A Free Man

…that you may not have heard, but should.

I don’t like the nationalism of the British music press. Inevitably their year end lists include a overwhelming number of British bands/artists compared to those from the rest of the world. A lot of really good foreign acts get ignored by NME, Word, Mojo, etc. But here are 8 bands/artists from Blighty that if you haven’t heard in Fortress America are worth a listen.

1. Jarvis Cocker is the former frontman for the classic BritPop band Pulp. He actually lives in France these day, but is as British as they come in spite of that. His first solo album Jarvis came out over here last year and is just a wonderful record. Has all the clever, sardonic lyrics of pulp with a more mature edge, fatherhood agrees with Jarvis. Download “Fat Children”.

2. Amy Winehouse is getting a fair bit of press in the States, saw her on the cover of Rolling Stone this week. I didn’t want to like her, I really didn’t. She’s a tabloid queen and living the rock n’ roll lifestyle to what will probably be its natural conclusion. But when I heard her album “Back to Black” I just couldn’t resist liking her. She’s got a coice like a noughties Dusty Springfield and her lyrics are sharp, soulful and seductive. Download “Me & Mr Jones (Fuckery)”.

3. I didn’t want to like Lily Allen either, she plays a try hard ghetto girl that just doesn’t get with her middle class roots. But I heard a radio interview with her and when she dropped that act and performed, I was sold. She’s got a sweet pop voice but deadly sharp lyrics. Picture Alanis Morrisette or Liz Phair with a voice and a sort of ska/reggae beat. Her debut, “Alright, Still” is a perfect summer record. Download “LDN”.

4. The best way I can describe Frank Turner, is British folk-punk. He’s a public school boy gone indie. His debut album “Sleep is for the Week” is a songwriting gem and he’s the new new-Dylan in the fawning British music press. Definitely worth a listen for the singer-songwriter fans. Download “The Ladies of London Town”.

5. I’m afraid that Maximo Park was a one album sort of band. Their debut “A Certain Trigger” is a compelling sort of geometrical post-punk guitar album. The vocals are often subdued and the whole thing has an urgent driving feel. A great bicycling album. Unfortunately their second album kind of fell flat. I’ve not bought it and what I’ve heard is really disappointing. But one great album is more than most folks can do. Download “Graffiti”.

6. Like Amy and Lily, I hated everything about Lebanese expatriate Mika. His single “Grace Kelley” was one of those annoying dance pop songs that you hear everywhere and can’t get out of your head (think Scissor Sisters). I made a decision early on to have nothing to do with Mika. But then, I saw a part of his set from Glastonbury where he performed a song called “Big Girl (You Are Beautiful)” which included giant blow up dolls and big beautiful dancers. Beyond the sort of nice message of the song, it was damn entertaining. I’ve just gotten the album from someone at work and am sure that I will be disappointed, but nonetheless download “Big Girl”.

7. I’m not sure how much press Leeds band The Kaiser Chiefs got in the States and elsehwere. They are kind of the precursor to the massively overrated Arctic Monkeys. Their first album “Employment” was a joyful, cheeky, “lad rock” gem. Their second, “Yours Trul, Angry Mob” is solid, but lacks the charm of the debut. This is probably not their fault, but that the type of music they play is just drowning the radio. Download “Na Na Na Na Naa”.

8. Continuing, in the sophomore slump vein Razorlight’s debut “Up All Night” was a magnificent album. Something like The Verve meets The Strokes with not a bad track to be heard. They got caned by the critics because lead-singer Johnny Borrell tends to talk trash and mimics Jim Morrison, but that debut in 2004 is a masterpiece. Unfortunately, the second album - self-titled - is a pallid imitation of the first and I fear that these guys are like the Stone Roses, one that you’ll never forget and then nothing else.

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I love the fact that the 2008 Presidential race started about a year ago. There’s just that much more time to watch a few dozen egomaniacs stumble, bumble and fall on their way to the most thankless job in the world. I haven’t made a choice yet, to be honest there’s no one compelling enough to get behind. I can almost guarantee that it will be one of the twenty-odd Democrats, however. There are several very good reasons for this, but one of the biggies for me is health care.

