The Greatest Song Ever That I Can Never Play For My Class!
I teach fifth grade. School begins in three days. Anxious stomach and headaches began three days ago. A teacher’s comedown from the long sweet summer is a vicious withdrawl of its own. One could safely assume this withdrawl lacks vomit and shitting of the britches; but gone are the days of sleeping in (six a.m.!), reading tons of books, and taking my son for walks in his wagon in the comfort of a morning breeze. Teachers work crazy hours and take on more stress than the human heart is surely designed for during the school year, so that the summer hours have been built by their own design; and the best part, guilt free.
I work at a school where I feel very, very happy. I love whom I work with, and enjoy the kids. There is usually very little superfluous meeting to have meetings, and bureaucratic nonsense. Any teacher that has quit the trade will usually tell you the reason had nothing to do with the kids, but everything to do with what other adults inflict on the profession. Unfortunately, the profession that should make the most sense, education, often makes the least. Welcome to one of life’s many cruel ironies. I would recommend anyone in college that has not found the adult world already riddled with hypocrisy take a naive leap into the gaping yaw and become an educator.
In its purest form, to be a teacher is a privelege, a gift. It is because of what the kids bring. It is their eyes, mind, and heart that make being in the classroom, the one best, most true place to spend one’s workday. It never ceases to amaze me that with my strict work policies, and high expectations for behavior, even those that have crossed the line and had consequences dealt their way, still love school, and remarkably stll think I am a pretty great guy to be around. What is it in the adult world that irons this out of us. What teaches us to judge every situtation and stranger with a skeptical eye instead of the smiling goodwill of a ten year old’s overflowing heart.
Maybe this is why I love Tilly & the Wall’s “Nights of the Living Dead” so incredibly. The song celebrates what it means to be young with such immediacy and power it resonates far beyond the average pop song. “Nights” is a promise, a vow to not let a moment pass without calling it one’s own and cherishing whatever follows. Carpe Dium of course, and all that jazz - but it is true, we take on layers of armor for what we consider adulthood, and learn through practice how to stifle our heart’s most natural instincts which are usually kind and welcoming. Why?
The words, the melody - the entire construction of the song recall the limitless possibility of youth. The first part of the song paints an exuberant picture of a teenager’s friday night in the city. Aimless, with friends, drifting wherever the mood, and wine command. The latter half of the song warns of the dangers of becoming complicit and essentially ‘lining’ up on a great ‘black highway’ to face our own mortality; forgetting all the joys, all the time, because afterall, we have lives, responsibilities, and are clearly adults. We know what is expected of us.
The end of the song gives me goosebumps every single time I hear it. This is saying alot, since I have listened to this song probably over 10,000 times already. Over cheerful acoustic strums, and tapdanced percussion, the band sings, “I want to fuck it up! I want to fuck it up.” Which in turn, leads into the one emotion that could follow such a bold proclamation; “And I feel so alive . . . I feel so goddamn real!”
We built this city on rock and roll. So let’s tear it all down to build it all up again because rock and roll was never powered by skeptics, but by dreamers. Much like any ten year old fifth grade student.
Too bad I can’t play my students Tilly & the Wall’s “Nights of the Living Dead” because of numerous swear words bellowed with gusto. If the lyrics escaped their young minds, surely they’d find the feeling.
Tilly & the Wall - Nights of the Living Dead
Four Times Ten = JTC
Jason Cassidy is the kind of guy that would give you the shirt off his back, the skin off his frame, the enamel from his teeth . . .you get the idea. The guy has never heard the word selfish. To be able to call Jason a friend means everything, as here is a person that values people, and through his actions, shows it beyond any kind words people might promise. He doesn’t promise, he simply does.
I met Jason Cassidy over twenty years ago. He was a friend of a girl I was dating. Her name was Amy C., and her dad was our school doctor, meaning my old lady’s dad fondled my balls so I could go out for basketball and NOT make the team after raising money by shooting five hundred free throws . . . So yes, thanks to Amy C. I met a friend I would know for twenty some odd years and growing. A friend unafraid of new adventures and always willing to enter them with a positive plan in mind.
I feel proud that Jason met his wife through me, but I don’t even know if I can take credit for that. I am a firm believer that he and his wife Connie, being two generously kind, warm individuals, probably would have gravitated towards one another somehow . . .Throughout their marriage, our friendship only blossomed. We became closer, performing in bands, putting on shows, and music festivals.
