Cincinnati loves its festivals. Every weekend during the summer, a Catholic church in the area has a fundraising festival. They all follow the same script: raffles galore, a silent auction, games of chance (lollipop pull and fish pond for the younger set, poker and blackjack for the adults), food and beverages (including alcohol). Some of the larger parishes will also throw in some carnival rides and local bands as the evening entertainment.
With the proliferation of casinos, bingo isn’t the fundraising juggernaut it used to be, but the summer festivals still draw a decent crowd.
I made it to two festivals in Cincinnati this weekend, but they were quite different in style. On Friday night my wife and I went to a church festival to see Cereal Killers, a local band featuring two friends of ours. They were stellar as always (see this blog post for more about them), which is especially noteworthy when you consider the fact that they really only play gigs a handful of times each year. But they do practice quite a bit. The lead guitarist Matt and his wife Amy are neighbors of ours, and in Amy’s eyes, “band practice” is just a convenient cover story for a guy’s night out every week. (If that’s the case, I may have to join Cereal Killers as their lead cowbell player.)
Saturday morning, I got up bright and early and rolled down to the Ohio River to participate in Paddlefest. Don’t worry, it’s not nearly as dirty as it sounds… it’s just 2000+ folks in canoes and kayaks (and on paddleboards) taking a leisurely paddle down the mighty Ohio.
The only festival in Cincinnati that I didn’t attend this weekend was Goettafest. Yes, we have an entire weekend festival dedicated to a pork-and-oatmeal food that was popular with Cincinnati’s horde of German immigrants back in the late 1800s, and remains a Cincinnati staple to this day.
They even have a vending machine where you can purchase rolls of goetta.
[Radiohead is playing a concert in Cincinnati tonight, so I’m reposting a blog entry from May of 2016 below – I’m 53 now, but the sentiment still holds.]
I’m an old man, but I have young ears. I like to listen to cutting edge indie rock/alternative/never-heard-of-them-before artists. I go to way more concerts by up-and-coming bands than a 51-year-old should. Pitchfork would give me a 7.9. But I’ll go ahead and risk losing all my street cred with a single, solitary statement: I don’t really care for Radiohead.
I know that’s considered blasphemy among the music snobs, but I don’t care.
95% of the Radiohead songs that I’ve heard put me to sleep, including the ones from their brand new album. Sure, there are a few that I like… the usual suspects like “Creep” and “Karma Police”. But by and large, I find them to be supremely soporific. We have satellite radio in one of our cars (not the 2003 Honda minivan) and I listen to Sirius XMU, the hipster station. Sometimes when I’m driving and listening (in that order), if I hear a song that’s boring to me, I’ll reach to change the station and realize that I’m changing from a Radiohead tune. Same goes for Thom Yorke solo stuff… actually I find that even more bland.
Music cognoscenti, including many of my music-head friends, will wax rhapsodic about how amazing, brilliant, mind-blowing and genius Radiohead is, but I’m not hearing it. And I’m certainly not feeling it.
If you can sing, I’m jealous of you. I can’t carry a tune, even if you give me a five-gallon bucket.
Let’s don’t.
If you can really belt it out, with a voice that sounds like a gift from the heavens, I admire you. This past weekend, I saw several singers with “killer pipes”… Thursday night, it was local performer Krystal Peterson, a jazz/soul/funk dynamo.
Friday night, it was Fleet Foxes. Their lead singer’s voice is not of this earth, and the vocal harmonies are jaw-droppingly good.
Last night, it was a triple bill. I went mostly to see the middle act, Drive-By Truckers, and they were great, as always. But I was also blown away by the opener, Marcus King, who sounds (and plays guitar) like the love child of Janis Joplin and Stevie Ray Vaughan.
And the headliners were Tedeschi-Trucks Band, and Susan Tedeschi has one of those rafter-rattling blues voices that sounds timeless.
All those great singers were so inspiring that maybe I’ll start to sing more…
… or maybe I’ll just go to more concerts. Yeah, that’s the ticket!
Jason Isbell is a wonderful poet. He just doesn’t get as much credit as he should because he sets his poetry to music.
I saw Jason Isbell and his fantastic band The 400 Unit a couple of nights ago.
There were several “goose bumps” moments during the set… I just love his way with lyrics. He’s also a heckuva guitar player, and has one of the most soulful voices around. With his band, he can turn on a dime from all-out rockers to heartbreaking ballads.