I haven’t been watching the half dozen or so party debates that we’ve had so far, not that big a masochist. But one thing I know from the coverage is that the Republicans aren’t even acknowledging the idea that the health care system in the US is broken. In fact, John McCain and Rudy Giuliani don’t even list health care as an issue on their campaign websites. The talk radio whack jobs just brush off any discussion of health care reform as “socialized medicine” and talk about how American health care is the best in the world.

I don’t know if that’s true or not. But I know that the US ranks 23rd in infant mortality, 20th in male life expectancy and 21st in female life expectancy. I know that 48 million Americans, or nearly 1 in 6, don’t have health insurance. I was one of them for most of my adult life. I know that it would cost us $6,000 - $14,000 for Baby DVD to be born in the States. I know that there are great research hospitals and great doctors in the US, but a lot of people can’t afford to make use of them. And I know that insurance companies dictate the quality of care that people receive.

In Britain, as in most industrialized countries in the world, medical coverage is guaranteed at little or no cost to all residents. From my own experience this single payer universal health care works very well. This is how:

1. I feel sick.

2. I phone the doctor.

3. Often the same day, always within a couple of days, I go to the doctor and get treated.

4. I am given a prescription, I go to the pharmacy to collect it. It costs me £6, no matter what the prescription.

That is all. No insurance companies, no bills. There are not long waits. The quality of service is excellent. I have had minor surgery in Britain which I neither had to wait for nor pay anything for. Baby DVD will come into this world with no cost to us. There are exceptions, which are usually published in the tabloids and then picked up by Fox News and talk radio. But in general the British National Health Service is an excellent, well run organization.

Now, this of course, costs money. I pay about 30% of my income in taxes. But I personally have no problem paying that level of tax when I consider what services I receive. My last year in the States I paid nearly that level of tax and was largely paying for a botched war in the Middle East. As human beings we should really have enough compassion to be willing to pay a little extra to make sure that people less fortunate than I can go to the hospital and have their lives saved. You don’t hear a lot about universal health care from the right to life crowd, however.

I don’t mean for this to be preachy, but the press leading up to Michael Moore’s new documentary “Sicko” has got me thinking about it. Now, I am not naive enough to think that anything dramatic will happen with the health care problem in the States. One just has to do the math. It will probably cost about $250 million to win the presidential election in 2008. I don’t think you get to that kind of money without taking something from insurance companies, HMOs and pharmaceutical companies. Politicians tend not to bite the hand that feeds them, but at least some of the Democrats acknowledge its a problem. Here is an article detailing the top three candidates skeletal plans. Who know, maybe congress will do something about it. They’ve done a bang up job on fixing Iraq.

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That’s the way one of my favorite live albums starts, that deep baritone voice, with the soft Southern accent. This is followed by one of the most familiar guitar licks you’ll ever hear and…

“I hear the train a comin’
It’s rollin’ ’round the bend,
And I ain’t seen the sunshine,
Since, I don’t know when,
I’m stuck in Folsom Prison,
And time keeps draggin’ on…”

The other day we were playing the baby Johnny Cash - the Sun Records version of “I Walk the Line”, in his/her continuing pre-natal musical education, and he or she went crazy, started kicking like Michael Flatley. We’ve interpreted this response as the baby enjoying the music, we’re glass half full kind of people. Now I found this kind of odd, I mean what’s in Johnny Cash for an unborn baby, where are the bits for him/her to relate to? Sometimes I think about things too much, but it got my memory working.

Some of the first music I remember hearing when I was a kid was Johnny Cash. When we first moved to Florida, my dad had a big green Mercury Marquis with an 8-track casette player and was a big fan of Cash’s “Folsom/San Quentin” live album. I can remember driving in that car with the windows down (no A/C) in the Florida summer just melting into the vinyl seats, with my Dad singing the chorus:

“When I was just a baby, my mama told me, ‘Son,
Always be a good boy; don’t ever play with guns.’
But I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die.
When I hear that whistle blowin’ I hang my head and cry… ”

That’s the only verse he ever sung. I’m convinced to this day that my Dad knows only one verse to about a hundred songs.

Johnny Cash was the original rebel. He played country and gospel when Sun wanted rock n’ roll. He did live albums in prison when his record company thought that was career suicide. He made mistakes but he got his life and career together when he needed to. There’s something pure and simple about Cash’s music. There’s no bluster and attitude. He was never a great guitarist, but the sound that comes through on his early recordings is something that had never been heard before. Listen to those Sun recordings when it’s a three piece and the music drives forward, it’s like a steam train chugging ahead, not necessarily beautiful, but damn compelling.

