Author Archives: Jon Sidel

Greetings from Laurel Canyon!

Oh I am a lonely painter / I live in a box of paints / I’m frightened by the devil / And I’m drawn to those ones that ain’t afraid / I remember that time that you told me, you said / “Love is touching souls” / Surely you touched mine ’cause / Part of you pours out of me / In these lines from time to time

Just the other day a number of female writers at NPR posted a list of “the greatest albums made by women between 1964 and the present.” They said it’s to be an “intervention, a remedy, a correction of the historical record and hopefully…”

…the start of a new conversation? Well, hey ladies! Let’s get our playlist on!

Although some of the selections are obviously political—therefore “whack”—everyone loves a playlist in the summer 2017. Even if it puts Beyonce up there with Joni and Aretha…no stress. A playlist is a playlist and the women at NPR have been on the same wavelength with me this week. Turns out, I have been digging through steamy crates selecting some of my favorite heroines on wax for this week’s Idelic Hour “All Girls” playlist.

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Greetings from Laurel Canyon!

I’m just a lonesome l.a. cowboy / Hangin’ out, hangin’ on / To your window ledge, callin’ your name / From midnight until dawn / I been smokin’ dope, snortin’ coke / Tryin’ to write a song / Forgettin’ everything I know / ‘Til the next line comes along / Forgettin’ everything I know / ‘Til the next line comes along

For me as a parent of two kids, there comes a time when your “lil one” starts their journey toward his or her own musical taste. Most of us “rocker dads” try to steer the kiddies clear of music that makes us nutz, but…good luck on that.

From my experience, I feel comfortable saying that most kids leave pop music by 12 years old. My Jonah recently spilt pop for hip hop at age 10. Although hip hop radio is very repetitive, we’re happy to be leaving the pop world for hip hop, and to be honest there have been quite a few hip hop charms of late.

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Greetings from Laurel Canyon!

Well I stumbled in the darkness / I’m lost and alone / Though I said I’d go before us / And show the way back home / There a light up ahead / I can’t hold onto her arm / Forgive me pretty baby but I always take the long way home

Money’s just something you throw / Off the back of a train / Got a head full of lightning / A hat full of rain / And I know that I said / I’d never do it again / And I love you pretty baby but I always take the long way home

Let’s all just thank our lucky stars. And why the fuck not? Spring is here and although flat tires, rip offs, and car crashes may occur, it’s a long road.

So hold on to you friends and family say a prayer and when you need inspiration…

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Greetings from Laurel Canyon!

Who is “in” / Who is “out” / Who is “in” / Who is “out” / Up to nine, it’s OK, you’re “in” / After that, you’re KO, you’re “out” / It’s the same for boxing  / Movies, fashion and cash box

Time’s still flying as we hit full stride in March madness. Fools might come out of the closet next week as April showers wash away this Mercury in retrograde. All in all, we keep the nose to the grindstone.

Yesterday I pulled a few hours from my day to volunteer at the local middle school. I lectured three film classes on listening to music, and ate my lunch on a bench in the midst of hundreds of 13 and 14 year old kids—none of whom knew me or any of the songs on this week’s Idelic playlist.

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Greetings from Laurel Canyon!

Wow, this week really flew by. Life and “stuff” are coming and going, seemingly at the speed of light. April showers and the taxman have replaced butterflies and sunshine.

Hopefully the sun will shine and butterflies will flutter back through the canyon. In the meantime, it’s madness. March Madness! To be honest, it’s hard enough to come up with time to dig into a couple of crates of records let alone predict who is gonna win in the first round of the NCAAs.

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Greetings from Laurel Canyon!

There is a happy land where only children live / They don’t have the time to learn the ways / Of you sir, Mr. Grownup / There’s a special place in the rhubarb fields underneath the leaves / It’s a secret place and adults aren’t allowed there, Mr. Grownup / Go away, sir

Yes, there is a “happy place” somewhere around here. From gloom to “super bloom!”

On Wednesday the sun finally came out. I could almost feel the plants and flowers in our canyon pushing toward the sky as if to say, “Hello sun…please stay for a bit!”

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Greetings from Laurel Canyon!

I was a fool before I met you / Only fools find it hard to believe / You just might be my only savior / If you are, then come and save me / If that’s true, come back and save me / You take me back there / Take me back home, please / No, I can’t go in there / Just take me back home, home

Greetings from LA. It’s incredible to believe winter might actually be giving way to spring soon.

No one around these canyons can remember rain and cold like the winter of 2019. Daylight savings time tomorrow is bringing our house rays of hope, so with that in mind we’re going to celebrate saving our own fucking souls.

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Greetings from Laurel Canyon!

I’m gonna make a mistake / I’m gonna do it on purpose / I’m gonna waste my time / Cuz I’m full as a tick / And I’m scratching at the surface / And what I find is mine / And when the day is done, and I look back / And the fact is I had fun, fumbling around / All the advice I shunned, and I ran / Where they told me not to run, but I sure / Had fun, so / I’m gonna fuck it up again / I’m gonna do another detour / Unpave my path / And if you wanna make sense / Whatcha looking at me for / I’m no good at math

We all make mistakes. This said, when I hear the name Pricewaterhouse, “fuck ups” don’t come to mind. Aren’t they paid specifically to NOT to fuck up? Recently, I thought we’d seen everything… guess again.

As they say behind Donald’s wall, “Oscar no bueno.”

It’s unlikely anyone can shed a warm light on last weekend’s Oscar debacle. All said and done, I must admit the idea of a “mistake” or “mistaken identity” has a Shakespearean tragic twist…

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Greetings from Laurel Canyon!

