M. David Hornbuckle

Blog

  • Rock and Roll Still Not Dead

    My faith in rock was renewed once again just now as I was walking home from teaching my class. Some college students were sitting on a front porch with guitars and playing “Wild Thing” by the Troggs. It occurred to me that when my high school band played that song way back in the 1980s, it was already 25 years old. It was fun to play because it was easy and catchy and it made people dance. So on one hand, maybe it isn’t surprising that it has lasted into the current generation of musicians. But then again, that means the song is now more than 50 years old, and kids are still playing it.

    When I was a teenage rocker, songs that were 50 years old were not even on my radar. Sure, these days I regularly perform songs from the 1920s. And though I may have heard some songs from that era on Looney Toons cartoons, it would never have occurred to me to sit on the porch and play them on the guitar with my friends gathered around. Rock and roll was all there was to me then, and the form had been around only 30 years. Songs that were ancient to me then were mere babes in the woods, younger then than I am now. Those same songs are now qualified for Social Security benefits.

    Other music forms sometimes come more into popular focus–hip hop, neo-folk, and alt-country come to mind. But rock always sticks around, always comes back. Long may it prosper.

  • Steel Toe Review, Editor’s Note #13

    Republished from Steel Toe Review.

    There is no triskaidekaphobia here at STR. We are amazed that were are still doing this. To help ensure that we continue to bring you a top quality product that isn’t rushed or thrown together, we are moving to a quarterly schedule instead of bi-monthly. This summer has flown by in a whirlwind of dayjob working, teaching, tutoring, scholarship, and writing our own fiction.

    This has also been a summer heavy with classic cocktails, our latest non-literary obsession, which certainly helps cool things down after a long hot day deep in the stacks of of the University Library. Here’s one that merges our two interests.

    The Hemingway Daiquiri
    (courtesy of the Bar La Florida Cocktail Book – 1939)

    2 oz of whatever white or silver run you like
    .75 oz of fresh squeezed lime juice
    .5 oz of fresh squeezed grapefruit juice
    .5 oz luxardo maraschino liqueur

    Shake with ice and strain into a chilled coupe class. Garnish with a lime wheel.

    We know that Hemingway was also fond of mojitos, and those are fine summer drinks too. As are mint juleps, which Faulkner liked. We can go on and on about alcohol, just as we can about our favorite authors. We’ve been dreaming this summer about opening a bar where we can sit in the back working on our novel during the slow hours and then serve fresh classic cocktails while we discuss the merits of The Great Gatsby with someone drinking a gin rickey the way Fitzgerald liked it. If only someone would hand us a pile of cash, we have lots of really great ideas of what to do with it…

    Speaking of which, if anybody has advice about how to get a grant for a literary magazine, drop us a line. We’d really appreciate it.

    We made enough money with our Kickstarter campaign earlier this year to print our anthology. It seems that the vast majority of people interested in buying such an anthology were the same people who donated to the campaign and therefore earned a free copy. We’d like to do another one next year anyway. We learned a lot about the process last time, and we think it’s important to have a print presence in addition to what we do online.

    In summary, if you happen to have too much money, and you’d like to invest it in the arts (or in a bar), send me an email.

  • Too Clever By Half: The Best of PopCanon

    It’s been bothering me for some time that my old group PopCanon, which I unabashedly claim as one of the best bands to ever exist, does not have anything available on iTunes, Spotify, and other digital music sites. Alas, when we did our recordings, that technology was not yet available.

    I considered re-releasing all the old albums one at a time in digital versions, but due to the fees involved, I just made one giant 50-song album called “Too Clever By Half: The Very Best of PopCanon.”

    The reason I only included 50 songs, instead of all 75 or so that we recorded from 1995-2001 was because there was a limit on how much I was able to upload on our host site CD Baby. I also didn’t want to deal with the legal issues w/r/t some of the covers we did, so I left those out.

    If this is successful enough and people want it, I will consider creating a Part II album for the leftovers.

    The individual songs are the usual 99 cents each, but you can buy the whole album for a mere $6.66 (natch).

  • Up in the Clouds

    I’m in the process of uploading some old demos and lo-fi oddities onto Soundcloud for posterity. Here’s my page. Keep checking back as I add more stuff to the page.

    The older pieces in this bunch were recorded on an analog Fostex 4-track cassette recorder. In retrospect, I’m surprised at how much I got out of that thing. The newer pieces were done with various digital multi-trackers. And of course, the PopCanon and Exes fragments were done in a professional studio, engineered by the great Mike Rotolante.

    I’ll be posting a few selections on my Facebook fan page here and there.

