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13 Notes

“Biomusicology (1999 Basement Demo)” – Ted Leo
(Words/music: Ted Leo, final version on The Tyranny of Distance, Lookout! 2001. MP3 via Ted Leo’s SoundCloud page)

Apologies for letting my One Week / One Band updates tail off. Here’s a link to the entire run of posts in case you missed it. I ended up immersing myself completely in the last five Ted Leo and the Pharmacists albums that week, writing thirty six(!) posts, which was a lot of fun and completely exhausting. I was so tired that even culling links seemed too laborious, so it slacked off. I also, during this blog silence, should have wrote about the gorgeous night in July when I saw the Pharmacists play all of The Tyranny of Distance at New York’s South Street Seaport, but that fell into the silence as well. Consider this post the proverbial tying up of loose ends for those things.

In the week before the Seaport “Tyranny 10” show, Ted Leo posted a ton of things from the Tyranny era on his blog, culminating with his basement demo of the album’s first song “Biomusicology.” Recorded on a four track in his basement and heavy on synthesizer, the song’s arrangement (save for an extended solo in the outro and a slight variation on the melody in the first line) matches up with the eventual album version. It’s sound, to borrow Ted’s adjective, feels “dreamier” than the full band’s version.

The other interesting tidbit (aside from the “original” tracklist for the album, which I’ll save for another time), is that Leo wrote candidly about “Biomusicology.” From his blog post:

That is, after all the fun and the drama, and the feints and stabs of the previous decade of music making, I woke up alone one day, without a band, but with the unimpeachable knowledge that “this is who I am, and this is what I want to do, and this is what I DO” regardless of whether it was inside the system or outside, in fame or obscurity, on the back burner or right there in my hands – this is me, and this is us, and it is every bit as important as we think it is – it’s woven into our bones, an essential part of our complete breakfast, every day; and I guess that’s what “Biomusicology” was an attempt at expressing.

Which, setting intentional fallacy aside for a minute, fits what I wrote about the song for OW/OB, describing the “two strategies for confronting the void” in the song – an existential commitment to continue despite the impending bleakness, and the way we cling to our favorite songs in our times of need. Leo continues in his post to discuss the shift from the song’s composition (and placement at the end of the LP), to its shift and subsequent leadoff slot (emphasis is mine):

And though it can be read as hopeful, there was more of a resignedness to it when I originally wrote it. In some ways, I felt like my life as a musician was already OVER, and it was a “the king is dead, long live the king” kind of thing. It wound up as a mission statement at the top of the record, but at first, I meant it to be a summing up of a life already lived. The whole album’s like an Irish wake to me, and what happened afterward surprised me more than anybody!

Having read the blog post before hearing the song, I had a hard time hearing the resignation. I always heard the end of the song as a boat with waves furiously crashing against it as the lyrics proclaim that “we cannot stop singing / we cannot start sinking.” It ends on such a powerful and focused note (coupled with its placement at the beginning of the album) that it’s always felt like a bold mission statement. Hearing this demo, particularly with the extended solo at the end, the resignation becomes clearer. Here, the sea continues to rage after Leo goes silent, perhaps the way that music will continue after Leo (and everyone else) goes silent. I just hope that he has plenty more songs in him.

More on Ted Leo: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

4 Notes

Day 1 on One Week / One Band - Ted Leo / Rx's The Brutalist Bricks

If you were busy on Memorial Day (and if the weather was like it was around here, I don’t blame you), you may have missed the first day of posts I wrote for One Week / One Band on Ted Leo and the Pharmacists (my intro at that site is here, as well as an explanation of the site here). Clicking on the link at the top of this post will bring you through all of yesterday’s posts on the band’s most recent LP (but honestly, you should follow this site now and in the weeks going forward). If you’d rather skim through them, here’s a list of what ran yesterday:

Today’s posts on 2007’s Living with the Living have already begun, so go over to One Week / One Band and get caught up! 

8 Notes

SSC on One Week / One Band This Week!

I am incredibly excited for the opportunity to contribute to One Week / One Band, one of the best music sites around. I’m just as excited that I get the week to focus on Ted Leo and the Pharmacists, one of my favorite bands. A million thanks to Hendrik for the opportunity! 

