Our Need For Music.
Listening and hearing are two different things. Hearing is more about perception, as in some driver’s car horn asserting a right of way in traffic, or a dog barking in the distance; the crowd at a football game or a food vendor hawking the best sandwich this side of anywhere. Listening is entirely different. It’s the idea that you give your awareness to the sound, taking notice, turning your head, paying attention; you begin a journey with comprehension and (hopefully) arrive at enjoyment. The difference between hearing and listening is why I ended up working in the music business for so many years.
Once heard, a great song, a great recording is not forgotten. It isn’t the ear-worm of a bad (and likely annoying) advertising jingle, but rather an emotional connection to something that connects with and within us. Twenty years ago a group of neuroscientists (in Nature Neuroscience, 1999) posited that
“Music has an extraordinary ability to evoke powerful emotions. This ability is particularly intriguing because, unlike most other stimuli that evoke emotion, such as smell, taste or facial expression, music has no obvious intrinsic biological or survival value.”
All that being said, I don’t need a neuroscientist to tell me when a great record is playing. My brain (and heart) tell me that in seconds, or even fractions of seconds.
Art is personal. Accept, for the moment, that radio is always playing to an audience of one. Radio programmers are often taught to think and perform that way: talk on the radio as if you're speaking to just one person. Whether the station has thousands, tens of thousands or hundreds of thousands of listeners, the audience is always an audience of one: you, me, her, him. Even when two or three of us are trapped together in a car on California’s roads or highways, most of the time if one member of the group says “did you hear that”, the likely response from the other passengers is “huh? Hear what?” That’s why I love radio. It’s personal.
Some six weeks ago I was returning to the Mendocino Coast from the San Francisco Bay area. As I got somewhere north of Marin County I pushed the button on my car radio for KRSH, The Krush. It’s a predominantly Americana station situated in the middle one of the most famous wine-regions of the world: Napa and Sonoma counties. Hence, KRSH (crush, as in grapes….) The midday host was about to begin interviewing a recording artist, singer/songwriter, and as she introduced her guest I wasn’t certain I heard the name, but the interview was worth the listen. At some point she told her audience she wanted to play a cut from the new album by Stan, or Steve, or Stu. I wasn’t certain just what his name was, but when the music started I really didn’t care about his name. The track was “Forgiveness” and for the next 3 1/2 minutes I was only about this amazing song with haunting lyrics.
I got voices in my head
Get me up and out of bed
I’ve been busted and I’ve been burned
My heart is beating but you know it hurts
And I can tell you every name
But that will never change anything
I ain’t saying I’ll forget it
Or their wrongs will ever be right
We’re just talking about forgiveness
And how it gives you back your life.
So simple. Whatever the hurt, forgive, and that forgiveness will give you back your life. The bridge in the song reminds us (particularly those of us who’ve been married for more than a few years) that
I know it’s never easy
Being torn apart
Forgive to be forgiven,
It will open up your heart.
As happens to many of us, I assume—because I know it happens to me—I couldn’t get enough of this song, this recording. Arriving home in Mendocino County I immediately tried to figure out just who was this guy on the radio. Some internet surfing, including a look at the KRSH website and, voila!, I had his name: Stoll Vaughan. Like any music lover bordering-on-groupie, a couple of weeks later I had a phone conversation with Stoll. First, it’s pronounced “stall”, not “stole”. (Stoll is a family name.) He’s from Kentucky and now calls Los Angeles home. “Forgiveness" is not his first song, and The Conversation is not his first album. As the saying goes, this is not his first rodeo. Stoll’s Kentucky origin didn’t surprise me, as all those years having traveled to and through Nashville (not to mention the film project I did with the Bluegrass Music Association some 20+ years ago) immersed me in conversations with the sounds of a rural and cosmopolitan mid-south gentleness. He’s had education at Michigan’s Interlochen Boarding High School—one of the single best possible schools for an arts-oriented teenager. The Conversation was recorded back near Stoll’s home turf, using studios in Indiana and Nashville, with help from players like Duane Betts (son of Allman Brothers alum Dickey Betts), and Devon Allman (son of the late Gregg Allman), producer Carl Broemel and others.
Stoll’s album has more than one cut, by the way. There are 13 tracks offering a listening experience just under an hour. “Bear Witness” “Weatherman”, “Meet You In The Middle” confirm his authenticity as a solid songwriter. And happily, like I experienced in my glory days in the music industry, it only takes one track to get someone’s attention, and then, like a good deed done to you, you’re duty-bound to pass it on. We no longer have hundreds of Top-40 radio stations, helping break an artist. Today we have to help music along, by passing the knowledge in conversation, in email, and through social media. If you frequent a bar with live music, let the owner know about your discovery. I’m passing “Forgiveness” on to you so that you can discover Stoll Vaughan for yourself. While you're at it, take credit for his success too. Stoll won't mind and neither will I.
Before I let you go, I wanted to mention one other artist and album worth listening to. KZYX radio's Audible Feast host Fred Wooley played a track that left me confused. I knew those lyrics. At least I thought I did. But something was "wrong". The tempo? The singer? The instruments? And suddenly it all came running out of some hidden part of my brain. The song was "You Never Can Tell", a classic Chuck Berry hit from the 1950s. You may recall that Monsieur and Madame end up getting married, because "you know you never can tell". The tempo for this version was brought way back, and my friend Fred told us that the vocalist was Elise Legrow. Who? I hadn't heard of her either. Pity. Her new album, Playing Chess has nothing to do with the game of chess, but everything to do with the Chess Brothers, as in Leonard and Phil Chess and Chess Records.
Legrow chose a list of songs from the Chess catalog including "Over The Mountain", "Rescue Me", "Who Do You Love", and more. The two best Legrow recordings you'll find are the aforementioned "You Never Can Tell", and a much older track of hers—2012?—titled "No Good Woman".
Remember those neuroscientists I quoted earlier? While I understand their scientific foundation, I have to disagree with one of their conclusions: “. . . music has no obvious intrinsic biological or survival value.” Any rational human being with a pulse knows there is a biological need for music. Did these geniuses never hear about setting the mood? And as for survival, the concept of "desert island discs" was created for specific treasured recordings, i.e. music. Those brainiacs may not believe music is necessary for our survival, but I wouldn't want to get stranded somewhere without my iPod and its 10,000 of my favorite songs. Besides, if I'm not alone on the island, how will I set the mood?