The band we spent the most time playing music in together was called Cowboy. I pitched Mangina as a name, but somehow Jason’s wife Connie was not keen on the idea, so Cowboy it was! When I joined, they had already been a three piece. Guitar, Drums, and Voice. They were incredible. Nik Abodeely was one of those drummers that usually stole the show with incredibly playing, and enough flair to draw all eyes his direction. Jason’s guitar was a Fender Mustang, and it had the typical wonderful clanging sound the vintage Fender’s often had when used in a particular fashion. Jason’s fashion was extremely loud, and sonically ambitious with dollops of feedback, heavy chording, and jangly chiming pop. Really, it was a miracle that Connie’s sweet voice could be heard above the din. It was, and it worked. So, I felt a bit self-conscious joining what already worked and worked quite well. Let me put it this way, it was a real blow to my ego when the presence of a bass in the band was ignored and perhaps upset the town of Olympia, Washington . . . or at least the guy that had offered to record the band for free when they were a three piece.
Pat Maley, of the band Courtney Love and Yo-Yo-A-Go-Go Recording Studios fame had offered to record Cowboy for free when he caught them at a party in Olympia on a previous tour. When they arrived to record at the Capitol Theatre, I, being the bass player was now part of the package. Pat did not look all that excited, even though I had brought a bottle of Barbara Streisand wine to woo his favor. I made clever conversation, I joked, I asked Olympia Rock History questions, and also bought a yo-yo from Pat. I don’t think Pat liked me. I was the bottom end and was kind of being treated like a bottom end . . .I survived. Maley’s an okay guy. And Cowboy went forth to . . . do something!
Before Cowboy called it quits after a few years, we issued a full-length Explosion and Collapse, did a couple tours to the Pacific Northwest, played with the Murder City Devils, Kinski, Versus, and many more bands that came through town. We also spent time recording with the amazing John Croslin at SF’s Tiny Telephone Studios. This was a big deal to me as Croslin had been the leader of a favorite band of mine, Austin’s Reivers. The Reivers put out at least two incredible, unforgettable albums; Translate Slowly and Always Saturday. Besides Croslin’s charming humor and great take on recording, the studio had a talking Jar Jar Binks model that proved to be hours of bad entertainment - translation (slowly), hours of laughing at the offensive toy.
“Large” is the Cowboy song included below this posting, simply because it is the song we played the most times. I think it might have been Jason’s favorite song to play, or it was a song people might have liked to hear at the shows. We recorded the basic tracks of this in Olympia, WA with Maley, and later added newer member Brad Nabor’s guitar and some other business at some studio here in Chico. The song for some reason reminds me of Stereolab, and I can’t quite tell you why.
Jason continues to play music in Chico. His last endeavor was called MURDER! with fellow journalist Mark Lore on drums. The band was exciting and made live shows an event with plastic curtains splattered with red. Their debut was an opening slot for New Jersey Rock Geniuses Titus Andronicus. The show was one of the best in recent memory. Before this band, Jason spent much time playing, and recording an idea he held as sort of a rotating collective with a core. It was called The Party. He used communist imagery and the color red as a means of advertising the project. The band issued it’s sole release a few years ago, and though it may be something impossible to find in record stores, with a little luck, perhaps it will be on Itunes in the near future. The song included here is a rag tag march of shuffling drums, playfully strummed guitar, and charming banjo lines. Here, Jason Cassidy’s yelps (not unlike Isaac Brock’s) ride the shambolic wave and push it with enough passion and vigor to inspire all listeners’ hearts to rise. The song itself is tangible proof of how Cassidy sees the power of music and invokes its gifts.
I could construct so many more chapters detailing all and everything Jason Cassidy has done for his friends, and for his town . . . I think a whole other entry will have to be given for our Superwinners Summer Rock Academy . . . I know that there will be so much more he has to give, and will give. People with hearts this big are rare, and important to celebrate, to let them know that all they do from little to momentous is important and noticed. I know that anyone reading this will identify and know a similar person in their sphere and be able to relate. These people make towns click, and generate electricity.
The Porpoise is not a Manatee, but it is what Jason’s wife thought whenever I called him The Porpoise. I called him The Porpoise as he was always chipper, dynamic, and up for anything - a demeanor that reminded me of the buoyancy of these sea creatures. Connie always responded negatively whenever I tossed this nickname his way. I thought it cheerful, she thought it depressing and not very charitable. You see, she saw in her mind the Manatee whenever I called him Porpoise. I understood. As sweet as a Manatee appears, they also look like sluggish elephant dolphins that munch raw sewage near the seashores . . . I understood. Needless to say, Connie and I’s friendship took a positive step forward when she remembered what a porpoise really looked like.
