Look, Read, Listen concerns itself with reviews, thoughts and musings on art, music and other cultural spheres.
Sunday, August 3, 2014
I'm happy to announce I'll be having my book about murder and mayhem in
the Gilded Age Berkshires (1870-early 1900s) published by the History
Press. Look for it in the fall of 2015. I'll update readers on my
progress as it moves along.
Editor's Note: This is the unedited email interview with John Darnielle, the man behind the band The Mountain Goats, and sometimes the only member of the band. This interview was used for a story that originally appeared in The Berkshire Eagle on April 17, 2014.
Amelinckx: When you finish writing a song do you have an idea of how you plan to approach the recording process -- just you and your guitar or lusher arrangements, (drums, backing vocal, cello, piano, etc.).
Darnielle: I'm usually not thinking of arrangements when I write - if I am, it's only if I'm thinking "this one should remain somewhat skeletal." These days, though, I'll sometimes sketch out some other instrumental ideas in the demo - a second guitar line, or a small keyboard idea. Once I've got the songs together then I start thinking about what other textures might complement the songs - woodwinds, strings, and so on. We flesh out the basics, the drums/bass/me stuff, when we get together to rehearse, usually - though Peter sometimes overdubs bass ideas onto the original demo I send him & then sends it back to me for feedback.
Amelinckx: In a related vein, are there certain songs you prefer to play/ don’t like playing when you go on the road solo or with the rest of the band.
Darnielle: The songs take on such different...not "moods," but "aspects," I guess, when I play them solo - I can get looser with tempo, and be more improvisatory with dynamics (which sounds very high-minded but what I mean is "I can get real quiet if it feels like the right move and I won't be acting unilaterally in a group context"). It's really fun and interesting to see how a song feels when I take away everything but the chords and the words and the vocal melody, especially if it's already spent a lot of time getting played in the trio format. Some songs it becomes a real challenge, when there's an especially strong drum part, say - "Sax Rohmer #1," for example. But meeting that challenge solo is really fun and rewarding.
Amelinckx: When you perform do you feel forced to play certain songs because you know fans really want to hear them?
Darnielle: Well, there's a few songs that I know everybody wants to hear - not a huge number, maybe three or four - but that's an honor, really. I saw Lou Reed in 1986 and he gave a spiel about how he never got sick of playing "Walk on the Wild Side" because he loved knowing that there was a song everybody in the room wanted to hear, and that stuck with me - I can legitimately say that I enjoy "This Year" every time we play it. Although I don't feel like it works as well solo and of the three or four Mountain Goats "standards," it's the one I usually bench in solo sets...Peter's bass line is a huge huge part of that song.
Amelinckx: I once saw a Dylan show in the early 90s where you could tell he was just burning through his hits without any heart, but then completely shifted gears when he played his newer stuff. Do you still enjoy playing your older material?
Darnielle: I do - I'll say that it does take some work, sometimes, some diligence, to make sure I'm connecting with the song - but when that happens, we all know it, and we talk about it, and then we give the song a rest for a tour or two. But I don't tour nearly as hard as Dylan. Dylan is a tour monster who goes out for months at a time, huge worldwide tours, and I'm sure that when that old stuff was new, he played it literally hundreds of times. He's in a bind, really, anybody that big is, because he's pretty much obligated to play the big big old songs or people will be mad since they paid a lot to get in, but how can you connect with a song you've been playing 200 times a year for thirty years? The Dead benched "Dark Star" for a number of years, I consider them the model of how to keep the set fresh even if it means nobody gets to hear "St Stephen" for a while.
Amelinckx: Certain images and themes float through your work -- animal, ghosts, cold water -- what draws you to them?
Darnielle: It's really hard to say - weather, too, I'm always having some wind or some rain, or hot sun - I try not to interrogate my inspirations too hard but just let them work it out for themselves.
Amelinckx: With We Shall All Be Healed and The Sunset Tree you moved into autobiographical material. Was it a surprise to you how listeners responded to more personal material?
