Autumn Souvenir

On the eve of another decade, I find myself, surprisingly, more hopeful than I've been in a long time: maybe all the way back to Obama's victory in 2009. Despite the horrific things happening in our country, almost all with the support and urging of Trump and the Republican Party, when I sit back and take stock, and review history, I'm almost certain that not only will we get through this, but we will come out and enter a new golden age for the United States. It's not over. We're not doomed. We haven't lost. Greed, white supremacy, lies and hatred will not prevail. Will it be easy? No, and it never has been. Will Trump go quietly and gracefully, whether in 2020 or 2024 (or whenever)? No. He will likely fuel hatred and violence as he's done throughout his term, and really, his life. But ultimately, he will lose. As will McConnell, Graham, McCarthy and those hanging onto a past that really only exists in their venom. Sure, they've taped up and clung to an

Similar to the New York Yankees, I didn't have much of a choice here. In my pre-teen years, I'd spend every-other-weekend, or sometimes, every-so-often, at my father's house a few towns over in Jersey. In the late 70s/early 80s, my father was obsessed with Springsteen. Sure, he mixed it up with some Bob Seger, Dylan, Jackson Browne and other songwriters of the day, but his love for Bruce was on a different plane. I remember our living room walls being blanketed with framed Springsteen memorabilia. And he was always, always playing throughout the house. All those early records. My dad had a lot of parties during this period, and I recall The River being on until all hours of the night. Then Born to Run would find its way, and of course, when Bruce became the biggest act in the world, with the summer 1984 release of Born in the USA, that record was played over and over and over. When that tour kicked in, and Bruce loaded up on Jersey dates, I begged to go. I'd only be

I probably don't need to say much here. If we've met for even ten seconds, I probably talked about this band. I mean, I named my dog after former Wilco lead guitarist, Jay Bennett. If I ever have a kid, he or she will likely be Jeff or John or Coomer or Pot Kettle Black. 70-80 shows. Every record purchased on every format imaginable. Three Solid Sound Festivals. Couple pics with JT, one taken by John Stirratt. Jeff Tweedy's songwriting, along with the band's evolving sound, seemed to perfectly complement what I was experiencing in my 20s, through to my 30s, and even today, in my 70s. AM were the leftovers. Being There was them breaking beyond alt.country. Summerteeth was their breezy, pop gem. Yankee Hotel Foxtrot remains their masterpiece. A Ghost is Born was an extension of YHF . Sky Blue Sky was back to Americana. And The Whole Love was their last great record. As I sit here listening to Yankee Hotel Foxtrot , for what must be the first time in a few yea

Discovering Uncle Tupelo felt like a moment in time. Or rather, moments in time. It all started in the spring of 1994, just outside of Boston. I was a sophomore in college, hanging out with my housemates, recounting the events of the night before. Some party, another party, bar, bar, etc. We’d all trudged around the night prior, with the exception of our friend Flanders, who was visiting from Maine. Flanders broke from the pack and saw a show downtown. I asked about the band. “They're called Uncle Tupelo. Want to hear them?” was all he could muster. He stepped out and grabbed a CD from his car. A few minutes later, he hit play on track six from one of their records. The song was “New Madrid” from Uncle Tupelo’s final, and perfect, swan song, Anodyne . It took but a few seconds and I was floored. It was Neil Young, Johnny Cash, The Clash, all in one. I’d never heard anything like it. By the end of the day, I'd made my way to Tower Records on Boylston and had my own copy . An

If Memphis' Big Star weren't plagued by one terrible set of label/management/etc. circumstances after another, which basically buried each of their three records from the public, I truly believe that they could've been the greatest rock n' roll band to ever come out of the US. I mean, even given the awful circumstances that they faced, at least to my ears, they're right up there. And had they been delivered a few breaks, Alex and Chris would be regularly thrown around alongside John and Paul, Mick and Keith, and hell, for purposes of this list, Jay and Jeff. But that's not at all what happened. Even with the current always flowing the wrong way, thanks to a cult following that seems to balloon each year, and countless musicians who point to Big Star as not just an influence, but possibly their greatest influence, the band has only grown in popularity over the decades. Three records from 1972-1975 and that's it. The last of the trio, Third , which is easil

Neil is one of the few mainstays in my musical life. I found my way to him early in my teen years and he set the stage for a lot of the music I'd explore in the decades that followed. I started with the basics, mostly listening to Decade (basically, greatest hits) throughout high school, and then I hit his "grunge" phase in college, playing Freedom , Ragged Glory , and then the slow-down gem, Harvest Moon . But it was post-college that I really dug into the archives and found Neil's best work. On the Beach , Comes a Time , Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere , Zuma , and ultimately my favorite Neil record, the dirtiest of all Neil records, Tonight's the Night . When considering the history of rock n' roll, Neil Young sits atop the heap with the likes of Chuck Berry, Mick/Keith, Paul/John, Bruce, and a select few others. In addition to his staggering solo work, which spands six decades, his contributions to Buffalo Springfield, CSNY and many others put him i