#bourbon tapes

[thankyoustu]

Gene Clark - "Some Misunderstanding"

Tape I of the Bourbon Tapes

A heart-wrenching jam from the first Bourbon Tape--Gene Clark’s “Some Misunderstanding”--reminds me of those early days of tears and whiskey, back when Stuart and I first met and he made the Bourbon Tapes.  These days, it’s just tears and more tears, some meditation, and no booze.   Most of my life I’ve felt plagued by being misunderstood.  The Buddhists tell me I should not concern myself with these fears because the self does not exist as something separate from everything else, but that’s not quite the way it works for me.  I’ve never felt anything but separate--against the wall at a crowded party, waiting in line at the convenient store, loitering at the mirror with all the other girls in the bathroom.  My people are scattered and gone.  No one recognizes my face...or he turns away from the raw nihilism found therein. The part of my identity that’s hidden and only tangible through blood memory confounds me, and I can’t wipe 34+ years of a Judaeo Christian complex away. I don’t want to either because each piece of me is important.  It’s made me who I am--but who I am is a construct, right? Have you ever loved someone who leaves you because of what’s out there beyond you?  Have you ever left someone you love because you have to see what’s out there?   We spend our formative years trying to figure out who we are--which is really just a construct that we are making up as we go along.  Or are we who we are from the start?  I feel like a hardened and “smarter” version of myself at five, but I hear so many people frantically say they have to “get their life started” or “find out who they are.”  You don’t know who you are?  It’s funny: it either takes time to believe who we are or none of us will ever really know.  To know who we are is to know what we want and where we want to be.  But dreams aren’t a birthright, and there is a price for searching out our dreams.  We make them happen, and we pay for them.  Gene Clark’s No Other really hits on this thought, and “Some Misunderstanding” has me soft and sorry for feeling selfish pain.  But damn, don’t we all use the beautiful rhetoric of fate to excuse ourselves from the table?    Once or twice or maybe many times, I had a young lover that left me to fly or be less attached or because I felt more for him than he felt for me.  On one of these occasions someone older said to me, “He’s too young to know the cost of things.”  Maybe this is what we mean by figuring out who we are.  Maybe we just figure out how much we are willing to pay for the precious gifts of the spirit, for the preciousness of life.  In our youth we overspend.  We are frivolous and loose with our time, our money, our emotions.  But when we reach that arbitrary sense of “completion,” the answer is nothing.  There is no price we can or would pay.  Instead, we desperately hold to anything precious that comes our way--at moments that grow more rare with the passing of each year.  We know quality when we see it because of all the times we have gambled and lost.  Maybe that is figuring out who we are--knowing what we’ve lost and what we won’t pay.    

[thankyoustu]

Phil Ochs - "Doesn't Lenny Live Here Anymore"

Tape IX of the Bourbon Tapes

One of my earliest posts was a Phil Ochs track.  Recently, this song has been rattling in my mind.  I have a radio in my head I can’t turn off.  Sometimes it’s a bad thing.  I’m trying to meditate to shut it off a little.

But back to Phil...what a voice.  It’s like a bird of silk and chocolate and clouds.  I watched a documentary on him once.  He went to Africa to help with relief and protests and was robbed and had his throat trampled on--changing his vocal chords forever.  I cry when I hear Phil sing.

I weep for tomorrow, for the day hearts are as tender as mine are right now.  Doesn’t Lenny live here anymore?  Emma’s house is empty, so why do I call it Emma’s house?  Down low, too slow.

Are you sure?  Are you sure?

[thankyoustu]

Joe E. Covington - "Mama Neptune" (track 4)

Tape Elevem of the Bourbon Tapes

Tape Elevem may be the most blown-out, wacky mixtape Stu’s ever made.  Arguably, it’s got the farthest-out jams.  Not for the faint of heart or the picky of ear.  (I used to play it in my car around people to see their reactions.)  But for all it’s madness, Elevum has become one of my favorite tapes.  The arrangement of the tracks falls in solid flow, and even the craziest of songs I love for their sheer funkiness--good music is good music no matter how “weird” it might initially seem.   A song like Joe E. Covington’s “Mama Neptune” isn't all that weird to me, but then again I have been exposed to the radioactive material longer than most.  I love how funky, laid-back, stoned, earthy, organic, and almost magical this track is.  Kind of jazzy, rock, prog, psych, late 60s funk and soul--”Mama Neptune” has a bit of it all.  Beginning soft and slow like a light rain then unfurling into a body-moving funk jam, this one takes me in everytime.   Covington might be the one of the most laid-back selections here, but “Mama Neptune” definitely has the tripped-out sensibility found on all of Elevum.  I could easily see this one loved by hippie hooper maenads, festival freaks, and rainbow wanderers--even so it hits all those parallel lives and heavy smoke rings in me.  The quiet solitude of getting my head right and moving through the mundane spaces of home to my own funky groove...it’s something almost all of us understand. These past few days the spring rains have lingered.  Torrential pre-summer thunderstorms occasionally roar within the general raininess.  I like jamming “Mamma Neptune” on days like this when the rain keeps me inside (both house and headspace) tending my own world.  It’s a real burner for those wanting to burn but it’s also a great song to chill and be all by yourself to.         

