Rock Garden Tour

Rock Garden Tour 56: Holiday Classics

 
It's beginning to look a lot like solstice. In celebration of the event, the Rock Garden Tour presents a special holiday classic podcast for you and your kin. Enjoy not 1 but 2 holiday adventures, witty banter about Williams & Ree, and of course, Buck Owens. Enjoy this week's special 1 hour Rock Garden Tour, produced in collaboration with South Dakota Public Radio and the University of Sioux Falls. And keep it rural.

Download SDPB 22 HOLIDAY CLASSIX

Have Yourself A Death Defying Christmas

Like a rejuvenating punch to the face, the Cadillac croon of Andy Williams emerges from somewhere deep inside Earth’s frostbitten tundra; boys and girls run for your innocent lives, it’s Christmas time once again. Tis the season to have the yuletide cheer beaten into you by a runaway middle school marching band and army of violent sleigh bell ringers.

Okay, overstatement. But maybe not. I’ve just gotten off the highway and been once again treated to the all-Christmas, all-the-time playlists embraced by many of the radio stations on the local dial. Sitting here typing away, I’m in a stage of recovery: my hands nervously shake as the sounds of Pavarotti-chested snowmen, bellicose chimes, bombastic timpani hits, whip cracks, a couple imperial horns, and the din of a thousand shrieking children echo through my pounding head.

Now, the irony is that I love Christmas music. Nothing is more soothing to me after a year of earthly toil and a semester of work than to be lulled to a state of blissful numbness by the eggnog-soaked vocals of sweater king Perry Como. And, I think next to maybe steaks and an interstate, Mannheim Steamroller is the best thing to come out of Omaha. Ever.

Still, I wish Rudolph would mobilize the North Pole fleet this December 24 and candy-cane blitz-bomb every radio station dedicated to propping up this attention-deficit-disorder Christmas playlist. We can’t get a frozen breathe in without being chased down the street by a speaker blaring out Nat King Cole’s “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” In fact, the famous scene of George Bailey running down Bedford Falls’ boulevard shouting out “Merry Christmas” conjures up images of me sprinting through a shiny-floored mall, dodging and weaving through caffeinated shoppers to the tune of Jackson 5’s “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” Is he? Soon? Now? Run!! Run for your freaking lives!!!!!

But as long as we’re on the subject, the old stuff, about white Christmases and mistletoe and jelly-bellied Santas and fireplaces is where it’s at. The new stuff (I heard a particularly breathy and mushy Kelly Clarkson lamenting world affairs in “My Grown Up Christmas List” on the way into work this morning) feels synthetic, emotionally disingenuous, and, for lack of a better word, commercial. Which is funny, because the old Bing Crosby stuff broke the mold on commodifying the holidays.

I don’t know why this is. Let’s take Andy Williams, for example. I know such an admission goes against every fiber in my meager musical mind, but I really enjoy the son of this Wall Lake, Iowa mail clerk (and his bros) when he sings. There is something zany and death-defying about Andy Williams, the way when “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” opens up and his voice soars and bounds over those waltzing crescendos like a blow-up Santa chucked from the back of a Semi traveling at 80 miles per hour down the interstate.

The new stuff lacks any of the cornball silliness of the old stuff. There appears to be an indirect correlation of earnestness on the input and output of Christmas music; you can sound sad in a Christmas song, or you can pander to sentimentality, but you better keep a mischievous twinkle in your eye. Most new songs like the aforementioned Kelly Clarkson song or any of the bunker-busters on Carrie Underwood’s Christmas special take themselves too seriously (with the sole exception of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You”).

So, this Christmas, let me give you a few tips: avoid Barry Manilow’s mash-up of “Jingle Bells” and “Carol of the Bells” on the iTunes Holiday Sampler (it will certainly frighten the children more than catching Santa Claus with a bottle of Jim Beam), steer clear of the eggnog at the holiday office party, and if you think you can trust yourself, it won’t hurt you too much to spend 15 minutes or so on the holiday radio station. It’ll at least drown out the screams as you ram your SUV through the Walmart walls looking for the latest Elmo toy.

Thanks to cousin Christopher for writing this column. 

Yes Petunia, There Is A Flowerman

And so it begins, a holiday classic from the Rock Garden Tour, coming to stereos this Sunday night on SDPB Radio. Keep it rural. 

Rock Garden Tour 55: Fellowship Of The Weed

This week's rock and roll gardening podcast attempts to infiltrate a secret fraternity known to rural Americans as the County Weed Board. A fellowship of gnomes, ag producers, gardeners and organic farmers, the weed board strives to rid our gardens of noxious weeds. We spoke with a former employee of the Beadle County Weed Board. We talked about weeds. We had planned to speak with a sprig of salt cedar but it consumed Oil Can before we had the chance to flip on Microphone B. We were able to rescue Oil Can, Microphone B on the other hand was lost forever. Enjoy this week's Rock Garden Tour Podcast and as always, keep it rural.

