DIG THIS WITH BILL MESNIK AND RICH BUCKLAND- THE SPLENDID BOHEMIANS

There have been a lot of good to great films released this year - serious films, films with urgent political underpinnings, films that mix satire, pathos, and artistic ambition with such style that it salves my damaged psyche with a hope that there will be a light at the end of this dark tunnel in which we currently find ourselves. While there is a mordant undertone to many of these transmissions, there is also an implicit message from these artists that life will go on, and there is always love, joy, and gratitude to celebrate at the end of the year.

TRAIN DREAMS is such a declaration. Based on a novel by Denis Johnson, the film is a metaphysical meditation on ragged survival through unimaginable grief, and it encompasses all of life and death throughout its dreamscape of primeval imagery. Following the trail of tears of a misbegotten railroad logger, Joel Edgerton delivers the performance of a lifetime, and in the cameo of a wizened old timer-philosopher in the camp, William H Macy transforms to such a degree that he caps his distinguished resume with an Oscar worthy supporting performance.  

The Splendid Bohemians nominate this darkhorse masterpiece for film of the year, and would like to honor it today by playing Nick Cave’s Train Dreams theme, along with 2 versions of Jackson Browne’s Shadow Dream Song  (by Gregg Allman and Tom Rush), and Tom Wait’s Innocent When You Dream. 

“You gotta have faith,” George Michael sang a long time ago. Given the unfortunate fate that befell that conflicted artist, it’s worth taking a moment to reflect upon how hard it is to find inner peace, and make a commitment to whatever faith you still possess during this Christmas season. Life is very complicated right now and holding on to love, practicing gratitude, and radiating good intentions will help to get us through these dark days. 

We here at The Hotel Bohemia want to gift you a holiday sampler chock full of savory contradictions and sweet mysteries, delivered by Jan and Dean, Tom Jones, and Evil Wiener. Since Xmas celebrates the birth of the redeemer, and the gift Christ offered to the world, the three songs lined up today trace the arc of his sacrifice and our crisis of faith: The Annunciation (Jan & Dean); the Crucifixion (Tom Jones); and, finally, the Resurrection (Evil Wiener)

The Annunciation (T.A.M.I Show Theme: Jan and Dean)

Jan and Dean, like two sun-kissed Angels, announce to the world that a youthful era of optimism has begun. Rock and Roll will save the world, they proclaim, and, we, the youth believed it. In the T.A.M.I. show theme song you can feel the exuberance of their faith. Two years later, Jan Berry almost dies from a car crash, and today the Boomers are rapidly going down in shameful flames, but in this time capsule from 1964 none of that is on the horizon- it’s all smooth sailing ahead.

The Crucifixion (Charlie Darwin: Tom Jones)

Here the smooth sailing is over, and the all encompassing ocean is overwhelming a ship’s crew - they are drowning. From out of the God given pipes of Sir Tom Jones, a prayer goes out - but to whom? There is a deep crisis of faith portrayed here in mysterious utterances. Does Charlie Darwin represent an irreconcilable conflict between natural selection and charity? Did he try to tell us something that we weren’t ready to hear? That Survival of the Fittest must doom us? Just as Jesus cried out on the cross, “why have you forsaken me?” The crew here is also expressing a crisis of faith. Or, is there a conflict at all? In the end faith is all they have. They are crying out to God as the water consumes them.

The Resurrection (All Over the World: Evil Wiener)

Bill McCormick, aka Billy Sugarfix, aka Evil Weiner may have had some doubts about the existence of Santa Claus, (and by extension, the Savior), but he’s returned to the fold of the faithful. From the special edition EP from 1993 on the Flavor-Contra label, here is Evil Wiener’s goofy recommitment to his faith - and a joy filled Birthday Greeting to Jesus Christ. Merry Christmas everybody!  

Today, we feature a Christmas cracker that offers some new perspectives on one of our most treasured holiday traditions - The Xmas Song: First, The Turtles, singing “Christmas is My Time of Year,” then, the esteemed actor, Harvey Keitel, telling an off the wall Christmas story, from the film Smoke.

Putting on a favorite holiday tape or CD as you wrap the presents or trim the tree was always a highly anticipated ritual - Frank, Dino, Elvis, or Bing never failed to make the season bright. In the 60’s Rock era, of course, Phil Spector’s album was a must. Every pop artist has made one, even Bob Dylan. It made Irving Berlin and Mel Torme millions.  It’s generally a can’t miss proposition. But, I’ll bet you never considered these selections. One isn’t even a song; and then there’s the Turtles number, which is seemingly on the money, but not universally known. 

