When I found out Evin had a Kickstarter project for his new album, I chipped in. I had exactly a dollar to my name, and I put it in. Didn’t get me anything; anything less than a ten-spot doesn’t even get a copy of the album when it’s finished. That’s okay; Evin’s art is worth supporting and it’s about time I started giving back to the artists that fill my life.

Except, I did get something. Pretty much won the lottery.

All the supporters got a free copy of Evin’s Woodland Sessions, recorded in the wilds outside glorious Mendocino. (Keep reading and I’ll tell you how to get your own free copy.)

The EP is buffet, an eclectic handful of folk, blues, rock, Americana, gospel, pretty much anything you can do acoustically in the middle of the night when you’ve been up for 2 days recording.

The final track has taken me captive, and I’m afraid I’ll never be free again.

Makes No Difference is about lost love, as so many songs are. To steal from Tolstoy, all happy love songs are the same, but every broken-hearted song is sad in its own way. This one is about that space where you’ve just, that moment, accepted that it really is over; they’re not coming back, not now, not ever.

And you realize that everything will be darker, colder, greyer than you thought possible. That all the things you wanted, needed desperately to say, will dry in your throat like the uneaten heels in the bread box. That tears aren’t nearly enough; a forlorn wail, anguished beating your head against a stone, pacing from window to window hoping there’s a light out there somewhere — that the black hole in your ribs is all you have left.

The instrumentation is simple, just acoustic guitar, piano, and two voices: Evin, and Portland singer/songwriter Clio Wilde singing harmonies I’ve only dreamt of before now. A glorious keening wail that’s more about the ache than the words.

Go watch them sit on the floor and cry for the mic to give them the good news they’ll never hear.

And while you’re there, download Woodland Sessions. It’s free. In this case, that means priceless.

When my copy of Badlands arrived, it stayed in the CD player in the car for over two weeks, playing over and over again. Nearly every track is on my all-night music list (I never sleep without music playing. I’ve heard some people do. Seems odd to me.)

Instrumentals are hard to write. I’ve written over 100 songs, but only 5 or 6 instrumentals. The emotional impact and quick familiarity usually made by the lyrics have to be carried entirely by music. It’s harder than you think.

Tingstad pulls it off on every single original track on the album. (One track is a cover of Roy Orbison’s Crying which is not by favorite Orbison song, nor my favorite track on Badlands.)

Quiet ballads, lullabies, riding music, it’s all here. Nothing too edgy, but no elevator music either.

The title track is the closest thing to edgy: plenty of electric guitar (the lead is a slippery shimmering slide I can’t stop humming) and a driving rhythm section, topped with a delicate fiddle that pops in just where it’s needed. Slap of leather, smell of sage, dust and grit and heat.

Right now you can get Eric’s Badlands along with the older Southwest for only $20 total. It’s a steal. If you like guitars or Americana or ambient music while you’re thinking or driving or writing, this is some of the best you can get.

It was 6 years from Southwest to Badlands. I sure hope Eric doesn’t keep us waiting another 5 years for a third album of his Americana instrumentals.

Five songs inspired by Alcatraz and some of its infamous guests.
Defiant, prison outlaw ballads influenced by songwriters Ry Cooder and Mississippi John Hurt wave the flag in this collection about faith, repentance and the indelible human spirit.

Sparse instrumentation lets Franc’s voice and the stories he tells stand out. Lie to You is the least specific, but it’s the one that sticks in my head. He seems to get one earworm on every album, and that’s fine with me.

Get your copy, or listen online. Worth your time.

ou know I love Celtic music so I was delighted when Nick approached me about writing a guest piece with some basic background on it. If you like it, say so in the comments and we’ll bring Nick back for more.

Gaelic folk refers to the folk music of old gaelic societies, primarily Irish and Scottish. Naturally there are significant differences between Scottish and Irish folk, and many regional variations within, but the traditions are similar enough to merit their own catch-all term.

The tradition has largely died out, but there is still a small folk community, and many of the old songs and dances are revived by ceilidh bands for weddings and other big events. It’s a rich tradition that goes a lot further than a lone bagpiper on top of a mountain.

The instruments

When most people think of Scottish folk, bagpipes are what spring immediately to mind, and for Irish, the fiddle or the tin-whistle.

Both Scottish and Irish folk used bagpipes, but while the Scottish bagpipe requires the piper to blow into the bag, Irish uilleann pipes use a hand operated bellow. They are much quieter and also allow the piper to sing or call at the same time.

Other traditional instruments in both traditions are the fiddle, accordion, flutes, whistles (more tin-whistle than football coach!), banjo, acoustic guitar and bodhran (an Irish drum).

Pianos and cello figured much more in Scotland, and many players of gaelic folk today use more modern instruments like a full drum kit, electric bass and electric guitar.

Some History

As with many folk traditions, gaelic folk was as much, if not more, about the oral tradition as it was about the aesthetic appreciation of music. Scholars of gaelic folk will tell you that every song had a specific purpose, and often, its speed was to help keep time during particular activities – churning butter or rowing a boat for example.

But music was also for enjoyment, and figured heavily in ceilidhs (pronounced kay-leed). This traditionally meant any type of social gathering, and would encompass everything from discussion to story telling to singing and dancing.

Again, the songs were for specific dances and were designed for keeping time as much as anything else. In gaelic folk the melody and the activity were practically inseparable.

