Inkwell: Authors and Artists

    

I got to see Michael Smith play a house concert a year and a half ago.  A
wonderful, intimate musical experience.  Here's something I posted about it
at the time (with some material provided by <rik>, who is participating in
this topic and was also at the house cncert):

Michael Peter Smith

The following is distilled from several WELL posts by my friend and musical
buddy Rik Elswit (and posted here with his permission, of course). It con-
cerns a house concert by Michael Smith that we both attended on February 26:

> Listened to Michael Smith, a wonderful veteran singer-songwriter from
> Chicago, at a house party yesterday. The party was a gift to our friend
> Drew from [his partner Jen], and a bunch of us chipped in in secret to get
> Smith, Drews favorite singer-songwriter, for it - but it wound up being a
> gift to us all. It was an absolutely superb afternoon of music and story,
> and it was a pleasure watching a man who has spent his life mastering his
> craft.

> I've known of the guy by word of mouth for over 30 years, but this was the
> first time I'd actually heard him, and I was just floored by the quality of
> his songs and his low-key, deceptively simple, delivery. The songs are
> rich, complex, melodic, and dripping with great lines, with an incredibly
> diverse set of references. You have to bring some awareness and a college
> education to the party to catch them all. In fact, I felt flattered that he
> assumed I'd done the required reading. He has a novelist's ear for charac-
> ter and nuance, and all of it is backed up by a very subtle, simplesound-
> ing, but actually quite complex guitar style rooted in swing, blues, and
> urban folk.

Mike Smith, like his pals John Prine and the late Steve Goodman, comes from a
school of early-'70s singer-songwriter craft that was a huge influence on me.
One of its most important features is the ability go go from hilarious to
poignant to stunningly sweet all in the space of three songs. Not a speck of
cereal in that show.

It’s rare to be as captivated as I was by that performance. But I shouldn’t
be surprised: Mike Smith, Steve Goodman, John Prine et al. pretty much estab-
lished the paradigm of singer-songwriterdom for me when I was a pup in he
early ’70s, although Smith did so indirectly via Goodman (who recorded “The
Dutchman” and “Spoon River,” and played other Smith songs in concert).  But I
hear a lot of Goodman in his sound and manner, which is to say there was a
lot of Smith in Steve, too.

Noting that Smith used nothing but the standard guitar tuning in the perfor-
mance we saw, Rik added: “I learned a lot watching him. He had this great way
of moving up the neck using open E, A, and D strings as pedal tones to hold
it together. I do this a lot in E and A. He taught me how to do it in G,
using A and D as pedal tones when he’d be playing V chord (D) forms up the
neck on the high strings.

I bought both of the CDs Smith had for sale, and I guess Rik did, too:

> The more you listen to it, the more you hear. At first I was lulled by the
> apparent simplicity and it took me a bit of time to hear the musical, lyri-
> cal, and rhythmic complexity and the stylistic variety. My current fave
> (they change with the time of day) is “The Ballad of Elizabeth Dark” which
> sounds to me like what you’d get if Springsteen went to college in the late
> ’50s-early ’50s. And my language maven wife just loves his wordplay.

> Listening to that album after having seen the show underlines, for me, the
> level of craft involved. Michael Smith has a well-honed act based on a
> character he’s invented and inhabited, also named Michael Smith. It’s like
> watching Leo Kottke. The first time I saw him I just enjoyed the show. But
> after having seen him several times I could see the structure of what he
> was doing and I developed a new appreciation of just how much work was in-
> volved in crafting the artifice. And I liked him even more.

> It's nice, getting a present for somebody else's birthday.


The two CDs I bought have some overlapping content, but both are entirely
worthwhile. I guess if you’re only going to get one, I’d start with Live at
Dark-Thirty. But Such Things Are Finely Done is well worth the money, too.