The introductory post is already up here, so go check it out and please follow OW/OB on Tumblr and on Twitter (@OneWeekOneBand), not just because I’m writing there, but because some of the best music writing this year was hosted here. If you’re new to that site, I strongly recommend browsing the Past Entries page, and if you’re looking for more specific recommendations, Jonathan Bogart’s entries on the Faces, Tom Ewing’s on the KLF, Lisa Ann Cassidy’s on the early R.E.M. albums, and Isabel Cole’s posts on Liz Phair from last week are all incredible. 

As for this blog, each night I will have a rundown of links to things I wrote in case you need to catch up, but all of the music and videos will be on the OW/OB site, so be sure to keep in touch this week.

Finally, if you are a Ted Leo fan and/or have any exceptional Ted Leo stories (meeting him, personal attachments to his records, or even just memorable shows), please pass them on to me. I am planning on ending the week with a collection of these fan stories as a way of portraying the fan reaction to TL and his music. Contact me on Twitter, via email (somesongsconsidered-at-gmail-dot-com), or in the comments of one of these posts. 

13 Notes

15,340 plays

Rappaport's Testament: I Never Gave Up

“Rappaport’s Testament: I Never Gave Up” – Ted Leo and the Pharmacists
(Words/music: Chumbawamba, available on Mo’ Living EP / Living with the Living Bonus Disc, Touch and Go 2007) 

Near the end of a blistering set this past Friday night, Ted Leo took a few minutes to speak candidly to the audience.  The dialogue with the crowd wasn’t strange, as Leo does this several times every night.  However, the tone deviated from the kind of witty banter normally spun off the stage.  Instead, Leo thanked his supporting act Screaming Females (who are a must see on their own) and then apologized to them.  Evidently, on an otherwise troubled tour cut short by van failure, the Screaming Females faced boycotts at certain shows for their association with “sellouts” like Ted Leo.  This baffled the crowd Friday night, and seemed to get under Leo’s skin too, as he calmly but forcefully recounted the band’s repeated efforts to keep their shows affordable and accessible.  Furthermore, even when playing larger gigs in support of bigger bands, he uses his website and Twitter page to let fans know what to expect (specifically, not to pay $45 for a 30 minute Ted Leo / Pharmacists set).  This also doesn’t mention the responses to e-mails, willingness to talk to every single person waiting around after a show (me on several occasions), and show up with guitar in tow for charitable causes.

I present all of this to offer a slightly different take tonight.  I could (and have, believe me) go on about the merits of Leo as a songwriter and performer, but his convictions also factor in as well.  While I might not share all of his causes, I always admire his resolve and his passion; in a world of complainers, Leo acts.  When he dedicated the final song of the set, a cover on Chumbawamba’s concentration camp prisoner-quoting “I Never Gave Up,” to the Screaming Females, it felt like a genuine act of respect for a (relatively) young band that endured too much crap in order to play music for people.  It’s also hard not to read into the song’s closing proclamation as a sort of mantra for Leo’s ethics too – someone who  persevered through his own struggles along the way.  Even though it’s possible to appreciate art created by less than ideal individuals, I find my appreciation for the art deepens when I genuinely appreciate the artist as well.  With Leo, the list is almost as long as the list of things I appreciate in his music.  Personally, it’s also refreshing to have heroes at the age of 27, with Ted Leo certainly among them.

More on Ted Leo and the Pharmacists: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

12 Notes

270 plays

Dirty Old Town

“Dirty Old Town” - Ted Leo
(Words/music: Ewan MacColl, appears on “Tell Balgeary, Balgury is Dead” EP, Lookout! 2003)

(In honor of the new Ted Leo and the Pharmacists album The Brutalist Bricks, I’d like to re-run the story of when I first met Ted Leo in February 2003.  This post originally ran on January 7, 2009.  Back to new posts tomorrow!)


I’ve been blessed to have been involved with college radio while earning both of my degrees (first at WDOM in Providence, later at WQAQ in Connecticut), and it was (and continues to be) an important factor in my ever evolving musical taste. This post, however, isn’t my love letter to college radio (that comes with a different song) but rather a reflection of my favorite experience as a DJ.