THE TURTLES

"Christmas is My Time of Year" was written by the jewish Howard Kaylan and the Turtle’s bassist and veteran of the Modern Folk Quartet, Chip Douglas. Douglas also produced, populating the recording with such country rock luminaries as Gram Parsons and Linda Ronstadt. The track has a folksy flair with its twangy guitars and dobros. It’s military 4 on the floor marching beat gives it an overly perky, trying too hard feel, but it’s still a lot of fun - and that’s the mark of a good Turtles song. isn't it?: always promoting optimism and good feelings. Even when they’re singing dark material like PF Sloan’s “Let Me Be” the music counterpoints the dreariness with sunshine.

HARVEY KEITEL in SMOKE

Rich threw this curveball into the mix, and I LOVE IT! Mr. Keitel has always been a favorite of ours - and in this clip from Wayne Wang’s Smoke he knocks it out of the park with this shaggy holiday story negotiating the mixed up urges of conscience and larceny. At the end of the segment there is a black and white rendering of the story accompanied by Tom Waits, singing “Innocent when you Dream”.

And, it’s here that the overall theme emerges: Christmas is that time when we aspire to live up to our best selves. But, there are so many contradictory images that interfere with this aspiration. We are exhorted to consume, going into debt for the good of the economy, and to our peril. All around us we might notice that the lonely and disenfranchised are suffering worse than ever during this time. So, we look away, trying not to face the disturbing prospect that it could be us next year. We’re only human, after all - but, to be better more than just one day out of the year shouldn’t be asking too much. But, how to begin?

Rich and I are having a ball, reliving our memorable episodes and sharing the cream with you. Today we feature two dynamic instrumental tracks that warranted some our closer scrutiny: Hawaii 5-0 by the Ventures, and Telstar by the Tornados (written and produced by the legendary Joe Meek. 

I hear Jeff Lynne has recently been sidelined by a mysterious infection, and had to cancel some performances. We wish the revered music producer and founder of ELO good health and a quick recovery. Today, Bill and Rich, The Splendid Bohemians would like to celebrate this versatile Rock stylist by playing two cuts separated by decades, from two vastly different incarnations, but somehow identifiable as his, if only by the unique sensibility in which these cuts are marinated: Imposters of Life’s Magazine by The Idle Race, and Tweeter and the Monkey Man by The Traveling Wilburys.

There are certain tropes that signify this creator’s hand: catchy musical themes, thick layers of horns and strings and witty Beatle-esque harmonies - (he even got to work with the resurrected voice of John Lennon when producing the Beatle’s ghostly “reunion”tracks Free As a Bird, and Real Love. Like so many of his generation, Jeff came up under the spell of the mop tops, and even this early recording by the Idle Race has that 1967 Psychedelic flavor, pre-dating by a year, but somehow reminiscent of his future Willburys bandmate, George Harrison’s song Savoy Truffle. 

IMPOSTERS OF LIFE’S MAGAZINE

The personnel changes of the several Birmingham beat groups in the mid-sixties are too numerous to recite here, but one group, The Nightriders are notable because they took on a teenaged Lynne as guitarist in ’66 - and changed their name to The Idle Race (a more timely handle). Roy Wood of the Move, Jeff’s friend and future partner in the formation of ELO, helped the IR get signed, and influential DJ John Peel was an early and strong promoter of the group. Jeff’s tenure with IR was short lived however, and in 1970 he founded (with Wood) the legendary Electric Light Orchestra.

This early composition has all the hallmarks that would later define Jeff’s work: witty, yet Romantic lyrics; hard driving rhythms, but with plenty of surprisingly lush filigree. The ambition of the work, with its startlingly different movements, is impressive for such a young talent - but, at the core is Jeff’s unmistakable ear for the “hook” - marking him as one of the most reliable masters of Pop.

TWEETER AND THE MONKEY MAN

Tweeter and the Monkey Man, from 22 years later - demonstrates how far the musician had come professionally.  Here Jeff is, arguably the lowest man on the totem pole of The Traveling Wilburys, a Super Group’s Super Group (with a Beatle, George Harrison, future Nobel Laureate Bob Dylan, Tom Petty, and Roy - fucking - Orbison…., yet his mark is unmistakeable. This tune, supposedly written by Bob Dylan, who spittingly delivers it like a parody of Springsteen’s New Jersey, drenched in a Sopranos sauce - and it’s just plain fun. But, the chorus, penned by Jeff with George Harrison, lifts the track to the existential level of a rock opera, giving it “the hook,” the drama and the flair. 

The layers on this musical cake are delicious - there’s George’s sly slide work; the Lady Madonna horns, the timpani booms counterpointed by a tinkling piano riff; the building of the strings and horns and oohing and aaahing harmonies… they suck me in every time. Good stuff!

