![]() This couplet will stick with me for a while:ĭo I wish I‘d written that? You bet. He might’ve been a writer of aphorisms had there been any money in it. Taking his cue from the title, he catalogs and comments on the various components in his pitiful heartbroken world, from memories and dreams to body parts like his lips and arms. There’s a method to the Miller madness, though. There were few in the Nashville crowd who were capable of stringing together the kind of original and memorable lines he did, and even then many wouldn’t have had the nerve to sing such a strange tune. It’s not as goofy as some of his earlier novelty hits, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t just slightly warped. This song is new to me but it only intensifies my love for this one-off native genius. She loves me she loves me there’s no doubtīut my lips have no right to ask forgiveness My arms should have no right to hold anotherĪnd my ears should burn when fools are talked aboutĪt night in dreams I hear her callin’ to me What made me think I craved another’s kisses Yes my ears should burn when fools are talked about Sometimes my memories let me hold and kiss youīut they’re just lending me the things I live withoutĪnd if it’s my fault that I can’t really hold you Listen to this obscure nugget I gleaned from the Shack last week: “My Ears Should Burn (When Fools Are Talked About).” It’s by that certified hillbilly alien, Roger Miller, and it’s a doozy. It’s a good way to kick off your weekend. You may never get to ride in the van with him, but Cebar still does his show, “Way Back Home,” Wednesdays from nine to noon, and it’s a pretty good substitute.Īnother indispensable show, and one of the only ones where authentic country music is heard, is John Ziegler’s “Chicken Shack.” On Fridays from nine to noon he spins endless deep cuts from Nashville’s golden age and few good ones from this century. What I learned on those trips snuck into my subconscious and popped up later in my writing. Somewhere on one of those long drives, around the twentieth mixtape, I realized this guy lived and breathed music. ![]() The drive to any gig will be filled with music you’ve never heard before but probably should have. If you can, do what I did and get in a band with him. One of them, Paul Cebar, is in a category by himself. The DJs volunteer there for one reason - they have been swept away by music and they want to share their obsession with the listening public. Let’s move on to the station I find ever so useful in my continuing music education, WMSE. This Thanksgiving I know I’ll be grateful for all Bruce did for this city and for Reitman’s show. There’s never been a bigger Bob Dylan fan and with that as his touchstone, he explores the ever widening circles around him. This former commercial jock has found his safe place at WUWM, where he and his son spin more obscure sides and chat amiably. Every Thursday I can play Six Degrees of Zimmerman with Bob Reitman. More than once I heard my own band, Semi-Twang, come over the airwaves as I drove somewhere. As program director of WUWM, he did his best to make sure music was always part of the mix. ![]() Bruce Winter succumbed to cancer on November 14th. Last week the Milwaukee music scene lost a true fan and loyal supporter. Each station has their specialties, but the creative dial twirler can often find musical nirvana.īefore we continue, there’s a bit of sad news for fans of local music. But down in the upper eighties and low nineties there’s something for everyone. Here you can find music that wouldn’t have a chance on rigidly formatted commercial stations. As it is, 99 percent of my time is happily spent on the left side of the radio dial listening to 88nine, WUWM, WHAD and WMSE. If it weren’t for Bob Uecker and the occasional Packer game I need to listen to because I’m driving somewhere, I’d never hear any of them again. I certainly could think of better things to do with that money. Near the top of my list is how long I can go without hearing brain-numbing radio ads or the awful shows made possible by them. Here in Milwaukee there is plenty to be grateful for. Some are easy, some are are hard and some, usually from the young stand-up comic in training, seven-year-old Casey, a second cousin of my wife, are funny. We draw them randomly and try to guess who wrote them. After feasting on unpardoned turkeys, our extended family goes around the extended table and reads thank you notes.
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