For amber waves of grain

Music isn't contemplated anymore. Any music.

My college girlfriend had these two friends from India named Nick and Subir. I used to watch these guys drink EXTRA strong coffee--maybe 10 or 11 cups--long after the sun went down, and smoke about a thousand hand-rolled cigarettes each, talking about jazz, and then fall dead asleep for the normal 8 hours. I'm one of those people who think jazz is written and recorded in Sanskrit, and, unless you personally authored the Rosetta stone, you have no chance of deciphering it. I can listen to it for a while, but soon, I get a little lost in the scales, tones, and modes, and you're just not going to throw me a lifesaver big enough to fish me out of the ocean. But you know what? Whenever I run into people like ol' Nick and Subir, it really gives me a hop in my step.

People who spend hours talking about the effect Coltrane had on music remind me of Bob Dylan. As far as what I do is concerned, Bob Dylan changed everything. There was a lot of "plight-of-the-working-man" in Woody Guthrie's music; there was a lot of "she-cheated-on-me-while-I-worked-the-3rd-shift-at-the-auto-plant" in Hank Williams' music; the guitar became a firecracker in the hands of Bo Diddly and Chuck Berry; and, there was a lot of "jammin'-on-the-one" to James Brown's music. Dylan very improbably synthesized all of this into whatever he did, is doing, and will ever do. But, where I'm going doesn't have much to do with a cursory history of the metamorphosis of music in the 50's, 60's, and 70's.

It has more to do with music's place in culture, its function if you will, and why the word "important," when associated with music, makes people cringe and write emails that the receivers delete with knowing smiles, shaking heads, and the tsk tsk tsk of your grandmother's wisdom.

Back when Coltrane was blue, Dylan was freewheelin', and TV was 3 networks and UHF, people read books and listened to music. Don't get me wrong, they still do that. But, back then, MANY people did that. Now, many people read bullshit blogs, watch end-of-civilization, reality TV shows, and have every album Britney Spears ever released. Hey, St. Augustine had a hard time looking away when the lions ate the Christians, so I'm not going to begrudge anybody their modern-day comforts. But, because of what I do, I have to believe there's an American discourse and history that takes place in our entertainments; there are moments when a song is more than a song...Cole Porter and Louis Armstrong were the voices of the American Renaissance, post World War I, etc.

Oh YES, I love to shuffle, two-step, and swing. Who gives a fuck what Nate's mumbling up there on a Friday night? I'm trying to swing this girl around the floor and into bed. No, every song doesn't have to be ABOUT something. You are so right my friend.

Now that we have that out of the way for Shania, Britney, and whatever soulless robot has yet to be launched by the perverts whose Armani suits are encrusted with Beluga caviar and semen in the bowels of the big record labels, let's get back on topic...

Let's just assume for a moment that there are people who are trying to paint portraits of America that don't pigeonhole into commercials for processed cheese slices, tartar fighting toothpaste, and feminine hygeine. I mean, Jesus...is that all there is?

Jay Farrar is or was Bob Dylan's heir. I say "is or was" because Jay still has some lead in his pencil and is working out where his mark is going to be; also, assuming for the sake of argument, that he's past his prime, no one has hit me as the next wrung in the impossible ladder I'm building at 2am.

But you should know this: just based on what he did in Uncle Tupelo (THE MOST IMPORTANT COUNTRY BAND OF THE LATE 80'S AND EARLY 90'S), Son Volt, and in his solo projects to date, Farrar is one of maybe 5 or 6 people with genuine talent who is struggling to paint the American portrait in music that will be collected and remembered 50 years from now. Sure, in 2013, Mothers in Edina will tune the FM dial in their Minivans to the ClearChannel station dedicated to the "Millenium Oldies"--Britney, Christina, AND Pink--while their kids watch the fucking purple dinosaur that just won't die, on DVD, from the back seats, buckled in tighter than any Apollo astronaut ever dreamed of being...but does that make it RIGHT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

It took Mark Twain several years of bouncing around on the River to find out what it meant to be Mark Twain...Tennessee Williams bared scars, real scars, bleeding crusty scars, right there on stage for everyone to see and whisper about, right after they patted him on the back...and everytime I think I know what Bob Dylan has been trying to tell me and everybody else for the past 40 years, he still throws me curve balls. THIS is the stuff of ambulance driving in France in WWI, hunting lions in Africa between takes, and swinging at 3-0 pitches with the bases loaded and nobody out. Fucking turn off your monitor, your TV, your MP3 player, your combination watch-drink carbonator-dildo and fucking LIVE!!! This is still the greatest country and melting pot culture in the world; engage yourself in it.

And while you're living, go see Jay Farrar at First Avenue Wednesday night. If you aimlessly clap at some songs and heartily hoot at others, he will make note of it, and YOU my friend, will have become part of history.