Reflecting upon this landmark recording made me realize how much Arlo and his song had been fundamental to my life-long, anti-authoritarian world view. And how, years later, when the war had escalated, and my turn came up for the draft, even though I escaped with a high lottery number, I was already weighing my draft dodging options. 

I was only 14 when the song was released, but it hipped me to the absurdity of the war in Viet Nam, the legal system, and petty bureaucrats in general. Arlo accomplished this “us against them” subversion with genial irony, which he delivered with an easy charm - not to mention an impressive Travis picking style.  It didn’t hurt that he had the name recognition as the scion of the OG of poetical protest singers, Woody Guthrie, whose song “This Land is Your Land,” almost became our national anthem, and was the adopted relative of “uncle” Pete Seeger, whose signature sing-along method of inspiring social change, which Arlo employs so effectively here.  

It was a cultural bombshell, and a first in many ways: At 18 minutes, FM radio usually played it in three separate parts making each rotation an event. It was the longest song to ever gain radio play when spun in its entirety. However, here at the Hotel Bohemia, time has no meaning, so it can be played all the way through on a continuous loop. 

Love comes in many forms - sometimes confrontational. Today’s episode is a paean to a couple of dominating dames that lit up the punk scene in the late 70s. Johnny Rotten once stated that the only person that actually frightened him was the gone too soon, Poly Styrene of X-Ray Spex. That product of a Somali father and a British mother railed against consumerist culture, and her band’s career might have been short lived, but their single, Oh Bondage, Up Yours! with it’s bleating saxophone cavalry charge, blown by band mate Lora Logic, was a battle cry to aspiring Riot Grrls everywhere.

The other indomitable mistress we wish to spotlight, Chrissie Hynde of the Pretenders, is still rocking 50 years later. This survivor from America’s Midwest by way of England, -  this vegetarian restauranteur/punk legend, who fronted one of the most thrilling acts of the era, scored multiple hits across the pop spectrum, including this classic, Middle of the Road.

X-RAY SPEX

Marianne Joan Elliot-Said died prematurely at age 53, but she lived abundantly, migrating through several personae. Early on, she was a hippie, sleeping in crash pads and nearly dying from sepsis, which she contracted from stepping on a rusty nail while bathing in a stream. Later, inspired by seeing the Sex Pistols, she had found her calling. Choosing her moniker from the Yellow Pages, wearing braces on her teeth and Day-Glo outfits, she became a sensation. 

Like a comet, she streaked across the pop firmament and burnt out quickly, being diagnosed with bipolar disorder in 1978. She pursued a gentler and jazzier sound for her subsequent solo recordings, and in ’83 became a Hare Krishna and a vegetarian. In February 2011 she revealed that she had been treated for breast cancer that had spread to her spine and lungs. She died later that year, yet in her short life she accomplished the nearly impossible: cultural immortality. 

THE PRETENDERS

The guitar signature, driven by Robbie McIntosh on 1983’s Middle of the Road by The Pretenders creates an irresistible force, defining a clear road map for singer, Chrissie Hynde. It feels like she’s behind the wheel, with the high beams on, going 120, roaring through the Ohio night, around the bend of a Rust Belt highway. She was already 33, and a single mother, as she tells us in the song. With one fist held high, she assures us that she’ll be a survivor, and there’s no shame in that. 

She’s listed by Rolling Stone as 114 on its list of the 200 Greatest Singers of all time, and at 74, she’s still going strong - still driving that muscle car of rock. This woman has ageless style and charisma. She is also a citizen of Great Britain, having moved there initially in ’73, and almost marrying Johnny Rotten, Sid vicious, and Ray Davies (she has a daughter by the Kink).  After several misfires trying to start a band, her solo demo tape made it’s way to Dave Hill, the owner of Real Records who helped her put the original Pretenders line up together, and the rest, as they say is “Herstory”.

We’re so glad you’re enjoying our meanderings down memory lane to rediscover these classic Stack o’ 45s episodes you might have missed. We’re having a ball reminiscing about some of The Splendid Bohemians finest moments, so grab a Sazerac and kick back with the boys as you dig on this pair of Delta Royals: Miss Irma Thomas, The Soul Queen of New Orleans, and the self-titled “Emperor of the Universe,” Ernie K. Doe. 

Edit Piaf once famously sang “Je Regrette Rien” (I Regret Nothing), and listening to the following heart wrenching live performances, I’m reminded that anyone claiming that spiritual stance must be in denial - or, crowing in battered defiance in order to buttress themselves against the memory of life’s cavalcade of pain and tortured conscience. For who can sincerely state that they have no regrets? No harsh word you wish you could have retracted?; No unsubstantiated suspicion that poisoned the well of a friendship or a faithful love?; Are you discounting the abuses large and small that have piled up so high that, somehow, you’ve become numb to them?; What about the road not taken…?

