busker

I know I bang on about the hugely talented Laura Veirs and genius fretmaestro Bill Frisell (late of this parish), but I am at long-last vindicated by none other than that arbiter of all that's cool, Seattle Weekly.

Ace review of 2005 by the Weekly's music writers in the clever form of a 2-CD compilation of favorite local tracks.

Take a bow:

In at #15, Laura Veirs' Magnetized from her Year of Meteors album.

At #21, Bill Frisell's I Heard It Through the Grapevine from the 'live' East/West tour-de-force:

And if you haven't added that to your collection ... DO SO sans delay.

I trust the folks at Nonesuch are pleased. Such a clever label and what a Who's Who of the best music makers.

I have a somewhat snooty albeit knowledgeable London pal whose eclectic collection defines cool to the point of verging on the obscure - Giuffre, Motian, Patricia Barber, Jan Garbarek, Carla Bley, Paco de Lucia, Willy POrter, Mikkelborg, Bad Plus, di Meola, that crowd.

He visited me last year and was running a well-manicured finger along my own bourgeois collection when he stopped:

"Goodness - Bill Frisell, no less? Well done  ... I wouldn't have thought you were the type to have caught onto him. (Pompous ass - and me the king of 3-chord plunking). Mind if we give Nashville a spin?"

He takes it out and goes over the stereo. Opens the jewel case:

"To Chris - Thanks for listening.
Bill Frisell"

B'boum! Collapse of effete party.

I remember nailing that one: Bill was wandering around trying to get a signal for his phone so I oozed up to his wife and asked if it might be ok to ask him to sign an album. Lovely smile. Certain he'd be thrilled.

As he was when he saw my choice.

"THE ultimate road-trip album," I gushed. A laugh. He hadn't thought of it that way.

Such  a nice guy. Defining modesty.

Another time, following him onto the ferry and marveling at the shabby guitar case and wondering which instrument it contained. I don't see them any more but that was a time when moussed youths would sit quietly strumming their power chords.

Bill's gait paused ever so slightly as he passed and the bloke looked up, saw this homely bank manager type incongruously carrying a guitar and went back to his thrumming.

It was just a perfect little cameo in my day and I wished I could have said something to Bill, but it would have been something disgustingly groveling along the lines of, "Little did he know, chuckle" that Bill would have been right to ignore.

Such a nice guy.

Follow-up: Good comment by James Marcus, author of Amazonia, his fascinating account of time in Château Bezosia and well worth reading.

You need have no interest in the early workings of this behemoth to appreciate JM's wit and fine style.

Marcus was employee 55, one of Amazon's first editors, and his is the real story.

Also check out his cool blog.