

Playing gigs at the Fillmore East during the sixties made it easier for you to get in and catch other bands, even if tickets were sold out. As a young saxophonist in a rock band, I played there several times and attended numerous concerts; the one group I never missed (unless I had to be on the road) was the Allman Brothers Band. More specifically, I went to see their guitarist, Duane Allman, the only "rock" guitarist I had heard up to that point who could solo on a one-chord vamp for as long as half an hour or more, and not only avoid boring you but keep you absolutely riveted. Duane was a rare melodist and a dedicated student of music who was never evasive about the sources of his inspiration. "You know," he told me one night after soaring for hours on wings of lyrical song, "that kind of playing comes from Miles and Coltrane, and particularly Kind Of Blue. I've listened to that album so many times that for the past couple of years, I haven't hardly listened to anything else."

Never had it occurred to me that Miles Davis played such a large role in Duane's life. And as it turned out it didn't stop there. Recently I came across a radio interview that Duane did for WPLO FM in Atlanta, Georgia in 1970. It's a particularly great interview as it's one of the few interviews Duane did where he's not stoned or drunk. As you can imagine he's a lot more articulate and insightful because of this. During the interview he played a number of records, one of which was "My Funny Valentine" by Miles Davis. His introduction of the song floored me. He said, "Miles Davis does the best job, to me, of portraying the innermost, subtlest, softest feelings in the human psyche. He does it beautifully." Duane and Miles strike again. No mere passing jazz fan could say something like that. That was deep calling out to deep.   

Where the connection between Duane and Miles is most meaningful for me is in their dedication to collaboration. While they were both stunningly original and exciting players who breathed new life into their respective instruments who could have very easily struck it out on their own - but they both knew that real music was made with other people. Whether it was Miles's quartet or quintet or the Allman Brothers, both Duane and Miles assembled groups of people who complimented and inspired each other. They were only as good as the people they played with. I've always taken comfort in this as I have never been a musician who thrives in playing by myself. I watch folks on YouTube who can wow you with just a guitar and webcam, but I have always played my best when in a group. And there are things tried and expressed in a band that cannot be recreated in any other setting. Duane and Miles both lived to testify to that. 

To end this it seems only fitting that I leave with you a track from each of these men's respective canon. After all, you don't have to take my word for it.

Miles Davis - Blue in Green (true story: I used to revere this song so much that I would only listen to it in my room with the lights off and my eyes closed. I felt like Moses standing next to the burning bush. Holy ground.) 

Duane Allman - In Memory of Elizabeth Reed (true story: this might be one of the greatest recordings of humans making music together ever. In this song they seem to cease to be individual people but rather one person who has 12 hands and 4 feet.)