Download Rock garden tour 55 podcast

Yes Petunia, There Is A Flowerman

We intended to play a classic holiday show but wound up talking about dung, parasites and buffalo scrotums. Did Oil Can sneak in a few Jimmy Stewart impressions? Of course he did, but it was too little too late. At least the tunes were festive. Have a look at this week's Rock Garden Tour playlist and keep it rural.

Buck Owens - Santa Looked A Lot Like Daddy*

Sufjan Stevens - Put The Lights On The Tree

Pixies - Holiday Song

Los Campesinos! - There Are Listed Buildings

Hooray For Earth - Surronded By Your Friends

John Prine - Christmas In Prison (live)

Flight Of The Concords - A Kiss Is Not A Contract

Hasil Adkins - Teenie Weenie Waddy Kiss

Pearl Jam - Let Me Sleep

Buck Owens - One Of Everything You Got*

Bob Dylan - Hark The Herald Angels Sing

Frightened Rabbit - Swim Until You Can't See The Land

Fanfarlo - The Walls Are Coming Down

Bob Wills - Big Ball's In Cow Town

Joanna Newsom - Peach, Plum, Pear

Buck Owens - Blue Christmas Lights*

The Mountain Goats - Going To Georgia

Sufjan Stevens - I Saw Three Ships

Tonic - Flowerman

* Thanks to our Forestberg, SD correspondent for putting us in touch with some holiday originals by Buck Owens

Tales from the Rural Rock Highway

It’s fascinating how many delicacies gas stations will broil on rotisserie grills. Returning home late-at-night from a gig, I will stand before the protective, plastic-shield and behold the rows of slickly-greased sausage links, the lone bratwurst rolling in place in its groove like a faithful soldier waiting for its future glory days in a warm bun, and the unfathomable Tornados, a deep-fat-fried, edible column of pepper-jack goo.

As a member of a traveling band, frequently washing ashore in the middle of the night from miles of interstate to the well-lit banks of a gas station, I have found myself holding court before these things.

This may come as a surprise to those of you who believe the nightly schedule for a traveling band even remotely resembles the grandiose blowout fest set down in rap by R. Kelly. Most normal people don’t buy that. But, for the rural American original rock band, the truth is even farther from the perception.

For starters, the infrastructure is against us: most venues out here are something else by day: I’ve played converted motel lobbies, machine sheds, and senior citizen homes (Norfolk, Nebraska). Second, the terms are all wrong. “Groupies” in small towns consist of parents, friends from school, and a random dude on MySpace who continues to press your band to visit Pittsburgh. Lastly, the pay is worthless and there is little hope of “making it.”

Still, there are stories of fortunate bands being plucked from the sky by powers-that-be, carrying them off to fame and fortune in far away metropolises. Last summer, my brother and I had just such an encounter. We ran into members of a band called Never Shout Never at a gas station south of Minneapolis just off I-35 called “The Big Steer.” A guy named Dennison (the guitarist) liked our costumes and called us over to the hot dog stand, where he and his friend (the guitar tech) were busy filling their hands. They told us they were also in a band and had played a much bigger club that night.

“Yah, we’re signed to Warner Bros,” Dennison told us nonchalantly. He knew this would blow us away.

Still, incredulous that someone like him was interested in us, I hesitated when he asked for our MySpace and cell phone number. “Are you serious about this, man, or what?” Dennison angrily asked. I’d heard the cell phone request before—usually a dead end. But, he seemed serious about hooking us up with “some insiders.” I relented, gave his the number, and waved goodbye. I fully expected to never here anything again from them.

But, we soon found out they had been truthful. A huge black bus pulling a trailer waited behind the gas station in the diesel lots. Later that night, we checked their MySpace profile—they had approximately 50,000 plays that day--#6 on the “indie” charts. Then, the lead singer sent us an email asking about “plans.” Dennison continued emailing us and promised he would call us eventually. “Could this really be our big break,” I thought nervously?

But then everything stopped. I went on a trip to Ireland and when I returned there was nothing. They seemed to have disappeared into the rock n’ roll mist like the town of Brigadoon.

I guess this leads me to no easy conclusion about being a rural rock n’ roll original. It does make me more and more mad at this Dennison character. In the months since, it appears his intentions never extended beyond the momentary gratification of playing kingmaker to a bunch of unknown clowns in a gas station at 2 in the morning.

In conclusion, I would like to say this: Dennison, if you’re still out there (and I know you are because you update your MySpace profile 10,000 times a day—yes, I check), I hope you enjoy your comfortable seat aboard that black, tour bus of delayed teenage angst and false hopes. And someday, when you’re back in some rural Missouri town C-store, just looking for an energy drink to navigate your parent’s van back home after a late night gig where you made $17 before expenses, I hope someone from Jon Bon Jovi’s tour bus will run in and grab the last Polish Sausage off the rotisserie grill, leaving you empty-handed, alone, and resigned to eating a Tornado. And I hope you, too, are unable to decipher the contents of that perplexing entre, priced at a sinfully low-fare when paired with a 40-ounce fountain drink.