  • New Work: Still Life with Infidels #1

    Published minutes ago in Fogged Clarity.

    http://foggedclarity.com/2012/04/still-life-with-infidels-1/

    This is the theoretical first piece in a series of related short stories from what will eventually be a collection called Still Life with Infidels. Some of the other pieces from the collection have been previously published, but I’m not posting links to them here. The main reason is that, as far as the collection is concerned, there are things I need to change in the versions that have been published so far, and not just that I changed the main character’s name from Rob to Ryan.

    But if there are any future M. David Hornbuckle scholars out there looking for a thesis, feel free to search for them.

  • More Songs About Trains and Food

    I met George Mostoller almost exactly 20 years ago, in the summer of 1992. He and Tym Cornell were running an open mic at Frankie’s Underground in Five Points every Wednesday, and I soon became a regular performer. Soon after, I joined their band, but this is not a story about that. This is about George.

    That first night I heard him play a few of his songs, and I was instantly fascinated. Performing solo with just voice and acoustic guitar, there were elements of Dylan-esque country/folk with the surreal lyrical sensibilities of Robyn Hitchcock. That was the obvious part. On faster numbers, George strums in syncopated patterns, and on the slower ones, he picks in a folksy manner with lumbering bass lines and bright sterile harmonies. He croons with a slight vibrato about space travel, malaise, food, and sex. His voice is as solid and splintery as a hickory log.

    But then in some songs, George would go into this sort of free improvisation, which even with just acoustic guitar sounded almost like some of the more outward experiments of Sonic Youth. When Tym joined in on electric guitar, things got even more strange. What struck me most about it was that George was writing essentially pretty simple but catchy tunes, but he was also open to this noisy psychedelic chaos.

    I learned later that he was an unrepentant Deadhead (and I never could get him to repent), but his method of improvisation was always much more in the vein of free jazz like Sun Ra and not so much jamming the way the jam bands jam. It was George that introduced me to the music of Sun Ra. Also the Fugs. Also Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys. This is George’s range, and you can hear all of this in his songs.

    Over the past two years, George has been playing in the studio, recording an album that reflects all of this influence. His session musicians are some of the best (and weirdest) in the business. A few weeks ago, I posted a video from what I still think is the stand-out song on the new album,
    “Nothing Good.” I think this one song encompasses all the things I like most about George’s songwriting and about his vision of what the songs would sound like under ideal conditions.

    Those ideal conditions are really what this album is about. Because our old bandmate Tym Cornell now runs Wild Honey Studios in Birmingham, George had virtually unlimited access to a professional studio with a very talented engineer and producer. And because of his many years of involvement in the Birmingham music scene, he also had access to some incredible musicians, including guitar virtuoso Davey Williams, Allman Brothers bassist Oteil Burbridge, saxophonist Marshall Allen from Sun Ra’s Arkestra, as well as some of the best session musicians around Birmingham like Jason Bailey and Matt Slocum.

    Fans of Colonel Bruce Hampton and Widespread Panic will enjoy the country fried psychedelia, but folks who don’t get into noodling solos or cacophonous jazz noise should not fear this record. Fans of Robyn Hitchcock will admire the absurd sense of wordplay in the lyrics. Anyone who appreciates smart, hummable songs should give this a listen. You will be hooked from the first track.

    My only complaint is that it doesn’t include Ride the Beard.

    And now, a track-by-track (p)review.

    01 Devil in a Bottle – This first track is a catchy, funny folk tune about the struggle with the bottle, which features hot mandolin solos throughout by Birmingham newgrass hero Jason Baily. Pretty simple and straightforward, but totally addictive like that devil in the bottle itself. The hand claps at the end give it an epic quality.

    02 I Remember – Here George takes a song that could be a poetic and pretty but not especially noteworthy ballad and twists it into pieces by having Davey Williams and Marshall Allen flit around the melody like insane dragonflies. The slightly-off stereo vocals add to the haunting and disturbed sense of nostaligia that the lyrics invoke.

    03 Oh Megan – This jaunty country-ish tune cuts a middle path between the first two tracks. It would sound like something straight off of Workingman’s Dead if it weren’t for some freaky deaky guitar work from Davey Williams and Scott Grant.

    04 The Weasle of Bad Axe Magee – The musicians credited on this track are the group “The Bad Axe Magees.” It’s clearly an improv piece, George (and his two songs Edward and Franklin) messing around in the studio. But it’s interesting to see the curious angles he takes when performing off the cuff. Beefheart fans won’t flinch.

