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  • Funeral songs…

    Funeral songs…

    I don’t mean to be a downer, but I’m in the market for some funeral songs…

    Over the past week or so, I’ve been dealing with some unfortunate family business. It’s the kind of business that affects every family eventually. My father is on his death bed, after several years of suffering from Lewy body dementia. The disease has been devastating and it’s robbed him of so many things. He used to be a great singer but his voice was ruined after a surgery after which he spent weeks in a coma and was therefore intubated. He used to love to exercise, but the Parkinsonian effects of his disease robbed him of being able to walk much. He used to love people, but the dementia made him less tolerant of others. He lost much of his autonomy and gained hallucinations, irrational thinking, and the need to sleep most of the time.

    About ten days ago, he stopped eating and complained of a stomach ache. My mom got worried. She called an ambulance and they went to the closest hospital, where a doctor determined that my dad’s gallbladder was inflamed. A decision was made to remove the organ. I found out about the surgery after it had already happened. When I heard about it, I had a sinking feeling that this could be end up being my father’s undoing. I told my husband, Bill, that we might need to make a quick trip to Virginia, which is where I’m from and where my parents still live. Sure enough, by the weekend we were on our way, since after the operation, my dad had trouble breathing and had to be intubated.

    I saw my dad on Sunday, after my mom made it clear that she wasn’t going to go to great lengths to save him from death. Not that I blame her for that… My dad wouldn’t want to be kept alive artificially and, when I saw him, I didn’t think he looked happy or comfortable. My mom confided to me that he had expressed a desire to be done with the disease. Fortunately, my sisters and I are all in agreement with my mom about the right thing to do for my dad.

    My dad loves music. In the community where I grew up, my dad was a well known star of many choral groups. He sang a lot of solos and always had some sort of gig going on. I didn’t become a singer until I was 18 and in college. I think I knew I liked music and was naturally good at it, but I didn’t want to compete with my dad or be compared to him. But I know I get a lot of my love for music from both of my parents, my dad especially. My sister said he had seemed to perk up a little when she played some music for him. I told her I had a few songs that I had recorded. She said I should play them for him. I did.


    I played this song first.

    My dad’s eyebrows raised a little as I played this. My sister said I should play another. For some reason, I ended up playing my version of “Bein’ Green” for my dad. I don’t even know if he knew that song, even though I was a young girl when it was popular. My sister encouraged me to sing along with my recording, but all I could manage to do was hum… and even that was choked up with emotion.


    There’s something about this song that makes me emotional.

    I came home yesterday. My dad was taken off the ventilator and my mom requested that it not be reconnected. I was told that he wasn’t doing so well without the ventilator, but I haven’t heard any news that he’s gone yet. It’s just a matter of time, though.

    My sister asked me to make her a CD with some of my recordings on it, so I’ve been gathering them… and even recorded a couple of new ones today. The ones I did today are a bit funereal. But then, my dad won’t have an actual funeral. My mom has arranged for his brain to be studied at Harvard University, so it may be some time before he’ll be ready for a memorial service. And given that I have to move to Germany by August, I don’t know that I’d be around for it anyway. So I thought I’d post a few songs I would play for my dad if I could plan the music for his service.


    Alison Krauss and Union Station singing “Heaven’s Bright Shore”.


    “The Far Side Banks of Jordan” performed by The Cox Family with Alison Krauss… I heard this one about twenty minutes after I lost my beloved beagle, MacGregor, and it gave me peace.


    And “I Will See You Again” which is so much like my parents’ relationship…

    A few weeks ago, I recorded a song that was written and originally performed by Karla Bonoff and later covered by Linda Ronstadt. I knew about it some time ago, but only recently rediscovered it. If I could, I’d play this when remembering my dad…


    This is my version of “Goodbye, My Friend”, but you can easily find the original and Linda Ronstadt’s version on YouTube.

    Like I said, I’m sorry to be such a downer today. Music is like a salve at times like this, even if funeral songs make me cry.

