Another NPHH: "Smells Like Teen Spirit," by Nirvana

No, really, I’m going to write about Nirvana today. Yesterday, I was reading in Harp about this new book that goes into all the different songs that have aped other songs throughout history, and it mentioned that this Nirvana song’s riff sounds like the one in “More than a Feeling.” I had totally never even thought of that before, and that notion makes me giggle, but I can now hear it.

Then, oddly, today’s Wikipedia entry of the day is for this very song. It’s not like the Harp issue was even that new. Spooky. Whatever, nevermind…anyway, this of course has me thinking of the early 90s and all of the other associations I have with this song and Nirvana and that whole era, some of which I will list for you now:

*I had this way-cool friend who moved in our eighth-grade year and wanted us to all think she was pretty hardcore. She always talked about how she loved bands like Nirvana. Of course, I’d never heard their music, but I wanted her to think I knew what I was talking about, so I echoed what I’d read in some magazine: “you can’t even understand what they’re saying!” She meaningfully replied, “I…understand it.” Whoa. She was hardcore.

*A few years later, after she’d moved away again and we’d both been in high school a year or so, I tracked her down and called her. She sounded really out of it and said she had dealt with depression since Cobain’s suicide. I haven’t heard from her since, though I saw on the news last year that her dad was arrested for statutory rape.

*By the time I was in high school, as I recall, the whole grunge thing had caught on and become popular (which nullified the term “alternative,” but I digress). As I recall, you usually picked either Pearl Jam or Nirvana. You could like both, but it was kind of a Beatles-or-Stones deal. I think I liked Pearl Jam more then, though I appreciate Nirvana a lot more now. Back then, I’d probably have taken Hootie and the Blowfish over either one of them, though.

*…Which meant that I didn’t actually own a Nirvana album until I was 18 or so. It was Unplugged, and I wondered why it had taken me years to buy it.

*I went to college with a dude named Adenayo. He was from…er, I don’t really remember. Not America. Since then, I cannot sing the part of this song where Kurt screams “a denial” over and over without substituting Adenayo’s name and seeing his big smiling face in my head.

*I was once madly in love (or so I thought, bless my heart) with this young blond fellow who wore a lot of flannel and seemed to sometimes fancy himself the next coming of Cobain. (And he was talented.) He went to another country once and got his hands on a bunch of Nirvana bootlegs and brought them back. Every once in a while, when the stars align just right and a Nirvana song plays on the radio, I picture this guy’s truck and his hands on his guitar and see a flash of images from the summer he broke my heart. Then I wonder if it all really happened.

*When I was in grad school, they put out “You Know You’re Right” as a long-lost single, along with the greatest-hits album. I remember talking to the guy behind the counter at the music store as I reserved my copy about how weird it was to hear them on the radio again. When I was thirteen, I never would have dreamed how much I would be wishing for such 10+ years later.

Too many more to name. That’s kind of how you know you have something legendary–it’s just a given that it’s part of the background of an entire era and you can’t remember all of its standout moments in your life.

Obviously, I’m not the most qualified to write about Nirvana, or grunge, or alternative music, or the Seattle scene of the late 80s and early 90s, or whatever. My musical tastes and influences have been off the beaten path since I was a mere babe-in-arms, and I’ve never been quite plugged in to what’s it now. I’m usually just under a decade behind, and often hopelessly mainstream.

However, I usually do take exception these days to those who want to iconoclastically say Nirvana were overrated. Yes, they were derivative. Yes, they stood on the shoulders of many lesser-known artists who paved the way. However, looking back, though I was so pathetically ignorant at the time…they were so important. If you look at the general state of music before them and after them–there’s no denying things took a turn for the better for a while, at least to this non-fan of hair metal.

Coincidence?

Dude. I just added the Elliott pic as an afterthought a while ago to the below post. I just thought it was a nice picture of him–I liked the look on his face.

After looking at the finished product on my blog, though…the right half of his hair matches my hair in my profile pic.

We would have made such a cute couple. Story of my life.

Now Playing in Holly’s Head: "Sweet Adeline," by Elliott Smith

First, the lyrics:

cut this picture into you and me
burn it backwards kill this history
make it over make it stay away
or hate’ll say the ending that love started to stay
there’s a kid a floor below me saying brother can you spare
sunshine for a brother old man winter’s in the air
walked me up a story asking how you are
told me not to worry you were just a shooting star
sweet adeline
sweet adeline
my clementine
sweet adeline
it’s a picture perfect evening and i’m staring down the sun
fully loaded deaf and dumb and done
waiting for sedation to disconnect my head
or any situation where i’m better off then dead

Yeah, sorry, kind of depressing. Beautifully so, though.

