For The Record- 18. May. 2024
An On Repeat tradition & a volcano of music news
Welcome to another edition of For The Record, the weekly newsletter that brings the world of music news straight to your inbox. Part essay, part good old-fashioned link drop, this is a benefit for paid supporters of On Repeat.
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NOTE: No paywall again this week; there is too much cool stuff going on that I want to share with you. If you like what you see, consider the tin cup out and kick in what you can. The curtain goes back up soon.
Thanks!
KA~
We don’t have a whole lot of musical traditions in my family. On July 4th, I play “Stars and Stripes Forever.” On Thanksgiving, my wife & kids have to endure “Alice’s Restaurant” at least once (or rather, my attempts at singing it). Sometime in the next few weeks after that, Otis Redding’s version of “Merry Christmas Baby” gets a spin, and that’s about it for the year…with one exception.
Growing up, we hardly had any traditions- musical or not. In fact, about the only time I can remember us doing anything even remotely collective had to do with this song. This started in 1980, in the lead-up to (and aftermath of) Mt. St. Helens’ eruption when the song was played as a bit of gallows humor. Anytime it played, we’d all just sort of start singing along. No other song before or since can make that claim.
If you can’t control something, you might as well sing about it, right?
This article was first on Medium in 2021, then again on these pages. It was a family tradition back then, and now it’s one at On Repeat. Enjoy!
Also, in the time since this first ran, my mom moved. I’m not sure if the Sanka came with her, but I’d like to think it’s still in a box waiting to be unpacked.
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Good Morning!
Today we’re listening to “Volcano” by Jimmy Buffett
Living under a looming threat and widespread mask use were new phenomena for most of us in 2020. But for those of a certain age from the Pacific Northwest, they evoked memories of 1980.
Living in the shadows of the Cascade Mountains, it’s easy to forget that it’s a volcanic range. Easy, that is, until Mother Nature reminds you.
And so it was in late 1979/early 1980 with Mt. St. Helens.
At first, the eruptions were nominal enough: some steam here, a small landslide there. Later, as they grew in scale, ash began to rain down on downwind communities, and painter masks became de rigueur fashion.
This culminated with a cataclysmic eruption on May 18th, 1980, which permanently changed people’s lives — and left the landscape unrecognizable.
“Vancouver! Vancouver! This is it!”
On that morning, just five words let the world know it was about to be changed forever. Volcanologist David Johnston had been camped on the mountain’s flank to monitor the increasingly dangerous situation.
On the sleepy Sunday morning of May 18th, in a radio call to the USGS office, he announced the eruption to the world, transmitting, “Vancouver! Vancouver! This is it!
Buffett had a different mountain in mind when he wrote “Volcano.” He was talking about the Soufriere Hills volcano on the Caribbean Island of Montserrat.
But radio stations in places like Portland, Oregon, and Spokane, Washington, put it in their rotation as a part of a gallows humor approach to the impending disaster everyone knew was coming but didn’t know when — the calypso style offering a sunny contrast to the (literally) gray pall cast over the area.
The lyrics listed out some possible places one might escape to:
But I don’t want to land in New York City
Don’t want to land in Mexico (no no no)
Don’t want to land on no Three Mile Island
Don’t want to see my skin aglow (no no no)
Don’t want to land in Commanche Sky park
Or in Nashville, Tennessee (no no no)
Don’t want to land in no San Juan airport
Or the Yukon Territory (no no no)
Don’t want to land no San Diego
Don’t want to land in no Buzzards Bay (no no no)
Don’t want to land on no Ayotollah
I got nothing more to say
Four decades later, the song remained a staple at Buffett performances until his passing—and in my house every May 18th.
If you have friends who grew up in Oregon or Washington, don’t be surprised if pictures of Johnston are on their timelines today.
For many of those same people, a coffee can full of volcanic ash remains on a shelf in their garage as a souvenir—a reminder of when life got sketchy, and nothing was left to do but sing about it.
Listen:
Volcano, by Jimmy Buffett| Volcano, 1979
Click the record to listen on your platform of choice.
Where were you when St. Helens blew?
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More Cool People Making Cool Things:
A few weeks ago, I was on a call with some of the Substack dev team. They wanted to know more about what fuels my love for this place. What was it, strictly, that kept me here? What sets it apart from other platforms?
The answer is twofold. First, there is something for everyone here. Do you like power pop? You can find it. How about continuous improvement in commercial construction? Deep analytics dives into the nation's air traffic control system and algorithm-driven odds about whether or not your flight will be delayed?
I didn't make those last two up; both are here.
Second, this platform connects the dots. It tears down the silos Web 2.0 built, replacing it with a big tent. Where else can someone exiled to Flyover Country connect with a musician from Denver and a writer from the Motor City?
That's a long way around to describe how I found this project, or rather, it found me. I had been a fan of Miter, Jimmy Doom, and a couple of others for a while, so I leaped at the chance when I was invited to jump aboard.
