Key Change: Cincinnati, OH-IO

"And I can see them shining

Through the Willows and the Pines,

The lights of Cincinnati

Oh, so many miles behind,

I could build myself a new life

And make it on my own,

But the lights of Cincinnati

Will keep calling me back home."

-"Lights of Cincinnati," Scott Walker

I invite you to join me on a detour to my hometown and the place where I have spent the better half of my summer: Cincinnati, Ohio. While the name may not set off any bells and whistles, I'm feeling inspired enough to break this three month hiatus and share a lesser known, but very distinctive musical history. 

While rummaging around at Half Price Books, crown jewel of second hand bookstores, I came across a mix CD labeled Deary Me Records, the name of a Cincinnati punk-rock label from 1995. Mezmerized, I bought the CD and tended to it before any of my other purchases. What turned out to be a nifty, if slightly scratched little time capsule broadened the contours of my mental map where I chart the city's music history, beginning with the legends of King Records and culminating in the great indie rock scene that exists today. After some family and friends affirmed the coolness of my clearance purchase as well as the ceaseless creative output of this city, I decided to dedicate a few blog posts to the lyrical landmarks of Cincinnati.

A city so much smaller than New York City--1/26 of the population size to be exact--doesn't lend itself to the same endless supply of song references, but I was surprised by the number of name drops that do exist. And yes, they extend beyond a "what's up" from Sir Mix-A-Lot and the T-H-U-G roll call from Cleveland neighbors Bone-Thugs-N-Harmony. Oh, and that annoying but aptly-titled tune, "Cincinnati, Ohio," which provides the low point of every visit to Great American Ballpark. 

The man who wrote the lyrics above was an overseas sensation in the UK, though he hailed from the midwestern city of which we speak. Scott Walker--and no, not GOP presidential candidate #387 --was known for limit-pushing lyrics in the late 1960s at the same time he bore his soul and penned "Lights of Cincinnati." On this rare occasion he traded in bawdy for the ballad, reminiscent of the songs which propelled him to fame as a teen idol in the 1950s. With one of the most stirring baritones in pop music, Walker delivered a sincere expression of the heart--teetering between longing for a loved one and yearning for a particular place.

This post serves as the introduction to a miniseries on my hometown, and in the spirit of summer's melancholy as the season draws to a close, is a nod to Walker that his sentiment is alive and well in me.

Forsyth and Bowery / Lower East Side

"We were standing 

At Forsythe and Bowery,

Flowers and painted forehead

Trying to forget

You can't tell if the ceiling's rising

Or if the floor's falling out.

At the time I wasn't with you

By that time I didn't care"

-"Bowery," Local Natives

This week's visit took me to Sarah Roosevelt Park which falls between Chrystie and Forsyth, skirting the north and south of the Lower East Side. It's a beautiful stretch down Forsyth Street, but my heart tells me it was no walk in the park that inspired the lyrics of "Bowery" by Local Natives.

 The song is achingly personal, much like the rest of the album, which is a window into darker times for the band. Kelcey Ayer, vocalist, keyboardist, and lyricist, shared that together they were wracked with the loss of Ayer's mother, the departure of their bassist Andy Hamm, and relationship troubles, following their debut album Gorilla Manor. The beautiful byproduct of these troubled times came to be called Hummingbird.

It was a day of pink blossoms and blue skies with white clouds, strikingly reminiscent of the background and color palette of the Hummingbird album cover (which you can see on the playlist I've created to supplement blog posts.)

Interestingly enough, there is no corner of Forsyth and Bowery. Perhaps the lyrics refer to two separate corners, or, most likely, they refer to the Bowery area, rather than Bowery Street. Above is the corner of Forsyth looking down Rivington Street and below is the corner of Forsyth and Delancey Street. While I do not know this to be fact, I imagine that the lyrics refer to the corner pictured below, because Delancey Street runs along the Bowery, and the Bowery Ballroom, where the band has performed, sits at the corner of Delancey Street and Bowery Street. This corner is very central in the LES, and is brushed closely with the bustling nightlife. I'm sure many memories are made here.

I stopped to take a photo of the sky on my way to the Essex subway station. From where I stood, it looked like this white dagger seemed to end somewhere on Forsyth. I don't know, it just seemed symbolic, and a little bit sad.

There is not much for me to say, as the broken relationship in "Bowery" is not mine to explain. 
But because pieces of this experience have been shared and immortalized into art, there's a sense of beckoning by them to be heard. Likewise the sights described in the song seem so ready to be beheld. I feel honored at the invitation to ache alongside this band. 
It's amazing how intimate music can be, how committed artists are to their craft in sickness, in health, joy, and sorrow. And I vouch that their loving listeners feel exactly the same way.