Dan reeder work song tv#

When there are no real choices available, pick survival.

Reeder isn’t preaching he tells it like it is. “Jail Time” also asserts the virtues of giving up surrender means curbing injury. We are convinced that, like the song’s interlocutor, begging the fighter to throw in the towel, Reeder is issuing a warning: he does not want to have to scrape us off the concrete. However humorous these cinematic fantasies may be, 2020’s Reeder assumes a much less arrogant fighting stance, beginning with a memory (autobiographical?) of receiving a beating in “nightclub parking lot south of L.A.” at the “end of a long night at the end of a long day.” Featuring realistic dialogue, “Stay Down, Man” refuses to indulge in the sentimental. 2017’s Reeder indulged in the kind of violent camp inspired by the antics of Ron “The Black Dragon” Van Clief. The 2017 release “Kung Fu Is My Fighting Style” told us, with a rollicking piano melody, to “back off, bitch.” In contrast to that are two numbers from this year: “Stay Down, Man” and “Jail Time.” The former tells a touching story of defeat the latter offers a sinister and realistic reflection on the consequences of our violent impulses. Aside from that, however, there is a distinct difference in tone between “Nobody Wants to Be You” and his latest songs. The fact that his new works are being released individually, each with their own artwork as well, suggests that he is finding the album-length format restrictive. It was described as a “precursor” to another, longer 2018 release which, unfortunately, never came. His last multitrack release was 2017’s “Nobody Wants to Be You,” which featured only five songs. Though Reeder’s debut album is set for vinyl release this year, he has lately focused on individual releases through social media and streaming platforms.

Dan reeder work song tv#

Reeder’s music has been featured on TV shows SMILF and Weeds, and Swiss musician Stephan Eicher recently covered Reeder’s “Born a Worm” ( “Né un ver” in French) on his Homeless Songs album this past September. His appeal mixes today’s antihumor with a suspiciously overt sincerity (à la Tim Heidecker’s Heartland rock). He’s a folk-singing boomer with a surreal sense of irony that fits the millennial age. His songs blend elements of folk, blues, and roots they exude the innocent naivety of Daniel Johnston and the comic charisma of Flight of the Conchords. His website describes him as “self-made.” Self-made, but not unapproachable. Embracing the expressive autonomy and stylistic simplicity associated with an “outsider artist,” Reeder has graced his releases with his own cover art, played all of his compositions himself, and designed and built many of his instruments and recording equipment. There he had already established himself as a visual artist before he sent a copy of some of his musical work to John Prine, whose Nashville-based Oh Boy Records would release his debut album in 2004. I talk, they listen.” If Cohen fashioned piercing beauty out of the futile balancing of existential alternatives, then singer, songwriter, and visual artist Reeder sees a cosmic farce instead, drawing on his dry wit and cynicism to dismiss the illusion of choice with a childish playfulness.īorn in Louisiana’s Cajun Country in 1954, the California-raised artist has been a resident of Nuremburg, Germany, for over three decades. Neither are Reeder’s paintings, which include Buddhas who “just sit there” and a prophet so self-satisfied that he declares “It’s great. In his song “Bird On The Wire,” Leonard Cohen lamented: “I have tried in my way to be free.” Of course, the tune itself was a kind of “bird on a wire,” precariously seated between overstatement and understatement, or between “asking for more” and “not asking for so much.” Attempting to dramatize that (in his own way) over 30 years later, Dan Reeder sings “Love and pain / go together like thunder and rain / like bitch and complain / like choo choo and train.” No, not so subtle. Album artwork for Dan Reeder’s recent releases. Uplifting tunes for the aspiring curmudgeon you didn’t know you’d already become.