    05 If You Were an Elephant – A waltz with Davey Williams playing slide guitar. The first line “If you were an elephant, I’d love you a ton” gives you the general idea. The lyrics are silly but clever, a love song that declares that his love would not fade even if you were a monkey, a skunk, or a pop song. The shock surprise ending is heart warming.

    06 The Train – A deceptively straightforward song about a train in trouble. It’s not a standout track, but it’s catchy, and I’m a sucker for a train song.

    07 Nothing Good – A surprisingly funky, soulful slow tune featuring Davey Williams, Oteil Burbridge, Marshall Allen, and Matt Slocum. The lineup would be enough to make this my favorite. To call out the clever wordplay of the lyrics seems almost redundant–all of George’s songs have that, but this song is George doing what George does at his best as a lyricist. Since I happen to have heard some of the original tracks, I also know Tym pulled off a near miracle in mixing this one.

    08 Marty’s Two-Step – A twangy, dance-able ode to one of Birmingham’s most revered after hours hangouts. The song itself is reminiscent of George’s old band Partial to Mable, a band that was a staple at Marty’s in the late 1990s and early 2000s. The arrangement sounds so much like a Grateful Dead song that the reference to “Hey Another Saturday Night” floats by almost unnoticed.

    09 Some Kind of Pelican – Another studio improv. Cute, but about twice as long as it needs to be. George’s characteristic giggle at the end says it all.

    10 Can You Tell Me – Much like “Oh Megan,” this could be a Dead song, if it weren’t for Davey’s guitar. More Grateful Dead references in the lyrics. It is a nice tune though with lovely solos by Jason Bailey and Matt Slocum. It has an easy loping pace. Makes me want a margarita.

    11 The Road to Laredo – Totally oddball. Totally George. “I was on the road to Laredo / looking for a baked potato / when I saw a real tomato.”

  • From the Archives: Making References

    When I was an undergraduate at UAB I took Philosophy of Language and Epistomology from a professor named Tim Day, and these classes made a huge impression on me. I’ve often wondered what happened to this professor. I assumed he wouldn’t be in Birmingham anymore. He always seemed a bit of a fish out of water (and I recall that he had a particular interest in seafaring stories).

    I happened to run into him at a bar last night and hope he’ll read this.

    Cheers, Professor.

    I wrote the short story below while taking Day’s classes, and I wrote the song “Make Reference” a couple of years later while thinking about things he had said in class. The refrain “Is there something between me and the tree or is the tree in my head? Is the tree too big for my head?” is practically lifted from one of Day’s lectures on how reference works.

    Click here to listen to “Make Reference” as recorded by PopCanon in 1999

    This short story has been published several times–in a Birmingham zine called Isms, in a national journal called Nanofiction, and in my collection The Salvation of Billy Wayne Carter and Other Stories.

    Bertrand Russell Sees a Man

    I. A Man Viewing a Sunset

    Let (x is human and x is male) be true where (x=x) is always true and (x has the name “John”) is sometimes true. Let (s=the visible atmosphere of the earth) be true if and only if the sun appears from position(x) on the surface of the earth to rest on the edge of the western horizon such that s:x is fragile and delicious as a warm cookie.

    II. A Man in Love

    Let x have the property L(x) where (L=the certain combination of active neurons which results in giddiness) is always true. Let (g is human and g is female) be true where (g=g) is always true and (g has the name “Mary”) is sometimes true. Let L(x) occur if and only if x:g results in the property B(x) where (B=an intensional relation [belief] that L(g):x reciprocally) is always true. If L(x) is true and B(x) is true then LB(x) results in the property F(x) where (F=the certain combination of neurons which result in the intensional relation [feeling] that L(x):g is fragile and delicious as a warm cookie) is sometimes true.

    III. A Dead Man

    Let L(g):x be false if and only if x:g results in the property D(g) where (D=the intensional relation [disgust] that L(x):g) is sometimes true. If L(g):x is false then not x.

  • Birmingham Free Press Presents

    ImageOur erstwhile alternative to the alternative newspapers, the Birmingham Free Press, has not printed a broadsheet edition since December due to budgetary restraints. We have a few advertisements in the paper, but not enough to cover our print bill. To address this setback, we are introducing a series of fundraising shows. And yours truly will be the host.

    The first of these is tonight, March 29, at Bottletree, featuring Voices in the Trees, the High Fidelics, Ghost Herd, Red Mountain Family Band, and Opera Sextronique. The bands start at 8pm (despite what the graphic to the left says), and the cover is $7.

    The second show is at the Nick on Wednesday, April 4. That show will feature Jerolyn, Devour by Infection, Throng of Shoggoths, Thothamon, and Braineaters.