Anxietydeals with the internal struggles he goes through, even when to the outside world he has it all – successful career, lovely and talented wife, adorable daughter:
It’s the weight of the world But it’s nothing at all Light as a prayer, and then I feel myself fall You got to give me a minute Because I’m way down in it And I can’t breathe so I can’t speak I want to be strong and steady, always ready Now, I feel so small, I feel so weak
Anxiety How do you always get the best of me? I’m out here living in a fantasy I can’t enjoy a goddamn thing Anxiety Why am I never where I am supposed to be? Even with my lover sleeping close to me I’m wide awake and I’m in a pain
White Man’s World deals with “white privilege”:
I’m a white man living on a white man’s street I’ve got the bones of the red man under my feet The highway runs through their burial grounds Past the oceans of cotton
I’m a white man looking in a black man’s eyes Wishing I’d never been one of the guys Who pretended not to hear another white man’s joke Oh, the times ain’t forgotten
There’s no such thing as someone else’s war Your creature comforts aren’t the only things worth fighting for You’re still breathing, it’s not too late We’re all carrying one big burden, sharing one fate
I’m a white man living in a white man’s nation I think the man upstairs must’a took a vacation I still have faith, but I don’t know why Maybe it’s the fire in my little girl’s eyes Maybe it’s the fire in my little girl’s eyes
Last of My Kind is a fish-out-of-water tale of a farm boy from Arkansas living in NYC:
So many people with so much to do The winter’s so cold my hands turn blue Old men sleeping on the filthy ground They spend their whole day just walking around Nobody else here seems to care They walk right past them like they ain’t even there Am I the last of my kind? Am I the last of my kind?
Daddy said the river would always lead me home But the river can’t take me back in time And daddy’s dead and gone The family farm’s a parking lot for Walton’s five and dime Am I the last of my kind? Am I the last of my kind?
And Cumberland Gap reflects the struggles of a guy in coal country when the industry is fading and his town is dying:
Remember when we could see the mountain’s peak? The sparkle off the amphibole? Like a giant golden eagle’s beak Now they say no one wants the coal
I thought about moving away But what would my mama say? I’m all that she has left and I’m with her every day As soon as the sun goes down I find my way to the Mustang Lounge And if you don’t sit facing the window You could be in any town
Maybe the Cumberland Gap just swallows you whole
I highly recommend that you catch a poetry reading this summer or fall.
A trifecta of odds and ends for your morning perusal.
It’s the finals of the World Cup, with… that one team… playing… some other team. (Sorry, I know fútbol is the most popular sport in the world, but I just can’t get into it.)
I’m with Michael Cera
2. It’s hard to enjoy the fruits (and vegetables) of your labor in a backyard garden when your garden looks like an illustration from a Beatrix Potter book:
Sorry for the fuzzy shot… my flip phone is only 3 megapixels, and I didn’t want to bother the bunnies while they were having dinner.
Those little buggers ate all of my cherry tomatoes. But they don’t like basil, apparently. Pesto, anyone?
3. I may not be into soccer, but it’s been fun watching the Reds lately. After an abysmal start, they’re actually playing decent ball. And they have the best defensive centerfield in the game:
It’s not the first time Billy’s stolen a homer from Matt Carpenter:
Last night I drove up to Oxford, Ohio to see my friend Dave’s son play guitar for the local band This Pine Box. But going to see the band was just a handy excuse, a smoke screen of sorts. Don’t get me wrong – This Pine Box is a great band. They’re getting some national attention and they deserve it. But the real reason I made the long trek to Oxford was to see some old friends:
These are some of my homies from my days at 97X. Going left to right, it’s: yours truly, Steve Baker, Dave Tellmann, Gentleman Jim Mercer, Kathy Lucas, Billy D. the Fresh MC, Matt Sledge and Chris Adryan.
I could go on and on about each and every one of them (except maybe Kathy, because she spent a decade at 97X but that was after I departed), but suffice it to say the folks you see in the photo above, and dozens more that weren’t in Oxford last night, have fond memories of their time at a small-but-mighty modern rock station (a.k.a. “the future of rock and roll”) in a college town nestled among cornfields. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: it was the least amount of money I ever made in a full-time job, yet it was the most fun I ever had at a workplace.
Seth Godin calls them “tribes”:
“A tribe is a group of people connected to one another, connected to a leader, and connected to an idea. For millions of years, human beings have been part of one tribe or another. A group needs only two things to be a tribe: a shared interest and a way to communicate.”
For the 97X tribe, the shared interest was the music. And even though our station’s broadcast range barely covered parts of Cincinnati and Dayton, we certainly had a way to communicate. Not just on the air, but at the concerts and the promotional events. Not everyone could get 97X on their radio, and fewer still actually “got” 97X, but those that did made it a fantastic ride.
Kevin Sullivan on Life advice from a man who lived it: “A good one Damian. Bring our lens into focus after the long weekend or our long life journey.” Jul 7, 09:38
Thomas Kuhl on We’re alive, because nothing happened.: “That is why we should celebrate every day when our feet hit the floor. Another to enjoy and share with…” Jun 25, 04:33
Thomas Kuhl on We’re alive, because nothing happened.: “This simply explains why we should celebrate every day our feet hit the floor. Another day to enjoy and share…” Jun 25, 04:31
You done said…