Here’s a sample of the lyrics of “Zippy” (which is on both CDs):

Sun zips up sun zips down
Zippy little clouds zipping over Zippytown
Palm pilots pagers beepers
Faxes and such
Folks in Zippytown are down with
Keeping in touch
Barreling in their SUVs passing on the right
Zipping through the zippy day
Zipping through the night
Zippety-zip they get the jobs and money
Zip they have the kids
Zip they in the coffin
Folks is zipping up the lids
And speaking of lids man

Life gets pretty zippy
When you quit doing weed
  

    

On the subject of songwriting:  In one of my (telephone) interviews with
Goodman, he talked about writing with Shel Silverstein - said you'd hand him
the lyrics you had and he'd hand them back a short time later, "corrected
like an English-class paper" and tremendously improved.
  

    

Let's talk about Arlo.  His recording of "City of New Orleans" was a
tremendous breakthrough for Steve, and Arlo supported Steve in other ways,
too.

In our correspondence you referred to Arlo as "the conscience of the book."
Can you explain that for us here, please?
  

    
Shel, who also had Chicago roots, was well-matched to Steve, but their
collaboration was more via long-distance than in-person. The classic
example is the 1978 Goodman-Silverstein song "What Have You Done for Me
Lately?" Goodman came up with the song's chorus and convinced Shel to
send him the song's solitary verse. The two fit like a glove.

A much lesser-known contribution by Shel was on "Vegematic," which
Goodman had concocted with Michael Smith. The main character of the
song falls asleep with the TV on and ends up ordering everything
advertised in the late-night mail-order commercials. In Hollywood in
1982-83, Steve recorded a demo of this litany of materialism, and he
mailed the cassette tape to Silverstein with an aural plea for
guidance.

"Dear Shel — help," Steve intoned, explaining the song’s core: "The
stuff just keeps coming. It’s like Mickey and the Sorcerer’s
Apprentice. The water keeps comin’, OK? And I don’t quite know how to
express that. Guy pinches himself, and it doesn’t matter whether he’s
asleep or awake by that point. It’s just that he’s in a scrape. So you
tell me what to do with that, OK?"

I don't know what constituted Shel's reply. But the lyrics of the
finished song match the lyrics of the version on the demo tape. I
suspect that in this case, Shel merely gave the song his stamp of
approval -- and for this, Goodman gave him co-writing credit.
  

    
Of my more than 1,000 interviews, my favorite has to be the one with
Arlo in July 2000 for two-and-a-half hours over lunch at a Mexican
restaurant in Louisville, Kentucky. As we covered myriad little-known
details of his relationship with Goodman and "City of New Orleans," I
found Arlo to be not only an articulate raconteur but also a man of
integrity and passion -- and this comes across strongly in the book.

You have to understand the ties that bound Steve and Arlo. Without
Arlo, of course, Goodman would not likely have been in the national
consciousness. It was the popularity of Arlo's version of "City of New
Orleans" that gave Steve his musical calling card.

Interestingly, the converse is also true. Without Steve, Arlo likely
would not be known by the mainstream. Before "City," Arlo obviously had
made a mark with "Alice's Restaurant" and in his spacey performance in
the Woodstock film documentary. But Arlo was still on the fringe, seen
by the mainstream, if at all, as merely a longhaired hippie. When
"City" took off in the summer of 1972 (stemming not from a Warner
Brothers promo effort but rather from the grass roots of Atlanta), Arlo
became legitimate -- "a train guy," as he puts it -- and finally was
able to secure concerts in the South and other mainstream locales.
"City" was Arlo's only pop hit and remains so today.

The Steve-Arlo link goes beyond music, however. Like Steve, Arlo had
death on his shoulder, for he could not know until he lived his life
whether he would inherit the debilitating Huntington's chorea that had
cut down his famous dad, Woody Guthrie. It's clear that Arlo had a
special appreciation for Steve, and Arlo expresses that eloquently in
the book.

When Arlo interpreted "City of New Orleans," though he slowed it down,
changed a few words and inserted an irresistible chord change in the
chorus, he retained the integrity of Steve's song. This is in stark
contrast to the treatment given "City" by John Denver, who, several
months before Arlo's version broke, stripped "the disappearin' railroad
blues" from the lyrics and turned it into what I would call "City of
New Orleans Lite." What really steamed Arlo (and Steve), however, was
Denver claiming on the back of his "Aerie" LP half the credit for
writing the song.

