marramgrass

The collision of music and humour often leaves a mess. At the extremes you have the musical comedians (Mitch Benn and Bill Bailey being fine examples) and the serious artistes (oh, pretty much everyone who’s a little too earnest for their own good). In the middle it can be tough to find anyone to properly recommend.

Enter Barenaked Ladies, the Canadian alt-rockers contending for Most Misleading Band Name Ever. Somehow they manage to take stonking, if occasionally obscure, musicianship and meet it with brilliant, surreal, Canadian funniness.

Which is not to say they’re a comedy act; they’re not. Instead, the lyrics and the manner have a slyness to them that can be light-hearted or poignant, but always funny — if smirking or eyebrow-raising rather than always belly-laughing.

My introduction to Barenaked Ladies came with the tune “Shoe Box” when it was picked up for the Friends soundtrack album, although I quickly sought it out in its proper home, 1996′s Born On A Pirate Ship. Energetic, it manages their usual trick of being playful and thoughtful at the same time.

From my first little fib when I still wore a bib,
To my latest attempt at pretending I’m someone
Who’s not seventeen, or doesn’t know what you mean
When talk turns to single malts or stilton.

(I couldn’t find streaming links for this one, which is a shame. You can hear a snippet through iTunes if you have it installed.)

(PAW2009 21/52)

Think of the songs you can (and do) listen to again and again. The first one of those that I remember is “The Gambler” by Kenny Rogers. I was young when my dad gave me a Best Of tape — young enough that it’s linked in my head with visits to my grandparents’ caravan down past Millisle, and I think we stopped going there while I was still in primary school.

I listened to this song over and over, which in the days of the cassette tape and Walkman took a little dedication. I remember fantasizing about learning to play it on the guitar and impressing everyone around me. I was young enough that those fantasies didn’t involve impressing girls, and it was years before I learned to play guitar. I never did learn to play “The Gambler”, though, and no-one would be impressed after I opened my mouth to sing it, anyway.

I do blame it for contributing to my adult liking for a bit of country, and not always country-rock, either. Oo-er.

The song came to mind when I read a recent PA strip, and I discovered that I don’t even have a copy of it anymore. Spotify came to the rescue, and after a couple of listens I was struck by the near-nonsense of it.

You’ve got to know when to hold ‘em,
Know when to fold ‘em,
Know when to walk away
And know when to run.

You never count your money
When you’re sitting at the table;
There’ll be time enough for counting
When the dealing’s done.

As the last words of a man who’s been through the wringer, intended as essential advice for the young fella in danger of heading the same way, it certainly sounds good; it makes a nice graphic chorus for a country song. But I haven’t a clue what it actually means that’s of any use beyond, “Have a bit of wit.”

Still, nice tune, still love it. Perhaps I’ll pick up the guitar and figure it out.

“The Gambler” [YouTube]

“The Gambler” [Spotify]

(PAW2009 20/52)

• Maggi Dawn picks up on the Real Live Preacher to ask about real faith in ministry. I’ve asked these questions of myself in the past, and will again.
• Mig highlights the importance of historical context. Brilliant.
• A uniquely recorded music video on Gizmodo.
• The Tarantino Mixtape is unlikely to be safe for work, but I enjoyed it. I watched Pulp Fiction at a stag do a couple of weeks ago, and was surprised and pleased that it’s as good as I remembered.
• Scott Paget provides some thoughtful reflection on sex and the church.
• I picked this up on Twitter, can’t remember who from. Sorry. It’s very geeky humour, but if you get it, you’ll love it.
• If you enjoyed yesterday’s musical interlude, you might enjoy this very different version.
• Via Kottke, the thickening plot of The Usual Suspects. I love that film.

Right. I’m off to change a nappy.

A couple of years ago I published a short series of posts called Tuesday Tunes. Those ones were all about songs with memorable lyrics. I’d like to kick the series off again, but with no fixed idea or agenda, beyond that on a Tuesday I’ll post about a song I’ve been listening to lately.

Sometimes a little of bit of British prog rock is what you need.

Not long after I first started listening to music with any kind of interest, I would lie on the floor beside my dad’s stereo with his headphones on, working my way through his small but interesting collection of actual vinyl LPs. (I had to lie on the floor to get close enough to look through the shelves — the hi-fi unit was in the corner beside the dining table, with no room for any other approach.) One of the albums that caught my attention was Supertramp’s Breakfast in America, released in 1979.

There are a few tracks on it that have stuck with me since, but my favourite is “The Logical Song”. The rhythmic keyboards are as enjoyable as ever, and while the lyric isn’t what you’d call subtle or clever, you can see why it appealed to a smart-alec teenager (and why it’s still fun):

Now watch what you say, or they’ll be calling you a radical,
Liberal, fanatical, criminal.
Won’t you sign up your name, we’d like to feel you’re
Acceptable, respectable, presentable, a vegetable.

“The Logical Song” [YouTube]

“The Logical Song” [Spotify]

(PAW2009 19/52)

Helen’s Bay, April 2009.

We should be on the way to a return to normal service.

(PAW2009 18/52)

We were sitting in the ante-natal ward, waiting on this fella deciding when he would put in an appearance.

It’s often said that the best camera is the one you have with you. This was taken with the camera on my iPhone. The iPhone camera is pretty poor, even when compared to that of other mobile phones, but there’s an application available (Camerabag) which processes the images to simulate various other cameras. While the results are often a bit gimmicky, it can mask some of the shortcomings of the camera.

In this case, the processing is meant to mimic a camera known for its soft and squishy plastic lens, single shutter speed and frequent light leaks. That masks the shortcomings of the phone’s camera. (In the past I’ve toyed with the idea of picking up a Holga, but since Lomo hit they’ve become silly-expensive. It’s a gap in my collection of interesting, obscure and/or obsolete cameras, and one I’m unlikely to fill.)

Reuben William Alexander Goody.