Darnielle: It was a huge surprise. I was really nervous, especially on The Sunset Tree - it was pretty raw. But that opened up whole new avenues of writing for me, really - it made the story songs I make up more personal, put me in touch with something in myself. It was like a system reboot for me as a songwriter, really - I think of the stuff before that as stuff from a different age.
Amelinckx: Do you prefer making up stories with your lyrics or going to that well of your own life?
Darnielle: I mean, at this point, there's a sort of synthesis for me - when I'm telling a story, I feel like it's also necessarily somehow about me, somewhere - if not directly, then in spirit, you know? It's not really either/or.
Amelinckx: Born in the Midwest, growing up in California, and now living in the South, in North Carolina, have the places you lived at all influenced your approach to music? I grew up in Louisiana and when I go back home there is a brief period of adjustment and then I find myself slowing down, the way I talk, even move. Has the South changed you at all?
Darnielle: Sure, I assume so. But I am not super reflective about what I'm like, how I'm changing - that's really for others to say. I think my work's gotten a lot better since I moved down here ten years ago, that I'm just a more diligent, more honest writer. I feel like you have to put some of that down to the people around me, and the cycle of the seasons being something I connect to (I happen to love the miserable summers, can't get enough), and the terrain.
Amelinckx: Has fatherhood changed your outlook on life, specifically the life of a touring musician?
Darnielle: It is harder to leave for tour. I fly home a few times during longer tours. That's the main thing. I try not to make any broad philosophical observations on fatherhood - I've only been a dad for two years, I don't figure that short amount of time is enough to really say what's changed about how I look at life generally. It's made me more aware that I'll die, though - this I think is Goth Dad's destiny, to think about how, when you become a parent, that means that somebody you will no longer be around to be a parent any more. It makes me want to fill my days with good work, I have become more aware of time.
Amelinckx: It seems in much of your early work the songs have an instantaneous or conversational feel about them, without a ton of revision and that your newer work is in a sense a completed thought, fully formed, a paragraph rather than a single sentence. Has age, time, affected your approach to making music in the sense that as we get older there is a tendency to not just blurt things out, but rather approach things in a more measured way?
Darnielle: Well, I think my aesthetic priorities changed a lot - the very early stuff, spontaneous expression was a huge value for me - although it was more revised than it sounded, some of those lyrics took a lot of work to sound tossed-off. I'm a better musician now than I used to be, and with that comes a feeling of awe for how melody and lyric sort of elevate one another into this one-of-a-kind style of expression - but I still write pretty quickly, I've just gotten better at it.
Amelinckx: Was it a challenge going from writing songs to writing a novel? (Darnielle's novel "Wolf in White Van" is soon to be released). Was it difficult to sustain the writing process over weeks/months? Has writing the novel influenced your songwriting?
Darnielle: Too early to say on that last question. I was writing prose before I wrote songs - when I was a teenager, I wrote short stories all the time, it was my heart's desire to become a science fiction short story writer. I think the energy feeds from the songs to the prose - that sense of play, like when I'm writing a song how I'm not thinking "this has to be good" but just following ideas that seem cool to me - that's something I tried to remember always while working on the book.
Editor's note: A version of this story originally ran in The Berkshire Eagle
The court document
ordered tobacco farmer Robert Ashby Jr. to pay the local mercantile 3
pounds he owed, plus a fine of 79 pounds of tobacco.
It was dated 1753. And it was issued in Stafford, Virginia.
So how that document and another one dated some 20 years later ended up in an attic in South Worthington in 2005 was puzzling.
George Bresnick was digging through ``the proverbial old trunk in the
attic’’ at a neighbor’s South Worthington home when he stumbled across
``They had absolutely nothing to do with
the other papers,’’ said Bresnick, an ophthalmologist who now resides in
St. Paul, Minn. ``I was confused for a while.’’
After some research, Bresnick came up
with the only reasonable explanation: They were stolen by Union forces
from Western Massachusetts during the Civil War.
And now he plans to return them to where they belong.
It was November 1862 and Union forces,
including the 37th Regiment, Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry, which had
been mustered in Pittsfield earlier that year, were occupying the town
of Stafford, Va., as part of the Fredericksburg campaign.