I was fortunate enough to meet and interview Ted Leo during February 2003, right after the Hearts of Oak album came out (and right after I discovered his music). It was a surreal experience for a college sophomore to have to plan questions and interview someone who would be on Conan O’Brien later that week. From the moment that we helped Ted cart in his amplifier and guitar case (the same ones he still uses years later), it was apparent that Ted was almost as grateful to have the opportunity to appear on our modest station as we were to have him come to us. Through all sorts of stumbling blocks – our station’s faulty heater (it didn’t work a lot that winter), a less than vegan friendly cafeteria, his nagging vocal chord problems, and my nervous propensity to mix metaphors (he signed a poster with one of my quotes - “top to bottom, front to back” - my attempt to complement the body of songs on Hearts of Oak), Ted remained upbeat, enthusiastic, and completely engaging. We had Ted on for an hour or so – a mix of discussions about ska music, going to Catholic school, listening to New Order, and other topics with about half a dozen performances of songs from The Tyranny of Distance and Hearts of Oak. By the end of the afternoon, everyone in the room not only became fans of his music, but became fans of the man. In addition to his kindness and wit, Ted’s personal ethics shine through everything he does. Few contemporaries champion their causes as earnestly and completely and it seems that he has time to play on behalf of people and causes that he supports (for example, playing a benefit for a local punk rock promoter who recently passed away).

“Dirty Old Town” was the last song that Ted played that day, introducing it as a “song for the city of Providence.” I didn’t know the song (I hadn’t discovered The Pogues at that point), but I was struck by how he sang someone else’s song with the same passion and conviction that he sang his own songs. Looking back at that day nearly six years later, I have two prevailing thoughts. The first is the refreshing realization that the people that we’re fans of are fans themselves. It’s clear that Ted has a passion for music (look at the wide body of cover songs in his repertoire – in particular the obscure songs he’s playing on his recent solo tour) and that even to this day he remains a fan. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, I’ve learned that songs don’t belong exclusively to their authors – they belong to us all. We all have our own unique memories associated with individual songs – sometimes shared, sometimes private – and that some songs immediately can immediately bring us back to a specific place or time. I’m not sure what Ted Leo thinks of when he hears Shane MacGowan sing “Dirty Old Town,” but this song will always make me think back to that afternoon in Providence where I got to interview one of my favorite musicians.

More on Ted Leo: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

13 Notes

380 plays

Rock 'n' Roll Dreams'll Come True (Gas Station Dogs)

Ted Leo

“Rock ‘n Roll Dreams’ll Come True” – Ted Leo
(Words: Tom Sharpling and Jon Wurster, Music: Ted Leo, recorded on WFMU 3/13/2007)

New Jersey free form station WFMU is in its annual fundraiser this week, and tonight is the marathon’s flagship event when Tom Sharpling’s The Best Show on WFMU takes to the airwaves to solicit funds to fuel the station.  I’m out of range (by a couple states) to listen to WFMU in the car, but I’ll occasionally check out the live stream on their website to enjoy their eclectic mix of shows, but generally it’s to hear The Best Show.  Sharpling, a funny man in his own right, brings in hilarious guests on a regular basis (John Hodgman and Patton Oswalt are among regulars), and when the show isn’t deep in inside jokes (or if I follow the joke, at least), it’s an entertaining bit of live radio.

Ted Leo, a friend of Sharpling (Sharpling wrote the liner notes to Leo’s new album The Brutalist Bricks), has appeared on his show several times, including playing odd requests and covers in exchange for donations to WFMU’s operating fund.  His covers range from stellar (“Brass in Pocket” and a WFMU-modified “That’s Entertainment” in 2007, Blondie’s “Union City Blue” in 2008, among others) to ridiculous (Sharpling and Leo performed Streisand & Neil Diamond’s “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers” as a duet, for instance), including “Rock ‘n Roll Dreams’ll Come True,” a Best Show inside joke.  The song comes from a bit between Sharpling and his comedy partner (and Superchunk drummer) Jon Wurster where Wurster called in as an aged rock star with very specific requirements for casting his surefire hit band The Gas Station Dogs.  During this call (which appears on the Sharpling-Wurster disc New Hope for the Ape-Eared and is worth the listen, if only for Wurster’s obsession with details), Wurster’s character Barry Dworkin performs this song, one that only has lyrics and a melody and took nearly two decades to compose.  The Sharpling-Wurster bit explains why these lyrics are inane and, well, awful, but Leo manages to make it into a catchy little tune (and even turns it into a riotous stomp on a Chunklet 7” single he split with Zach Galifinakis).  It’s catchy enough on its own, but even more ridiculous knowing why Leo committed all of these absurd words to memory. 