[thankyoustu]

Bert Jansch - "Fresh as a Sweet Sunday Morning"

Tape VII (?) of the Bourbon Tapes (UK 2)

This Bert Jansch track didn't get labelled on the Bourbon Tapes playlist, but it’s definitely on there somewhere.  I know it is because this track has bored itself deep into my subconscious only to emerge recently with the coming of this spring.  This dreamy slide guitar waltz has drifted through my mind nearly everyday since the beginning of March.  I even had to ask Stuart about this song--singing a few snippets to him until he could tell me it was Bert Jansch.  Everything about it speaks of the regenerative magic of spring--birds twittering, pastoral imagery, a somewhat medieval-styled love prayer, and that slow slide guitar waltz.  It’s gorgeous--the kind of song I could feel so in love, so dizzy and nauseous and high on emotion to, that everything is hazy and colored and kissed with dew.   On spring nights when the moon grows full, there’s a certain magic in the air.  There’s a damp, light chill, and I can smell the new blossoms as they cloy in the cool moistness of the night.  A spring night is full of so much promise and possibility.  It’s magic grows in the pit of my belly, rolls and churns and keeps me awake and not hungry for food.  I don't know whether I should get up and run somewhere, anywhere, or whether I should put it to bed and call it my restlessness, call it my discontent.  The words inside me grow and the images become beautiful tyrants, not letting me becalm myself until I've subdued them in some way.  And lately I feel like I've been putting them off too long--what the fuck am I doing, anyway?  Inside me the ghosts of lovers and persistent images--both beautiful and ugly and beautiful in their ugliness--all swirl and unsteady my heart and cover my vision in a blue haze.  I don't know exactly what it is I want, but I know that something is missing. These spring nights are a pleasurably torturous sort.  But at least, like the most intense feelings of love, it makes me feel alive.  “Like a high-stepping pony trotting and prancing, oh she’s so full of life...”  Springtime and love and sweet discontent seem to infuse me with a strange energy and alertness.  When these feelings come, I shouldn't sleep on them.  Who knows how long they will stay?  Who knows when they will return?             “For your beauty, so rare, is as fresh as a sweet Sunday morning...”   

[thankyoustu]

Robert Hunter - "Box of Rain"

Tape V of the Bourbon Tapes

This Robert Hunter track (and the Grateful Dead version) keeps rolling through my mind today.  I'm feeling very sober, as if I'm returning to a sturdy chair after too many days lingering in blankets and pillows.  Acceptance is a zen state.  I can only be who I am.  I can only do what I can.  And that's okay.  And it's okay to hide away and work on myself.  I feel plaintive and natural, quiet and serene.  House work and walks in the woods accompany sitting down to paper--quietly moving on.  "Box of Rain" has that mood.  Take what you need, but this is all I have to give you.  "If you need it; if you don't just pass it on."  Acoustic guitar ripples like a creek in the woods.  Hunter's voice is deep and soothing--an ancient spirit of the forest, a father who leaves the porchlight on for you.  Grateful Dead's version is more cheery, but both are nonetheless melancholy in their own ways.  Hunter's "Box of Rain" is the wilderness in damp winter dusk.  It's a warm fire, a pot of stew, and a shine for your boots. In Tallahassee right now, we have a lot of vagrants.  The transients tend to migrate down to Florida for the winter.  I've been asked for change several times each day.  (I walk to and from work.)  It's hard to give a shit when you're cold, sick, and depressed, but I try to think of days when I was untethered myself.  It wasn't a terminal state for me, but many times I could see how easy it would be to slip into that life--let years roll by only to find yourself still just trying survive another day and occasionally get a few moments of forgetfulness.   I wonder what we all need to see us through.  It's something deeper than booze or sex or the illusion of intimacy or the sentiments of the holidays or shiny new things.  It's even more than food or drink or warm, dry shelter.  Or maybe it simply is just food, drink and warm, dry shelter.  Or maybe it also comes from the need for these things--another essential human need swathed and veiled and enfolded so deep we forgot it was in there.  "Walk out of any doorway, feel your way, feel your way like the day before.  Maybe you'll find direction around some corner where it's been waiting to meet you..."   

