Cultural Sponge - The Joe Pagetta Blog

I came home from vacation yesterday to a pile of junk mail, bills, magazines and, in an envelope that could have easily been mistaken for a subscription renewal request, a letter from Performing Songwriter magazine editor Lydia Hutchinson. After 16 years, the magazine is ceasing publication.

The end of the magazine isn’t a complete surprise. The issues had been getting frighteningly thin as of late, and while more people than ever may be making music, the industry within which that music goes from art to business is collapsing.  On top of that, print publications are folding as advertising money dries up and readers head to the web for information.  All things considered, it’s amazing the magazine lasted as long as it did.

But I’m not writing to lament its death. Things, and times, change. Rather, I feel the need to offer a quick eulogy for the magazine and the stellar and inspiring work that Lydia and her staff did over the last decade and half.

I became a singer songwriter in the early-to-mid 90s. Before that, I was merely a singer, guitar player and songwriter in a rock band in New Jersey.  Performing Songwriter magazine began publishing soon after I started taking songwriting — and performing — truly seriously. It was there that I read about, and discovered, many of the artists I came to admire at that time in my life.  There were the Bob Dylans and Bruce Springsteens and Cat Stevens and Leonard Cohens to admire, of course, but I needed something a little more tangible to guide me.  Performing Songwriter brought me John Gorka and Cliff Eberhardt. I learned about Dar Williams and Richard Shindell and Pierce Pettis. There was a contemporary folk resurgence in the Northeast, and Performing Songwriter gave these artists some serious ink. They were not superstars, but I didn’t want to be superstar. To write like Gorka, or play guitar like Eberhardt, was no short order, and enough to aspire to.  In Performing Songwriter, I learned not only what kind of guitar (and capo!) the current crop of contemporary folk artists were using, but also where their inspiration came from and how they developed their performing style. I learned, most importantly, that there was something called a “performing songwriter.” It carried a bit more weight than “singer songwriter.” It sounded more active. It was something I could identify with.

The magazine had its critics in the early years, who suggested that it focused too heavily on the kind of aforementioned contemporary folk songwriters, and didn’t cover other genres like rock and R&B. Was Prince, technically, not also a performing songwriter? Or Paul Westerberg? Haven’t we heard enough about Ani DiFranco? The criticism may have been justified, but I think the magazine quickly made amends, and gave us years of engaging interviews and profiles with artists of all genres. The gear reviews and advice columns were indispensable.

The magazine also included a  DIY section, where it reviewed releases by independent artists. For any indie performing songwriter with a self-released CD, it was the place to be, not because it helped your career in any tangible way — I know several artists who claimed no jumped in CD sales, not even one disc, as a result of the review — but because it was a review written by your peers and read by your peers.  It was a nice badge of honor, and looked great in your press kit and on your web site.  For me, it took four releases before I finally got my review. My EP Other People’s News was reviewed in January 2008. It felt great (even if Don Henley was on the cover). Nothing much happened after that. But I had finally gotten my PS review.

I was a subscriber on and off over the life of the magazine, and after lapsing for several years, recently subscribed again, hoping a reminder in my mailbox every month might resuscitate the lapsed performing songwriter in me. I’ll have to find that jump-start elsewhere. And that’s as it should be. A magazine isn’t going to get me to pick up my guitar any more than it’s going to get me to ride my bike more. But it does create a sense of community, and a feeling that there are others like you, doing a similar thing, who might be reading the same thing and looking for that same inspiration.

“One of my friends said that Performing Songwriter has never been just a magazine. It’s the community that formed around it and supported it, and it just wore the clothes of a publication,” writes Lydia in her letter. “The community is still there, steadfast and strong; it’s simply time to change clothes. I don’t know exactly what the outfit’s going to look like, but that wonder is part of the joy.”

I agree. Who’s ready to go shopping?

As the Italians say, “allora.” Congratulations Lydia, and the PS staff, on what you accomplished over the last 16 years. And thank you, for the inspiration, identity and community. Oh, and the review.

