Back 40

better days ________ www.coopradio.org

THE BACK 40

What do I play on Better Days? Whatever sounds right for today.
I have a thing called the Back 40 and it's a good starting place.
Called the Back 40 because not all of the records listed are new.
Some are from back a ways. There is too much joy, education and
wisdom available in music to limit it to what's new. So plowing the
Back 40 is a planting-sowing-tending-reaping cycle of recordings
from all ages and times, a pan-generational community of artists,
both alive and worth keeping alive. The artists' websites are linked
below each listing. I recommend all of these artistic fruits.

Mercy Now : Mary Gauthier
http://www.marygauthier.com
Live At The Old Quarter : Townes Van Zandt
http://www.townesvanzandt.com/
The Essential Collection : Bill Morrissey
http://billmorrissey.net/
Rosewood Cathedral : Dick Gaughan
http://www.dickalba.demon.co.uk/
Blue : Joni Mitchell
http://www.jonimitchell.com/
Ten New Songs : Leonard Cohen
http://www.leonardcohen.com
Faultlines : Karine Polwart
http://www.karinepolwart.com
Keepers : Guy Clark
http://www.guyclark.com/
Identity Crisis : Shelby Lynne
http://www.shelbylynne.com/
The Revolution Starts Now : Steve Earle
http://www.steveearle.com/
Beautiful Dreamer: The Songs Of Stephen Foster : Various
http://www.americanrootspublishing.org
Broken Freedom Song : Kris Kristofferson
http://chapter33.com/
A Hundred Lies : Malcolm Holcombe
http://www.malcolmholcombe.com
Train Home : Chris Smither
http://www.smither.com/
This Is The Day : Christy Moore
http://www.christymoore.com
Do Right Man : Dan Penn
http://www.geocities.jp/hideki_wtnb/danpenn.html
Stories From The Silver Moon Cafe : Mickey Newbury
http://www.mickeynewbury.com
The Waking Hour : David Francey
http://www.davidfrancey.com
1798 The First Year Of Liberty : Frank Harte
http://www.hummingbird.ie/
A Grain Of Sand : Cowboy Johnson
http://www.cowboyjohnson.com
Aqaba : June Tabor
http://www.topicrecords.co.uk/june_tabor_topic_records.html
Blonde On Blonde : Bob Dylan
http://www.bobdylan.com/updates /
Songs From The Southland : Hans Theessink
http://www.theessink.com/en/
Why The Long Face : Suzzy & Maggie Roche
http://www.roches.com
Man For Galway : Sean Tyrrell
http://www.seantyrrell.com
There & Now: Live in Vancouver 1968 : Phil Ochs
http://www.cs.pdx.edu/~trent/ochs/
Car Wheels On A Gravel Road : Lucinda Williams
http://www.lucindawilliams.com
About Baghdad (soundtrack) : Amer Tawfiq
http://www.aboutbaghdad.com
My Life : Iris DeMent
http://www.irisdement.com/
The Many Sides Of Fred Neil : Fred Neil
http://www.wirz.de/music/neilfrm.htm
Redbird : Redbird
http://www.younghunter.com/redbird.html
Seven Swans : Sufjan Stevens
http://www.soundsfamilyre.com
No More Sad Refrains : Sandy Denny
http://www.informatik.uni-hamburg.de/~zierke/sandy.denny/
Living On The Hallelujah Side : Joseph Spence
http://www.ttgapers.com/ttStore-index2-asin-B0000002V7.html
The Trouble With Humans : Chip Taylor & Carrie Rodriguez
http://www.trainwreckrecords.com
Mowing Machair : Fine Friday
http://www.finefriday.com
Banjoman: Tribute to Derroll Adams : Various
http://www.theessink.com/en/
Bittertown : Lori McKenna
http://www.lorimckenna.com
Righteousness & Humidity : Martin Simpson
http://www.martinsimpson.com/index.htm
Will The Circle Be Unbroken Vol 1 : Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
http://www.nittygritty.com/

101 Reykjavik 

Ice #7

better days ________ www.coopradio.org

Iceland #7 : Reykjavik

When things got too dangerous in ninth century Norway
a band of Vikings, led by an outlaw named Ingolfur Amarson,
set sail to escape the wrath of a Norwegian monarch and to
look for a place where, as Disa explains it to me, "they could
make their own rules."

On their journey across the North Atlantic, just below the
Arctic Circle, they saw something off in the distance.
Ingolfur tossed carved seat pillars overboard (similar to
totem poles, only shorter) to see which bay the gods of
the sea would lead them into. The tides took them toward
an enclosed bay with smoke rising from the land (steam from
hot springs, no doubt). They put ashore and, next this bay,
began looking for ways to survive and make a go of it in this
rugged, unsettled place. They called their new settlement
Reykjavik, meaning "smoking bay."

Today, some twelve centuries later, Reykjavik is home to
180,000 people who want to make their own rules. If you
look at a map of Iceland (spelled "Island" here), you will
see that outside of Reykjavik the populated areas are along
the coasts, reliant on the sea. Much of the center of the island
is covered, year-round, by glacier. Gradually, more and more
Icelanders have moved to Reykjavik and its vicinity, and
these nomadic souls are quick to point out which part of the
island their families first settled. Gudmundur, Disa´s father,
is from the eastern fjords and damned proud of it. When
another of Disa´s friends or in-laws says something that
Gudmundur questions the validity of, he will purse lips
and say with mock disgust, "they´re not from the east."
The east was colder, the land more cruel and challenging,
and those dramatic fjords demanded a tougher and more
resilient character. Those from the north have the warmer
climate, so they must be softer, the joking goes. It is true,
the north is warmer. Reykjavik, in the south, receives more
wind off the Atlantic which, on sunny days, means you pay
for midday heat with a biting evening chill.