The revolution will not even begin to tell you the calorie count in a Tornado.

Senor Weiner challenges weiner dog as official RGT mascot. on 12seconds.tv

Thanks to Cousin Christopher for writing this post.

Rock Garden Tour 54: The Great Public Service Announcement Podcast

 
You never get to hear the best part of our little radio program, but that's about to change. This podcast features about 45 minutes worth of raw, uncut announcements that we have to read because the FCC says so. Usually we edit this stuff out of the Rock Garden Tour program that airs on SDPB Radio as well as this podcast because it doesn't fit. But we've changed that tonight. Reading the PSA may sound like a drag, but its become one of the best segments on the show. This podcast features some of our favorites over the last few months. Enjoy the podcast and keep it rural.

Download Rock garden tour 54 podcast

Good Neighbors Control Noxious Weeds

Last night's show went about as well as can be expected when you consider that we spent the night talking about some of the most invasive plants on the planet. I'd love to tell you more about it. I'd love to tell you that we enjoyed ourselves, that the in-studio audience enjoyed themselves, that we weren't forced to flee the studio under a storm of noxious weed goo, that we didn't end up in a closet at the 7-11 where we chowed on electric blue freezies and Twin Bings. I'd love to tell you all about our wonderful radio program, but that would be a disservice to the brave men and women of the Rock Garden Tour who spent last night talking about noxious weeds. At least the music sounded good. Have a look at the playlist, stay tuned for the podcast, and keep it rural.

Mayer Hawthorne - One Track Mind*

Pearl Jam - The Fixer*

Flotation Toy Warning - Made From Tiny Boxes*

The Reverend Peyyton's Big Damn Band - Let Your Light Shine

Rosanne Cash w/ Jeff Tweety - Long Black Veil*

Lou Barlow - The One I Call*

Conor Oberst - Milk Thistle

Seam - Petty Thievery

Animal Collective - Who Could Win A Rabbit

Jay Farrar and Benjamin Gibbard - Low Life Kingdom*

Phoenix - Rome

Joannna Newsome - Peach, Plum, Pear

John Doe & The Sadies - Are The Good Times Really Over For Good

We All Have Hooks For Hands - Something To Live For*

Love Is All - Felt Tip

The Mountain Goats - Snow Song

Tonic - Flowerman

* Tunes off of new albums that you should really consider listening to.

Searching For That South Dakota Sound

Working Title: The Rural Alberta Advantage Mean Every Single Word in their Name.

My initial hesitation was the name. The Rural Alberta Advantage sounded like an unfortunately named credit union. Second, I presumed the band’s name was intended as irony. These guys couldn’t possibly have meant that name literally.

But, my rural protectionism died fast. It turns out Toronto’s The Rural Alberta Advantage not only writes unnerving, cinematic ballads about those spacious, wild Caribou-infested hinterlands, but they actually mean it.

On “Ballad of the RAA” Paul Banwatt, a 31-year-old computer engineer by day, sings like a coonskin-cap-version of Thom Yorke about his desolate journey from a smalltown near the Oil Sands of Alberta to Toronto: “We invariably left the prairies in my heart.” Then the band picks up; the drumming underneath is hectic but always in control, like a runaway mine-cart, and the spastic jitterbug guitar-strumming helps this record about cold places burn like an electrical fire.

My family took a vacation to an Alberta dinosaur museum in the 4th grade. Other than remembering that McDonald’s sold pizza, not much stood out, just miles and miles of flat, sparse prairie—in many ways, like parts of South Dakota. Writing music for an indie band about this landscape has always been a tempting offer; the rural folks need balladeers who grew up on Wes Anderson, too. But, the closest I’ve heard (at least in a few years) is Bon Iver, whose haunting harmonics are more befit that backwoods of Wisconsin than the Dakotas.

Although Spill Canvas is the most successful (at least in terms of record sales) of any South Dakota-born act in the past decade, the guys coming closest to developing what could, be called a “South Dakota sound” are most assuredly We All Have Hooks For Hands and Burlap Wolf King. There are plenty of South Dakota bands I’d take in a cage-match against acts from any corner of the globe, but Hooks and the Wolf King stand out as having crafted a sound that you would reach to first if you were creating an iMovie for space aliens who had never seen South Dakota. Play those records, most notably “The Pretender” and “The Middle,” and the landscape—its bohemian quirkiness and lonely beauty—seems to just appear before your eyes.

This is the success of The Rural Alberta Advantage. God knows if my memory of Alberta is anything like what the music of the RAA implies. But, they make it sound like a place you wouldn’t mind growing up.

Here’s to representing those places where livestock outnumber people.

Thanks to Cousin Christopher for writing this post.