Cash fell out of favor with the public in the 80’s. So much so that he played a concert at the Community College gym in our small north Florida town. My Dad and I went to see it. Unfortunately I don’t remember much of the concert, but I do remember getting ill midway through and having to leave early. Wasn’t the last time I would get sick at a concert, but the only time that it wasn’t self induced.

Cash’s resurgence came in collaboration with the producer Rick Rubin, known mostly for producing rap albums. When “American” came out in 1994, I was living in Seattle and trying to live a lifestyle with little room in it for anything from my past. But I couldn’t deny the power of this record, just Cash and his guitar. His voice sounded different, weaker but in a way richer. And songs like the cover of Leonard Cohen’s “Bird on a Wire” brought a ton of emotion that I could have done without in a kind of fragile emotional state.

Cash and Rubin released four of these records and one posthumously. I think the best is “American IV: The Man Comes Around”. I saw the video for “Hurt” before hearing the album and was awestruck. It’s an amazing testament to Cash and the footage of him, in very advanced age recovering from his own illness and the death of his wife is shocking. The album itself is amazing and unlike the other American series, the Cash originals on this album are the best tracks. Particularly the title track and “Give My Love to Rose”. The latter was originally recorded in 1959, but it’s the version on this album, when Cash sings:

“I found him by the railroad track this morning
I could see that he was nearly dead
I knelt down beside him and I listened
Just to hear the words the dying fellow said…”

You can tell you’re listening to a man that has a grip on his own mortality.

So, pardon, the riff. This was meant to be about why our baby might like Johnny Cash. And I don’t know, but I have a couple of ideas. Maybe it’s because you can’t not like Johnny Cash. I know people who hate country music, but still own a Cash album or two. He’s like Elvis or the Beatles, essential to modern music as we know it. And the honesty and simplicity of his music is impossible to dislike.

Or maybe its for the reason that I liked it when I was a kid. Maybe Baby D likes Johnny Cash because her Dad does. I like that answer, but then, I am a half glass full kind of guy.

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For those of you who don’t know T, our 6 year old Siberian Husky, he’s a gentle, loving, calm dog - the very picture of zen-like dogness. However, he does have one weakness. Although there’s no scientific evidence to support this, I believe that huskies are a slight genetic step closer to wolves than your average dog breed. What that means is that they retain the hunting instinct that, for example, your Maltese has lost.

Now before, I get further, I need to tell you two things. First, the British love animals. There are more members of the RSPCA (protection of animals) than of the NSPCC (protection of children).* Second, a farmer, if he feels that his livestock is being threatened, has the right to shoot and kill whatever is threatening it.

So, in moments of lupine reversion, T occasionally forgets himself. For example, we’ve has the occasional run in with swans. Now, I don’t know what how you feel about swans, but I want to tell you they are nasty animals. They are very large, they hiss and they charge and they have no fear. They also belong to the Queen. The problem is, T finds them extremely annoying, I daresay the Queen’s swans are his nemesis - perhaps his republican tendencies coming through, he is after all an American. There have been many incidents but they typically go like this. Fur, feathers, and English women screaming “No, don’t let him hurt the swan!”. Result - frustrated dog and angry swan.

Ah, and then there was my boss’s BBQ. She has a fish pond. Now, to the dog’s credit, he watched one of the technicians in the lab pull a carp out bare handed, pose for a picture and return it. In addition, as you can see from the picture below, the fish are pretty tame, come right up to the surface. But as vigilant dog owners, we scolded him every time he neared the pond. And things were fine and the barbecue progressed and as these things go, vigilance was reduced. Later in the night, I was summoned from a game of Trivial Pursuit by one of my work colleagues: “Um, Chris, your dog got one of J’s fish.” I raced down to the pond to see my boss fruitlessly trying to resusicitate a large koi. Sadly, he’s never been able to replicate this feat. The closest he’s come is pulling a remarkably fish like beer can out of the Thames.