It Happened in Italy: Untold Stories of How the People of Italy Defied the Horrors of the Holocaust by Elizabeth Bettina

My review

rating: 3 of 5 stars
I’m not the kind of person who can talk to just anyone. I make friends fairly easy, but in a crowded room where I don’t know anyone, I’m more likely to grab a drink, open a book, and keep to myself (which is why the idea of “networking lunches” at conferences makes me nauseous). It’s not that I don’t like people. I do. And I genuinely enjoy talking and getting to know them and making connections. I’m just not very comfortable forcing it. I’m better at it when it happens naturally — or naturally for me at least. I’m also a little sluggish on acting on some of the things I consider doing. I’m not afraid to jump in and get on with it, but I sometimes lack a little motivation on the front end. Which is what makes Elizabeth Bettina’s new work of non-fiction cum memoir, It Happened in Italy, so fascinating.

In a book that purports to tell the “Untold Stories of How the People of Italy Defied the Horrors of the Holocaust,” as its subtitle suggests, Bettina really tells us the story of how she gathered the stories, and how valuable it is to make connections. It’s as much about her as it is the Jewish people who survived World War II by being interned in concentration camps in Italy. And while at first it’s a little off-putting, even mildly-irritating, it soon becomes exhilarating and inspiring, and even refreshing in the manner in which it tells us these stories.

Imagine a story told something like this:

“Oh My God, so I look at the picture and I say to myself, ‘what’s a rabbi doing in this picture,’ and I call my friend and I tell him he has to sit down, and I’m thinking I’m just a nice Italian girl from new york who grew up in a Jewish neighborhood and then there’s the pope and the cabs and the mayor is wearing a Miss America sash and, can you believe, they went for ice cream? No one went for ice cream in Auschwitz or Dachau. And there’s a synagogue and they’re playing soccer and the Italian police shrug and we get some espresso and Oh My God, I couldn’t believe it, I’m on a plane to Nashville and the guy’s mother was in Campagna and she lives in Queens and it’s in my neighborhood and there’s an accordion player and the guy at the Vatican does a hand motion and we walk past the Swiss guards and oh my God, imagine my surprise….”

I’m over-simplifying of course, but you get the idea. Bettina’s story reads like she’s sitting across from me and we’re sharing a bottle of wine and every time she gets to a photo in her story, she just happens to have the photo with her and pulls it out of a bag to show me. It’s a conversational way to tell a story, and while nothing can truly overshadow the amazing stories of the survivors that she pulls together, the narrative device — delivering them in the voices of the survivors as she discovers them — works.

What we get is not only the inspiring stories of people who survived the horrors of the Holocaust, and the courageous stories of those who risked their lives to save others — namely Giovanni Palatucci — but we also get an inspiring story of someone who decided she was going to do something, and did it. When Bettina first came across that picture of a rabbi on the steps of the Church of San Bartolemeo in Campagna, Italy and soon learned of the thousands of Jews interned in dozens of Campo di Concentramento in Campagna and throughout Italy who survived simply as a result of being interned in these camps, she knew immediately she had to tell their story. Why? As Dachau liberator Jimmy Gentry tells her, “it is a story of goodness amidst evil. You must tell this story. If you don’t, who will?.”

So I thank Bettina for not only telling the story of Giovanni Palatucci, and the thousands of “other Palatuccis” (as the book jacket summary tells us) that sheltered and helped Jews throughout Italy. As a first generation Italian-American, it’s a proud reminder of the true nature of my descendants. I thank her also for telling her story. So many times I find myself inspired and moved, and decide that something must be done or a story must told, and I do not follow through. It Happened in Italy is a reminder of what we can accomplish when we do, and why we must.

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I was given a wonderful book for my birthday last week by my dear friends Pouria and Jenna Montazeri. Love’s Alchemy: Poems from the Sufi Tradition, translated by David and Sabrineh Fideler,  is “a comprehensive Collection of Sufi poems  by Rumi, Hafiz, and many others.”

Finding myself unable to sleep tonight, as is often the case in the weeks leading up to the Nashville Film Festival, I decided to take some of the book’s poems in, and was immediately impacted by their simplicity, beauty and timelessness.

The third poem in the book is the great Rumi’s poem “The Same Language,” with its wonderful line:

The universal language is authentic insight.

To be one in heart is surely superior
to only speaking the same words.

I wish I had that poem several months ago when Nashville was in the throes of an “English-only” debate, but that would have only wrongly commandeered a poem that speaks of so much more. It’s just as appropriate in the confines of the home as it is within the Turkish border.