  • Reviewing Remember the Time: Protecting Michael Jackson in His Final Days

    Reviewing Remember the Time: Protecting Michael Jackson in His Final Days

    As of this past June, Michael Jackson has been dead for five years. Here’s a book written by two of his former bodyguards about what it was like to protect him.

    When I was growing up, Michael Jackson was at the pinnacle of his career. He put out amazing music with his brothers and by himself. His album, Thriller, was an amazing achievement that was universally admired by people around the globe. I remember having a crush on Michael Jackson, simply because of his musical talent. I knew little about what he was like when he wasn’t on stage or singing on an album.

    In the years following Thriller, Michael Jackson seemed to go from being an all American pop star universally admired to a bizarre freak show. The albums that followed Thriller were not as successful, though many people still loved his music and watching him dance. Despite his enormous talent, Jackson seemed to be a troubled man. His appearance changed dramatically. He seemed to be a man who was obsessed with childhood. Troubling accusations regarding his love of children arose and he soon found himself accused of molesting boys who had visited him at his Neverland Ranch. The man who had seemed wealthy and successful beyond measure began to falter in the public eye until he was just as often looked upon with scorn as he was adoration.

    Bodyguards Bill Whitfield and Javon Beard, along with author Tanner Colby, have collaborated to write Remember the Time: Protecting Michael Jackson in His Final Days. I hesitated before purchasing this book, since I figured it might be in poor taste. But then, the fear of being in poor taste has never stopped me from reviewing things before. Besides, I was genuinely interested in what these guys who were with Jackson in his final days had to say. So I read the book and mostly found it very interesting reading.

    This book is laid out as if Colby interviewed Whitman and Beard. Sections of the book are identified as written from each of their perspectives. Colby strings the bodyguards’ memories together with general history about the Jackson family and Michael Jackson’s career. Whitfield and Beard were with Jackson all the time in his final years and they heard and saw most everything going on in his life. It was their job to keep the paparazzi and fans at bay, as well as preventing process servers from giving Jackson legal paperwork. Evidently, people were constantly trying to sue Michael Jackson, sometimes for legitimate reasons and sometimes just because they wanted a chunk of his cash.

    Whitfield and Beard describe Jackson’s love of toys, magic shows, amusement park rides, and animals. They describe his insane shopping sprees during which he would drop tens of thousands of dollars at a time. At the same time, these two men claim that they, and others who worked for Jackson, frequently went without being paid. As I read about these men not having enough money to buy themselves lunch or get their suits dry cleaned, I wondered why they didn’t just quit. It later seemed clear to me that these two guys were incredibly loyal to Michael Jackson and his kids. Though he was a demanding boss, he had a childlike innocence about him that somehow enchanted his bodyguards. They write of how excited Jackson would get when his bodyguards were finally paid by his business manager.

    I was impressed by how respectful the bodyguards were, even years after Michael Jackson’s death. Throughout the book, they refer to him as “Mr. Jackson”, as if he is still a valued client. And yet, even as they call him by the honorific, they illuminate aspects of his private life. When it comes down to it, this book is probably providing them with some of the back pay they missed while in Michael Jackson’s employ. Some people may not appreciate this breach of confidence, even though Jackson has been dead for five years.

    Remember the Time is full of interesting anecdotes about how Michael Jackson parented his children, how he dealt with members of his family, and the business deals that ultimately made or lost Jackson a lot of money. Some of the stories are rather sweet, while others just make me think Michael Jackson was a tormented man who was misunderstood and chased by the public unrelentingly. Ultimately, I found this book fascinating. It really shows how money and fame don’t necessarily buy happiness.

    If you are a fan of Michael Jackson’s or you just want to read an account of what it’s like to be a megastar, you may enjoy reading Remember the Time. On the other hand, some readers may think this book is in poor taste. Frankly, I think the authors kept their stories as classy as possible under the circumstances.