I’ve only been listening to Mr. Smith for a few weeks now. He had belonged to the pantheon of Brooding, Beautiful (And Usually Dead) Songwriting Men Holly Should Be In Love With But Has Shamefully Never Heard for years, along with former members Nick Drake, Jeff Buckley, et al. While I’d taken the plunge in recent times with Messrs. Drake and Buckley, I’d somehow completely skipped over Elliott Smith.

Where have I been???

But I’ll beat myself up later. Some background: as one of about twelve people my age with no iPod, I still rely on modestly-priced CDs, which I will usually only buy at independently-owned stores that still have a conscience, to fill out my music collection. (Is it possible for me to plug Grimey’s too much?) That’s one reason I’m not as exploratory as I should be–when I have money for CDs, I usually go with what I know I like. I mean, I still don’t have every single album Dylan ever made. It’s all about priorities.

That’s why I love a good used-music store–I can get artists I’ve never heard for half-price or less, and trade them back in if I’m not impressed. Another service I’ve found, though, is yourmusic.com. I get one CD each month for seven bucks, and any other CDs I buy are the same price. It’s a great supplement to my more-impulsive trips to music stores, which are imperative–there’s nothing quite like the sound of each CD hitting the next one as you rifle through them, and picking one up and looking at the lyrics and seeing who the artist thanked or what kind of inside jokes are hidden in the liner notes.

So back to Elliott. Last month’s CD was his album “XO,” on which “Sweet Adeline” is the first track. I stress that I hadn’t heard anything of his before popping this CD in. I’d been told by a guy I used to be friends with a few months ago that Elliott Smith was “Holly kind of music.” I’d read a lot, as he’s quite the critical darling. Comparisons to the aforementioned Drake and Buckley intrigued me, as did the reviews calling him a modern-day heir to the Beatles. Wha…? How does that work out?

With this song, I found out. It begins slow, kind of mournful, kind of weary, very lyrical…then becomes this gorgeous, lush, ambient ballad. It had me shaking my head in my car the first time I heard it, kicking myself for not knowing this guy long ago. As I continued to listen to the rest of the album, though, I realized that I was listening to him as if I had known him long ago…I felt like I’d been his fan for years.

Thus, I greet you at the beginning of yet another musical obsession. I’ve a lot of catching up to do.

Was Feeling ‘Bout Half Past Dead

Seriously. It’s been a looooong weekend. A good one, for the most part, but a long one. I’ve had little inklings of things I thought about blogging about through it all, but I was on the go for most of it. Also, I wanted to keep my holleycarbines posting at the top for a few days to make sure everyone saw it. You should all love the holleycarbines.

Speaking of which, I stand corrected–Greg was not THE drummer for the hc, just the touring one with the most longevity. That in and of itself lends street cred, in my opinion, though it’s not clear just how many drummers they had, or which ones spontaneously combusted or died in prison in gruesome ways. Rock and roll, man. Rock and roll.

***

So I’m back at home with the parents. I have an entire wing of the house to myself, and my own bathroom, and my own internet connection, and there’s no 20-pound cat raspily yowling at me.

It occurred to me this morning that I’ve held two kinda sorta dream jobs during my Nashville tenure–barista on West End, and writing downtown. My two favorite areas of this crazy city. Had I rushed right in to the “real” job I was planning on getting, I never would have gotten to do so.

My shirt today has puffy sleeves. With eyelets.

Yeah, I’m thanking God for small favors today. Though they’re not so small, of course. My weekend, along with being loooong, was perspectivizing for me. There was some purging and some hurting. (I’ll just leave that to that Holly enigma I like to pretend exists.) Point being, I was able to wake up, take a different way to work, have a fountain Pepsi upon arriving here (which I usually don’t let myself do until Friday), and just be happy. It’s a calm and somewhat reticent happiness, but happiness nonetheless. Without the draining emotion of the past couple of days, I couldn’t have wearily smiled in my car as my favorite song, “The Weight” by The Band, played in my head.

***

A couple of shout-outs, then I commend your first workday of the week to you:

My brother Mat–be safe on your way to Oklahoma. Let us hear from you.

Jenna and Matt–they’re in Mexico getting ready to get married, how cool is that?!–I love you guys, and I’m praying for your travels and marriage.

Oh, and belated thanks to veterans and the families of those lost in combat, and comfort to anyone else who reflected on their lost loved ones yesterday. Peace to you all.

***

So there you go. Happiness to you, whether it’s weary or giddy or whatever, for the rest of your week.

the holleycarbines: The Catchiest Little Band You’ve Never Heard

In the past few months, it’s been my privilege to become acquainted with several musicians trying to make it in this crazy town, as well as several music biz peeps. I’ve seen some great, small, intimate shows I never would have known to go to had I not made a latte for this songwriter or been a friend-of-a-friend of that one.

