#72: An Oddly Frenchified Sunday Riff
First off… in my last update I neglected to include a link for the 2nd show at the Music Hall Lounge in Portsmouth, NH (October 4). Here it is: voilà!
There was no recording this week. It’s winter break around here, which means midterms for anyone who happens to be in school. This includes David, our talented co-producer and engineer, who’s gone back for a degree in psychology on the extremely unlikely, outside, infinitesimally small chance that a career in music might prove precarious. I’m trying not to take it personally.
Despite (or perhaps because of) Argentina’s ecomonic woes, demand for mental health professionals remains high. Per capita, there are more psychologists, psychoanalysts, and psychiatrists in Argentina than anywhere in the world. I’m guessing most of them have plenty of work. Those that don’t have been known to supplement their income by driving a taxi. I’ve had quite a few impromptu therapy sessions in black-and-yellow Citroëns over the years.
A heads-up to visitors: the Lacanian cabbies cannot be counted on to bring you all the way to your destination. At any moment, anywhere, and for no discernable reason they might decide the ride is over, done—and charge for the full distance! I’m concerned about David becoming a Lacanian before this recording project is over.
So I’ve been left to my own devices this week. Those devices are: a pencil sharpener, a pencil, a narrow-ruled legal pad, and the early '60s Danelectro Convertible pictured above. The first two items are Blackwing products. Yes, I’m an incorrigible stationary snob (which is not the same as a snob who is stationary, although I am often that as well). Ok, fine. The legal pad is Blackwing too. So I guess this goes beyond snobbery. It’s a full-blown fetish. But who among us, right? One of those Lacanians was very interested in this little kink of mine, quoting Žižek at me in Spanish as I exited the cab. I didn’t catch it all. Something about the real purpose of desire.
I would argue that I did not, strickly speaking, desire the Danelectro. What I mean is, I did not seek it out or strive to acquire it. It was a gift, appearing out of the blue at a gig in Belmore NY. The very, very kind person who “just thought I should have it” had picked it up at a yard sale for 5 bucks. Opening the old chipboard case, I knew exactly what it was. J.J. Cale, a hero of mine, played one just like it. I will admit that a soupçon of desire did appear, briefly, on my psychic horizon. But propriety bade me turn away. I knew this guitar was worth a lot more than 5 bucks. The giver of the gift might not be aware. I informed her that a vintage Dano in this condition (good++) might be worth around $700. I could not possibly accept. She insisted. I refused. She insisted. I refused. I swear. Back and forth we went until I asked, under duress mind you, if she was sure. She said she was sure. Then after some really half-assed demurral on my part, I accepted. The guitar was mine. There are angels. Thanks Amy.
That must’ve been around 2005. It’s been one of my favorite guitars ever since. It went out on tour a few times, but now stays at home, usually on the wall right behind the desk where, with any luck, I write. Lyric writing involves constant checking, line by line, to see how words fit with the melody and chords. So I’m always picking up and putting down the guitar. When that moment comes, all I have to do is swivel. Then back it goes, or not. Sitting at the desk, the Dano is compact enough to remain in my lap, out of the way while I write—or, as the case may be, stare blankly at my lovely stationary (or stare lovingly at the blank stationary). It’s the perfect writing guitar. And if it gets bumped against the desk from time to time, no big deal. The body is made of some sort of formica laminate. I could chop cilantro on it.
The thing is electric, but the hollow body produces a wonderful, almost dobro-like acoustic sound. Below is a good representation. From South of Delia (2007), this was recorded live (vocals and guitar simultaneously) in the dining room. If I remember correctly, the Dano was picked up via two sources: a microphone and a direct line into the recording interface. What you’ll hear is mostly microphone. Any reverb is coming from the natural sound of the room.
Sitting on Top of the World (Vinson/Chatmon)
My first encounter with “Sitting on Top of the World” was Cream’s version on Wheels of Fire. Hearing Doc Watson’s rendition (which I call “the peaches version”), I wondered if it could be the same song. But this seems to be one of those songs that is well-built enough to go with whatever flow it’s flowing in. My version is fairly straightforward, though liberties were taken with the words. Except for the first verse (repeated at the end), nothing I’m singing here corresponds to the original Mississippi Sheiks version. It’s another odd thing about “Sitting on Top of the World” that it seems to pick up new verses every time someone learns it. It’s all in the hook.
Speaking of good hooks, I leave you with just about the grooviest thing ever. I wonder what Jacques Lacan would say, if anything.
Portsmouth, NH, not Portland, ME. I have tickets and can't wait!
I’ve always loved this rendition. Also the song’s bravado dismissal of the obvious heartache: “Now she’s gone but I don’t worry, cause I’m sittin’ on top of the world.” As if.