Mark Grube's blog

One Wing

We once belonged to a bird

Who cast his shadow on this world

You were a blessing and I was a curse

I did my best not to make things worse

for you

 

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SINGSATIONAL

I got a box of old records from a friend recently. Thought I’d share this one. Maybe someone remembers the Passport Lounge?

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Telephone

I'm struck over and over by the power of music to communicate, to get a message through. Not many seem more intent on discovering that power than Richie Havens. Not many seem to go deeper inside themselves in order to send the song out. You can get a sense of that from his performance at Woodstock.

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Vicarious

I saw The Felice Brothers at Water Street a few weeks back. They're tremendous. If you've ever seen a show and felt like you wanted more commitment from the band, you should check them out next time. Anyway, it occured to me as I watched that a lot of the draw for seeing a show like that, and maybe for rock 'n' roll or music in general, is vicarious.

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Soon This Space Will Be Too Small

Lhasa

For some reason, I wasn’t able to catch Madeleine Peyroux when she played the Rochester Jazz Festival in 2005, so I made the trip to see her a few weeks later in Toronto. My memory may be faulty but I’m pretty sure she was the opening act, which seemed odd since I'd never even heard of the headliner, someone named Lhasa. It didn’t seem odd for long. 

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Murder By Mistletoe

I'm a sucker for this sound. It's The Felice Brothers. I'd recommend it for just the piano break alone, for the way it starts to tip over, but the lyrics are interesting too. There's a man drifting off to sleep in an "attic full of make believe" while carolers sing in the street. Later he watches a woman smile on TV and ends up "laying with last year's love, high as the moon above."

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Happy Autumn

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Meet Joe Pug

Loudon Wainwright III wrote a song for Bob Dylan a few years back. Part of it went like this…
 
Yeah, I got a deal, and so did John Prine, Steve Forbert and Springsteen, all in a line.
They were lookin' for you, signin' up others.
We were 'new Bob Dylans,' your dumb-ass kid brothers.

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Three minutes at a time

Radio sucks. That’s my conclusion after spending 11 hours driving back home from Chicago Sunday night into Monday morning. My fellow travelers were sleeping during most of the wee small hours. I stopped several times to top off the coffee but I was still having a few of those moments when the white dashes hypnotize and the rumble strips snap you out of it. I had the radio on and searched for something decent, ideally something to which I could sing along. Belting out the Beatles or AC/DC or Louis Armstrong kept my brain alert and occupied and in the moment, but only for three minutes at a time. Then they’d play dreck or a commercial and I’d be zipping up and down the dial again. I think I may have developed carpal tunnel syndrome from hitting the scan button so often.

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Tear Me Up

One of the pleasures of living in our little town is the occasional Sunday soiree at Abilene. They sometimes open up in the afternoon and host a band on the back patio. Bobby Henrie & the Goners braved the heat this past weekend.
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