The bad news is that my top albums of 2019 list won’t come out until the end of the December. The good news is that part of the reason is that Ron Olesko is going to broadcast them on Folk Music Notebook, and I have to keep it under wraps till then. The other reason is that I’m still listening to some albums for the first time. You might have noticed that I’m procrastinating. I’m listening to Eilen Jewell’s Gypsy as I write this. I know some albums that will definitely make the list. There are always a few that I know from the first listen will make the list. Hell, I knew that Jean Rohe’s Sisterly would make last year’s list before it was released. I had heard her do enough of the songs live Any list that did not include it is simply wrong. I have a few in that class this year.
Making top 10 lists is a good way of seeing things in relief. By definition, most things are mediocre, fewer are good, a smaller fraction great, and very few make the top. While there’s lots of wiggle room at the boundaries, as classes they are clear. The ones I don’t need to think about deserve a class by themselves.
I often take issue with how others see this. I haven’t added to it in a while, but I have my list here, You Probably Haven’t Heard. It’s a list of people that aren’t well known that should be. Sometimes it becomes outdated, everybody knows Anais Mitchell now. When a friend saw it, they thought there wasn’t much of a point to it, “there are so many great artists such as … ” and proceeded to name a bunch of mediocrities. The problem is not disagreeing with me on who is great but thinking that greatness is commonplace.
On the other hand, in one of my baseball groups people consistently call players among the best at their position mediocre. Over the last two years Zach Wheeler has earned the 10th most Pitching WAR, and Patrick Corbin the 5th most but people complain that they are mediocre pitchers that are being overpaid. Part of that is people are jealous of the money that baseball players make and always have been. I don’t get why they would rather the owners pocket the money, but they do. People booed Joe DiMaggio when he held out for a pay raise.
My mother never thought that anything was mediocre, or even good or bad. Everything was always at the extreme. The weather was never cold, it was freezing. It was never just raining, always pouring. The food was the best she ever had or the worst. Her middle name was Hyperbole.
When it comes to food, I often see things in high relief. Last night I made a grilled chicken fillet. I did an improvised seasoning with cayenne, paprika, black pepper, garlic, MSG, and barbecue rub. I topped it with Colby Jack cheese and served it on a mini-sub roll. It was magnificent. If I didn’t think that most people overcook their chicken, I wouldn’t love it so much when it’s made perfectly. I got an incredible amount of pleasure from a simple thing because I don’t think everything is magnificent, or even good. It takes contrast. Sometimes the contrasts with the grays are more important than with the black or white.
I’m listening to an album that I hear is not going to make my list. It’s not bad. It’s not even mediocre. It’s good, but it doesn’t have the spark of greatness. The next album is doing better but probably won’t make the cut.
I better get back to serious listening. I take this seriously. After I’ve listened to everything at least once I have to then play them on shuffle and see which stand out.
Wise Madness 