Four-disc set. All the early early bluegrass you could want. This is pre-Bill Monroe stuff, e.g., Lonesome Pine Fiddlers, Jim Eames and His Shenandoah Valley Boys, Wade Mainer and the Sons of the Mountaineers. In other words, a bunch of people you’ve never heard of playing music you may or may not have heard (“Rollin’ in My Sweet Baby’s Arms” is on right now).

I looked this one up on Amazon and the first review is highly critical of the text (mistakes made in labeling songs). This is the first I was aware of any problems. Someone else complains about the “remastering.” These are clearly bluegrass afficianados. I’m just an apprecianado, so I’m enjoying this old-timey music.

A great part of the late ’60s-early ’70s music is the brass. Chicago, Sly & the Family Stone, and Blood Sweat & Tears come to mind. I bought this greatest hits CD because I wanted to hear more than “Spinning Wheel” (a song I never particularly liked). My favorite is “And When I Die” but “Go Down Gamblin’” and “Sometimes in Winter”  also sound really good . . . songs neglected these days by radio.

(As an aside, I had the honor of meeting Al Kooper once. All I could think was “wow!”)

Here’s one you won’t find just anywhere: Scott Birney’s Powering Down. Another case of I liked the opening act, this time at the East End Cafe in Newark, DE. The full band is Sin City, but this one is Scott’s solo effort. Starts bluesy, goes to country, then pop ballad. The eclectic quality reminds me of Keith Carradine (more on him later . . . ). Always pay attention to the opener, folks. There’s some real unrecognized talent out there if you’ll just listen for it.

When I saw the Nittany Lion this year I thought, What the heck has happened to him?

This is the Lion of my school days—brown and small-eared (and that’s Norm Constantine in there, God bless him, the only Lion I ever had the pleasure of getting a hug from!):

This is the 21st-century version of the Lion:

Look at those ears. He looks more mouse than lion! And he’s more yellow than brown. (This has obviously snuck up on me since this picture is from 2007. His ears don’t flop like in this picture but they’re still huge.) I don’t know why they made the design change, but I gotta say, I don’t like it. I want the Lion!

Saw my mother today. She’s been in the hospital part of the home for a few weeks now as they give her PT after a low blood-pressure problem. Now she’s got a medication for it and she is doing so much better. She’s not falling asleep in her lunch when we go out; in fact, she’s not even falling asleep when we go for a drive after we eat!

Flowers blooming on the mountain. In November. Weird. I saw some coneflowers last week and some Queen Anne’s lace today. But we haven’t yet had a hard frost, so maybe that’s why. I should go look at my flowerbed and see if anything is growing there.

Pulled a few ticks off the dog. Tomorrow he gets a bath and then a dose of tick meds. Never makes him happy but keeps him better smelling and safe. We just scavenged a half-deflated basketball from the neighbors’ trash—one of his favorite games is puppy-soccer and a large ball he can pick up is just perfect.

A name that doesn’t bring instant recognition. I wouldn’t have this CD, First One Free, if my favorite drummer hadn’t gifted it to me, but I’m so glad he did. So I guess it is “first one free”! I wouldn’t hesitate to pay for the next one. Man with a guitar . . . very nice. I’m going to let the reviewers speak for me here (I’m just gonna listen and enjoy). You can sample him on MySpace and download him on Amazon. Yeah, go ahead. He’s a keeper.

51pQ02zYzQL__SL160_AA115_

& his Fly-Rite Boys, of course . . . Western swing/rockabilly/R&B = heaven. This album ROCKS. So much so that I can’t listen to it while I’m working. Can’t get anything done because all I wanna do is dance. My CD also has the x-rated version of “Backdoor Dan” (oh my!). One of these days I hope to see them live . . .

Normally I would just link to this (the Ethicist in the NYT)  but it’s the second question in the column and I want this one to get all the attention.

I am an editor at a small publisher. We have worked for years on a book by a nonwriter. The subject is fascinating, the research solid, the information excellent, but the prose is incomprehensible. We’ve essentially created a book from his notes, although he still thinks he wrote it. I want to display his actual ability by running his author’s note and acknowledgments unedited, beyond correcting punctuation, spelling and grammar. My boss says we must do a professional job on the entire book. You? NAME WITHHELD

I’m with your boss. Having come this far in editing the work, don’t quit now. Your craft requires not just modesty and skill but also tolerance for frustration in the face of an author’s deranged egomaniacal certainty that you’ve done not much of anything. You chose to become an editor, and this vexation goes with the job. (Along with the tiny paycheck.)

There is an acceptable if not ideal alternative. Prepare two versions of the author’s note, one revised as fastidiously as the rest of the book, the other altered only along the lines you describe. Let your author choose the one he prefers: it is, after all, his book. Maybe he’ll walk into your little trap and select the version that proclaims his skills as a writer. And on the way home from the book party, he’ll be splashed with mud by a passing taxi. It could happen.

I’ve long thought that book editors should be explicitly credited. Many books name the font designer; nearly all list the person who took the cover photo; some mention the writer’s spouse. Why not the editor? Books should mimic movies, where room is found to credit not only the director, writer and stars but also the folks who did the catering, drove the trucks and provided the portable toilets.

I meant to write this before the most recent CD entry but it slipped my mind. I would be remiss in discussing my music collection if I didn’t mention Beru Revue, ca. 1984.  I’ve got both albums from then, vinyl, of course. I’ve also got a cassette tape of the Beru Year’s Eve show (1983) and Beru at the Zoo. (When Jer Healy died, those tapes are what I turned to so I could hear his “White Christmas.”) Those years are when my life became more backstage than onstage, when I learned what rockstar meant. It’s a long, complicated story, one I’ll write down one of these days . . .

I love my students. I love teaching adults. Even with all the pressures of their lives, juggling kids and spouses and jobs and trying to get degrees, they still show up and they still try and they still understand why they’re there. 

And last night they did a great job. As I said I was going to, I had them research Joe Pizarchik on Google. The ensuing discussion gave me the opportunity to explain the difference between bloggers and journalists and how fuzzy a line that has become.  Fortunately for them, their careers are based in science and they completely grasp the concept of fact (vs. opinion). It’s all part of what’s called critical thinking.

Next Page »