September, D.C.: Som Records / Love Will Find a Way

My kids were off school for Rosh Hashanah, a holiday that we do not celebrate. But fair enough. Non-Christians have to deal with having their school year built around Christian holidays. My county now calls it winter break…but we all know what we’re talking about. And spring break, without fail, aligns with Easter. This was just one day, I could make it work—despite my ignorance about this specific holiday.

I loaded my kids (quantity: two) into the car and brought them across the Potomac into Washington, DC. The Smithsonian museums are always free and always open (save for Thanksgiving and Christmas). My kids were not consulted and made their unhappiness known at every opportunity, even as they picked out their favorite cakes in Wayne Thiebaud’s Cakes and as they laughed at all the butts delicately carved in smooth white marble. 

Admit that they liked it, however, and I “win.” And we can’t have that.

American History was up next, where we encountered the stylish Girlhood exhibit.

 

Having made the rounds, my son asked if we could visit the (non-existent) boyhood exhibit. Sorry, kid. Though one could argue that the rest of the museum was more or less that.

Anyway, we know where this is heading.

Back in the car, we headed away from the national mall, up to 14^th street, where—just a few blocks from the excellent venue The Black Cat, one can find Som records, pretty well hidden in a basement storefront.

Every record store I’ve visited this year has been small, but Som might take the cake. As posted, only 8 people can enter.

Amid the new releases were a small handful of local, D.C. bands. The night before, I’d gotten into a conversation about the Fugazi album The Argument. And here it is.

 

This is maybe not that much of a coincidence. I am always thinking and talking about Fugazi.

So, done and done. It seemed easy enough to formulate some thoughts about the final album by one of the all-time great American bands. (Note: not just “seminal punk band,” but—across all genres—just one of the most consistently proficient, inventive, and surprising bands period.)

And then I saw a Pharoah Sanders album on the wall. And then a live album of him and Coltrane in the new/used section. I was set on that one, but it was pretty scuffed up. In the jazz section, I found Love Will Find a Way. I brought it—and The Argument—to the counter.

The sole employee rested his hand on it and shook his head solemnly.

“He was in D.C. so many times, and I never saw him.”

“I heard he just passed away,” I said. “And I have to admit I don’t know much about his music. I thought I’d educate myself.”

“This one,” he held the record up, “this one is good. It’s pretty accessible. A lot of his stuff is an acquired taste.”

“The best things are,” I offered out, hopeful that he would agree. He considered this and then nodded.

At home, I put on the record. As stated, I didn’t know much about Pharaoh Sanders, beyond the vague understanding that this was spiritual jazz. Though…what does that mean, exactly? I mean, when a gospel choir sings about Jesus, it feels like a safe bet that you’re in the presence of religious music. But what makes music spiritual? Anyone who has smoked weed in a dorm has heard claims about being spiritual but not religious. I may even identify with that sentiment myself. But, if pressed to define our terms, exactly what in the hell does it mean?

Given his association with John Coltrane—particularly late period Coltrane, I waited for a complicated, ecstatic wall of noise to kick in. I was surprised to encounter what felt like easy listening…with a good amount of pleasant, if slightly corny, vocals. I mean, it was nice. I liked it. But something seemed not quite right. I wondered if I had stacked the deck against myself, expecting to be moved.

Later, I read up on the album a bit—to the degree that I could. I mostly encountered bloggers who sighed at the album, claiming that one or two songs were good, but it was mostly skippable.

This had me thinking that I’d messed up…I’d bought the wrong album. The friendly cashier who said that the album was accessible. Perhaps that was a friendly way of undercutting it. Whatever, no hard feelings. I’m the one who brought it to the counter, and it’s his job to sell records.

In all honesty, of the records that I’ve purchased this year, this may be the one that I will return to the least. But I’m glad that I bought it, as it has nudged me into digging deeper. I’m listening to Astral Traveling as I write this, and it strikes me that the spiritual is not too lofty a way of describing it. As for what that actually means, damned if I will be the one to define it properly—beyond the sense that there are certain moments that force you out of the mundane...that disrupt your sense of proportion and give you a sense of awe about the universe and your place within it.

I don’t understand how music does this to us. And maybe I don’t need to. Maybe we can just take these moments as they come. Som records is great, and I will be back…hopefully before the next Rosh Hashana. 

I did get around to reading up on that holiday, by the way. The Jewish new year. Traditionally celebrated with wine, pomegranates, apples, and honey. Oh, and the blowing of the shofar—a horn.