Nowadays a ceilidh refers almost exclusively to the music and dancing element, with short tutorials for beginner dancers before each dance and a caller to walk dancers through the steps.

The importance of language

One of the most interesting aspects of gaelic folk is that the words were integral to the melody. This is partly due to the rhythmic element and how the songs were used to keep time, but is also due to the nature of gaelic languages.

A prominent feature of the language was the use of syllable length for semantics. Thus, the rhythm of the words would dictate the melody and the melody may not make sense without them, nor would the words sung in a different rhythm. (For example “sin” meaning “that” with a short vowel, and “sin” meaning “stretch” with a long vowel. See http://akerbeltz.org/index.php?title=Vowels for more.)

You can imagine how changing the melody would completely change the meaning!

So strong is the connection between the two, that much of Scottish and Irish poetry was actually written to be sung, and there was considered no difference between song and poem.

Nick Lewis is a writer, musician and sound engineer. He’s writing on behalf of Licence to Ceilidh – London’s top Ceilidh band

I’ve got a mule, her name is . . .

If her name popped unbidden into your mind, you’re either a fan of American folk music or you went to elementary school in California in the 60s.

The song was originally entitled Low Bridge, Everybody Down when Thomas Allen wrote it in 1905. Now it’s called The Erie Canal Song, 15 Miles on the Erie Canal, and any number of other names. It’s about the years, decades really, when boats on the Erie Canal were towed by mules. By 1905 the era of the mules was just about over.

I wish the era of this earworm were over.

Oh; the mule’s name? Sal. I’ve got a mule her name is Sal. Enjoy your earworm.

If you’re a fan of Dylan or just good folk/rock singer-songwriter stuff, Ross’ Hard Rain album is a worthy addition to your collection. He really is the goods.

Whether you just love music or want to spruce up your entrepreneurial menage, I urge you to read John’s blog and buy his book, should he ever get around to finishing it. (Yes, John, I’m calling you out.)

Music is a beautiful thing! Right now my wife is in the kitchen making dinner. She grabs something or other and starts clapping two things together, pounding out a beat. Music is such a part of us that I really don’t know a single person that does not like music on some level. From the brilliant musician right down to the guy listening to the radio in the car, we all enjoy music.

Let me take you on a journey though. What if there was no music? No CDs, no tapes, no musical instruments. Nothing at all. What if no one had ever put 2 notes together?

We’re looking forward to spending a winter in Phoenix so we have plenty of time to catch up with Terry and Virgie. If you know a cheap place to rent for 6 months . . .

Pretty easy to see why Ron Luther and I became friends.

I saw your other note a while back on guest writing about music … and I thought about it for a bit. My first inclination was to try to write something up about a hidden gem like Jay Leonhart’s “Salamander Pie” album. If you don’t have it – go order it on Amazon, now!

Then, naturally, I started to over think things.

Hiding in a cubicle in a secret HP bunker in Houston, Texas, Ron does something with computers, and databases, and confusing words. Even I don’t understand half the stuff he says about his work. And it’s not the accent, neither.

X always stands for mystery; the unknown. On pirate maps, X marks the spot not because it’s so obvious, but because it is a mystery, an unknown, a private stash you weren’t supposed to find.

So, for this 300th post on the 10th anniversary, instead of writing about what I’ve done, I’m going to write about what I haven’t.

Yesterday I watched TED talks for a couple hours. They’re 18 minutes at most, so you can fit an almost numbing amount of inspiration and education into two hours. I was just looking for a big picture feel for who’s been saying what, so I was only half paying attention as I downloaded a hundred new songs from friends at FAWM.

Hearing an economist of 30 years lambaste me about passion and why I’m not going to have a great career got my attention.

It’s 15 minutes. I’ll wait while you watch it.

(Of course, if you just skip right over and keep reading I’ll never know unless you tell me. There will not be a quiz, I assure you.)

Best Beloved will tell you that my greatest passion is music. She knows that when I say I love her more than music, it’s the deepest expression of my devotion.

Some days, she says she’s not entirely convinced it’s true. I’m pretty sure she’s kidding. Pretty sure.

Thus far in my musical career, I have spent about $5,000 on music equipment, in various forms of payment (much of it was in trade for web work, another thing I love.)

I estimate I’ve earned about $750 total, between live performance and selling 12 or 13 copies of a CD I had one song on.

I haven’t recorded my own CD. I haven’t even tried very hard to sell the two songs I actually recorded to my (near) satisfaction. And now I’m going to put my business coach hat and tell myself why. You’re welcome to eavesdrop.

I am terrified, but it’s time. I have already decided that 2012 is the year I do everything different. Might as well make the big difference, eh?

Since I’ve already over-committed emotionally for March, I’m not going to sabotage this by giving myself a March deadline. Instead, we’ll go for May.

May I announce that on May 1, I’ll be releasing a completely re-recorded version of my Irish folk song Like the Sea with the verse that’s never been recorded, with Irish tin whistle and fiddle by my friend Robyn, and all the trimmings.

And you’ll be able to get your copy over at my musicommunity and business website, tunehenge.

And then, I’ll have solved one more mystery about me.

Okay, it’s probably fair to link to my very first post, written March 12th, 2002. Lotta water under this bridge since then. Buy me a pint and I’ll spill.