The Best Show airs tonight between 8-11 PM, so if you’re hanging around with nothing to do, give a listen and see what sort of odd mayhem Sharpling, Wurster, and Ted Leo have in store to try to earn operating capitol for a terrific independent station.

More on Ted Leo: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

7 Notes

146 plays

“Dancing in the Dark” – Drew O’Doherty and Ted Leo
(Words/music: Bruce Springsteen, originally available from Bradley’s Almanac, performed August 6, 2006)

Today is Ted Leo’s birthday, and my present is to repost a song I originally found on Bradley’s Almanac a few years ago.  Head over there to read Brad’s account of the circumstances behind the show – specifically how “Dancing in the Dark” served as a “handoff” between O’Doherty’s opening set and Leo’s main set.  Bradley’s Almanac is a must read, and I got to briefly meet Brad at XX Merge this summer and can confirm first hand that he’s as nice and cool as his blog suggests.  Do yourself a favor and go subscribe to it.

Ted Leo also has the misfortune of sharing his birthday with the terrorist attacks in the United States eight years ago.  In many ways, this “Dancing in the Dark” performance shares a lot of the qualities of the moments we looked for (and continue to need) in the weeks and months following.  Earlier today, as they have for the past few years, McSweeney’s posted John Hodgman’s introduction from a literary reading a few weeks after the 9/11 terrorist attacks.  In it, Hodgman (a friend of Leo’s, appropriately) shared his struggle to find the role of storytelling in an increasingly absurd world, ultimately suggesting that in a time of crisis, stories help us feel like we aren’t alone.  For me, concerts provide the same comforting communal effort, and few create and utilize the temporary community that a live performance assembles the way Ted Leo uses it.  His sets frequently mix his own stories (through his songs) with songs that he loves.  “Dancing in the Dark,” a song about the desperate, unending quest for inspiration, frequently appears in these sets, often inspiring the audience to join in (at least for the “can’t start a fire” lines).  I’ve written about the way Leo’s shows provide this spark for me, and I can’t help but feel like most of the crowd leaves the same way.  Even if these moments can’t fix what’s broken inside us, they help to remind us that we’re all fractured in some ways and can help each other put the pieces back together.  While 9/11 is a day to consider the ways we’ve started to heal, it’s also a day worth celebrating those who have helped us with that healing, even if it’s just by singing songs.

Happy birthday, Ted.  Thanks for everything.

More on Drew O’Doherty: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

More on Ted Leo: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

1 Notes

“We’ve Got the Best of an Imperfect World” - On Live Music and Emotional Jumpstarts

I rushed through tonight’s post, and since it probably is my last Ted Leo related post (I’ve already posted a solo track in addition to this one with the band), I want to revisit one specific time seeing Ted Leo.  Since I first met him in 2003, I’ve seen Ted Leo roughly 20 times, and the most memorable show of all of these happened in December 2004.  On a whim, I ended up going to see Ted Leo and his band at the University of Rhode Island.  It came at the end of an extremely busy semester where I spread myself too thin with my classes, playing in (and running) music ensembles, DJ-ing for the campus radio station, and writing for the school paper.  This emotional fatigue came at the same time as the 2004 election – one where many had such high hopes for change and felt sucker punched when nothing changed.  I was in a haze and trying to figure out how I could get the energy to finish my end of the semester projects in time.

I called my friend and he got a ride from Providence down to URI for us, and just an hour after waking up from an involuntary nap on my couch, I was getting ready to cram into the orchestra pit in an auditorium to see Ted Leo.  As a musician who openly champions causes he believes in, it was natural to assume that Ted Leo might be deflated the same way as us after the election.  Instead, Leo and his band (at this point a power trio) tore through their songs.  It wasn’t a perfect show – they battled sound problems and didn’t play an encore because of it – but it was the show we needed.  By the time it ended, I was drenched in sweat and hoarse from singing along.  However, I felt invigorated immediately and left URI with feelings of energy and motivation that I hadn’t felt in weeks.  It wasn’t flawless, but it didn’t need to be because that night it didn’t matter.  One of Ted Leo’s new songs has the line “we’ve got the best of an imperfect world,” and I can’t help but think of that night - in a world that seemed far from perfect, Ted Leo helped us bring out the absolute best in it.  Consequently, it ultimately helped to bring the best out of me as well. 

