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Listening to the Isley Brothers' beautiful medley of CSNY's "Ohio" and Jimi Hendrix's "Machine Gun" on this all-too-resonant anniversary of the Kent State shootings. (It comes from their wonderful 1971 album Givin' It Back, which also includes what is arguably the definitive version of "Fire and Rain.")

I've been going down a Kinks rabbit hole, ever since I recently chose a song of theirs, "(A) Face in the Crowd" as a chapter title in the novel I'm revising. The song comes from their 1975 concept album Soap Opera, which is not considered one of their best, though I'm very fond of it. I first got into it while I was working on my soap opera novel Can't Find My Way Home (although there's really only one song on the album that has anything to do with soap operas: "You Make It All Worthwhile," which makes amusing use of old-timey melodramatic organ effects). Back then I had a hellish work commute, and I would often find myself listening to "Rush Hour Blues" from the CD during my drive across town. But I never delved into the history of the album until a few days ago, via YouTube.

It turns out that the project began as a Granada TV special, Star Maker, which contains many of the songs from the album (though I prefer the album's arrangements) and expands a little on the story. Apparently there were plans for a theatrical production that never bore fruit, but the Soap Opera tour used multimedia and some of the same dialogue and costumes from the Granada special.

Soap Opera tells the story of a rock star (the Starmaker, played by Ray Davies) who decides to trade places with an accountant named Norman so he can write a album about somebody Really Ordinary. The star, who is arrogant, vain, and entitled, even moves in with Norman's wife Andrea and shares her bed. Housewife Andrea (played brilliantly by June Ritchie in the TV special, on the album, and during the Soap Opera tour) acquiesces somewhat nervously, calling the Starmaker "dear" and "darling," preparing his meals, and urging him to get to the office on time.

We never actually see the real Norman, though for much of the story, Andrea keeps referring to him ("my Norman") in contrast to the Starmaker. Then things take a turn, and Andrea insists that the Starmaker has always been Norman, and that if he doesn't shape up and quit pretending to be a rock star, she'll leave him. At first the the Starmaker tries to convince her of his identity. (In the Granada special, he shows her his press clippings. During the Soap Opera tour, Davies hilariously insists that "I'm not Norman, I'm Ray Davies, I'm in the Kinks!", says "Andrea, don't embarrass me in front of the Kinks!" and tries to prove his identity by playing "Sunny Afternoon" while wearing "my rock'n'roll cloak.") Nothing sways her--at which point, he too comes to believe that he's Norman. He sings the beautiful "(A) Face in the Crowd," in which he renounces his rock'n'roll fantasy. The story ends with "You Can't Stop the Music," a paean to rock stars who fade away while their music endures. (In the Granada special, Norman and Andrea watch from the audience while the rest of the Kinks perform the song.)

I wish that the available video for the Soap Opera live tour wasn't crappy and in black and white (though the audio is fine); it's a multi-camera shoot, and I suspect somewhere there must be a pristine color version. The video of the Granada special is quite watchable, and there's something about Norman's uncanny journey that I find very affecting.

It's the release date for my novel Can't Find My Way Home! It's available direct from Aqueduct Press, as well as from Bookshop.org, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, IndieBound, Powell's, etc.

The title of the book comes from the song by Blind Faith, but every chapter title in the novel is also based on a song title. I've made a Spotify playlist of all these songs (as well as a couple of versions of the title track). They had the versions I wanted of every song, except for the studio version of Gil Scott-Heron's "Winter in America" (but they did have a live version).

I am hennaing my hair on a pleasant June afternoon (following a quintessentially June-gloomy morning). I'm listening to the new reissue of 2 Steps From the Middle Ages by Game Theory. It contains one of my favorite Game Theory songs, "Room for One More, Honey," which to my mind features one of the most hauntingly beautiful vocal arrangements ever recorded.

Now, four years after Scott Miller's death, all of Game Theory's albums are finally in print again (along with a slew of bonus tracks). As always, I wish Scott Miller were here to see it.

I am hennaing my hair on an unseasonably warm Los Angeles November afternoon.

