Ok, I need to post this real quick. There's one thing in music that goes against what I've said before about technology and overusing different devices to make yourself sound better, and that's this. The loop pedal. I've had about 5 of them in my life and LOVE them. Stomp on the pedal, play a riff, a drum beat on the guitar, a bass line...you name it. Stomp on the pedal again, on time, and you just recorded yourself. Now, you have a band, of you.
How about Foy Vance shows you in this cover of "Crosstown Traffic" by Jimi Hendrix. This is borderline "make work really awkward cause I'm about to dance in my office" type of stuff.
Showing posts with label Foy Vance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Foy Vance. Show all posts
Friday, March 19, 2010
Sunday, February 7, 2010
I Come From Down in the Valley...
My favorite thing about music is when you see things go full circle in the time it's taken you to "grow up." My father is a huge influence in my life and always has been. I remember being a kid and being audibly fed Neil Young records, Bruce Hornsby, Van Morrison, Cat Stevens; you name it. Scott and I were always surrounded by such amazing music, and I know it's played a HUGE role in our lives, mine especially. Perhaps the most influential artist that my dad ever played around the house was The Boss, Mr. Bruce Springsteen himself. Bruce had a way of connecting with you the second he spoke a word. From the screen door slamming to Roy Orbison singing for the lonely, Bruce is an icon; a man that is able to speak to any situation and somehow portray exactly what it feels like to be in it. My dad is my Bruce Springsteen, and he's showed me so much about life simply through his actions and especially through his passion for listening to The Boss. Life is a hard thing to teach, but with the help of a little music, the teaching handles itself.
In my house you were never told what you had to be when you were older. My parents were the most laid back, cool folks I've ever known. We laughed, we made jokes, we bbq'd, we watched ice pops fly out of the sky as if planes were dropping them for us, and most importantly we listened to really good music. Bruce Springsteen lived at my house. He lived in every speaker, vinyl record sleeve, compact disc, and cassette. His lyrics bounced off the mahogany walls of our living room, lived inside the rock speakers on the patio, and the voices of all those that sang his tunes at 114 Grandview on a daily basis. My dad was my Bruce Springsteen. My mom was my Max Weinberg (although a lot more attractive). My mom was the pulse behind the beat while my dad was the singer. She kept our feet moving and toes tapping at all times. Dad told us what it was like "Growing Up," at "The River," across the street from "Tenth Avenue Freezout." On any given summer day our back patio was the Stone Pony in Asbury Park, and we were all connected by the timeless storytelling of Bruce's lyrics and the unparalleled musicianship of the entire band.
I remember one day in the mid 90's, sitting in the living room with Scott and my dad. There's a live version of "The River" that chokes me up everytime I hear it, and it's because of this one day. I'll never forget Bruce's opening line, "how you doing out there tonight?" The crowd screams, and all he says is "that's good...that's good," as he knew that they were all ears and appreciative. My dad loved telling stories about his father and the various things he's learned from him, and we were always all ears. My grandfather was an amazing man, and he no doubt influenced my dad to be who he is today. In this 12 minute version of "The River," Bruce talks about how he and his father used to go at it all the time, fighting over almost anything. From his long hair to his loud Fender guitar, Bruce was never accepted by his dad. There's a line in the intro that we all relate to in our lives. "He would ask me what I thought I was doing with myself...and the worst thing about it is that I never could explain it to him."
My dad, Scott, and I sat in the living room in silence and listened. My dad probably had heard it 100+ times at this point, but his smile showed us that it felt like the first time. He was really connected to what Bruce was saying and I was too, Scott included. Bruce's dad goes on to say that he wants the Army to get a hold of him, to possibly create some guidance and direction in his life. Bruce then fails his physical after receiving his draft notice. Instead of his father being upset and lecturing him some more, his father simply says "that's good." In other words, he didn't truly want to put Bruce in danger by getting him "straightened out" in the Army. Maybe it was a scare tactic, but at the end of the day, he was his father. The crowd then screams after "that's good" and you get the feeling like Bruce was finally accepted by his father at that exact moment in time, EVERY time he sings the song.
I don't know why Scott and I connected so much with my dad that day. We were never told what to do, who to be, or where we should end up. We were always taught to be ourselves, enjoy being ourselves, and to lend a hand when needed and we will ALWAYS be his son. It's funny how Bruce stopped the spoken intro right after his father simply said "that's good." It's like he finally knew that his dad was on his side, even though he might not have shown it before. Scott, me, and my dad were all in this together, and I think this was the definitive moment in my life that I realized I wanted to be exactly like my father. We both got "it," even though we didn't even know what "it" is. I don't believe we ever know what "it" is, as we all have our own ideas and beliefs. I learned so much about my dad in that living room, and we didn't even say a word to eachother; Bruce said it all.
Music. No matter how you were born, raised, or taught, it will always bring people together. When it all comes back around is when you realize how truly special life is. Foy Vance covered "The River" on the BBC earlier this year, and it left my jaw on the floor. I felt like my father, when my father first heard Bruce Springsteen. I can listen to the words of Bruce through an artist of my generation, and still remember everything as though it's that one day in my living room. Below is the live Bruce recording, and the cover of "The River" by Foy Vance. Listen carefully to Bruce's opening and you'll know why I wrote this. Cheers.
In my house you were never told what you had to be when you were older. My parents were the most laid back, cool folks I've ever known. We laughed, we made jokes, we bbq'd, we watched ice pops fly out of the sky as if planes were dropping them for us, and most importantly we listened to really good music. Bruce Springsteen lived at my house. He lived in every speaker, vinyl record sleeve, compact disc, and cassette. His lyrics bounced off the mahogany walls of our living room, lived inside the rock speakers on the patio, and the voices of all those that sang his tunes at 114 Grandview on a daily basis. My dad was my Bruce Springsteen. My mom was my Max Weinberg (although a lot more attractive). My mom was the pulse behind the beat while my dad was the singer. She kept our feet moving and toes tapping at all times. Dad told us what it was like "Growing Up," at "The River," across the street from "Tenth Avenue Freezout." On any given summer day our back patio was the Stone Pony in Asbury Park, and we were all connected by the timeless storytelling of Bruce's lyrics and the unparalleled musicianship of the entire band.
I remember one day in the mid 90's, sitting in the living room with Scott and my dad. There's a live version of "The River" that chokes me up everytime I hear it, and it's because of this one day. I'll never forget Bruce's opening line, "how you doing out there tonight?" The crowd screams, and all he says is "that's good...that's good," as he knew that they were all ears and appreciative. My dad loved telling stories about his father and the various things he's learned from him, and we were always all ears. My grandfather was an amazing man, and he no doubt influenced my dad to be who he is today. In this 12 minute version of "The River," Bruce talks about how he and his father used to go at it all the time, fighting over almost anything. From his long hair to his loud Fender guitar, Bruce was never accepted by his dad. There's a line in the intro that we all relate to in our lives. "He would ask me what I thought I was doing with myself...and the worst thing about it is that I never could explain it to him." My dad, Scott, and I sat in the living room in silence and listened. My dad probably had heard it 100+ times at this point, but his smile showed us that it felt like the first time. He was really connected to what Bruce was saying and I was too, Scott included. Bruce's dad goes on to say that he wants the Army to get a hold of him, to possibly create some guidance and direction in his life. Bruce then fails his physical after receiving his draft notice. Instead of his father being upset and lecturing him some more, his father simply says "that's good." In other words, he didn't truly want to put Bruce in danger by getting him "straightened out" in the Army. Maybe it was a scare tactic, but at the end of the day, he was his father. The crowd then screams after "that's good" and you get the feeling like Bruce was finally accepted by his father at that exact moment in time, EVERY time he sings the song.
I don't know why Scott and I connected so much with my dad that day. We were never told what to do, who to be, or where we should end up. We were always taught to be ourselves, enjoy being ourselves, and to lend a hand when needed and we will ALWAYS be his son. It's funny how Bruce stopped the spoken intro right after his father simply said "that's good." It's like he finally knew that his dad was on his side, even though he might not have shown it before. Scott, me, and my dad were all in this together, and I think this was the definitive moment in my life that I realized I wanted to be exactly like my father. We both got "it," even though we didn't even know what "it" is. I don't believe we ever know what "it" is, as we all have our own ideas and beliefs. I learned so much about my dad in that living room, and we didn't even say a word to eachother; Bruce said it all.