The area around Stafford was overrun by
130,000 Union troops and the once pristine woods were decimated by the
force for housing, defensive fortifications and heating. Farmland was
torn up, homes were looted, and fences ripped out.
The county courthouse in Stafford
received similar maltreatment as the locals’ homes, two thirds of the
county’s records, which likely dated back to the 1660s, were ``burned,
stolen or scattered,’’ Bresnick said.
He believes the documents were taken as
souvenirs by Pvt. John D. Smith, a West Chesterfield resident who had
enlisted with the 37th and would later be killed during the Battle of
The Wilderness in 1864. Bresnick surmises that Smith sent the papers
home and they ended up in the trunk in the attic of an old Methodist
Episcopal parsonage that had once belonged to a Smith descendant.
in 2005, Bresnick and his wife were living in the village of South
Worthington, across the road from the old parsonage where an elderly
woman resided. He helped go through the neighbor’s home after her death
and that’s when he discovered the legal documents. They, along with
everything else in the house, ended up with an antiques dealer. Bresnick
later bought the documents, along with many others related to
Chesterfield and Worthington, for $100.
One of the documents, dated 1776
Eventually, he came up with a plan to return the documents from whence they came, in order, he said, to ``right a wrong.’’
According to Bresnick, there are both
``practical effects’’ of the loss of Stafford’s courthouse records, the
inability to verify a deed on a property before 1862, for instance , and
the psychological effect that comes with the loss of written records
that help tell the story of Stafford’s history.
Bresnick’s plan was two-fold. He traveled to Washington, D.C., in November to hand over the
papers to U.S. Rep. Richard Neal, D-Springfield, who in a symbolic
gesture gave the documents to Rep. Rob Wittman, R-Va.
``For documents that were clearly removed
from their place of origin to be returning after more than a hundred
years, it’s certainly symbolic,’’ Neal said. ``History has an interest
in seeing these artifacts, and I think it speaks well (of Bresnick), who
wants to really respect these documents by returning them to the people
of Stafford, Va.’’
Neal, besides being a congressman, is a
professor who lectures in history and journalism at the University of
Massachusetts-Amherst. He told The Eagle he was interested in seeing
these documents returned ``in the context of their importance to
The congressman said that people contact
his office on a regular basis ``looking to reconnect with things from
the past. Sometimes it’s about a memorial, an event or a place. This is
A day after Bresnick’s meeting
with the two congressman, he presented the documents to Barbara
Decatur, the Stafford County clerk of court, at a ceremony at the
courthouse in Stafford. The documents now permanently grace the
``I’m happy (the documents) are going back to their home,’’ Bresnick said.
The two legal documents that were found
in an old trunk in South Worthington were believed stolen from the
courthouse in Stafford, Va., by Union troops during the Fredricksburg
campaign of the Civil War.
The first document, dated 1753, is a
court order informing the sheriff of Stafford County to bring a tobacco
farmer named Robert Ashby Jr. (c.1720-c.1780) to the courthouse for a
hearing that May. Ashby owed the mercantile firm of Patrick and William
Bogle a little more than 3 pounds, likely from a past due store account.
The court ordered Ashby to cough up the 3 pounds along with a hefty
court fine of 79 pounds of tobacco. If he didn’t pay, the court could
then order Ashby’s personal property sold to pay the debt.
The second document was a promissory note
dated Feb. 24, 1776, obligating Joel Reddish (c. 1748-1826), to pay 11
pounds, four shillings, six pence, half-penny on a loan from James
Ritchie & Co. of Glasgow, Scotland. According to Bresnick, Ritchie
was one of the ``Tobacco Lords’’ of Glasgow who imported tobacco from
the colonies and sold it in Europe. The company was also in the business
of loaning money to farmers in order to get their tobacco crop into the
ground. Reddish was a Virginia tobacco farmer who had taken a loan out
with the company.
Editor's note: This review first appeared in the Dec. 8, 2013 edition of the Berkshire Eagle.
History is a funny thing. What may start as fact often becomes clouded by fancy and the personages whose names still
trip off the tongue today may overshadow the true heroes whose names have been wiped clean, if they were ever there at all,
from the popular imagination.