Fruit tree, fruit tree / No one knows you but the rain and the air. / Don’t you worry / They’ll stand and stare when you’re gone. / Fruit tree, fruit tree / Open your eyes to another year. / They’ll all know / That you were here when you’re gone.

This has likely been the coldest winter week in the thirty some odd years I’ve lived in LA. Twice this week I’ve found myself in a morning traffic jam on top of a crisp and scenic Mulholland Drive. It came clear as the morning—to be stuck on Mulholland is certainly nothing to complain about. In fact, the top of our canyon still carries the magic of plants and native Americans.

I found myself staring at trees and enjoying the simplicity of their company. Indeed, since moving to our pad in the canyon, I’ve always regarded the trees as neighborhood and friends. It’s as though this week’s cold has grown whiskers for us all.

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Greetings from Laurel Canyon!

Onde eu nasci passa um rio / Que passa no igual sem fim / Igual, sem fim, minha terra / Passava dentro de mim / Passava como se o tempo / Nada pudesse mudar / Passava como se o rio / Não desaguasse no mar / O rio deságua no mar / Já tanta coisa aprendi / Mas o que é mais meu cantar / É isso que eu canto aqui

Valentine’s Day week has me drained. I hate to admit it, but I’m a romantic with needs.

All through a hectic week I was digging around for a clever set of records that would slightly cover my desire for “love music” and beyond. However yesterday’s rainstorm in the canyon spontaneously turned our street into a river. I had to put on fishing boots and a rain slicker to fish out a few floating garbage cans.

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Greetings from Laurel Canyon!

Turn me on to phantoms / I follow to the edge of the earth / And fall off / Everybody leaves / If they get the chance / And this is my chance / I get eaten by the worms / Weird fishes

Last week I was talking about the weather, and this week?

Not much has really changed. Well some shit has happened. Our LA Rams lost in a boring Super Bowl, and LA music fans took it out on poor Maroon 5. Fuck, the Maroon boys do their best to be an LA band, make loot, and slay chicks.

This has pretty much nothing to do with the songs I play on the Idelic Hour. In my mind we are at the dawn of a second “medieval time.” The Idelic Hour is meant to share music that lifts the spirit and the soul. It’s my small way of helping—and this week’s playlist is filled with meat, onions, chicken, and fish. I got turned on to this new Sleaford Mods record and loved the idea of making a playlist of songs about food that make up a “kebab.”

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Greetings from Laurel Canyon!

Well I dove into that river / To see what I could find / And the water it rolled on top of me / And the stars refused to shine

Yeah I swam until I could not swim / Then I swam a little more / And the current held me like a lover’s arms / And then it left me on the shore

Well I stood and looked to from where I came / To the place where I was born / But it seemed to me only half as real / Like a dark and a distant storm

I come from a family that likes to talk about the weather. I believe that I’ve mentioned this before, and yes here I am again talking about it again.

I talked to my folks this morning. They actually asked, “How’s the weather?” and reported Miami is a pleasant 70 degrees. Here in the canyon it’s a clear, beautiful winter morning around 50. It’s the kind of a day that only happens after a hard rain.

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Greetings from Laurel Canyon!

This is the happy house–we’re happy here in the happy house oh it’s such fun / We’ve come to play in the happy house / And waste a day in the happy house-it never rains

We’ve come to scream in the happy house / We’re in a dream in the happy house / We’re all quite sane

This is the happy house–we’re happy here / There’s room for you if you say “I do” / But don’t say no or you’ll have to go / We’ve done no wrong with our blinkers on / It’s safe and calm if you sing along

This is the happy house–we’re happy here in the happy house / To forget ourselves-and pretend all’s well / There is no hell

Since the holidays I’ve been collecting ideas for a playlist of new chicks. Woman in music, specifically female rock ‘n’ rollers who have made the last half century a treat. Maybe it’s because “the man” has never really let up on “his oppression.” Women just seem tell it like it is. Thank fucking god for that.

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Greetings from Laurel Canyon!

I don’t mind stealin’ bread from the mouths of decadence / But I can’t feed on the powerless when my cup’s already overfilled, yeah / But it’s on the table, the fire’s cookin’ / And they’re farmin’ babies, while the slaves are all workin’ / Blood is on the table and the mouths are all chokin’ / But I’m goin’ hungry, yeah

I hope you enjoy my second mix of 2019—and speaking of mixed, I had quite a few feelings this week. At the top of the week, I heard about this all-star Chris Cornell tribute show. Right from my first glance at the line-up I had an eerie feeling. Not that I was a good friend of Cornell, but I’m an “OG grunge dude” and I did know Chris well enough to imagine the look on the dude’s face seeing teenyboppers playing dress up and singing karaoke on his behalf.

The photos on Instagram and Facebook reminded me of seeing Lorde performing “Kurt songs” with the Nirvana guys at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. It’s likely just me, but these days I’m constantly asking who is “smacked out” of their minds here? Well, props to Alice in Chains for keep Layne Staley’s spirit off the red carpet.

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Greetings from Laurel Canyon!

And if you turn up the dream to cure yourself free from searching for a new afterlife / The purpose of life, you know there’s still time to tune into the right side / Well I assumed that we were lovers yesterday / The turning tide that that love us to pray / You know what I would do if I were you

As The Idelic Hour says hello to 2019, I’m blasting into the year like a rocket to Russia. ’18 is gone and I haven’t met a soul who’s missed those recent days.—although it’s fairly pathetic how much Mr. Donald is trying ruin everyone’s new year.

Fuck it, fuck him, and anyone with a sour word or note. If it’s cold, let’s turn the heat up, swing and shake it up until the punch is sweet.

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