These songs tell tales about the burden of living under the crushing weight of regret. If you don’t shed a tear listening to them, your fluids need replenishing. The divine Spanish diva, Luz Casal singing Jackson Browne’s “These Days”, accompanied by the writer and his ride or die Sancho Panza, David Lindley on his keening fiddle is like hearing a penitent sinner’s weary confession; and, then there’s the  incomparable Rufus Wainwright, in a duet with Sara Bareilles, delivering her own anthem with a thrilling operatic intimacy. 

THESE DAYS / LUZ CASAL, JACKSON BROWNE, AND DAVID LINDLEY

The preternaturally wise Jackson Browne was sixteen when he wrote “These Days” for Nico, who intoned it with a teutonic world weariness that spoke volumes. What did he know then about regrets? Certainly, the intervening years have instructed the now 76 year old songsmith in all the permutations of tragedy, yet somehow, he has managed to valiantly soldier on, staying creative, performing, and advocating for humanity.  

There is something almost mystical about the voice of Luz Casal, and the delicacy with which she interprets Jackson’s lyrics that transcends her heavily accented pronunciations. The words are sometimes hard to follow - but not the meaning - that’s never lost. Time collapses as the message of this song, originally brought into being by the foreign born Christa Paffgen - and resurrected now, almost 60 years later, by this Goddess, comes full circle to enfold the aging songwriter in the arms of his own mortality. 

SHE USED TO BE MINE / SARA BAREILLES AND RUFUS WAINWRIGHT

Sara Bareilles wrote She Used to Be Mine as a show stopper for her Broadway musical, Waitress, and it’s a barn burner. Here, in combination with the musical magus, Rufus Wainwright it morphs into something entirely different from it’s template: it has become a religious act of forgiveness and redemption - an acknowledgment of life’s profound losses, and at the same time an appreciation for what was - a ritual of devotion that celebrates living in all its ecstasy and futility - the duality of darkness and light, love and death. 

First Rufus sings alone, then Sara… but, when they harmonize the full extent of the love that was lost, and yet remains, lifts us up to the realization of the eternal knowledge that love is never lost. It is a requiem.

As the holidays roll around, and daylight retracts, the thoughts also cloud over to infuse the mind with a grayish motif. We’re encouraged to gather our loved ones close and practice gratitude for life’s bounty. But, what if life’s gifts have been obscured by the overwhelming influence of a mortal depression, a reflection of the disconnect between what we see around us - (disease, deprivation, tyranny, man’s inhumanity to man, etc.) - and, the opposing commercial messages which exhort us to joyfully consume? 

Is this dark attitude the result of an imbalance of chemicals in the brain which can be easily adjusted by the ingestion of a pill? Or, is the undertow into hopelessness something more fundamental - an irreconcilable part of our genetic makeup - a part of life we just have to stoically accept and get on with? 

Great artists reckon with these impulses by creating profound music. Today we celebrate two of the most striking practitioners of this heroic enterprise: Will Oldham and Nick Drake.

WILL OLDHAM

I See a Darkness is a masterpiece of simple straight talk about the things most of us never say. It expresses an honest representation of the apprehension that a sensitive soul feels, yet mostly keeps to themself about the inevitability of the abyss. Death walks beside us at all times, and, it helps to staunch the bleeding of fear by keeping our blindfolds on. But, sometimes, there is an urgency to share these thoughts with a friend or a counselor, and the monologue of this song invites us into that private conversation. It packs an overwhelming punch. Johnny Cash also interpreted this song near the end of his life as everything in his being boiled down to the basics. 

Bonnie Prince Billy, aka Will Oldham is a DIY, Kentucky based actor-musician with a diverse resume, featuring projects with many collaborators. He’s a married man with a child, and perhaps all this inter-activity has grounded him and kept him productive. This makes sense - there is raw boned sense of the practical inherent in his style that complements the mystical. 

NICK DRAKE

The doomed, etherial Nick Drake was not so lucky. He stood apart, and was other-worldly from the beginning, always uncomfortable in his own skin. His recorded output was sparse, and number of his performances minimal, yet profound in their influence. Dead at 26 from an overdose of antidepressants, Nick didn’t live long enough to see the reach that resonates with his work today, 50 years after his passing. 

River Man, in 5/4 time plucked on a nylon string guitar, abetted by a serene string arrangement by Harry Robertson, is a mysterious descent into the deep waters of associative imagery. Nothing is overtly stated, but the character of Betty and the narrator going to see the River Man who has the answer to the meaning of life puts me in mind of the Millais’ painting of drowned Ophelia, floating in the river, surrounded by flowers. At peace at last.