"I went ballistic," Guthrie told me. "I went what could only be
described as letters that are not part of the alphabet. I went crazy. I
didn’t understand it."

Eventually, Arlo read Denver the riot act, and Denver vowed to "make
it right." And eventually, Denver did, re-recording the song in
Steve/Arlo fashion in 1997 for what became Denver's last CD, a stellar
and affecting collection of train tunes called "All Aboard."

In 2005, after Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans and environs,
Arlo felt it was his duty to stage a series of fund-raising concerts
from Chicago to New Orleans along the route of the train whose name was
the title of his only hit song.

If people have the chance to read only one of the 800 pages of my
Steve Goodman biography, I hope it's Arlo's foreword on page 3. Those
seven paragraphs set the tone for the book and provide us with wisdom
for the ages -- about life, death and destiny.
  

    

> I don't know what constituted Shel's reply. But the lyrics of the finished
> song match the lyrics of the version on the demo tape. I suspect that in
> this case, Shel merely gave the song his stamp o

I had a similar experience a couple of years ago, when I was playing a gig
with my friend (and your Seattle neighbor) Jim Page.  We had some time to kill
between a radio appearance and the gig, so we hung out in a state park in the
Santa Cruz Mountains.  I showed Jim a song I was working on, "It's Gonna Get
Better."  I had like five and a half verses and no idea how to make 'em all
fit together.  I played everything I had for Jim and showed him the lyrics on
paper.  He looked at it for a couple of minutes and then said, "Do this verse
and then this verse and then this verse and this verse, and toss this one..."
Jim didn't write a single word in the song, but his contribution to its com-
pletion was essential: I needed his "permission" and guidance in stringing
these seemingly unconnected pieces into something coherent.

(If anyone is interested in hearing the song, it's at
http://www.dgans.com/audio/gonnaget.mp3 )
  

    

(I just noticed that I have a live performance of a Goodman song, "I Can't
Sleep," on my page, too:

http://www.dgans.com/audio/ICantSleep-LooksLikeRain.mp3

)
  

    

Now, back to Arlo.  How cool that "City of New Orleans" worked so well for
both the writer and the performer!
  

    

Another friend and collaborator, Jimmy Buffett: he shows up on the cover of
"Somebody Else's Troubles - how did that happen?  And what was the story of
their friendship and collaboration?
  

    
One of the names that comes up in several places is John Bassette, who never
got the recognition he deserved as a performer.

I heard him sing several times, in different settings, and he always
impressed the hell out of me -- first at an "open mike" on stage a the 1967
Newport Folk Festival, and a few years later at Bert & Judy Haynes' house
and as opening act for Rick Nelson (!) at one of the Philly-area clubs (the
Main Point? It was a long time ago).

You mention that he and Goodman were good friends. Did they work together or
write together? How did they first connect? And do you have any thoughts
about why John B. wasn't more widely known?
  

    
"I don't know what constituted Shel's reply. But the lyrics of the
finished song match the lyrics of the version on the demo tape. I suspect
that in this case, Shel merely gave the song his stamp of approval."

Turnabout is fair play.   I've done a bit of writing with Shel, myself, and
he is most generous about sharing credit.   Come up with one word he likes
better than the one he was using and he cuts you in for half the song.   He
taught a bunch of us the joys of generosity and how it comes back to you.
Steve obviously learned the lesson, too.
  

    
I once heard Jerry Jeff Walker say that "City of New Orleans" is the
best train song ever.  I suspect a lot of people feel that way, myself
included.
  

    
I've got a reading/music event on behalf of my book here in West
Seattle tonight, and I've got to get ready. Just don't want you to
think I'm ignoring this great conversation, which I deeply appreciate.
Back atcha late tonight or early in the morning.
  

    

How'd it go, Clay?  Was Jef Jaisun there?  I've been trying to get him to
join us in here...
  