I’ve been fortunate to see a lot of great shows, but this show was unique.  It was precisely the spark I needed to get myself going again.  It felt like I had been running on a dying battery for weeks, and this concert gave me the jump start needed to run on all cylinders again.  I’ve thought about this a lot in the four and a half years since then, and I’ve had a few shows since then that lifted my spirits when I needed it, but none in the same way that I felt in December 2004.  We all have our moments of exhaustion and we have our ways to decompress when we’re stressed out.  For me, a good live show always makes me feel a little more relaxed and a little more prepared to take on my impending challenges.  These shows alone aren’t enough to power me along, but they’re necessary and welcome sparks that help get us where we want to go.

I came home from seeing Ted Leo and the Pharmacists about an hour ago, and I’m not sure I’ve ever heard them sound better than they sounded tonight.   Everything – old songs, brand new songs, and the classics – sounded great over the hour and forty five minutes they played.  It’s unfair to compare this show to the December 2004 show at URI because of all the circumstances surrounding that show.  I left tonight’s show in awe of the band and the performance they put on tonight.  I also left tonight feeling energized, and with my summer vacation starting in a week, I’m hoping tonight’s euphoria will help me start my summer off right.

5 Notes

51 plays

“Timorous Me – Ted Leo / Pharmacists
(Words/music: Ted Leo, available on The Tyranny of Distance, Lookout! Records, 2001)

I wasn’t introduced to Ted Leo until Hearts of Oak came out, but it was a case of “better late than never.”  Tyranny of Distance came out the week I graduated from high school and I wish it was in my life at that time.  It’s the perfect combination of Leo’s punk rock ethos with his extremely personal songwriting.  These songs seem like intimate portraits straight from the core of his being yet still resonate with almost everyone that hears these songs.  He’s streamlined his production since The Tyranny of Distance and (arguably) has written dozens of better songs since this album, but this group of songs straddles the line between intensely personal and overtly political. 

“Timorous Me” is, in Leo’s own words, “an Irish wake,” yet as a remembrance of the past it focuses more on lost moments rather than lost souls.  Each of the verses details moments where the opportunity for connection went unfulfilled – whether it’s reconnecting with a childhood friend, a member of the audience enjoying herself, or a loved one spending an evening uncharacteristically quiet.  Even if he’s describing specific personal moments, the listener feels a sort of kinship with Leo, sharing in his emotions as he paints the picture with the words.  While we weren’t there for the instances he describes, we have our own missed opportunities and can share in these brief moments of recognition (if not regret).  It’s appropriate that “Timorous Me” generally appears near the end of Ted Leo’s shows, as it’s his most accessible song as well as an opportunity for him to share the spotlight with his audience.   We might not share all of the moments he sings about, but we all have these times where we wish we said one more thing or offered one more bit of advice.   It’s helpful to have an engaging performer like Ted Leo leading us through these moments because together we can share our moments of regret, accept our shortcomings, and move on.  We might not come to this conclusion on our own, but with Leo’s songs to guide us along, we can start to move on and enjoy the present moment.

More on Ted Leo and the Pharmacists: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

5 Notes

85 plays

“Spitfire” – The Spinanes
(Words/music: Rebecca Gates & Scott Plouf, available on Manos, Sub Pop 1993)

I can remember the first time hearing some songs (or, at least, the first time when the song struck me) to varied degrees of detail; I used to know the first ten or twelve CDs that I bought and the circumstances of the purchase.  Then there’s songs where I struggle to figure out how I discovered them or when I first heard the band.  I know that I bought the Spinanes’ Manos album used (hey kids, remember used record stores?) at the now defunct In Your Ear on Thayer Street in Providence, RI (or that’s my guess at least based on the price tag on the CD case).  It had to be after I saw Rebecca Gates open for Ted Leo at a solo show at AS220, so let’s say that I found this in the winter of 2003-2004.  There, I’m a regular musical archaeologist, aren’t I?

Anyway, back to Gates opening for Ted Leo.  I remember that she performed a similar set (solo, playing an electric guitar) and that her performance style reminded me a lot of Ted Leo’s – both could play quiet, nimble guitar lines or both could play loud, jagged chords to break the mood.  Vocally, Gates and Leo were perfect foils for each other – his vocals leaped all over the map from loud shouts to soaring falsettos to rapidly fired bursts of Latin and French.  Gates’ preferred to stay in her natural lower register for the entire set, letting her vocals create a hazy sort of effect.  At points, it almost seemed like her voice provided the accompaniment to her more melodic guitar lines, which made the performance that much more interesting.