My love of local music and shameless need to attach myself to it didn’t start when I drove into the Nashville city limits last year, though. For the five years previous, I had lived in Florence, Alabama, which is right across the river from Muscle Shoals, home of Fame Studios and “the Muscle Shoals sound.” I never went to Fame, though I passed by it several times on the rare occasions I had to go to Muscle Shoals for some reason. And, honestly, the “sound” everyone speaks of is not my favorite.

However, I was still able to connect with musically-gifted people whose sound was much more to my liking. Enter the holleycarbines.

I’ll admit a certain bias would have been possible, as guitarist and songwriter Jay Skipworth is one of my best friends, but there’s just really no denying this band was good…really good, and they unintentionally formed the soundtrack to a very rich time in my life.

To backtrack–I’ve known Jay since I was a kid. He was born in the town I grew up in, but his family had moved by the time mine moved there. Still, they would visit every so often, and as a preteen I thought he was pretty much the cutest guy I’d ever seen. Flash forward to grad school, when I was then living in the town he grew up in. We were reacquainted at church and became fast friends. He moved a few months later, but has continued to be the kind of friend you can tell anything to but don’t have to explain things to…the kind of friend you drive all the way to Bay Minette, Alabama, to watch get married .

One night after church, Jay handed me a cassette labeled “holleycarbines 12:15.” I didn’t know what a holleycarbine was, nor what the odd combination of numbers was supposed to signify. I knew the guy dabbled in music, but I’d known lots of guys with guitars through the years whose actual talent was underwhelming at best.

I popped the tape into my Escort’s cassette player later that night and was totally freaked. “You wrote this??!!” I remember exclaiming to him the next time I saw him. From then on, he was constantly running new song lyrics by me over email and, later, playing me newly-written song fragments over long-distance phone.

The holleycarbines as a band is now largely defunct, but the members left one impressive CD and the memories of several energetic live shows in their wake. I don’t know how to describe the music; Jay calls it “emo-Americana.” That works. The influence of The Old 97’s is undeniable–in fact, I’d say if you had to compare them to any other band, there’s not another one more similar. (An aside–Jay, you may recall, introduced me to Ryan Adams; long before that, though, he’d brought the 97’s into my life, so I’m doubly eternally grateful.)

The band was fronted by Matt Pettus, whose voice is definitely an acquired taste but is essential to the articulation of the lyrics’ emotional nuances. No one else could have moaned, “ohhhhh, do you think about it….sometiiiiiiimes?” on “Ashley Robinson” (one of my favorites, and I’m apparently one of the few) with such wistfulness and ache.

The guys’ musicianship and deceptively-hooky lyrics are the most noticeable aspects of their music, but taking a listen to the songs a few more times reveals some serious depth and pain. While “12:15″ has always been my sentimental favorite (not that it’s not a stellar song in its own right), “Electrolux” has always pushed my buttons a little more:

Tried to tell you, but could you take it?

I’m not sure that we can make it

I don’t want to take away the one chance you might have

You stay, and you pray about it

And maybe we can work it out

I’m not like anything you could ever want in life

Ouch. Been there. [Sorry, Jay, if I mangled the lyrics--I don't have them in front of me.] It’s not all tears-in-your-Diet-Coke, though. Fan favorite “Winona Ryder,” amid its tongue-in-cheek depictions of sad delusion, is still worth a giggle or two–”I guess it wasn’t such a good idea to show up at your premiere,” our protagonist laments in this conceit to the doe-eyed object of much obsession. And it is nearly impossible not to sing along with perhaps the most radio-friendly tune on the album, “West of Everything,” even on the first listen.

I could honestly go song-by-song and write paragraphs about each. As crazy as it sounds, this little band from northwest Alabama made music that played in the background of some of my best and worst memories from my time there, joining the ranks of the famous artists I’m always obsessing about on here. The holleycarbines, though, had more to offer in some very important ways, most notably for me, one of my most significant friendships. They’re also, though, what local DIY recording artists should be–serious about the music, but willing to have fun with it while still giving it their all.

Check out their CD Baby album page or their MySpace for more.

New and Improved

Okay, last time I switch everything around. Really. I just wanted something simpler and a little darker and with colors I liked more.

And that picture over there? It’s me. No longer will I hide behind my cat. I’ll just hide half my face. (Thanks to the Mat for taking the pic without my permission.) Maybe someday you’ll get the whole thing.

Let’s face it, though–you’re getting a pretty good portion of me just by reading. And I thank you kindly for doing so.