Burnin’ Up
I cannot wrap my head around it. Earlier in the week I was reading the newspaper and noticed Thurston Moore’s birthday amidst other celebrities as he was turning fifty-one. Unbelievable. But then again some might say it is also unbelievable how this band remains so vital in a cutlure whose landscape changes on whims and passing trends, Sonic Youth maintains a voice that matters. With most of its members past the fifty year mark, I don’t think it presumptous to suppose the band might still be making gorgeous racket into their senior citizen years. Dinners at 4 p.m., shows at 8.
Sonic Youth plays Oakland’s Fox Theater on Sunday August 2nd, and we were there. Albeit a bit late, and missing openers Awesome Color. Note to self, Sunday shows require earlier departure times as many folks from San Francisco and the Bay Area use the weekend to get up to the mountains and Tahoe, therefore their return in massive numbers made for slow, slow moving traffic for much of our journey. The only saving grace is that I had seen Awesome Color twice before and was not impressed. Given Thurston Moore’s seal of approval and a spot on his Ecstatic Peace Record Label, meant I had to give the Awesome Color a chance no matter how many Stooges references I waded through. I caught them on the Rather Ripped tour in Sacramento and Reno. Both shows saw the trio deliver a few inspired moments, other than that I could only day dream of all the bands that might have opened; Magik Markers? Dinosaur Jr? Blonde Redhead? Deerhunter? Okay, we missed Awesome Color, and I assured my friend and traveling buddy that he would survive this minor setback. We had been at the Fox Theater for not even seven minutes and Sonic Youth was taking the stage.
Sonic Youth introduced “No Way” off of The Eternal with “This is a song about love!” Drum sticks click, band hits opening chord and comes to a grinding halt. Thurston: “Okay, what I meant to say is . . . This is a song about hate!” This time of course, the band hits it and keeps on punishing the number in a manner that breathes new life into a song that is pretty good on the album, and live, a classic.
Thurston seemed a bit subdued this evening, While his guitar playing and performance were energetic as usual, his silly jokes, and hilarious comments were notably absent. Look, I realize people did not pay tickets to see Carrot Top, but nonetheless, I love Thurston’s crazed humor between the songs. I really missed it this time around. I would imagine that touring means an individual is not going to be gregarious, charming, and full of piss and vinegar 365 days a year. Let the guy be a human being. That said, out of the thirteen times I have seen the band, this show easily ranked as one of the top three. The last time I had caught the band was during The Daydream Nation tour where they played the double album from start to finish at a UC Berkeley Hall. That show might have been my least favorite of Sonic Youth’s as the format demanded the band ‘play the album’ - while there were some moments of improvisation and spontaneity, they were few and far between. It felt like the band started breathing again when they came back for the encore and played a bunch of songs of Rather Ripped, joking and having fun.
Sunday’s show featured most every song off The Eternal. Highlight’s included “Calming the Snake”, “Sacred Trickster”, “Anti-Orgasm”, “No Way”, “Leaky Lifeboat”, and “Antenna”. One of the oddest things to see was Thurston Moore sitting down with an acoustic guitar for the entirity of “Massage the History” - which worked massively well; it’s hypnotic passages winding, uncoiling, and falling into another one of those glorious noise meltdowns that Sonic Youth surely have trademarked as their own. Euphoric and perfect.
From their back catalog, most was saved for the encores. The band brought new energy and dynamism to “The Sprawl” and “Cross the Breeze” from Daydream Nation. Admittedly, I have never really cared for those songs on record, but this very evening, live, they made me a believer. The way in which the band performed these songs was anything but perfunctory - it was evident, the band cared and enjoyed these songs themselves. When a band displays this sort of ‘buy-in’ it is always evident to the audience and they in turn are carried with the moment.
Evol is perhaps my very favorite Sonic Youth album. Some of that might be because this was the album I was exposed to first. The band played “Tom Violence” earlier in the set to an enthusiastic crowd. The song never fails to impress with its monolithic, towering chords; “…left home for experience, carved ‘Suk for Honesty’ on my chest.” “Tom Violence” is one mysterious dark dark dream. “Shadow of a Doubt” was also played. As much as I love it on album, I think the live version they are performing on this tour proves even more compelling. The delicacy in which the band took this one was as if a veil had fallen, cutting through the audience’s drunk chatter, and forcing one’s attention on the harmonics and hush that wrapped up the song. As beautiful as the song registered, it still seemed a bit too haunted for the lovey couples around us to be kissing, whispering, fondling. I wanted to tap a pair of star crossed lovers on the shouder and recommend they rent Alfred Hitchock’s “Strangers On a Train” - and oh yeah, your swapping spit to a murder ballad my friends.
Sonic Youth - White Kross Live ‘87