    On April 14, we will be hosting a show at Metro Bar with Mile Marker Seven, John Elrod, and other acts TBA.

    If these shows go well, we will probably continue the series. Some shows may be fundraisers. Others may just be regular shows that we curate. Still others might just be themed parties or mixers for people in the Birmingham music industry. Our inimitable all-things-BFP-Music guy Lee Waites has many ideas about directions this series might go.

  • Steel Toe Review Anthology #1 is Here

    The Steel Toe Review Anthology featuring the best pieces from our first year online is now available. Those of you who contributed work or donated to our kickstarter campaign should be getting your complimentary copies in the next few days.

    Click here to buy a copy from lulu.com.

    You can also check out our classy promo video:

  • My Night at Gip’s

    I used to be really into the blues. Like really, really into it. If you remember Ralph Macchio’s character in Crossroads, I was very much like that when I was fifteen, right down to the mullet haircut and cheap fedora. Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, Robert Johnson. I couldn’t get enough of that stuff. But then, somewhere along the way, I did have enough.

    It was probably partly because the more I learned as a musician, the more the potential of blues became limited for me. It was also because I was never comfortable with the idea that privileged white people like myself had what it takes to really play the blues. I got tired of trying to fit into that mold, and I got extremely tired of watching and listening to other middle class white musicians playing Clapton-like solos over a 12-bar blues progression and singing about how hard life is, then going back to their day jobs as attorneys. The blues for my white suburban experience became garage and punk rock, and I left the blues far behind.

    You see, the old blues masters earned it. These were blue collar guys, or often even lower on the socioeconomic scale than that—itinerant farm hands who were just barely not homeless. Life for them actually was hard. But on a Saturday night, they could put their resources together, get some cheap whisky and some old guitars, and they’d let loose.

    Gip Gipson is that kind of a blues man.

    At Gip’s Place in Bessemer, ten miles down County Road 18 from my neighborhood in Birmingham, on any given Saturday night, there is an old style blues party going on—working class people drinking cheap beer or hooch and living it up because it’s Saturday night, and that’s just what folks do around here. I felt a little like a tourist or a voyeur at times, but there were a lot of other tourists there like me too. Many of the performers there are the same white baby boomers that drove me away from blues music in the first place. They are, most of them, well trained, expert, and experienced musicians. I can appreciate watching them play for sure, and I was having a good time. It was pretty much what I expected.

    What I didn’t expect was what happened after the headlining act was done. Gip himself comes out, helped onto the stage by an assistant. Gip is 90 if he’s a day. His Facebook page says he’s a gravedigger by profession. They have to help him into his chair, hand him his guitar, adjust the microphone for him. He has a little paper shot glass, and the assistant pours something from a mason jar into it. Gip downs it, and then launches into his first song.

    He plays a very old style of blues guitar, a straight off the farm kind of finger picking where he drones a simple bass pattern with his thumb while plucking out a rough melody on the higher strings. The melody of his vocal line matches the melody he’s playing on the guitar. There’s no “blues scale” or “12 bar blues chord progression” for Gip. He plays one chord until he feels like moving to the next one, and I’d bet he doesn’t know or care what that chord is called by studied musicians. He has at least two strings out of tune, and he’s foggy from drink, inconsistent with his tempo, but it’s still somehow amazingly listenable. It’s because he has earned it.

    And because he is there, still alive despite everything, against all odds, he represents so much that is today extremely rare to find. And it’s Saturday night, and that’s just what he does on Saturday night. He is selling transcendence at $10 a head. It’s a bargain. I’ll never be a blues man, but I’ve rediscovered what I initially loved about this music.

    After a couple of songs, he looks longingly at his empty shot glass. My friend Ian goes up the stage with his flask, pours a little whisky in the cup, and now Gip is his best friend.

    Ian asked Mr. Gip how he learned to play the blues. He said that he had been travelling with Robert Johnson (yes, that Robert Johnson), and they were in New York. He was talking to a woman and said he was from Perry County, Alabama. At that, the women slapped him. “That was the moment,” Gip said, “when I decided to become a blues musician.” It’s possible that none of this is true. It doesn’t matter much.

    At two in the morning, all the other musicians have packed up and gone home. Gip is back on the stage, and there are five of us still sitting there in awe. He’s still doing shots of whisky. He’s selling us on Jesus between songs. He will make it to church on Sunday morning. He never misses it.

    This should be a once in a lifetime experience, but somehow it happens every Saturday night. For now. The way Gip looks, this might not last much longer. And it’s just one more thing about Alabama that is full of mysteries and wonders.