    

Just got my CD of the tribute concert in the mail.  John Prine's liner notes:


> Stevie:

> They're making me write the liner notes for your tribute album.  What am I
> supposed to tell them?  You won every argument you ever started?  You hated
> speeding tickets, bureaucrats, and nosy Mounties?  That you remembered
> every joke you ever heard, good or bad, and told them all to me twice?

> I mean, am I supposed to sit here and tell everybody how great you were
> when all you ever did was laugh at my guitar playing and brag about my
> songwriting behind my back?  Some friend.

> Yeah, we held a tribute - you know, like Caesar.  We didn't come there to
> bury you, just to murder a few of your songs, and we held it at McCormick
> Place.  Yeah!  The Arie Crown Theater.  You remember.  The place we
> couldn't fill if our lives depended on it, and that ain't all.  Six months
> after you kissed the big bazooka, me and Sarah had to pick up a Grammy for
> you.  How ironic!

> So there you go partner.  The beer's in the bathtub, there'll be no showers
> tonight, and the fat lady is still singing one long song.  Give us a call
> sometime.

> Your buddy,

> John



-

I sat in my car listening to the opening track, "Souvenirs," and cried a
little while I read that.

(That's RPJ 004CD, TRIBUTE TO STEVE GOODMAN.  Available via stevegoodman.net
)
  

    
Apologies for being absent the past 24 hours. Things have been nuts.

Thanks for asking about last night's event, David. The event was at
the local senior center, and more than 100 people showed up. It was the
first time in 24 consecutive events that I didn't have the help of
live musicians to play Goodman songs, so I worked with a few songs from
the officially released 2003 DVD of Goodman's performances on "Austin
City Limits," and the event went quite well. Nice for people to be able
to see the real guy do his thing. Many attendees were in their 70s and
80s, and the songs "This Hotel Room," "My Old Man," "The Dutchman"
and, of course, "City of New Orleans" had a big impact.

Jef Jaisun is tentatively scheduled to perform at my reading/music
event at 1 p.m. this Sunday at ArtsWest in the West Seattle Junction.
My hour-long slot is part of a full afternoon dubbed "Words from the
West Side." Jef's song "Flying with the Angels" is one of the most
effective on the CD that comes with my book. On the track, the late Tom
Dundee provides vocal harmony and harmonica. In person, Jef can use
the song to really take charge and lift the audience's voice and
spirit. I saw him do just that May 27 at Folklife here in Seattle.

David, you ask about Jimmy Buffett. He appears on the cover of
Goodman's second LP, for Buddah, called "Somebody Else's Troubles," and
at the time it was no big deal because Buffett was an unknown. In
retrospect, it looks to be a ruse because Buffett doesn't sing or play
on the album, and none of the songs are his. But the intent was not to
mislead.

The reason Buffett was on the cover was that he was staying on the
Goodmans' sofa bed at the time, and Goodman wanted a few of his musical
friends in the photo. The photo session was Aug. 7, 1972, in the
Goodman's apartment near Wrigley Field, and the idea of the image was
for it to be an updated version of the Civil War-looking photo on the
front of the 1970 Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young "Déjà Vu" LP.

The dynamic between Buffett and Goodman is a fascinating example of
how Goodman mentored performers who later surged past him in
conventional musical success. Goodman essentially introduced Buffett to
Chicago, which Buffett identifies as his favorite city. But in 1972,
Buffett didn't have enough funds for a hotel room when he played
Chicago's Quiet Knight club, and he even borrowed $50 from Goodman for
train fare to his next gig in Colorado.

One extended anecdote in the book delves into a half-hour set during
an October 1973 Goodman gig at Bubba's in South Miami. In this set,
Goodman invited Buffett onstage, and it is easy to perceive the
seriousness with which Buffett took the opportunity, whereas Goodman
was not only goofing around onstage but also generously yielding to his
friend. It was as if the two were on a freeway, and Goodman was
gleefully waving Buffett into the passing lane.

