There is almost no accordion on My Ears Are Bent. Can you find the accordion?
My Ears Are Bent is a New York record in the sense that it was
partially inspired by musical traditions that I associate with New York
for various, mostly non-literal, reasons: stride piano, the softer side
of free jazz, downtown no-wave improvisation, dub, hip-hop.
I originally named names: Nat Cole, Big Maceo, Paul Bley, DNA, Augustus
Pablo. But that’s kind of gauche, right?
It‘s also a New York record in the more literal sense that after
a few years of somewhat nomadic existence, I was once again living in
New York full-time and was re-encountering the people, places,
literature, and history of the city. Marc Ribot once told me that
living in the East Village was like “living in a personal
mythology.” I agree. Which is one of the reasons why
I left Manhattan and settled in Brooklyn, a place where one can patch
together one’s own personal mythology, rather than one worn by
previous generations of bohemia. That’s probably not really
true on any level, but it felt nice to write it.
Anyway, from the 1920’s until the 1960’s, a much better
writer than me named Joseph Mitchell wrote many excellent newspaper and
magazine articles on New York City and other related topics, some of
which are collected in a book called “My Ears Are
Bent.” It was originally published in 1938, and reissued in
September 2001. Nobody I know seems to have read it, but it contains
many nicely hewn observations of this city. I don’t think
the music on this record has very much to do with the stories of Joseph
Mitchell, except for the fact that he documented his experience of this
teeming, lonely, moronic, brilliant, exalted, abject, youthful,
ancient, cockeyed, sincere, sanctified, hell-bent city and in my own
way, I attempted to do so as well.
About the songs:
“Every Man to His Own Taste”
In general, I am opposed to the anthemic tradition in pop music (U2,
Springsteen, most of the Clash). So I’m not entirely sure
how this happened. I started playing it one morning, and it just
wouldn’t go away. But I had to make sure that within its
catchiness must exist a core of instability, undermining any feeling of
confidence that things will up where you think they will. Or as
my able co-producer said, “This sucks. Oh, wait a second, this
rules.”
“Peace Father”
Loosely inspired by Father Divine and his slogan “Peace Father,
Fresh Vegetables.” A message of brotherhood, reverence, and
proper nutrition. This became a hip-hop groove in seven. I am
proud of that. The donation box is on your way out.
“I Know Nothing About It”
It began with a skipping CD, acquired a thin veneer of beatboxes, and
got stretched out into a dub odyssey. Once its melody and
structure coalesced, I pretty much just let it be what it wanted to
be. Thus the admission of the title.
“Nun”
One of the older songs on the record, “Nun” is dedicated to
a person I used to know who I’m sure prefers to remain anonymous.
She is not nun-like in any literal sense, except for a nun-like
stubborn dedication to her work and a nun-like capacity for solitary
study and devotion. I direct your attention to another Mitchell
book, “Up In The Old Hotel,” and its story about Maisie,
the Jewish nun of the Bowery. Eventually the rigor melts away
into:
“It Is Almost Sacred”
…but not quite.
“Come To Jesus”
This one is dedicated to another old friend and his continuing internal
struggle with belief and its ramifications, a struggle in which I
played an inadvertent role. It contains traces of stride piano,
gospel chords, and jazz harmony, but all is confusing and murky,
reflected and repeated.
“My Ears Are Bent”
See above for my thoughts on “the anthemic,” but it
happened one night, survived until the next morning, and eventually
started stumbling around on its own. And then I couldn’t
bring myself to drown it in the Gowanus. I tried, man, I tried.
Ted Reichman
Brooklyn, NY
March 2006