Yes, this is another “completely non-standard” album review. I’m sure there won’t be a shortage of actual music writers putting keyboard to screen about Steep Canyon Rangers’ brand-pickin’-new album, Tell The Ones I Love. In spite of that, sometimes I am just so taken with something that I simply have to write about it. I’ve owned the cd for two weeks, and I’d need algebra to figure out how many people I’ve talked to about it in person, let alone through social media.
“If Barbie talks to an average of 20 people a day, tweets to approximately 3,000 followers, has 825 ‘friends’ on Facebook and fell in love with an album fourteen days ago… how many superlatives has she used in the last two weeks?”
If you’ve read my piece, “Meeting Steve Martin….”, then you know why my on-line persona has a fictitious crush on this accomplished musician, song writer, author, actor and art collector. If you haven’t, then you are one of the people who probably thinks that the real me has a real crush on a man whom I had never met until last night. I, however, am not that kind of girl. Mr. Martin is a married man and, while my jokes are a bit flirtatious, they are always completely respectful.
I decided to use Mr. Martin as the straight-man to my self-deprecating humor because I disliked all of the “humorous attempts” I saw on-line poking fun at anyone with a celebrity status. I’m sad to say that I have seen some exceedingly admirable people verbally attacked because some twitter follower didn’t think a movie was good or felt a tweet was not amusing enough. I’m not that kind of girl either. Using social media as a weapon against someone who has not done anything to deserve it is cowardly and childish. That is not to say that I don’t use people as a punchline myself from time to time. The westboro baptist church (name intentionally left in lower case due to my complete lack of respect for them), Sarah Palin & Donald Trump have all found themselves in the cross-hairs of my humor from time to time. This is a result of their actions and their words, not a misguided sense of my entitlement to use them as fodder just because they are in the public eye.
I’ve never written a review of an album. I can’t imagine why that is given my vast knowledge and immense adoration of so many varieties of music. In fact, I was so passionate about the song “Pursuit of Happiness” from Nuno Bettencourt’s Schizophonic album that the word “pursuit” is one of my two tattoos. And yet, my website holds multiple book reviews but none for any band or collection of songs…until now.
I didn’t choose to write something about Rare Bird Alert because of my on-line persona’s fictitious “crush” on Steve Martin. It wasn’t something spawned of spending a few hours laughing with Steep Canyon Rangers’ fiddle player Nicky Sanders. I wanted to write this because, after listening to the album a few times, I felt I understood it as a concept. It didn’t appear to be a random selection of pieces chaotically strewn together. Instead the songs complemented each other as if woven carefully by a lovely, old Southern woman quilting on her porch. In my opinion that intricate thread which slips in and out of each song is love.