Buffett, of course, had several mid-level successes ("Come Monday,"
"Pencil Thin Mustache") before hitting it big in 1977 with
"Margaritaville," which quickly became his signature song. Ironically,
on the same LP as "Margaritaville" was Buffett's version of one of
Goodman's best-crafted songs, the tropical "Banana Republics." Many
consider it the quintessential Buffett song, and Buffett doesn't
disagree.

"It sounded like a song that I should have written," Buffett told me.
"It’s a great story. It paints a real accurate vision of expatriates.
For people that know them and for people that don’t, it’s a very vivid
image. It still is, too. When you get into the most requested songs,
favorites of mine or in my performances, 'Banana Republics' has got to
be one of them."

Buffett and Goodman forged a close friendship. They co-wrote several
songs, and Goodman played on several of Buffett's LPs. Respectful of
his onetime mentor, Buffett was one of the last visitors when Goodman
was in a post-transplant coma at University of Washington Hospital in
September 1984. Soon thereafter, when Goodman died, Buffett pinch-hit
for Steve in singing the national anthem for the National League
Championship Series at Wrigley Field.

"To walk into that was like going to church," Buffett told me. "That
was where I said goodbye to Steve Goodman. It was much better than
being in the hospital, let me tell you."

Buffett continues to honor the friendship today. In 2005, when he
played the first concert ever staged at Wrigley, he not only dedicated
"Banana Republics" to Steve, but he also encored by playing a largely
unaccompanied version of "City of New Orleans" from the right-field
bleachers, where Goodman often sat and played during Cubs games in the
late 1970s. Last year's DVD of the Buffett concert includes footage of
the equipment set-up, and the accompanying audio is Goodman's "Go,
Cubs, Go."

John, you ask about John Bassette. My documentation of his friendship
with Goodman is sketchy, in part because their contact was so sporadic.
They shared clubs stages in Greenwich Village in spring and summer
1967, and the Philadelphia Folk Festival also was a catalyst. In
addition, Steve did a show with Bassette on Jan. 14 at Oberlin College
near Cleveland when Bassette was an artist-in-residence there.

It's hard to say why Bassette wasn't better known. Perhaps the fact
that he was based in Cleveland was a factor, much the same as artists
from Chicago had trouble gaining traction. Certainly a huge impediment
was the series of strokes that Bassette had suffered in the 1990s. I
was able to talk with Bassette by phone several times before his death
last fall, but his speech was difficult to discern, and it was hard to
obtain specifics from him. There is an official tribute site,
johnbassette.org, and his legacy includes three LPs, two mini-albums
and a book.

Peter, you ask about a quote -- "best train song ever" -- that has
been attributed to so many people (and Johnny Cash and Kris
Kristofferson) that it's hard to determine who truly said it in
describing "City of New Orleans." One of the first, if not the first,
uses of the phrase (with the word "damn" inserted) was in John Prine's
liner notes to Goodman's first LP in November 1971. It certainly seems
to be a universal sentiment!
  

    
Silly error in the final paragraph above. I meant, in parentheses, to
say "such as Johnny Cash and Kris Kristofferson," but the word "such"
became "and." In grammatical context, this indicated that Cash and
Kristofferson aren't people! Gotta be more careful, as grammar always 
said. Maybe Goodman would have found a song in that.
  

    

I also got my CD of "Words We Can Dance To" today.

I don't think I knew what to make of "Old Fashioned" when I first heard this
record 30 years ago.  My adult, experienced musician ears appreciate the
wonderfulness of David Amram's string chart, but no wonder Good man had a
hard time selling records: this disc was all over the map!
  

    
Here's Goodman's contemporary take on the LP.

"There is no one influence?" Chicago radio host Studs Terkel asked him
immediately after the LP's release in April 1976.

"Yeah," Steve replied, "it’s the hectic eclectic."

Steve also told Howard Larman of L.A.'s "FolkScene" that the LP had
"met with mixed reaction" because of "confusion about what I’m tryin’
to do. I think it’s probably my fault for not honing in more on certain
things. It’s a hair eclectic, and some people have expressed their
doubts about that side of it. But shit, I’m happy with it. ... I don’t
know if it all fits together in one ball when you try to put it on
plastic. But it’s the only way I know how to do it, so I guess I’m
stuck with it. No big thing."
  