I only had a (very) small role to play, but it was—and is—an honor to be part of. Creators from around the world found each other, shared their work, and created something beautiful together.
It's messy around the edges, a little DIY, and wholly original. There is no beige.
The team asked me if any collaborative projects had been born of the connections made on Notes. I said yes but had to demur. Something extraordinary is coming, I hinted, but it's not yet ready for prime time.
Now it is. That project is Salon Du Monde.
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Various Artists:
"A tragic day in American history. So many good memories," Chuck E. Cheese to retire their animatronic band by year’s end.
Nada Surf have a new record on the way, and The US women’s water polo team has a new hype man. Speaking of wild combos, Kelly Clarkson recently joined Weezer onstage to perform ‘Say It Ain’t So.’ Telemarket, who we talked to last fall, stopped by NPR to talk about life in Athens, GA.
And you can’t talk about music in Athens without mentioning the legendary 40 Watt Club.
I wanted to know how a person could fill such a strange, unique role in Pitchfork history and then quietly disappear. And so I began my search for Ray Suzuki plainly enough: by hunting for a writer with that name, who perhaps had demonstrated an inconsistent work ethic and an appreciation for the nuances of indie rock. But the hunt ended up bringing me much further into the depths of Pitchfork’s history than I could have anticipated. It illuminated an underground ethos that fueled the publication’s rise—a passionate, experimental, and sometimes childish approach that feels particularly distant in 2024, as the site has found itself in dire corporate straits. (In January, Condé Nast laid off a significant portion of Pitchfork’s staff and announced that it would be folding its operation into GQ.) It also brought me to the heart of Jet, the band caught in all this.
Long read: Searching for the notorious and enigmatic Ray Suzuki.
Documentaries featuring Washed Out and Bruce Springsteen have been announced. Springsteen’s Born in the USA record is also receiving the reissue treatment to mark it’s turning 40. The city of Chicago is celebrating Chicago House also turning 40 with parties, parades, and (of course) a music festival.
Tame Impala’s Kevin Parker has sold his entire catalog to Sony Music. Earth Wind & Fire have settled a lawsuit with an unauthorized tribute band. Publishers have hit Spotify with a cease and desist letter for alleged use of unlicensed lyrics and videos. The TICKET ACT, which would create transparency in pricing, has passed the House here in the U.S. It now goes on to a vote in the Senate.
The Jittery White Guy’s march through his 1000 favorite songs featured Nick Lowe recently. Bonus points to him for working in a reference to On Repeat faves The Paranoid Style.
Noel Gallagher does not do the Poznan.
The fact that he didn’t care for one of the greatest records he recorded is actually instructive about why he was so good at his job. In the same way that peak Bill Belichick developed gameplans based on the talent and matchups available on a given week rather than trying to impose a System, Albini’s genius was in allowing bands to sound the way they wanted to sound, and both fuck me and fuck the label if they don’t like it.
One more look at Steve Albini.
AV CLUB:
RIP David Sanborn. His Sunday Night (later called Night Music) show was eclectic, unpredictable, and fun; in other words, all the things teenaged me wanted from a late-night music show. I would stay up to watch it, sitting close with the volume “just” loud enough so my mom wouldn’t hear it. Even when you knew what you were in for, you never knew what you were gonna get.
I mean, Pere Ubu, Sanborn, and Debbie Harry? Sure, why not? Late '80s TV was kinda rad that way.
Have a great weekend. Drive south!
Kevin—
P.S. Have you seen this yet? Some of your favorite music writers got together and wrote about your favorite records. Check it out!
" If you can’t control something, you might as well sing about it, right? "
Good one.
Your introduction made me think of this song: https://mudcat.org/thread.cfm?threadid=129586
HARRY TRUMAN
(Tom Hunter) [Mt. St. Helens, 1980]
He had lived up there since 'twenty-nine,
Run a lodge and filled his time
Drinkin' whisky, raisin' cats and telling big tall tales
And now the mountain home he had
Was shaking, like the earth gone mad,
When they warned him, he said "No, I think I'll stay."
CHORUS
If the mountain goes, Then I'll go with it.
If the mountain goes, I'll go a-long
If the mountain goes, Then I'll go with it.
I'm gonna stay right here 'cause here's where I belong.
He said "The earthquake scared me bad up here,
But I've walked this mountain for fifty years
And it ain't gonna get me if the damn thing ever blows.
Besides I've got food, four weeks supply,
And whiskey, no, I'll never run dry,
I am this mountain, you can ask her, she knows."
Then on May eighteenth, Saint Helens blew
It tore the mountain right in two
With trees ripped, clouds of ash, the earth was glowing red.
As for Harry, no one knows,
He's up there still so the legend grows goes/i>
While the newspapers list him missing, presumed dead.
Now some say death's like going home
How the worst fate is to die alone,
Far from the people and the places you have known.
Maybe that's why Harry wouldn't leave,
It doesn't really matter what we believe,
Whether dead or alive old Harry's still at home.