In this issue

• Pedro the Lion and other vertebrates

• My favourite recipe from 2001

• Electrical outlets

• Sinistral swallows and other portside passerines (and non-passerines)

The anguished road to my first drum set

I had just joined Mrs. Raffle’s fourth grade class partway through the year, after a brief, unsuccessful attempt at homeschooling (I thought it would be great to have lots of free time, but a fall and winter of me crying and sulking convinced my mom to put me back in school). One afternoon, the orchestra teacher brought string instruments to class to recruit kids for the program. I tried out some squeaky violins and violas, then I sat down and held magic in my hands: a cello. I plucked those four thick strings, and I could hear a world of baritone possibilities opening before me.

When the bus dropped me off at home, I ran inside to tell my mom the news: I wanted to join the orchestra and play cello! “That’s a big commitment and a lot of money, Paul. Are you sure you would stick with it?” she asked. I was a pretty passive kid, so I hung my head, mumbling “I don’t know.” That was the end of it.

The next year in Mr. Gerard’s fifth-grade class, the band teacher showed off trumpets, saxophones, flutes and percussion instruments. I picked up the sticks and played some simple rhythms on the snare drum, and I was transfixed. This was it. I again hurried to tell my parents that I wanted to join band to play drums. Again, my parents asked about the expense and the commitment (really, they didn’t say no, they just asked). And again, I hung my head in resignation.

But the music eventually had to win out over my childhood pushover proclivities. Rhythm and melody were in my bones. I wrote piano ditties for extra credit in music class. I fantasized about starting a huge Christian pop band. I toiled over the beats of our Yamaha synthesizer.

When middle school arrived, I registered for band class, but a scheduling conflict kept me out of beginning band. I had to settle for a trimester of keyboard. But an easy version of Ode to Joy just wasn’t cutting it. I ached to drum.

Finally, in seventh grade, I didn’t take no for an answer. I couldn’t join beginning band, or even seventh grade band, so they stuck me in the eighth grade class. That was fine with me. A few of my seventh-grade friends were there. I had to learn quickly to play snare drum and bells and tune timpanis, and I loved it. I was a fast study, but I developed some poor techniques (to this day I don’t drum well with my left hand). I was just happy to be hitting anything with a stick or mallet.  

Within a year I had my own drum set—a cheap, black CB kit with terrible cymbals. I took lessons from a local fusion band drummer (he had played with some CCM notables in Nashville). I joined jazz band in school and played for the youth group worship band. By my eighth-grade estimation, I had arrived.

One of my old favourite bands, Pedro the Lion, included a song about a young teenager getting his first drum set on a recent album about songwriter David Bazan’s middle school years in Lake Havasu, Arizona. I haven’t personally related to a song more, perhaps ever.

Bazan tells the story of being stuck playing clarinet for a few years in band. He had longed to play the saxophone since seeing Beverley Hills Cop. It was “A long time to wait for love.” When he was finally allowed to switch instruments, saxophone wasn’t available. The father of the teary-eyed tween/teen asks the band teacher if there are any other instruments. He says: “I could use another drummer.” The dirge-like song breaks into the relatable joy of learning fills, annoying classmates and parents with his newfound love.

“I got no regrets,” he croons, “For trading in my clarinet / To get my first drum set.”

Truer words were never sung.

You get this: a poem

I tried
To write some words about
Post-forest fire ecology,
Birds, mule deer,
And the idea of wilderness
—Something about Goretex
Versus Carhart
Transcended by
An integrated third thing,
Maybe nodding to
How Genesis gets interpreted
—But, guys, I’m too tired,
And it just isn’t working,
So you get this

My top albums vol. 1

Apple Music recently released their list of the best 100 albums. The list surprised me compared to the conventional Rolling Stone-style rankings dominated by popular classics of the 60s-90s (Pet Sounds, Thriller, Sergeant Pepper, Nevermind, Dark Side of the Moon, etc.). Instead, the list prioritizes cultural import, musical influence and genre fluidity. It has more of a bias toward recent pop music, for good and ill. I’d have many quibbles with the list, but several of my personal favourites are there, including their surprise pick for number one: The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill.

So, beginning with that album and another I’ve been revisiting recently, I’ll be featuring short reviews of some of my top twentyish albums every issue or two. These are in no particular order.

Lauryn Hill - The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill (1998)

Lauryn Hill’s 1998 solo debut only album begins with a classroom attendance role call. Kids respond to their names until the teacher repeats, in Ferris Bueller style, “Lauryn Hill? Lauryn Hill? Lauryn Hill?”

Absent from class, Lauryn Hill’s huge voice and presence rushes in the opening swaggering rap track, “Lost Ones.” This first of many odes to her heartbreak and miseducation opens the transcendent journey through grief, love, anger and celebration with a fascinating blend of hip-hop, R&B, gospel and reggae.