    The song that no doubt influenced the title of this book…

  • a few quick recommendations of 2014 albums

    I don’t have much to say about music from 2014 yet beyond “Here are some albums I’ve listened to a couple times that are definitely good”. I’ve been short on music-listening time this year: there’s been my mom’s cancer and my revival of my teenage fascination with the TV show Doctor Who, plus various temporary issues. That’s why I’m still far from done with my Best-of-2013 review countdown, even. But in case you’re curious, here are some 2014 albums I’m happy with, along with sketchy, tentative descriptions:

    Bastards of Fate, Vampires are Real and Palpable. Loud, woozy, strange, carnivalesque, racing from one idea to another, and prone to explosions — all with crooned melodic vocals.

    Jon Langford & Skull Orchard, Here Be Monsters. Americana from the former leader of the Mekons: lyrically smart, politically charged, with arrangement ideas (especially percussion) that are just a little bit off.

    Laibach, Spectre. Slightly-poppy industrial dance from Slovenian pranksters who’ve made a long career of toying with fascist imagery (for example, the minor tinkering needed to turn Queen’s “One Vision” into a Nazi rallying call), but finally decided this year to explicitly sing as their leftist selves — which, it turns out, works just fine, and infuses them with new energy.

    Muuy Biien, D.Y.I. An abrasive, churning, hostile splatter of echoey 2-minute punk-rock songs, more spoken/yelled than sung, that’s very well-played for what it is and ends up striking me as lots of fun. The surf-rock influence helps.

    Neneh Cherry, Blank Project. Sensual, minimalist R & B. The most aggressive songs sound to me like sparer feminine takes on Kanye’s Yeezus, while the rest put almost all the emphasis and power onto her jazz-and-hip-hop-influenced crooning.

    Reconaissance Fly, Flower Futures. Arty avant-cabaret with strange melodic progressions and tuning and playfully weird lyrics (reminding me of Slapp Happy, if their songs had gotten longer instead of shorter as they got weirder). Extremely well-sung, although willfully distant.

    Sage Francis, Copper Gone. My favorite album of 2014 so far is dense, energetic hip-hop full of leftist politics, personal reflections and recriminations, complicated wordplay, and cultural-allusion mixmastering that often pays off in oddball insight.

    Seeming, Madness & Extinction. Or, my favorite album of 2014 so far is a lavishly beautiful, massively layered goth-pop album about, yes, madness and (human) extinction. Not normally my kind of thing; it’s just so well done.

    St. Vincent, S/T. Another layered, dark pop album, helmed by the solemn vocals and twisted King Crimson-ish guitar work of Annie Clark. This is St. Vincent’s slickest and most accessible record: “dance music for funerals” is I think how she described its intent.

    Stars in Battledress, In Droplet Form. A very English, precisely composed, good-natured keyboard-pop record with influences baroque, Kid A-ish, quirk-poppy, and Stereolabby.

    Stephen Malkmus, Wig Out at Jagbag’s. Guitar-heroics indie-pop of a laid-back nature, as if the Allman Brothers had been geeky university Northerners instead of not like that at all.

    Tori Amos, Unrepentant Geraldines. At least musically, it would be very easy to believe this was a long-lost predecessor to Little Earthquakes: piano-centric, direct, easy-access. I’ll probably decide it’s great once I give it the attention it deserves; for now I’m annoyed that all the reviews are so ecstatic that this isn’t like the Beekeeper or Abnormally Attracted to Sin, both of which I think are wonderful, wonderful records. But even though right now I find it an unwanted corrective and haven’t listened very well, I can tell it’s no worse than good.

    TunaBunny, Kingdom Technology. A very strange amalgam of vocal-harmony-driven rock’n’roll, drone/ambient, and Fall/Wire-ish post-punk.

    White Hinterland, Baby. Jazzy, soulful minor-key piano-pop songs with nifty experimental edges.

    Wovenhand, Refractory Obdurate. Dark, dry, gothy minor-key post-punk guitar-rock that reminds me of early Echo & the Bunnymen, Chairs Missing/ 154-era Wire, and the Chameleons.