    
If John Bassette was ever going to be a success, it would have been in the
late 60's and early 70s, when he, Goodman and many others were part of that
post-Folk Scare group of performers. By the time he had his stroke, the
opportunity had passed, I think.

I always thought John was the folksinger and songwriter that Ritchie Havens
could have been with more talent and a better repertoire. He (John B.) did
the best version of Joni Mitchell's "Both Sides Now" I ever heard, along
with his own twist on old Josh White material and the songs he wrote
himself.

I suppose this is an example of the importance of a contract with a major
record label to make the difference in visibility beyond the coffee-house
and club circuit. Even though Buddah didn't give Steve the promotion he
deserved, they did get his records into national distribution, and onto at
least some radio stations.
  

    
From Off-Well reader:

"I got to see Steve many times but only once was treated to his version of
"My Kind of Town" of which I have searched in vain for a recording.  Do any
of the tapes you found include his paen to his (and my) home town?

Peace,
Fred
pholkiephred@hotmail.com
 .
y
  

    
John, your insight, I think, is correct for its time, that in the
1960s, 1970s and into the 1980s, a contract with a major label was a
huge measuring stick. As Wendy Waldman told me in relation to Steve
being dropped by Asylum in 1981, "Everyone around you defined you by
whether you had a damned record deal."

Today, with the media markets fragmented beyond comprehension, the
same is not true. Artists frequently sell their own wares, and many
choose not to seek or depend on major labels for their credibility. So
while sales of 30-50,000 for a Goodman LP 30 years ago was considered a
failure, many artists today would see such figures a big success.

Fred, the only recording I'm aware of in which Goodman sings "My Kind
of Town (Chicago Is)" is from an Aug. 28, 1976, workshop at the
Philadelphia Folk Festival called "Chicago, My Home." In it, Steve
ad-libs a number of lines, throwing in fun Chicago references along
with the names of other Chicagoans on the workshop panel, but it's more
of a loose, throw-away tune to close the workshop and not a stellar
performance. The charm lies in its lack of polish.

Here are the lyrics, as sung by Steve:

My kind of town, Chicago is
My kind of town, Chicago is
My kind of razz-ma-tazz
And it has
All that jazz

And each time I roam, Chicago is
Calling me home, Chicago is
The Wrigley chewing gum building
Not to mention his ballpark
Not to mention Hizzoner DaMare
Is my kind of town

My kind of town, Chicago is
My kind of town, Chicago is
My kind of people too
People who
Won’t mess with you

And each time I leave, Chicago is
Tuggin’ my sleeve, Chicago is
The Earl of Old Town, Chicago is
Somebody Else’s Troubles, Chicago is
Well, even Ratso’s, Chicago is
The Civic Opera House, Chicago is
The union stockyards, Chicago is
Jimmy Post and Kenny Bloom and Claudia Schmidt and Stephen Wade,
Chicago is
Attacking the Philadelphia Folk Festival, Chicago is
One town that won’t let you down
It’s my kind of town
Chicago, Chicago, my kind of town
  

    
Funny words in those liner notes about not being able to fill the
theater at McCormack Place.  Yeah, my wife saw Prine and Goodman play
for free in the lounge of her college library.  I forget which college,
perhaps University of Iowa.
  

    
Mark, the lounge show you recall may have been the same stop as when
Goodman opened for Prine on Friday, Feb. 20, 1976, at Hancher
Auditorium at the University of Iowa in Iowa City. The concert was
advertised with a poster showcasing an 1890s lithograph from Harper's
Weekly depicting two faceless characters wearing Ku Klux Klan robes and
carrying shotguns.

The bizarre image made Steve laugh. "I loved that gig, man," he said
two years later. "We were standing there in these pointed hoods with
'John Prine/Steve Goodman in Concert' underneath. So I took the poster
home. When my children ask me what I do for a living, someday I’m gonna
show ’em that."
  

    
So David, how was your Farmer's Market gig? Did your new composition
become Goodman-esque, or did it take off in a different direction?