[thankyoustu]

Kangaroo - "Daydream Stallion"

Tape I of the Bourbon Tapes

Featuring the lovely Barbara Keith on vocals, this is a hella heavy American psych folk jam.  What a great bass line in the forefront!  The twangy picking of psych guitar is just behind Barbara's amazing voice, the drums hold it all together, and the organ illuminates all the dark corners.  Keith's voice probably comes the closest to the sound of British psych folk's elegant and ethereal lady vocalists like Sandy Denny, Maddy Prior, and Jacqui McShee, but she also has the raw energy and power of Americans Grace Slick and Stevie Nicks.  When she sings, "Now I'll sell my stallion if you want me to," the guitar soars into such a badass riff--definitely a deep hippie hair shaker.  What an incredible song about freedom, status, and sacrifice!  "I'll sell my stallion if you want me to..."  Let's just take a moment to think about that line.  Damn.  The stallion isn't just a horse, it's a symbol of status and a source of freedom.  The stallion has value--it holds you high above the hoi polloi.  The stallion carries you wherever you want to go.  It makes you wealthy, cool, and untouchable.  The stallion protects you:  You can flee your enemies or trample them underfoot.  From the psychoanalytical vantage point, the stallion is your locus of control.  It's your principles and morals, your systems of belief--grand and yet specific to the rider--it's what drives you.  It's no small thing to offer to sell your stallion for someone or for some new idea or belief or cause.  (It doesn't necessarily have to be a romantic reason:  It could be spiritual or personal.)  It's the sacrifice of one's wealth, freedom, status, protection, and identity for something greater and more satisfying.   I am someone who can make myself invisible if I want to.  I can say, be seen and so I am seen, and I can say, be unseen:  "Fortune was a giggling girl who played with her sword like a wand.  I wanted her to see me and then leave me alone."   I often felt if I could control when I was seen, then I could control--to some extent--how people perceived me.  I've also been told that I give off an air of being untouchable.  This may be partially true though I do not intend it, and I do think I have learned ideas and met people who often have disarmed me.  I won't say I'm above using distance and reserve as a battle axe, but do you ever meet someone who isn't ever around very long, who doesn't ever completely unfurl or go below the surface with you?  Maybe he's too cool for school?  Maybe he's afraid of losing his freedom, but from another perspective, his freedom is the very thing in which he's enslaved himself.  Would he ever sell his stallion?  And at what cost and for what cause? It's too bad we can't ever just say lay it down, shed it, or climb down from there.  It is so difficult when we are all so worried about what the other person thinks of us.  Rejection sucks.  But what do we get in return for our sacrifice?  What do we get when we come down and sell our stallions?  Perhaps a connection to something more real, satisfying, and true.  Maybe it's something we allow ourselves to integrate and learn when we make these sorts of sacrifices.  Maybe it is the fruit of the spirit.  Maybe it is the drink of water from the well that will allow you to never thirst again.  (Or rather the drink that keeps you thirsting--for more knowledge and wisdom.) Freedom's a tricky thing.  Sometimes the seemingly freest of ideas are really just the walls of the box, the bars of the cage that are holding you in.  It's so easy to get caught up in this way of thinking.  Because we are creatures of habit and worn paths and schedules, we tend to stretch our serendipities across decades.  The real freedom though, is in keeping the mind always open, malleable and non-resistant to change.  Part with the old ways if they aren't working anymore.  Sell your stallion if you'd rather walk.        

[thankyoustu]

Sir Douglas Quintet - "If She'd Only Come to Me"

Stu put this track on Tape IV of the Bourbon Tapes.  It's a real drinker's ballad, too, about wanting the one you love to come to you for comfort but she doesn't because she's not in love with you.  The vocals are grizzled yet passionate, and a sweet and holy organ hovers lightly in the back while a twanging guitar strums light as rain.  You can almost hear the nearly empty bar.  This is a song of the lowest lows, of hands tied behind your back and emotions you can't confide, of holding back your love because it's too heavy or just not wanted.  You've got to let it run it's course because everyone is hurting.  There's a pleading with, "If she'd only come to me, only come to me and let me love her, be so proud of her, oh I love her so much..."  She's a drifter.  She's got to find her own way.  She's a messed up sweet thing, and you've got to let her go.  Funny how songs about love not returned often become songs about leaving:  "There ain't nothing I can't do in Santa Fe I can't do anywhere else." 

[thankyoustu]

Dave Mason & Cass Elliot - "Walk to the Point"  

Wow!  Dave Mason from Traffic with "Mama" Cass Elliot of The Mamas and the Papas--it's like a dream come true.  Stu put this amazingly inspirational 70s jam on the pop-heavy Tape VIII of The Bourbon Tapes.  This is a song about taking chances and getting moving when you've got to.  Every time I hear this song, I feel confident that I can take anything that comes my way.  Well damn it man, bring it all on!  "In the wind, I heard your voice.  No more stay, I have no choice.  Walk to the point of no return."  Even more so in these days of displacement, songs like "Walk to the Point," get me pumped and ready for whatever drama is headed my way.  Even better is how the song has a lovely and mellowed 70s jam-out, funky sound and kind of reminds me of a Crosby, Stills, and Nash feel, especially with the harmonies and singing in rounds.  Once again, Stu's medicine still works.  Songs that were good the first time around are even better when they are pertinent.