I keep composing blog posts in my head about the election and all its possible horrible ramifications, but I seem to have too much to say to say any of it at the moment. Yesterday I got my hair cut, and everyone at the salon (me included) was talking about the awfulness of the election. Then I went to the Iliad Bookstore, and the owner was talking with customers about the international implications of the election. As they wound up their chat, the owner said, "I was doing okay, but then you started talking." I know what he meant. At least I got to see the bookstore's two cats snoozing peacefully on top of cardboard boxes, and I bought Boris Karloff and His Films by Paul M. Jensen (1974).

I keep thinking of appropriate music for the moment--songs like "Save the Country" by Laura Nyro and "People Have the Power" by Patti Smith. But the music that seems to help me the most right now is Yoko Ono/Plastic Ono Band (1970) and Yoko's live version of "Don't Worry Kyoko" from Sometime in New York City (1972). I've tended to prefer Yoko's more melodic work, but now it's her screaming that resonates.

Things I thought about last night while trying to sleep after learning about David Bowie's death:

I remember how electrifying "Suffragette City" sounded the first time I heard it as a kid--and it never did become old hat or unthrilling. I had my long-time favorites (Ziggy Stardust, Hunky Dory), but I listened to him a ton while I was writing the Jo book and got into albums I'd largely dismissed, like Young Americans and his album of sixties covers, PinUps. Recently I was on a Heroes and Scary Monsters kick. There was always more to hear in his music--and there still is, even though he's gone.

Scott Miller died a year ago today. I didn't find out until two days later, and my response was, "I can't believe it." I can scarcely believe it a year later. He was only fifty-three. (His cause of death has never been disclosed online--in an attempt, I believe, to protect his two young children from ghoulishness--though he was open about his struggles with depression.)

I knew Scott only slightly. I saw his band the Loud Family play a few times between 1995-2000. I interviewed him over the phone for the Bay Area New Times in 1998. It was the rock interview I was most pleased (and overawed) to get to do. He was unassuming and humorous, as well as vastly intelligent. Much later, we were Facebook friends. (Unbelievably, both my Facebook friends named Scott are now dead. Today I find myself imagining Scott Miller and poet Scott Wannberg arguing about music and books in heaven.) [Edited to add: It occurs to me now that I do have a living Facebook friend named Scott! But he goes under a different name on Facebook, which is why I forgot.]

Scott Miller's music meant, and means, so much to me, as does his book about pop music, Music: What Happened? Today hurts, as I knew it would.

It is Henna Day, on a pleasantly warm LA December day. I have a neck ache, but the cool henna on my head seems to be helping.

Apparently I haven't posted on LJ since last Henna Day. Last time, Doris Lessing had just died, and now it's Peter O'Toole, who I adored.

Last night I went to a lovely holiday party at Carolyn and Dave's house. Their cat Nora dealt fairly well with her house being full of people.

Here is a link to a gorgeous song about infinity that my friend Steve Gregoropoulos wrote and performed:

Infinity

I've been having a lovely long weekend, in spite of ridiculously hot and humid weather. (I can handle dry heat, but humid heat just does not work in Los Angeles!) The weather makes me feel like staying inside, but I'm planning to drive to Stories Bookstore this afternoon (though episode four of Orange Is the New Black is calling my name).

On Friday night I went to the Echo to see reunion sets by Velouria (dear friends of mine who comprised one of my favorite local bands in the '90s) and Popdefect. In the process I saw a ton of old friends and acquaintances. The club was too hot and too loud, but it was a lot of fun.

As a kid, I was very fond of Jesus Christ Superstar and Godspell (the movie versions). Being Jewish, I found them weirdly fascinating. (I think I also had a comic book about Jesus at roughly the same time.)

Then a few years back I got into the original cast recording of Jesus Christ Superstar, partly because Murray Head (brother of Tony) sang the part of Judas--partly because I discovered it was a pretty nifty hard rock album.

Recently I learned my friend John Ramirez was putting together a one-time performance of the Jesus Christ Superstar songs at the Satellite (the nightclub formerly known as Spaceland, which is about five minutes from my apartment by car--I used to spend a lot of time there, but hadn't been there in years). Last night I went to the performance, and saw a lot of old friends, and danced. And wow, they did a great job with the music. (I wish the YouTube clips had better sound and picture quality.) Petra Haden (daughter of Charlie) = probably the best Mary Magdalene ever.