I realize quickly these are not poems to be paged through quickly, but savored slowly.  A few pages later, I’m slowed to a crawl by the Hafiz poem, “The Glow of Your Presence.” It’s a short one, so I hope David and Sabrineh Fideler don’t mind me quoting it in its entirety.

Where have you taken your sweet song?
Come back and play me a tune.

I never really cared for the things of the world.
It was the glow of your presence
that filled it with beauty.

It’s how I’ve always felt about the music I create, and expresses the words I’ve been searching for to explain where that music has gone for the last couple of years. I really haven’t truly written and performed for a couple of years now. Perhaps this is my new prayer.

So when it’s late at night, and you’re reading poetry, and you come across something like that, what do you do? You need to tell somebody, and there’s no one to call. So you post a blog, which among its many uses, is still good for doing what it did originally — providing a place to share your thoughts.

The Dead Beat: Lost Souls, Lucky Stiffs, and the Perverse Pleasures of Obituaries by Marilyn Johnson

My review

rating: 4 of 5 stars
What a find! In need of a literary diversion, I picked this up at a bookstore in Atlanta simply because it seemed quirky enough. It’s fantastic. It may be a book about obituaries and obituary writers, but it’s more a book about celebrating life and great writing. The obituary section is now often the first section of the paper I turn to, and I read them with a new appreciation. Highly recommended, especially these days when the longevity of newspapers is in jeopardy, and the economy has us looking inward at the way we’re living our lives.

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One of the great things about being an independent artist and selling your music digitally through iTunes and other online services, is that you can get a complete list of the songs that are selling, from which site they are selling, and their popularity. It’s a handy indication of not necessarily your best songs (or what you think are your best), but at least what listeners like the best. The disconnect between the two can often be fascinating.

When I’m asked about my music, I sometimes give people one or more of my CDs, hope they’ll listen to them all, and then come up with a complete sense of what I do. But I know that’s not practical. Sometimes as an introduction, too much music can backfire. Lately, via Facebook, I’ve reconnected with many people I grew up with or went to school with who didn’t know I was a musician. They’ve asked about my music, and again, I find myself either mailing out some discs, or recommending one or another on iTunes. So I’ve come up with a solution. Why not send them a “Best Of?” Or a least a collection of what the majority of listeners think are the best? Again, as I mentioned, the songs I think are my best, and what listeners think are the best are not necessarily the same thing.  Some of what’s been most popular (”Beautiful Woman”) and what hasn’t (”Haven’t Seen Myself,” Joywood version) I even find perplexing. But perhaps this is proof that while we’re our own worst enemy — “My Biggest Enemy,” by the way, is popular — and harshest critic, we’re often not the most objective assessor of our talents (whatever that means).

So here it is, JOE PAGETTA: THE BEST OF … SORT OF, a collection of my most popular digital songs from my last three releases, neatly compiled here and available as an iMix at iTunes. If you’ve got iTunes on your computer, you can access it directly here. Perhaps I’ll make a companion iMix soon, titled PROUDEST OF, where I can compile the songs that I’m proud of that didn’t make this list. There’d be some crossover, for sure, but it would definitely include “Haven’t Seen Myself.”

Thanks for listening. Hope you enjoy.

JOE PAGETTA: THE BEST OF … SORT OF (iTunes iMix)

Tears of Lake Michigan/Small Worlds (2001)
Ebenezer Scrooge/Joywood (2004)
Cherry Baby/Joywood (2004)
Practice Makes Perfect/Other People’s News (2007)
Beautiful Woman/Small Worlds (2001)
Break Down/Joywood (2004)
Both Be Wrong/Other People’s News (2007)
My Biggest Enemy/Joywood (2004)
Church or Train Station/Other People’s News (2007)
Lift You Up/Joywood   (2004)

So last night, in anticipation of seeing the film THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON, I reread the short story of the same name by F. Scott Fitzgerald, on which the film is based. It’s not very long, and after finishing it, I flipped through the rest of the pages of The Short Stories of F. Scott Fitzgerald to see if there was something else I wanted to get into that I either hadn’t read or hadn’t read in awhile.