The pheasant. We like to go on a bit of a hike on sunny days, and earlier this year we were out in the Oxfordshire countryside on a nice long walk. Because there was no livestock, T was running as he should. Dr. O’C pointed out the large number of pheasants about and suggested that we put him back on the leash. Sagely, I said, “Dr. O’C, don’t be silly, any decent pheasant will fly away if the dog chases it.” I stand by that statement and am convinced that the pheasant that didn’t fly away needed to be culled. We hadn’t seen another person on our walk until a couple of ramblers strolled by while Timmins was shaking the pheasant around like a stuffed toy. “Bit early in the season for those, isn’t it?” was the response to my sheepish smile.

Because of the public nature of the internet its best that I don’t get to specific about the sheep. But if you’ve ever seen a nature documentary of wolves hunting caribou or something like that, you can form a mental picture. In a way, in hindsight it was amazing to watch. I’d like to point out that the sheep was not killed. So please put your shotgun away Mr. Farmer and tell the Queen it was a different white husky.

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*: This may not actually be true, but it could possibly be and it makes my point better than any handy statistics. Kind of like the Bush administration, huh?

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“Girls who are boys
Who like boys to be girls
Who do boys like they’re girls
Who do girls like they’re boys
Always should be someone you really love…”

-Blur “Girls & Boys”

One of the first things Dr. O’C said when she found out she was pregnant (after she stopped crying) was: “I don’t want to know the sex of the baby.” Now, I disagreed, but in the six plus years we’ve been together I’ve learned to pick my battles. In this case, I was planning for a battle over surnames, one I thankfully didn’t have to fight. At any rate, Dr. O’C reckoned that the sex of the baby was the only surprise available in pregnancy and childbirth and thus, she wanted to keep it that way. Seems to me and my limited knowledge of physics that having a small human come out of you could be pretty surprising, but again picking battles.

I have not fought the battle, but I have been doing subtle reconnaisance. During both of the scans I was looking hard for the presence or absence of sex determining organs. There are several websites that offer hints on how to determine the sex of your baby. Everyone who has ever borne a child or known someone who has borne a child has a little tip about how to determine sex. A very colorful woman with whom I work is always asking me - “Which way is she growing, wider or further out, that will tell you the sex.” Because Dr. O’C reads this blog, its best that I not reveal my answer.

One of the more entertaining ways we’ve used to attempt to divine the sex of the baby is Turkish gypsy magic. One of our friends who is Turkish, but not to my knowledge a gypsy, remembered an old-wives tale that says if you dangle a ring on a string over the pregnant woman’s bump, the motion of the ring will tell you the sex of the child. Up and down means boy and circular motion means girl, or vice versa. As you can see in the picture above, Dr. O’C subjected herself to this and revealed that the baby is in fact a girl. So your shopping may now begin. Oh, and if your curious, K, our friends’ four year old daughter, is having a boy.

I’m often asked which I would prefer, and with the knowledge that the Turkish gypsy magic may be slightly inaccurate and my son may one day read this, my honest answer to that is I would prefer a girl. This is primarily because nearly all girls are Daddy’s girls and who doesn’t want to be the favorite parent.

That being said, it doesn’t really matter. I am absolutely thrilled either way. As long as he/she has his/her mother’s nose, I’m happy. And her eyes, probably mouth, and hopefully her hair…

I’d like to point out, that recently the decisive Dr. O’Connell has begun to wish that we did know the sex of the baby so we could buy the right color muslins or something. I always win.

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“The bicycle is the most civilized conveyance known to man. Other forms of transport grow daily more nightmarish. Only the bicycle remains pure in heart.” ~Iris Murdoch, The Red and the Green

I would first like to point out that I am an excellent driver. I’ve been driving for nearly 20 years, with very few incidents. As an American I’m required to love driving the open road. But in the nearly three years now of my expatriation I have come to the following conclusion: I hate cars. MORE

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“The foetus may be startled by loud music and start kicking you when it hears a certain tune. Or maybe its dancing. This is a good time to play it music, talk to it and see if you get a reaction.”

(The Rough Guide to Pregnancy).

Say no more, I am on the case! I’ve had very little to do thus far in the pregnancy other than cooking and cleaning and general slave tasks. Now, however, my first opportunity at a fatherly duty. The musical education of my child! Those of you who know me well will know that I am a music geek. Shortly after we found out Dr. O’C was pregnant, I began to dream of musical interactions with my first born. Most of these ended with me saying something like “Now, Dr. O’C, our baby is NOT listening to that annoying kids’ music. I will not have Baby DVD listening to some crap europop version of “YMCA” or something.” To which Dr. O’C, as with all my rants, smiles bemusedly.

