johnvelghe.com » songs

Clyfford Still

johnv — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 23:54:26 +0000

This instrumental composition, Clyfford Still, was used in the documentary film “The Next American Dream” and a few other places. I started writing this song on my birthday. It was built around the piano line that sort of mimicked the sound of my dog, walking across the wooden floor above my head. He was 14 years old at the time. I lost him not too long after this track was done, so it stands as not only a memory of him, but a work of some emotional importance for me.

John Velghe - Clyfford Still

Please enjoy it. Please don’t steal it.

Don’t Stop the Song

johnv — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 16:06:18 +0000

Songs are society’s mirror. Throughout our history, songs have reflected the tones, the attitudes, and the events of every decade. They have prepared us for war, and marched us through it; saluted our heroes and ridiculed our fools and villains; marked every kind of national and personal disaster; noted every trend and passing fad; and expressed the feelings of rage and resentment that we, as a worried world, repress.

Songwriters don’t make history; they sing it. And if the song isn’t pretty — if it’s too loud, its message is mixed, its tempo is feverish, and its tone is threatening and ominous — look at the life around you. History is singing. Don’t try to stop the song. Right or wrong, the song is inevitable. It’s a photograph. And all of us are posing for it.

Arthur Hamilton

Of Michael Jackson

johnv — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 15:00:45 +0000

Someone actually asked me my reaction to the death of Michael Jackson. I don’t know why I’m even taking this on, but hey, I’m a musician, I never learned the fine art of avoiding lost causes. (I named one of my rock bands “Saint Jude” for chrissake).

Thriller

I’ve read a lot about Michael Jackson lately. It seems to me people can’t help but fall into one of two camps, the camp that looks at Michael Jackson in terms of his art, and the camp that looks at Michael Jackson the man. It seems that how deeply they are entrenched in their camp determines the degree to which a person can overlook the opposite facet of the man’s existence. If you’re dug into Michael Jackson the Man, it becomes very hard to see Michael Jackson the Artist. If you’re dug deeply into Michael Jackson the Artist, it can be hard to see the man.

And in that way, Michael Jackson really must be the King of Pop.

I’ve always had this deep and abiding ambivalence towards musical artists. (Maybe that’s because I aspire to be a musical artist and I have a deep and abiding ambivalence towards myself?) People tell me Paul Westerberg is a dick (he did fire Bob Stinson for being a drunk and doing too many drugs). Right now I’m listening to Oasis, tell me it’s not hard to see those guys strictly through the prism of their art.

It really is the essence of popular music that its creators are human, they exist and in fact subsist on frailties. If they’re doing their job well, those frailties and that humanity not only fuels their work, but it infuses it. The indians say that when you hunt and kill a deer you eat the tip of the deer’s heart so that his strength is passed on to you. Well, for an artist, frailty and weakness are your strength, they’re your heart; and goddamned if true, aspiring artists don’t spend every waking moment trying to create a work that the world can eat the heart out of.

And as consumers of this art, we do it willingly.

In the case of Michael Jackson, more people ate the heart out of his work than any other artists in history (No, I DO NOT count the fucking travesty known as The Eagles Greatest Hits, bleck!).

So, is it any wonder that there’s so much ambivalence about Michael Jackson? Millions of people consumed his frailties, weaknesses, and humanity. Now, many of these same people are adults and they refuse to see him as anything other than a pedophile. I wonder about this inability to separate artist from man, to see that one’s consumption and worship and fandom becomes part of the essence of the man we deride today.

None of this serves as an attempt to deny the wrongs of the man. Some people see only the man, some only the artist. Whichever camp your trench is in is your gig and I don’t begrudge you that. I don’t blame anyone for keeping their head down. When we’re talking about these kinds of things – art and molestation – it’s not easy to stick your head up.

So, back to the question at hand: my reaction to the death of Michael Jackson. Very well, my reaction to the death of Michael Jackson is as follows:

May each of us create a body of work capable of overshadowing all the times we’ve been a punchline.

We’ll find a way regardless . . . To make some sense out of this mess” RIP Jay Bennett

johnv — Wed, 27 May 2009 15:27:13 +0000

I was starting a new band and a drummer musician friend from Kansas City by the name of Bill Belzer came over to talk about playing together and recording his new solo project. Bill brought over Wilco’s new record, Summer Teeth. We played a few songs and I was blown away. I’d always liked Wilco, but in that alt-country way. This album was different. It was just more. I looked at the liner notes and saw a name I recognized; Jay Bennett.