There, at the beginning of the short story “Dice, Brassknuckles & Guitar,” was the most perfect little paragraph about New Jersey:

Parts of New Jersey, as you know, are under water, and other parts are under continual surveillance by the authorities. But here and there lie patches of garden country dotted with old-fashioned frame mansions, which have wide shady porches and a red swing on the lawn. And perhaps, on the widest and shadiest of the porches there is even a hammock left over from the hammock days, stirring gently in a mid-Victorian wind.

To someone not from there, it can often be hard to explain the many paradoxes that make up the Garden State.  I think this paragraph sums it up quite well.

In no particular order, and for no particular reason, here are a few of my favorite things from the world of culture in 2008.

(Book) Junot Diaz - The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao: I think this came out in 2007, but I read it this past summer. What I don’t know about books and literature could fill volumes, but this one felt like a game changer. One of the best books I’ve ever read.

(Film) Man on Wire: An exhilarating and inspiring documentary that plays like a mad cap heist film. Doubles as an unsentimental and fitting tribute to the industrial beauty and power of the Twin Towers. See it.

(Concert) Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band at the Sommet Center in Nashville: I’ve seen Bruce and the band many times, including in New Jersey, and this was the best show I’ve ever seen.

(Album) The Hold Steady - Stay Positive: As long as rock ‘n’ roll this good exists, that won’t be a problem.

(Book) Richard Price - Lush Life: Like all great fiction, this love letter to the The Lowest East Side is really about us, and “the aspiring” whatever that lives inside us. It’s also about cops, drugs, guns, the projects, money and America. Great fiction by a master storyteller.

(Television Show) Mad Men, Season Two: It was easy in the perfection that was Season One to get caught up in the style and dialogue of the show. In Season Two, the drinking and smoking and womanizing played second fiddle to the developing psychological profiles of the characters. It’s when things really started getting interesting.

(Concert) Levon Helm’s Ramble on Road at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville: I thought nothing could top Helm at the Ryman in 2007. Until I saw Helm at the Ryman in 2008.

(Album) Marah - Angels of Destruction!: One of my favorite American rock bands delivers what may be its finest album.

(Album) Warren Pash - Plastic Rulers: I’m not sure if the record is one of my favorite things, or the fact that it’s finally out is one of my favorite things. I think it’s both.

(Book) Jonathan Miles: Dear American Airlines: A slim novel, alternatively hilarious and heartbreaking, and unique throughout.

(Essay) Jonathan Franzen’s essay on New York in State By State: A Panoramic Portrait of America: The most fascinating interview with a geologist you’ll ever read.

(Film) Young @ Heart: I’ll tell you right now, you will cry, maybe harder than you’ve ever cried before. You will then wipe your eyes, take a deep breath, and decide to embrace life.

Bonus Favorite Thing:

(Literature) Barack Obama’s Speech On Race: This really doesn’t fall into a book, film or music category, but someday, it’ll wind up in an anthology of great speeches in American history, making it literature.  I’m just getting a jump on it.

So I posted here at the end of October about my desire to read John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany in time for the author’s arrival in Nashville and acceptance of the Nashville Public Library’s Literary Award. The Library and the Mayor’s office were encouraging a City Wide read of Irving’s works, and I wanted in on the collective good vibe. But things happen — life, work, confirmations, Thanksgivings, other books*, etc. — and I didn’t finish before Irving’s appearance at the Ryman on November 8. All of these things happened after that date, of course (except the life and work), which explains why I didn’t even finish the book in November. I did go see him at the Ryman, though, and he was wonderful. And I did finish the book, last night.

What can I say? It’s extraordinary. Remarkable. Perhaps one of the best contemporary American novels I’ve ever read. It’s a book you don’t soon forget, because Owen Meany is a literary character you don’t soon forget.  I think what’s interesting, is as I told people I was reading it, I got two polar reactions. People either love it or hate it. I can say now that I’m in the former camp. I won’t bother in this post with an extensive exploration of the novel or how I feel about it. I’m not sure there’s anything I can add. But I did want to follow up on my previous post and make it clear that I did, indeed, finish it. Perhaps I’ll come back with more thoughts later, after I’ve had some time to further digest it. One thing I’m definitely absorbing is how prescient the book remains in its observations about the United States, government, war and religion. Owen Meany definitely knew things.

In the meantime, here’s a couple of lines from the book that jumped out at me. On page 502 of the Ballantine Books First Mass Market paperback edition: Owen and John discussing what John is going to do after college.