's newest book, "The Men Who United the States," the author tells the story of America through its "connective tissue"
and introduces, or reintroduces, the many obscure and half- forgotten men who helped unite the country via exploration, road,
canal, and railroad building, electric generation, the radio, television and the Internet.
While the more famous folks, Thomas Jefferson and Thomas Edison, for example, do get their due, the book's focus remains
on the lesser known men whose work helped unite the country.
The narrative structure of this unique retelling of America's history by the British- born best selling author, and
recently naturalized U. S. citizen, is held together via the five Chinese elements - wood, earth, water, fire and metal -
corresponding to early exploration, geology, canal building, locomotives and other mechanized transportation and the telegraph,
telephone and other electronic communication.
He did something similar in his last book, "Atlantic: Great Sea Battles, Heroic Discoveries, Titanic Storms, and a Vast
Ocean of a Million Stories," in which he uses the "Seven Ages of Man" monologue from William Shakespeare's "As You Like It"
as a framework.
's able hands, the stories of these pioneers - many considered cranks and misfits - and their contributions provide
a lesser traveled journey through the country's past without losing sight of the bigger picture.
It should be noted the title does not lie and that the book almost exclusively looks at men's achievements. Sacagawea,
who helped guide the Lewis and Clark expedition across the West in the early 1800s is the only woman who gets much of a mention
in the book, something
said he knew he would get some grief for, but that "It has to be
accepted, like it or not, that most of those [connections]
were created by men."
's personal reminiscences that dot the book's pages provide nice
counterpoints to the main stories, by connecting historical
moments to the present, uniting themes, giving resonance to particular
One of the most touching of these is a story he relates about
being in a remote area of Northern Australian in the mid-1990s
and demonstrating the Internet to a 7-year-old boy whose mind was blown
by its potential after seeing a video of a B1 bomber
and a close up photograph of Mars, which the boy had previously only
seen by looking at the night sky with his father's binoculars.
left the computer for the boy and was soon receiving emails from him.
Another personal story comes in the book's epilogue, in which
describes life in Sandisfield, where he has a small farm, and of the uniting of the village through a new community
The author says in the book's final pages that the work of the nation's agencies and individuals "helped bind ever more
tightly the peoples of the country together." The same could be said of
's book, which gives us a prismatic and unusual take on the nation's past and the strange, enigmatic and down right
cantankerous men who helped make it what it is and will become, and provides - during this seemingly divided time in our history
- insight into what has kept us whole.
Editor's note: This article originally appeared in the Nov. 25, 2013 edition of the Berkshire Eagle.
Chopping wood in the late afternoon on his small farm, writer
vaguely resembles one of the rough and tumble characters he writes about in his latest non-fiction book, "The Men Who
United The States." But later, as he sits in the small cottage in which he works, surrounded by hundreds of books, talking
of history, his British-accented voice filling the space, another image of the man emerges.
Such is the dichotomy of this
Oxford-educated writer of more than 20 books, this journalist, traveler and adventurer who once briefly left an Arctic sledding
expedition for an interview with a New York Times columnist at an Upper West Side Italian restaurant, only to return to the
freezing north to finish what he started.
His latest book seems imbued with the 69-year-old writer's multifaceted personality, encompassing both history and personal
narrative. It tells the story of the nation through the lives of the men who explored its wilderness, surveyed
its natural resources and brought it physically together
by rail, road and wire. It is also a love letter to
's new homeland.
"Without wanting to sound too sappy about it, I've been enraptured by this country for a very long time," he says." The genesis was born out of my love affair with the country."
became a U.S. citizen, standing on the deck of the U.S.S. Constitution in Boston Harbor on a blazing hot July 4.
says it was a moving experience, but it was another event a short time later that brought home the realization of his
new status as a citizen.
He explains: "I got my passport and went to England almost immediately. I returned from London to Kennedy Airport [in
New York City] and I had this shiny new passport and the guy opened it and stamped it, stood up, and said: 'Welcome home.'
That was a great feeling, I must say. It really was."
's enthusiasm for America started early.