On record (at least on Manos, I have one other Spinanes record but haven’t listened since I got it), Gates and future Built to Spill drummer Scott Plouf continue in this same style – the drums and guitar lineup gives the songs a bit more muscle than a solo performance, but not quite as full sounding as a complete band.  This results in arrangements with a certain level of space – the guitars, drums, and vocals all take equal billing and stand out from each other.  In particular, the lack of a bass line makes the songs seem hollow, leaving plenty of room for one of these three elements to go off its own digression without muddling the mix.  The downside to this stripped down formula is that there’s only so much variation.  The songs are good, but they all tend to blend together by the end of the album.

For whatever reason, “Spitfire” is the song that sticks out the most from this album.  Perhaps it’s the way that the song starts with Plouf’s distinctive beat or the way that Gates scratches out those first couple of chords on her guitar.  When the verse starts, everything shifts into half time and gets a bit fuzzier.  Gates’ vocals hide behind her guitar and Plouf’s open hi-hat until the song snaps back to the original tempo just in time for the chorus of multi-tracked “spitfires” – the most distinctive element of the song.  There’s enough variation between these two sections in tempo, enunciation, and clarity, to keep it interesting and make it stand out from the rest of the songs on the album.  This is probably why I can recognize “Spitfire” immediately and strain to connect any of the others songs to the band.

More on The Spinanes: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

Notes

38 plays

“Dirty Old Town” - Ted Leo
(Words/music: Ewan MacColl, appears on “Tell Balgeary, Balgury is Dead” EP, Lookout! 2003)

I’ve been blessed to have been involved with college radio while earning both of my degrees (first at WDOM in Providence, later at WQAQ in Connecticut), and it was (and continues to be) an important factor in my ever evolving musical taste.  This post, however, isn’t my love letter to college radio (that comes with a different song) but rather a reflection of my favorite experience as a DJ.

I was fortunate enough to meet and interview Ted Leo during February 2003, right after the Hearts of Oak album came out (and right after I discovered his music).  It was a surreal experience for a college sophomore to have to plan questions and interview someone who would be on Conan O’Brien later that week.  From the moment that we helped Ted cart in his amplifier and guitar case (the same ones he still uses years later), it was apparent that Ted was almost as grateful to have the opportunity to appear on our modest station as we were to have him come to us.  Through all sorts of stumbling blocks – our station’s faulty heater (it didn’t work a lot that winter), a less than vegan friendly cafeteria, his nagging vocal chord problems, and my nervous propensity to mix metaphors (he signed a poster with one of my quotes - “top to bottom, front to back” - my attempt to complement the body of songs on Hearts of Oak), Ted remained upbeat, enthusiastic, and completely engaging.  We had Ted on for an hour or so – a mix of discussions about ska music, going to Catholic school, listening to New Order, and other topics with about half a dozen performances of songs from The Tyranny of Distance and Hearts of Oak.  By the end of the afternoon, everyone in the room not only became fans of his music, but became fans of the man.  In addition to his kindness and wit, Ted’s personal ethics shine through everything he does.  Few contemporaries champion their causes as earnestly and completely and it seems that he has time to play on behalf of people and causes that he supports (for example, playing a benefit for a local punk rock promoter who recently passed away).

“Dirty Old Town” was the last song that Ted played that day, introducing it as a “song for the city of Providence.”  I didn’t know the song (I hadn’t discovered The Pogues at that point), but I was struck by how he sang someone else’s song with the same passion and conviction that he sang his own songs.  Looking back at that day nearly six years later, I have two prevailing thoughts.  The first is the refreshing realization that the people that we’re fans of are fans themselves.  It’s clear that Ted has a passion for music (look at the wide body of cover songs in his repertoire – in particular the obscure songs he’s playing on his recent solo tour) and that even to this day he remains a fan.  Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, I’ve learned that songs don’t belong exclusively to their authors – they belong to us all.  We all have our own unique memories associated with individual songs – sometimes shared, sometimes private – and that some songs immediately can immediately bring us back to a specific place or time.  I’m not sure what Ted Leo thinks of when he hears Shane MacGowan sing “Dirty Old Town,” but this song will always make me think back to that afternoon in Providence where I got to interview one of my favorite musicians.

More on Ted Leo: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm