04/06/2015

Ah Gentle Reader(s), tis Easter time again. The blooms is bloomin and the trees are leafin and the sparrows are nesting once again beneath the eaves of the Inky Aerie. And, in keeping with seasonal tradition, Your Humble Narrator looks forward to sitting down in front of le Boîte Idiot this evening for the annual communion with The Ten Commandments (see my post of May 2, 2014). This is my personal observation of Holy Week—somewhat less strenuous than crawling on hands and knees to El Santuario de Chimayo, but then YHN is not particularly inclined in the direction of any organized religious observance. Or, for that matter, disorganized religious observance either. I watch The Ten Commandments at Easter time and It’s A Wonderful Life at Christmas time (see 1/1/15) and spend the rest of the year pondering the profound spiritual implications of both. Therefore, I feel as though I’ve got my bases covered (especially as Easter Sunday is Opening Day for the 2015 baseball season—how much spirituality can one person handle in a single day??).
03/28/2015

Welcome back, Gentle Reader(s), to the friendly confines of that Worldwide Water-Wiggle of Digi-rific Blognostications and Exhortations, Matador Playlist. A momentous week it has been indeed, highlighted by the much-anticipated appearance of Tweedy at the Lensic Performing Arts Center, courtesy of the one and only Heath Concerts and its mindful mastermind, Jamie Lenfestey. It would be nigh on impossible to top Wilco's performance at the Santa Fe Opera in September, 2012—a major Lenfestey triumph—but last night's Tweedy concert came in a very close second, in my estimation. I swung by the venue late afternoon-ish to, perchance, hand Spencer Tweedy a copy of Your Humble Narrator's very first book of photographic emissions, but the band had already completed its soundcheck and headed out, either into the crisp Santa Fe afternoon or back to the hotel for a pre-show nap (judging by the impressive bed-head that Spencer was sporting later in the evening, I'll wager it was the latter). Not to be discouraged, YHN left the aforementioned tome in the capable hands of the Lensic tech crew, with the trust and hope that they were not overly biblio-kleptically inclined.
03/21/2015

On one hand, Spencer Tweedy likely requires little in the way of introduction. If you know of his father, Jeff, and his work you probably have a pretty good idea of where Spencer is coming from, aesthetically speaking. He lives in Chicago, turned 19 in December of last year, and is currently on tour with his dad and their band, Tweedy, in support of their album Sukierae which was released in September.   On the other hand, considering Spencer merely as adjunct to his father and his father’s career does not, of course, give him the credit he very much deserves. Spencer is much more than Jeff Tweedy’s son, cool though that may be. He is a very thoughtful and articulate young man whose precocity you can sample at his blog where he posts photographs, essays, video clips and music. (Sounds somewhat familiar… but despite his youthful years he’s been at it for quite a while longer than Your Humble Narrator.) In addition to Tweedy, the band, Spencer has a variety of other musical involvements and I can assure you that they are definitely well worth a listen. His album with the Blisters, Finally Bored, resides very happily on YHN’s iPod and the song Own It by the Raccoonists (Jeff + Spencer + younger brother Sammy) enjoys steady rotation on the DJ Inky playlist.
02/23/2015

Your Humble Narrator had the distinct pleasure today of interviewing Spencer Tweedy. The purpose of the interview was to provide an advance romance article for a forthcoming concert (March 26 at the Lensic, to be exact) featuring Spencer and his dad—a chap you might have heard of by the name of Jeff. The Tweedy boys are on tour in support of their excellent album Sukierae, released late last summer, to be followed shortly thereafter by Jeff returning to the road with Wilco for spring dates.
12/22/2014

Alas, Gentle Reader(s), it saddens me that it is tribute time once again at inkyinkinc.com. As I have noted previously, there has been a steady string of tributes this year for the recently departed and they seem to be coming with increasing regularity. On this occasion I come to you to pay homage to the late, great Joe Cocker. Joe Cocker was not an acclaimed songwriter or a notable instrumentalist. His particular distinction was to be what, in an earlier era, was known as a song stylist—a distinctive interpreter of other peoples’ material. Cocker never had any pretentions otherwise: He referred to the process of putting his unique stamp on a song as giving it ‘the treatment.’ At its best, the Cocker ‘treatment’ was extraordinarily effective, such that his versions of certain songs—notable among them, the Beatles’ ‘A Little Help From My Friends,’ the Box Tops’ ‘The Letter,’ and Dave Mason’s ‘Feelin’ Alright’—became the definitive versions of those songs. Good though the originals may be, they all seem pale in comparison to Joe’s volcanically soulful renditions.
11/18/2014

He was good. He was very very good—quite possibly the best in the opinion of more than a few people who were well placed to know.   Despite an eclectic five-decade-plus career in music, most people’s awareness of John Symon Asher Bruce extends from his two-year tenure as the bassist/lead singer of Cream. You had to be good to be in Cream—the best, in fact. That’s why the group was called Cream (and, thankfully, not Sweet n’ Sour Rock n’ Roll—a wisely rejected alternative moniker). You had to be able to hold your own with Eric Clapton and Ginger Baker—not an assignment for the faint of heart nor tenuous of talent. Baker, who would, on occasion, assault and threaten to kill Bruce, said of him “He’s a fucking brilliant player—there’s no doubt about that.”
10/26/2014

On February 21, 1978, a concert was held at McAlister Auditorium on the campus of Tulane University in New Orleans. The crowd was a mix of rockers, proto-punks, hippies, hipsters and the plain curious. The opening act was the Runaways—all still genuine teenagers at the time—and the headliners were the Ramones. I was one of several hundred in attendance—not a punk (proto or otherwise), definitely not a hippie, somewhat of a rocker, and probably more hipster/curious than anything.
01/28/2014

This man was my hero. He was, in fact, my first hero. When I was a very young kid a colleague of my mother’s had the album ‘The Weavers at Carnegie Hall’ at her house. I used to listen to the record every time I visited and eventually the album was given to me. I still have it.
01/21/2014

I was never a huge Smiths fan—my first Smiths CD was not acquired until over 20 years after the band had broken up. I found Morrissey interesting, however. His resolutely obtuse public persona and the band’s visual presentation were intriguing to me. I went to see Morrissey in concert in 2011 and he was in excellent voice and put on a great show. Enjoyable though it was, it was not sufficient to inspire me to dive into the extensive Smiths/Morrissey back catalog, remorseful over remembrance of fandom lost.
01/01/2014

What can I say that might be adequate to the task of expressing the depth of my feeling and respect for Clark Vreeland? I don’t have the words. But I’ll try anyway.