They Decorated My Life

After a longtime friend derided There Stands the Glass as a “death blog” a few years ago, I made the conscious decision to stop acknowledging the passing of every prominent musician.  The furious spate of recent bad news compels me to return to the gloomy format to lament several recent fatalities.

Cristina Monet-Zilkha
The no wave/new wave musician Cristina is among the peripheral artists who were once the momentary focus of my attention.  Shamefully, I’d completely forgotten about her.

Manu Dibango
I like to think I already know everything, so I was flabbergasted to have never made the connection between Manu Dibango’s global 1972 hit “Soul Makossa” and Michael Jackson’s “Wanna Be Starting Something” until I read one of Dibango’s obituaries.  Other than hearing “Soul Makossa” on the radio as a child, the only music of Dibango’s I’d spent time with is Electric Africa, his mind-boggling 1985 album for Celluloid Records.

Joe Diffie
Joe Diffie’s biggest hits sounded like holdovers from the ‘80s.  While he was never as good as John Anderson or Randy Travis, Diffie made markedly better music than the majority of his hit-making peers in the ‘90s.

Genesis P-Orridge
Wendy Carlos and Genesis P-Orridge introduced me to the concept of gender fluidity, but unlike Carlos’ work, the music GP-O made with Psychic TV and Throbbing Gristle never grabbed me.

Jan Howard
I was so floored by seeing Roy Acuff in person to appreciate much else at the time, but my first trip to the Grand Ole Opry in the late ‘80s turned out to be a big moment in my concert-going career.  In addition to taking in sets by the likes of Little Jimmy Dickens and Skeeter Davis, it was the only time I witnessed Jan Howard perform.

Aurlus Mabele
I’m so grateful for the African music scare of the ‘80s and ‘90s.  Attending shows by groups like Aurlus Mabele’s Loketo in American clubs changed my life.

Ellis Marsalis
I’d be lying if I pretended to have been captivated by Ellis Marsalis’ concerts and albums, but what a legacy he left!

Krzysztof Penderecki
Embarrassing confession: I first sat down to intentionally focus on the composer’s “Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima” last year.  The London Philharmonic Orchestra’s new release Penderecki: Horn and Violin Concertos was in my queue when Penderecki passed.

Kenny Rogers
You’d think I would have detested Kenny Rogers and everything he represented.  What a cornball!  Yet my heart never allowed my head to have its way.  Even though my dad died more than 20 years ago, I can still hear him bellowing “Lucille” like a drunken sailor.  And Rogers charmed me each of the several times I saw him perform.

Wallace Roney
In many ways, Roney’s discombobulated career exemplifies the plight of jazz during the past 40 years.

Adam Schlesinger
Hours after learning of Schlesinger’s death, the loud renditions of Fountains of Wayne’s “Stacy’s Mom” on repeat in my memory banks kept me up half the night.

Eric Taylor
Eric Taylor isn’t the only musician who pledged to kill me, but the singer-songwriter’s oath was one of the most believable of the several murderous threats I’ve received.  Here’s the story.

Bill Withers
My relationship with the music of Bill Withers is tainted by overexposure.  Excruciating renditions of “Lean On Me” by countless children’s choirs and innumerable hack jobs of Withers hits including “Use Me” and “Ain’t No Sunshine” tortured me in churches, jazz clubs, blues joints and hotel lounges.

(Original image by There Stands the Glass.)

Concert Review: Eric Taylor at Knuckleheads

Eric Taylor threatened to shoot me last night. 

I walked into the back room of Knuckleheads shortly after Taylor's first set began.  I was immediately entranced by the folk songs and halting speech of the Texan.  Even so, I was compelled to respond to a couple text messages about 15 minutes after I took a seat among the audience of ten. 

Taylor took offense. 

In a profanity laced tirade in which he referenced his open carry license, he demanded that I "turn off my f*cking cell phone."  Partly because his stage set consisted of a glass of red wine, a prescription pill canister and an unopened bottle of water, I heeded his warning without objection. 

I passed on appearances by Richard Buckner and Old Crow Medicine Show/Carolina Chocolate Drops in favor of paying $15 to see Taylor for the first time.  Still haunted by my failure to witness a performance by Townes Van Zandt, I figured I'd take a flier on Taylor.  Sure enough, Taylor told a tale or two about his former running buddy.

Taylor's stories were at the core of his two sets.  He spoke about the series of strokes he'd suffered, the deafness in his right ear, the physical pain he associates with abandonment by women, Pentecostal snake handling, heroin and moonshine.  A recording of Taylor's tribute to Bill Morrissey captures the tone of last night's performance.

His approach is in keeping with the Texas troubadour tradition of Vince Bell, Guy Clark, Steve Earle, Lyle Lovett, Billy Joe Shaver and his ex-wife Nanci Griffith.  A glowing profile in The Houston Chronicle serves as a helpful introduction for the uninitiated. 

I called Taylor out on his threat after the show.  He insisted that his ominous warning was merely "a bit" and that the prescription bottle was just a prop that contained guitar picks.  The mea culpa was unconvincing.


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I reviewed a concert by Pat Benatar/Neil Giraldo and Rick Springfield.

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Johnny Winter has died.  His production of Muddy Waters' Hard Again was among my primary entry points to blues. 

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Elaine Stritch has died.

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"Sound Bite" is a track from Ces Cru's forthcoming Ego Stripper album.

(Original image by There Stands the Glass.)