On a Lighter Note…

Some videos. I pretty much swiped these from the Mat.

First, the White Stripes’s “Icky Thump.” I couldn’t get it to embed.

Then, the video of “Goodnight Rose” from Ryan’s show in Louisville. I was there! I simply can’t get it out of my head, so just take this as your NPHH. Probably for the next couple of weeks, actually.

With “Icky Thump” not being released for another month, and “Easy Tiger” not being released until a week after that, and nothing being leaked from either thus far, I’m probably going to die. Just die, I say.

All Bets Are Off When Dick Cheney’s In Your Dreams

***Disclaimer: any views expressed herein are the sole intellectual property of the dream dimension and do not necessarily reflect the views of the dreamer in, you know, reality, where she really doesn’t like to get into political discussions.***

Last night, I dreamed that scandalous tapes were found upon which President Bush was heard to say that he really didn’t believe any of the “God” stuff he’d been espousing throughout his political campaigns and presidency. Further, he, Dick Cheney, and others of his administration were devilishly (pun intended) laughing about how successful their plan of steering the country away from God and Christianity had been. In my dream, the nation was shocked–but I wasn’t. I was just angrily resigned. Oh, and one of the scary dream images was them standing in front of a world map…that just chills my bones.

I’m SO not a Democrat, nor do I consider my views represented by any other political party, but why in the world am I dreaming about things like this? I’m one of those irresponsible citizens who purposefully keeps ignorant of some things, as otherwise I’d stay pretty depressed and/or mad a lot of the time. Maybe I think about it more than I think I do. Regardless, this dream has stuck with me all morning.

Back to the Well

So, I’m moving back into my parents’ house. Now, before you start leaving comments suggesting I consider Prozac or government housing, let’s talk for a moment.

I’m absurdly excited about this.

Last year when I lived with them, as mentioned many times before, while I appreciated my parents’ hospitality, I was ready to just get out there and get my own life started. I was so ready, in fact, that I would grow despondent every time I was thwarted in my attempts at a job and my own place. I felt trapped.

Of course, what was obvious to the audience and not me, the protagonist, was that my life started a long time ago–that my Nashvegas era began as soon as I hit town, and not when I got my own place and a steady job here. If those were the requirements, I’d still be waiting.

I’d pretty much decided to do this anyway. Then I learned that my roommate is buying a house a couple of counties away, and her cat pretty much drives me insane, and after a few months of travel and concert ticket-buying, I need to save money…so, the ‘rents have graciously agreed to have me back. Again. It’s as if they really love me unconditionally or something.

They’re the best.

This time, it’s a choice. A stepping-stone. A chance to regroup, go through all my stuff, and anchor myself in the love of family. I will hopefully actually appreciate it as such this time instead of being so ashamed and just barely tolerating it. Dear me, how many people would love to have a family like mine who never “broke the plate”–who welcome me with open arms for any stay, no matter how long or short?

***

I have my first interview for a teaching position in a couple of weeks. It’s in West TN. I don’t really want to leave Nashville, but I won’t die if I have to. For some reason, I’ve grown really flexible on that as well. I’m trying to be as open to as many places and opportunities as possible. There’s no telling what I’ll learn and who I’ll meet wherever I go. And that’s really exciting.

***

My friends Pat and Bethe just had their beautiful, perfect little baby girl Penina. That means “pearl” in Samoan. I wept when I got the email picture because I couldn’t believe I wasn’t there to see her. They moved back to Samoa last fall, you see, and I have no idea when I’ll get to see them again. My heart, though, is full with the hope of getting to play with her someday and frolic in a lavalava on a tropical beach.

***

And that’s that for today.

NPHH: “Where is My Love?” ~ Lucinda Williams

More Performance Anxiety

I totally got blogrolled by Nashville is Talking yesterday. Had I known people were coming by, I’d have spiffed the place up a bit and maybe baked something. I don’t know what I expected when I started a blog a few months ago, but I honestly think it didn’t really occur to me that people would read it.

I must admit being rolled thrilled my soul, but at the same time, I’m just not sure I’m ready to join the ranks of John H, Ginger Snaps, and, of course, the lovely Emily. They all have, like, wit and stuff. And pictures, and really awesome imagined dialogues, and most of the time it all gets tied up with a nifty relevant moral at the end. I don’t usually have morals (hee hee).

Welcome anyway, though, all you peeps I’m seeing on my sitemeter who clicked over from NiT. I’ve been reading most of you for a while, actually. I’m Holly, and this is me living, and (supposedly) working, and doing a lot of hoping and praying and thinking and yammering in Nashville. Now get back to your own blogs and write some more stuff that helps me avoid doing real work…and that reminds me what I am not, but would really like to be, as a blogger.