I like Reykjavik. With each passing day, I learn a little more.
Not so much facts, but about the people, their ways, customs.
They have, in the tradition of the city´s founders, their own
set of rules. Outdated and formal moral codes do not hold
much sway here. Perhaps half of all children are born outside
of marriage, but to strong partnerships. About 90% of the
people belong to the Protestant Lutheran church. Roman
Catholics, believers in the ancient Germanic gods, and other
religious groups represent less than one percent each of
the population. Still, I get the feeling that people "accept"
God here more than they "believe" in her. There's a kind
of mischief at work. This is, after all, a nation that initially
welcomed Christianity as a business decision, to open up
wider trade with Europe. I'm smiling.

The people of Reykjavik seemed a tad unfriendly at first,
but I´ve since learned that it´s more an unwillingness to
impose on a stranger. In other words, they respect your
space. Once I begin talking, it was as if I had broken the ice
(no pun intended), made an opening, and the warmth and
kindness came flowing from within people. Icelanders are
a very friendly and hospitable people.

Reykjavik is not a city of smoke. The subterranean geothermal
heating makes sure of that. There are chimneys from fireplaces,
but rarely are they used. The cars do not use diesel fuel like in
many other European cities. The air is clear. You notice how
sharply the buildings are etched against the sky. They don´t
litter much here - Disa even rebuked me gently for leaving a
cigarette butt laying on the ground - and this neatness is also
noticeable in how people dress. Some care is taken in personal
presentation, a subtle dignity at work.

Last night I got to perform in this city, at the Hotel Borg,
before a packed house of 400. I opened the show to a loud
and generous ovation, and by the second song the crowd was
clapping in rhythm with an uptempo blues. There were whistles.
I put everything I had into my playing, easily the strongest
since my return to music. When I sang Iceland Blues, there
were laughter and applause with each verse´s punchline. Later,
I performed The Long-Dying Year, my response to the American
invasion of Iraq, and the room fell silent, erupting when I hit the
last minor chord. When I was done, I went off-stage briefly and
shivered to hear the rhythmic clapping that wouldn´t stop.
Gummi Pedursson pointed to the stage and said, "Go, they want
another one." I closed with a jaunty blues called Happy Man, the
song I used to close my shows with back in the early 1980´s.
"I´m a happy man, what a happy man I am...these blues I feel,
though they´re real, don´t bring me down a damn, I´m on the
ropes, ain´t got no hopes, but I´m a happy man!" Second time
through, I had 400 Icelanders singing it with me. Takk, bless.

This morning Disa and I awoke to the sound of church bells
ringing all across Reykjavik. Later, at Hallgrimskirkje, the tallest
building in the city, we are going to hear a man in his eighties
read Passiusalmarnir, the verses to the hymns Hallgrim wrote
long ago. Interspersed between each recitation, the choir will
sing the poet's words. This ceremony lasts for five hours, though
we may only stay for two.

I wanted to go into the audience last night after I finished,
to hear some of the music that followed, but people kept
coming into the backstage lounge to bring me beers, to
congratulate and talk with me. Many of these people know
Disa. She´d brought her family, friends, over twenty people
in all. One of them, Boggi, who´d lived in Winnipeg for two
years before, said, "We have good blues players here in
Iceland, but they mainly copy the songs of the American
bluesmen. What I like about your singing is that you are
original in your songs." How sweet is that?

Dori had more than doubled my pay for the show, as the
crowd had been overflowing. Before parting he introduced me
to Oli, from the fm radio station. I will meet Oli on Tuesday to
collect cd recordings from all three nights at the Hotel Borg,
my performance included, as they were all recorded for future
broadcast. The band that closed out the festival last night?
The Smokey Bay Blues Band, of course. Long after the show
was over, we took a walk in the cool April night. Above us, on
a hillside above the square, was a statue of Ingolfur Amarson,
the Viking outlaw who named this city.

Reykjavik.

DL

saskatchewan 

Saskatchewan

better days ________ www.coopradio.org

Saskatchewan

This is where I come from
The wind here talks to me
In the voices of the vanished ones
Who settled this country
The land runs out to meet the sky
The lilies blow so free
This is where I come from
This is home to me

Stayed a night in Sintaluta
Near the Neville place
The earth is cracked and cries for rain
Reminds me of his face
He said, "We're the mountains here,
We reach into the sky"
And like that town he hangs around
Though dead he doesn't die

Prairie lilies, orange and red
I see them from the car
Get out and look for prairie smoke
The kiss of blazingstar
Each flower is a spirit
The weather could not kill
Each blossom here a victory
For blossoming at all

This is the place that taught me
To plant and tend and reap
And now the men who mentored me
Beneath the prairie sleep
Old Ida's farm was down this road
Halfway to Qu'appelle
Her eyes were deep-as-heaven blue
I'm looking in them still

I battle the mosquitos
Dried clay beneath my heel
I make a little prayer for rain
So dry here where I kneel
Trials enough to stop a man
What keeps him saying, "Go"?
Consider the lilies of the field
My brother, then you'll know

They call this place Saskatchewan
The wind here talks to me
In the voices of the vanished ones
Who settled this country
The land runs out to meet the sky
The lilies blow so free
This is where I come from
This is home to me

DL