“Everyone is influenced by everybody but you bring it down home the way you feel it.” –Thelonious Monk

These kids played on Letterman and I liked the song so I listened to it again.

The baseline reminded me of this song from the Raconteurs:

Jack White supposedly gets pissed about this sort of thing (witness his feud with the Black Keys), which is funny because he basically states in the documentary It Might Get Loud that his idea for the guitar-drums ensemble came from watching the Flat Duo Jets, before they added a bass player. (He also raves about them in Two Headed Cow):

OK then.

White also once said he didn’t trust anyone who didn’t like Led Zeppelin, who might be the biggest musical plagiarists of all time.

But, hey, it’s ok to be influenced by someone else. Witness these J Roddy Walston and the Business fellows… 

..who have a Kings of Leon vibe…

But then to me they all sound a bit like Uncle Tupelo covering the Stooges:

And Uncle Tupelo is among the best of my generation and they are both heavily influenced and original all at once, which is the best kind of thing…

So bring it down home kids, there’s always room for more.

BOOK REVIEW: Top of the Flood

There’s a certain mindset I’ve come to expect from Texans based upon those I’ve run across. If I had to explain it, it’s something along the lines of,  “We need to disassemble this 10 ton truck and walk it piece by piece across the length of the panhandle? Let’s get started.”

Tosh Brown has that in him, as evidenced in his revelation that he left behind his University of Texas business degree and a job in commercial real estate to shoot pictures. “Ditch the tie, get a camera and go on to be one of the most acclaimed fly fishing photographers of the past two decades? Let’s get started.”

He was certainly that way when he teamed up with me to publish our photo-essay book [shameless-self promotion alert: The Blitz: Fly Fishing The Atlantic Migration]. On our trips together, I learned a few other things about Tosh. First and foremost, he is a family man, proving that you can reconcile creative pursuits with raising kids in a functional manner.  Second, he loves good jokes and great stories.

When I read through Tosh’s new book, Top of the Flood: Halfway Through a Fly-fishing Life, I think back to those slogs through New England on the ferry, eating food warmed under a rotisserie heat lamp, listening to Tosh and waiting for the payoff.


Tosh’s recollections come across on the page as they would in person, well-told and with comic sensibility. In his essay called “A Matter of Record,” he recounts his nonchalance about applying for potential IGFA records for flounder and red snapper. He says of the latter, “If my memory serves, we ate that one grilled with new potatoes and a fabulous Veracruz sauce.”

There are great one liners like that in every chapter. (In his essay, “Extremes,” he aptly notes that “…snook are fastidious little pricks, even in Texas.”)

For more, read “The Bass Phase” in this month’s issue of The Drake, check out this excerpt on the Departure Publishing site, and buy a signed copy for $24.95

Summer Feet

You would think the continuous wearing of flip-flops would inspire a person to trim his toenails, but in fact the opposite is true. It takes podiatric confinement, and the realization that a wayward blade is stabbing into the adjoining toe, to effect action.

Either way, I’m not a man who likes his feet encumbered. Seasonally, the nicks and bruises start to accumulate like battle scars, accentuated by a pale tan line that splays in a V from the webbing between the big toe and the index toe.

I’ll take that any day over the ankle tan achieved by golfers or any other sock loving subset.

My first football coach encouraged us to go barefoot over the summer to toughen our feet. We went 1-9 that season so maybe that wasn’t such a great focal point.


The Striped Bass Conversation

People are catching stripers right now, that’s documented. Also documented is what anglers out almost every day are seeing–and not seeing.

Here’s a post from the Chesapeake Bay Foundation about how oxygen depletion is affecting striped bass.

Here’s another from Reel-Time where Capt. John McMurray details who’s really killing all the bass.

Here’s a follow up from McMurray on why we should eat bluefish not bass.

Here’s a post about how recreational anglers have lost the high ground.

There’s a 1@32pledge going around.

But maybe, for now, let ‘em all go.


Enduring Mountain Jam

My college town had just three total bars; the one I most cared for was called the Back Bacon. For one, they served draft beer out of glass Byrne Dairy milk jugs. Also, they had a jukebox. For the underfunded, there was a trick to getting the most out of your song choices: Locate the Allman Brothers Live at the Fillmore East. Mountain Jam” lasted for 34 minutes, and it counted as a single play.

It’s a long song.

The Allman Brothers based it off an innocuous little hippie ditty called “There is a Mountain” by Donovan, (which my friend Paula referred to as the happy song.) Duane Allman turned it into something more edgy, intense and rife with electric blues licks.

Who has time for long songs these days? I do, in the right moment. Almost always while driving.  That’s about the only time when there’s actual time to examine every note and remember certain ones or even associate certain others with a specific time, place and emotion in a personal history.

Recently, when I plug my iPod into the car jack–which sounds as antiquated as using eight tracks in the age of Spotify–“Mountain Jam” has inexplicably started popping up in shuffle mode. The first few times I skipped over it and then I didn’t and it reminded me why the reconstituted Allmans, with Warren Haynes in Duane Allman’s stead, were probably my favorite band to see live.

It’s easy to be dismissive of the jam band scene because at it’s worst there’s a layer of ritualism more complex than a cricket match, centered around baseless noodling. But people who dismiss the art of jamming at its best are missing the point.

In a live setting, it’s all about momentum. The Allman Brothers could build it as well as anyone and sometimes, in those long stretches on the Interstate, you need that to start moving downhill.


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