Thus, selecting and playing music to the baby was a task I looked forward to relish. But how to approach it? Most books suggest melodic classical music. While I think this is probably snobbery, I can see that “Anarchy in the UK” or Nirvana’s “Aneurysm” may not be the place to begin. After several days (yes, days) of scanning my iTunes library, I fell upon Van Morrison. Not just any Van Morrison, but the finest in his (very fine) discography - “Astral Weeks”. If you do not own this album, stop reading, go out and buy it now. If you do own this album, play it while you read. It was recorded over three days in 1968 with a quintet of jazz musicians and its the spontaneity that these musicians bring to the table along with Morrison’s ethereal lyrics that make this album very special. There’s something absolutely beautiful and spiritual about this album that is beyond the power of this writer to explain. All I know is if my day has turned bad, I put “Astral Weeks” on my iPod and go for a walk in the nearest park and by the time I’m back, it’s usually OK.

“Sweet Thing” was in my opinion, the most baby friendly song on the album. So, armed with the beginning of my child’s musical education and my iPod stereo, I was prepared. Dr.  O’C had been feeling the baby kick quite a bit, but try as I might I could never really feel it. But, when I sat down with Dr. O’C, hand on tummy, and Van’s gravelly soulful voice began:

“And I will stroll the merry way
And jump the hedges first
And I will drink the clear
Clean water for to quench my thirst…”

Baby DVD began kicking up a storm, quiet little flutter kicks. Dancing to the Irish minstrel music. I choose to interpret it as dancing, I guess it could be “Leave me alone with that loud rock n’ roll. I’m trying to sleep!” But, I think she was dancing. A truly wonderful experience and one that makes me like this album even more.

“We shall walk and talk
In gardens all misty and wet with rain
And I will never, never, never
Grow so old again.

Oh sweet thing, sweet thing
My, my, my, my, my sweet thing
And I will raise my hand up
Into the night time sky
And count the stars
That’s shining in your eye…”

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There’s nothing wrong with prog rock. My first college experience was all about soaking up new information. Unfortunately, little of that soaking up occurred in the classroom. As a fraternity pledge at a small private college in the South Carolina foothills I was exposed to all kinds of new stimuli. Most of them have been left along the way, but I still love a lot of the music that I heard there. The Indigo Girls, B-52s, the Grateful Dead, the Eagles all still strike a chord.

I had a fraternity brother who was a big Jethro Tull fan. I have hazy recollections of pre-party evening spent listening to the occasionally pompous flautist and his band of merry men noodling there way through classics like Aqualung, The Whistler and Locomotive Breath. It was really my first exposure to rock so “hard” and the oft-maligned prog rock world. But what really got me going was the 45 minute epic “Thick As A Brick”. I spent many hours analyzing lyrics, dreaming of the English countryside and trying to wring as much as I could out of the St. Cleve Chronicle.

Like much of the music from that time in my life, I lost interest along the way in Ian Anderson and his little Milton. Until the end of last year when Portland, Oregon’s The Decemberist released their major label debut “The Crane Wife”. I’ve been a fan of the band for a couple of years, their previous albums are delightful romps that are ecstasy for the overeducated. Picaresque in particular mixes sea shantys (Mariner’s Revenge Song) with tongue in cheek protest songs (16 Military Wives). And they are a fabulous live act (go and see them if opportunity arrives. So, I looked forward withanticipation, and a little bit of apprehension, to the major label debut. More apprehension as early reviews said “The Decemberists go prog rock”. My mind raced to Yes - a band I’ve never been able to figure out.

Now, “The Crane Wife” is a fine album. Nice sing-alongs such as “O, Valencia”, “Summersong” and my favorite “Yankee Bayonet” (I’m a sucker for a Civil War inspired pop song). It’s beautifully bookended by “The Crane Wife 3” on the front and the yearning “Sons & Daughters” on the back. But, it’s “The Island” that makes this album a beast worth reckoning with. A 12 1/2 minute neo-prog masterpeice. Seven minutes on is a riff that just needs a flute to make Ian Anderson seethe with jealousy. It’s this track and the later “Crane Wife 1 & 2” that make this album into one of the best of ’06. And made me crank the volume up on the iPod this afternoon.

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