He came here as a hitchhiker in the early 1960s, spending eight months on the road and finding everyone he met to be
"terribly kind." It didn't hurt that a friend worked for NBC and was a buddy of John Frankenheimer, the director of classic
films like "The Manchurian Candidate," who introduced
to Burt Lancaster, Johnny Carson and Kirk Douglas.
"It was astonishing. I had this amazingly good impression of America," he laughs.
He was later returned as a correspondent for a British newspaper and covered Washington, D.C., during Watergate scandal.
In 1997, he moved to New York and in 2001 bought his home in Sandisfield, Mass., a bucolic agrarian space with geese, chickens
and gardens. He and his wife, former National Public Radio producer Setsuko Sato, split their time between the farm and New
York City. They also found time to start a local monthly newspaper, the Sandisfield Times.
signed the contract for his latest book around the time he became a citizen, feeling like the moment was right to try
his hand at American history. The question was how to approach his subject.
says that after "a number of experiments," he "just started ruminating" on the idea of "uniting."
"How did the country remain united - despite the Civil War, of course - for so long and so successfully in a way that
so many other great big countries, like Canada and Russia … have not succeeded [in doing]?"
America, a "mongrel" of disparate peoples, ideas and beliefs, says
, has managed to remain whole thanks to the "connective tissue" of exploration and the physical structures of canals
and railways and even radio. He decided he wanted to explore the men who helped build these "tissues" that "bound the country
While working on the book, he hit upon the idea of structuring it around the five Chinese elements: wood, earth, water,
fire and metal.
"It had to be something that had narrative logic to it, but that was perhaps slightly unusual that offered a different
perspective. I happened to be writing to a friend of mine in Shanghai - I lived in China for a long time - and we had been
talking about the classical elements. And I thought, 'Well, why not?' Maybe these 120 odd people, who I had established I
wanted to write about, could be put into these various categories. So all the American explorers went under wood because they
went through forests. The early geologists fit into the category of earth. The canals, and so forth, would go under water.
Fire-breathing things like trains, planes and automobiles would go under fire. And then metal - the telegraph, telephone.
It all seemed to work."
In each category, he came up with the names of the people who had been instrumental to the various fields, from canal
building to the electrical grid, and to his "delight and astonishment," he found that "many of them were unknown."
He ended up focusing on the less famous of these men, believing truly famous people like Thomas Jefferson, Samuel Morse
and Guglielmo Marconi, needed less space.
"There wasn't a great deal of a point in retelling the story of
Marconi, except in a perfunctory way. The man who gave
us AM and FM radio, allowed us to broadcast the human voice or music -
Marconi only allowed us to do Morse code - he was unknown.
He was named Reginald Fessenden. And he was such a colorful character.
He was a big, bluff, bearded chap. A classic maverick
and tinkerer. So I very much went to town with him. … He's just as
important. Yes, it was a question of highlighting the forgotten
and giving no more than their due to the famous."
's research, he came upon a story of interest related to the Berkshires, specifically Great Barrington.
"It was the first place in the world to get alternating current
electricity. The first place to get distributed electricity
of any kind was Edison, N.J., because that's where Thomas Edison worked
and then he did the same thing in lower Manhattan.
Then there was this war of the currents between Westinghouse, who
preferred AC, [and Edison and direct current]. Once it was
decided that it was going to be AC, then the first place to get AC was
Main Street in Great Barrington. There's a little plaque
that memorializes that fact. I think attention should … be paid to the
fact that this was the first place in the world. No
one would ever know that."
's love for the subjects in his book comes across as he talks about them. It also shown by his manuscript, which came
in 45,000 words longer than intended.
"I really wrote with tremendous enthusiasm on this book and ended up with 195,000 words. My contract was for 150,000
words. My editor liked it, said it was wonderful, but it was 'too much wonderful.' "
was asked to pare it down, which he managed to do.
He's currently working on a book about the Pacific Ocean, having already written one about the Atlantic.
, he prefers to write for the general public, eschewing the academic for the more personal approach.
I've begun writing a bimonthly series for Modern Farmer magazine called Old-Time Farm Crime. Here's the first piece, a look at an 18th century horse thief and highwayman named Dick Turpin and some contemporary examples of equine thievery.