In my first brush with this album years ago, I focused on the harder-hitting rap sections in “Lost Ones,” “Final Hour,” “Forgive them Father, and “Everything is Everything,” which Lauryn Hill delivers with real passion. But the sheer force of creative musicality and powerful, gorgeous vocals on other tracks stuck with me longer. In the sprawling gospel song, “To Zion,” Hill tells her story of keeping an unexpected baby over the guitar stylings of Carlos Santana, referencing the annunciation and ending with a gospel choir chorus. Other highlights include (the much-sampled) soaring vocals at the end of “Ex-factor,” the cinematic strings on the title track, and gorgeous duets with Mary J. Blige and D’Angelo, and layered harmonies throughout. Several songs centre on her breakup with fellow Fugee Wycliffe Jean; others are neighbourhood celebrations, love songs, explorations of spiritual struggle, or music industry critiques. The songs are peppered with clips of school kids talking about love.

The album had some hit songs, including “Doo Wop (That Thing)” and Hill’s cover of “Can’t Take my Eyes Off of You,” but this was to be her only solo effort (Rumour is her second album might be on the way soon, a quarter-century later). The album apparently played an important role in bridging disparate worlds of R&B and Hip Hop in the 90s; while I can’t speak much to that, I can say that I gave more attention to R&B artists because of it.

It’s hard to pick my favourite songs here—so many are truly great. Hill accomplished more than most musicians could ever hope to in this one masterpiece of a release.

Three Four tracks to listen to: “To Zion,” “Ex-Factor,” “Forgive them Father,” “Everything is Everything”

Further Seems Forever - The Moon is Down (2001)

A recipe

From the passion of the opening title track, loosely based on John Steinbeck’s novel about the German occupation of Norway, to the surreal octave harmonies of the closing song “New Desert Life,” The Moon is Down is a journey through giant landscapes of emotion, buoyed by the amazing technical energy of an expert band. Chris Carrabba is here an evocative lyrical craftsman. It’s urgent, angry, tragic and mysterious. Everything works. Several slow 6/8 breakup ballads, “Snowbirds and Townies,” “New Year’s Project,” and “Just until Sundown,” hauntingly build to heart-wrenching choruses, heights Carrabba would never quite reach again as he soon became famous with Dashboard Confessional (which I have never warmed to, despite repeated attempts). Carrabba’s songs of relational loss and frustration are sung against the backdrop of the band’s approaching breakup (the album was to be his last effort with the band before switching to Dashboard full time). Abundant imagery of storms and heat points to this fleeting impermanence, as in “Wearing Thin”:

“And the water does its damage
With its endless beating pulse
Heralding the end”

Further Seems Forever went on to make respectable music with other singers (and much later, Carrabba again). But this brief chemical reaction between the band and singer in 2001 still enthralls me on each listen.

Three tracks to listen to: “The Moon is Down,” “New Year’s Project,” “New Desert Life”

Your top albums

Do you have a list of top 5 or top 10 albums? Or one or two that others should know about? Please share in few or many words.

Music mix of the issue vol. 1? House music*

(*With no actual House music)

If this issue seems unusually heavy on musical content it’s because (a) maybe I should have been a music journalist, (b) I’ve gone through several false starts with non-music article ideas, and (c) I’ve been listening to a lot of music while spending time on house repairs.

The fixer-upper that we bought three years ago continues to need fixing. The current project involved tearing apart a recent addition from the last owner to repair a leak and replace rotted and moldy walls. With help from my uncle (Hi Jim!) we framed a new room inside. I’m finally to the painting stage. As you can see, my craftsmanship is top quality.

But while I install drywall and plaster mud and replace light fixtures, I’ve tried catching up on music from over the years (80s post-punk and new wave, 90s/2000s emo, 90s smooth jazz, and Beatles solo projects are recent fascinations). And I make plenty of playlists. Here’s one for you, with only songs that are about houses (sophisticated, I know). There’s no “Brick House” or “Big House.” But it features, among others, Aretha Franklin, Randy Newman, Japanese Breakfast, Tom Waits, Barenaked Ladies and Bloc Party. Enjoy.

Here is the mix on Spotify or on Apple Music.

Some birds, facing left

Listen, I’m really not going to write anything else this time. Here are some larboard bird pictures.

Stuff of the issue

• Onomatopoeia: Gulp

• Bird insult: Puff-throated Babbler

• Book: The Upanishads

• Highbrow takedown: “And yet somehow the ruling class decayed… until a time came when stuffed shirts like Eden or Halifax could stand out as men of exceptional talent. As for Baldwin, one could not even dignify him with the name of stuffed shirt. He was simply a hole in the air.” -George Orwell, 1941

• Lichenized fungus: Sagebrush Rim-Lichen (Protoparmeliopsis garovaglii)

• Song: Édith Piaf - “La Foule”

• Birding hotspot: 100 Mile House - Horse Lake east

-Paul