Music

February means Valentine's Day and Valentines mean love therefore this column is just brimming with the stuff.

My first shout-out: Johnny Cash.

I've been reading Robert Hilburn's excellent bio on the Man In Black, Johnny Cash – The Life, and I must say I am struck by two things.

One, how hard 1930s Great Depression life was in rural Arkansas. Cash's family was completely the Tom Joad experience but without the Okie western exodus. Cash's farmer father was past desperation, his family virtually destitute when FDR's administration came to the rescue with 20-acre plots for farmers willing to pay them back.

Cash wasn't expected to pick cotton ‘til he was six. But by four he was hauling water out to his family as they did. There they joined together in singing gospel songs. Indeed, by the age of three he already had mastered his first, I Am Bound for the Promised Land.

I attended the January 8 debut event of Jay Swifa’s Sound GODZ producer showcase, described as an event “where artists play original beats and grooves.”

Because I’d only heard Jay Swifa’s “Jungle” song and Rashad Thomas’ recent production for CoCity, I wasn’t sure if my expectations for the event were constant with my existence as a hip hop fan.

I arrived to find Columbus producer KMB playing hip hop music from the stage. He wasn’t playing arena dubstep circa 2010. KMB understood that there is something warm and inviting about the nakedness of traditional hip hop beats if they aren’t wack in terms of bad rhythm, clutter or completely lacking understand of key.  KMB beats were slightly upbeat, without getting ahead of themselves. KMB utilized multiple similar subtle sounds that don’t sound cluttered or disjointed.

Swifa was up next. Swift’s beats boomed with bass. soft melodies and charismatic rhythms. Swift’s new song sounded Middle Eastern with a hip hop draw to it.

He welcomed Rashad to the stage. Both still are fresh producers.

There are two ways to watch a show at the Shrunken Head Rock 'n Roll Club. The first is grabbing some dinner with some friends and heading over just in time to buy a drink before things get going. Sit at a table and sneak off before midnight. It’s not a bad life.

There is another way. You can show up by yourself in the late afternoon for the Head’s “happiest hour” and get yourself involved with their absurdly cheap draft beer and whiskey special. If you survive that you can stick around for their regular happy hour, and by the time the music starts you’ll be sitting criss-cross applesauce on the second stage wondering why your left eye has stopped working. This is poor decision making, especially if you are intending to write a review. But hey, what else were you going to do that’s so important anyway?

The first band tonight is Six Miles to Nellie, a six-piece country-rock band from Mt. Vernon, Ohio. Front person Courtney DeCosky sings like a house on fire. I’m not sure what I like more – her lead singing or the harmonies she drops over guitarist John Schnabel when he takes a turn at vocals. Wow – when she goes high look out.

Guess who dropped in to Sgt. Peppercorn's Annual Beatles Marathon at the Bluestone the Saturday before Christmas?

A) Brian Epstein
B) Jeffrey Epstein
C) Herman of the Hermits
D) Paul McCartney!

Yes, via a 40-second video in which our beloved Macca wished Joe Peppercorn and his Lonely Hearts Band of talented locals the best of luck in their nowhere-else-in-the-world event of performing every officially released Beatles song in chronological order.

Talk about thrilling!

I believe he said something about 'stamina,' haha, and then very nicely suggested the first song to be Love Me Do, thereby establishing the word “love” as the first word the Beatles ever officially sang.

I'm down wit' dat, yo!

And so was our fearless, peerless leader, Joe Peppercorn, who delivers more love and emotion than any musician in this town when he performs. And all night long, baby, he goes all day and much of the night long. He ain't no 60-minute love man, he's Mr. 13-Hours of Heavenly Beatles Love Power.

OK, that's me being silly. But honestly, who plays every goldurn Beatles tune and then some – who?

It’s late December, and I’m standing at the Dick’s Den bar with my brother Charlie a little after six o’clock. We’re here to play the Phil Ochs Tribute Show, along with a couple of other bands and solo musicians. But we’re really just watching the audience. 

The thirty odd souls that have come out on a cold Thursday night to pay tribute to the last protest singer. Forty-three years since Phil was last alive. Not much of a crowd, really, but this isn’t early sixties Greenwich Village. This is Columbus, collared shirts and half smiles nursing their bourbon and Black Labels, vodka and tonics. An all-ages crowd that are going to stay for the full two and a half hours.

The performers are nervous, as nervous as I’ve ever seen. The guitars sound a little out of tune – nerves make you press too hard on the strings. The songs are tight somehow – “I Ain’t a Marchin’ Anymore,” “Christmas in Kentucky,” “When I’m Gone.” 

As the noose of political correctness strangled what's left of our culture, 2019 nevertheless had a few last gasps of great art emanating from its twitching body.

Dave Chappelle grandly escaped the hangman's noose with his Netflix comedy special, laying the blame for p.c. culture right where it belonged: the audience. It's a bad idea, political correctness, but bad ideas don't mean a thing until they're put into action. He's the one comedian who stood athwart neutered comedy and nailed Jussie Smollett as the great French actor who was a really bad liar.

That skit alone might not save American popular culture from the p.c. censorship movement but I'm telling you, it is one of the most brilliantly pitch-perfect sketches in comedic history. Chappelle peaked with it. And so far he's still employable as far as I know. There is justice.

As for Hollywood, which has seen so many of the good storytellers depart for cable where the fields of free expression are far greener, there were still a couple who stuck around. Well, sort of, anyway.

Listen to Wes Flexner’s Rock’n’Roll Show on WCRS-FM, 92.7/98.3
Streaming on wcrsfm.org
Wednesdays at 7:00 p.m.

Maybe a decade ago I was a hockey fan. During an unexpected moment of affluence my wife and I splurged on Blue Jackets season tickets in the nosebleed section, and I would dutifully go down to see bad hockey week after week. Bad for real – this was in the latter years of the Ken Hitchcock era, with borderline NHLers like Andrew Murray and Gilbert Brule sometimes playing on the second line. 

The technical reason we cancelled our seats was that having children had made the expenditure unthinkable, but it was not a painful decision. I was done – I even cancelled my subscription to Fox Sports Ohio. They had just become painful to watch. A second broken shoulder ended my beer league career permanently. I lost the love. Even subsequent success and the playoffs didn’t bring me back. 

Sunday, November 24, 3-4pm
Streetlight Guild, 1367 E. Main St.
The Voice of Freedom: Civil Rights introduces audiences to the operatic art form by celebrating African-American cultural history through song. Universal in its emotional and musical appeal, this unique production will highlight gospel, jazz, and other works from the Civil Rights Movement. “The Voice of Freedom: Civil Rights” aims to share the African-American experience with audiences of all ages, races, and religions. This show is an abridged version of “The Journey: Civil Rights.” Concept + creation by Destiny Coleman, Director of Education + Artistic Administration for Opera Columbus.
Hosted by Opera Columbus and Streetlight Guild.

Sunday, November 17, 3pm, First Unitarian Universalist Church, 93 W. Weisheimer Rd.
Tickets are $15 and will be available at the door or from our website. Sliding scale tickets [pay what you are able] will also be available at the door. Children under 12 will be admitted for free. Tickets: colswomenschorus.org/donate-buy-tickets. Contact: babette.cwc@gmail.com or 614-636-3541 [voicemail only]