“I want to go on being a student,” I told him. “I want to be a teacher. I’m just a reader,” I said.
“DON’T SOUND SO ASHAMED,” he said. “READING IS A GIFT.”
“I learned it from you,” I told him.
“IT DOESN’T MATTER WHERE YOU LEARNED IT–IT’S A GIFT. IF YOU CARE ABOUT SOMETHING, YOU HAVE TO PROTECT IT–IF YOU’RE LUCKY ENOUGH TO FIND A WAY OF LIFE YOU LOVE, YOU HAVE TO FIND THE COURAGE TO LIVE IT.”

*State by State: A Panoramic Portrait of America

I read somewhere once that after you turn 30, records are not supposed to change your life. I guess there’s some truth to that. At a certain age, records don’t change your life, at least not in the way they did when you were 16, but I think it’s perfectly acceptable to discover records at any age that move and inspire you. In fact, it’s recommended. It’s good for you and keeps you young. Same thing with books and films. The other thing with records (or books and films for that matter) is that they often take on associations that are sometimes beyond your control, becoming soundtracks for moments in your life and reminders of people, places and things. Nick Hornby went out of his way to not be influenced by those associations in his excellent collection of essays on some of his favorite songs, Songbook.

In 2007, I discovered artist Nicole Atkins and her record Neptune City. The record didn’t change my life (I’m over 30), but I certainly loved it and couldn’t stop listening to it. It had no association other than the joy it gave me. Then my father got sick.

There were two records I had placed on my iPod shortly before I headed up to New Jersey to be with my sister and father. One was Neptune City, the other was Bruce Springsteen’s Magic. In the evenings when I’d take breaks from being with my father, or drive back to my sister’s house in Hazlet from the hospital in Red Bank, I’d listen to those two records. I’m sure the fact that both artists are from New Jersey had something to do with it,  but mostly, they gave me comfort — the title song from Atkins’ album, especially. I won’t try and describe the song, I’ll just say that “Neptune City” is beautiful and haunting at the same time, and reminds me a little, in the narrator’s perspective, of watching Wim Wenders‘ film Wings of Desire.

My father’s fight with lung cancer didn’t last long. Barely a month passed between his official diagnosis and his death on November 5, 2007.

It was hard, of course, to listen to “Neptune City” and not think about those days. I would still put it on, but that’s where my mind would go.

I was back up in New Jersey — at my sister’s house and in my father’s old room — for the first time last week, just over a year since my father had passed away. The occasion was my nephew’s confirmation. He asked me to be his sponsor and I was honored and excited to be a part of it. I knew I’d have to go through some of my Dad’s stuff, and deal with some tough emotions, but was looking forward to most of the trip.  My wife and mother (who lives in Nashville now) were coming with me, so it would be a fine reunion of the family.  Plus, my wife and I decided we would take most of Friday and Saturday to ourselves and spend some time in New York City. I checked the entertainment listings to see what was happening on Friday night, and to my delight, who should be playing the Bowery Ballroom? Nicole Atkins, of course.

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John Irving is coming to Nashville on November 8 to do a reading and lecture at the Ryman auditorium and, later that night, receive the Nashville Public Library’s Literary Award. Lots of fun stuff is happening around his visit, including a patron’s party on the 7th to support the Nashville Public Library Foundation. The library, along with the city of Nashville and the Tennessean, is also encouraging everyone in town to read John Irving in advance of his visit. I was an English major and consider myself a literary fellow, but I have not, and perhaps I should be ashamed to admit, read any John Irving. So to be one with the people of my city, I’ve decided this is the time. The only problem is that I just decided this two days ago, when I was still working on Giuseppe  Di Lampedusa’s The Leopard. The only book of Irving’s in my library is A Prayer for Owen Meany, which I’m told is a great one.  It’s not the smallest book, but I will attempt to have it read by November 8 and still do everything else I have to do in my life. I finished The Leopard yesterday morning, and then last night, after watching Obama’s half-hour advertisement and the “Chasing It” episode of The Sopranos, I started A Prayer for Owen Meany. I got about 30 pages in, since it was getting late and I was dozing. But I’m into it. Wish me luck. I’ll post here along the way, or at least when I’m done. See you at the Ryman on the 8th.