Music. No matter how you were born, raised, or taught, it will always bring people together. When it all comes back around is when you realize how truly special life is. Foy Vance covered "The River" on the BBC earlier this year, and it left my jaw on the floor. I felt like my father, when my father first heard Bruce Springsteen. I can listen to the words of Bruce through an artist of my generation, and still remember everything as though it's that one day in my living room. Below is the live Bruce recording, and the cover of "The River" by Foy Vance. Listen carefully to Bruce's opening and you'll know why I wrote this. Cheers.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Foy Vance : Ireland's Hidden Gem
"Singer/ songwriter" is now officially a genre within the iTunes store, which to folks that have followed the stylistic finger picking of guys like James Taylor, Nick Drake, Joni Mitchell, Ray Lamontagne, William Fitzsimmons, and Iron & Wine, this is huge. Folk music was a broadbased genre; something that encompassed the soothing sounds of acoustic guitars, 3 piece drum kits w/ 1 cymbal, and perhaps an upright bass. Drenched in accents from the East Village to the Southern US, and perhaps most comparable to country music, Folk music was the "history" section of our musical library, putting the talents of singers and songwriters into a genre based around a time period, as opposed to respecting that they were in fact very simplistic and individualistic in characterization. They were singers. They were songwriters. Now, respectively, they are classified as singers/ songwriters.
Perhaps the best singers/ songwriters that I've found in my search for the "perfect" blend of acoustic guitar, raspy vocals, and chill binding lyrics are from Ireland. From Damien Rice himself, to Glen Hansard ("Once," "The Frames", "The Swell Season") these guys know how to write songs, and more importantly, they know how to deliver them. Whether it's the lush Irish landscape, the comradery one experiences at the local pubs, or the emotional aftershock of the religious conflicts in the late '60s, these guys can sing and show unlimited inspiration to keep delivering great records and great songs.
I give you Foy Vance, from Bangor County, Northern Ireland. His record "Hope" came out in 2007 on Wurdamouth Records, and is easily one of my favorite singer/ songwriter records that I own to date. He knows suffering, he knows joy, and he knows how to deliver each one as if you are the one experiencing it. He's Ireland's "Bruce Springsteen" in a way. You always knew what Bruce was talking about. Foy is no different. He defines what it is to be a singer/ songwriter, and not a "folk" singer. This story is unique to himself, the first hand storyteller. He doesn't define history within his lyrics, he defines HIS history.
Below is a live performance of "Indiscriminate Act of Kindness," my favorite track on "Hope." In this song he shows what it truly means to help someone, and that no matter what state of mind one can be in, all we really need to do is help eachother and it is truly appreciated, even without a "Thank You."
"When you took your chances,
It was like you placed a bet.
And sometimes this is the reward you can get.
I was always taught,
If you see someone defiled,
You should look them in the eyes and smile,
And take their heart, no better still
Take them home, home, home."
Cheers.
Perhaps the best singers/ songwriters that I've found in my search for the "perfect" blend of acoustic guitar, raspy vocals, and chill binding lyrics are from Ireland. From Damien Rice himself, to Glen Hansard ("Once," "The Frames", "The Swell Season") these guys know how to write songs, and more importantly, they know how to deliver them. Whether it's the lush Irish landscape, the comradery one experiences at the local pubs, or the emotional aftershock of the religious conflicts in the late '60s, these guys can sing and show unlimited inspiration to keep delivering great records and great songs.
I give you Foy Vance, from Bangor County, Northern Ireland. His record "Hope" came out in 2007 on Wurdamouth Records, and is easily one of my favorite singer/ songwriter records that I own to date. He knows suffering, he knows joy, and he knows how to deliver each one as if you are the one experiencing it. He's Ireland's "Bruce Springsteen" in a way. You always knew what Bruce was talking about. Foy is no different. He defines what it is to be a singer/ songwriter, and not a "folk" singer. This story is unique to himself, the first hand storyteller. He doesn't define history within his lyrics, he defines HIS history. Below is a live performance of "Indiscriminate Act of Kindness," my favorite track on "Hope." In this song he shows what it truly means to help someone, and that no matter what state of mind one can be in, all we really need to do is help eachother and it is truly appreciated, even without a "Thank You."
"When you took your chances,
It was like you placed a bet.
And sometimes this is the reward you can get.
I was always taught,
If you see someone defiled,
You should look them in the eyes and smile,
And take their heart, no better still
Take them home, home, home."
Cheers.
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