Jay Bennett in the studio

I knew Jay from Titanic Love Affair, a band I loved because they were so Replacementsesque. I’d met Jay in Lawrence after a TLA show and really liked the guy. He was part of that mid-90s alternative millieu but avoided all the pose and bullshit so many of that crop of indie-rock guys put on. So little pretense, it was obvious music was no “shot” for him. It was his thing, it was what he immersed himself in. Music clearly made Jay Bennett enjoy life.

Jay’s work on the Wilco stuff was remarkable for what he brought to a band that had previously made pretty good songs, clever lyrics, but the arrangements and instrumentation wasn’t there yet. Jay Bennett changed all that. He made Wilco into the band I grew to love, immitate, admire, and emulate. Summer Teeth continues to be a record I go to whenever I start a new recording project. Jeff Tweedy’s clearly a great songwriter, but what Jay brought to the band in terms of instrumentation, arrangement, is what really made Wilco the amazing band they are today.

Jay died last week while I was on a motorcycle trip and incommunicado. I came back to town and found a message from a freind mourning the death of Jay. We don’t know the cause of his death, and clearly Jay was much too young to leave us. I’d been really enjoying his solo work of late and following a legal fight over the royalties to some music from his Wilco days. Jay Bennett was a loving man, the night I met him he was so kind and I half-wonder if the idea of suing his old friend and collaborator Jeff Tweedy didn’t really crush him in ways few of us will ever understand.

In the end, Jay Bennett was one of my musical heroes. He met his end in his studio, Pieholden Suites. Fitting, I suppose.

We’ll miss you, Jay.

Love, John

Theme song for “Parks and Recreation”

johnv — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 15:20:57 +0000

This weekend I wrote and submitted a theme song for the new Amy Poehler series “Parks and Recreation.” It’s from the producers of “The Office.” I think the end result is a mix between the theme from “The Kids in the Hall” and “King of the Hill” and The Office.” So maybe it should be named “The Kids in the Hill Office.” Anyway…

We’ll see what happens, but until then you can check out my theme here:

http://johnvelghe.com/2009/music/Evans_DrumsHeSaid.mp3

So messed up, I want ya here. RIP Ron Asheton

johnv — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 16:31:18 +0000

It wasn’t the vocals or the lyrics that really caught me. It was that riff coming out of the left speaker, then the sleigh bells on the right. G, F#, E. Dissonant, relentless with that unmistakable guitar tone and the insidious goof-ball solo that was all about what would become the name of a disastrous later album – Raw Power. Two guys propel I Wanna Be Your Dog, the Asheton brothers.

Every show I’ve played in this millennium has included a cover of I Wanna Be Your Dog (Hell, I haven’t bought a guitar that didn’t drone G, F#, E as it’s first chords in my hands). That started as an homage to my friend and mentor, Alejandro Escovedo (who would probably kill me for calling him a mentor). The tradition gained a sense of urgency and reverence when Al collapsed and nearly died after a show in Phoenix in 2003. And covering the song took on a new sense of rapture after Al returned to the stage in 2006. But covering “Dog” wasn’t all just about Al. Sometimes, you just can’t shake a great hook.

Ron Asheton

For me, Ron Asheton’s guitar playing always had this gorgeous blend of slop and accuracy – I call it the ever-important tension between abandon and unity. Ron created this tension in every song. In short, his playing was the living embodiment of the rock-n-roll convention of “living on the edge.” Countless guitar players copped his approach. Some even pulled it off, (Johnny Thunders, Bob Stinson, and a few others come to mind).

Ron Asheton and the Stooges arguably gave rise to more authentic rock bands than any other guitar player/band combination. It’s largely because Ron Asheton wrote recklessly gorgeous guitar parts paired perfectly with Iggy’s delivery. For most of us The Stooges are the embodiment of everything good about punk and eventually everything too many indie rock bands never learned or forgot.

The Stooges

Though Madonna did her part, Ron Asheton lay dead in his home for days never having been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Assholes . . . er . . . excuse me, “Fame.” An indignity those of us not in the Stooges might consider absolutely insufferable, but one I’m pretty sure Asheton shrugged off and would find completely appropriate. After all, what fame did the world of mainstream music ever heap on the Stooges that wasn’t brought to them through a TV commercial? And what more did Ron ever want besides to play?

There’s really nothing much more I can say about Ron Asheton, except, well, So messed up, I want ya here.

Note to band-mates: don’t expect to stop covering this song any time soon.